The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  “For our survival!” Grifon’s protest echoed in the empty chamber.

  “If she is unjustly feared, I suppose she might cover for her survival as well.”

  The scents of rich food overwhelmed her as Dove tried to sample some of each dish that Durlida brought her. Between courses of hearty soups, pork and mutton, they served pine nut sweetmeats and vegetables that Dove didn’t even recognize. The bones of roasted pigs, nearly picked clean by the fingers of the Mæte and their guest, were carried by young girls, all smaller than Dove, from the hall. As the men pushed tables against the wall and placed the benches on top of them, cushions were cleared from the center of the room and stashed near the tables. Musicians placed chairs in the middle of the room and tuned their instruments, the discordant tones slowly melding into more harmonious ones. At last, an ancient-looking dwarf, obviously the King of the Mæte, was led to a makeshift throne, overlaid in silver, sparkling with jewels along the high back, and there he was seated. The room grew hushed with expectation. Jakys and another man, one Dove had not yet seen, stood on either side of the king as if his protectors.

  “My people,” the king said, speaking into a horn that amplified his voice around the room. “I would like to welcome you to Winterfest. We have a guest of honor this night. Welcome to Dove of Wynnewood whom Jakys rescued from the cold. Let us dance.”

  Jakys immediately strode to Dove’s side and led her to the king for an introduction. Music began and the Mæte formed intricate patterns in a great circle around the musicians, but Dove found herself before the king of these little people. Not knowing how to address someone so important, she curtseyed low and bowed her head. “It is an honor to meet you, your highness.” Had she thought of it, Dove might have prayed that the man accepted her attempt at respectful deference.

  “I am just Waleron, Dove of Wynnewood.”

  “And I,” she replied, laughter in her voice, “am just Dove. Wynnewood would not claim me as their own.”

  “Jakys tells me it is their loss. Welcome to our home.”

  Before she could acknowledge the other man, Jakys led her away from the throne. “We’ll dance behind the group at first. You’re intelligent. You’ll learn quickly.”

  His feet tapped for a moment, and she saw a twinkle in his eye as Jakys prepared to make his move into the dance. “Watch me.”

  She did. Dove watched Jakys and his movements, as well as the movements of the other ladies dancing. Their steps were a little different from the men’s but after a few minutes, she thought she understood the rhythm and pattern of the dance. “I can do it.”

  “Good,” the little man laughed. “The next time we dance that one, you’ll be ready. The next is slow and easy. Listen and then we’ll join.”

  He did not exaggerate. The steps were such that even if she got them wrong, it wouldn’t ruin the rest of the dance for the others. She took Jakys hand and noticed, even through her glove, how warm it was. She’d felt cold all day, but the Mæte seemed to share the extra warmth of the nearby dragons.

  In Dove’s eyes, the Mæte seemed wealthy— possibly even more so than Lord Morgan. They were a beautiful people. The tiny women, so small compared to Dove, had fine bones and delicate features. They looked noble— even royal. The men had broad shoulders, wide foreheads, and thick noses above their beards. It was easiest to discern the age of the men. Those without any facial hair were boys or young men. The older they were, the longer their beards. King Waleron’s beard hung past his knees in long ringlets.

  They all wore fine, rich fabrics, some such as Dove had never seen. Some, like the rich rippling folds of velvets that Lady Aurelia wore in the colder months, were heavily embroidered in silver threads that seemed spun from the metal itself. The primrose seemed to be the flower of choice for the Mæte, and Dove found it embroidered even on some of the men’s clothing. Large heavy belts cinched the tunics at the waist, while fine chains, studded with pearls and jewels, hung from the women’s hips. When she’d first arrived, they’d all looked like smaller versions of the villagers of Wynnewood, but at this great feast, they displayed a grandeur that she’d never seen.

  The children delighted her. They were so tiny, such miniatures of what she was accustomed to, that Dove felt like she was observing dolls that had come to life before her eyes. To see children who were nearly her age just inches above her waist in height, made her feel enormous. That was a feeling she’d never before experienced. They played games, chased one another, and twice she giggled within her cloak hood to see one child play a prank on another.

