The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  Shame flooded Philip’s face as he struggled to find the words to explain. “I feel as silly as a girl.”

  “I don’t think anyone would mistake a tall young man like you for a girl,” his father teased.

  “Well, I feel like one. It was just something Dove said.”

  “Your little friend is usually very wise for someone so little. That must be hard to swallow when she grasps a concept before you.”

  “It wasn’t that, Fæder. I—” He swallowed hard. How could he explain what happened without looking any more ridiculous than he already felt?

  “Tell me, son, what is it?”

  “Well, we were talking about Oxford—how I’ll be going soon.”

  “Yes…”

  “Well, she just sounded so—so—eager. It was almost as if she looks forward to me going.”

  “And you thought she’d miss you? Say she didn’t want you to go?”

  Hearing the words from his father made Philip feel even more ridiculous. “It sounds petty, doesn’t it?”

  “No. I would hope that you would want to know that your mother and I will miss you. I think that’s a normal expectation. You would want the other lads or Broðor Clarke to miss your company. Why should you not wish for the same from your little friend? She’s become almost a sister to you.”

  “Why does it sound so foolish when I say it,” Philip asked, kicking a shell into an oncoming wave, “but when you—”

  “Everything sounds wiser from an older voice. It’s one of the advantages of growing old.”

  “You’re not old, Fæder!”

  “Compared to you, I’m ancient.” Philip’s father grabbed for the shell that tumbled about in the water and tried to skip it across the tops of the waves. “Philip, did you consider that your friend might not want you to see how much your leaving hurts her? She’ll be all alone again. It’ll be harder than before you met her—she’s tasted friendship now.”

  Philip’s head snapped up and he met his father’s gaze—surprised. “Of course! I—”

  “Go talk to her.” John waved his hand toward the cliff near The Point.

  “I will see her tonight. We’re going to watch for the dragon.”

  “Then tell me something.”

  There was something in his father’s voice. Philip knew that tone. It meant a serious talk ahead—one he might not like. All he could do was ask the obvious question. “What?”

  “If you can do anything at Oxford that you want, what will it be? Law? Medicine? The Church?”

  “It all sounds fascinating.” A look on his father’s face showed that John Ward didn’t quite believe his son. “No, truly. I like learning. It is nice to be good at something when you’ve failed at so many other things.”

  “And what are your failures?”

  “Well, I should be a reasonably competent fletcher, but I can barely repair damaged arrows. I cannot shoot well, and even when I’ve tried to help Lord Morgan, I’ve not done the kinds of things that truly help.”

  “Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself,” his father admonished. “I thought you beyond that foolishness.”

  Once more, shame washed over him. He’d expected to hear contradictions much as Lord Morgan, Aurelia, and Dove had made. As grown as he was—a man now in the eyes of the village—he still wanted the approval and praise of his father. “I’m sorry. I think—” the temptation to excuse his behavior because of the impending removal to Oxford nearly smothered him, but Philip choked it back. “I think I have a lot to learn yet.”

  A smile crept toward the corners of John’s mouth. “You’re a good lad—a man already. I’m proud of you. You wanted to hear me tell you that your failures weren’t your fault—that you could not have avoided them. Those aren’t things to be proud of, Philip. Praise for a job well done has value. Praise for good character is something that no one can take from you. Commiseration, excuses, and sympathy will not make you into a better man.”

  They’d almost reached the jetty where the rocks jutted into the ocean giving them access to the caves. John turned and began strolling back toward the village. “We’ve veered from the topic, Philip. Why does it all sound fascinating?”

  “Because I like knowing things. I like succeeding at something. I’d choose the law because it’s a good and interesting vocation, but what would I do with it? I want to live here—raise a family here. I don’t see a use for that.”

  “What about Medicine?”

