Miranda stepped closer uneasily noticing that the men of the village who had been glancing their way; had now begun to draw closer too. “Is there much to be done then?”
“Aye, more than we are able to manage ourselves. ‘Twould be a shame for it to just be wasted when it could feed so many.”
Egan looked at him warily. “…And—ye are just giving it to us then?!”
“Aye, to whoever needs it. Tell thy men—just inquire of those that would help us.” He dusted off his hands, then thrust one out for Egan to clasp. The other man looked at it as if were a sin to touch it; yet in the end he took it warily, squeezing it with force as he glared into William’s steady eyes.
But William met the force equally, unflinching as he held the man’s dark cold gaze intently. “We need the help, Egan. I won’t have the grain fall to the ground and be wasted. I give thee my word that naught shall happen while ye are there.”
Egan glared at him with narrowed eyes; then nodded. “’Tis a kind gesture, but if ye plan to attack or betray us, we shall slit yur throat and leave ye for dead—English or not!”
“Just bring the men—arm them if ye like.”
Egan nodded silently; then released his hand.
William did likewise; then walked past him towards the cart not bothering to look at Miranda as he spoke. “Tell thy father I bid him a good day, lass.”
She didn’t dare answer as she quickly glanced at the men who had now gathered around them, then turned and walked away hoping not one of them took notice of her leaving—especially not Egan. She hurried around the bend and to their farm; glancing over her shoulder as she went, unsure if he would follow or not. He had been so intense today; she only hoped that she had warned him off enough that he would not press her so again. It scared her—no, he scared her, and each day he became harder and harder to handle…
Egan may have been handsome, but he was a hard and angry man and one used to getting his own way. The other men of the village knew better than to cross him—everyone did, everyone except her father, thank goodness. For Egan himself knew better than to anger her father, for the elders of the village respected Alden Blair. In truth, that was the only reason that Egan wasn’t able to force her into a marriage and they both knew it.
As she neared the barn she stopped to pet her father’s dog who had come to greet her; the animal wagged his tail and looked up at her appreciatively. She stooped and scratched his ears as she glanced again behind her towards the village, her thoughts on what had just happened there. The man never looked at her, never met her shy glances, never treated her to a rich warm smile as he did with others. Secretly, she dreamed that he would, just once; and that he would meet her shy glances and gift her with his warm smile and then hear his strong deep voice saying her name. She closed her eyes at the thought she knew she shouldn’t be thinking in the first place, but couldn’t help but do it anyway…
When they returned to the farm, they joined Thomas in the fields. They took up the sickle also, cutting down the wheat and bundling it as they went. It was slow work; nearly half the field was yet to be harvested, and three more like it.
“Well?” Thomas said as he took a drink from the bucket of water he had left in the shade, knowing that neither man had yet spoken of their trip.
“Well… we asked for help. Now, we wait and see if it comes.” William didn’t look at him as he spoke in a disheartening tone.
“If it doesn’t, we shall loose most of the crop, ye know that...” Thomas said with a frown.
“…Aye, I know…”
The three worked side by side till near midday, then sat down and ate the hard bread and cheese they had with them. William let his eyes travel over the field that was yet to be harvested, worried that his plea for help would be ignored. He and his men stood and took up their work again without another word—that’s when they noticed the group of villagers who stood afar watching them. The three straightened and wiped the sweat from their faces with their sleeves. William stepped forward and lifted a hand in greeting, though none was returned as they stared at him. He turned to his men with a concerned look. “Come… they only mean to test us, and I refuse to be bated into a fight.”
The three turned aside and took up their sickles again, keeping a wary eye on their guests; but soon Egan himself stepped forward, a roughened sickle in hand and began harvesting at the far end of the field without a word. Others joined him while the women shocked what had been cut down, and the children carried the bundles to the carts.
William smiled to himself as he prayed that all would go well that day with their wary friends and that trouble would not soon find them…
The sun had sunk low in the evening sky. The people had worked together silently for hours; and the field was nearly finished. William brought a bucket of water from the well and a ladle to drink from also as he walked towards them noticing how they still glanced at him warily. He turned to Egan, the tall man wiped his face on his forearm and eyed William cautiously before he drew near and met him with a guarded handshake. “A man of his word is hard to find, and even harder to find is an Englishman who is true.”
William smiled and dipped the ladle in the cool water and held it to him. “Aye, and harder still, to find a Welshman who does not wish a fight.”
The man’s face drew into a sly smile, and he took the ladle offered him.
“I asked Phillip and Thomas to bring a basket of apples and dried meat for thy people, they can’t be expected to walk back without food in their stomachs.”
He glanced at William and nodded appreciatively. “Many thanks, English…”
William only smiled and turned to offer another beside him a drink of cool water. The villagers smiled back and accepted his hospitality gladly; which was more than he had gotten low these past few weeks. When he finished he walked back to Egan; who now sat comfortably in the shade of a huge oak tree, one knee drawn up in front of himself. William stopped and set the bucket down and cocked one leg casually, his strong hands on lean hips. “Will ye come again on the morrow?”
