The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  “I understand. I’ll go. We’ll meet in the clearing after dark?”

  “Is tonight a full moon?”

  “Sir Dragon will be visiting his wife, I think,” she agreed, nodding.

  “We’ll meet there.” Suddenly, Philip wasn’t sure he wanted her to go. What if something terrible was happening? What if he was sending her into a dangerous situation? He’d never forgive himself if his impulsivity put his little friend in danger again. The desire to be the hero and the excitement surrounding it had clouded his judgment once. He could never let that happen again.

  “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Laughing, Dove laid a hand on his arm and squeezed briefly. “You’re worrying like an old woman now. We need to know whose horses those are, if it’s not too late, and if there are any more. I’ll be safe. People fear me, and at times like this, that is a good thing.”

  For thirty minutes, Philip sat rigidly on a stool next to the door. Every flap of the curtains in the breeze, every door that slammed shut, and every voice sent into the room on the tide of air rushing in from the sea wound the nerves in his body tighter than strings on a harp. When Peter finally opened the door to his cottage, Philip tumbled from his stool, landing hard on his backside.

  “What are you doing in here?” Peter’s eyes immediately went to the table where he’d left the papers. They appeared undisturbed.

  “I looked at them, Peter,” Philip confessed quietly.

  Anger flooded the man’s face, and Philip suddenly realized the depth of Peter’s foolishness in leaving them in plain sight. Anyone could have come in his cottage and seen… What had others seen? “And what did you learn from my private papers?”

  “I learned that you’re planning castle defense. You expect some kind of attack and are making plans, I suspect with the Commander since that is his province, for how to prevent and respond to an attempted siege.”

  “You’re a bright one. I’ve always said that.” The irony in Peter’s voice did not escape the boy.

  “There are a few things you should know then.” Philip waited until he knew he had the head archer’s attention, and then continued. “There are horses arriving at the south gate. No one is on guard out there, but I did tell Wydo so someone knows.”

  Dismay flooded Peter’s features, but he managed to choke out a simple, “Thank you.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Is that all? You said a few things.” Wearily, Peter sat on a bench under his window, leaned his head against the sill, and closed his eyes.

  “Lady Aurelia is not being adequately cared for by Lady de Clare. That woman had the poor child sitting on the floor unable to support her back at all!” He hesitated. Was it time to say anymore? “I don’t trust her. Lady Aurelia is frightened of her, and the castle servants are taking their cues from Lady de Clare on how to behave in the absence of the lord. The ladies of the castle were noticeably absent. I did not know what to think. The woman is hard. She has ordered Dove and me to stay away, which has Lady Aurelia most distressed.”

  “She left the child on the floor!”

  Peter’s characteristic discretion dissolved in an instant at those words. Everyone in the castle felt a great love and affection for the lame mistress. For anyone to abandon her as Philip described, implied a sinister undertone that Lady de Clare had cleverly disguised under her apparent affability.

  “She claimed that she assumed it’d be more comfortable—”

  “Hog slop. John overheard the lord’s directions clearly. That floor is too damp and cold for the girl. She takes ill. She needs sunshine, and—”

  “Who is at the south gate, Peter?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t seem surprised or worried. You act like you expect it. So, I was curious who you are expecting.”

  Peter laughed. “You are so much brighter than even I give you credit for. Who is there is none of your concern. Trust me when I say we are prepared for anything. Go on home and get some food. It’s getting late, and we don’t want to irritate an expectant woman by being late to her table.”

  “I truly am sorry that I looked at your papers, Peter.” He hated bringing it up again, but Philip didn’t want to leave until he knew all was right between them. “I let my curiosity override my conscience.”

