Liath stood stunned by Hanna’s tirade.
“Hanna—” Words did not come. “Hanna, I—” Hanna waited, and at last Liath collected herself. “You don’t actually wish that Hugh would … that he wanted to—that—” She faltered. The gap was too great to leap. “But you and Ivar—”
“Ivar is my milk brother. Of course I’m fond of him. But Ivar is a boy. Hugh is a man. Haven’t you ever noticed how clean his hands are? The fine weave of his clothing? The way he smells different, sweeter? How blue his eyes are? He even smiles sometimes. But he doesn’t know that people like me exist.”
Liath was so shocked by Hanna’s confession that she did not know what to say, or how to say it. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him to notice me.”
Hanna sighed. “Of course you didn’t. You never do. Ivar loves you, Liath, but you never notice that either. I hope you never fall in love with a man you can’t have. Now.” She reverted to her usual practical self. “What do you mean to do with the book?”
From the yard, they heard Mistress Birta calling. “Hanna! You girls have spoken long enough. There’s work to be done.”
Liath clung to the book. It was all she had left of Da. Yet was it truly the only thing he had left to her? There remained a secret to be unlocked, her birthright, kept hidden all these years. But she could not imagine where to start looking.
“Liath,” said Hanna, exasperated, “you’d be a fool to take it to the church if you don’t want the frater to get it.”
Reluctantly, Liath handed back book and oilcloth. She had to wring her hands together, biting her lips, as she watched Hanna wrap up the book and shove it into the gap below the trough and cover it, otherwise she would have snatched it out of Hanna’s hands. But she did not. They walked together back through the stables.
“Hanna,” she said softly as they crossed the inn yard where Karl raked away fallen leaves and sticks blown by last night’s winds, “he may be handsome, I know he is, but you would never want him if you really knew what he was like.”
“You’re my friend first. That’s all that counts.”
Mistress Birta met them at the door. “Will you have supper in with us, then, Liath?” Her face was streaked with sweat and soot from standing so close to the hearth.
“Gladly. I’ll return in the afternoon.” She took her leave.
The walk back to the church seemed short enough, with her mind so confused. How could Hanna think of Hugh in that way? Da had always claimed that it did no good to take vows unless you meant to keep them. She had disliked Hugh the instant she first set eyes on him, that day over a year past when he had appeared at their cottage. He had said he was making his rounds, meeting his new charges, gathering his flock, but she felt instinctively that he had heard something in the village to make him investigate Da.
He had courted Da assiduously but carefully, and Da was so very lonely for another educated man to talk to. Da had never been the same since his beloved Anne had died; he had never really been able to take care of himself. For the two years in Andalla they had lived decently, but that had ended terribly one night. They lived poorly and precariously in the four years since then, and while Liath never minded the extra work she sorely missed the sense of simple well-being. Or as Da sometimes said, when he drank too much: “What man can call himself a lord who has no retinue?”
She wiped away a tear. It had done no good to cry when Mother had died, and they had thrown what they could carry in packs and fled their house in the middle of the night. It would do no good to cry now.
There was a new animal stabled next to Hugh’s bay gelding: a small gray mare. Liath found Ivar in the kitchen.
“Liath!” He hugged her. “You smell like the stables,” he said, laughing self-consciously, and he pulled away from her, as if he was embarrassed to have taken such a liberty with her.
Liath smiled despite herself. Ivar had a sunny smile and he was very glad to see her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then they both blushed.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said quickly, to cover the awkwardness.
Deliberately he put a log on the fire. “I saw Frater Hugh riding north yesterday. I thought you might be alone.”
“I am. I went down to the inn.”
He stayed by the fire, but his gaze lifted to her. The flames lit his reddish-blond hair and gave color to his pale, freckled cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious. “Come away with me. Now. Today. You can’t stay here. I know he must—” He faltered. “He must mistreat you. I’ve never liked him. Thinking that he’s better than my father and him just a bastard.”
