Emmey looked up over her shoulder at Maddy and nodded, rainwater dripping from her nose.
“I like rain,” Lillian said. “Though I prefer watching it through a window.”
Maddy smiled, but Lillian’s attention had shifted to the path ahead, and she urged Baxter and Ticky into a trot. Maddy followed, holding her breath when Lillian and Ticky disappeared around another sharp curve in the path. When she heard a shout, she rounded the curve at a careful walk and reined Griffin in next to Lillian, who’d stopped.
Lillian pointed to an overturned wagon blocking the path. “Stay as close to me as you can. I don’t like this.”
“Perhaps the owner couldn’t right it and has gone to get help,” Maddy suggested.
Lillian shook her head. “It wouldn’t be in that position.”
Before Maddy could respond, several men emerged from the trees, arrows nocked and bowstrings drawn. They aimed at Lillian, Maddy, and Emmey. Emmey whimpered.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Maddy whispered. “We’re with Lillian.” She couldn’t sense the elements, but Lillian’s rigid posture indicated that she was already drawing, ready to unleash destruction.
Another man swaggered from the trees, his thumbs looped through his belt. “Look what we’ve got here, boys. Three fine horses, and one packed with goods. Don’t worry, ladies, we won’t hurt you. Just get off your horses and continue on your way. There’s an inn not far up the path. It’ll only take you a couple of hours to reach it.”
“Thank you for that information,” Lillian said. “We were hoping we’d come across an inn soon. Now, if you could just kindly move that wagon out of the way . . .”
The leader gaped at her, then burst out laughing. “Are you hard of hearing? Get off your horses and continue up the road. Don’t look back. And if you were thinking of turning around, I wouldn’t. My boys are behind you, too.”
“Again, thank you for the information.” Lillian made a great show of peeling off her gloves. She held up her hands, palms toward her. “Now, are you sure you want to do this?”
One of the bandits dropped his bow. “Shiiiiiiiiit,” he cried before disappearing into the trees.
“It’s good to see one of you is intelligent,” Lillian said. “A coward, mind you, but an intelligent coward. He’ll see tomorrow. What about the rest of you?”
“What is it, Hank?” someone behind Maddy asked. “What’s going on?”
“A Salbine Sister,” a man standing near Hank replied.
“Oh, I don’t know about this,” another voice behind them said. “Let’s leave it, Hank.”
“Why, you scared?” Hank said in a high-pitched voice.
“You’ve heard the stories.”
“Yeah, stories. My ma used to tell me the one about the big, bad wolf, too.”
Several of the bandits snickered.
“I still think we should leave it,” the bandit behind them insisted. “Let’s go.”
Hank’s fists clenched when a couple of the men nodded. “Give me that bloody bow,” he shouted, grabbing the weapon from the nearest man’s hands. He pulled a fresh arrow from the man’s quiver and nocked it. “I don’t know if sisters bleed, but I know little girls do.” He aimed at Emmey and released the arrow.
Emmey screamed.
The arrow flew toward her, then suddenly arched upward, changed direction, and sped to bury itself in Hank’s throat. Blood gushed around the arrow. Gurgling, Hank fell to his knees, clawing at the arrow’s shaft. Then he pitched forward and lay still.
The others stared in disbelief, then backed away and fled into the trees, some dropping their bows in their haste.
Maddy could feel Emmey trembling against her. “It’s all right. They’re gone.” She glanced behind her to make sure.
“Why would they follow such an idiot?” Lillian said as she pulled on her gloves. “He shoots at Emmey? If he’d managed to hit her, that would only have made me angry. He had no chance of hitting her, but he didn’t know that. Honestly.” She sighed.
“How are we going to get that wagon out of the way?” Maddy asked. It looked heavy, its side and two wheels embedded in the mud. She started to dismount, but Emmey clung to her and pressed her face against Maddy’s cloak. “It’s all right. You’re safe,” Maddy said, hugging her.
“What if they come back?” Emmey asked tremulously.
“They won’t. And Lillian’s protecting you, so don’t worry. It shouldn’t take us long to move the wagon.” Once they’d figured out how.
“It won’t take long at all,” Lillian said.
Something in her voice made Maddy look at the wagon. The ground underneath it churned, slowly lifting it. When the wagon had cleared the mud, it shot upward and burst into a white flame, then disintegrated. Ashes floated down to the path. “I’d clap, if I could,” Maddy said. Unimpressed, Ticky and the other horses stood motionless.
