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Good Hunting

  By Dorothy A. Winsor

  Copyright 2016 Dorothy A. Winsor

  Discover other titles by Dorothy A. Winsor

  "Winterturn"

  Finders Keepers

  The boy was arrogant.

  Myla had known he would be even before he arrived that morning to foster along with her at Green Valley Manor. Now she sat quietly sewing with Lady Isadia, while Kaven soaked up everyone's attention at the other end of the Hall. The stable master was once again telling the tale of whatever Kaven had done with a difficult pony when he arrived, and the stable master's little boy leaned on the bench next to Kaven, looking at him with worshipful eyes.

  Myla stabbed her needle through the cloth and tugged until the thread straightened with a twang. Let the fool preen all he liked. She knew some things he didn't. Several of them, in fact.

  "Don't pull thread so tight, Myla." Lady Isadia leaned toward Myla.

  Myla frowned at the seam she was sewing, which had puckered into little ridges. Her mother had died when she was born, and while the women of her father's household all sewed, no one had ever tried to teach Myla. She'd been happier running loose in the woods anyway, and there were days she longed to be back there. Still the invitation to live with Isadia had been an unexpected honor, and when the widow of the last chieftain offered to teach you to run a household, you didn't say no.

  Isadia sat upright again. "I'm told you took some of your remedies to my estate manager this morning. How is he?"

  "I gave him something for his aches and pains," Myla said, "but I didn't see any way to help him. He's not sick, just old. I'm sorry," she added, watching Isadia's face for any sign of anger.

  "The Forest bless him." Isadia sighed but looked unsurprised. "You've the greenest hand with herbs I've ever seen. If you can't help him, no one can."

  Myla caught herself smiling down at her stitches.

  A shout of laugher came from the other side of the busy Hall, and Myla turned to see Kaven with the little boy in a wrestling hold. The boy was squealing "No! No!" but his face was alight with glee. The stable master had gone, probably to do his nightly check on his animals.

  It was Kaven who'd laughed. He did it again now. Judging by his stiff silence at dinner, Myla wouldn't have guessed he could make that joyful sound. He still wore the frayed shirt and bright blue trousers he'd had on then. His fostering contract like hers required Isadia to clothe him, but when Isadia asked him if the clothes she'd provided fit, he'd drawn a deep breath and politely said he preferred to wear his own. Myla plucked at the narrow skirt of her gown, thinking longingly of the trousers folded in the chest in her room.

  "Kaven," Lady Isadia called, "would you come here?"

  Instantly serious, he released the boy, pushed the hair off his forehead, and wove his way between the other household members to reach them, the boy trotting in his wake like a puppy eager for another game. Kaven's gaze flicked over Myla before settling on Isadia. "Yes, lady?" His voice was deep and softer than Myla had expected, given his tall, broad-shouldered body.

  "Do you know anything about gray rot disease?" Isadia asked.

  "Yes, lady. We had it at Sweet Stream two years ago. My grandfather said the only thing to do was cut the trees down and burn them. It was a sorrow, but it couldn't be helped."

  "I need you to look at some maples on Green Valley's south edge. Last year, my manager found rot there. I want to be sure we caught it all, and he's not well enough to do it."

  "I'm happy to look." Kaven glanced at Myla, one eyebrow raised as if wanting to be sure she'd heard and was impressed. Her brother looked exactly like that when their father praised him. She deliberately looked away. Just as she'd thought--arrogant.

  The little boy dissolved in a spasm of dry coughs, making everyone swing toward him. Shuddering, he braced himself against Kaven, who murmured, "Easy."

  Myla leaped up and hovered near him until his breath settled into wheezing, then bent so her face was even with the boy's. "Have you coughed like that before?" She caressed his head, taking the chance to feel for a fever. The boy nodded.

  Isadia put a cup of hot tea to the boy's mouth. "He's been like that all spring," she said. "I've found nothing that helped. Can you do anything?"

  Myla licked her lips. The boy probably had breathstop. In adults, it was a nuisance, but in a child, it could be serious, possibly even fatal. She was almost but not quite sure she'd seen a mention of it in one of her books. She looked up to find that everyone had turned toward her. Don't be stupid, Myla, her father's voice whispered. Kaven, who knew all about gray rot, watched her appraisingly.

  "Of course," she said. "It will take time to make the remedy though."

  "Excellent!" The tension in Isadia's shoulders eased. "Myla, you are a treasure."

  "Come on, Kaven." The page grabbed Kaven's hand and dragged him away, Kaven looking back over his shoulder until their eyes met and he jerked his gaze away.

  She sat and picked up her sewing. One of her books would have something. She could do this. Stupid, Da said.