The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  Philip’s laughter filled the room and prompted a fit of coughing. Dove hurried to his side, pounding his back with her little hands and encouraging him to take slow deep breaths as the coughing subsided. “I—” he gasped, “—have to remember not—” Philip gulped for air again, “—to laugh so much.”

  “I think he needs more medicine. He’s obviously still quite delirious.”

  “I am not,” the lad protested. “I’ll have you know, I’ve often thought that Dovely would be a fun nickname for you.”

  “I thought,” Dove countered as she tried to stifle a snicker, “that Dove was the nickname. You told me that I was probably the first person to be given a nickname before I was named.”

  “Regardless, I am glad to see you feeling so much better, Philip. I’ll send one of the men to pay the physician and find us a new one.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need one, Lord Morgan. I think he just needs good food, plenty of sleep, and a lot of laughter to break up the stuff in his lungs.” The high childish voice seemed out of place with the maturity of Dove’s words.

  “As long as he continues to improve, we’ll leave him in your hands. What do you need?”

  “Shoes.”

  “Philip!”

  “Well, she does. She has holes in hers. She limps when she thinks no one is looking.”

  “Let me see your feet, Dove.”

  Ignoring the command in Lord Morgan’s tone, Dove shook her head, pulling her feet under her. “They’ll be fine.”

  “Dove…”

  “I can’t,” she choked.

  “You’ve shown yourself to several people, and we both know that I know what you are. Now, don’t be foolish. Show me your feet.”

  “Bertha—”

  “Won’t ever know. The shoes, Dove.”

  Hands shaking, Dove unlaced her shoe and pulled off her sock. Tears splashed onto her hands but she continued to pull off shoes and socks and handed them to Lord Morgan. She tucked her feet back under her and brushed the fresh tears from her eyes.

  “Oh, Dove…” Lord Morgan gathered the child into his arms and held her close. “You can trust me—us. We are here to be your friends, and friends help when one of them is injured.”

  As he spoke, Lord Morgan gently lifted Dove’s foot and turned it so he could see. The angry sores on the ball and heel of the foot turned his stomach. From across the room, Philip sat upright, horror on his face, but Lord Morgan shook his head before the boy could speak.

  “Well, that needs some cleaning, and I don’t think you should wear your shoes until it has healed. We’ll get a cobbler in here—”

  “No!” She tried to wrestle free of Lord Morgan’s arms, but he held her fast.

  “How does Bertha have shoes made for you?”

  “She measures a strip of rag and takes it to him.”

  “Then we’ll take a measurement as well.” He turned to Philip. “Where are your papers?”

  In minutes, an outline of Dove’s foot, as well as a straight-line measurement were drawn onto the paper. They sent these with an errand boy to the cobbler with an order for a pair of low boots. Without thinking, Lord Morgan called for a housemaid to come wash Dove’s feet, but when the girl flung herself on the other side of Philip’s bed, cowering like a whipped animal, he sent the servant away again. It seemed as if her skittishness was worse than ever.

  “I am sorry, Dove. I didn’t think. I’ll call for a bowl of warm water and arnica.”

  “Comfrey?” The request was barely whispered.

  “You want comfrey?”

  “It’ll heal and help with the pain.”

  “Well then,” Lord Morgan agreed, “I’ll certainly ask for comfrey.”

  “Will they capture all the men, do you think?” Philip asked the question with great trepidation. He had a secret—one he’d rather keep to himself. However, there’d be no hope of it if they captured the men who abducted him.

  “We have the man they hired to bring me the news and one of the other men, David. We’ve heard that James and Gipp went south, so some of the knights are after them.”

  They had David. The man was a coward. He’d do anything to avoid a hanging, but it would do no good. They’d all hang if caught, but a desperate man will try anything—even confession. He had to tell his story.

  “Lord Morgan?”

  “Hmm?” The Earl of Wynnewood was at the window, watching as a child dashed away from his mother only to be dragged back to her side by an older sister.

