The Banished of Muirwood(110)

It was the noise of boot steps marching up the stairs to the attic that had started the dream. This is a memory. This is not real. Maia felt foggy, disoriented. She moved off the bed and went to the door, listening. It sounded like multiple men were approaching and their heavy footfalls shook the walls. Fear twisted in her stomach and she wrung her hands as she watched the door. There was a firm rap and then it opened. She wanted to wake up. She had to wake up. Something was happening. Something she could not control. She felt like a withered leaf blown into a stream, carried along by the current.

A grizzled soldier wearing the tunic of the king’s guard stood in the doorway, his jaw lined with a salty beard. “Beg your pardon, my lady. I am Rawlt. I was sent this morn by river from the palace with orders to escort you there.”

Maia blinked at him, aware of how disheveled she looked. “I do not recognize you,” she said warily. Wake up!

Rawlt shrugged. “I showed Lady Shilton the orders bearing the king’s seal. Come with me.”

She rubbed her arm. “What should I bring with me?” She heard her voice repeating the words she had said long ago. This was like being stuck in a play, on a stage full of actors.

“Just your person, my lady. I have a boat ready for us. Come along.”

“Can I brush my hair, at least? It is early.”

He frowned at her, but she ignored him and hurried to comb the tangles out of her hair. The motion brought sparks of another memory. A young man, combing her hair with such gentleness. She felt his hands smoothing through her tresses. Who was he? She did not know, but she felt an urgent need to protect him. The dread and worry that seeped around the edges of her consciousness like sticky honey was baffling. Why did she have a memory of a man touching her hair, anyway? It was her ladies-in-waiting who combed her hair. No, she had no ladies-in-waiting anymore. She was a bastard. She was banished from court.

“Are you done?” Rawlt said impatiently, then coughed into his hand.

Maia realized she had frozen. Was that part of her memory? What was real and what not? She began combing through her hair again, trying to tease out the tangles. The sky was still black outside. It was very early.

The dream carried her along, though she never lost the awareness that it was a dream. In the past, the dreams had subsumed her completely, but now part of her knew something was amiss. A nagging feeling told her she was in danger in the waking world, that someone she cared about would be hurt if she did not awaken, yet she could not shake herself from the fog.

She finished combing through her hair and then followed the soldier and his retinue down the steps. At the bottom, Lady Shilton stood waiting, wearing a nightrobe and holding a candelabra. There was a gaunt, worried look on her face. As Maia entered the hall, Lady Shilton nodded to the soldier.

“Lady Shilton?” Maia asked worriedly, hoping for more of an explanation.

“Your father summoned you in the middle of the night,” Lady Shilton said. “He has ordered for me to pretend you are still here, but . . . I think you are leaving us.”

Maia just looked at her, too surprised to say anything.

Lady Shilton bit her bottom lip. “I hope, Lady Maia, that you have enjoyed the privileges of late. The archery. The boat rides.” She swallowed, her expression very sallow and nervous. She was almost cowering. “I . . . hope you . . .” She stopped, unable to speak.

“What is it?” Maia pressed in concern. “Am I to be sent to Pent Tower?” She had an ugly vision of a headsman’s axe and felt as if a shadow had fallen over her shoulders.

“No!” Lady Shilton said soothingly. “I think . . . well, your father will want to tell you himself. Go, child. Go at once. Remember me . . . with mercy.” She shuddered and motioned for Rawlt to follow her. The three of them walked to the rear of the house, the wet grass soaking Maia’s slippers. The anxiety in her stomach was almost unbearable.

Moored alongside the river was a small skiff that could have belonged to any local fisherman. Seven soldiers had joined her and Rawlt and a ninth man was waiting at the skiff. As they approached by moonlight, she saw that there were no torches.

“Good-bye, Lady Maia,” Lady Shilton said ominously. She headed back to the manor house without a backward look and Maia followed the escort to the ship.

The man at the tiller was standing, a sturdy-looking fellow wearing dark, rugged clothing. His hands were clenched around a long mooring pole and he was leaning forward to watch them approach. When she was close enough for the moonlight to reveal his face, she saw a bluff chin, chiseled features, and a countenance etched with nicks and scars. Part of one ear was missing beneath the thatch of dark unruly hair. His eyes were light, piercing in intensity, and they were regarding her with a knowing look. Part of his mouth quirked, as if he were chuckling to himself about something.