Maythorn's Wish (The Fey Quartet Book 1) (10 page)

Ren rocked back on his heels. “Me?”

“Whitelock feels—and Ironfist and I agree—that you would make an excellent alderman. You’ve got a sound head on your shoulders.”

Ren looked stunned. “But . . . I’m not old enough. Surely Alard Mason o
r—
”

“I don’t select aldermen because of their age, I select them because of their good sense, and Whitelock says you have the best sense of anyone in Dapple Bend.”

Ren opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again.

The Lord Warder turned his shrewd gaze to Maythorn. “Do you agree with Whitelock’s estimation?”

“Everyone in Dapple Bend would agree with it.”

Dappleward nodded. He turned back to Ren. “I’ll talk it over with you and Whitelock this week, answer any questions you’ve got. You don’t have to make a decision immediately. Whitelock’s not stepping down until after the harvest, so you’ve got most of summer to think about it.” He held out his hand.

Ren shook it, looking dumbfounded.

Ironfist clapped Ren on the shoulder. “See you in a few days.”

AFTERWARDS

DAPPLEWARD AND IRONFIST
rode into Dapple Bend four days later. After stabling their horses, they strolled through the village to stretch their legs, and then across the common, and then across a meadow to where a little cottage stood.

Maythorn invited the Lord Warder and his liegeman inside, and introduced her three daughters.

Dappleward stayed for twenty minutes. When he departed, her daughters all looked extremely thoughtful.

Later that day, Dappleward and Ironfist spent several hours with old Phillip Whitelock and Ren. Ren emerged from that meeting also looking extremely thoughtful.

One week later, on a golden afternoon, Ren Blacksmith married Maythorn of York, witnessed by the folk of Dapple Bend village. Their handfasting took place beneath an ancient spreading oak. They exchanged simple rings Ren had made, and young Gavain solemnly bound their hands together with a cord, and then they spoke their vows to each other in the cool, green shade beneath the leafy boughs.

“So mote it be,” the alderman said, and Gavain gave his new mother a shy, delighted grin.

After that came dancing, and after that, feasting. And after that, Maythorn sat with her husband’s arm around her shoulders and Gavain warm and sleepy in her lap.
My fortunes have come full circle
. From young bride, to crippled widow, to young bride again.

Maythorn’s gaze rested on her eldest daughter. Soon, Ivy would be able to cast away her crutch. She imagined Ivy dancing at midsummer, kicking up her skirts, laughing joyously.
One more month, love. One more month.

Her gaze slid to Hazel, to Larkspur. What gift would Hazel choose next week? What would Larkspur choose?

Dusk gathered in the sky, mauve tinged with orange and gold. Gavain yawned, and snuggled deeper into her embrace. Maythorn rested her cheek on his soft, tousled hair.
I love you, Gavain
.

Ren pressed a kiss to her temple. “Shall we go home?”

Home. With Ren and Gavain.

Maythorn smiled with pure happiness. “Yes. I would like that above all things.”

THANK YOU

Thanks for reading
Maythorn’s Wish
. I hope you enjoyed it!

If you’d like to be notified whenever I release a new book, please sign up for my New Release Newsletter, at
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.

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.

This book is lendable through the Amazon lending program. Please share it with a friend.

Maythorn’s Wish
is the first novella in the Fey Quartet. The other novellas in the quartet are
Hazel’s Promise
,
Ivy’s Choice
,
and
Larkspur’s Quest
. I hope you enjoy them all!

The Fey Quartet novellas are the prequel to the Baleful Godmother series. The first six books in the Baleful Godmother series are
Unmasking Miss Appleby
,
Resisting Miss Merryweather
,
Trusting Miss Trentham
,
Claiming Mister Kemp
,
Ruining Miss Wrotham
,
and
Discovering Miss Dalrymple
.

If you’d like to read the first chapter of
Hazel’s Promise,
the next novella in the Fey Quartet, please turn the page.

CHAPTER ONE

TAM DAPPLEWARD SHUCKED
off his boots. The creek burbled at his feet, clean and cold. A wash, a shave, clean clothes, and then home. Home. After five months,
home
.

