Wren (The Romany Epistles) (6 page)

She tilted her head. “Meeting one would be nice. The thought
of more does seem daunting.” She smiled. “I think I have found a dress that
will do.” She held up the brown dress. A simple shift with a semi-f skirt,
the brown woolen material was functional despite it being of finer quality than
anything I ever wore before. “If we hem it to a comfortable length and rub dirt
into the weave, I think we can pass it off as a peasant’s frock. What do you
think?”

I nodded. Considering the other garments scattered about us,
it was going to have to do. I helped her repack the trunk and followed her back
out into the courtyard. Once back in the kitchen, Kat instructed me to change
while she found her sewing basket. I retreated into my room. It had once been
the quarters of Lord Iselyn’s captain at arms.

When I returned, swimming in a dress a size too big and a
skirt that swept the floor around my bare feet, all four men looked up from
their evening tasks to inspect me.

“A little big, isn’t it, Kat?” Tourth observed.

“I can make it fit better,” she protested. “Besides, it is
better than too small.”

“You look halfway decent in a dress, Wren,” Dardon teased.
“I can see how you could resemble a lady with a few more frills.”

“Leave her alone, Dardon,” Arthus said. “She might sic one
of her falcons on you.”

I glanced his way in surprise. Then I checked the reaction.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Falcons were not common birds in this part of the
country and trained falcons were only common among the landed gentry. A female
of obvious meager income with a trained falcon would be unusual. One with seven
was unheard of. Besides, I should be glad that Tourth told them about my birds.
I could rest assured that one of my companions wouldn’t shoot one down when
they did appear.

“Please stand on the stool,” Kat prompted me. “I need to see
where to put your hem.”

