Though he understood Dove’s frustration, Philip also knew that Liam had an advantage he’d been denied. Liam would learn a trade— one that would support him and a family for all of their lives. Everyone needs bread. In towns, bakers made a good living at their trade, while he, a fletcher’s errand boy, was fit for nothing but repairing arrows and studying.
“I envy him a little, though. To know that you are skilled— that you have a goal for your life. To have a purpose…”
Laughing, Dove shoved him playfully and had the cheeky audacity to snort. “You sound like an old man and a little boy all at once.”
“It may sound silly to you, but I’m supposed to be learning these things. All these mathematics, history, and language lessons are interesting, and I do like them, but—”
“But you think you won’t be able to feed your wife and children on amo, amas, amant. Is that it?”
“I can’t, and you know it. Broðor Clarke and Lord Morgan forget that I won’t always be their little protégé. At some point, I have to take my place in a man’s world, and I will be unprepared.”
“No,” she said sternly, “you are already somewhat prepared. You have a home. You won’t pay rents to have a roof over your head.” Philip was tired of talking about such depressing subjects and started to interrupt and ask how she managed to survive for so long without food, but the girl continued. “You also are being trained to a great vocation. You simply don’t want to accept it.”
“I won’t be a minister! I want a family! I want children and grandchildren, and I want to do active things.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?”
“Ministers don’t marry, Dove. They live alone— their lives consecrated to God.”
They’d reached the river, and Dove sighed at the sight of several cracks in the surface. “We’ll have to take the bridge. This isn’t safe.”
“I came across it before the rains…” He didn’t sound any more confident than she did, but neither of them wanted to walk so far out of the way. He sensed the resolute firmness of her objection long before she spoke. Philip had noticed over the past months that the longer he knew Dove, the more easily he could sense her mood and thoughts. “Oh, all right! We’ll go around.”
“So, what did you do during the storm?”
“Oh, no. I’m not going to talk about hours and hours of listening to the wind blow and trying to do my lessons on my tablet. You’re going to tell me why you went out and how you survived.”
“I wanted to take an apple to the wood for the unicorn. The last one that I left, something ate. I don’t know what it was, but I thought in case…”
“And because something, probably that stag, ate your apple, you went out in that crazy storm to leave another one?”
“Well, I thought I could get back in time, but I was wrong. I thought about going to the tunnels, but the caves were closer.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t freeze.” Philip nodded to the blankets she carried and asked, “Were those really enough to keep you warm?”
“No.”
She waited. The seconds ticked by slowly, but Philip didn’t ask the question she was anxious to answer. He’d love to learn about the dragon, and maybe it would divert his attention from her lack of food. She wouldn’t lie—not to Philip. However, if she had to be evasive, she’d do it. Just as she was nearly ready to blurt it out, he threw up his hands in disgust. “So, how did you keep from freezing? Lord Morgan said that it was the coldest, harshest storm he’s ever seen in his life.”
“Dragon.”
“No!” Envy filled Philip’s voice, then excitement. “Really? Do you think it is the mate of the modor?”
“I am sure of it. He left for a while during the storm. I think he wanted to check on her, but it was impossible to see. I scooped out so much snow to look out of the cave, but even then, I couldn’t see anything. It was just a white blur out there.”
“So you were close enough to him to stay warm?”
“Did you not notice how warm those caves at Nicor are?”
Philip shrugged. “I guess. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, it’s probably more noticeable when you’re freezing. The farther I walked into the caves, the warmer it was. I found a very comfortable spot that kept me from feeling cold when I was wrapped in the blankets.”
“He could have eaten you!” For all his natural strength and courage, Philip shuddered. Being consumed by a dragon wasn’t on his list of preferred ways to die. Actually, there was only one reasonable way to die, in Philip’s opinion. One simply fell asleep as a very old man and woke up in heaven where he belonged. Anything else was to be avoided at any cost.
