Debra Kay Leland Read Online Free PDF Page B

anyone knew.
     
    He took to clearing the rubble that yet lay around the buildings; adding arm load after arm load to the already roaring fire.  He gazed at the ripening fields knowing that soon they too would need their attention.  Then he straightened and ran an arm across his damp forehead peering off down the long trail that led towards the old roadway.  His eyes narrowing at the old man and his dog that now drew closer to him.  The smile on the old man’s weathered face never wavered as he approached; but despite the friendly smile William’s own hand went to the grip of the knife that he had tucked into the belt and rested there in silent warning, as his wary eyes scanned the area around him for others.
    The old man who was stout with graying hair and work worn clothes lifted a hand in greeting.  “Good day to thee!”  He called out; his Celtic dialect had a sing song sound to it that made William soften a bit as he managed to smile in return.
    He nodded and stood with legs spread apart, then released his grip on the knife and folded his arms over his broad chest instead, waiting to see what the intentions of his guests were before he took up his weapon again.  His mission here had been to make a goodly name for himself, and that was first and foremost in his mind even now.  “And to thee.”
    The old man never lost his smile.  “Ah, ye not be from around here then.  I saw thee as I walked and was curious as to who it was who had returned to this place.  ‘Tis English I hear in yur voice though.  ”
    William laughed easily.  “Aye, ‘tis English.”  He said then nodded respectfully, resting his hand on the grip of his knife once again watchfully.  “…that much is true, though I am b ut a simple farmer, good sir.”
    The man looked around then patted his dog on the head.  “I be, Alden Blair of Chadwick.”  He paused then and looked William in the eye, his smiled fading somewhat as he did so.  “ I do not know how ye have come this way, but have a care of the man who owns this land, unless ye be from him that is?”
    “And who might that be?”  William wondered to himself, not sure if he meant the villager who had possessed this land or his father himself.
    “Ye have not heard that the Earl of Whittington has confiscated these lands and killed all who once lived here?  ‘Tis not saf e here now.”
    William looked down at the mention of his father’s name and shifted uncomfortably on rigid legs.  “Aye, I know of it, and he knows of my plans here.  I have petitioned him and asked that I might farm this land.  ‘Twas tribute he wanted from Glenton Moore when he came here that night, and now he has it!  The land may be his to c ontrol, but the farm is mine.”
    The old man smiled and rubbed his scruffy chin with a work worn hand, then smiled again.  “No one dares live here—but then ye be English, so—I s uppose he thinks better of ye.”
    The younger man smiled respectfully again.  “Do ye know of any who may have escaped the si ege or left relatives behind?  I do not seek trouble with them for my intentions are sincere, I give thee my word on that.”
    The old man tilted his head keenly; his eyes narrowed a fraction as he took in the words just spoken to him—not able to help but be worried that the man before him now was a spy sent to hunt down the few that had yet remained alive.  “Well now, if I had, I would not tell ye, English...”
    William merely smiled.  “Aye, ‘tis well I suppose—though I only inquired as to hire them.  ‘Tis nigh harvest and I would not have the fields go to waste.”
    “Fine words ye speak, aye, very fine; but I cannot help ye with what ye asked.  ‘Tis better if ye not bring it up again.”
    William nodded and then looked into the man’s soft blue eyes.  “True, I suppose, but if ye hear of a man who seeks w ork, would ye send him to me?”
    The old man just smiled again.  “Aye, I shall.  Though, I doubt any shall