I obediently stepped up. Kat set to work and I watched her,
constantly aware of Tourth’s thoughtful gaze following me. I wondered what he
was watching for.

~~~~~

Of all the days to resume wearing a dress, this was the
worst. I peered up into the spreading branches of an apple tree and grimaced.
If I still wore my trousers, climbing up to fetch the unblemished fruit from
the branches would be easy work. However, I wasn’t able to do that decently in
a skirt. Even if I tucked up the skirt, I would show off a lot of bare leg to
anyone who happened to walk under my tree. I studied my empty bushel basket and
debated doing just that.

“Need some help?” Arthus called as he strode down the row
toward me. Under one arm, his good one, he carried a ladder. “Tourth sent me to
assist you. He said I might find you up the tree already with your skirt about
your knees.”

“It is a tempting thought,” I agreed. “However, I do have
some sense of decorum.”

Arthus laughed as he lowered the ladder awkwardly to the
ground. “I am sorry I have to say this, but it needs to be said. I can’t lift
the ladder for you.” He pointed with his chin to his still bandaged shoulder.
“I might have over done it with that demonstration of strength this morning.”

He fetched the water for breakfast to prove himself well
enough to come with us on our next harvesting trip. It was the only way he was
going to get out from under Kat’s watchful eye.

“I think I can manage it for you,” I offered. “Are you going
to attempt to climb and pick as well?”

“Oh, no, the ladder is for you. I am here for the ladder, to
make sure it doesn’t shift beneath you.”

“The others are not using ladders?”

“They are. They just don’t get a ladder assistant.”

I couldn’t hold back the smile that wanted out. “I thank you
then.”

Together, we leaned the ladder up against the nearest tree.
Arthus held it steady as I climbed. Once I reached the bottom branch and the
first batch of apples, I gathered my apron end, looping it into the apron ties
to make a temporary sack to carry my harvest. Arthus watched all of this with
great interest.

“You have done this before?”

“Yes, many times.” I reached for the first fruit. As my
fingers closed around the firm red orb, I smiled. “And you?”

“First time.” He shifted his hold on the ladder, securing it
in the curve of his good shoulder and glanced down the way toward the
caretaker’s cottage. “If you told me five years ago I would be playing the
farmer, I would have called you a fool. I was convinced I was destined for
greater things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“I would have told you that by thirty, I would have attended
university, made a name for myself, and published at least one book of poetry.”

I almost dropped the apple in my hand. “Poetry?” I shifted
on the ladder in order to look down at his tousled head.

“Aye. I thought I had a gift.”

“What stopped you?”

He sighed and replied, “The harsh truth that I have no
talent for poetry. Although, I can analyze, savor, explain, and completely
adore a beautifully formed verse of the stuff, I cannot write any worth selling
if my life depended on it. And, at the time it did. I was literally starving
for lack of decent words.”

“Coming down,” I warned and began to descend the ladder with
my laden apron.

“So,” he continued, “I did what any starving man who has
just realized his life dream is unattainable would do. I joined the army.”

I straightened from unloading my apples to scrutinize him
seriously. Although he presented the soulful appearance of a poet, standing
there with his rumpled shirt, tussled hair, roughly shaven cheek, and
languishing attitude, I found myself pretty convinced that he was playing a
joke on me.

“You don’t believe me. See, I told Dardon that it wouldn’t
work. He didn’t believe me.”

“So, how much of what you just told me is false?”

He blushed and avoided my gaze. “About half. I do love the
written word, I can’t turn a phrase, and I was starving before I enlisted.”

“I thought your words fair enough.” I climbed back up the
ladder.

“Ah, but you haven’t seen it on paper. All I have to do is
try to write the words onto the page and they turn wooden, clumsy, and awkward.
I am much more skillful with the sword.”

“So I would guess, considering you are still alive.” I
stretched for a particularly distant prize and asked the question I had been
mulling for a while. “How did you, Svhen, and Dardon get involved with living
here?”

Arthus laughed a mirthless bark. “It was all the doing of
Orac, if you must know. Not just the war, but Orac himself.” I shot him a look
under my arm. “Although I enlisted in the army because I needed food, clothing
and a way to earn my keep, Dardon and Svhen were two different stories. Dardon
was a silversmith before the war, and a–” Arthus bit off the swear word before
it left his tongue. “Pardon. He was quite a master. That is, he was until
Orac’s men came through his village, killed his business partner, and burned
down his forge. That was why he joined up, to get even. Then when we lost, he
owned nothing.”

I brought down another load and remounted the ladder before
he finally got to Svhen’s tale. “Old Svhen is an old master at war. Do you know
how many wars he has fought in? Seven. Mercenary by trade, he decided that this
war was going to be his last. Informed Tourth that he intended to go out
fighting, and then our side surrendered. It took a pretty bit of fast and
persuasive work on Tourth’s part, but he convinced him that life in the Mynth
family’s employ was better than charging Orac’s castle.

“Of course, that all changed when we got here. The keep
gone, the lord and his wife murdered, and Kat living on the charity of friends,
it nearly broke Tourth. I had nowhere to go, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have
left him like that.” Arthus cleared his throat uncomfortably and coughed. After