“What happened?” Emmey asked, still hiding her face against Maddy.
“Lillian took care of the wagon for us.”
“They won’t use that one again to ambush travellers,” Lillian said. “Sophia should send a couple of adepts out here, in case the boys haven’t learned their lesson. It would be good practice for them.” She turned to Maddy. “Shall we?”
“Yes. Don’t look,” she said to Emmey. They walked their horses past Hank’s still form, then kicked them into a trot and carried on their way.
*****
Lillian shifted position and hoped Maddy would soon announce it was Emmey’s bedtime. They’d been sitting on the hard floor working on letters for over an hour, the rain pounding on the roof overhead.
“Here.” Emmey handed a piece of paper to Lillian. “The Miss’s is first, then mine.”
She knew that. Not only had she watched them write, but their scripts were distinct. “Mmm,” she murmured, examining Maddy’s. “Your
b
’s and
d
’s are improving, Maddy.”
“What about mine?” Emmey asked, playing with her hair.
The lamp was sitting on the floor for Maddy and Emmey’s benefit. Lillian squinted at the paper, then moved it closer to the lamp. Emmey’s script was a bit smaller than Maddy’s. “I don’t know if it would pass Mistress Averill’s inspection, but it passes mine.”
“Mistress Averill is the head scribe at the monastery,” Maddy explained to Emmey. “She works in the library.”
“We’re almost at the end of this piece,” Lillian said, hoping Maddy would take the hint.
“One more, please!” Emmey cried.
“Oh, all right. One more.” She pondered what to have them write.
“Lillian, can I ask a question about what happened earlier?” Emmey said.
Maddy drew her legs up to her chest. “When we ran into those bandits?”
Emmey nodded. After their encounter with the bandits, she’d been unusually quiet, only perking up when they’d sat down for supper. Lillian had wondered if she’d raise the incident. “What’s your question?” she asked.
“Um, you know when the arrow turned around and hit him in the throat? You didn’t aim it.”
“That’s not a question, that’s a statement,” Lillian said, masking her surprise with difficulty. “Why do you think I didn’t guide it?”
“Because you would have missed.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Because you can’t see very well. When you read, you, um, move the paper like this.” She lifted her hand and moved it back and forth in front of her eyes.
Lillian’s face grew hot. “I do not!”
“Yes, you do! Until you can see. I had a friend once, and her grandma did that.”
Maddy burst out laughing. “Did you hear that, Lillian? Her friend’s grandma.” She buried her face in her knees.
“Her grandma couldn’t read!” Emmey said. “But when she sewed and things, she did what Lillian does, because she couldn’t see.”
Lillian pressed her lips together. “You cheeky bugger! I can see perfectly fine. It’s the light,” she said over Maddy’s muffled laughter.
“Oh, it’s the light, is it?” Maddy gasped. “I see.”
“I only have problems when I read,” she said through clenched teeth. And she spoke the truth. That idiot Hank had been as clear as a bell to her. But Emmey was right; she hadn’t guided the arrow.
“It doesn’t matter, Lillian,” Emmey said. “The Miss only has one hand.”
Lillian looked at Maddy, expecting her to be annoyed, but Emmey’s remark sent Maddy into gales of laughter. “My belly hurts,” Maddy managed to say.
Miffed, Lillian glared at Emmey. “And you lack tact and manners!”
“But she’s honest,” Maddy declared, tears streaming down her face.
Emmey looked from one to the other, confused.
Lillian wanted to throw the paper into the air and go to the common room. A cider would hit the spot. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”
“One more.” Emmey clasped her hands together in front of her. “Please!”
Fine. She knew just what to write. Fortunately Maddy had buried her face in her knees again. Lillian would have to be quick. She scribbled a statement and set the paper down in front of Emmey. “Read that.”
Emmey’s brow furrowed. “Child-ren should be seen and—”
Maddy snatched up the paper. “Right, that’s enough for tonight.” She jerked it away when Emmey reached for it.
Emmey frowned. “Aw, Miss, I haven’t finished.”
“Yes, you have. It’s time for bed.”
“Aw!”
“I don’t think Lillian wants to do this anymore.” Maddy gave Lillian a pointed look. “She’s being silly.”
“Perhaps I don’t like being insulted,” Lillian said stiffly.
