The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1)

by Avril Borthiry

  “If need be. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.” William turned his eyes back to the heavens. “The friend who told me to wait also said that something must have gone wrong for my wish to fail. I think I know what.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure why I haven’t told you this before, but it seems the witch’s medallion never made it to the bottom of the well. When I tossed it in, it must have caught on a wandering root and remained there, hidden, for years. That is, until a few weeks ago, when Lora, by pure chance, saw it and pulled it out. She almost slid to her death in the process. ’Twas the stonemason who saved her.” He paused, expecting a reaction, a gasp, maybe, or some exclamation of surprise, but it never came. He frowned. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Every word.”

  Puzzled by the dispassionate response, William sat up and regarded his friend, who still stared, like a man entranced, into the fire. “You have nothing to say? No opinion to share?”

  Iorwerth’s gaze lifted to meet his over the flickering flames, and what William saw—what he thought he saw—stifled his breath and robbed his heart of a beat. He blinked, grappling with what was surely his exhausted mind playing tricks or perhaps an illusion of dancing shadows. Indeed, a moment later, Iorwerth appeared as he always had. His eyes, by firelight, gleamed like raw honey and bore no resemblance to the two black portals William had briefly imagined.

  “What did Lora do with it?”

  William’s still-befuddled brain struggled to process Iorwerth’s question. “Do with what?”

  “The witch’s medallion. Does she yet have it?”

  “Ah, er, no. She…she gave it to the mason.” William frowned as a dark thought occurred to him. “So, I suppose, then, if he was wearing it that night, it must now be —”

  “Gareth was a good lad,” Iorwerth said, shifting his gaze back to the flames. “Honest. Skilled.”

  William’s eyes widened. “You knew him?”

  Iorwerth gave a brief nod. “’Twas I who sent him to Rothwyn.”

  A mild chill brushed the back of William’s neck. At the same time, a familiar sensation stirred deep within his core. “Once again it occurs to me,” he said, scratching his head, “that you are a man of many secrets.”

  “How so? ’Tis no secret I sent Gareth to Rothwyn, otherwise I would not have spoken of it just now.”

  William grunted. “Still, I suspect you know more than you care to admit about this ongoing saga of mine. Don’t insult me with a denial, either. Your involvement goes deeper than the bonds of friendship. There’s an other-worldliness about you, my friend. Something not quite of this earth. Aye, scoff if you must,” he said, as a smile appeared on Iorwerth’s face, “but my gut never speaks without cause, and on this matter, it has spoken often and clearly.”

  Iorwerth’s smile faded, and there followed a few moments of silence as he continued to stare into the flames, his placid expression unchanging. Then, in a quiet yet firm voice, he asked, “Do you trust me, Will?”

  William pondered for a moment. It was, he thought, a calculated question that merely served to lead elsewhere. “Aye, I do,” he replied, with spirited honesty. “You’d not be sitting here otherwise. Get to the point.”

  A corner of Iorwerth’s mouth lifted. “Despite what you think, I’m not privy to the complexities of fate, or what it has in store for you. But I do know what should not be.”

  William blinked “Well? Go on. I’m waiting to find out what should not be.”

  “All of this.” Iorwerth gestured around them with a sweep of his hand. “You, an outcast, hiding in the forest. Lora, crying herself to sleep in a roadside inn not an hour’s ride from here. Gareth…” He drew a breath and released it with slow deliberation. “He, most of all, should not be…ah, by all the gods, no. None of this is right.”

  The fire sputtered, and Iorwerth resumed his silence. William’s nostrils flared as he leaned forward, gritting his teeth. “That’s it? And this information is supposed to serve as…as what? A revelation? Christ above, do you think I’m unaware of —?”

  “Your saga is not yet finished, Will,” Iorwerth said. “A friend once told you to wait, and with good reason. That same friend suspects your days of waiting are drawing to a close.”

  “Does he now? Can he tell me, then, what I’ve been waiting for? For I see no way of righting the wrongs of the past. It’s plainly out of my hands.”