a strained silence, he asked, “So, what brings you here?”

“Winter,” I replied as I descended with another load. “I
didn’t fancy the thought of spending it out in the open this year. I wanted a
roof over my head on snowy nights.”

I could sense Arthus’ unspoken questions as he sorted
through them to decide which to ask next. I also suspected Tourth supplied some
for Arthus to ask. My ladder-holder was just getting up the courage to try
another one on me when a voice made us both pause.

“Ho, there, man.” A large, armed man appeared strolling
through the trees, his chain mail glinting in the sun speckled shadows. “I am
seeking a man named Joanor, the man who works this orchard. Orac’s enforcer
wishes to speak with him.”

“I believe he is up at the cottage at the far end of the
field,” Arthus offered quickly.

The soldier strode off in the direction Arthus indicated
with barely a glance in my direction. I watched him through the tree branches
until he was out of sight.

“I don’t know about you,” Arthus said, “but this appears
mighty suspicious. Isn’t this the second time the enforcer’s men stopped while
we were working for a farmer?”

I nodded. “Perhaps we should speak with Tourth.”

“I think we should.”

I descended the ladder and picked up the bushel of apples I
already picked. Arthus managed to lower and carry the ladder. Switching rows,
we started off toward where Arthus said he last saw Tourth.

I was working on my second bushel when I heard someone
approach the tree. I looked down to find both Arthus and Wren looking up at me.
I half expected Arthus to announce that Wren had miraculously finished her
assignment.

“Orac’s enforcer and his men have showed up again,” he
announced. “We wonder if we should make ourselves scarce. Do you think Joanor
will give us away?”

I scrambled down, jumping the last two feet to the ground,
and deposited my current load in the bushel bin. “I would prefer speaking to
Joanor or his son first.”

“You can’t be thinking to walk right up to the house and
ask,” Arthus protested. “What if the enforcer is there? What if he sees you?”

He had a point. I opened my mouth to suggest that Arthus go
and investigate when Wren spoke up.

“Let me go,” she volunteered. “I am not known around here.”

“But the enforcer’s deputy spoke with you yesterday.”

She shrugged. “Then he won’t think anything amiss in seeing
me again today. I am a common laborer, hardly worth his notice.”

“You don’t look like a common laborer,” Arthus pointed out.
“You walk like a woman accustomed to a different life. And,” he indicated her
squared shoulders, “You don’t carry yourself like a woman.”

“Let me deal with that,” she retorted, and then turned to
me. “So, shall I investigate for you?”

I nodded. There was no harm in it. She had a good point
about her anonymity. She had nothing to fear from the enforcer and his men
except the usual things women feared about a man’s attention. Wren, of all the
women I knew, was the most equipped to handle that kind of interest. Unlike
Arthus, I witnessed her performance yesterday.

“What do you need to know?”

“Just what the men wanted with Joanor.”

She nodded, propped her bushel on her hip, and started to
walk toward the orchard keeper’s cottage. With each step, her gait and manner
changed, slowly fading into the image one would expect to see in any field
laborer or farmer’s daughter. Arthus watched in amazement until she disappeared
from view.

“You knew that she could do that,” he accused. “You let me
make a fool of myself pointing out how she didn’t fit the role.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth. “Of
course I knew. You should have seen the act she put on for the enforcer’s men
yesterday when they called her over for wearing trousers.”

“So, that is why she has the dress today.”

I nodded. “If any of us can do it, I am quite confident she
will.”

When she returned, two hours later, the humble manner of a
servant was gone. She strode down the lane between the trees, her skirt
whipping her legs, and planted her feet at the foot of my tree. Crossing her
arms over her chest, she waited in silence while I climbed down to meet her.

“The enforcer is raising the tax due at the end of the
quarter and demanding another day’s work from every man this winter. Joanor’s
wife is beside herself with hysterics. It took me a good hour to calm her down
before it was safe to leave her alone.”

“What do you mean, leave her alone. Where is Joanor?”

The enforcer’s demand begins today. His deputy came to
escort him to the work site and informed Joanor’s wife that he won’t return
until tomorrow morning. He mentioned something about a curfew in the village
and Joanor being released too late to make it home before it.”

A curfew. I frowned. It wasn’t as though we went about much
after dark anyway, but when we did, we were going to have to be more cautious
than ever. It was also going to make shopping in the village riskier. I usually
slipped into the village under the cover of darkness to visit the storekeeper.
But now, I wasn’t sure exactly how I would manage it. Kat would still need
flour and oil for her bread and there were other basics we would need.

“I thought these people were your tenants.”

I nodded absently. “They were my father’s tenants, and thus
mine. I have been trying to help them any way I can.”

“So, if you were to claim your rightful place as Lord
Iselyn, Orac’s enforcer would have no authority to tax and demand work from
these men?” She frowned up at me, every inch of her small frame held in check
and anger glinting in her eyes.

“That is not an option.”

Her strange changing eyes, now more gold than anything else,
studied me carefully. I wanted to squirm under their concentrated gaze. “Could
you explain?” Her voice calm, she sounded almost friendly despite the obvious
anger of a moment before.