Master of Mayhem (The Enchanted Well #2)

Chapter Three

“M odesty, you shall go with me today to the market.”

Modesty wasn’t the only one surprised by her father’s announcement. The Hawlyn family didn’t leave their home very often.

Of course they didn’t. They were in hiding.

“Martin?” Modesty’s mother questioned her husband in a gentle tone.

Martin Hawlyn placed a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Her dowry is to include a set of silver knitting wires. I believe it best for her to pick them out.”

“There might yet be ice on the road,” Thomas spoke up.

“Perhaps,” Martin Hawlyn answered his eldest son. “Yet the wedding is set for three days hence. We must go today.”

“In three days?” Modesty exclaimed.

Her father appeared surprised by her reaction. “The matter has been agreed upon. Spring is the time for weddings. We only wait until after May Day to ensure that we do not bless your union while there is sinful celebration all around you. Tomorrow, the shutters will remain closed lest we hear the pagan sounds carried on the wind. You and your sister must go to the work shed before sunrise and seal the door firmly.”

May Day truly was a day of celebration. Girls would wake at dawn to go and wash their faces with morning dew to ensure their beauty. There would be dancing on the green and the Hobby Horse would arrive to help ensure fertility.

To wed on May Day was considered very lucky. It was a double blessing as well for if those girls rounded with new life, it was considered a sign of a good harvest to come.

“Modesty, do not become lost in your thoughts.” Her father interrupted her musings. “Have faith that I will place you upon a good path in life.”

Modesty nodded her head because she didn’t trust her voice to not give away her doubts. Her head was swirling with them.

Modesty went to fetch her surcoat. Spring was only just beginning, and the air was crisp. The sturdy wool garment went over her dress, granting her protection from the wind. She enjoyed the sleeves of the garment. It was much better than a cloak that only secured around the neck and so often choked her.

The ride to the village wasn’t long enough to suit her. Modesty was still absorbed in her thoughts when they made it to the edge of town. The pair of horses pulling their cart made it to where the roads were covered in cobble stones. The sound of their steps changed, recalling Modesty to where they were.

Here there were stone buildings. Most rose two stories above the streets. There were signs hanging out, telling everyone what manner of business the shops did. Her father was sitting on the front seat of the cart, instructing his eldest son Thomas on how to drive.

“Here.” Martin Hawlyn pointed at a shop.

Thomas pulled on the reins a little too hard, causing the horses to scream in protest. Her father grabbed his son’s hands, teaching him the proper amount of strength to use. The team settled down. Martin Hawlyn climbed down and waited for Modesty to join him.

A little brass bell was mounted on the door of the shop. It rang out cheerfully when Martin pushed the door in.

“Good day to you…” The shopkeeper called out a greeting while he turned to face them.

But the smile on the merchant’s face faded the moment he recognized them. “You Puritans are not welcome here.”

Her father’s forehead furrowed. “I traded with you just last summer.”

The shopkeeper flattened his hands on the counter. “Aye, you did. Be on your way before anyone notices that your boy is sitting outside my door. I do not need any trouble from the soldiers, you understand. They will be in here asking if I am one of you Puritans.”

“I see,” Martin Hawlyn remarked.

“It would be best if you did see.” The shopkeeper lifted his hands up and held them out. “It’s not the way I want it. You understand that? Being out in the country won’t protect you forever. The queen is set on every subject being obedient to her will. The soldiers brought a priest with them. It is only a matter of time before it is noticed that you and your family do not come to mass.”

“My family will never attend mass,” Martin Hawlyn stated firmly.

The shopkeeper backed away from them. “Leave my place! I do not want to hear anything from you! Go!”

Modesty followed her father back out onto the road. Thomas looked at them, clearly surprised to see them emerging from the shop so quickly.

“We will go to another place,” Martin Hawlyn announced softly. He was holding onto the side of his short robe, appearing mild and content.