  “Aye, that it is.” Iorwerth stifled a yawn and looked up at the sky. “I only know for certain that it’ll be morning soon, so you’d best get some sleep. It’ll take several days of walking, at least, to reach Lora’s convent. Unless you can secure a horse somewhere along the way.”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “Nay.” He stretched out on his pallet with a groan. “This is as far as I go.”

  Several more questions stumbled through William’s brain. He opened his mouth, intending to voice one.

  “Goodnight, Will,” came the firm remark from the other side of the fire.

  And that’s that, William thought, as he settled back and closed his eyes.

  A few hours later, he awoke to a chorus of birdsong and looked up to see the sky awash with dawn’s pale radiance. A few stars lingered here and there, twinkling their last. William lay still. At one time, he might have reveled in the beauty of a new day, listening to nature’s music as he enjoyed a few moments of serene thought. But with consciousness came a burden of reality that weighed like a bag of sand on his chest. His mind, yet sluggish, echoed with the previous night’s conversation and Iorwerth’s enigmatic words.

  Your saga is not yet finished, Will.

  “Are you awake, Iorwerth?” he mumbled, his stiff muscles objecting as he sat up. “Why do you believe…?”

  A few charred embers still glowed red in their soft bed of gray ash, but the space beyond, where Iorwerth had lain, was empty. William rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  Not that he doubted the absence of his friend. Quite clearly, Iorwerth had gone. Odd, though, that the forest floor showed no sign of disturbance. No bodily outline was pressed into the earth, as if no human form—or any other form, for that matter—had ever rested in that spot.

  Unwilling to consider several inconceivable explanations, William shook his head and looked to the east, where the sun edged over the horizon. Beyond, lay Lora’s destination.

  And mine.

  “Best get going then,” he muttered, clambering to his feet and arching his sore back.

  Chapter 14

  The days rolled by, taking the miles with them. As Lora drew closer to what she saw as the threshold of a desolate future, her spirit wilted like a frostbitten flower. Outwardly, however, she remained stoic, hiding her emotional turmoil behind a composed facade.

  Despite Lora’s occasional effort to engage him, the earl maintained his aloofness toward her. Toward his men, his patience appeared to have thinned. For the past two days, especially, he’d snapped and snarled at his knights like an ill-natured dog, often with little cause.

  No doubt fatigue grates on his nerves, Lora mused with a shiver, feeling bone-weary herself. The recent weather had been dismal, with autumn showers tumbling from gray skies. Her damp clothes barely had time to dry during the overnight hours spent in a variety of hostels. Roads turned to mud, and even the horses, their coats darkened by rain, seemed to drag their hooves in misery.

  Of Master William, she’d seen no sign since that first day. As much as she hoped he was still nearby, she told herself it was unreasonable to assume so. What purpose would it serve, after all, for him to follow her? His brief appearance had, no doubt, merely been his way of bidding her farewell. She still found a measure of comfort in the two little pebbles he’d cast into the wagon and continued to tuck them beneath her pillow each night.

  “Hold.”

  The earl’s command cut into Lora’s musing, and she grasped the boards as the wagon jerked to a halt. They had stopped at the top of a gentle rise, with a t
apestry of green pastures and russet-colored woodland stretching out beyond. In the distance, an orderly collection of gray stone buildings, including a church, lay enclosed within a tall wooden fence. The solitary chime of a bell drifted through the air, as did the soft bleating calls of sheep.

  “Whitestone Abbey,” the earl said, shifting in his saddle. “Our destination.”

  An idyllic landscape, Lora thought, in an effort to appease her despondent soul. The effort failed. Her vision blurred and her mouth went dry.

  *

  Only Lora and the earl were allowed entry to the abbey. A nun led them, in silence, to the abbess’s house, a fine limestone building set behind the church.

  Hugging her bag to her chest, Lora sat on a stone bench in the passageway and tried to control the fierce tremble in her legs. Across from her, behind a solid oak door, her father and the abbess of Whitestone Abbey were undoubtedly discussing her future. The subdued murmur of voices could be heard, but not understood.

