Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 99206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“I will take no fee from you for one year’s time. You will have time to till the land, and I will provide food and shelter for you while you work the soil.”
“And in return?” asked a man suspiciously.
“You pledge your loyalty to me and tend my land with the care and love that you once did this land.”
Two men, their wives and children in tow, stepped forward. One followed the other, though their words rang the same.
“I pledge my loyalty to you.”
Reena was not surprised by William and Paul’s hasty decision. Both had six children between them, and William’s wife was heavy with another child. Both men felt their duty was to provide for their family and keep them safe.
Old Margaret, the healer, stepped forward. She was seventy and five years, but no hunch marred her back. Her face was aged, though ageless, and all in the village loved her and sought her talent and wisdom for healing.
“My loyalty I pledge to you.” She paused a moment. “As long as I have enough time to dig up my herbs and ready them for a new patch of soil.”
“My people will help you with whatever assistance you require.”
Margaret nodded. “Then you have my loyalty and I will serve you and your land.”
“I thank you—” Magnus waited.
“Margaret, I am Margaret, the healer.”
“I welcome you to my family, Margaret, and pledge my protection to you.”
The word protection caused an outburst of villagers to step forward, and in the end all in the village had decided to pledge their loyalty to the Legend.
It was little Daniel, the bowman’s son, who stepped forward with courage and asked, “Where is our new home, sir?”
Magnus patted the young lad’s head and looked out over the sea of anxious faces. “My land is not far, for you have just pledged your loyalty to the new earl of Dunhurnal.”
Chapter 8
Reena was stunned by the announcement, but when she reexamined the last few days, she realized that everyone at his keep had been busy preparing for a planned departure. Magnus had had all intentions of traveling to Dunhurnal, and he would have passed through Kilkern property.
She recalled his interest in the Dunhurnal map and now she understood why, and she wondered if it had any relevance to his decision to trade his protection for her mapmaking skills.
He was not obligated to tell her of his plans, so why did she feel a sense of betrayal? The Legend owed her no explanation, and yet she felt he should have told her of his intentions. She attempted to settle the nagging accusation with the thought that the villagers had a new lord and would be safe. But that knowledge did little to ease her unrest and concern regarding the fact that he had not informed her of his being the new lord of Dunhurnal. Why had he felt it necessary to keep the information from her? And was there more he refused to share?
The villagers set to work gathering their personal belongings and items of importance they wished to take with them. Several women helped old Margaret dig up many of her herb plants and bundle them adequately for travel. They bundled her dried herbs as well, for the plants were an essential part of her healing skills.
The few animals that remained were not in the best of health, Peter Kilkern having taken most of their prime stock, but they were not to be left behind and were tethered to the wagon.
Reena worked hard helping as many as she could, and it was only after her mother and father were comfortably settled in a wagon, along with the few villagers too ill to walk, that she saw to her own meager belongings.
There was not much to take. The important items—her quills, inkbottles and papers—were already packed in her satchel. Her garments consisted of one linen shift, two tunics, and an old bone comb for her hair. The most difficult part of gathering her things were her memories of the only home she had ever known.
It was here in this small cottage that she’d been raised. She remembered much laughter, good food and her daily studies, her mother having taught her to speak fluent French and Latin, she in turn having learned from her uncle, a cleric who felt knowledge was important. And then there had been her father’s patience in teaching her to draw. He would smile at her efforts and encourage her. Her mother would attempt to teach her to cook, the lesson often ending in laughter, since no food Reena prepared ever proved eatable. And then there had been those moments of silence when she’d sat snuggled in a blanket before the hearth, her father busy at the table with his maps and her mother sitting in the rocking chair, stitching.