  “I think perhaps a little concern with everything happening around here had something to do with it as well.” The head archer gave Philip a small smile. “I won’t pretend that I am not unhappy you rifled through my things. It is a terrible breach of courtesy at best.” At the sight of Philip’s drooping head, Peter allowed himself to soften his tongue. “However, you taught me a valuable lesson. It has been so long since we’ve had any true threat to our castle that I have become weak and careless. It is best that I learn my lesson with a boy who is usually so trustworthy than from someone who might use what they learned to harm us.”

  “Thank you, Peter.” Swallowing hard, he added, “I hope someday you’ll be able to trust me again.”

  “I already do, lad. I already do.”

  “So, do you think he’s going to tell you what is happening? I’m so curious!” As much as she tried to hide it, Dove’s excitement was keen.

  “I have a theory, but it’s only a theory.”

  “Tell me!”

  Philip laid out his best explanation. “Well, the papers showed our best defenses, our weakest places, and plans for defending an attack. They expect people to come to the south gate and over the east wall. It has that flat area where you could wheel a cart to make climbing easier. I’ve seen men trying to scale the wall there, and it’s amazing how well some of them can do it. I think they should break off anything you could use for a toehold. I wonder why they haven’t…”

  “So, they plan to defend those areas the most?”

  “Yes.” Philip’s mind was working out all the flaws and strengths of the plans. “I think the reason Peter wasn’t concerned about the horses at the south gate is that they’re expecting Lord Morgan to come back pretending to be someone else. That way, he looks like he’s gone, but he can spy on Lady de Clare and her retinue and see if she has something to do with the kidnapping attempt on Aurelia.”

  His theories made sense. Even Dove could see the wisdom in making a great show of going to the exciting faire at Scarborough and then returning later to observe things at the castle when no one thinks he is around to see or hear. Just as she started to agree with his theory, a new thought rode into her mind on a white charger with banners waving.

  “But if that was the case, why ride up in daylight? Why would they not come through the tunnels that those men used to take me out of the castle? They could come in late at night when no one could see. He could hide and no one would know.”

  Dove’s argument made sense. He had to admit that it was more reasonable than his elaborate scheme. “What if that’s what he is doing! What if those horses were friends of Lady de Clare and Lord Morgan is coming tonight or tomorrow night?”

  Nodding excitedly, Dove sat upright. “It must be. Or, it is possible that Lord Morgan didn’t leave at all! Perhaps he had someone ride out on his horse dressed in his clothes who looked enough like him that people just assumed…”

  “It didn’t make sense that he’d leave with a potential threat. This must be what is happening. I wonder—”

  “Don’t tell Peter you discovered it. It’ll make him feel bad.” Before Philip could nod, she jumped to her feet. “On the other hand, if two children can figure out the plan, perhaps it isn’t such a good one after all. Maybe we should tell him.”

  “Maybe if two children can figure it out, that means we’ve got it wrong.” The exasperation Philip felt was evident in every word, every shift of his shoulders, and the way he ripped grass from the ground tossing it aside as though it’d help somehow.

  Dove sank back to the ground. Philip, as usual, was correct. There must be more to the plan than they anticipated. “What if—”

  Before she
could speak, Philip pointed at the sky. The great dragon’s wings were visible against the moon, and with each great flap, a swishing noise seemed to fill the woods around them. “He’s so beautiful,” the mesmerized boy whispered. “You hear about dragons, and it’s hard to tell if they’re just a myth, or if they truly exist. The knights tell tales of fighting dragons, but I never could tell if they meant literal beasts or something metaphoric.”

  “Meta-what?”

  “Metaphoric. Broðor Clarke was explaining it to us. When God says He spreads His wings over us, that is a metaphor. It means that we don’t believe He has literal wings that cover us; it means that we believe He protects us in that way.”

  “So a dragon as a metaphoric-”

  “Metaphor,” Philip corrected patiently.

  “Right, metaphor. A dragon as a metaphor would mean something frightful and fearsome that they had to face and conquer?”

