The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (12 page)

Yozef
looked up at her.
Oh, shit, maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

“I’m
sorry, Maera. Please excuse me. I didn’t mean to offer offense.”

She
said nothing, her mind a vortex of conflicting thoughts and feelings.
He’s
sorry he kissed me? Should I be offended? I didn’t give him permission for the
kiss. Am I sorry I pulled back? Does he think he has privileges with me, in
spite of our difference in station? Does he like me? Do I like him? Was it
offensive that he touched my breast? Why did it feel exciting when he did? What
am I thinking, and how am I supposed to react?

“It
is getting late. We need to be back before Diera worries, and I still have packing
to do.” With that, she began gathering up their picnic food.

“Maera,
please excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s talk about this.”

“Time
to go,” she only repeated and wouldn’t say another word, as they collected the
remains of their picnic and walked back to Carnigan, who immediately sensed something
was amiss. He scowled at Yozef, who answered with a shrug and a two-handed
motion that indicated lack of knowledge. No one spoke during the entire ride
back to the abbey.

Maera
Leaves the Abbey

Two
days later, Maera left to return to Caernford. As arranged by her father, a
carriage, a driver, and four outrider escorts had come to Abersford the previous
day. She hadn’t seen Yozef since their excursion and wondered whether he would
be present at the farewell. Considering all of the time they spent together,
his absence would be noticed by the Beynoms.

Her
feelings about the events were confused. Should she be angry at him for effrontery?
What would she say when they met again? She had no answers.

 Maera
rose early and finished packing. She traveled light, not seeing a need for too large
a wardrobe. She left with the same amount of baggage as on her arrival, balancing
presents she had brought from her family to the Beynoms with gifts from the Beynoms
to her family she was taking back. The other major item was her satchel with
notes and diagrams, mainly details of the raid and pages of observations, much
of which related to Yozef.

After
a final morning meal with the Beynoms, with baggage loaded on and in the
carriage, she made her goodbyes. The parting party was small—the Beynoms, their
two sons, several abbey brothers and sisters she had interacted with, and Yozef
Kolsko, standing to one side.

Diera
hugged her firmly. “It was wonderful you could visit this long, child. We hope
not as much time passes before we see you again.”

“Same
with me, Diera,” said Maera. “The next time Sistian travels to Caernford, you
should come with him and stay awhile.”

“I’d
like that, but no promises, since there never seems to be a time when there
aren’t a thousand things here I need to do.”

“Well,
make the time. You’re the abbess. Take advantage of it once in a while,” Maera
chided, then turned to Sistian.

The
abbot was still grumpy about how she’d slipped away without escorts or guards and
then steadfastly declined to tell him what she had done that day.

“I’m
still angry at you,” he said in a tolerant tone, spoiled by smiling and
enveloping her in his arms, her forehead buried in his beard.

When
she resurfaced, she whispered apologetically, “Sorry, Sistian, but occasionally
you need to be someone else, even if for only part of a day.”

She
then turned to Yozef, who had edged his way forward, his face impassive.

“A
pleasant journey home, Sen Keelan.”

“Thank
you, Ser Kolsko. I enjoyed our conversations and will report to my father about
all of your interesting projects.”

The
two using formal addresses had passed over the abbot’s head, but Diera’s eyes
narrowed. Had she missed something here? They’d been on a first-name basis for
the last several sixdays. It was curious.

Maera
made polite thanks and farewells to several others gathered by her carriage,
then climbed through the carriage door held open by one of her escorts. He then
remounted, and the party exited the main complex gate, turned left toward
Abersford and the road junction leading to Clengoth, and on to Caernford farther
inland.

The
farewell grouping in the courtyard dispersed to their regular lives, but it
didn’t pass a now alert abbess that as Yozef walked back toward Abersford and
his shops, he kept looking at the carriage party. Only when they were out of
sight did he stop following their progress.