  “I need to tell you something. I did something wrong when they took me.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  Philip squirmed. “It’s just that they were going to kill me—that’s why they took me.”

  Stunned, Lord Morgan whirled to face Philip. “Kill you! Why?”

  “The men were hired by a tavern keeper that I know. He had befriended me. I think he liked that I was not noble like the other students. He thought I sympathized with him—and I did.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Lord Morgan said. Why would he want you dead?”

  “I didn’t understand that either.” He coughed, his chest screaming with pain. “The men, they called him ‘Mad Hob.’ It seems he plays up to people and expects their loyalty in return.” Philip hesitated, not wanting to admit the trouble with the other students.

  “There is more.” It wasn’t a question; it was an order to continue.

  “Some of the students, mostly Australes, objected to my presence. Hob helped me avoid their schemes. He thought I was so against the students that I’d lie about them. He accused several of damaging property and refusing to pay a bill. The constable was called, but then he asked me to give proof of his statements.”

  “And you wouldn’t lie about it.”

  “It seemed cowardly,” Philip admitted, “to get revenge with a lie. I wouldn’t have protected the students had it been true but…”

  “I see.” The amusement on Lord Morgan’s face told Philip that he really did see.

  “I wanted to. It was tempting. One of the students has tried to torment me since the day you all left. He thinks I’m too unlearned, not aristocratic enough—everything. It was so tempting to agree with the townsmen, but I couldn’t lie. I started to, but I couldn’t.”

  “They were going to kill you over a bench? I think you’re being a little paranoid.”

  “I thought it was crazy too!” he protested. “When they started talking about how to kill me without them getting caught, I thought it was kind of a ‘teach the young pup a lesson’ kind of thing. I thought they were just trying to scare me.” Again, Philip’s voice grew quieter. “Then I realized that they weren’t joking. Hob wanted to make an example of me to the other students. Don’t cross the townspeople. By the time I realized how serious they were, I did start to panic. Then I did something—I’m so ashamed of myself.”

  “What did you do, Philip?” Dove asked the question before Lord Morgan had a chance to open his mouth.

  “I was a coward. I talk a great deal about how wonderful heaven is with Jesus, but I was terrified. Death itself wasn’t so bad, but the dying part…”

  A strangled sound came from Lord Morgan. Dove laid a sympathetic hand on the man’s arm, but Philip knew that sound. It was the sound of a man desperately trying not to laugh.

  “It’s all right. What did you do?” This was all Charles Morgan could say without dissolving into laughter.

  “I told them who my benefactor was.” Choking, Philip’s voice rushed on quickly, trying to stop the roar of protest that he expected. “I’m sorry, Lord Morgan, but the man had a knife out and was coming toward me. I’ve never been so terrified. The beating I got during the siege was nothing. Gipp wasn’t going to stab me and walk away. He was going to torture me just for the fun of it. So—” a choked sob stopped him. Philip couldn’t continue.

  Lord Morgan sat his tankard of ale on the table and moved to Philip’s side. “I don’t care what you said, what you prom
ised, what you suggested. It kept you safe long enough for us to get to you.”

  “I suggested that if you were willing to put so much money out for my education, maybe you’d be willing to put some out to spare my life.”

  “That was intelligent.” Dove sounded impressed.

  “It was wrong. I had no business using someone as generous as Lord Morgan to save me from my own fears.”

  “You had every right to do whatever you could to keep yourself alive when in the hands of criminals. I would have been angry if you had not. If we had lost our friend for something so preventable—”

  “I felt as if I was taking advantage of you, but—” Philip dropped his head and whispered, “I was so scared.”

  “Well, it worked. That’s what matters.”

  “It was wasted. If you paid the ransom, they were going to kill me afterward. If you didn’t pay it quickly enough, they were going to kill me. The only reason I’m alive is because Dove found me and terrified David into knocking himself out.”