  Dove’s quick mind never ceased to amaze Philip. The child caught onto nearly everything with just a few simple explanations, leaving him wondering what good such a bright mind did her when she had no opportunities to use it. “Do you ever wonder what you’ll do when you are grown?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, most boys know they’ll grow up and learn a trade, earn a living, get married, and have a family. Most girls know they’ll grow up, get married, keep a home, and help support the family however they can.”

  Her little sigh punctured the more mature corner of Philip’s heart. “By this, you mean I won’t marry so what else will I do to fill my days if I am not scratching out food from the ground and tending children all day long?”

  He didn’t know how to answer that question. It was what he meant, but again, her answer was ages beyond what one would expect of a girl of nine. He didn’t mean to hurt or offend, and yet he had. “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”

  “It is a good question. I have the cottage now. When Bertha dies, I’ll have a place to live and a place to grow food. If I grow more than I need, I’ll have food to trade for things I do need like cloth and such.” He could almost hear the twinkle of her eyes in her voice. “I will need to keep myself in cloaks.”

  Philip had intended to suggest spinning or weaving as a possible occupation for her, but Dove’s nonchalant mention of Bertha’s death made him curious. “Will you miss her?”

  “Who? Bertha? Why should I miss her?”

  “When she dies, I mean. She’s not old yet, but people die when we least expect them.” The image of his sister’s lifeless body floated before his mind.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I should miss her; she’s as near as a modor as I’ll ever have, but I can’t say I would. Now that I have a friend…”

  “You would miss me then, if I died?” Philip squirmed visibly. The conversation had taken an awkward turn.

  “Of course!”

  “We must find you more friends— someone to be there if something happens to me. You shouldn’t be so alone.”

  “Well, if you’re planning on dying,” Dove teased, standing and brushing the grass from her cloak. “Then I think it’s time for me to go to bed. I am tired, the dragon is gone, and this conversation just got morose.”

  At the edge of the trees, Dove turned and called to him. “Are you going to ask Peter if we solved the riddle of his plans?”

  “I may. I don’t know. I’m going to ask Broðor Clarke, I think.”

  “Ask him about Joshua and the wall. I’m curious if he is as uncomfortable with my thoughts as you are.”

  As she disappeared between the trees, Philip lay back on the grass staring up at the sky. Lately, he’d taken to impromptu conversations with the Lord. It felt presumptive— even irreverent —at first. He soon discovered that the more he prayed, the more he found comfort in talking with the Lord about anything.

  “How did she know?” He queried, not expecting an answer but feeling the need to ask anyway. “How can such a little and young thing be so wise? I feel a fool next to her. I should be wiser— more mature. She makes me feel like the child sometimes.”

  The night mists rolled in around him blanketing him with their coolness. He pulled the wool coverlet over him and continued to listen to the night sounds. Owls hooted, animals scurried in the underbrush, and somewhere in a close tree, a nightingale sang for its mate. It occurred to him that much had changed. The mists didn’t bother him, as they would have in the spring.

  “Sometimes, when I’m not paying attention, it’s as though I have Ellie back, and we’re planning life in the castle again. I can almost hear me telling her of my great valor as a knight—how I’ve slain the dragon and the kingdom is safe. Then Ellie tells me of her scarlet gown with a gold belt at her waist and a coronet of flowers in her hair. All she ever wanted was a beautiful dress like Lady Evaline.” His voice grew quiet and raspy with emotion and fatigue. “Why did she have to die? Modor’s only daughter.” One last whisper escaped before he fell asleep under the stars. “Why?”

  Chapter 19

  Strategies

  “How is Dove so clever? I was thinking about it while I tried to sleep last night, and I realized that she spends so little time with Bertha; how did she develop such a vocabulary—such knowledge and understanding? How can she be such a miniature adult?”

  “She listens, Philip. For at least three or four years, I’ve seen her hiding behind the tavern listening to the conversations inside. She listens to business transactions, to children playing, and to ladies gossiping. The only thing I never saw her do was eavesdrop on a sermon or our stories, but she does now.”