  “If I hadn’t met Dove, and I still had this same opportunity, I would have chosen medicine. I may still. I don’t know. But now that I know how often Bertha differs from the Hælan and how she has saved lives that Biggs would have lost had she not interfered…”

  “You would choose the midwife’s ways over those of the Hælan?” Philip’s father stopped midstride, stunned.

  “Yes. I saw what his methods did to Liam. Had Dove not told me what Bertha recommends for fever, I think Liam would be dead.”

  “Interesting. And why not the Church? I know how you love your Bible stories and your lessons with the minister. Why do you not want to become like Broðor Clarke?”

  “The Church would be my first choice. It is more difficult—the challenge…” He ducked his head at the arrogance he heard in his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that—really. I just meant that if I am going to be given this opportunity, I’d like to take full advantage of it.”

  “Yet you hesitate.”

  He nodded. “Broðor Clarke is a minister, Fæder. I don’t want to be a minister.”

  “Why not? Wynnewood already has one? You want to return here and this village is too small for two ministers?”

  “A minister doesn’t marry.”

  “But you told me that Broðor Clarke said—your little friend heard him—a minister can marry.”

  Red crept down from his forehead and up from his neck. It took several minutes for Philip to formulate what he wanted to say, but at last, he blurted it out. “I know it sounds impertinent and a bit arrogant, but I think I will find at Oxford that the priests will prove marriage is not allowed for a minister of God. I—” he swallowed hard. “I don’t know if Broðor Clarke was teasing Lord Morgan, or if he really meant it. He also told the Earl that he was in love with someone. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why is it? Why should Dennis Clarke be immune to the very thing that you say you want so desperately?”

  Philip shook his head. “It’s not possible.”

  “Well, I think you should ask him about it. Before you leave, Philip, ask him. You need to make an educated choice when you are there. You will be gone for a very long time. I want to know that you will not be wasting your time. You spent six years with Tom Fletcher. Do not let this be another wasted apprenticeship.”

  As they reached the corner of their little house, Philip turned and smiled. “I won’t, Fæder. I know this is a great opportunity. I will miss you, Modor, Will, little Adam—” To his disgust, Philip’s voice cracked.

  “Your friend… Yes, you’ll miss us all.”

  “But I’ll see more of the world. I’ll learn new things. And maybe…” He glanced over his shoulder involuntarily. “Maybe Dove will learn to rely on I AM rather than on my stories of Him. That would be worth the time away.”

  “And do you care if your fæder believes in this god of yours?”

  Feeling like quite the little boy, Philip wrapped long, strong arms around his father and choked as he said, “Even more. Much more. I’d truly give anything for it.”

  Chapter 3

  Quarrel

  The spring night was cool—crisp. Philip and Dove sat, back to back in the old way, wrapped in blankets as they scanned the skies looking for signs of the dragon. They’d hardly spoken. Philip still mulled the conversation with his father over in his mind as they waited. Dove broke bits off a carrot and threw them into the forest, giggling as a rabbit crept closer.

  “Have you decided what to study?” Dove’s voice was quiet—reluctant.


  He couldn’t resist a grin. “I was thinking of becoming a lifetime scholar. Oxford sounds so exciting.”

  It failed. She snickered. “You’d go crazy being away for that long. You don’t even want to make the journey.”

  “It’s a long time. When I come back, Adam will be an apprentice to someone. Una’s Adam will be learning what I should know. All my friends will have families. Will—” He swallowed hard.

  “You don’t have to go.” Her attempt not to sound eager flopped. “Lord Morgan said you could become a guard at the castle. Maybe Broðor Clarke could keep teaching you when you have the time…”

  “Thank you.” There was something comforting about knowing he didn’t have to explain himself. Dove knew that he appreciated her confidence in him.

  Before she could respond, a familiar whooshing sound reached them and the forest grew silent. The faint bleating of a frightened sheep slowly grew louder. The great wings of the dragon beat against the air as he flew overhead and then stretched his wings to their full span. They wouldn’t hear him again until he returned to the Sceadu.