“I think I could have mesmerized him long enough to get out, but then I probably would have frozen.”
“He wouldn’t have to stay like the modor, though,” Philip protested. “He could have followed!”
“I don’t think so. The cave wasn’t wide enough for him there. His fire might have filled the tunnel, but as long as I wasn’t in there, I wouldn’t have been incinerated.”
Several people scurried away from the bridge as they neared. The road to the castle, muddy and miserable as it was, was bustling with people coming and going from the village. Ignoring a few jeers and dodging one flying rock, Dove darted through the trees at Wyrm Forest, laughing at Philip’s indignation. He didn’t follow her; instead, he shouted and railed at the man who threw the stone. “What have I done for you to attack me like that?”
“I was driving off the Ge-sceaft. That one is dangerous. She’ll be using her sorcery to bewitch you into all kinds of evil. You stay away from her, lad.” The man slapped the reigns on his donkey, and the cart he drove jerked forward, just as Philip sprinted toward it, a furious expression on his face. “Philip!”
He turned slowly, dreading the scolding he knew he’d get from Broðor Clarke. The minister crossed the road and laid a hand on Philip’s shoulder. “Were you going to strike that man?”
“Probably.” He knew he sounded sullen and immature, but Philip was too angry to care.
“And why would you do something so wrong?”
“It is wrong to defend the weak, Broðor Clarke? It is wrong to protect people from the abuse of others?”
The minister shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. But I ask you, young Philip, were you defending your friend, or were you retaliating?”
The internal struggle was keen. Pride tempted him to deny the truth of what Broðor Clarke suggested, but his habit of honesty wouldn’t allow it. “You are right.”
“What did our Lord say about vengeance, Philip?”
“’Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the LORD.’”
“Very good. You remembered exactly. Can you tell me in which book you will find that quote?” The habit of turning everything into a lesson had become almost comical to Philip in past months, but now it rankled.
“Paul’s Epistle to the Romans.” Even Philip was a little surprised at the surliness of his tone.
“Are you angry because you almost struck a man, because you were caught, or because your teacher doesn’t see that there are no classroom walls here?”
“I can’t say.”
Broðor Clarke seemed to decide that Philip had endured enough of a scolding. “Did I see you with Dove? Is she alive?”
“She is. I saw her come from the caves with some—” he paused mid sentence. He’d promised not to ask or tell about the children yet. “—blankets. She says she stayed in a cave near the dragon. She said it was warm.”
“I assume she had snow for water, but how did she eat? She didn’t seem weak with hunger.”
“I know she had an apple, and probably bread and honey. I found a cloth with some on it. Maybe she had other food in her cloak. She often does.”
Broðor Clarke nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Bertha will be surprised to see her home. I know the midwife was certain the girl was dead.” The minister scratched his bear
d and added, “Of course, Dove will have a surprise too.”
“What surprise?”
“Letty Wood. Bertha signed her as an apprentice yesterday. There will be someone else for Dove to get to know—”
Before Broðor Clarke finished speaking, Philip tore across the green, into the trees, and dodged mud holes as he raced across the clearing. His fastest speed wasn’t very swift at all when hampered by the water-soaked earth. He arrived at the cottage just in time to see Letty jump into the yard as if terrified. “Great,” he muttered to himself. “If Bertha had to bring on a girl, did it have to be someone as silly as Letty? She’s probably scared of her own shadow. She’ll never survive with Dove in—”
Philip’s mutterings ceased when he saw Dove burst from the cottage, a broom in her hand. Now, he saw why Letty was tearing across the yard, heading straight for him, mindless of the fact that she was entering the terrifying Wyrm Forest. Dove’s high-pitched voice reached his ears and he snickered to hear her cry, “Don’t you let me catch you in my house again, Letty Wood!”
Chapter 15
Interloper
Letty saw Philip standing at the edge of the trees and rushed to him, begging for protection. “She’s going to kill me!”