  Lora hugged her bag tighter and looked about. The bare walls, with their chiseled blocks of stone, reminded her of Gareth. The air smelled of incense and reminded her of the chapel at Rothwyn. She bit down, stifling a sob as her head swam with a flood of memories. “Give me strength,” she whispered, “for I fear I shall not survive this.” A heartbeat later, Gareth’s final words, spoken to her on that dreadful night, echoed in her mind.

  Keep the faith, cariad. For me.

  The door opened and the abbess stepped out.

  “Follow me, Lora,” she said, holding out a hand as a mother might to a child. She had a kind face, with soft gray eyes and lines that mapped past smiles. “Let’s get you settled.”

  Lora’s heart missed a beat. In desperation, she’d been clinging to a fragile thread of hope that she might yet be forgiven and allowed to return to Rothwyn. Maybe she should plead, one last time, for mercy. “May I speak with my father, please, Reverend Mother?”

  The nun shook her head. “Your father is at prayer. Come, now. This way.”

  At prayer? Lora struggled to her feet and tried to peer around the abbess, but the door had already swung shut. She had never thought of her father as pious. Maybe he’s praying for strength. Maybe his conscience won’t let him be.

  “I’ll… I’ll speak with him later, then,” she said, disbelieving another possibility that hovered on the edge of her mind.

  The dormitory was a single-story building adjacent to the church. Lora noticed, as she peered in through several open doors, that most rooms contained four or five beds. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be sharing with others. For now, though, everywhere seemed to be empty.

  “Most of the sisters are at midday prayers,” the abbess said, as if reading Lora’s mind. “You’ll soon get to know our routine.”

  Lora nodded. “I’m sure,” she replied, with forced sincerity.

  “Here we are.” The abbess pushed open a small oak door. “Your father requested a private room for you. This one has a pleasant view of the gardens.”

  Lora stumbled into the small lime-washed chamber and blinked into the shadows.

  “Careful.” The abbess stepped past and pulled open the shutters. “There, that’s better.”

  Lora looked around, wondering at her father’s motive. Did he want her to have privacy? Or isolation?

  A narrow bed, complete with straw pallet, thin pillow, and a folded blanket, sat flush against one wall. A small table stood by the window. Atop it was a wooden bowl, plus a taper and flint. The only adornment on the wall was a simple cross. Lora stared at it, searching her soul, hoping to find some kind of divine connection. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She turned and offered a feeble smile to the woman at her side.

  “I must confess, Reverend Mother, that I probably won’t make a very good nun. I’m not without beliefs, of course, but I’m not terribly…pious.”

  A look of surprise crossed the abbess’s face. “Oh, my dear. Whatever made you think you were here to take the veil? You’re here as a paying resident, one who is required to obey our rules, participate in religious studies and, of course, work alongside the sisters. But you’ll never be forced to take your vows.”

  “Thank God.” Lora’s cheeks warmed with a surge of relief, followed by an additional rush of heat as she realized what she’d said. “I mean, I…forgive me, Reverend Mother. I meant no disrespect.”

  The abbess smiled, reached out, and brushed an errant curl from Lora’s forehead. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said. “She was a young girl, dangerously naive, convinced she had the world by its tail. Until one day the world turned around and bit her. Like you, she was also punished for her indiscretions. At least, that’s how she saw being shipped off to a priory in the wilds of Yorkshire. But, after a while, she settled down and accepted that God had other plans for her. She took her vows and found great fulfillment doing His work. Helping the sick. Feeding the poor. Offering a word of comfort to those in need. It gave her comfort in return.”

  “You,” Lora said, after a pause. “The girl was you.”

  The abbess nodded. “Let God guide you, Lora. You’ll find peace in His wisdom, as I have.”

  Then why is there yet sadness in your eyes, Reverend Mother?

  “As long as I’m here, I shall endeavor to obey your rules, study, and work hard,” Lora said, “but you should know that Gareth was never an indiscretion. I love him and will always love him, no matter what. May I speak with my father now?”

