The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  The pained look on Broðor Clarke’s face annoyed her. Why must he always turn everything into a contest of faith? “That is not why I came here.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “It’s the girl. She’s gone again. I haven’t seen her since the snow started falling. Actually, I haven’t seen much of her since the boy left, but not at all in a week. She needs to come home.”

  “And why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to find her—talk to her. I want you to make her come home more often. This is too solitary even for her, and at this time of year, too dangerous.”

  “She did survive last winter, but that was unlikely.”

  “Exactly. I want you to talk to her. Tell her that Philip would want her to come home. He will be very sorry to come home and have his friend dead because she was too foolish to take care of herself.”

  “Why me?”

  “She’ll listen to you. You’re Philip’s mentor. You make up all those silly stories she loves so much. She’ll listen.”

  “I’ll try to find her—talk to her.”

  “Look along the Ciele directly across from the east tower. I think you’ll find her there.”

  Bertha rose and set the tankard on the table. She pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and pulled her shawl up over her hair. At the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Dennis.”

  “Bertha, I—”

  She closed the door firmly behind herself, shutting out the minister’s words. She really didn’t want to hear him urge her to embrace his faith—again. It was tiresome of course, but there was a certain bit of fun in their repartee. She enjoyed it even.

  Chapter 11

  Christmas

  Up and down the river, the minister tramped, fighting the snow and the drifts, but he saw nothing that indicated Dove had ever been there. After several hours of calling and listening for her songs, he marched until he was in direct line of the east tower, turned, and then headed into the trees of Wyrm Forest. He just hoped none of the villagers or people at the castle saw him. Then again, from this distance, they’d probably assume he was Dove.

  Despite knowing that the forest was safe, old superstitions died hard. Each creak of the branches, each bough rubbing against a branch, and each crunch of his feet in the snow-covered underbrush made him jittery. He forced himself onward anyway. It didn’t take him long to find Dove’s pool, but he didn’t know what it was. He just saw a depression in the landscape and wondered at it as he skirted the edge.

  “What do you want?”

  Broðor Clarke jumped at the sound of Dove’s voice. He turned toward her and fear pulsed in his veins for a few seconds as he adjusted to her sudden presence. There she stood, not ten yards away, next to a tree. She’d arrived noiselessly.

  Her cloak was the familiar gray of winter, but this one was larger than the previous years. The hem nearly reached the ground, would touch it if she bent too far, and the hood was deeper than ever. For the first time, he saw in her what the villagers saw. Instead of an impish little girl with a quick intelligence and ready wit, she appeared to be a banshee, floating in the forest. Where her face should have been, he saw only a black hole. It was unnerving, even to him.

  “Bertha is worried about you.”

  “Bertha?” The girl didn’t step closer as he’d expected.

  “She came to me. You know how concerned she must be if she’d ask me for help.”

  He thought he heard her snicker, but the distance was enough for him to know it was unlikely that he could hear something so indistinct. She crossed her arms, the familiar brown gloves resting atop the cloak. “Why is she worried?”

  “It’s cold. You’re so very alone. It isn’t how things should be. She wants you home more.” Before the girl could answer, he added. “Philip would not like it, Dove. He’d want you to visit the castle, to befriend Letty. You know how hard it is to live with someone like Bertha and you are used to her. How much harder would it be for a girl like Letty?”

  “I’m happier out here.”

  “Will you go in until spring? At least until there is no more snow?”

  The girl started to turn and then paused. He saw her shoulders slump and her hand grasp the tree as if for support. “I will go home. I may be gone during the day, but I will sleep there at night.”

  “Thank you, Dove.” As he saw her disappear behind the tree, Broðor Clarke called out to her once more. “There will be the Christmas festivities at the castle next week. I know Lady Aurelia misses you. Will you come to those? She’ll be watching the contests from the balcony. You could help her.”

  The cloak reappeared once more. “I don’t think so, but thank you. Tell Lady Aurelia that I hope she enjoys her day.”

  With those words, the girl vanished. It seemed as if she simply dissolved into the trees. Had the mists been present, it would have looked as if they’d swallowed her. No wonder people considered her eerie. He’d only seen her in the castle on occasion—never in her natural environment unless it was to see her running from those trying to drive her from the village. Yes, it was most certainly nerve wracking.

  “Do you see her?” Aurelia peered down into the crowds below, frustrated. “I never thought I’d be so annoyed to see cloaks. Half of them are gray!”

  “I don’t think she’s coming. I’d hoped she’d change her mind, but…”

  “Has she been going home at night?” Lord Morgan asked.

  “Bertha says she sleeps there every night. Oh, look. They will begin the rope contest now. I think Angus will begin it this year.”

  The minister was right. Aurelia watched excited as the burly young man stepped into the middle of the bailey and picked up the end of a rope lying on the ground. “When did that get there?”

  “They’ve been stepping over it all this time. Now that everyone has moved, you can see it,” her father explained.

  Three smaller lads, two of whom she recognized as Philip’s friends, stepped forward opposite Angus. “Where are the men to help Angus?”

