Where Magic Dwells by Rexanne Becnel

Author:Rexanne Becnel
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

15

THEY REMAINED THAT WHOLE day in camp. Four times did Wynne dose Richard, Henry, and Marcus with her foul-flavored concoctions, much to their complaint. But the very fact that they became more and more vociferous in their objections only proved to her that they did already mend.

The children enjoyed themselves very well, running and exploring; practicing with their bows; climbing trees. Arthur especially delighted in the break from their riding, for Cleve gave over several hours of his time to the child. They examined various forms of rocks until Arthur’s collection bulged from the small haversack he carried. They located five different types of birds’ nests, three of which were empty, but the other two were occupied with hungry little nestlings.

The other men, English and Welsh alike, also fell prey to the children’s high spirits. Only Wynne stayed somewhat apart.

It was difficult for her to remain aloof, however, for there was little enough to do. Straighten the bedding in the tent. Prepare the meals. Measure and mix the medicines. In between times she sat upon the grassy edge of the uneven Dyke and stared across the narrow divide toward her homeland.

She pointedly ignored Cleve FitzWarin, and somewhat to her confusion—and even dismay—he ignored her. Just as well, she groused, setting her chin in her palm as she squinted to see any evidence of Black Mountain on the horizon. He was the last person on earth to whom she wished to speak.

Yet as the hours passed and the heat of the late afternoon came upon them, she knew that was not true. She tilted her head slightly so that she could spy upon him without appearing too obvious. He and Druce had returned from a short hunting expedition bearing three rabbits and four squirrels. They were in good spirits as they tossed the game to the other men for cleaning. Cleve especially looked exuberant, with his face brown as a berry and his dark hair tossed by the wind. He was so tall and straight, so strong and vital, with his tunic removed and his thin chainse clinging to his damp body.

Lucky the maiden who awaited him at Kirkston Castle, Wynne unhappily admitted to herself.

When he looked up, straight at her, she did not even try to look away. Only when he said something aside to the others, then started her way, did she turn her head to stare back at Wales.

She heard his footsteps and fancied she felt the very earth tremble as he lowered his long-legged frame to sit beside her. But she stared doggedly at the western horizon and the clouds that hid the downward arc of the sun but temporarily.

“Ah,” he exhaled noisily, a contented, masculine sound. “I’ve had a hard time of it today, Wynne.” He waited for her response.

“Oh?” She didn’t look at him.

After another short silence he continued, undeterred by her obvious refusal to appear interested. “I could not decide the cause of my enormous good spirits this day. I thought it was my return to my homeland.

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