But Modesty saw how white his knuckles were.

Modesty suddenly saw how many people didn’t look at them. Strangers were normally a curiosity but today, those out shopping didn’t make eye contact. Mothers even warned their children from looking at them.

A chill touched Modesty.

She knew very well that they had fled their home in London because the new queen was a Roman Catholic. Mary Tudor was intent on returning England to her faith. But up on the borderland, it was easy to forget that there was turmoil in the country.

For the first time, Modesty genuinely feared for her family.

The determination on her father’s face made it clear that Martin Hawlyn would not go back on his pledge to keep the Puritan faith.

Her groom was a Puritan too.

A sense of foreboding filled her while they moved onto another street and another shop. “Father, I do not need new knitting wires.”

Her father was already waiting for her in front of the shop. Modesty found that scooting out of the back of the cart felt as if she was exposing herself to an archer.

“Silver needles would be a vanity,” Modesty continued.

Martin Hawlyn was still holding the lapels of his short robe. “Our act of charity so many years ago resulted in you learning to knit. Such a skill is closely guarded by the guilds. Your husband’s family intends for you to knit sturdy, warm hats for men from the wool of their sheep. Your fine match is very much attributed to your knitting skills.”

Knitting was a new art.

Rare and unique, Modesty had learned it quite by accident. A harsh winter had stranded a merchant and his sons in their home almost a decade past. During the long bitterly cold days, they’d all huddled together in one room to conserve firewood. The merchant’s sons had spent that time with slim little needles they called “wires” and used the most basic of spun yarn to knit hats.

A knitted and felted hat might be sold for fifty times what the yarn itself was worth. Like any skill, merchant guilds were quick to keep the secret within their ranks. But Modesty had learned by watching, going up to her room at night to practice what she’d witnessed near the hearth.

“Puritans…” someone sneered at them. “We don’t want you here!”

The man who insulted them was driving a wagon. He purposely ventured too close to their cart. The horses snorted and jumped forward. Thomas hadn’t been minding them, her brother had been listening to their conversation.

The cart had only two wheels. When the horses lurched forward, the bed of the cart flattened out. Modesty gasped, falling backwards. Thomas shocked into action, fought to bring the them under control.

“Easy…easy!” Thomas called out. He pulled on the reins until the horses calmed and finally stopped.

Her father was out of breath when he reached them. His face was red, but Modesty didn’t think it was because of the physical exertion. He was cross with her disobedience and Thomas’s inattention.

“Go on!” someone else yelled. “Get ye gone Puritans before we call out the soldiers!”

This time the person sneering at them stood right on the other side of the street. “Old Henry is gone and that little sickly boy of his didn’t last either. Know why? Because God wants England back on the righteous path. Our queen is going to have a baby, she is! That’s proof that God wants England worshiping the Mother Church!”

“Perhaps it is best that we return home,” Martin muttered. He climbed back into the cart and took the reins. A huge clot of muck hit him on the shoulder, splattering onto Modesty.

“Puritans are not welcome here!”

Her father urged the horses on and commanded them to go. Even the animals sensed that they were unwelcome. They took off, their pace brisk. Sitting in the back of the cart, Modesty watched the man who had thrown the mud at them lift his hand and make the sign of the cross over himself as though she and her family were an evil to be feared.

She agreed with him that there was evil at work, but her father’s beliefs weren’t the cause of it. Hate was. The looks being cast their way made it plain that those who had suffered the loss of their chosen faith during Henry the Eighth’s reign were eager to gain revenge now that the situation was reversed.

The feeling of foreboding didn’t fade when they left the village behind. Her throat was tight too because she knew without a doubt that their days of going overlooked in their modest little country home were coming to an end.

Soon there would be nowhere for them to hide.

*

“Modesty? Are you going to go out and bathe your face with May Day morning dew?”

Temperance asked the question quite some time after Modesty had pinched out the candle in the tin lantern.