  The abbess drew a slow breath and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, child. Your father thought that bidding you farewell would be too difficult. His intent, after our meeting, was to leave immediately.”

  The fragile thread snapped and a sound erupted from Lora’s throat, a foreign cry that tore through the air. It was too much. The grief, the heartache, the fear—all of it collided with a blinding force that shattered what little remained of her resolve. The light around her twisted into a funnel before whirling up and out through the ceiling. As she plunged into welcome darkness, she thought she heard a voice.

  “Time,” it said. “Give it time.”

  *

  Lora stood outside the abbess’s office door and raised a hesitant hand to knock. The reason for her summons had yet to be made known, and Lora’s stomach knotted with apprehension. She doubted she was to receive a flattering review of her efforts thus far. Her father’s wordless departure nigh on a fortnight before felt like abandonment, and the shock of his blatant indifference still lingered. She found little solace in prayer and her participation in daily events lacked honest devotion. She struggled through each long day, hiding her desolation behind a facade of feigned acceptance. No doubt her apathy had been noted, and despite the abbess’s patience, a lecture was about to ensue. Taking a breath, she rapped her knuckles three times against the solid oak.

  “Enter,” came the muffled reply.

  Lora pushed the door open.

  “Ah, here she is.” The abbess rose to her feet. “Lora, my dear, you have a visitor.”

  A man, seated in partial shadow, also rose and turned toward her, the light from the window illuminating his features.

  Recognition came in a sweet, exhilarating rush, and Lora’s hands flew to her mouth, capturing a cry of disbelief. “Oh, God be praised, I can’t…” She took a tentative step forward. “Master William, is it really you?”

  He nodded, shifting on his feet as if discomforted. “Yes, my lady. I thought you might need—”

  Lora let out a squeal, launched herself across the room, and hurled herself at him. He gave a soft chuckle as his arms folded around her. “It’s good to see you, too,” he murmured.

  The abbess cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll leave you in privacy for a while,” she said, and brushed by them.

  Lora, her face still buried in William’s chest, waited until she heard the door close. Only then did she surrender to tears and sob without shame into William’s shirt.

  “What’s all thi
s, then? Nay, hush,” he said. “God help us, child, you’ll drown us both at this rate. Come, now. Let me look at you.”

  She hiccupped on a sob and lifted her head. “Oh, Master William, I c-can scarcely believe you’re h-here.”

  “Aye, well,” he murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb, “here I am, so cease this weeping and sit with me. There is much to say.”

  A lump of fear congealed in Lora’s belly. Yes, there was much to say and equally as much to hear, some of it undoubtedly bleak. Legs trembling, she all but collapsed into a chair. William pulled his chair closer so their knees almost touched. Still a little stunned by the shock of his arrival, Lora took a moment to study him. He looks thinner. Older. He looks…sad? Or maybe he’s just fatigued. Little wonder, after the journey he’s taken.

  “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you.” She swallowed against another rising sob. “It has been difficult.”

  “I’m sure it has.” He took her hand in his and turned it palm up, frowning as he traced a finger over her callouses. “I see that it has.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t mind the work. But I can’t stop thinking about all that has happened. It’s like a shadow, following me everywhere. And I miss my home. I miss Mama.”

  “No doubt.” He patted her hand. “I’m certain she misses you as well.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she does.” A sudden pang of homesickness, like the panic of a lost child, caught her unawares and her fingers tightened around his. “So, how long can you stay? Where are you staying? Will I see you again after today, or are you moving on?”

  He smiled. “One thing at a time, little ’un.”

  The familiar term of endearment drew fresh tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just your being here seems so incredible. I fear this might all be a dream.”

  “Not a dream, and let me say first that I’m here indefinitely. At least, I’ll be nearby. I’ve secured a position as steward at a local manor house.” He shrugged. “It’s not as grand as Rothwyn, but I’m fortunate to have found familiar work this close to you.” He appeared distracted for a moment as he added, “Very fortunate, actually.”