  “He is going to go against them by himself at first.”

  Aurelia’s eyes widened. “Can he hold out against three other boys?”

  “Well, he must think so.”

  One of the guards counted backwards from five. “Four—three—two—go!”

  Angus hardly seemed to notice the three young men on the other side of the rope. At one point, he even let go of the rope with one hand to scratch his head. The crowd roared and cheered.

  To Aurelia’s astonishment, two more young men joined the opposite side. Now Angus planted his feet firmly and used both arms to hold on. Even from her perch above, she could see the strain on his face. Another young man joined. Angus faltered.

  The guard noticed and pointed to Hugh. The blacksmith stepped in front of Angus and held the rope. Angus relaxed some. Three more men joined the other side, but Angus and Hugh held it well.

  “How can two men hold out against all those others?”

  “They aren’t fighting it yet. They’re strong,” her father explained, “but they didn’t start off using the bulk of their strength. The younger boys are fatigued already.”

  “I think they’ll have to add the miller after the next one goes to the other side.”

  “What a shame.”

  Curious, Aurelia turned her face to her father. “Why a shame?”

  “If there were fewer men here, those two would take on everyone else. There are just too many. It’s always more impressive with just them on the one side of the rope.”

  It seemed impossible, but her father must have seen it happen. She tried to read the men’s expressions, but couldn’t. Were they already spent? The younger, smaller lads seemed ready to drop.

  The crowd cheered gleefully at each addition. There were so many men on the left of the rope, and just the three men on the right, but those men were slowly inching to the other side. “Father, it’s not fair!”

  “They’ll add Symo
n Wood to—see, there he is. They’ll keep adding men until they run out of rope.”

  “Why do the men on the left file onto the end of the rope, but the right side steps in front of the others?”

  “They’re spelling the other men’s arms. It’s hard to be the lead,” Lord Morgan explained.

  To her astonishment, the four men on the right held out against what seemed like nearly two dozen on the left. There were only four men left, but it didn’t seem the right could hold out against four more men. Then the unbelievable happened. The man calling the players sent the baker to the left.

  “Why did he send the baker to the left?”

  “Tobias is strong, isn’t he,” her father agreed.

  “He lifts those big bags of flour and works with his arms every day. He should go to the right!” Her eyes widened until she looked unnatural. “Why is the fletcher going to the right? He’s too scrawny.”

  Before Lord Morgan could answer, the five men on the right gave a great jerk and then jumped out of the way, as the line of men on the left stumbled forward. Aurelia watched, fascinated, as the men erupted in a great roar of excitement, slapping one another on their backs and cheering. Children raced to greet their fathers and wives kissed their husbands. She saw a young woman throw her arms around Angus.

  “Who is that? Is he married already? Just last year—”

  “That is Letty Wood. The midwife’s apprentice.”

  “Oh, he’s her brother. I always thought it would be nice to have an older brother.”

  “Perhaps you can adopt Angus?” Lord Morgan teased.

  “Is it foolish to admit that I’ve pretended that Philip was my older brother?”

  Broðor Clarke’s voice, quiet but sincere said, “Philip would remind you, Lady Aurelia, that you have the perfect Elder Brother in Jesus.”

  “I had not considered that, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

  Lord Morgan stepped away calling, “I’ll send for the winners. You can distribute the prizes.”

  It took some time for the five men to appear on the balcony. Each one knelt at her side for her to place a laurel wreath on their heads, one after the other. As they rose, she nodded to a servant who handed each a cage with a goose inside. “Happy Christmas.”

  As Angus knelt, she gaped at his massive shoulders and arms. “You did so well. I couldn’t believe that you were able to hold your own against so many!”

  Angus blushed like a girl, ducking his head to hide his flushed face. “Thank you.”

  An awkward silence filled the balcony until the servant whispered into Angus’ ear. He rose hastily, apologizing. Aurelia managed to stifle her amusement and pointed to the servant. “A goose for your family’s dinner. Congratulations again.”

  Somehow, the balcony felt empty without the enormous young man even before he reached the door. Feeling foolish, she called after him, “Father is going to send a letter to Philip when he sends Jerome to London in the spring. Is there any message you would like to send?”

  At the doorway, the young man halted. He hesitated for a moment, and then turned back again. “I doubt there is much room for personal messages in the note, but he might like to know we all miss him.”

  “I will do that. Have a happy Christmas.”

  “What is troubling you, dear heart?”

  Aurelia glanced around the room, looking anywhere but into her father’s eyes. She felt ridiculous, but an idea had formed and blossomed in her heart that was becoming quite important to her. “I—”

  “I don’t know what to think. You’ve been unsettled for days.”

  “Restless, I guess.” Her conscience pricked her. The words were untrue, but he wouldn’t know it. Overlooking the unease in her spirit, she continued. “It’s winter; no one thinks it wise for me to go out on the cliffs… I don’t have Philip and Dove to visit me…”

  She sounded listless and melancholy, even to herself. Lord Morgan crossed the room and seated himself beside her. “Would you like to go outdoors? The knights could carry you out there. It’s cold, but with a few furs and blankets…”

  “I was thinking…” Her mind swirled as she spoke. “Perhaps if I had a project. Do you remember what that young man said at Christmas? How Philip’s friends missed him but it was too much for a letter? I thought perhaps…”

  Her father’s hand brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “I am not accustomed to you being unwilling to ask anything of me. This is very strange of you.”

