Warrior's Moon A Love Story (2 page)

As they walked back toward his home, he asked, “Was there anyone else in the cart with you other than your Mama and Papa?”  She didn’t say anything, just shook her little head, making water droplets flip off the tips of her hair and run down Peyton’s chest under his nightshirt.  “No other children?”  He asked her further, but she shook her head again.

He met his parents coming back out with the wagon as he trudged through the rain with the cold little girl and he knew from the look on his mother’s face that his father had already told her about the child and the condition of her parents.  As they continued on, he wrapped his cloak tighter about her and hugged the child a margin more snugly.  This little girl had lost at least her father tonight, and possibly her mother
as well, from the shape she appeared to be in.  ‘Twas a thing to be pitied.  The child was a mere slip of a thing.  Hardly more than a baby.

Peyton got her in and before the fire and knew he had to get her out of her wet things, but he couldn’t seem to get her to let go of him.  She was gripping his shirt as if she never
meant to turn him loose and had all but buried her little face against his chest.  He hailed his little brother Tristan to come and help him.  Between the two of them, they managed to undo her little shoes and pull her stockings off and try to hold her feet out to the fire’s heat, but she still didn’t want to let go of Peyton’s shirt.  She’d at least moved far enough away from his chest that he could see she had several cuts on one side of her face and a rather large one on the side of her forehead. 

Tristan brought a cloth and they tried to wipe the blood that had smeared with the rain and then get the cuts to stop bleeding, but as she was still gripping Peyton dearly, it was nearly impossible.

The door of the cottage flew open and his father came in carrying the mother and took her to his parent’s bed.  As they laid her out, Peyton could see she was heavy with an unborn child and his heart pitied them even more.  

His mother began to work over the child’s mother while his father went straight back out to find the man who was the closest the village of Navarre had to a physician and to bring in her father.  He didn’t say it, but Peyton knew they worried the wolves would be at the body if they didn’t bring it immediately.  He glanced down at the child who still gripped him convulsively while her teeth chattered and wondered how much she understood about what had happened here.  He almost hoped she didn’t understand at all.

Wondering how to get her warm, he finally had Tristan pull a rocking chair right over to the fire.  He wrapped the child into a blanket, wet clothes and all, and sat in the chair and began to rock and then to sing to her quietly.  Maybe if she went to sleep, he could get her to let go long enough to get her dry.

Peyton woke up in the rocking chair in the dim light of the stormy morning with a stiff neck.  He continued to hold the little girl.  They had finally gotten their wet clothes off, but still, she clung to him even in her sleep.  He looked over at the bed where her mother lay and knew that although the mother lived, the physician didn’t have much hope she would make it and even less hope that her unborn baby would. 

His mother and the physician hovered nearby and from bits and pieces of their whispered conversation, he began to understand that they believed the woman would have the baby this very day, even if she didn’t wake up.  He didn’t understand any of that and was content to cuddle the little girl closer and go back to sleep here in the chair.  It had been a long, long night.

‘Twas the child wiggling in his arms that next woke him.  He yawned and stretched and glanced down at her to see that she was quietly watching him with big, dark eyes.  She was a pretty little thing, even bruised and banged up and he gave her a weary smile to encourage her.  He was still tired to the bone, but if he had been able to help this poor child, ‘twas worth it.

The baby wasn’t born that day, but it came the next evening and although the mother had finally awakened, she was truly more dead than alive.  The baby was living, but it seemed incredibly sickly and Peyton saw the physician glance at Peyton’s mother and shake his head sadly as he handed her the tiny blue infant.          

‘Twas two days before the little girl he’d rescued said anything and then she told them her name was Chantaya and that she was three.  For most of those two days, she had clung to Peyton almost desperately.  His mother had tried to encourage him that she would eventually become more confident and so he had been willing to let the child hang on him if it would help her. 