  “Our children amuse you, Dove?” Jakys’ voice startled her.

  “Did you see that boy?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one with red hair and green breeches.”

  “That is Wymer.” Jakys chuckled as the boy began stalking his next victim.

  “There he goes again. Watch.”

  Her little host shook his head. “No, you watch. Gamel won’t be fooled.”

  As if fulfilling a prophesy, Jakys words came alive before their eyes. Wymer tiptoed to where Gamel waited for his turn at a game, and tapped the boy’s shoulder. He tried to run, but Gamel grabbed him and flipped him over his shoulder and onto the floor as if a lump of dough to be kneaded. The group of children roared with laughter. Dove glanced at Jakys and grinned to herself at the twinkling of the man’s eyes. These strange little people seemed to love a practical joke.

  At first, the other dancers gave her a wide berth, but after several minutes of dancing and laughing at her own mistakes, she found herself passed from partner to partner. Her initial discomfort gave way to enjoyment as her confidence grew and the others accepted her. Dove had never had such fun and had never been in such a large group of people. Men teased her about being a “giant,” and women laughed at her protests that she was small for her age. She danced with fathers and even grandfathers who were shorter than she, and all the while she wished that Philip could be here to enjoy it with her.

  One dwarf, the king’s other trusted advisor, invited her to be his partner for the Dance of the Tryst. From what she could see, it was the only one where the group did not move together. Instead, couples worked independently of the others around the room. She tried to decline, pleading ignorance of the steps, but Maulore, the second in command of the Mæte, assured her she could learn. “You are bright, and it will not affect the others. We dance.”

  Dove’s glance toward Jakys left her nervous. The man’s eyes were narrowed, his arms crossed. He looked proud, yet almost insecure as if his position had been usurped. She knew instinctively that he did not want her dancing with Maulore. “I think—”

  “Oh, Jakys is just being foolish. Do not mind him. He’s young and thinks too highly of himself. I will not harm you, but the king would think me remiss if I did not dance with our guest of honor.”

  The way Maulore said “guest of honor” held a trace of derision that was unmistakable. Dove, feeling somewhat panicked, ached to wrench free and run from the rooms until she escaped into the familiar of the Heolstor Forest. However, the dwarf, a fierce look on his face, led her to the floor and instructed her step by step as they moved around the floor. Between his corrections, he fired questions at her more rapidly than Lord Morgan’s archers could send their arrows flying.

  Dove answered each one, knowing they would not satisfy the man. “I do not know where Lord Morgan’s storehouse is. He has not confided in me. Why would he?”

  “You saved his daughter.”

  “So, if I saved your daughter,” Dove retorted, trying to keep her voice from quavering, “would you tell me where to find the silver mined from this mountain?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then, I don’t see why you assume that the Earl of Wynnewood would confide in the village outcast, even if she did do him a service.”

  “You do have a point. However, I do not trust you. You speak as someone who has something to hide.”

  “I am not accustomed to sp
eaking to people at all. If I appear cautious or reticent, it is because, in my experience, people only want information from me to hurt me.”

  With those words, Dove spun away from her tormenter and went to find Jakys. She felt the man’s hand on her arm but wrenched free just as the man she sought stood before them. “Is there a problem?”

  “I do not think your friend finds me a satisfactory partner.”

  Giving Maulore a warning look, Jakys led her back to the open floor to finish the dance with her. “This is our longest and most respected dance. I did not think he would so openly defile it. I am sorry.”

  “He doesn’t trust me, and there is no reason why he should.”

  “You, young Dove, are more gracious than he deserves. You do your benefactress credit.” Those who heard Jakys’ words wondered at the challenge they knew he presented by them. If Maulore accepted, the balance of power in their world could shift.

