He smiled briefly. "I may be helpless with a sword, but I read men's hearts very well. What happened to make you change your ways?"
"I began my courses and they deposited me on the steps of an orphanage. The cowards fled without a backward glance."
Miach laughed softly. "That would do it, I suppose. Where was the orphanage?"
"At Lismòr, on the southern shore of Melksham."
Miach frowned thoughtfully. "Isn't there a university there as well?"
"There is."
"But I thought it was only for men," he said. "Was not the orphanage the same?"
Morgan nodded solemnly. "Aye, but they thought I was a lad, at first. At least the headmaster of the lads did. I suspect now, looking back on it, that the lord of Lismòr, Nicholas, knew from the start what I was." She sighed deeply at the memory. "He was kind to me when I did not deserve it. Then again, he has a tender heart."
"Surely his lady wife was there as well, was she not?" Miach asked. "To oversee, um, womanly things?"
Morgan shook her head. "I think 'tis common knowledge, so I'm not telling you something you couldn't hear at a local tavern, but his wife and children were slain in a terrible accident. He does not speak of it often, but I know it grieves him even to this day."
Miach winced. "I pity him, then."
"Aye, perhaps you should, because he lost all his sons. On the other hand, there are dozens of lads whom he raised to be good men because of his loss, so perhaps it was not in vain."
"Many lads and one lass," Miach said with a faint smile.
"Aye," Morgan agreed.
"So, how did you fare amongst all these lads and away from your mercenary ways?"
"Terribly at first," she admitted. "I almost cut Lord Nicholas's cook to ribbons for not allowing me extra salt for my stew and I ruined Nicholas's flower garden that first year by beating off all the heads of his blossoms with a stick whilst pretending that they were my training partners."
"Poor man," Miach said with a laugh. "What did he do to save his subsequent blooms?"
"Had a sword made for me and acquired a garrison for himself."
"What an interesting addition for an orphanage."
"He was desperate."
Miach smiled. "He must have cared for you a good deal."
Morgan rubbed her eyes, not because she was weary but they burned suddenly. Damned tears. She'd been plagued with them since she first touched that terrible blade. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. "It is late," she said briskly. "I think I am overtired."
"Of course," Miach said quietly. He fell silent for quite some time. "Thank you for trusting me with your tale."
"Don't babble it about," she said, turning to look at him severely.
"I am a keeper of many secrets," he said simply. "I will keep yours as well. "
I am the keeper of many secrets. Morgan had to think about that for quite some time, but she realized finally that Nicholas had said the same thing to her. She frowned. She could only hope that Miach wouldn't present her with something he needed taken to Neroche. At least it wouldn't be slathered with magic. She considered her memory of him changing out of a hawk's shape and decided she had imagined it. Perhaps a hawk had been there, then flown away as Miach had walked into the clearing. That was possible and quite a bit more likely.
She settled herself more comfortably, breathed deeply of the good, earthy stable smells, then put her hand on her sword.
She tell asleep as easily as it she'd been on that comfortable goose-feather bed in Lismòr.
Chapter Eleven
Miach reached in a dipper and tasted the water from Hearn of Angesand's well. He'd tasted worse. He had also tasted quite a bit better. It would have helped if he'd had something to work with initially.