He pulled his stained, faded tunic over his head, and began peeling out of his fraying hose—and stopped as his ears caught the scuff of footsteps on the road.
I’m in Glade Forest now. There are no outlaws here
. But even so . . .

Tam pulled up his hose and reached for his stave. The donkey stopped cropping grass and lifted her head, ears pricked, alert.

Together, they watched a figure come into view between the trees. Tam’s tension eased. Just a lad, slim, youthful, and alone, with a small sack slung over his shoulder.

Tam put down the stave. “I give you good day,” he called out.

The lad jerked around, eyes wide and startled beneath his brown hood. Tam saw him take in the tethered donkey, the small fire with its pot of simmering water, himself half-naked at the creek—and relax fractionally. “Good day.” He was even younger than Tam had thought; his voice hadn’t yet broken.

“May the gods speed your journey.”

“And yours.” The lad gave a courteous nod and continued along the road.

“Go back to your grass, Marigold,” Tam told the donkey. “He was no one to be alarmed about.” Unlike the man he’d met an hour ago. A villain, if ever he’d seen one. But Tam had been taller than him, and armed with the stave, and the man had done nothing more than eye the donkey and pass on. And if he tried to follow . . . Well, no outlaws ever found their way into Glade Forest.

Tam peeled off his hose and braies, tossed them aside, and stepped into the creek. Cold water lapped his ankles.

He glanced down the road at the retreating figure. The lad had no stave, no weapon of any kind.
I should have warned him,
he thought uneasily.

The lad was striding briskly, too far away to call out to. Tam frowned, watching him. There was something about the way he walked, something . . . not wrong, exactly, but not quite right, either. The way his hips moved, almost swaying . . .

“He’s a girl!” Tam said, his voice loud and startled. And then, “Shit!” He scrambled out of the creek and dragged on braies, hose, boots, tunic. The girl was out of sight, now. Tam doused the fire hurriedly, took two hasty strides down the road, and looked back at his packsaddle. Too precious. He daren’t leave it. Which meant he had to take Marigold, too.

Even working as fast as he could, it was nearly ten minutes before Tam had the donkey loaded again. “Hurry, Marigold. Hurry!” he said, half-dragging the donkey down the road. “If he sees her, if he realizes she’s not a lad . . .”

Not just robbery, but rape, too.

Tam convinced the donkey to trot, and ran alongside her, his stave in his hand. The girl had been walking fast. How far ahead was she now? Half a mile? More?

Another ten minutes, and they passed out of Glade Forest. There was no sign declaring this fact, no fence or marker of any kind, but Tam knew—just as he’d known when he’d crossed into the forest less than an hour ago. His nose told him, his eyes told him, even his blood told him.

The narrow cart track from Dapple Vale intersected the broad, dusty road to York. The junction was clear to his eyes, but few travelers noticed it. Only if one carried a pebble from the River Dapple could one be certain of seeing it.

Tam halted, panting. Where was the girl? Had she gone left, or right?

Marigold’s ears pricked. Her head swung left.

“Voices?” Tam said. “Yes. I hear them.”

Marigold was reluctant to trot again. Tam dragged her with him, around the bend. Fifty yards ahead, he saw three scuffling figures, the girl and two men.

“Ah, shit!” Tam dropped Marigold’s rope.

The men had realized their victim was female; he saw that even as he ran. They weren’t going for her sack; they were going for her clothes, trying to rip off tunic and hose. The girl was fighting back, kicking and biting. Her hood came off. A long plait of dark hair tumbled free. One outlaw snatched at the plait, caught it in his fist, yanked backwards. The girl lost her balance with a sharp cry.

Tam ran even faster. The girl tried to tear her hair free. The other man was closing in, reaching for her legs, evading her kicks.

A shout swelled in Tam’s throat. He choked it back. Twenty yards, ten yards . . . and he was upon them.

He swung his stave at the man gripping the girl’s hair. The outlaw looked up at the last instant, his mouth opening in a cry.

The stave hit the man’s skull with a bone-jarring
crack
.

The outlaw dropped as if dead. The girl dropped, too, rolled, scrambled to her feet.

Tam spun to face the second man, wielding the stave as if it were a spear—a mighty jab, right at the outlaw’s sternum. Again, he heard the crack of bone.