  The Dance of the Tryst ended with an immediate swing into a repeat of the first dance of the evening. Jakys watched as Dove relaxed and allowed her feet to fly alongside the rest of the revelers. Wine passed between those watching the dancing, and the Mæte grew merry with the excitement of the drink, the music, and the party atmosphere. Dove didn’t trust those who indulged in much wine. She’d watched the effect of drink on the men of the tavern, and found it frightening to see how a normally gentle man could become violent, or a jolly one maudlin with just a few glasses too many.

  However, it was easy to become caught up in the excitement and emotion of the revelry around her, and that alone, without a sip of wine or ale to aid her, obscured her judgment. She danced faster, more freely, and eventually with complete abandon to the music until, in one great whirl from Jakys hands, she spun wildly into the center of the room and her hood flew from her head.

  The music ceased— the musicians frozen in shock and fear. The dancers spun about trying to see what stopped the music. Then came a scream that sent everyone fleeing in various directions. “Scynscaþa!”

  Chapter 10

  Determination

  Rain pelted the Wynnewood countryside all through the night. The bitter cold was gone, and in its place, the wetness created bogs of mud in every direction. Bertha awoke to a yard that more closely resembled a pig’s yard than her own. Eager to get to the Wood home while she knew Dove was still gone, she picked her way through Wyrm Forest to Wynnewood village. She must secure Letty as an apprentice before Dove returned— if she ever did. The chance was incredibly slim, but Bertha knew the girl was resourceful enough to surprise them all, and she was not willing to risk losing Letty. If Dove returned, the chance was gone.

  Matill’ answered the door, confused. “Bertha Newcombe, I am not with child. Rose is not yet crawling.”

  “I haven’t come for that purpose. I have a proposition for you.” At the confused look on Matill’s face, Bertha decided she’d best come to the point directly. “The Ge-sceaft has gone. She left before the storm and hasn’t returned.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to see her gone, but I know what a help she was to you. You’ll miss her for that, I guess.” Grudging though they were, Matill’ Wood’s words were more gracious than Bertha could have expected.

  “That is why I’ve come. Until now, I’ve not been able to train an assistant. I wouldn’t expect someone else to risk their child in my home with the Ge-sceaft there.”

  “Why keep her then? Angus says she’s not dangerous, but—”

  “Because my job is to preserve life, and it is the only way I could do that.”

  Matill’ opened the door wider to let Bertha into their cottage. “Come in and tell me why you’re here then.”

  Bertha settled on the large bench near the fire. “I’ve come, now that the creature has gone, to ask you to let me take Letty as an apprentice. I will teach her everything she’d need so that she can take over as village midwife by her twentieth year. I won’t allow her to assist with births until she is fourteen. She’ll have a good income, a respected livelihood, and I will treat her well. If I’ve never mistreated something like the Ge-sceaft, surely that should speak of my trustworthiness.”

  “Are you sure she’s dead?” Letty’s voice held a trace of sorrow. She hadn’t made her presence known, but now she crawled behind a curtain and looked up into the midwife’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, until we find her body, we can’t be sure, but who could survive, even with shelter, for so many days and nights in that freezing cold without food? If she was alive, she’d have come home yesterday.”

  “Philip will be so hurt. Lady Aurelia too.” The compassion shown by Letty did not discourage Bertha. Instead, she felt even more confident of her choice.

  “Would you like to learn midwifery, Letty? Would you enjoy helping the Hælan and women birth their children?”

  The girl, round and rosy and prettier than most of the village girls, nodded eagerly. “I always thought you had the best occupation of anyone. I never dreamed I could learn.”

  “I would not have come so soon,” Bertha lied smoothly, as if she meant every word, “but I need the help sorely. I will be summoned to the castle soon; I will find myself farther behind on my home work. I cannot help the women of our village, assist the Hælan, and keep up a home. Many midwives have children to help them. I have none.”

  Matill’ sent Letty to find her husband. “Tell him what Bertha has said and that he should come quickly.” To Bertha, she asked, “Who else have you considered?”

  Bertha was a shrewd woman. She knew how to manipulate people into doing what she wanted. Immediately she thought of the daughters of the two women Matill’ disliked most, and shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “I did consider Editha. She’s a stout girl, strong, and tractable. I even considered Agnes, but I thought Letty was more amiable and intelligent than both of them, so I came here first. I liked that Agnes has so much experience with animals. It would help with her training, but she can be a little…”

  “Agnes isn’t very bright,” Matill’ agreed quickly.