Those two long days, both of his parents and the physician as well, struggled to help her mother and her baby sister, but in the night of the second day, the tiny, sickly fair haired baby died a
s they had feared all along it would.  From the worried looks of the others, Peyton knew the mother wasn’t far behind it, and he took his role of caring for Chantaya even more seriously while the adults worked.  It looked like she was going to be an orphan and all they knew about her was that her parents had come from the home village of their Lord Rosskeene up in the northern part of the kingdom of Monciere.  At least his own parents would gladly take the child in and care for her as their own, although with her shiny dark hair and eyes, she would definitely not look like one of their own blonde flesh and blood. 

After the death of the baby, Chantaya either clung to Peyton, or to her partly conscious mother, and did little else, seldom even eating.  But then on the fifth day, she seemed to somehow come to terms with what had happened to her and her family and she suddenly became a different child.  She smiled for the first time since they’d found her and began to chatter and take an interest in the family life that was going on around her.  She was markedly partial to Peyton, although she would still snuggle gently into the bed next to her mother.  But then at other times she would run and laugh and squeal just like any healthy three year old little girl.

Strangely, life after the cart wreck settled into a routine of sorts.  The other villagers had gathered up the goods from the cart wreck and had stored them all behind Peyton’s parent’s cottage, had hauled off the dead horse and wreckage and had helped to bury Chantaya’s father and baby sister.  They were wonderful to either come into the Wolfgar cottage and help or to at least bring in meals and help with the choring that was being neglected as the Wolfgars fought to save Chantaya’s mother. 

Peyton and Tristan still had their own responsibilities and Chantaya tagged along with them as they harvested the garden, cared for the farm animals and cut peat for the fire.  She had a wonderful intrepidness about her that made her take everything they did in stride.  It actually made her a little indignant when they intimated she was too little to try something or said girls didn’t do certain things.  ‘Twas quite endearing, honestly.  She was absolutely sweet and the boys affectionately shortened her name to Chani.  They adored her and she worshipped them, especially Peyton.  

After she became healthy enough to carry on a conversation, Chantaya’s mother hadn’t said a great deal except to tell them her name was Isabella Kincraig and to thank them profusely for helping her and her family.  She truly wasn’t up to much and had only told the Wolfgars that her family had been traveling in the middle of a horribly stormy night, with everything they owned in a little wagon, to protect her and her daughter from the unwanted advances of the younger Lord Rosskeene.  The young Lord’s heinous reputation was growing and the Wolfgars didn’t fault the Kincraigs for their flight, even into the face of the furious storm.  ‘Twas only a pity that their flight had resulted in such tragedy. 

Peyton didn’t truly understand what Isabella meant by “unwanted advances”, but he understood enough that he wasn’t surprised to be told in the village one day that there was a man there looking for a young couple with a dark
haired little girl.  He brought the news home with worry in his eight year old heart.  Then he was even more worried when his mother said to his father that she hoped the villagers had the presence of mind not to tell the stranger about Chantaya and her mother.

The villagers must have been discreet to a certain extent, because it wasn’t until nearly a month later that the man showed up at the cottage.  Peyton was afraid of the aggressive stranger, but he was proud of his mother when she stood up to him. 

The man came into the yard where his mother was boiling her laundry and roughly demanded to speak to Kalder Kincraig.  Rose Wolfgar straightened to her full diminutive height of just over five feet.  “Kalder Kincraig is long dead these past weeks, but you’ve my blessing to go straight to Hades, if you’ve a mind to speak with him.  Sir.”  She added this last word on almost sarcastically and then turned back to her washing and for a moment the harsh stranger seemed so outraged at her answer that Peyton wondered if he was going to do her bodily damage.

Instead, he snapped, “Then I would speak with Isabella Kincraig.”

Still a bit defiantly, Rose said, “Isabella Kincraig was nearly killed in the wicked cart wreck that killed her husband and isn’t up to visitors.  I’m so sorry, m’lord, but you’ll have to come back next spring.  If she pulls through at all that is.  She’s near to death herself, she is.  What is it you want with her?”

