The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  “Oh, I am curious. I’d love to know, of course. My modor says a true friend will consider the needs of the weaker person above his own. Dove is obviously the weaker person so…”

  “Well if that isn’t logical, I don’t know what is.”

  Philip wasn’t looking at Peter and didn’t hear what the man said. Something in the way Broðor Clarke shuffled his feet and crossed his arms had arrested Philip’s attention. “You know, don’t you?”

  Broðor Clarke shook his head. “I do not know, but I suspect.”

  “Is Bertha right? Should Dove stay cloaked, or is Bertha scaring Dove for no good reason?” The fire in Philip’s words showed his unmitigated loyalty to his little friend.

  “I understand Bertha’s fear and respect her decision. It isn’t the one I’d make, but I have Scripture as my guide. I see things through the Lord’s opinion of Dove and her…” Broðor Clarke struggled for the correct word. “Condition.”

  “And what is the Lord’s opinion of Dove?” All thoughts of battle and intrigue were gone from Philip’s mind.

  “That she is fearfully and wonderfully made. She is exactly how the Lord wants her. If she was my daughter, I would want her to show herself to the world as evidence of an amazingly powerful and unique Creator.”

  “But you understand Bertha’s orders.” Philip now stood facing Broðor Clarke. His feet were planted on the ground shoulder width, and his arms crossed against his chest as though immovable until he knew all.

  “I do. This part of England is still steeped in superstition and false gods. We’ve nearly managed to be almost entirely cut off from the influence of Christianity. When I went to study with the priests in Ireland, I was amazed at how thoroughly that country has been immersed in Christianity.”

  “They don’t worship the false gods like people here do?”

  “Oh there are always some— there are some everywhere. Unlike here, the Church was predominant where I went. Here there are so many who cling to some of the ancient Druidic beliefs.”

  “You’ve done wonders with the village, Broðor Clarke. You know that.” Peter wasn’t a devout man, but he’d been slowly convinced to give up his pagan superstitions the longer he listened to the sermons that Broðor Clarke gave each week.

  “Most of England has ignored our area for so long that we’ve escaped the corruption of the church here, but we’ve also escaped the positive influences of Christianity here. When people come to visit the castle, they are surprised that there aren’t morning and evening prayers, there isn’t a chapel, and Lord Morgan doesn’t have a Chaplain to lead his household in daily prayers. The knights don’t have a place for their entry rites… it is truly a unique area we inhabit.”

  Philip listened fascinated at all Broðor Clarke had to say. “But Broðor Clarke, isn’t it your responsibility to convert as many people to the church as possible?”

  “It is my responsibility to introduce everyone I can to the Lord. The church grows because of the introduction, but I am not trying to create a larger church. I am trying to plant the seeds of the Gospel so that the Lord has a harvest.”

  When Broðor Clarke became poetical in his speech, Philip usually grew frustrated and ended the conversation, but this time he persisted. “Are you saying that Wynnewood is backward? Our people are stuck in old traditions and superstitions that the rest of the country has learned are silly and have replaced with more advanced ideas?”

  “Well, to one extent, yes. Religiously speaking, this area is still a strongly pagan oriented culture. On the other hand, in other ways, we’re much more advanced.”

  “For instance?” Peter was now interested in the topic.

  “Lord Morgan’s use of running water through the moat. It keeps the waste from fouling the air. Our villagers wash more and keep the village cleaner than many places would. Bertha is good about that. Even with her superstitions and her false gods, she is wise and knows how to keep people healthy.”

  “Is that why you understand her restrictions on Dove?” Without realizing it, Philip had returned the discussion to its origin.

  “Yes. I believe that along with Bertha’s concerns about superstition and fear, she is protecting Dove’s health as well.”

  “Then I will encourage Dove to continue to conceal herself for as long as I can.”

  Peter saw one of the knights of the castle striding across the target range toward his cottage. “And I’ll protect the castle as long as my men,” he glanced at Philip meaningfully, “and boy, listen to me. Now you go practice shooting or your lessons or something. I have strategy to consider.”

