The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  Not knowing what else to do, she pulled Aurelia’s head next to hers, and whispered the story of Noah and his Great Ark. “A very long time ago, some hundreds or thousands of years after the great God, I Am, created this world; a man named Noah lived…”

  Chapter 22

  Prisoner

  The stone walls were cold, damp, and miserable. Philip had been tossed into a windowless cell in the upper rooms of the keep, and his elbow still smarted where the skin had been scraped. He noticed a significant shift in the atmosphere about the castle and wondered about it. When he and Dove had encountered Wydo on their quest to find Peter, the courtyard and gatehouse had seemed anticipatory— even eager. However, now it felt foreboding— dangerous. Tension fairly crackled in the dank air of the cell. He wondered at the slime on the walls and finally concluded that there was a leak in the roof, allowing water to seep into the room.

  The guard would be back once he’d awakened his superior. Philip had little confidence that the guard would report his capture to Henry, the Commander of Wynnewood Castle. His age was the only thing on his side. For now, his task was to devise a truthful and credible story about why he was prowling the castle in the middle of the night. He had to be prepared to act fearful— even cowardly. The thought galled him.

  Anxiety for Lady Aurelia’s welfare would be believable. He’d already shown his outrage at the way the child was treated. There would be no lie in expressing his concern that the child was given the opportunity to sleep in her bed and with a warmer at her feet if she needed it. They would question the veracity of his statements regardless of what he said, but if he spoke only truth, the likelihood of them believing him was much greater. He should duck when he answered as though fearful of being struck. Bile churned in his stomach at the idea. He wanted to stand proud and take whatever punishment they deemed appropriate like a man. He wanted Lord Morgan to be proud—

  Sighing, Philip covered his head with his hands. Something exciting was going on in the courtyard. He could sense it. Were they battling raiders from Bramburg Castle? Who had the advantage? Did Dove find Lady Aurelia in time to drag her to the hidden chamber? Had Lady de Clare left the child in her own bed, or was she in the great hall? The great hall meant an impossible task, and Philip knew it. The invaders could try to hold her life in exchange for the castle. If Lord Morgan was defeated, the castle and the inhabitants of the village would be under the enemy’s control. Lord Morgan had a duty to everyone to prevent that from happening, but in doing so, could endanger his child’s life.

  Philip remembered Lady de Clare’s revulsion to being near the “common people” and prayed that it meant she’d resist leaving Aurelia in the great hall. That one decision could determine their position. Whatever happened, the child must not be left at the mercy of those who contrived to capture the castle.

  Time dragged by so slowly, Philip was certain he’d been incarcerated for an hour before the guard returned. The cell door creaked as it swung on its hinges before slamming against the stone walls. The noise echoed through the room, and the pain was excruciating. A torch nearly blinded him as the men stooped slightly to enter the low doorway. Philip blinked hard and barely remembered to show fear.

  “What’s your name, boy?” The voice, gruff and sounding as though from another region, clearly showed irritation at being dragged into the keep for something as inconsequential as a mere child. He shrank down lower, trying to look as small as possible, as he fought the impulse to prove his bravery, and assert his impending manhood.

  “Ph-Philip.” His stammer was painfully pathetic. Fortunately for Philip, while a brilliant strategist, this commander was, in every other way, exceptionally dense.

  “What were you doing sneaking around the castle? Did that coward Morgan send you in as a spy?”

  Anger flashed in Philip’s eyes, and he barely controlled his response in time. “Lord M-Morgan is a good man and a great lord. He’s no coward, and he didn’t send me in to spy on anyone. He left for Scarborough Faire yesterday.” A sigh of relief escaped with his last words making them sound a little breathless. He hoped it’d sound fearful rather than contrived. “At least I didn’t have to lie. Lord Morgan did not send me into the castle to spy for him,” he thought ruefully.

  A hand whizzed through the air, backhanding Philip’s face. In a flash, his eye exploded in garish colors and pain. Involuntarily, he whimpered; immediately, he felt self-loathing and relief. He needed to remember to pretend to be as young and terrified as he could manage. He must control his temper at all costs. “You didn’t say what you were doing in the castle. Out with it before I box your other ear.”