Egan glanced at the men around him without looking up at him. “Aye, we shall.”
“Good. The grain shall not last much longer I fear; but with help I believe we can save it.”
Egan drew himself up slowly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not know why ye are doing this—but, yet ‘tis much appreciated, English.”
William met the man’s gaze squarely. “Is it not enough, that it ‘tis the right thing to do? Need there be more?”
Egan stared at him a long moment before he spoke; his dark eyes never losing their cold and hard edge. Through it all he yet held a grudge, and purposefully sought to find something to use against the man despite the goodness he had shown. “Ye make me wonder, English…” He paused and eyed him before he spoke again, “Were ye among those who laid siege this village…?”
William didn’t flinch as he answered, his gaze still riveted on the man in front of him. He’d known all along that one day he would have to have an answer for this very thing. “…Aye, I was… but I was also the one who rode ahead to call off the attack when the men of the village had fallen and the cry for mercy went out…”
Egan looked down and shifted restlessly with fire in his eyes; his head snapped up, his nostrils flared with anger as he spoke. “’Twas no mercy given that night!”
Though his words hissed between clenched teeth, yet William was not swayed. “…Nay, no mercy, till now…” His eyes took on a distant look as he spoke. “…’Twas I, who rode ahead … saving only a few… and ‘twas I who was struck down by one of my own who had turned against me for it all, leaving me for dead…” He eyes focused on Egan again, his gaze hardening as he spoke. “I could not save them all—but I toil now to repay the debt that my countrymen rent here.”
Egan shifted and let out the loud harsh breath he’d been holding; his thin lips pursed angrily. “If—ye were struck down, why is it that ye still stand here, English?! Yur
well chosen words shall not sway me!”
William turned his head and lifted his hair from the deep scar that ran along the left side of his head as he said calmly, “’Tis only by the grace of God I stand before thee, Egan Wallace.”
The tall man sighed, his angry eyes softening as he looked at the gnarled purple scar and dented flesh before him. “…Aye…” He paused, shifting on rigid legs; avoiding the glances of the men around him. “If—if by God’s will ye survived and do this… then we shall not spite the Almighty’s hand.” He shifted again and met William squarely. “The grain shall be harvested, and gladly so. And we shall not bring trouble on ye, English, ye have my word on it.”
William put out his hand and he took it with a slow smile and then shook it.
Phillip and Thomas glanced at one another through the strained conversation; their hands resting on the grips of their knives ready to protect William at all cost; yet they knew he did not seek violence as an answer this day. The confrontation done, the villagers moved on, and the two came to stand beside him again. “Ye are well and blessed that he did not slit thy throat!”
William smiled generously and turned to look at his friend. “Aye, and thine along with it! But I knew that these things would come to light eventually, ‘twas best not to hide them.”
“Aye, probably not, but I think I aged ten years standing here listening to ye.”
William merely laughed. “Aye, and I also.”
Lord Edmund Sheridan, the Earl of Whittington Castle sat down at the table in his solar and took pen in hand. His thoughts were as they always were, on his younger son… Yet, his words did nothing to amend the hurt and loss he felt at his absence from the castle and from his life; so he wrote what he could and bore those things that went unsaid in his heart. If, the boy thought himself ill favored by his father, ‘twas not so; William had long since been his favorite, though he would never have dared speak such things aloud—but in his heart he knew it was true. James was his heir, and rightfully so; but it was William whom he had loved. The missive finished; he sealed it and sent if off with a messenger to Glenton Moor, and to the son who had broken his heart…
William stood and looked over the freshly harvested fields feeling somehow complete, for the harvest was well and finished and stored in barns for the cold winter ahead. He turned and strode up the low rolling hills that encircled the meadow; the only thing on his mind was a fair haired girl with soft blue eyes that somehow always seemed creep into his thoughts, though he did not intend it to be so. And somehow, he found himself wishing he could find an excuse to go to Chadwick again and laughed to himself. Yet even if he did, he knew he would never be able to meet her shy glances or dare speak to her, though he wished to do just that; even if it meant just to catch a glimpse of the lass from afar…
She was not just fair to the eye, her soft shy voice and gentle grace made him always take pause. He wondered if he pressed the suit if both she and her father would agree to it…? Though he was English and she was Welsh, it had happened before that the two had married. And now that he seemed to have made peace with some in the villagers, he wondered how much opposition would be made if he asked for her? A marriage would be a good thing for both of them, he was sure of it. They would become part of his family and be protected by his name, and he would gain their friendship and form an alliance for the days ahead. And as for as the girl, she would want for nothing; nor be far from her home and family—and at least she’d be free from the likes of Egan Wallace! He smiled at his thoughts, almost convincing himself that it would be a good thing to wed her—almost…
William woke up early as did his men to ready the day ahead. He strode out the door and stretched as he breathed in the cool morning air, then stilled as he saw that he was not alone. In the meadow, a woman and child stood facing the house, wary and alone. William lifted a hand in greeting though they refused to do the same. He paused only a moment before made his way towards them slowly. But as he neared the woman lifted a trembling hand to stop him. “Nay, please, good sir, I—I have heard tell that ye wish to rebuild Glenton Moor?”