“She’ll do nothing of the sort, Letty Wood. I’m ashamed of you.” Philip thought he sounded very mature as he scolded the girl.
“Don’t be so sure.” Dove didn’t slacken her pace, even when she saw Philip and heard his reply. “That girl was in my house!”
“I belong there now!”
Dove raised the broom as if to bring it down on Letty’s head, but Philip caught it. His little friend was strong and quick for her age, but she was just nearing ten years old, while he would be thirteen soon. Besides, Dove was a girl, and girls, in his experience, weren’t very smart aggressors. He soon found his theories very unhelpful in keeping the broom out of Dove’s hands and away from poor Letty’s head.
“Dove, stop it. I just heard it from Broðor Clarke himself. Bertha took Letty on as an apprentice.”
For a moment, Dove hesitated. Then, raising the broom again, she lunged toward the girl. “Stay away from my house.”
“I can’t! I am bound for seven years!” Letty cowered behind Philip, nearly sobbing.
Stunned at Dove’s reaction, Philip pointed to a nearby tree and told Letty to stand by it while he talked to Dove. “It’ll be fine, Letty. Dove isn’t usually violent like this.” He added emphasis for his friend’s benefit.
When Letty was out of earshot, Dove shoved Philip rudely. “What are you doing? I cannot have that girl in my house, and you know it!”
“You don’t have a choice, Dove. Bertha and the Woods’ entered an agreement. It’s binding. You should know that.”
“She could kill me in my sleep!” She grabbed the broom back from him. “She could see me!”
Never had Philip seen Dove so fearful. The child positively trembled with fear and, he suspected, a little anger. “Letty wouldn’t do that, Dove. She’s as afraid of you as you are of her. She could be a friend, Dove. If you let her.”
“I have a friend. I don’t need another one. If she saw me, I might not even have that.”
This both stunned and hurt Philip. After so many months, their almost inseparability at times, and the adventures they’d shared, he thought she knew him better than to think he could abandon her because of her appearance. “I thought you knew me better by now.”
The appearance of a weary Bertha interrupted the conversation. Letty saw the woman arrive and stumbled through the mud, throwing herself into the midwife’s arms. “She’s crazy, Bertha! That thing is crazy!”
“Of course, she isn’t, you foolish girl.”
Philip saw what, thankfully, Dove could not. Bertha was sorry to see that she’d returned. Letty’s near hysteria earned a snort from Dove as the girl insisted that Dove was possessed. “She tried to attack me! You have to send her away!”
“As I already told you, I cannot. This is Dove’s cottage, and I am responsible for her. She will not harm you,” Bertha sent a warning look at Dove, “and you will not taunt, tease, or in any other way irritate or cause her pain. Do both of you understand me? I am not too old to find a good stick and beat you both.”
Letty could feel the glare coming from beneath Dove’s gray woolen cloak. With the hood pulled far over her face, it seemed impossible for her to see anything, but Dove saw all, and Letty knew it. What the trembling girl didn’t see was the fear and resignation on Dove’s hidden face. She was dependent upon Bertha for food and clothing, and she knew it.
Philip, on the other hand, was livid. A threat of physical harm to his friend was enough to provoke him to defense, but then, as if a silent warning, Dove’s gloved hand rested on his arm. “Don’t, Philip. Don’t.”
With a dismissive wave, Bertha shooed Philip from the premises, scolding him for shirking his duty. “Your master doesn’t know where you are or if you’ll be home to tend his fire. Get out of here, boy.”
He hesitated, unwilling to leave Dove at the mercy of two people who did not want her there, but knowing he could do nothing for her. With one last glare that Broðor Clarke would have protested, Philip shuffled out of the yard and down the road toward the village. Perhaps he could go around behind the cottages and walk down his mother’s street. If she saw him, she might have something encouraging to say. Una would just sniff with more disapproval, and Tom, frankly, didn’t care.