  “I-I” the irony of improved stuttering when he truly didn’t know how to answer wasn’t lost on him. Philip quickly chose to stick to his plan of concern for Lady Aurelia. “I came to see Lady Aurelia yesterday, and the Lady de Clare didn’t seem to understand Lady Aurelia’s frailty. She had the poor child sitting on the cold floor, and I was afraid she might not put the girl to bed with a warmer. Lady Aurelia could get sick.”

  Skepticism was branded in the eyes of the men. Philip knew he’d have a hard time convincing them. A new idea occurred to him and speaking honestly might ensure that they believed him. “I thought I could have fun trying to evade your guards and see if the girl was sleeping comfortably. She looked so unhappy, a-and…” Philip ducked as though expecting to be struck at any moment. “I just wanted to see if I could do it. I didn’t mean any harm, honestly.”

  “I still think he’s spying for Lord Morgan.”

  Philip put on an air of false bravado. “How can I spy for a man who isn’t here? Why would he send a lad in to do a man’s job? I mean,” he hastened to add as though not wanting to admit his inferiority. “I mean, I’m sure I would do my best, but the last time we talked was at least a week or two ago, and he had no intentions of giving me exciting missions to carry out on his behalf.”

  “What were you doing talking to the lord at all?”

  “He was correcting my Latin. I—” Philip forced a hard swallow hoping it was visible. “I mixed my translation and called Lady Aurelia a querela rather than a puella.” It wasn’t difficult to add chagrin to his tone. He was still mortified that he’d made such a serious mistake.

  “What’s the difference?” The younger guard showed intelligent interest as opposed to his superior’s blank expression.

  “Puella is girl. Querela is complaint. It’s where we get our word quarrel, see?”

  “Why is he educating you like that anyway? You look like a village lad to me.”

  Philip nodded. “My master doesn’t have much for me to do, so the minister, Broðor Clarke, and Lord Morgan think I’m likely to get into mischief with too much time in my hands, so they make me do all sorts of lessons.”

  Another blow struck the other side of his face making the other eye swell and change colors at a sickening speed. “No more games. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on Lady—” He braced himself for the blow to his nose. This time, stars exploded behind both of his eyes at once. Tears sprang from them like a burst water skin and all without any effort on his part.

  “Just leave him, Davy. Even if he is lying, and I’m not saying I think he is—sounds logical to me—and he looks scared out of his wits. What kind of idiot would send a terrified kid to spy on us? Besides, half the town saw Lord Morgan leave and the other half left just after him.”

  “Convenient, I say.”

  “Or lucky. Anyway, we’ve got him, so even if he is a spy, he can’t do any damage. He got caught. We can interrogate him more in the morning.”

  “Ask Lady Aurelia. She’ll tell you that sneaking in to see if she’s fine is precisely the kind of thing I’d do. Honest!” He wished he knew the fine line between terrified defense when guilty and sounding terrified of being caught.

  The burly man, Davy, spun on his heel, crouched through the door, and disappeared down the winding steps. The other man, Edric, Philip rememb
ered, gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’ll send up some water and bread in the morning. Davy’ll come around. It’s just been a little longer since he was a boy dreaming of adventure, but he’ll remember. We all do some time.”

  From the cracks in the walls, Philip knew when daylight arrived. He listened hard for the sounds of soldiers drilling, fighting, or horses stamping their impatient hooves on the cobblestones. All was silent. His bones ached, his eyes felt gritty, and his mouth felt stuffed with rags. He hoped Edric would return with a large skin of water, and soon.

  Gingerly, he touched his face where it felt swollen around his eyes. He could still feel the dried blood on his upper lip and chin. Dove would be furious. His mother would alternate between concern and anger, and he didn’t want to think about what Lord Morgan would order as retribution to Davy for being so harsh with a “child.”