Emmey stared at her. “You saved me.”
“Yes, you did.” Maddy smiled at Lillian. “I’m proud of you.”
A sappy grin spread across Lillian’s face before she could stop it. She quickly smoothed her features. “Yes, well, I’m going to the common room.”
“I’ll be down in a bit,” Maddy said.
Lillian pushed herself to her feet and walked to the door.
“Good night, Lillian,” Emmey called.
“Good night,” she said without a backward glance. But then she cursed herself and turned around—she must be growing soft! “I’ll see you in the morning.” Emmey smiled. Lillian ducked into the hallway when she felt the beginnings of a smile. She was losing control of her bloody face!
When she reached the common room, a bard was still plucking away on a lute and warbling some nonsense about lovers and their beating hearts. For some unfathomable reason, most of the common room’s occupants had situated themselves around the colourfully clad performer. After collecting two glasses of cider from the barkeep, she claimed two empty chairs in front of a roaring fire, mercifully far away from the bard. She set Maddy’s cider on the small square table that separated the two chairs, and sipped her own cider as soon as her arse hit the wood. Unless Emmey took longer than usual to fall asleep because of the excitement earlier that day, Maddy would be down in ten to fifteen minutes.
Lillian gazed into the fire and sighed contentedly. She loved this part of the day, always looked forward to it. She and Maddy had grown into the routine of sitting together after Emmey had dropped off, whether under the stars or under a roof. Lillian preferred the more private stars, so they could snuggle while they chatted. But the common room would do, especially on such a rainy night. If it was still pouring in the morning, they’d probably have to spend the day here, but one extra day wouldn’t matter.
She was eager to return to the monastery and its comforts, but she’d miss her cozy evening time with Maddy. Once through the gates, monastery life would claim Maddy again, especially since she’d be busy seeking a satisfactory role for herself within the Order. How much time would she have for Lillian? An afternoon here, an overnight stay there? For a minute, Lillian visualized herself returning to her chambers after a day in the laboratory, settling into a chair in front of the fire with a cider, and recounting her day to Maddy. Then she’d listen as Maddy described hers. It would be lovely to wake up with her every morning and know that she’d see her again, if not during the day, then definitely in front of the fire before retiring for the evening. But that would mean they were consorts. Maybe Maddy would accept her. Their love had survived Maddy’s ordeal. They enjoyed each other’s company. And despite having spent all their days together for the past several months, they’d hardly argued.
Lillian had sometimes wished she could pass an hour or two away from Maddy and Emmey; frankly she was surprised she wasn’t in a bad temper, considering she’d barely had an hour to herself for months. Yet here she was, alone for the first time today, hoping Maddy would soon plunk herself into the empty chair and lift her cider.
Could Lillian go back to how things were before she’d become involved with Maddy? Could she watch Maddy with another sister, then sit in the chapel as Maddy pledged her life to that sister? Because Maddy
would
take a consort. Most sisters did, and Lillian firmly believed that Maddy would also. She wasn’t the sort to return to empty chambers at the end of a long day. She needed someone to nurture—look at her with Emmey. So why shouldn’t Lillian be her consort? After Caroline, Lillian had vowed never to have another relationship again, let alone take a consort. But look at her now.
Caroline. Lillian had hardly thought of her since racing after Maddy. She hadn’t raced after Caroline. She’d known exactly where Caroline was but hadn’t gone after her, partly because Caroline wouldn’t have wanted her to, but partly because
she
hadn’t wanted to. At the time, she’d thought anger and humiliation had prevented her from making an arse of herself by riding for the Redworth monastery, but in hindsight, she’d known their relationship had been one-sided and empty. Caroline had done her a favour by leaving. Lillian’s eyes blurred. She’d never thought she would reach this point. It had only taken almost twenty years and a woman who loved her.
“Are you in there, Lillian?” Maddy asked from the chair next to her. “What are you thinking about?”
She turned to Maddy to answer. Her heart sank. Maddy was grinning, her hair shining in the glow of the fire. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, not a wrinkle in evidence. Her robe accentuated the curves that wholesome food had returned to her. Her eyes were bright, kind, and usually smiling. And Lillian thought Maddy would settle for her? An older woman who felt most at home in a musty laboratory surrounded by the dead and whose robes required more wool with each passing year? If only she were younger. If only it had been Maddy, and not Caroline.