Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  “That will teach us,” Owen groaned. “We were taken in like village fools.”

  “It could’ve been worse,” Lorraine pointed out. “If we’d all been here—”

  “You were away?” Ware frowned.

  “Yes. Everyone in the district was at Freyja’s shrine over at the Llywellyns’ estate,” his mum said. “It was the centennial celebration.”

  So it hadn’t been a thrall who’d talked; the rogue knights had simply pounced at a time everyone knew the coast was clear.

  “They rushed in, set fire to the place, and scarpered,” Pedr said. “Hit and run, the poxy cowards.”

  “But there were deaths,” Ware said. “There’s a big burial pyre by the north field.”

  “Old Pryce and some of the shepherds stayed behind,” his dad said soberly. “Pryce died saving the horses that were locked in the barn. Six young acolytes from the shrine were cut down, too.”

  “How did you know about the pyre?” Lorraine asked puzzled.

  “I was here three months ago,” Ware said soberly. “Briefly.”

  There was an appalled silence.

  “You were here?” his brother Pedr asked. “And we weren’t?”

  “What bloody awful timing,” his father said. “Everything was burnt to the ground, the priest and his people were crushed with grief, and there was snow on the way. I took everyone to the city. You must have come when we were in Caern, lodging our report with the duke. “

  “I met old Marta. From what she said, I thought you were all dead.”

  More shocked silence.

  “But son, all of us?”

  “The pyre was huge,” Ware pointed out.

  “It burned for three days,” his father said quietly. “Old Pryce meant a lot to us, and the priest was devastated. One of the acolytes was a mere child.”

  “We build the biggest pyre we could,” Pedr said. “Out of respect. But Ware, didn’t you think of going to the neighbours? They would have told you.”

  From Ware’s stricken face, it hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d been too blinded by grief for even common sense.

  “But Ware, my love. Where did you go?” his mum asked.

  “Need you ask?” his dad answered. “I suspect Ranulf is no more, then, son?”

  “I killed him and burned his keep to the ground.”

  “Well done,” Owen said. “It’s the only way to deal with pests.”

  “You took on Ranulf and his men?” His mum was horrified. “You could have been killed!”

  “We heard about the Serif of Flamestead,” Lorraine reminded her. “And you know how brave and clever Ware was at the Caern dispute.”

  “Yes, but still,” his mum was shaking her head. “Ware could’ve been badly hurt.”

  “I did almost get myself killed,” Ware admitted. “Lind saved me.”

  Then he told the story, hugely exaggerating my role. “A climb nobody in Prydain or the east would even try to attempt” and “she went straight for the two men attacking me and took them out” finishing with “the place was in flames, but she got me on Wolf and ran me out of there” and “I would’ve died of my wounds or starved to death if she hadn’t nursed me.”

  Through all of it, Ware held onto my hand. I just sat there, totally conflicted. I mean, it’s nice to be a heroine, even if I’m not half as brave or clever as Ware would have it, but as he talked, I was fully aware of our differences.

  This was Ware’s world: a farm the size of a city, dozens of workers, herds of sheep, barns stuffed with chickens, ponds filled with ducks, and fields bursting with crops. Ware had called it his foundation, and now I saw it with my own eyes, I understood it was the fountain of his pride and being, too.

  Like the constable of Caern had told me, Ware belonged to one of the richest families in the continent. More than a mere aristocrat, Ware was truly noble. Dukes have towers, but Ware’s roots were in the land, in the very bones of Prydain. I’d given my heart to a man who was as far above me as the moon and the stars.

  I tried to tell myself I’d known all along I had no chance. Ware liked me, felt guilty, but that would all wash away now he was home again. I patted myself on the back for not giving in to hope. I’d been sensible and kept my head. I wasn’t some silly lovesick thrall, I reassured myself. I was an apprentice fletcher.

  Even so, having it brought home that I could never admit my love was killing me. I had a block of ice in my gut, and I wanted to run and hide. Only pride kept me sitting there, hopefully looking cool, calm and collected. Around me, everyone else was giving in to their emotions.