  “Then he sent me away.”

  “Broðor Clarke thinks that Bertha is right to cover me for my health, but that my appearance is evidence of God’s creative abilities?”

  Dove cared little for battle plans and theories once she heard that Broðor Clarke thought he knew her secret. Instinctively, she knew he was probably correct. Various emotions fought for preeminence until finally, she jumped to her feet and brushed the grass from her cloak. “I do not like thinking about it. So what did you learn about our theories?”

  “While I was telling them about what we decided, I realized they couldn’t answer the question. It might give away their strategy. I did think of something, though.”

  “What?” Dove sounded strange.

  “Well, the tunnel. What if the kidnappers told Lady de Clare’s people about it? What if they enter the castle that way?”

  “Surely they’ve prepared for that possibility…”

  “Well, if for some crazy reason they didn’t think of it, they know now. “

  The sounds of the chimes caused Dove’s shoulders to droop. “Bertha is sick. I need to go help her. We should go explore that tunnel tonight. There is still enough moon…”

  Philip nodded. “Wear your gray cloak instead. It won’t show as much.”

  Dove flew through the trees toward the cottage. Philip started toward the fletcher’s cottage when an idea struck him. Instead, he walked slowly through the trees giving Dove time to arrive and help Bertha before he broke through the clearing. Just as he reached the door, Bertha’s voice, raspy with illness, reached his ears.

  “If he knows about you, he’ll tell. All men are thoughtless and liars. You stay away from him, do you understand me?”

  Philip expected to hear Dove’s protest, but the girl said nothing. As he waited for an angry explosion, he realized that Dove must have nodded in agreement. Fury flooded his heart. How dare that heathen woman poison Dove against such a good man as Broðor Clarke!

  “You think he’ll tell Philip?”

  “If he hasn’t already. The boy is probably hiding it from you.”

  “Then he is a true friend.”

  “I don’t understand you. How can you say that?”

  “Well,” Dove explained her voice patient even to Philip’s critical ears. “If Philip knew and was hiding it, that would mean he’s still willing to be my friend even knowing about me. That is a true friend. If he could know Broðor Clarke’s theory and chose not to ask, he is a true friend for refusing to listen to someone as wise and influential as the Broðor.”

  Philip turned and strolled thoughtfully through the trees, across the clearing, and down the road to Wynnewood village. Una needed more water and wood, and he needed a good meal before nightfall. He forgot that he’d followed Dove home for a reason—he forgot the reason. He would regret that.

  Chapter 20

  Danger & Adventure

  Moonlight streamed through the trees, but because of the density of the forest, did little to light Philip’s way to the tunnels to the east of the castle. Unfamiliar with that section of the woods, he stumbled his way over the hill, through the trees, and finally crept up to the mound of rocks—probably a leftover druidic altar—that the kidnappers had squeezed her through all those weeks ago. He hadn’t been positive that he’d find his way back, but here he stood, glancing around in the darkness for a glimpse of his little friend
.

  Friend. At that moment, Philip realized how strange it was to have befriended Dove. For one thing, Dove was a girl. Although his mother always assured him that someday he’d see that there were good things about girls, he’d never been sure he believed her. Girls were tiresome things that loved to tattle when you did anything remotely questionable, didn’t like hunting or fishing, and didn’t like playing the more active games that Philip and his friends played. Only little Ellie had been the exception, and Philip often thought she just hadn’t gotten old enough to be obnoxious. His friends’ little sisters were all incredibly tiresome—especially Angus’ sister, Letty, with her crazy ideas.

  If that wasn’t enough, she was nine— still just a little girl. How had he made friends with such a child? It was a wonder that the other boys hadn’t laughed him out of their little band of fun. They rarely asked about her, but even when they did, they seemed to take it for granted that she was a part of his life now and that was just how it was going to be.