  “Well, I think she played up her situation. I doubt the average man would have been that bothered by her—not down here. People aren’t as superstitious down here as they are in the north.” Lord Morgan smiled at Dove.

  “I don’t care,” the child protested. “It helps sometimes. If I’d have been just any girl, the man wouldn’t have been startled at all.” She glanced at Philip. “For the first time I am glad I was born as I am. When I AM says that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I can agree now. I frightened the man and there was a wonderful result.”

  As if he hadn’t heard Dove, Lord Morgan leaned closer and said, “I think you have proven yourself to be resourceful. I’m proud of you.”

  Relief washed over Philip. “I’m just glad you aren’t ready to thrash me for my impertinence.”

  “Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t…”

  Laughter erupted in the room, accompanied by a few coughs. The chambermaid cleaning the room next door shook her head. “Those northerners are so odd.”

  Chapter 28

  Recognition

  Justice was swift. Philip watched with Lord Morgan as his captors were led to the gallows. The crowds cheered as the noose slipped over Gipp’s head. Students and townspeople alike applauded as the hangman kicked the bench out from beneath Gipp’s feet. “I’m glad Dove didn’t come,” Philip murmured to himself.

  “I am too. She’s such a sensitive soul.”

  “As soon as her shoes are done, she’ll leave. I’m worried about her. I don’t know how much money she has left, and Dove won’t take what she needs without paying for it. She’ll starve first.”

  “Leave? Lord Morgan frowned. “She can ride back with us. Why would she leave?”

  Philip shook his head. “She doesn’t think like we do. She protects herself, and part of that protection is how she hides from sight.” He sighed. “She won’t ride out in the open during the day.”

  “But we’d be there to protect her.”

  “Lord Morgan, she traveled at night and still stayed off the road on the off chance she’d actually meet someone. Who wanders the roads at midnight?”

  The next man must have been hung as they were talking, because a cheer erupted from around them. Lord Morgan glanced at the gallows and then turned back to Philip. “How would she react if I asserted my authority? I don’t want to make her more fearful, but she cannot walk home alone again. She’s just a child.”

  “She’s thirteen, m’lord—at least.”

  “She seems too small to be thirteen. Surely, she’s a little younger.”

  “My modor says that she thinks Dove didn’t have enough to eat when she was tiny—that it stunted her growth.” Philip shrugged. “Then again, she’s almost taller than the baker’s wife.”

  “You have a point. I always see her as so young, but it would explain part of her maturity. She is unusually mature for such a little thing.”

  “I think part of that is living with Bertha,” Philip mused. “I think that woman would strip the child from anyone’s heart.”

  The moment he spoke, Philip’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, m’lord. That was inappropriate.”

  His words were nearly drowned out by Lord Morgan’s laughter. “I think you just spoke what most people in Wynnewood think.”

  “Not all?” The question bordered on the impertinent, but Lord Morgan’s amusement gave Philip the courage to try.

  “I suspect that at least one of our friends thinks very highly of her.”

  Oblivious to the idea that it could be anyone but Dove, Philip shrugged. “I don’t know. I know Dove is appreciative, and she respects Bertha’s knowledge, but I don’t think Dove is as immune to Bertha’s lack of care and consideration for her as a person as it seems she is. I can’t imagine anyone thinking it is acceptable to be so unkind to a child as Bertha was—still is!”

  “I didn’t say acceptable, Philip. I just mentioned that I think there is one who thinks very highly of Bertha—despite her deficiencies as a mother figure.”

  When the fourth man was hung, the students began dancing in the street, almost taunting the townsfolk with their success. Someone pointed to Philip and called out, “He’s the one that started all this!”

  Before Lord Morgan could speak, several of his knights burst through the crowd and surrounded them protectively. Harold’s voice rang out over the din of the protestors. “Stand back. Let the Earl of Wynnewood pass.”