  “Lind. Bless you, child, for saving our boy.” Ware’s mum was all weepy.

  I looked at her quietly sumptuous red dress, the duke’s ransom in gold she wore around her neck, wrists and fingers, and put a swift end to any secret desire still lingering. “It was my duty, Mistress Esyllt. I’m his thrall.”

  This time the silence ran deep.

  “Lind.” Ware looked stricken. “Oh, Lind!”

  “It’s what I am. We can’t pretend I’m not.”

  “We’ve seen your neck,” his father said quietly. “We already knew, child.”

  “Ware, surely you’ve given Lind more than silver bracelets?” his mum asked. “You freed her, didn’t you?”

  “Lind’s mine because I’m teaching her my craft,” Ware announced. “The second she wants, I’m freeing her.”

  I shut my eyes, expecting a shit storm.

  “That’s proper and legal,” his father said judiciously.

  “The Guild will kick,” Pedr sounded quite happy about it.

  “So what?” Owen laughed. “We do as we please on our own land, and even the Duke can’t interfere between a man and his thrall.”

  Me, I was open-mouthed. The Esyllt were revolutionaries at heart.

  “Or a man and his wife,” Ware’s mum added slowly.

  My eyes were wide open at this.

  “We were thinking of the Lady Julia,” she sighed. “She has good pasture land a few miles south of here, and she’s very pretty.”

  “She also married the Guild steward last spring,” Lorraine laughed.

  “Yes, a poor match,” mum said astringently. “That man has very little birth.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse for birth,” Ware said loudly. “I’m marrying Lind.”

  My heart was banging away, jumping about and strangling my vocal chords in the process.

  “You can’t marry a thrall, son, it’s illegal,” his father said calmly. “And you want your children to be free-born.”

  “I love Lind!”

  “We can see that, dear,” his mum said, “but be practical.”

  I knew it. They were grateful, but that was it. Of course they didn’t want me in the family.

  “Free Lind first and then marry her,” his mum continued.

  “Exactly,” his dad agreed. “There’s no point in fighting the law; it’ll break you. Always follow the rules. Just be sure to pick the ones that let you do what you want.”

  Everyone nodded. I could see clearly now where Ware got his arrogance from. It was his family heritage. The Esyllts were proud as dukes—and as happy to break the law if they thought fit to.

  “I’ve had the smith’s wife shoe my Petronella often enough,” Ware’s mum said, “and the confectioner openly confesses his wife makes all the sponge cakes. So if Lind wants to support Ware by helping him, I don’t see a problem.”

  “That rule forbidding women to join the Guild isn’t duke’s law but Guild practice,” Owen pointed out. “That means members can change it.”

  “The baker wants his daughter to join,” Lorraine said excitedly. “He doesn’t have sons, and he’s worried about his business.”

  “Change might take a while,” cautious Pedr said.

  “When dukes can’t even deal with rogue knights, it’s time for a shake-up,” Ware’s dad nodded. “Ware did his work for him, so his lordship will have to suck it up and bend a little.”
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br />   Ware’s mum was planning. “Summer weddings are so pretty, and we can put everyone up in tents.”

  “We’ve almost finished the shrine,” Ware’s dad said. “We’ll get the Priest of Apollo back from the city. A wedding will cheer him up, too.”

  I still couldn’t believe my ears. “I can’t marry Ware!” I gasped.

  They were all looking at me.

  “Why not?” Lorraine asked.

  “You can still learn your craft here,” Owen assured me.

  “A wife must help her husband,” Pedr assured me.

  His dad nodded. “We’re all behind you.”

  “No, I can’t,” my mouth was working along by itself like a runaway cart. “It’s impossible.”

  Ware looked drained. “Because there can’t be anything between us but exploitation,” he sighed.

  I wanted to say I didn’t mean it, that I loved him, that it was me who wasn’t good enough for him, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

  “Nonsense,” his dad said bracingly. “You may have bought a thrall, son, but she saved your life, and you’re willing to defy the Guild for her. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

  “As if we can’t all see how it is for ourselves,” his mum scoffed. “Ware has never looked at a girl before, and look at him now. Anyone can see he’s head over heels with Lind.”