  It worked. From the moment Matill’ took the bait, Bertha knew that she’d managed to get her approval, and in that part of England, men usually left the decision of midwifery for their daughters to their wives. As long as Symon did not object, she had an assistant. Her life was about to become nearly as perfect as possible.

  Big and burly like Angus, Symon Wood filled the doorframe as he arrived from his workshop. As a carpenter, he had massive arms from cutting, sanding, and carving the woodwork around Wynnewood Castle. “Letty says you’ve come to take her on as an apprentice.” He smiled down at his daughter. “She seems quite eager, too.”

  “Well, she really is the best candidate for the position.” Bertha noticed the strong affection between father and daughter and chose to appeal to that with her compliments.

  “I am concerned about the Ge-sceaft. Letty says she has gone missing. How can you assure us she won’t return?”

  “I can’t.” She could return at any time, but it isn’t likely. I just don’t see how she could have survived the storm.”

  Husband and wife exchanged looks, making Bertha almost wish she’d not been so forthright. However, should Dove return, she needed to be able to remind them that she’d told them she wasn’t sure. Letty interjected her own opinion before her parents could respond. “Well, I hope Dove is not dead. I am not afraid of her.”

  “I cannot have you living in the cottage with that creature.” Symon Wood’s voice was firm.

  “So, if Dove comes back, I will sleep at home. It’s unusual, but we can make it work.”

  “And when you need to go with Bertha to births, then what will you do? She won’t have time to come fetch you, Letty!”

  Undaunted by her father’s objections, Letty wheedled and argued with conviction. “She can send Dove with a message. There must be a way. Whoever comes to fetch Bertha can stop and tell me too. It isn’t likely necessary.” The girl’s face drooped. “Dove is
probably dead, but if she isn’t, I can still learn.”

  “We could put a clause in the agreement,” Matill’ began.

  “No.” Bertha stood as if to go. “I understand the concern, but I need to get on with my life now, and I do not have time for starting and stopping. I’ll go see Agnes’ parents. Thank—”

  “Fæder, please!” Tears threatened to flood Letty’s voice.

  “Go fetch the minister. We’ll have him witness.”

  The girl threw her arms around her father excitedly and then rushed from the door. They heard her calling to Angus near the smithy as she raced down the street to the chapel. With the carelessness she showed, she’d be covered in mud by the time she returned. “I think she’s eager,” Matill’ commented unnecessarily.

  “About the Ge-sceaft,” Symon began hesitantly. “If she should come back, would it be possible to send her away? Not harm her, but maybe Lord Morgan would want to let her work in his castle or something. Anything to get her out of your house.”

  “I can’t do that, Symon Wood. My cottage belongs to Dove. It was a gift for saving Lady Aurelia from the kidnappers.”

  “Oh. What happens to it if the creature is dead?”

  “I assume her property comes to me, but I’d have to ask the Lord Morgan.”

  Within the hour, both parties formally agreed to the apprenticeship, with Broðor Clarke as witness. While not a guild matter, the general terms applied. Bertha would provide clothing, shelter, food, and instruction in exchange for six years of training and assurance that she would allow the girl to take over her practice within ten years.

  Bertha smiled inwardly as she picked her way down the street and onto the road to Wynnewood Castle. The next morning she would awaken to a warm cottage with breakfast cooking. Although the girl would need training, the housework would be done. Letty Wood was going to be a wonderful addition to her life even if Dove did manage to return by some odd miracle.

  Lord Morgan listened gravely to the news brought by Minerva, and turned to where Philip showed Aurelia the mathematics he’d studied with Broðor Clarke. The boy was a natural scholar— intelligent, curious, eager to please his teachers. The minister must have enjoyed having such an interesting pupil to work with each week. Dove was right. Philip would one day be a perfect replacement for the village chapel if only they could get him more education.