  Child. The word left a bitterness behind it. His practical side knew that in the eyes of the men, he was still a child, but hadn’t he faced his task without protest? Well, outwardly, he hadn’t protested, and his father had recently told him that men aren’t any less likely to feel slighted or underappreciated; they have just learned to keep it inside and do their job anyway. Isn’t that what he’d done last night? Had he not kept his disappointment to himself and done the job given to him to the best of his ability? Had he not endured a slight beating to keep the lord’s daughter safe? Surely, that was some little proof of his growing maturity!

  He wondered about Dove and Aurelia. They hadn’t had any chance to bring water or food into the chamber. Had Lord Morgan managed to get someone to them? Was Lady Aurelia brave or frightened? Both ideas seemed equally probable. Dove was probably tired, and if Aurelia was cross after losing so much sleep, he imagined her telling the little mistress to, “stop fussing, and be brave for your fæder.” Yes, he could hear her, as if she were in the room with him.

  Forcing himself to stand, Philip stretched his muscles. They ached from the cramped dampness and his elbow protested as he stretched the skin. It felt a little better; the stretching seemed to bring warmth to his bones. He tried again. There it was! That warming sensation came with every good stretch, but with each one, it became progressively harder to create the same feeling. Curiously, and forgetting where he was for a moment, Philip tried to stretch his body in every position he could imagine. He lunged, pulled his knee to his chest, and leaned with his foot flat against the wall. It felt wonderful.

  Unfortunately, when he sat, he felt even sleepier than he had before his little exercises. Where he had been tired from insufficient sleep and the lingering effects of excitement crashing into reality, he now felt delightfully sleepy with muscles that seemed ready for a long nap. Without thinking much about the consequences, he curled up against the least slimy wall, and laid his head on his arms. In seconds, he was fast asleep, dreaming of dragons, and of becoming the best archer in the land despite his ocular deficiencies.

  Too soon, the door screeched open and a water skin landed on him followed quickly by a chunk of dry bread. Before he was fully awake, Philip heard the door slam shut again. He grabbed the water skin and guzzled the water with relish. The bag was half-empty before it occurred to him that he didn’t know when he’d get any more water. Reluctantly, he corked it and reached for the bread.

  As he chewed, he tried to examine the door. With only a sliver of light coming through a crack in the east wall, it was difficult to see anything. His fingers told him nothing. There was no way he’d ever get out of there without at least a little light and maybe a stick. What he wouldn’t give for an arrow!

  Shuffling sounds outside the door made Philip jump back to the other side of the tiny room and sink to the floor. He forced himself to cover the bread protectively thinking it’d look more authentic of a terrified boy, but all it did was make him look like he hadn’t eaten his supper the previous night. If he were honest with himself, even as miserable as he was, Philip was beginning to have great fun. Even being a prisoner was slowly becoming exciting. After all, none of the other lads could boast of such an adventure.

  “Davy says we’re to move ya down below. Get up.” The voice, unfamiliar and gruff as it was, sounded a little sympathetic. Philip couldn’t see the man, but he seemed a little older than Edric and Davy.

  Philip grabbed the water skin and scrambled after his new captor. “My modor will be worried about me and the fletcher’s wife needs me to carry her wood and water. She’s getting larger with child every day…” Philip grinned inwardly. It was true. She might not look expectant, but every day brought her closer to that waddling unwieldiness that most women developed.

  The guard ignored his words and grabbed the water skin. “Got any left in here?”

  “I saved about half. I was thirsty.”

  The man tied Philip’s hands together and gently shoved him toward the stairs. “We’ll refill it at the bottom. No need in taking care of a sick lad. It’s bad enough we’ve got to mind a child in the first place.” His words, while a little acerbic, were spoken with a sympathetic tone.

  At the first floor, the man refilled Philip’s water skin and then filled a new one with ale. “It’ll keep up your strength. Who knows what Davy’s got in store for ya?”

  “Thanks.” Philip didn’t know how to respond.

  As he led Philip downstairs, the man started talking. “I’ve got me a boy about your age. He’s always going where he doesn’t belong and trying to look important. I know how it is, boy. I tried telling Davy he’s being an idiot, but no one pushes him too far. Davy’s got a temper.” As they passed a torch hanging on the wall, the man looked at Philip’s face. “But then, I think you’ve learned that, haven’t ya?”

