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grumbled, “I don’t remember any drawings of trees.”
    â€œAre you sure?” She reached a hand to his arm.
    Aidan didn’t know any books but the Psalter by heart, and some had illumination so complex the pages could be studied for hours and still reveal surprises. Plus there were plenty of volumes in the scriptorium he’d never touched.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I’m not sure at all. There could be. Why?”
    A crafty light crossed her face, but she shook her head. “I just wondered. Thank you for showing me. Now you’d better tell me your rules again. I don’t want you to get into trouble over me. I’m used to it, but you’re not. I can tell.”
    Feeling somehow insulted, though sure she hadn’t meant it, Aidan replied, “Brother Galen is probably wondering where we are. Just do exactly what he says and stay in the kitchen or the yard right outside it. I’ll come get you before the Hour of Compline tonight and tell you the rest—again—then.”
    She ignored his emphasis. “Will he give me something to eat, do you think?”
    â€œAsk him,” Aidan said, wincing at the pinched hope in
her face. “I’m sure he will. But don’t speak to anyone else unless they speak to you first. Please.”
    â€œJust you?”
    â€œYes.” A few steps later, he added, “And I speak to you too much. I’ve got to stop.”
    They hurried the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence.

VI
    â€œY ou neglected to see me after instructions,” said Brother Nathan. He need not have bothered. Aidan had realized his error the moment the hawkish monk had hailed him from outside the scriptorium. He had been hurrying toward it after leaving Lana to her taskmaster, hoping he wasn’t too late for a calligraphy lesson that morning. The chance to practice on a waxed wooden tablet was often the best part of his day.
    At Nathan’s call, Aidan had cringed, the memory of the monk’s earlier request flooding back. He’d approached the scriptorium’s master with his feet dragging. Brother Nathan’s precise and unforgiving nine had whined at him the whole way.
    â€œI forgot,” Aidan groaned, dropping his gaze to the senior monk’s hem and feeling his heart sink even lower. “Can you forgive my stupidity? I was so surprised by the abbot’s instructions, I did not remember your request.”
Aidan wondered if Brother Nathan, who knew Aidan had witnessed Lana’s arrival, had played any role in that surprise.
    If so, the older monk did not let a trace of amusement or understanding cross his face. “Your assignment,” he said. “Yes. Well, I had an errand for you. But perhaps you’ve been burdened enough.”
    â€œSomething for the scriptorium?” Aidan asked, unable to keep his eyes down or his voice from leaping in hope. It was exhilarating to know that Brother Nathan had even thought of him. Until now only a few younger scribes had deigned to encourage his interest. Aidan added, “I would still serve you, if I may.”
    Brother Nathan regarded him coolly. Aidan pressed his lips together and looked down again, resenting his own impulse to grovel.
    â€œYou no longer have time before our next prayers.”
    Hoping it would not sound like argument, Aidan ventured, “Is it something I might do following supper instead?” The hour after the midday meal was the monks’ only free time, a rare chance to nap, enjoy a game of quoits, or listen to someone playing a pipe. He might regret giving it up.
    By the time Nathan spoke again, Aidan was expecting a reprimand. His ears took an instant to confirm what sounded like a question.

    â€œPerhaps. You roamed near here as a boy, did you not?”
    Aidan nodded warily. He’d driven his father’s cattle to summer pastures, played along the banks of the river, and hunted in the woods with his brothers and