  “It would be asking a lot of his friends, but if they would come and give me personal messages, I could make a long letter full of them for him. It would be something he could have to read often when he felt lonely for home.”

  Lord Morgan beamed. “That is a wonderful idea, Aurelia! Even if it took several sheets of paper, it would not take up much room and would bring him great joy. I am proud of you.” He was silent for another half a minute before asking, “But why did you not want to ask this of me?”

  The young lady’s cheeks turned rosy as she confessed, “Philip’s friends are all young men. I thought it might be awkward…”

  “I can stay in the room if you prefer, or I can write the notes for you.”

  Aurelia took a moment to answer and then shook her head. “No, Father. I know it’s selfish, but I wanted this to be my gift for him. Perhaps we can start with Minerva or Letty. Surely, Dove would come for this, won’t she?”

  “We’ll be sure of it. Why don’t I call for Liam and Minerva now?”

  As her father left the room, John carried Aurelia to a table, placing a cushion on the bench before lowering her to it. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Quite, thank you.”

  “The lad will be thankful—as will his friends. It will be important to the people of Wynnewood that you thought of them.”

  “May I confess something, John?” At the servant’s nod, she continued, “I think this is more for my sake than Philip’s. It’ll be something to look forward to every day. I’ll get to see hi—his friends.”

  Lord Morgan entered the room again just in time to hear his daughter’s words falter. A knowing smile played about his lips as he realized that his little girl hadn’t gotten over her fascination with the village lads and how very different they were from the ladies who attended her. This would be a much more interesting project than he’d envisioned—much more interesting indeed.

  Chapter 12

  News

  Spring

  Throughout most of the winter, Philip managed to avoid private confrontation with the Australes who enjoyed tormenting him. Each night that he ate away from his lodging, he left the tavern by the side door in case the young men were there. Alas, one evening in early spring, they split themselves between the two doors, and as Philip stepped outside, two young men jumped him.

  His rib cracked as a foot slammed into it; his nose bled profusely. At first, he’d thought it best not to retaliate, but when the beating seemed unlikely to stop, Philip gathered all his strength and fought his way out of the group and back into the tavern. Hob, the tavern keeper, helped him into a room at the back and sent for a physician

  Philip felt the swollen lip, winced as he tried to stop the flow of blood from his nose, and struggled to breathe without gasping with pain. The strange little physician hurried into the room just a short while later, whispering prayers for healing, and working quickly to make poultices to ease Philip’s suffering. Each “cure” hurt worse than the last.

  He begged them to hire men to carry him back to his rooms, but Hob wouldn’t hear of it. The physician backed him with assurances that being moved would be the worst thing possible. “You won’t be able to withstand the pain.”

  For three days, he lay on the pallet they made for him in the storeroom of the tavern. Serving girls brought him brought, mead, and visitors. Hob visited him often—too often in Philip’s opinion—giving him the news of the town and the other students.

  “I heard that the chancellor has fined the four young men wh
o jumped you. Apparently, he will do something about it if the students mistreat another student, but steal or destroy property of an honest tradesman, and he looks the other way.”

  “I’m sorry, Hob. You know I don’t think it’s right.”

  “You’re a gentleman, Philip—much more than any of those nobles’ sons.”

  “I think they’d disagree with you. They don’t think much of my lack of property or family.” He smiled and then winced as his lip cracked open again. “Then again, I do own my own cottage. I do have some property.”

  “And a great benefactor. James said he overheard the knights from Wynnewood talking. They speak well of Lord Morgan.”

  “He is a great man. The men spoke truly of Lord Morgan’s father. Galbert Morgan was hard by all accounts.”

  Hob was called away to settle a dispute in the tavern, leaving Philip to lay alone at last. He was tired. His head ached from spending so much time in bed, each breath felt like a fresh stab to his chest, and his heart was heavy. The young men would never pay the fine. Their fathers would protest, and who would enforce the word of one village lad over the sons of four prominent nobles? They’d be even angrier now.

  I could leave, he mused to himself. Why stay where I’m not wanted? Why put up with this year after year? It won’t get any better; in fact, it will only get worse now.

  His own thoughts galled him. How could he consider quitting after less than a year? How could he face Lord Morgan? It would be mortifying. Sorry, m’lord. The other students didn’t like me, and that made me feel bad, so I came home. He couldn’t quit.

  If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d learned to like the studies. He was learning much more than he’d ever imagined possible. Why, the maps he had seen of the world alone had astounded him. There had never been any doubt in his mind that Wynnewood was a tiny corner of England. He’d heard of the days’ journey to places like Scarborough or London. England was a large place in his mind. Then he’d reviewed Ptolemy’s map of the world. England was nearly insignificant in size compared to the rest of the earth.