The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  “Then why do your villagers not treat me how they want me to treat them?”

  Philip thought Dove’s questions were a bit odd. They’d talked about these things many times, and he thought she understood that not everyone in the village was a Christian, and that not every Christian behaved as they should all the time. “Just because some don’t do what is right, doesn’t change what Jesus said. I’m just telling you what Jesus said like you asked.” Impatience filled his voice. “Do you want to hear the end or are we going to see what I came to see?”

  “Finish your story.”

  The voice from deep inside the cave startled him. Philip flattened himself against the stone walls and grabbed Dove’s hand pulling her closer, whispering into the general vicinity of her ear. “What was that?”

  “I am Jakys. Dove brought you here at my request.”

  “Not exactly, Jakys. I told you I would have to bring him, remember? You didn’t want me to.” Dove sounded irritated with the voice.

  “Why can’t I see you?” Philip fought hard not to stammer like a child caught in some kind of mischief.

  “Because I have not chosen to show myself yet. Go on with your story. It is interesting.”

  Suddenly, Philip was very uninterested in the story of the little tax collector. He had an overwhelming desire to grab Dove and run. The voice sounded too close to feel confident in their ability to escape if necessary. Dove, on the other hand, nudged him. “Go on, I want to hear about how he changes.”

  “Well,” Philip began reluctantly, “Zacchaeus hurried down from the tree and promised Jesus that he would give half of what he owned to the poor and to everyone he’d stolen from, he’d repay it four times over.”

  Philip waited. There was no response. He glanced at Dove who also waited— with no response. The seconds ticked by until more than a minute had passed. Each one seemed to wind him tighter than a lute string. Jakys waited. “Will you finish?”

  “I did.” His confidence, buoyed by his irritation, grew immensely. “If you don’t like it, we’ll be happy to go.” Philip stood.

  “Sit down, Philip.” The voice sounded fierce.

  “How do you know my name?” Even as he asked, Philip wanted to smack his head with his hands. How indeed.

  “Dove, I thought you implied that he was intelligent.”

  “Stop teasing, Jakys.”

  “I want to hear more of the story. I like it, but it ended too soon. Did they go to Zacchaeus’ house?”

  Philip shrugged before he realized that Jakys might not be able to see. “We don’t know. The Bible doesn’t say.”

  “Of coursem he did, Philip! Jesus said, ‘I must come,’ remember? That’s what you told me once. You said that Jesus actually said, ‘I must come.’ If Jesus is I AM and knew Zacchaeus because he knows everything, then he knew before he spoke that he would go or he wouldn’t have said ‘I must come.’ They went.”

  “But it doesn’t say—”

  Jakys interrupted. “Well, you did tell her that Jesus knew everything. I heard you. She’s right. If he knew everything, he wouldn’t say he had to do something that he wasn’t going to do. That’s illogical.”

  “But you can’t just say things were—”

  “You ask the minister.”

  Jakys was obviously curious. “Why does it matter? It would be a better story if you expanded it. Tell us what they ate, how much Zacchaeus had to give. Those kinds of details make a story.”

  “Because this isn’t just a story. It’s the Word of God, and God said that you must not add or take away from what He has said.” After months of stories with an inquisitive Dove, he was tired of explaining.

  “Philip is right. The minister is very particular about it. He takes lessons with Broðor Clarke every week. He knows.” Her support smoothed Philip’s ruffled feathers.

  “You trust him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I trust him, Lord Morgan trusts him, Tom Fletcher trusts him, Bertha, Lady Aurelia, all his friends— the whole village! Everyone trusts Philip. He’s probably the most well-liked boy in all of England.”

  “Why should I trust him?”

  Intrigued, Philip listened intently. There was something more to this “meeting” than he’d first thought. “Because he is my friend. He protects me from everyone who tries to harm me.”

  “Bring him with you when you return. I will see what Waleron says. He isn’t inclined to trust, but he listens to me.”

  “And Maulore? What will he say if the Scynscaþa arrives with another intruder?”