  “I wonder that the knights do not try to kill the dragons,” Philip mused. His mind immediately swung to ways to slay the dragon and earn himself a place among Lord Morgan’s knights. How could the Earl resist after such an incredible feat?

  “I hope they won’t. How would the Mæte stay warm?”

  Dove’s question was a valid one. Suddenly, the idea seemed revolting. “I suppose even if he had ever considered it, Lord Morgan won’t now…”

  “I know you want to slay a dragon—even a metaphoric one—but you don’t realize that you have already done it. You slayed your pride every time you had the chance to denigrate Tom Fletcher for his failure to teach you the craft you worked hard for the chance to learn. So many times you’ve forced yourself to admit you were wrong or that you couldn’t do what you wanted to say you could. Your ‘dragons’ aren’t visible like that enormous creature, but they are just as dangerous.” She laughed. “How did you like my sermon?”

  “I think you should go to Oxford.”

  “A girl learning French and Italian? A girl studying law or medicine? That’s not likely ever to happen, is it? Particularly a girl like me—scary enough to send reason fleeing even the strongest mind.”

  “Ok, that’s just silly.”

  “Yes. A female scholar is silly—and yet you’ve made me as close to one as you can.”

  “Aurelia is somewhat of a scholar. She has studied Latin and Italian at least.” Philip interjected.

  “Yes, and she’s the heir to a large property and title, as well as a cripple. It’s hardly comparable.”

  “Do you think women will ever study at places like Oxford?” The idea intrigued him. Dove asking questions of a master... she’d drive him mad.

  “To what purpose? All that time and money spent, for what? A woman has no use for it other than interesting conversation. She’d use her time better to care for a family and learn from her husband if he were educated.”

  “That sounds almost like something Broðor Clarke was reading last week.”

  “He’s a much more intelligent man than people credit him. Some think he’s been conditioned to spout stories at will, but I think he is wise. Even Bertha tries to hide her respect for him, and she respects no man, including his lordship.”

  Philip continued to mull over the idea of Dove at Oxford. As much as the concept of her as a scholar intrigued him, she had a point. No one would waste so much money to educate a woman when she had no use for the education. Oh, surely the princess of any country was well educated. Even girls like Aurelia had a reasonable use for some education, but the law, as interesting as it might be, would help no woman with tending a garden, baking bread, or nursing a sick child. No university was going to allow half a dozen women to attend their lectures no matter what their station.

  “I think you’re right, Dove. An education might be wasted on women. They certainly won’t allow even a girl like Aurelia to go.”

  “I think,” the girl added with a hint of mischievousness beneath her words, “the university knows that if they ever let a woman inside, the world would discover that men and women both have equal numbers of fools and wise ones.”

  “Another reason that you’ll never see a woman at Oxford or Cambridge. Men couldn’t handle a discovery like that.”

  “At least you speak sense. That’s more than I can say for most men.” Dove snickered. “I sound like Bertha, don’t I?”

  Philip laughed. “All right. I have criticized my brothers enough. I have some pride. Let’s go see if we can watch the dragon fly from the cave.”

  The days flew into weeks. The full moon rose over the clearing once again on a bright mist-free night. A great shadow would appear when the dragon made his way from the Cliffs of Sceadu, over the Heolstor forest, and into the farmers’ fields to snatch a sheep for his wife. He’d turn west from the pastures and soar over the clearing in plain view of Philip and Dove as they lay on the blanket, head to head, talking.

  It was their last night before Philip’s journey south. They’d spoken of nearly everything except the journey. Dove told of a project she hoped to begin. Philip listened to the high voice that he’d miss before he reached the first village on the way south to Oxford. He hardly heard her describe the careful way she expected to dig out the dirt and carry it deeper into the forest before spreading it under the trees.

  As if unable to stop himself, he blurted out the question that seemed to consume him at times. “Before I go, will you lower your hood? I—”

  “No. Don’t ask, Philip. I won’t do it.”