The stranger gave a mean spirited grin that exposed crooked, blackened teeth.  “She owes my Lord money, she does.  Rent owned on the ground they farmed.  Took out with me master’s rents, they did.”

Rose shook her head.  “I don’t believe you.  Not for a second, I don’t.  But when she wakes, I’ll tell her you were here.  I will.  Now get on wi’ you.”

“You tell her that young Lord Rosskeene will have his rents.  If not his rents, then something else.”  He gave her that disgusting smile again.  “You tell her.  I’ll be back.”

The man left, and Rose grumbled under her breath, “Wicked young master. ‘Tis a shame, that’s what it is.  Lord help us all and what is the world coming to?  Lord Rosskeene has been a good and kind lord, he has, but what’s to become of us when that young one takes over?”

When Rose told Isabella about him, Isabella sighed sadly.  Tears filled her eyes as she said, “We didn’t owe him money, but it truly wasn’t money he was after.  Even heavy with child, he kept trying to force me to come and work for him in his manor house.  Kalder could see what was happening and when Rosskeene kept raising t
he rents to force me to give in . . .  Well, we finally left as secretly as we could to protect me.  And eventually Chantaya.  She looks so much like me.” 

She closed her eyes and tears seeped out as Peyton’s mother spoke kindly, “Forget that now Isabella. ‘Tis over, it is.  You’re just an uncommon beauty, that’s all.  These spoiled young lords forget their place, I say.  But, there’s not a thing this young Lord Rosskeene can do what with you laid up.  Forget him and focus on getting your strength and your heart back.  There’s a little dark haired angel runnin’ round here who needs some vinegar to keep up with.  You worry about little Chantaya and not some young gentry who takes in too much territory.  You’re safe here.”

Isabella swallowed and nodded as she whispered, “Thank you, Rose.  Thank you.”

Just then, Chantaya came running in the door with a tiny handful of squashed wildflowers, raced across the room and launched herself onto her mother’s bed.  Peyton grinned as
his mother cautioned Chantaya to be more careful and then Rose smiled and said to Isabella, “See what I mean?”

That night, when Rose told Willem as they lay beside each other, she admitted, “Your Mum would have had a conniption to have seen me talk to the young master’s messenger like that.  She would have thought it disrespectful and completely provocative.  And it probably was, but what’s to be done in times like these?  Isabella’s been through enough and these young bloods are completely run amok.  Heaven help us when the young Master takes over completely.”

Willem pulled her close.  “Yes, heaven help us.  But Mum was wrong, Rosy.  She didn’t want me off doing something as dangerous as becoming a knight, but we both know there are more important things than life.  God and kingdom.  Honor.  Integrity.  You were right to stand up for Isabella.  We must all stand up against evil if we are ever to have security.  Apathy and selfishness are the most dangerous things of all.  If good citizens say nothing, then evil will prevail. 

“In truth, I still wish I’d gone to be Sir Broughton’s page.  Even if I’d ended up a knight and killed in battle, it would have been better than watching some of the most powerful men in the kingdom of Monciere become corrupted.  If we stand for nothing, our whole region, nay our very kingdom will fall in time.  Mum was wrong, but we can continue to help our sons understand better than we did.  ‘Tis the only way to bring needed change.”

Rose gently patted his arm around her and snuggled closer.  “I’m sure we’ll always regret they insisted you stay and choose a safe path, but to me you will always be Sir Willem.  You have the strong heart of a knight.”

Chapter 2

Isabella eventually did recover enough that she began to support herself by gathering herbs and plants in the nearby woods.  It became apparent very soon that she had a gift for both medicinals and for spices and her goods were in high demand both in the village and by the peddlers and drummers who came through on occasion.  She stayed with the Wolfgars through the depth of the winter and then in the early spring, the villagers helped her to build a tiny cottage of her own to move into tucked in the edge of the woods not far from the Wolfgars.  ‘Twas near the village, yet far enough and concealed enough that they hoped to be able to keep her somewhat hidden in case Lord Rosskeene’s henchmen came back.