Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel Page 3

  Rubar joined him. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. For the moment, both men were content to enjoy the soothing waters in silence.

  As tempting as it was to linger, Duncan finally reached for the soap and a rag to scrub his skin clean. Soon he would have to present his request to make use of the abbey library in exchange for his labor as a scribe, and he’d like a chance to look around.

  Then he’d approach the abbess and hope for the best.

  * * *

  Lavinia finished the abbey’s accounts and wrote a summary for the head of their order, who lived on the other side of the mountains. Musar would see that the letter was delivered. As she sealed it, Lavinia smiled. She’d been looking forward to his arrival all afternoon. Both Sister Joetta and Sister Margaret had been to see her about the stranger in their midst, who had arrived earlier in the afternoon with one of Musar’s men acting as escort. All she knew was that his name was Duncan, he was seeking a position as a scribe, and he’d spent hours chopping wood for the kitchen. He’d made a good impression so far, but she wouldn’t let him have free run of the abbey until she learned more about him.

  Although it was true the abbey existed in part to serve travelers, the real reason the abbey had been built was to provide a repository for books and manuscripts of all kinds, a collection they were sworn to protect. As abbess, she alone determined who was allowed access to the library and its contents. She wouldn’t risk letting a stranger near the collection until she knew he could be trusted.

  After all, the duke could have spies anywhere. On the other hand, if Duncan worked for Keirthan, wouldn’t the gods have been more specific in their warning?

  A knock at the door interrupted her dark thoughts. She set her correspondence aside and called, “Come in.”

  Musar let himself in. “Lady Lavinia, it is a pleasure to see you.”

  He crossed the room to set a small sack on the desk as he sat down. “I received your message that Sister Margaret was hoping to obtain more of this spice.”

  She reached for her coin purse. “How much do I owe you?”

  “This one is free of charge, Lady Lavinia. Consider it a gift in exchange for the abbey’s hospitality for my family and my men.” He winked at her. “Besides, Ava would have my skin if she thought I wasn’t being fair to you.”

  “You are most generous.” She rounded the desk to walk out with him. “Shall we adjourn to the dining hall? Perhaps over dinner you can share any news you’ve picked up during your travels. Visitors have been few this season, and it’s been some time since we’ve received word from the outside world.”

  Her friend’s smile faded completely as he offered her his arm. “I’m not sure if such news will make for good dinner conversation, but I’ll answer what questions I can.”

  “Good news or not, Musar, I would rather know the truth of how things are. We may be isolated, but matters of the world outside still concern us.”

  Especially her.

  When they reached the entrance to the abbey, Musar took his leave. “I will fetch Ava and then join you for dinner.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  He headed out the front door while she made her way to the dining hall. She stopped just short of the entrance, listening to the mix of voices inside. It wasn’t often they had guests in such large numbers. The deep rumble of male voices sounded odd among the higher-pitched sound of the sisters talking.

  Lavinia straightened her robes and assumed a calm demeanor before crossing the threshold. A quick glance reassured her that all was flowing smoothly. She made her way to her usual seat at the head table. Places had been reserved for Musar, his wife, and several other members of his family.

  She caught the eye of one of the servers. “Hold the meal until our guests join us. They should be along soon.”

  “Yes, Sister. I’ll watch for them.”

  Chapter 3

  Lavinia had just taken her seat when a movement in the far corner caught her attention. Two men filed in from the guest quarters. The first one through the door was Rubar, who had been traveling through the area with caravans for years.

  But it was the man who walked in behind Rubar who had Lavinia clutching the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. She would’ve recognized him anywhere. Right now he was laughing at something Rubar had said. But as she watched, his smile faltered and then faded away completely, to be replaced by a slight frown.

  Moving deliberately as he had in her visions, he slowly checked out his surroundings, a warrior on alert. When he spotted her sitting across the room, his eyes widened, and his fisted hands dropped back down to his side.

  If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought he looked straight at her and said, “You!”

  What could his reaction mean? Had he somehow recognized Lavinia or merely realized that she was the one who had been staring at him just now?

  He took a half step in her direction, but Rubar caught his arm and tugged him in the direction of one of the back tables. Lavinia took a long slow breath to calm her badly rattled nerves. So she’d been right. The vision had been a warning that their paths would cross. Right now it was impossible to know if his arrival was a harbinger of good or evil.

  It was tempting to confront him immediately, but Lavinia forced herself to remain seated. She’d learn more from seeing how he approached her. It was interesting that he was with Rubar, the captain of Musar’s personal guard. She didn’t know what to make of it all.

  When the trader and his family came through the door, Lavinia rose to her feet to welcome them. After the meal was served, she’d find some way to broach the subject of Duncan and see what Musar knew of him.

  Sister Margaret waited until Musar and his family were seated before she rang the gong to get everyone’s attention. As soon as the room was silent, Lavinia offered the prayer of thanksgiving. As she spoke the familiar words, the grace of the gods soothed her spirit and comforted her heart.

  When the first course had come and gone, she finally brought up the question. “Musar, I recognize most of the men that you have riding guard on your caravan, but that man sitting with Rubar is new to me. He doesn’t seem like your typical guard.”