The man staggered back and fell heavily.

Tam raised the stave again, but the outlaw didn’t get up. He lay stunned, his breath coming in rattling gasps.

Tam lowered the stave. He turned to the girl, panting. “You all right?”

Her face was starkly white, smudged with dirt. Blood daubed her chin. Her eyes were wide, dark, and frightened. Her plait was unraveling. Glossy nut-brown hair tumbled down her back.

“Are you all right?” Tam asked again.

“Yes,” the girl said, but her voice betrayed her, wobbling. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said, more strongly. “I’m unharmed.”

“There’s blood on your face.”

“Not mine.” The girl wiped her mouth and chin. “I bit one of them.” She looked at the blood on her fingers, and then met his eyes. “Thank you. I’m very much in your debt.”

Tam shook his head. “The fault was mine. I should have warned you. I passed that one . . .” he pointed to the man he’d struck first, “not an hour ago. If I’d thought to tell you, if you’d turned bac
k—
”

“I wouldn’t have turned back,” the girl said.

Marigold ambled up and nudged Tam’s thigh. He caught her trailing rope. “You have to. You can’t go on alon
e—
”

“I’m not turning back,” the girl said, folding her arms. “I’ve waited
ten
years—and I am
not
turning back!” Some color was returning to her face. Tam realized, belatedly, that she was remarkably beautiful. And older than he’d thought. Close to his own age, if he guessed right. A woman, not a girl.

He eyed her. “How far are you going?”

“Mottlethorpe. It’s only twenty miles from here.”

Tam thought of his father’s letter, hidden in his packsaddle.
I don’t anticipate trouble, but Faerie wishes have a way of going awry, and I confess I’d like you home as soon as possible, son. I know I have three good shoulders to lean on, but I would be glad of your shoulder, too, should anything go wrong
.

His father wanted him home. But his father would also expect him to protect this woman.

Tam looked at her folded arms and stubborn jaw and determined, dirt-smudged face, and weighed his father’s request for his swift return against the danger she faced on these roads. Twenty miles to Mottlethorpe, twenty miles back. It would add less than two days to his journey.

“Very well,” Tam said. “Marigold and I will escort you.”

The woman blinked, looking startled. “I don’t need an escort.” And then she looked at the two men lying on the road and had the grace to blush. “I don’t
want
an escort,” she said, in a smaller voice.

“Tough,” Tam said cheerfully. “This isn’t the vale; it isn’t safe for a woman alone.”
Especially one as beautiful as you
.

She hesitated, and then asked, “Where were you headed?”

“Mottlethorpe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Where were you headed . . .
truly
?”

“Truly?” Tam shrugged. “The vale.”

The woman shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I can’t let you go so far out of you
r—
”

“And
I
can’t let you go on alone,” Tam told her bluntly. “You won’t turn back. I doubt you’d let me drag you back. Therefore, I go to Mottlethorpe with you.”

She bit her lip, and looked down at the two outlaws sprawled on the road. Emotions flitted across her face: determination, despair.

“And besides,” Tam said lightly. “Marigold insists, and she’s a stubborn creature.” He scratched the donkey’s head.

The woman gave a small, reluctant laugh, and then sighed. “Thank you. I would be doubly in your debt.” She rubbed her face, found a smear of dirt, rubbed it again. For a moment, she looked tired and vulnerable. Her lips quivered.
She’s going to cry
. But then she blinked fiercely and took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

Tam should have been relieved; instead, he was disappointed. He imagined holding her in his arms while she cried, imagined stroking that glossy hair, wiping tears from her cheeks, offering a kiss or two in comfort. Her lips would be warm, soft, salty.

“What shall we do with them?”

Tam blinked, and followed the direction of her gaze. The outlaw he’d struck in the head was clearly dead. The second man was unconscious. “The dead one in the ditch,” Tam said. “The other one . . . off to the side of the road.” He handed Marigold’s rope to the woman, took the dead man’s ankles, and hauled him to the ditch. A leather purse was tied to the man’s belt. Tam ignored it. Let someone else steal the coins.

He dragged the second outlaw off the road. The man didn’t stir.

“Will he live?” the woman asked.