The Healer's Legacy (10 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Mayet stared at the embroidery in her lap, toying with the stitching. Milos could make her eat with these people, but he couldn’t force her to be social with them. Aside from the special foods, it hadn’t been much of a Fall Turn feast anyway. When she’d been a girl in her father’s hold there had been dancing at even the least special occasions, dancing and courting. She glanced over at Milos.

He was still speaking with the strange dark-haired woman in tattered garments. What was he up to now? Was he smiling? Since his brother’s death the man never smiled. A momentary sorrow pulled at her heart, then anger swept over her. How could Kamar have left her in such a state? No money, no property of her own. Left to be cared for by his inept brother who had no lordly skills. A man who would let the people rule themselves. While she and her children were expected to treat commoners as equals. Worst of all, with his new policies, he’d slowly been eating away at Mayet’s domain, charging others with the duties of managing the household’s daily business. He’d even given over the run of the entire kitchen to that brash hag, Brilissa. Not that Mayet had ever cared about counting sacks of flour, but she no longer had the control over the servants she’d once enjoyed. Not that she couldn’t still put them in their places, but their deference to her was no longer the appropriate show of respect for their better, but obvious patronizing placation. She clutched at her sewing, twisting the small embroidery frame till it snapped. She froze.

Loosening her grip on the broken frame, she thrust her anger down. It would be unseemly to display her emotions where others could see. She smoothed her skirts and straightened her shoulders, glancing around to see who might be watching her. Farmers and servants sat talking and drinking while their brats chased one another on the dais. She should be sitting at table upon that dais with Milos, her children beside her, not down here on the main floor among the peasantry. If Kamar were alive, she’d have her rightful place, and her son would be heir to Tem Hold and all its lands. But all that had been stolen from her. Now, Tem Hold’s place of honor sat vacant except on the rarest of occasions.

She pasted a tolerant smile on her lips. She must bide her time. Milos would see things her way once they were wed. She would see to it. He’d soon take her as his bride and restore her to her lawful place as Lady of the Hold. There were no other women who were worthy of the station his title would provide. She toyed with the gold signet ring on her left hand. The Tem family crest shone against her skin. The symbol of her true place. It was only a matter of time before Milos would see that she was the only woman fit to be his wife. She need only find a way to stir the flame in him.

He hadn’t sought out the company of any woman since his brother’s death, despite that he’d earned a reputation for romantic dalliances before taking over the responsibilities of Tem Hold. She pulled her needle and thread deftly through the heavy fabric. It was only a matter of time before a man’s hunger for a woman’s touch would drive him to seek companionship. No proper man could remain unwed forever, especially one as young and virile as Milos. She needed to win him before he began thinking of one of those women he’d courted in the past. Courted? A fine and civil word for the gallivanting of a young man. Holding her needlework up to the light, she stared beyond it to where Milos sat.

Why was he still speaking to that barbarous female? What could he possibly find interesting about her? Disgusting. Where were her tresses? She barely had any hair on her head and her skin was so pale. And what kind of woman wore breeches? No man could be attracted to that.

Look at her sitting there, eating like a meticulous cat. How obvious could she be? Mayet clasped her hands together in angry frustration. Could that strumpet really think that Tem’s Holder would want anything from someone like her? She was clearly low-born and base. Mayet heard a tittering laugh and realized she’d been staring. She glanced around to see who was laughing at her, but no one appeared to be taking any notice.

How dare they! They should be paying her compliments and seeing to her needs, waiting on her requests. Instead they sat about her hall and ignored her. She would put an end to their lack of respect one day. All she needed was to show Milos what she could offer him. It wasn’t as if it were unheard of for a man to wed his brother’s widow.

Perhaps I should begin taking more notice of his views and policies, she thought, become more involved with running the hold. If she showed him she was open to discussing his plans, shared some of his interests, he would see that they were meant to rule together. And she could temper his more drastic ideas, like his program for land sharing and the ridiculous notion that these peasants should have some say in the way they’re ruled. She stroked the sleeves of her gown, brushing up the fine velvet nap. I’ve waited long enough, she thought. If he was too thick to see they belonged together, then she would have to find some way to show him. Wild horses must be caught to be broken.

She turned toward the holder, a smile on her lips, and stiffened. He seemed to be coming to some sort of agreement with that terrible woman. What could he possibly want of her? Mayet watched in horror as he slapped the table with his open hand. A bargain? Her face grew hot. There was no way she would allow that horrid creature to profit from a bargain made with Milos. Mayet clutched at her sewing. She would have to get rid of the slattern.

She shot an angry look in the direction of the main table. That mangy stable hand is waiting on the wretch. He probably knows what kind of bargain Milos has made. What was it they called him? Karl? Larl? No matter. Tratine would know. She could always count on her son. Such a sweet boy. He’d do anything she asked.

* * *

Mayet rose early the next morning, a plan taking shape in her mind. It seemed unnatural to awaken with the household servants rather than lie abed being waited on, but she had work to do. She donned a pale gold chemise and a red velvet overdress, lacing the bodice tight. She still had her figure, she thought contentedly, running her hands down to where the skirts flared out at her hips. And the crimson of the dress would set off her dark hair and eyes.

She found Milos working on some documents in his library. She knew he used the room to maintain a bit of privacy, but soon the hold would belong to both of them and he would have no need of privacy from her.

She paused before the door, pinching her cheeks to bring them a blush of color, and swept gracefully into the room. He was surprised to see her, but she was sure she saw admiration in his eyes when she gave him her most charming smile.