  “Scynscaþa!” Philip roared indignantly. “Is that what they call you? We’re leaving. Come on, Dove. I won’t risk your life at the hands of people like that!” He tried to pull her toward the entrance of the cave, but Dove shook her hand free.

  “Don’t be silly, Philip.”

  “Maulore has been shackled in the mines. He’ll serve a long sentence for threatening a guest of the king.”

  “King!” None of what Jakys said made sense.

  “We’ll explain later. I must be seen to follow protocol, or Waleron will be forced to take action against me too. He must keep the trust of the others.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Philip’s voice rose in frustration.

  “You’ll learn in a fortnight. I must go before the dragon awakes.” With that, and a slight shuffling sound, Jakys disappeared deeper into the caverns.

  “Wh—”

  “I can’t tell you, Philip. I can’t. I promised. But, now you know why. Two weeks isn’t forever.” She rose and moved toward the entrance, expecting him to follow.

  He didn’t. He didn’t move, he didn’t agree, and he certainly did not know why she couldn’t tell. None of it made any sense. When he didn’t follow, Dove returned and tugged on his arm. “Come on, Philip. Let’s go. We can go ask Lord Morgan about the unicorn hooves.”

  “No.”

  “What is the matter with you?”

  Without another word, Philip stood, walked to the entrance of the cave, and followed the ledge to the stone steps. Dove followed, sensing something was wrong but certain he’d tell her when he thought it through. She was wrong. At the bottom, he struck out toward Wynnewood Castle without waiting for her to finish her descent. She rushed to catch up with him, but as she reached his side, he stopped and turned.

  “I’m not going with you, Dove. If you are going to the castle, I think I’ll go talk to Broðor Clarke.”

  “What—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Fear filled Dove’s heart. What if he said something that got back to the Mæte? That could be disastrous. “You can’t tell—”

  “You don’t think I figured that out already? It wasn’t hard. I’m just—” He couldn’t continue. The truth was, Philip didn’t know what he was. He just knew that he needed to get away from Dove before he said some of the things he wanted to but knew he’d regret.

  “Just go home, Dove. Go torment Letty with lots of work or something. Get a rabbit and make her skin it. I’ll see you— later.”

  Hurt, Dove watched as Philip slowly vanished into the trees that separated the Cliffs of Sceadu from Wynnewood Castle. Even after he was out of sight, she felt like she could see him entering by the south gate, past Peter’s cottage, and up to the door near the arbor. Lord Morgan— Dove smiled. Lord Morgan would make things all right. She could trust him for that.

  Aurelia exchanged concerned glances with her father. Philip still sat in a brooding silence, warming his hands by the fire and trying to hide his sour attitude from the lord and his daughter. Before he recomposed himself, John arrived, and with a nod from Lord Morgan, lifted Aurelia and turned to carry her from the room.

  “Goodbye, Philip. Bring Dove next time.” Unaware of how her words stung, the young lady of the castle rested her head on the broad shoulders of faithful John and allowed herself to be carried to her bedchambers where she would spend the remainder of her evening.

  Lord Morga
n noticed the pained expression on Philip’s face, and the moment the door shut behind them, he leaned forward and asked, “What has happened with Dove, Philip? You found her. She’s home. What is wrong? She isn’t ill, is she?”

  “She’s alive, healthy, and irritated at Bertha at the moment.”

  Laughing, Lord Morgan reclined on his chaise and refrained from looking at Philip. Eye contact seemed to unnerve the boy that evening. “Well then, are you ill?”

  Philip attempted to make light of his distress. “Ill-tempered, maybe, but otherwise healthy.”

  “You seem to want to talk about something, and yet you’re not ready.”

  “I’m angry. I have a problem, and because of Dove, I can’t even tell you what it is.”

  This was an interesting situation. Lord Morgan, thought for a moment, and changed the direction of his questions. “Tell me something.”

  “Yes, m’lord?”