  “Say, couldn’t you let me ‘escape?’ I’ll run home, make sure my family knows I’m fine, and I’ll hide until they forget about me, I promise. I won’t come back until Lord Morgan gets home. Please!”

  “Can’t, lad. I’d lose my job if not my head.” He glanced around him and then whispered into Philip’s ear. “My name’s Donal. When you’re released, tell them I was kind to you? I’m afraid things are going badly if they want ya moved.”

  “I’ll tell them. I could lock you in here with me…”

  Laughing, Donal stood upright and passed Philip the skins. “I’d do it too, but I have a duty to perform, even if I don’t like it. Sorry, lad. I have to leave ya in here now.”

  The door shut as quietly as the old oaken thing could, and Philip shivered. There was something ominous in the man’s words. Going badly. If he was the prisoner of Lord Morgan’s guards, this was terrible news. However, if Lady de Clare’s people were behind his capture, it was excellent news. Down here, he heard even less of the sounds from the courtyard. The walls were moss covered and the stench was nearly overpowering.

  Philip looped the skins over his neck trying to keep them from touching the filthy walls and floor. A steady dripping sound drove him nearly mad with its monotonous rhythm, but he could do nothing to stop it.

  His mind wandered back to his earlier thoughts. They were still treating him like a wayward child. It was insulting. Anyone who knew him spoke favorably of his intelligence, his hard work ethic, and his maturity. Why, Lord Morgan himself— Philip laughed. His guffaws echoed in the cold stone room making it sound full of merry lads. Of course, people were treating him like a mischievous boy. Isn’t that precisely what he’d tried pretending to be? He was doing his job and doing it well. The satisfaction of that thought nearly erased the irritation of the continual splat, splat, of the water dripping onto the floor. Well, it softened it anyway.

  Chapter 23

  Hidden

  The night seemed reluctant to give way to dawn. Each minute on the cold, stone steps of the stair chamber seemed to stretch into a quarter hour, until Dove thought she’d go wild with impatience and discomfort. Aurelia had fallen asleep somewhere around the time Dove described the people mocking Noah for his faithfulness in building a massive boat for a flood that they couldn�
��t comprehend.

  Her boredom and edginess slowly morphed into curiosity. Why was she so unsettled? She rarely minded sitting in one place for hours while watching for the dragons or was impatient for the passage of time while waiting for good things to happen. Why now, when the news could be awful, was she so restless to hear it?

  Aurelia stirred, but didn’t awaken. Dove breathed slowly and deliberately. Once the child was awake, the wait would seem even longer. Her mouth twisted in a wry smirk. “The child” was a funny way to describe a girl who was approximately a year older than she was.

  The bookcase slid away from the wall above them. A voice whispered, “Dove? Aurelia?”

  “Yes?” She’d been told someone would ensure she made it, but had hoped it’d be Lord Morgan

  “No matter what you hear or what happens, do not come out for any reason. We’ll come get you when it is safe. I’m leaving jugs of water and a bucket of food on the bottom step. If you pray, pray.”

  As the bookcase slid back into place, emphasizing the darkness, Dove pondered his words. She didn’t pray. She didn’t know who was allowed to pray and who wasn’t, but now, being asked to pray by Lord Morgan’s messenger, she felt obligated to do it. The thought of what Philip would say gave her courage and an idea.

  “Philip’s god,” she whispered under her breath hesitantly. “Um… I Am, if Philip knew that we were being asked to pray, I think he’d ask you for wisdom for Lord Morgan, strength and courage for his lordship’s men, and safety for all of Wynnewood. On his behalf and because of his faith, I am praying for him. Please hear my prayer and keep us all from harm. Forgive my boldness in requesting anything.” She was supposed to say something else; she knew it but couldn’t remember. The minutes ticked by a little more rapidly than before her prayer, making her even more anxious than ever. Suddenly, she remembered the end of the prayer Philip had recited— the one Jesus had prayed. “Forever, Amen,” she whispered confidently.