  She was also a social outcast. Although this would always ensure a generic sense of compassion, it wasn’t the way to guarantee his own public acceptance. He wasn’t a shallow lad, but Philip didn’t intend to spend his life looking from the outside into everyone else’s lives. He intended to be a part of them; and though he couldn’t expect to be a frequent guest of Lord Morgan or his knights, he didn’t expect to hide behind walls of taverns to hear what other people in the village said and did.

  The touch of Dove’s hand on his arm made him jump. He clamped his own hand over his mouth in an attempt to squelch the yelp that forced its way up his throat involuntarily. “Don’t sneak up on people,” he hissed in the general direction of her hood. “I almost gave us away.”

  “I thought you saw me. You shook your head at me.” Dove’s quiet voice sounded confused.

  “I didn’t see you. I must have been looking around or something.” He felt foolish. There was no reason to be short with her just because he was feeling unsettled. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

  “Well, I should be sorry for startling you! I could have ruined my idea.”

  He looked at her curiously. “What idea?”

  “I think we should sneak into the castle, up into Lady Aurelia’s room, and take one of her silk scarves. We could give it to Peter tomorrow to show that if we can do it, anyone could.”

  It sounded delightful. Her idea had the perfect blend of challenge, danger, and however remote, the possibility of besting the adults at their own game. Maybe they’d see he wasn’t just a boy anymore if he won this round. “Do you have a plan?” He hardly paused before rushing on again. “Because if you don’t, I just thought—”

  “Well, you tell me your idea, and if it’s better than mine, we won’t waste our time with mine.”

  Too excited at the idea to recognize the trace of condescension in her voice, Philip plunged into his rapidly developing scheme. “You see, we sneak in through the tunnel— I’ll pull my tunic up over my mouth to help muffle my breathing, and you have your hood. We’ll cover our feet in rags—”

  “Where will we get the rags?”

  Philip thought quickly. That wasn’t going to be easy. It was one thing to see the wisdom in muffling their footsteps, but another to do it. “I’ll run to the stables and grab a few of the rags they use to wipe down the field horses.”

  Dove nodded for him to continue. “And then?”

  “We sneak through the tunnel. Very slowly of course, and when we get to that big door you told me about, we feel around the room to make sure there aren’t smaller quieter doors. Just in case, I’ll grab some tallow from the stables too. We can rub it on the hinges before we try to open the door.”

  “What if there are guards outside the door?”

  “We throw something through the crack to distract them?” Philip sounded less confident of his plan now.

  “I think it will work, but I think we should also make sure that none of the rooms off the tunnel have entrances to the castle. Perhaps there are secret passages in there that people have forgotten.”

  “That would work, but we have no idea of where they’d come out. We could open the door right into Lady de Clare’s room for all we know.”

  “True. We should not risk that. You’re very clever, Philip. I would have been likely to try the more obscure passage to avoid an obvious guard, which probably would have ensured the failure of our plan.”

  All Philip’s previous uncertainties about his friendship with Dove were all but forgotten. Mollified by her blatant admiration of his forethought, Philip’s previous tension and angst were replaced with his usual good humor and kindness. “Well, it’s a good idea for if the guards are in front of the big door. It’d be better than giving up altogether,” he conceded magnanimously. A glance at the moon slipping behind a cloud told him it was time to go. “I’d better get those rags and that tallow while I won’t have shadows following me. I’ll be back. If you hear anyone approaching, from outside or inside, make a noise so I’ll know.”

  “What noise!”

  “Screech like an owl, whinny like a horse, yowl like a cat. I don’t know!” His whisper reached nearly talking levels.

  “Ok, I’ll do whichever of those fit. No, I’ll do a dove. I can make that sound the most realistic.”

  Without an answer, Philip dashed along the woods, around the south side of the castle, to the entrance near the southwest corner. There, close to the wall, the farm stables were accessible through a small gate. By itself, it was too small for the average man to crawl under, but Philip, with a little digging (and much thankfulness for recent rain), could squeeze under the gate and slip in through the side door. He found a bin of old rags, a crock of tallow, and scooped a small handful into one of the rags. Pushing the rags ahead of him, he crept from the room, relieved he hadn’t disturbed the horses.