  Philip had softened his heart somewhat. That instinctive show of honor for the Earl had returned to the boy’s speech. “Do you trust your friend?”

  “Of course, my lord!”

  “Does she trust you?” Sometimes Charles Morgan wondered if having a son was anything like having Philip there for an afternoon.

  “That’s just it. I thought she did, but…”

  Gently, Aurelia’s father asked another question. “I don’t know what the problem is, Philip, and I won’t ask—”

  “When I found Dove, there was— something that wasn’t quite right, but when I asked her about it, she said she couldn’t tell me. She promised to tell me later and then still didn’t, because she said she’d promised not to. Then she took me to show me instead, and then all that did was make more questions, which she says I’ll learn about in another two weeks.”

  “And from all that,” Lord Morgan asked, “you think she doesn’t trust you?”

  “Well, if she trusted me, she’d quit keeping secrets from me.” The vehemence in the boy’s voice clearly stemmed from pain.

  “Promises are sacred things, Philip. They aren’t to be broken lightly.”

  “I know, and like a fool, I told her exactly what the Bible says about them.”

  “I thought Dove didn’t believe in God as yet.” Lord Morgan sounded confused.

  “She doesn’t, but she knows I do. If I hadn’t told her what God says, she might have broken the promise.” Philip shrugged. “She has her own rules she lives by, and they don’t always make sense to us.”

  “That is most certainly true.” After a few seconds, Lord Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, “You know, Philip. I see her actions quite differently than you. I think it is because she trusts you so much that she shared what she did. She could have refused to say anything, but she understands that you know she’ll tell you everything as soon as she can.”

  “I’m scared for her,” Philip whispered.

  “How so?” Lord Morgan stood and moved to Philip’s side. With an arm around the boy’s shoulders, he tried to offer comfort. “If the secret is something that puts her in danger of any kind, it might be a greater wrong to keep it. If you doubt, go to Dennis Clarke. He’s a wise man.”

  With grateful eyes, Philip met Lord Morgan’s gaze and nodded. “I’ll do that.” He hesitated and then said, “On another topic, we wondered what kind of hooves unicorns have.”

  “Unicorns? Why would you ask about that?” Surprised and amused at how swiftly Philip switched from downcast to curious, Charles Morgan listened with interest to what Philip had to say.

  “We found hoof prints today. They didn’t look like a stag’s hooves and they weren’t smooth and round at the top like a horse’s are. I wondered if maybe they were unicorns.”

  “Where did you find them?” As he listened to Philip describe the thicket near the cliffs, Lord Morgan burned a stick of wood in the fire until it was thoroughly blackened and then thrust it into the bucket of sand kept to extinguish any sparks that might fly from the hearth. “Can you draw the hoof on the stone there?”

  He expected it to be a deer, a stray sheep, or some other familiar animal, but if Philip’s sketch was accurate, it was definitely a different animal. “Come with me, Philip. Come look at the tapestry of my great grandfather.”

  Lord Morgan led Philip down the corridor to the great hall and to one side where highly detailed tapestries of his ancestors were hung in a row. Philip stared at the fine woven embroidery of Lord Morgan’s wife, brother, father, grandfather, and then he saw it. In one, a man, who looked very much like an older version of Lord Morgan’s brother, stood tall and proud next to the most majestic looking unicorn Philip could ever have imagined.

  He immediately studied the animal’s hooves and turned back to Charles Morgan, nodding. “That’s it, m’lord. Now that I see them, I know what it looks like— a very large goat’s hoof. It’s too large for a regular goat, but perfect for a large horse.”

  “You found evidence that they still live in our forests! Well done, Philip! I’ll send the knights—” Lord Morgan stopped mid-sentence as he saw the disappointed look on Philip’s face. “What is it, son?”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise. We wanted to find them, tame one, and bring it to you. I think I’m the one who cannot keep secrets. I’m the one who owes Dove an apology.”