  Fury flooded his heart. “I’ve been understanding. I’ve tried to accept your wishes. I’ve proven that I will be your friend even after the Mæte called you a demon. Well—” his conscience ordered him to stop, but Philip seemed unable to obey. “I think it is time that you are a true friend too. Friends don’t do this. They share secrets; they don’t keep them from each other.”

  “I didn’t think you’d define a friendship by what face it wore. If my face is necessary for us to be friends, then we can be strangers. I won’t do it.” She stood, tears choking her words as she gathered the blanket, dragging it out from under him.

  Philip stood with his arms crossed, watching as she folded the blanket and threw it over her shoulder. Six feet separated two friends who had been as close as any brother and sister for three years. The hooded cloak barely moved even as the breeze tried to ruffle it in the night air. Time seemed to stand still as the young people stared at one another—one seeing the hurt in the eyes of her friend, the other seeing a black void in the depths of a hood.

  At last, Dove turned and crept toward the edge of the clearing. As she reached the first tree, her hand curled around the birch bark and her head turned and glanced over her shoulder. Philip hadn’t taken a single step toward or away from her. She stood watching him for a minute—maybe two—and then continued on her way to the cottage.

  The young man didn’t move. Nearly shaking with suppressed rage and hurt, he watched the shadowy cloak flit across the grass, much as it had that afternoon when the lads had challenged him to approach her. When the cloak was no longer visible, he turned, his heart heavy, and strolled through the now-familiar Wyrm Forest and onto the road that led to the village.

  A voice called out to him as he passed the church. “One last night of dragon gazing, Philip?”

  “I guess.”

  Broðor Clarke stepped outside and beckoned Philip to come closer. “I suppose you’ll miss that.”

  He sighed. “I thought I would. Right now, it seems as if I’d be happy never to see those awful beasts again.”

  Broðor Clarke pulled his young pupil into his cottage and poured a tankard of mead. “Drink up and tell me what’s ailing you—maybe I should have offered you ale, eh?”

  The joke fell flat. Philip didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he hung his head and whispered, “Why do I al
ways feel as if I’m the one being unreasonable whenever Dove and I disagree.”

  “Careful there, son. You sound like an old, married, hen-pecked husband.”

  This time, the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Philip’s mouth. “Wouldn’t she be annoyed to hear that?”

  “What happened?”

  “I asked her to show me her face. I wanted to leave in the morning with a picture of everyone here in my mind. I see faces—Modor’s, Fæder’s, yours, Lord Morgan’s, the lads…” He sighed. “And with her I see an empty hole in a hood.”

  “You knew that was a condition of your friendship. You want to change the rules; she doesn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t friends trust each other with these kinds of things?”

  Broðor Clarke spoke quietly but firmly. “Shouldn’t Christians trust the Lord when their friends hurt them unintentionally?”

  The reproof did not strike the intended target. Rather than piercing Philip’s conscience with an arrow of compassion, it struck the core of the young man’s pride. “Again, we see that Dove can discard the basic rules of civility that even the common man must abide by. She believes she is above all laws and rules—no wonder she rejects the commands of I AM.”

  Had Philip glanced at Broðor Clarke, his pride would have been further wounded and scarred as the lips of the minister twitched with amusement. “That must feel good.”

  “What?” The lad didn’t even raise his stormy eyes to meet the gentle gaze of his mentor.

  “To have such confidence in your rightness that you need not worry about little things like compassion and understanding for a weaker person.”

  “Dove? Weak? She’d never forgive you for that.”

  “I disagree. I think she’d recognize that regardless of the validity of it, perception about her puts her in a weak position.”

  Philip stood and shuffled his way to the door. It seemed as though he was both eager and reluctant to leave. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone tomorrow, and she can be happy in the knowledge that I’m just as ignorant about her secret as the rest of Wynnewood.”