  I found my tongue. “But I’m a thrall.”

  “You’re brave, loyal and clever. I’d welcome you as my daughter,” his dad said.

  “I’m not half what Ware thinks.”

  “You saved his life,” his mum said.

  “It probably means you own him!” Lorraine laughed.

  “Look, not even my own family want me.”

  “But Lind,” Ware hugged me. “I want you.”

  “That’s just guilt!” I cried.

  “Nonsense! I’m not the kind of fool who confuses guilt for love.”

  “It’s not real, Ware! It won’t last!”

  “I realised I was in love when we were in Tanweld forest,” Ware smiled. “But I think I fell for you weeks before that.”

  “How can you possibly love me? You’re a master craftsman, and I’m a thrall—and not even a good one!”

  “Well, that’s true,” Ware mused, “but you’re a better fletcher than a thrall. And if you’d give up the tansy tea, I think you’d be a great mum.”

  “What?” I just gawped. “Me? A mum?”

  “Yes, I want to marry you, settle down and have kids.”

  “Me? You want to have kids with me?”

  “You’re brave, clever, beautiful, steadfast and a darling.” Ware had clearly lost it. “And I love you from the tip of your unruly tongue to your arse-kicking toes.”

  What can you say? “I realised I loved you when we were in Tanweld. But I thought your feelings for me were just guilt.”

  “You’re a dope.”

  “I was trying to protect you. To stop you making a mistake.”

  “You’re the best thing in my life ever.”

  “But what will people say?”

  “Who care? I’ll marry who I like!” Oh the arrogance of him. I loved him, I really did, but I thought his family would come to their senses at that point.

  They didn’t.

  “Good, that’s settled then.” Ware’s dad was frowning, looking into the future. “If we wait a few weeks, we can have your workshop ready, Ware.”

  “Excellent. You can live above it,” Owen said.

  “We’ll need to send invitations,” Lorraine said happily, “and go to Llanfaes to buy wedding clothes.”

  “Money’s a bit tight,” Pedr said quietly, “but we should be able to hire extra people to complete the shrine, too.”

  I twirled my bracelets, wondering if I should give them back to Ware. He knew, because he put a hand on my wrist. “Hang on a minute.” He nipped into the cart and came back with the little locked box he kept his black powder in. “About money,” he announced. “I did pick up some souvenirs on my travels.”

  He opened the box. We all stared, mouths open, dazzled by eleven silver teacups and a row of large cold coins.

  “You said every eastern lord has a silver teacup.” My voice came from ten thousand miles away.

  “Well, they have sets,” Ware grinned. “And they keep a little stash of gold, to tide them over in times of crisis.”

  “The Serif of Flamestead?” Lorraine asked.

  “Yes. He didn’t keep to our deal, so I set my own price.”

  I found my voice again. “We’ve had this sitting in the cart all this time?”

  Ware nodded, smiling happily. “I reckoned that nobody would bother with it, not when they all knew where my treasure was.”

  I jangled my bracelets. “They all thought it was around my neck.”

  Ware swept me up in a hug, “Actually, I meant you.” He was laughing, his love flowing over me like sweet sunlight. “You still haven’t agreed, you know.”

  “To what?”

  He smiled at me. “Lind, will you marry me and live happily ever after?”

  Epilogue

  “Wolf, you devil! You’ve got a harem!” He was nudging my shoulder, whickering proudly as I checked over Rose and Daisy. I thought they’d been overindulging in grass and carrots again, but there was no doubt about it: the girls were pregnant.

  “Two at once? You’re either a stud or a playboy.” I tugged his mane and he neighed, snuffling his girls over before pushing between them and posing shamelessly. “I get it. You’re a stud.”

  I patted them all and made my way back to the workshop. I found little Lynette in the yard, sitting in a puddle and making mud pies while wearing her best smock, the little madam.

  “Violet!” At my call she came tearing out, a half-seamed shirt in her hands. “Lynette is going to be a baker,” I informed her. “I think you’d better launder her together with that outfit.”