Arriving
Home

The
trip back to Caernford took one long day’s travel to cover the fifty miles.
Normally, Maera would have spent the time alternately observing the countryside
and attempting to read, despite the constant jostling on the dirt roads. Not
this day. She causally noted passing terrain, but even when her head faced out
the carriage windows, her mind was processing . . . something . . . that didn’t
quite rise to full awareness. Whatever went on in her thoughts, she arrived at Keelan
Manor as if only a few hours had passed, instead of the entire day.

The
first family member she saw was Mared. Her youngest sister sat on the front
veranda, waiting to be the first to see Maera arriving so she could spread the
news. As the party turned into the approach to the manor, Mared jumped up, waved
both arms, and ran inside. By the time the carriage halted in front, Mared and
Anid, the next-youngest sister, stood at the bottom of the stairs, her mother
and father on top.

“Maera,
Maera, you’re home!” shouted Mared, rushing to hug her eldest sister the moment
one of her feet met the ground.

“Yes,
and I’m glad to see you, too,” reciprocated Maera with a hug of her own, soon
widened to include Anid—who, being four years older than Mared and considering
herself more mature, waited until both of Maera’s feet were on the ground.

“You’ve
been gone
so
long!” said Mared. “You said it would only be a six sixday
visit. It’s been
eight
sixdays!”

“Turns
out, there was more to do than I expected, but I’m glad to be home.”

With
her arms around her sisters, she climbed the stairs to her parents.

“Welcome
back, Maera,” said Breda with a twinkle, a kiss on the check, and a hug. “And
yes, we all missed you terribly. Even your father, although he might not admit
it.”

“What
do you mean, I won’t admit it?” exclaimed Hetman Keelan and enveloped his
daughter in a crushing hug. “I hadn’t realized it until your mother told me,
but this is the longest you’ve ever been away from home. I confess to all
present that I missed you. Of course, mainly for assisting me in clan affairs.”
His smile and embrace belied the last words. After another round of hugs, the
family went inside.

“Where
is Ceinwynd?” asked Maera. “Still pouting?”

The
next-oldest sister blamed Maera for their father’s cool reception to potential
Ceinwynd suitors. Statements by both parents that she was still too young did
nothing to dissuade her belief that they were waiting for the eldest daughter to
marry first. Maera suspected another reason was that her parents thought
Ceinwynd too immature for that serious step but hadn’t conveyed it convincingly
to Ceinwynd. Maera also knew Ceinwynd considered herself unattractive and
wanted a head start on getting a husband.

“Oh,
you know Ceinwynd,” said Breda. “Being put-upon by the world is her normal
condition. I forget exactly what terrible imposition we put on her today, so
she’s in her room, sulking again.”

“It’s
something to do with a new dress she insists is essential to her happiness,”
said Culich, resignedly.

“Oh,
yes, now I remember,” Breda said. “Anyway, she’ll be down for dinner, and if
the pattern holds true, she’ll be close to normal by then.”

Home,
but Not Present

Maera
outwardly resumed her routine. She ate morning meal with various combinations
of her three sisters or ate alone. When called on by her father, she helped prepare
communications to his boyermen, to other hetmen, or with whomever he corresponded.
She accompanied her mother and sisters on shopping in the city and exchanged
letters with Anarynd “Ana” Moreland, her best friend, and whose family was distantly
related to the Moreland hetman. In her rooms or the St. Tomo’s library, Maera
continued her studies of Caedellium history and books available about other
lands on Anyar and refreshed her studies of several mainland languages. She
arranged to copy several texts from St. Sidryn’s library and walked the manor
grounds. During that time, an astute observer would have noted that her walks
lasted as long as an hour or more, instead of the usual quarter to half-hour.
Breda Keelan was an astute observer.

“Have
you noticed anything about Maera since she got back?” Breda asked Culich one
evening, two sixdays after her daughter’s return.

“Noticed
what?”

“If
she’s acting different.”

“Different?”

“Yes,
different,” she said in exasperation. “Your daughter, you know, the one away at
St. Sidryn’s for over a month.”

Breda
now had her husband’s attention. His eyes focused on his wife, as he considered
the original question. “Maera acting different. I assume you mean from before
she went to St. Sidryn’s?”

