King's Dragon

Page 41

He hit her so hard backhanded that she fell stunned to the ground. She could not make her hands move, or her legs, but she heard the soft noise the trowel made, stabbing into the dirt and debris and spilling it to one side, a shower of earth, like water.
Hugh gave a satisfied grunt. “There,” he murmured.
She pulled in a deep breath, sucking in a cloud of fine dirt, and choked, coughing. But she could move again. She could not let him get the book. It was all that was left to her. She shoved herself up, trembling, only to see Hugh shake out an empty roll of cloth.
He stared. Streaked with dirt and damp from earth and leaves, the cloth stirred sluggishly in the breeze. Horrified, she scrambled forward on her hands and knees and dug frantically into the den. But the den was empty.
“It’s gone!” She slumped forward and leaned her head against the oak. Gone. Some animal had rooted it out and torn it to bits. A child, digging for eggs, had found it and taken it home for fuel for the fire. Ai, Lady and Lord! Such a precious thing, to be lost so stupidly. If she had only thought of a better place to hide it, but she had only had one brief chance, begging Hanna before she was dragged off by Marshal Liudolf to her jail; the old oak was their favorite meeting place. What if Hanna had not hidden the book at all, but had only said she had? What if Hanna had taken it for herself—?
But this was Hugh’s influence. If she could not trust Hanna, then nothing and no one, ever again.
“Damn you,” said Hugh. “A pretty charade. But I’ll have the book, Liath. I am more patient than you can imagine.”
She ducked her head, waiting for the blow, but it never came. She heard his footsteps and turned to see him walking away. He vanished into the forest. A moment later she caught a glimpse of his mare; the sound of their passage through the undergrowth receded into the afternoon.
She began to cry, then squeezed her eyes shut. She would not give in to despair. All summer she had held out. If she gave in now, she might as well give herself entirely to Hugh.
“Never that,” she said in a low voice. She wiped hard at her eyes to let the pain still the tears and, finally, went back to the chapel. First, she must talk to Hanna. As Da always said: “Take one step at a time so you may know where to place the next one.”
This time, wise to Hugh, she waited an entire day before she went to the inn. Master Hansal stood outside, daubing chinks in the timber walls. He laid off working when he saw her. “Greetings, child,” he said in his slow, gruff voice. He looked to see her. “Frater Hugh came by yesterday to say he’s off to Freelas for these twelve days to visit the biscop. You’re to eat with us. Very generous, to my mind.”
Very generous. Liath touched a hand to her left temple, where Hugh had hit her. It still hurt. “Good day, Master Hansal. Is Hanna in?”
“Yes. She’s inside, helping the Mistress. I’m sure she can visit a moment, if you’ve time.”
“Thank you.” She hurried inside, relieved to get away from him.
Mistress Birta leaned over the great hearth, placing scrubbed turnips one by one into a bank of coals set off from the blazing fire. Finishing, she straightened. “Liath! It gladdens my heart to see you, child. Frater Hugh was by.”
Liath stopped short. Where was Hanna? “Mistress Birta. I give you greetings in return.”
Birta shook out her apron. She smelled of scallions. “I am well, truly, by the blessing of Our Lady and Lord. And you, lass? I was sore worried, I confess, after your father died. But the frater has been generous, more than generous, that I can say. There’s many a freeholder works harder ’an you and lives not so well nor eats meat four times a week. I don’t say you don’t deserve it, mind. He’s not a bad man, is Frater Hugh. A bastard he might be, and proud, but he’s of noble blood, so we must expect that. I’ve never heard it said that he’s stinted in his duties. Never afraid of the sick or too high to visit the humblest. Why, old Martha by River’s Bank, dying of the pox, asked him to lay hands on her for his blessing and he was not afraid to do so.”
“Martha died.”
“Now, lass. It may not be to your liking, and I have no doubt that Hugh may ask of you what you may not wish to give him.” Here Birta hesitated. “He’s noble, and we can’t argue with his kind. When old Count Harl, as was younger then, brought little Ivar down and told me to suckle the boy with my Hanna, I might have worried there wasn’t milk enough for both, but I did as I was told. You must do the same. There’s far worse you could be doing.”
Liath flushed, heat like a slap stinging her cheeks. “He swore a vow to the church. Like all brothers he has shaven off his beard as an offering to the Lady together with his vow to serve only Her.”