The lateness didn’t matter. Modesty had had trouble sleeping. Her bed simply wasn’t as comfortable as it had been the night before. The little loft had lost its comforting, secure feeling.

“This will be your last May Day to celebrate as a maiden.” Temperance continued, “I cannot seem to believe that you are to wed in but two days’ time.”

Her mind offered up a memory of Eleph Cressens. Her intended groom had sat hunched over in a coat that was two sizes too big for him when Modesty had met him.

Ha! Met was too strong a word!

Not one single word had been spoken between them. Modesty was fairly certain that Eleph hadn’t even raised his gaze from the hem of her dress. She honestly wouldn’t know if he was the groom who faced her when her wedding day arrived.

Her thoughts drifted to her forbidden messenger. Ruben had introduced himself.

Modesty smiled in the dark chamber. Ruben Lindsey had boldly offered her his hand. She knew it was considered correct for her father to make a match for her, but Modesty just couldn’t lie to herself. She far preferred Ruben Lindsey’s approach to the way Eleph had stared at the floor.

“Are you holding a grudge against me for telling father about the Samhain bonfire?” Temperance demanded to know. “I only told father about the Samhain bonfire because I was so worried about Prudence. The words simply slipped out.”

“I am not holding a grudge,” Modesty assured her sister. “My mind is full of other things.”

“That’s what mother said. That you are worrying when you should trust in father’s choice,” Temperance said. “But tomorrow is May Day. You don’t want to miss it.”

She truly didn’t. In fact, Modesty felt as if it would be impossible to sleep even a wink for fear of missing out on dawn. The desire to go and dance on the green was raging inside of her. It was far more than just wanting to go. Modesty realized that she was desperate to reach out and grab at any sort of celebration of life because right there in her bed, all she felt was the approach of doom.

“I am going,” Modesty said. She didn’t whisper, couldn’t have lowered her voice even if she’d tried. The need to go was burning so brightly, containing it was impossible.

“Oh good, I truly did not want to go alone.”

Temperance whispered. Her voice was low and hushed, but Modesty heard the determination in it anyway. They were both caught in the choices their family had made for them. It felt so unfair. The only thing that gave Modesty solace was the fact that Temperance shared the same frustrations she did.

“We’ll go together,” Modesty said firmly.

Temperance made a little excited sound that she smothered with her blankets. That little sound was miraculous. It swept through the little alcove like a breeze, carrying away the tension that had plagued the house since they’d come back from the village earlier in the week.

It was a simple thing and yet, hope in any quantity was more powerful than any other force in life.

*

Scotsmen weren’t welcome in England.

Even if there was peace between their nations at the moment, it was an uneasy truce at best. One Ruben would be a fool to test the limits of by venturing onto English ground.

Ruben recalled where the heather was blooming. It was growing at the top of the meadow where it was afforded more sunlight than the heather that would bloom in the shadow of the forest. Meadows were fine things for they offered a whole season of blossoms.

He stopped before leaving the trees. It was a habit, one that had safeguarded more than one clansman’s life. The earthen tones of his kilt helped him to blend in. Even on the borderland, a wise Scot didn’t venture into the open.

Ruben stared at the Midnight Well.

It stood quiet and solitary in the night. If he were wise, he’d water his horse, get the heather, and be on his way home before dawn revealed him.

Ruben felt as if his feet had grown roots as deep as the trees around him. Leaving was impossible.

Would she come?

The desire to see Modesty again was like a living, breathing thing inside of him. Standing so close to where they had first met, he discovered himself being pulled back into the intensity of the encounter as if it had happened only an hour before instead of days.

He was playing with fire.

Seeing Modesty again was only going to give him another taste of something he could not ever have.

That thought should have seen Ruben getting on with his business. Instead, he was more determined than ever to linger while grasping at the hope, however faint, that he get one more glimpse of her.

He had a feeling it would be one of the most treasured memories of his life.