“Yes,”
said Breda, looking heavenward and shaking her head.

Culich
reviewed the last few days since his daughter’s return.
Was
she acting
differently?

“Now
that you mention it, she seems a little quieter than usual.”

“And
her dress?” Breda prompted.

“Her
dress . . . her clothing . . . how she dresses, you mean?  N-o-o-o, can’t say
I’ve noticed anything.” Culich then smiled at his wife. “But I take it from the
direction of this conversation that Maera’s been acting different in several
ways, including being quieter than usual and dressing differently, I’m sure
you’ll enlighten me about details I’ve missed.”

Breda
rapped him affectionately with her hand.

“I
admit I may be imagining it, but I’d swear Maera is taking more care of her clothes
and appearance. She’s never fussed over such things, except on formal occasions
when she has to be the ‘hetman’s daughter.’”

“I’ll
take your word in matters of Maera’s clothing. Is it supposed to mean
something?”

“With
any other young woman, I might wonder if she’s taken an interest in a young
man.”

Culich
started.
Maera
? He was quiet, while he processed his wife’s intuition.
He couldn’t find anything supportive in his memory, but he had long ago learned
to listen to his wife about certain matters. His reasoning centers now took
over. If Maera was interested in a man, who would it be? If someone new, she
must have met him at St. Sidryn’s. Nothing in her letters had—

Culich’s
internal dialogue churned, making new connections.

Wait
. . . someone had been prominent. Not in her personal letters, but in her
observations and reports.

Yozef
Kolsko?

Breda
watched her husband’s face during his review. The expression “read like a book”
might not be part of the Caedelli lexicon, but it would have been appropriate
for her detecting when an idea coalesced in Culich’s mind.

“You’ve
thought of something, dear,” she prompted.

“Just
that if this happened while she was at St. Sidryn’s, there’s only one name that
comes to me. A name of someone who caught her attention, although I wouldn’t
have associated the attention with anything personal—at least, without your
original questions.”

A
light went on behind Breda’s watchful eyes. “The mysterious stranger the
Beynoms have written about? Yozef something or other?”

“That’s
the only name I can come up with. Of course, it could be someone different whom
she never mentioned, all of this assuming there is anything to this at all and
not just our imaginations.”

Breda
sat back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and stared off over
Culich’s head. He gave her the same time she had given him.

“You
may be right,” she said after a long moment. “It could fit. I’ve read you parts
of her letters to me, and I’ve seen the ones to you. What I may not have shared
with you is that at times, when referring to this Kolsko, her writing sounded
enthusiastic. For Maera, anyway. Now that I recollect her words, perhaps a bit
entranced, although she didn’t come right out with it. She wrote that he
listens to her and values her opinions and knowledge. They evidently spent many
hours together, with Maera telling him about Caedellium’s history and customs,
and he explaining his various projects to her. I guess at the time when I read
the letters, I was pleased that Maera kept busy and interested in the visit.
Now . . .”

“I
should talk to Maera about this,” said her concerned father.

“No,”
said Breda, “
I
should talk with her first.”

“You
don’t think they . . . you know?”

Breda
snorted. “You should know your daughter better than that. If anything, Maera
takes her duty to the family and clan
too
seriously. Did they bed while
she was at St. Sidryn’s? Definitely not. Whatever is going on inside Maera, however,
it’s something new for her. I’ll see if I can tease it out of her. You know your
daughter, though. If she doesn’t want to tell us something, she won’t.”

Letters

While
Maera herself wasn’t sure what she thought—or more accurately,
felt
, she
knew the departure from St. Sidryn’s had been too abrupt. If
she
had
been confused at the time, what must Yozef be thinking? She decided she wasn’t
angry at him. However, Yozef might believe her offended by his effrontery at kissing
a hetman’s daughter.

Why
had he kissed her? Did he think she’d encouraged him? She didn’t see how,
although her experience was limited, despite Ana’s fruitless attempts to teach
her the art of flirting.