Debra Kay Leland by From Whence Came A Stranger...

walked ignoring his trite words.  “He seems the goodly sort and said he wishes to rebuild Glenton Moor and see it turned over to the widows and children that yet remain.”
    Turin hastened his steps till he had caught up with her again.  “Have a care, sister, that ye do not fall under the man’s spell!  All English are liars and thieves and we know it well!”
    She laughed softly.  “Aye, ‘tis true of some I suppose, but this man seems most honest.”
    He threw her a concerned look.  “Ye would do well to keep away from him!”
    She took her brother’s strong hand in hers.  “Have no care, Turin.  I doubt we shall see the English here soon after the welcome he received.”  But even as she said it, she hoped it wasn’t true…
     
     
    T he three men began working hard to fix up the fences that had been torn down; though their first cow and her calf didn’t at all seem to mind being staked out in the meadow on a long rope; and William was glad for it.
    He stood with legs apart and strong arms crossed over his broad chest watching his cattle graze as the sun sank low in the sky casting beautiful shadows on the meadow from the tall trees around it.  Phillip had seen to roasting the deer that Thomas had shot with his bow earlier that day.  The savory aroma from the meat hung in the heavy evening air.  He smiled, finally realized that this place had begun to feel like a home to him.  As if life itself had finally come back to him and to Glenton Moor at the same time.  And it was a welcome relief from the heavy, disheartening quiet that hung over the ruins and over his thoughts when they had first arrived. 
    Aye, the land was healing—now if only its people could…  He knew there were survivors who had fled the destruction that night, he himself had watched their desperate eyes as they fled from him expecting him to follow, but instead he pointed them towards safety and told them to hurry.  Now, he just wondered if they would ever come back to this place again.
    “William!  Come eat!”
    He smiled at Phillip’s words and went to the well to wash the dirt from himself before he walked to the hut clean but damp; and for the first time feeling as if somehow everything was going to be alright.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    “ W hy the long face, father?”   James Sheridan, the oldest son and heir of the Earl of Whittington said as he strode into his father’s solar.  His father had been staring out the large bank of windows at the countryside just beyond the castle walls for nigh an hour without saying a single word.  James knew his mind was on one thing, and one thing only—his younger son, William….  
    He straightened at the annoyed tone of his son but didn’ t turn around.
    James was tall and strong, his looks were similar to his brother’s; but that was the only thing that was similar about the two.  James, unlike his brother was uncaring and disrespectful—and to his disappointment, he had not yet even married and given him a grandchild to ease his mind.
    “Are ye thinking of thy prodigal again?”   He said as he settled himself down comfortably, watching his father with a dark smile on his handsome face.
    His father stiffened at his words and turned slowly, wondering which of his sons was truly the prodigal, the one who had left his home to do what was right in his soul or the one who yet remained at his side and spoke such to him.  “ Prodigal?  No, James, he is not a prodigal.  He does that which his conscience demands.”
    “Oh, do not misunderstand me, father, I think William shall make a very happy farmer and I wish him well!  But ye think of him overly, even mourn him.”
    His father lifted the cup in his hand to his lips and took a sip.  “Aye, I think of him; he is still my son, James.”
    “But not thy heir, father;