  The moon was retreating from its safe place behind the clouds just as Philip reached the entrance to the tunnel. Dove bounced excitedly as he handed her rags and told her to wrap her feet well. “This is going to be so much fun. Do you think we can do it? Will Lord Morgan be angry?”

  “Peter might be angry, but I think Lord Morgan will understand. He seems to remember what it was like to be a boy when no one thinks you have anything worthwhile to contribute.”

  “Well I’m not a boy. Maybe that’s why I do have something worthwhile to contribute,” Dove teased quietly as she stood and tested her knots on the rags. “I think that will stay.”

  “Did you wrap it as much as you can? You don’t want a rock to get through them unexpectedly. It’d be hard not to cry out.”

  “I did. It took me a minute to work out how to tie them—”

  “Well then, tie mine because I can’t make this work at all.” His words would have been rude and harsh had not the jocular tone softened them.

  She tied the last knot, tested it, and then stood offering her hand. Philip took it and stood staring at the tiny little fingers all white in the moonlight. Her hand seemed smaller than the last time— then he remembered. He’d never seen her hand, just felt it on occasion as he grabbed her to pull her along more quickly.

  Suddenly, he doubted their scheme. If something went wrong, one or both of them could get hurt. Lady de Clare’s men could be waiting in the tunnel already. They could be preparing to siege at any moment. What they might do to two children who discovered their plan wasn’t something he wanted to ponder. His duty as a boy— a man even— and a Christian forbade him from putting a child in harm’s way. Jesus Himself had said it’d be better to have a millstone put around his neck and be tossed into the ocean.

  He couldn’t let her go in; but how could he stop her? Philip was in a quandary. Dove would never listen to him. She wanted this just as badly as he did. “Ok, this is what we need to do. I’m going to go in, scout around; you understand, make sure no one is in there. If they are, one of us needs to be able to run for help, so you stay here. Then, if something happens, I’ll shout so you know t
o run for Peter.”

  “I think I should go in. I frighten them. If I go in, they’re more likely to give me time to escape out of sheer terror. If that fails, you’re faster than I am and know the grounds better. I’ll go in, you stay here.”

  He knew he could never let that happen. There was no way he’d let her set foot into that tunnel alone. They’d both have to go, or she’d create such a ruckus that any chance of success would fail. “I have a better idea. I’ll creep in. You start ten feet behind me—”

  “No, I’ll creep in. I hide easier in this cloak anyway. Remember, you’re the one who needs to get out quickest. My terrifyingness is going to come in handy tonight. Perhaps Broðor Clarke was correct. I am a testimony of God’s creativity! I can scare people into letting me foil their plans!”

  Knowing there was little else he could do, Philip nodded and gently pushed her toward the entrance of the tunnel. “I’ll count to ten and then follow,” he whispered as she disappeared into the darkness.

  Their movements were exaggerated in their attempts to be quiet and stealthy. Anyone watching would have found it difficult not to laugh. Dove, being naturally graceful, was a little less comical; but poor Philip looked like an actor from the Orient, with his exaggerated steps and frequent flattening of himself against the tunnel walls. Occasionally, rats scurried around their feet making Philip irritated and making Dove jump.

  Twice, Dove stopped to listen, her hearing being more sensitive than Philip’s, and each time he bumped into the back of her with a soft, “oomph.” The second time he whispered into her hood, “Why do you keep stopping like that?”

  “Because I keep thinking I hear footsteps,” she retorted, cupping her hands around his ear as she whispered her answer.

  “They’re probably mine.”

  This, she couldn’t argue with, and as a result, twice she hesitated, and then forced herself to keep walking despite being sure she’d heard something behind her besides Philip’s movements. The first time, she discovered the sound was that of a cat jumping to catch one of the rats. Stepping around the cat and its prey, she slipped back into her nearly silent, but exaggerated movements and continued up the slope toward the entrance to the castle.