“Mayet. What are you doing here?”

“I simply wanted to see you, Milos. We spend so little time together.”

“I’m busy at the moment.” He gestured at the stack of parchment before him.

“Perhaps I might help you,” she offered.

“As I recall your Lady’s training did not include much in the way of letters and sums,” he said.

She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off.

“In addition to supplying the hold with fresh game, the new hunter will tutor Tratine and Milvari.”

“Milvari has more than enough skill at reading for a proper Lady and I don’t want Tratine to spend a single moment with that creature.” Mayet patted at her freshly coifed hair. At least that kitchen girl was good for something, she thought, turning coyly away from Milos to admire herself in the mirror.

“Tratine needs scholarly learning and the discipline of daily lessons,” Milos said, his jaw tightening. “And there is nothing improper about learning. I believe Milvari has a talent for it. A lady, as well as a lord, should learn to read and write properly.”

“But Milos, that woman! She isn’t fit to tutor my children.”

“You know nothing about her,” Milos replied flatly.

Mayet watched his reflection in the corner of the mirror. Sitting behind her, he had his elbow propped on the table, chin resting on his fist, a large pile of papers set before him. He was a muscular man, more fine boned than his brother had been, but his face was careworn. She turned toward him. “Nor do you. I can see what she is.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I know,” Milos warned.

Mayet could see the tension rising in him and heard the veiled anger behind his words. “But Milos,” she said in her sweetest voice. “You can continue to teach the children, can’t you? There isn’t anything they need to learn that you don’t know well enough to teach.”

“I am too busy to tutor anyone, Mayet. I haven’t had the time to spend with Tratine and Milvari for several moons, as you well know.”

“If you would just make those farmers do their own work, you’d have plenty of time.” She realized her mistake before her words faded.

“I am still holder here, and I, not you, will decide how best to fulfill my responsibilities.”

Mayet tilted her head to the side and gave him a winning smile. “But, Milos—”

“I am done speaking on it. The hunter will teach the children, and you will see to your own . . . duties.”

The way he nearly spat the last word at her was insulting. As if correcting the servants all day, trying to teach them to behave properly was nothing, but Mayet held her tongue. They’d argued in the past, but he’d never before lost patience with her so quickly. She nodded once curtly, then grabbed up her skirts and left the room. See to my own duties, indeed! As if I were allowed to run this hold as I should, she thought. He might think this was settled, but she was not finished with it yet. What this hold needed was a good cleansing.

* * *

The fire blazed brightly, pushing the night’s gloom into the far corners of the sitting room. “Come and sit by the fire with me, Tratine,” Mayet crooned. “Tell me everything you’ve done today.” She smiled up at him as he crossed the room.

Tratine sat on the cushions at her feet, and leaned against her legs. Mayet stroked his fine hair. It was comforting to have him near. “You’ve grown so these past few seasons,” she said. “Soon you’ll be as tall as your father was.”

“Taller,” he said. “You always say I’ll be taller. Like the men in your family, Mother. Right?”

“Yes, my dear. Much taller.” She stared into the fire as she ran her fingers through his hair. The warmth of the flames filled the room and she shrugged her shawl off her shoulders. “Tratine.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Your Uncle is suggesting that you take lessons from that strange woman who arrived at the hold two days ago.”

“What kind of lessons?”

“Reading and writing, I believe he said. Though I should think he could teach you himself, he claims he’s too busy to do so,”

“Reading and writing?” he whined. “Why should I take schooling from a hunter?”

“Hunter?”

“Yes, Mother, that’s what they call her. The Hunter.”

“What else do you know of this hunter?”

“I heard she killed a rock troll!” Tratine said excitedly.

Mayet snorted. “A troll? Do you really believe that?”

“Well, Harl says—” Tratine tilted his head up toward her.

“Harl? The stable boy?”

“Yes.”

“And what have I told you about listening to the tales of your lessers?”

“Always listen, but never believe without proof,” he said in a low voice.

“Do you have any proof?”

“Harl showed me a piece of the troll’s claw. It was sharp as a knife and black as night.” There was admiration in his tone.

“How do you know it was a troll’s claw?” Mayet asked sharply. “Have you ever seen one before?”

“You know I haven’t.” His voice cracked and his shoulders slumped.

Mayet rubbed the back of his neck, gently kneading the pudgy flesh. “Tratine, I’m not bullying you. I’m only trying to teach you what you need to know to be a proper holder.”

“But Mother,” he whined, then stopped. “Yes, of course,” he corrected himself. “But I’m not a holder, Mother.” His tone had become sulky.

“You will be one day,” she assured him. “You are the heir to Tem Hold.”

“But what about when Uncle Milos marries? If he has a son, I will be only a cousin to the true heir.”

Mayet sat up sharply. Her fingers dug into his neck. “What do you mean, when your uncle marries? Do you know something, Tratine?”

“Ow! You’re hurting me!”

She let go. “Mother didn’t mean to hurt you, my dear,” she crooned. “But if you know something about your uncle, if he has plans, you need to tell me.”

“I don’t know anything,” he said. “I was just asking.”

“Then what made you ask such a question?”

“I was just thinking, wondering, what I would do if I wasn’t to become a holder.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that much longer, Tray.” Using her pet name for him made her smile. As a baby, he’d swung from one title to the other, between using Mama and Mayet, and had finally called her May. In return she’d called him Tray and the name had stuck. Only recently he’d asked her not to use that name in front of anyone. “I’m not a little boy anymore, Mother,” he’d said. “The other men will have no respect for me if they hear you call me that!”