  Although she’d addressed her comment to the trader, it was his wife who answered. “You speak of the one who claims to be a scribe in need of work.”

  Musar frowned. “This Duncan fellow is a puzzle to me. I’ve met a few scribes in my time. Most are skinny and sit hunched over from too many hours of plying their trade. They have calluses on their fingers, and their skin is permanently stained with ink.”

  He jerked his head in Duncan’s direction. “I spoke to that one at length this afternoon when he helped to unharness our draft horses. He speaks like an educated man, which lends credence to his claim of being a scribe. True, his hands are callused, but from holding a weapon, not a pen. Rubar reported that Duncan carries a warrior’s shield, and his sword would cost a year’s profits. A good year’s profits at that.”

  Then he shuddered. “And then he has such strange eyes.”

  Musar dropped his hand down to his side and made one of the common signs to ward off evil. “They are the color of death.”

  Lavinia felt that was going too far, but then the trader clans were superstitious. She kept her reaction carefully hidden, not wanting to offend her friend. Especially when she needed more answers because Musar’s doubts about Duncan echoed her own.

  “If you had doubts about his story, why did you have Rubar introduce him to the abbey?”

  Ava, who was seated on the far side of her husband, leaned forward to look at Lavinia. “The gods spoke to me about him.”

  Lavinia knew better than to question Ava’s visions. The woman was famous among the trading clans for her ability to foresee the future. Many had benefited from her predictions of foul weather and which goods would sell well in a given year.

  “What did the gods say about him?”

  Ava and Musar looke
d at each other, communicating without words in the way couples who counted their time together in decades often did. Finally, Musar nodded.

  “Here is what they told me.” Ava paused briefly as if preparing herself. When she spoke again, her voice sounded different—deeper, solemn, and with a heavy touch of power. “The scholar comes to seek the truth. Deny him and the price will be paid in blood and the honor of the clan will be destroyed.”

  The last few words hung in the air, as Ava’s shoulders sagged, the effort to speak for the gods clearly having cost her. Lavinia fought to remain calm, but Ava’s pronouncement had left her badly shaken.

  What did all of that mean? What truth did Duncan seek? Or whose truth? She appreciated that the gods were sometimes willing to intervene in the lives of their people, but she wished they would speak more clearly.

  “Did he say why he came here to the abbey?”

  “Nothing other than he was seeking employment.”

  That made some sense, although it didn’t tell her much. Normally if a manuscript needed to be copied, one of the sisters would take on that task. However, it wasn’t unheard of for the abbey to decide to take on extra help if the workload exceeded the ability of the sisters to keep up.

  She had much to think on. For now, she let her guests turn their attention to Sister Margaret’s excellent cooking.

  * * *

  Duncan bowed his head briefly but finally gave in to the need to study the woman standing at the head table with Musar and his wife. It was definitely her image that had been reflected on the moon two nights ago. From her position at the head table, he had to guess she was the abbess herself. He murmured the closing of the prayer along with everyone else. The trappings of religion were one of the few things that remained relatively unchanged from one calling to the next no matter how long the Damned had been gone from the world.

  As soon as the abbess quit speaking, young girls began weaving in and out of the tables with large trays of bread and cheese. They were followed by older women carrying large tureens of something that smelled delicious.

  Rubar immediately reached for the ladle to fill his plate. “Sister Margaret is a most talented cook. On our last trip through, I tried to talk her into teaching me the secret of her venison stew. She shooed me out of her kitchen, flapping her apron at me as if I were a gaggle of geese.”

  Then the guard grinned. “If she didn’t wield her cleaver like a weapon, I might have tried to force the issue. I’m hoping to bribe her with a new spice I picked up this year.”

  One taste of the savory meat and vegetables, and Duncan could see why Rubar would risk breaching the walls of Sister Margaret’s kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something so delicious.

  As one of the Damned, most of the time Duncan marched out of the river straight into battle. Meals were eaten on the run; cold meat, cheese, a bit of hot tea or cheap wine were their usual fare. He sometimes forgot that food could be something to savor.

  Life’s greatest pleasures had been missing from their lives for centuries, but that seemed to be changing. It was unsettling for them all. Captain Gideon had found love with the woman they’d been ordered to champion by their gods. Even Murdoch, the most serious of the five warriors, seemed enamored with Lady Alina, Merewen’s young widowed aunt.

  Duncan’s gaze strayed to the head table and the woman sitting there. She was quite striking. He could see she was engaged in a discussion with the trader and his wife. What were they telling her about him? When she happened to glance in his direction, her smile faltered. Rather than give her cause for concern, he immediately averted his eyes and concentrated on finishing his meal.

  Odd, but the stew no longer had much flavor.

  But even when he wasn’t looking at the abbess, he couldn’t quit thinking about her. Had she chosen to serve the gods, or had they chosen her? The woman looked awfully young to bear the burden of running an abbey of this size. But then, he hadn’t been much older when he’d made his own vow to serve the Lord and Lady, a pledge he couldn’t walk away from even if he’d wanted to.