  As if the name were magical, the people made a path for Lord Morgan and Philip to pass. With swords drawn, the knights led them from the streets, still blocking the onlookers from getting too close until they all reached the inn. Philip glanced at Lord Morgan as they climbed the stairs. “I can’t imagine what Dove would have done if she’d have been there.”

  “Probably tossed her hood off and screamed like a banshee to make them run screaming.”

  Laughing, Philip opened the door to his room. “It sounds like she has made somewhat of a habit of that, doesn’t it?”

  “Who has made a habit of what?” A shadow at the window moved and stepped into the light. “I saw the crowds and the knights with their swords drawn. What happened?”

  “Someone recognized Philip and the students got a little rowdy. Harold was just preventing a problem before it became one.” Lord Morgan pulled up a chair. “What have you been doing?”

  “Breaking in my new shoe. One is done. The innkeeper brought it up a while ago and left it.” She laughed. “He came up a bit later to bring fresh water and was so confused when it wasn’t on the bed.”

  Lord Morgan glanced at the floor, but her stocking feet showed no shoes. “How are you breaking them in if you aren’t wearing them?”

  Her hands appeared from within her cloak, the shoe in one of them. She worked the leather back and forth, side to side, rolling, twisting, folding. Each movement made the next easier. “I’ll put them both on and wear them around the room to help my feet grow accustomed to them before I start home.”

  “About that—”

  Dove set the shoe on the table and spoke as she turned to face him. “I’m not going back with you, m’lord. I cannot. Don’t ask it of me. I won’t.”

  “You—”

  “No!” Without another word, Dove hugged Philip, pulled on her old shoes, filled her pack, and strapped it onto her back. As she worked, Lord Morgan explained his plan, trying to keep his voice as patient as possible, but she ignored him. She pulled the little pouch of pennies from behind a cupboard, and slipped it into one of the inside pockets of her cloak.

  “I’m glad you are safe, Philip. Come home soon.”

  At the door, Lord Morgan stepped in front of the door to block her way as he dug into his own money pouch for more coins. “Here then. Be sure you have enough.”

  At the pile of coins, Dove shook her head. “It’s too much. I need a little for each place, not this much.”

  “Ask the innkeeper to exchange them for you.” Feeling helpless, the man waited until sh
e began to shut the door behind her and then added, “Find the Mæte. They will help you. Tell them I will pay them.”

  Philip stared, horrified, as the door shut behind his little friend. Anger welled up in his heart as he realized that had Lord Morgan listened, she might have stayed longer. “Why didn’t you stop her—convince her to stay until you left at the least?”

  “Because we both know that she would have slipped out in the night. This way she might possibly reconsider. It isn’t likely, but it’s better for her to go of her own accord, than for me to force it.”

  “The Mæte. How did you know?”

  “It only makes sense. Who else could have learned of it? There are fairytales of little people who live in the earth and have an enormous labyrinth under the whole of England and Wales. If the little people exist, why not the tunnels?” Lord Morgan watched as Dove slipped into the crowd, blending into the throng that still cheered the death of Philip’s kidnappers.

  Philip stood. “I want to talk to her. I’ll be back. She might give me an idea of the route she’ll take. Maybe you and your men…” Philip grabbed his own cloak and hurried out of the room.

  Standing at the window, Lord Morgan shook his head and prayed for the safety of Philip’s little friend. “They call her the ge-sceaft, Lord. She’s more like an angel.” He snickered. “I suspect that Dennis Clarke would chastise me for my faulty theology.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Dove jumped at the hand on her shoulder. “Philip! What are you doing here? If Lord Morgan—”

  “I just wanted to walk with you for a while.”

  Through the streets of Oxford, they spoke little, but once outside the North Gate, Dove paused. “I have to go.” She gave him a brief hug and then stepped back again. “Study diligently. Come home. Wynnewood isn’t the same without you.”

  “Did you finish your swimming hole?” Philip felt the grin on her face even though he couldn’t see it. It amazed him how often he could “read” her face without ever having seen it—well, not that he could remember.