The thought of Una carrying wood in her unwieldy condition changed his mind. Instead, he hurried to the Fletcher cottage, picking his way through the streets to avoid the worst of the mud. He expected a scolding—something to indicate that he’d been derelict in his duty toward his master’s family, but Tom barely gave him a glance. “Heard you went lookin’ for the waif.”
“Lord Morgan said—”
“Did you find it?”
“I found her.” Philip couldn’t help the emphasis on her. Every time he thought the village had finally accepted that Dove was safe and just a little girl, he was reminded that they might never trust her.
“She made it then, did she?”
Sometimes, Philip thought that Tom’s inability, or unwillingness, to teach him the trade he’d agreed to was due more to his lack of intelligence rather than his natural desire for perfection. Conversations such as this were common and were often tedious.
“Well, unless she’s a ghost walking around to torment us—” His heart dropped into his stomach. What a terrible choice of words! All that the village needed was another story, another rumor, to pass around about Dove and her supposed dangers. “That is—”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, lad. She’s a queer one, that creature is.”
“Get in that house, both of you.” Dove recognized the irritation of fatigue in Bertha’s tone and hurried across the yard. Letty shrank from the sight of Dove rushing at her, the broom still in her hand, but Bertha shoved her inside. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl. The chit won’t hurt you.”
The girls stood at opposite corners of the room— Dove by her bed, Letty by the door. The fire was getting low, but as much as she wanted to revive it, Dove was cautious about getting much closer to Letty. Memory of the girl’s terror bolstered her resolve, so Dove squared her shoulders and forced herself to move confidently toward the hearth. Bertha nodded with satisfaction, as she saw what she considered to be a truce.
“There you go. It is very simple, girls. Letty is here to learn the art of midwifery. She can help you around the house too, child. Just tell her what you want her to do, and she will do it, won’t you, Letty?”
Poor Letty wanted to say no. All of her confidence and reassurances that life with Dove would be simple and safe had darted out the door after her, chased by Dove and the broom. However, what she did have left was her pride, wounded though it was at the idea of a mere child telling her, the midwife’s apprentice, what to do. She too stood taller and straighter, and nodded agreeably. “Of course, I will. Tell
me what you need me to do, and I can do it.”
“There. It’s settled. I’m hungry. Did you boil the lentils, like I told you?”
Dove watched as Letty ladled a large helping of lentil stew into Bertha’s bowl. It smelled strange to her, but she knew that many strange-smelling things had wonderful flavors. Perhaps this was one of those things. She tried not to let her sense of satisfaction show when Bertha frowned into the bowl. “You let it burn, girl. You let it burn.”
“She was chasing me with the broom. What was I supposed to do?”
“Keep my food from burning, for one thing. You’re older and larger than she is. Why would you let her frighten you?”
To Dove’s surprise, Letty didn’t answer. She seemed to have enough sense to recognize when one wasn’t necessary. Seeing Bertha’s shoulders slump with weariness, Dove found the bread, put butter and honey on it, and set it before Bertha. “Milk?”
“We have some in the box.”
Letty glanced around the room almost as if seeking something to keep her from looking lazy. “What—”
“Don’t talk, girl. Listen.”
Before she could stop herself, Dove snickered. This earned her a glare from Letty and a grunt from Bertha. However, the woman seemed amused by the unexpected competition between the girls and ignored it. Instead, she talked about the birth and asked Letty questions to determine the girl’s knowledge, until at last she was ready for bed. “Go home, Letty. Come back after sun up, and Dove will show you how to cook the porridge.”
“I know how to cook porridge,” the girl muttered in disgust. “My modor hasn’t neglected my education altogether.”
“But you don’t know how I want mine cooked, so you’ll be here on time, and you’ll learn.” Bertha stood and glared at Letty. “This is your first official lesson. Listen closely. You know nothing. Until I tell you it is so, you don’t know it. Do you understand me?”
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 30