  With that cheery thought, he finished his wine and then reached for more.

  Chapter 4

  Once again a movement in the far corner of the room had drawn Lavinia’s eye. Rubar and several of Musar’s drivers and guards were preparing to leave. Rather than filing out through the door toward the guest quarters, Rubar and another man broke off from the others and walked straight toward the head table.

  Duncan said something, but Rubar didn’t respond. She frowned. There was something strange about the way Rubar and the other guard moved; they appeared stiff and awkward, yet purposeful. They split up, each taking a different route between the tables but clearly heading toward Lavinia and her guests.

  As she watched, Rubar stumbled into one of the young novices as if he hadn’t seen her standing right there in front of him. Normally, he would’ve said something, at least a quick apology, but instead he shoved past the girl without saying a word.

  Did he need to speak to his employer? She started to say something to Musar, but he was caught up in a conversation with his eldest son. She’d wait until he was finished to point out that his men might be in need of his attention.

  Duncan followed in Rubar’s footsteps, his face set in a grim expression as he stalked after the guard. By the time Rubar had reached the front of the room, the second guard had moved up beside him. Both men stared at Lavinia with the oddest expression on their faces as they came around the end of the table to where she was seated.

  Feeling at a decided disadvantage, Lavinia rose to her feet. “Rubar, is there something you needed?”

  Their sole response was to draw their swords—and lunge toward her with deadly intent. The tip of Rubar’s sword came within inches of her throat. Instantly she jumped back out of range but tangled up with the others at her table, all trying to scatter in the face of the determined attack.

  Musar bellowed at his senior guard to stand down as he tried to get his wife and family out of danger. “Both of you, stop! What are you doing?”

  He might as well have been spouting nonsense for all the attention the two guards paid to him. No one at the head table had worn weapons to dinner, leaving them all defenseless.

  Then a third man entered the fray. Rather than trying to get past the two guards, Duncan upturned the table to form a temporary barrier between the guards and where Lavinia and her guests stood. Food and dishes hit the ground with a crash, making the footing slippery. He then jumped the table to face off against her attackers. His first attempts to force the other two men to retreat met with only limited success.

  When Duncan blocked a blow from the second guard, his sword cut deeply into his opponent’s shoulder. The man paid no heed to his injury or the blood pouring down his sword arm. Meanwhile, Rubar kept trying to get around to where Lavinia and the others were huddled behind the table. When Rubar couldn’t break through, he turned his full attention to Duncan.

  Both men were skilled with a blade, but it was clear that Rubar was no match for his opponent. Inch by inch, Duncan forced him to retreat.

  Time slowed, heightening each detail, each sound, leaving Lavinia strangely aware of everything in the room. At the far end of the room, Sisters Margaret and Joetta were shepherding everyone they could out of the room through the kitchen. Musar’s other guards had drawn their weapons but seemed unsure whom they should be fighting as they formed up a line surrounding the trader and his people.

  The only noise in the room was the clanging of swords and Duncan’s deep voice ordering his two opponents to stand down. Rubar and his partner remained strangely silent, as if they existed only to swing their weapons.

  When Rubar slashed Duncan’s leg with a hard hit, Lavinia screamed. For his part, the scribe continued to fight, not giving an inch despite his obvious pain. Finally, when one of his opponents almost slipped past him, his attack turned lethal. In a flurry of motion too quick for the eye to follow, he
charged forward.

  When he stopped moving, the floor was awash with blood. The nameless guard was clearly dead, but Rubar still breathed. Duncan dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He lifted the wounded man’s head onto his lap, brushing Rubar’s hair back off his face with a gentle touch.

  There was real grief in Duncan’s expression as he tried to comfort the dying man.

  Rubar struggled to speak. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth as he whispered, “I couldn’t control my own hand. This I swear.”

  Duncan gripped the other man’s bloody hand in his. “You were not the one behind the attack, Rubar. Someone else wielded your sword. Your honor remains your own.”

  Lavinia knelt beside the two men, murmuring the prayers for the dead and dying. Rubar reached out to clasp her arm, soaking the sleeve of her robe with the crimson of his blood.

  “I am sorry, my lady. Forgive me. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I know, Rubar; I believe you. There is nothing to be forgiven.” She could barely choke the words out around the lump in her throat. She had seen his expression change, from battle-ready to one of horror, when Duncan’s sword had struck its mark in his flesh.

  Duncan stared down at the man, his strange eyes gleaming with the sheen of tears. “Rest in peace, my friend. May the gods welcome you into their arms.”

  The guard shuddered one last time and then lay still, his eyes open and staring into the afterlife.

  For a brief moment, Lavinia let herself grieve for the two men. After one last prayer for their souls, she pushed herself back up to her feet, doing her best to ignore the trembling in her hands and legs. How dare these men bring violence into a place of peace like the abbey! Right now, she had an injured man to see to, one who had saved her life and that of her guests.

  Once Duncan’s wounds were treated, it would be time to demand some answers. If not from him, then from her gods.

  For now, she needed to restore order. “Musar, is anyone else hurt?”