William stopped and folded his hands behind his back, dropping his gaze at her shy retreat from him. “Aye, and those who wish shelter there are welcome in it.”
The woman gathered her son closer to her and looked at him with teary eyes, she had heard the rumors and though she wished the kindness to be true, she had thought too that it might be a trap to find and kill those who yet remained. Yet, she had also heard of the good this man had done here; and in sheer desperation with winter’s approach she had come to this place to see for herself. “My—my husband fell in the battle that day… and —and I fled with my child, and my da into the moors beyond. This—this was our village, our home was within…”
He closed his eyes against the painful memory of that day and the heartache of her words knowing that it was all for not. “Ye are welcome to take sanctuary in the town, ye and those that come with thee. The houses are not rebuilt, but my men and I shall see to it for thee.”
The woman’s voice choked with emotion. “…Nay, my da and I shall see to it if ye shall only give us yur blessing.”
He nodded and looked at her with kindness in his blue eyes. “Aye, ye have my blessing. No one shall attack ye or Glenton Moor as long as I am alive.”
She wiped tears from her flushed face, unable to answer as she slowly turned away, but then she paused and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I—I remember ye that night, good sir… ye—ye were the one who let us escape…”
He nodded wordlessly and managed a gentle smile as he watched her leave, her child still gathered to her side. They were afraid and wary of him even as they went, glancing back over their shoulders with cautious eyes as they walked and he couldn’t blame them after all that had happened. But soon, they too would heal just like the land had…
William couldn’t hide his smile from his friends as he strode back through the door.
Thomas looked up at him and frowned. “Alright, and why is it ye are smiling this time?”
“I have just welcomed back a family to our village.”
“Nay!”
“’Tis true, they asked for my blessing to rebuild there.”
“Are ye sure they were from the village? William, this could be a trick…”
“Aye, I believed what I saw in their eyes…” His smiled faded but for a moment, then was back again knowing that his prayers for this place were being answered.
William drove the cart laden with food to the village to check on his new occupants. The woman’s father, a thin frail old man met him in the yard and gave his hand, albeit warily. William couldn’t blame the man for his uneasiness, and did his best to reassure him that he meant his family no harm. Though it was true that the man was hard pressed to believe him for all that had happened in that place, yet before he left he thanked him kindly and William knew he was sincere.
But as he mounted his horse he saw a man ride towards him from the road beyond. William knew well the symbol of the golden lion on a red background that stood out on the man’s tunic; as he was sure the old man who stood not far behind him did also. The rider recognized the Earl’s son and dismounted and he knelt before him holding the missive in his hand. William sighed and told him to stand as he took it, knowing all the while that the old man still watched him warily.
He stepped to the side and broke the seal fearing what might have happened that would have caused word to come to him from Whittington like this; and he only prayed it was not about his father… His eyes traveled down the familiar handwriting telling him that all was well, but that a father missed his son as much as William missed him, and that he worried for him with cold winter drawing near. At the end, was the heartfelt plea of his father asking him to come back home. William drew a long breath and rolled the missive slowly putting it in his tunic with care before he turned to the messenger again. “Ye shall tell my father that all is well, and—we have ample supplies to make i
t through the winter ahead. Tell him—tell him not to worry, all shall be well.” He paused and looked past the young man reigning in his emotions. “…And tell him—that I too think of him.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
William nodded and dismissed the young man without another word; watching as he mounted his horse again. But even as he himself mounted and rode past the old man, he couldn’t help but notice the wary look he gave him. William sighed and looked down at him with sincere eyes. “All is well.”
The old man merely nodded and went back inside without a word, but William could tell what he was thinking... It would be no secret soon where he had come from, or who he was—though for now they could only wonder, for he had not use his proper name, nor his title in this place, nor would he now.
When he came to the farm house, he went inside without a word and carefully took pen and paper and began a missive to his father asking him for a document that promised peace to both Glenton Moor and Chadwick; asking that each be safe from attack from Whittington for as long as he and his, dwelt there. It was all he dared do, lest he anger James in it all; but it would ensure them peace here, or so he hoped. The missal written, he handed it to Phillip and told him to mount his horse and ride to the castle again.
All the hard work here had truly kept his mind busy, though not entirely. He still worried about his attacker, wondering if one day he would meet him again face to face or to feel the bite of a well placed arrow as he labored in the fields; but yet he would not spend the rest of his days being a prisoner to dark thoughts! If James or whoever it was still intended to kill him, there was little he could do that he had not already done—save hiding in the caverns like a hermit; a thing he refused to do! He could only hope that the sour taste of revenge had settled in their stomach and that they were satisfied with the fact that they had driven him away. He sighed again and walked out the door refusing to let his mind be held in fear.
Debra Kay Leland Page 7