  “She does?”

  Dennis Clarke saw the paternal air Philip had toward Dove and wondered at how healthy it was. He was proud that the boy cared about his little friend, but people were still uncertain about her. Lord Morgan’s support hadn’t wiped the village superstitions from the hearts of the people. Things would grow ugly again, given time. “She does.”

  “We talked about Joshua. She has strange ideas about things, but I think it’s because she doesn’t know much yet.”

  The corner of Broðor Clarke’s mouth twitched. One minute, Philip thought his friend wise beyond her years, and seconds later, he was condescending about her supposed ignorance. “I think you’ve discovered the different perspectives of men and women.”

  “But she’s just a child.”

  “Boys and girls then. You’ve discovered that different people see the same things in different ways.”

  “Were we even close?” The moment he asked, Philip laughed, waving his hands to stop Peter’s response. “I just realized that you can’t tell me.” He dropped his head into his hands still chuckling. “I was so eager to find out if we’d discovered your plans, or if we were as silly as we decided we were, but you can’t even tell me that we’re wrong or it’ll either give away your plans or narrow the options down to make it easier to discover.”

  Broðor Clarke and Peter laughed with Philip, allowing the lighthearted self-teasing to wash away the tension of the past twenty-four hours and the dread hanging over the next seventy-two. “I can tell you,” Peter teased, “Precisely where you were correct or not after anything does happen or the danger passes eventless.”

  “Why does eventless have to be such a good thing? Eventful sounds so much more exciting!”

  “Just when I think he’s mature beyond his years and nearly a man, he says something like that.” Peter sank to the trestle bench against the wall and grabbed his tankard of ale.

  “I’ll wager you were much like Philip at his age.”

  “At his age, I was worse. If we hadn’t been chasing out the Scots and the pirates, I’d have become a brigand just to give us practice.”

  “Why do adults always talk about children, as though they can’t hear or understand what you say?”

  The men tried to look properly chagrined, but their amused smirks did little to make him feel any better. Philip knew they were silently mocking him, but he also knew if he
protested any further, he’d look even sillier than he already did. Assuming an air of indifference, Philip grabbed a broken arrow from a quiver and beckoned the men to follow.

  “I just thought of something. The kidnapping. Those men knew about the tunnel. Did they learn of it from the nurse? Is it common knowledge? Does Lady de Clare know about it?”

  “The nurse told her brother; that much, we know. What we don’t know is if he told anyone else, but we doubt it. There likely wouldn’t have been time.” Peter looked at Philip curiously. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, if I could find your papers, then anyone might have seen them. I was just thinking that maybe someone else could as well. Do those papers show that tunnel? I don’t remember. If anyone was looking at them like I did and found the tunnel, it’d be a vulnerable position for the castle if invaders found it.”

  As he spoke, Philip drew up a plan in the dirt that he’d try to use if he were marauding with that information. Although a little simplistic, Peter and Broðor Clarke understood his point. If a boy could devise the plan, surely invaders would use that information, if they had it. “I see your point, Philip. You’re a natural when it comes to strategy, do you know that?”

  “It just makes sense. I’d want to know—”

  “You are aware that they’ve probably considered these possibilities?” Philip nodded. He could almost hear Broðor Clarke’ admonition in his voice, “Don’t become wise in your own eyes, son.”

  “I just got curious, and then…”

  “Don’t come down too hard on him. He’s just learning how to reason out these things. It’s good for him,” Peter protested. The archer had a transparent soft spot for Philip that Broðor Clarke found amusing.

  “With his amazing reasoning skills, I’m surprised he hasn’t discovered little Dove’s secret.” Broðor Clarke glanced sharply at Philip as he spoke. He’d often wondered if the boy knew more than he shared.

  “I don’t want to guess.”

  The men stared at him in surprise. Peter eventually found his voice. “I was sure you’d be curious…”