Morgan saw that her suspicions were correct. She had never in her life seen such fine accommodations for horses. Indeed, Hearn prized his steeds greatly.
Miach waited until their guides had departed before he spoke.
"This is a very great honor," he whispered. "To trust anyone near his horses says much of his esteem for us."
"Think you?" she whispered in return.
"Kings have no doubt longed to sleep in the hayloft. I daresay a very few have, and many more have wished to but been denied the pleasure."
"Miach, I have no intention of complaining," she said, feeling a little overwhelmed by the tidings.
"You might when I snore."
"I might," she agreed, "but if it is the price I pay for such an honor, so be it."
She stretched out in the hay next to him and stared up at the ceiling. He lay down as well, then turned toward her. She could sense he was studying her by the faint light from a lantern below. Heaven only knew what he thought of her, but she found that whatever it was, it didn't trouble her.
But in time it did begin to annoy her. She turned her head to look at him.
"What?"
"You said you could wield a sword at ten summers," he said. "How did that happen?"
"If I tell you," she said, "will you shut up and sleep?"
He laughed. "Aye, I might."
She found that she enjoyed his laugh. It was full of sunshine and good humor, much like Nicholas's. It occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she had known few who laughed.
Well, perhaps that wasn't completely true. Paien laughed. Camid chortled evilly when the mood was upon him. Glines managed the odd snort of humor when he wasn't watching her with sad, longing eyes. But a man chuckling with simple delight? Nay, she knew few of those.
It was the laugh that disarmed her. To her surprise, she found herself hardly hesitating before she began spewing out details of her past that she had not seen fit to share even with Paien.
"I have few memories of my parents," she said slowly. "I think I had siblings, though I cannot say for certain." Indeed, she remembered little; what she did remember was dark and she did not like to dwell on it. "I suppose my earliest true memories are of the mercenaries who took me in."
"How old were you?"
"Six, I think."
"A scrawny, feisty slip of a girl?" he asked.
"How did you know?"
"You haven't changed much."
She looked at him coolly. "I daresay you haven't nearly enough respect for my skill."
"I'm relying on your mercy instead," he said solemnly. "So, these altruistic lads took you in and then what? Trained you to be the terrifying warrior you are today?"
"Nay, they taught me to steal whatever I could, lie whenever I spoke, and portray myself as a helpless child before I killed whomever they told me to."
Miach's mouth fell open. He leaned up on one elbow. "You jest."
"I do not."
"But that is not who you are today."
"Are you so certain?"