  Violet was giggling, swinging the child up in the air. “Piggy piggy!”

  “Wash piggy away,” the child lisped.

  We fell over laughing, Violet and me. Bet you’re surprised to see her again, huh? Violet was a wedding present.

  It may sound funny, supporting thrall-buying instead of stopping it, but Ware knew that the girl’s fate had worried me.

  “She’s bound to give herself away,” I fretted. “When Duggard pisses her off, which he’s bound to because he’s a total twat, she’ll tell him that she was the one who let Ranulf’s people into the house. And the second he discovers she lost him that gold Freyja, he’ll kill her.”

  So he did what he could, and I loved him even more, something I had no idea was possible.

  Ware knew Duggard would never sell anything to him, so he sent a letter to Constable Eward. The plan had been to send Violet along with a convoy heading our way, but Eward brought her himself, accompanied by a troop of soldiers, safe and sound, a mere fortnight on the road.

  “I had to hear the true story of Raven’s Keep,” he explained. “And here I am, just in time for the wedding.”

  It was an exciting visit, because Lynette was born four hours after they arrived. Luckily the Esyllts are demons for the law, well, when it suits them, so the baby was born free.

  “Documentation and signing it in front of the justiciar is just common practice,” Ware assured me. “All it really takes is an announcement in front of three citizens, and then you give her the bill of sale.”

  I’d already said the formula, “Violet of Caern, I formally free you” before Ware finished, and the paperwork got totally crushed as I shoved it into her hand. Mind you, she was having contractions, so it may have been her, not me.

  If it had been up to me, I might have sold my bracelets and bought thralls in bulk, but as Ware pointed out, it wouldn’t change anything. “You can’t free everyone in Prydain,” he cautioned me. “If you want to break the rules, Lind, you have to work with the law, not against it.”

  He’s right, my cool-thinking fletc
her, so for once I didn’t go rushing in. I had a good think, and as events unfolded it all came together.

  At first the plan was to send Violet home, but as it turned out, she’s like me.

  “My family sold me to a seamstress when I was six. I think I’m from Haven, but I’m not sure,” she worried. “Even if we could find them, I doubt they’d want me back.”

  So she stayed with us, and seeing the constable about the place gave me a brilliant idea. “You can sew, and I’m training under the best Fletcher in Prydain, right? Let’s put it together and go into business. You make archery outfits for ladies, I make bows and arrows.”

  “But girls can’t fight,” Violet said with big eyes.

  “They won’t be. This is purely a game. The bows will be small, light and pretty. It’ll all be very feminine.”

  “And the arrows?”

  “Lethal,” I told her. “But nobody will worry about that. When I got all the castle thralls together to have a go, Eward the constable was furious—until I told him the girls just wanted to be like him. As long as the men see it as a game, a harmless bit of make-believe, they will think it amusing, cute, and by the time they realise it’s a revolution, it’ll be too late.”

  I jangled my bracelets. “I’m investing in materials, and we don’t need to make returns for a year. That gives us time to get regular customers.”

  “How will we sell it, though?”

  “We have archery parties here on the farm to test our concepts. Then we take a stall at the Llanfaes market. You put on your best snobby Guild manners, tell them it’s all the rage in other cities, and I bet we’ll do brisk business.”

  I wasn’t wrong, either. Everyone was fascinated by Ware teaching me his craft, so when I began going about with my gear, there were plenty of girls who wanted to try out my bow.

  It took a lot of work, but with Ware’s intensive training and help, I made my first bows, little simple ones made of ash, within the year.

  Lorraine got on board in a big way by having archery parties for the girls from nearby estates, and Ware’s mum had the brilliant idea of inviting single, eligible men “to give us ladies tips” that got all the matchmakers hot and wet.

  I recruited my sister-in-law and mum-in-law as business partners, and so pretty soon a Lind bow (dyed pink!) and arrows (gold and purple, thank you very much) and a Violet of Caern sporting jacket were all the rage in Llanfaes.