  Unease settled in the man’s stomach. He rarely denied anyone in his household, including himself, anything they desired. Perhaps it was because their wants were reasonable and easily procured. Regardless, he now found himself in the disappointing position of knowing that one if his lifetime wishes was possibly in his grasp and realizing that to seize the opportunity would disappoint someone dear to him.

  As he led the way back to his sitting room, the lord promised, “I’ll wait then. You tell me if you need help, but I’ll wait.”

  Accustomed to Lord Morgan’s generous and agreeable nature, Philip often forgot that few lads of his age and lack of nobility would have the kind of friendship he enjoyed with the Morgan family and Wynnewood Castle. “I think you are probably the finest lord in all of England— maybe the whole world.”

  Amused, the Earl of Wynnewood tried to stifle a chuckle and instead, asked what Philip meant. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know what life is like in other places. Broðor Clarke says that most of the nobles don’t mingle so easily with the common people like you do.” He ducked his head, a little embarrassed in giving such blatant praise. “I just think that you do more than condescend to acknowledge your tenants and villagers— you care about us and treat us like friends instead of people who are beneath you.”

  “Well, arrogance and condescension aren’t good ways of inspiring loyalty, I can promise you that.” Lord Morgan stared into the fire, his hands clasped together in his lap. “My father led by fear and intimidation. He was a hard man. No one dared cross him, but few would have volunteered to fight for him.”

  “We did— the village— for you I mean. Everyone was ready to fight for you and Lady Aurelia.”

  “You were all very generous with your sympathy and loyalty to my wife. Evaline loved our people.”

  For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Philip imagined that the lord was lost in memories of his late wife and did not feel much like speaking. He was surprised when he heard Lord Morgan whisper, “And I will have to remarry.”

  How Philip wanted to ask why! He heard the deep sadness in the man’s voice and wondered if he thought Aurelia would suffer to see her father with another wife. Every second that passed increased his curiosity until he nearly blurted out half a dozen questions in quick succession. To his relief, Lord Morgan spoke first.

  “I see you are curious. Do you wonder why I must marry or did you notice that I don’t particularly seem excited about the prospect?”

  “Both, m’lord. I am sorry.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with curiosity, Philip. It’s what makes you such an intelligent boy. If I wasn’t inclined to talk about it, I wouldn’t have m
entioned it at all. I confess,” he added smiling, “I also realized that you’d be able to ensure the truth gets to the villagers rather than conjecture.”

  “Conjecture?” Philip hadn’t learned that word yet.

  “It means a guess.”

  “So, why must you remarry?”

  Charles Morgan stood and sent John for ale for both of them. He wandered around the room, nearly pacing at times, before he continued. “Because the right thing for me to do would be to marry and pray we are blessed with more children.”

  “Why—”

  “But that would mean being gone long enough to meet the right woman who would come and be a mother to Aurelia as well as our children. Women are artful, Philip. There are many wonderful and open women. There are also some who seem charming, but only until they are secured as a wife. Then you find their true nature. I cannot risk that, and yet, I must.”

  “Because you need an heir to Wynnewood.”

  “Yes. If there is no one to inherit, cousins would take the lands or worse, it would be vulnerable to siege again.” He sighed. “The villagers need to be protected.”

  A new understanding dawned for Philip. “Aurelia would be vulnerable regardless. Unscrupulous people would see a lame heir as easy prey.”

  “That is my situation, Philip. I must marry. The irony is, at one time, Evaline had suggested that, in the event of her death, I consider Lady de Clare.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Philip blushed with mortification. “I’m sorry, m’lord. That was wrong of me.”

  “Perhaps, but nevertheless, I agree. When I marry, it will not be to the wife of the late Earl of Bramburg.”

  “I think this is one way that the common man has it easier than you, m’lord. The villagers just marry whoever catches their fancy, and we don’t have to travel to find people.”

  “That’s the worst part, Philip. Either I must take Aurelia with me and put her through all the miles of discomfort, or I have to leave her behind for several months. Neither prospect is appealing to me.”

  “We’ll watch out for her, m’lord. Wynnewood wouldn’t let anything happen to your family.”