the narrow ravine, Wynne purposefully set the children to their separate tasks.
“Rhys and Madoc, I want you to scrape away as much of this soft dark-gray stone as you can. See how it flakes off if you drag a piece of sharpened granite on it? That’s right,” she said as the boys mimicked her action. “Put what you scrape into this leather sack.
“And Arthur, you need to pick the youngest, smallest fern fronds. Here’s one. See how the end is still curled? Only take the ones that are about as long as your hand. Here’s a cloth you can lay them on. Afterward I’ll wrap them up for you.”
“What about us?” Bronwen and Isolde chorused.
“Let’s see. Oh, I know. I need spiderwebs. Can you collect them for me? Or, no. Maybe I’d better do that. Why don’t you girls dig for skirret. Here’s a spade. You can take turns. One of you can hold the leaves aside like this while the other one digs for the roots.” She pulled free several of the white, fleshy tubers. “Just pull some of it off, then pat the rest of the roots and the plant back into place.”
“So they can grow more of those fat things for us for next time,” Isolde reasoned.
“Precisely. I’ve been taking skirret roots from this bed of plants for years.”
She brushed the moist earth from her hands as she stepped back and surveyed her industrious brood. Although she could probably collect everything she needed in less time than her five helpers could, she was glad she’d decided to bring them along. Six years old was not too young to be contributing to the welfare of the family. Every child needed to learn responsibility, as well as to know that they were important to the family, even when it was not the most typical of families. That lesson could not begin too soon, especially for these orphans who must eventually know the difficult truth of how they came to be and how unwanted they once were. But they were wanted now. Very much so. She couldn’t love them more if they were truly her own.
“Have you no task for me?”
The Englishman’s low voice just behind her caused Wynne to jump in alarm. She nearly trod in a bed of young Olympia fern, so startled was she.
“You … I … no.” She fought to compose herself. “No, I have no task for you. You may leave anytime you like.”
He raised one dark brow at her brusque remark, and Wynne was immediately embarrassed by her rudeness. He had, after all, aided her and the children in their precarious descent into the Cleft.
Still, he’d followed them here uninvited. She owed him no more than the minimal courtesy.
“Thank you for your help, but I’m sure you’ll find our activities extremely boring. We’ll be gathering plants and minerals the entire morning. You need not linger to help us.”
“Ah, but ’twould be my pleasure to do so,” he answered, mocking her forced politeness with an excessive display of courtliness. “If you would but direct me, I’m certain I can be of some assistance to you.”
Wynne’s eyes narrowed in frustration, to be rewarded only by the faintest shadow of amusement in his warm brown gaze. He was laughing at her, and it galled her to no end.
“Perhaps there is one task,” she said as a truly wicked idea came into her head. Though she knew she should not be so unkind, even to this Englishman, some devil seemed to drive her. She consoled herself with the reminder that he had no business being here in the first place. Nor even in Wales. He’d brought this trouble down upon himself.
“I need to replenish my stores of parsley fern. Only the leaves, mind you. I’ll find a plant, and perhaps you can fill this pouch with the newest leaves. Just the tiny pale-green ones.”
“What do you use them for?” he asked as he followed her.
For causing a severe rash on those who think to cross me, she thought spitefully. But her answer was more evasive. “Oh, for medicinal purposes.”
“For coughs? Or bleeding?” he prodded.
“No.” She searched her
“Rhys and Madoc, I want you to scrape away as much of this soft dark-gray stone as you can. See how it flakes off if you drag a piece of sharpened granite on it? That’s right,” she said as the boys mimicked her action. “Put what you scrape into this leather sack.
“And Arthur, you need to pick the youngest, smallest fern fronds. Here’s one. See how the end is still curled? Only take the ones that are about as long as your hand. Here’s a cloth you can lay them on. Afterward I’ll wrap them up for you.”
“What about us?” Bronwen and Isolde chorused.
“Let’s see. Oh, I know. I need spiderwebs. Can you collect them for me? Or, no. Maybe I’d better do that. Why don’t you girls dig for skirret. Here’s a spade. You can take turns. One of you can hold the leaves aside like this while the other one digs for the roots.” She pulled free several of the white, fleshy tubers. “Just pull some of it off, then pat the rest of the roots and the plant back into place.”
“So they can grow more of those fat things for us for next time,” Isolde reasoned.
“Precisely. I’ve been taking skirret roots from this bed of plants for years.”
She brushed the moist earth from her hands as she stepped back and surveyed her industrious brood. Although she could probably collect everything she needed in less time than her five helpers could, she was glad she’d decided to bring them along. Six years old was not too young to be contributing to the welfare of the family. Every child needed to learn responsibility, as well as to know that they were important to the family, even when it was not the most typical of families. That lesson could not begin too soon, especially for these orphans who must eventually know the difficult truth of how they came to be and how unwanted they once were. But they were wanted now. Very much so. She couldn’t love them more if they were truly her own.
“Have you no task for me?”
The Englishman’s low voice just behind her caused Wynne to jump in alarm. She nearly trod in a bed of young Olympia fern, so startled was she.
“You … I … no.” She fought to compose herself. “No, I have no task for you. You may leave anytime you like.”
He raised one dark brow at her brusque remark, and Wynne was immediately embarrassed by her rudeness. He had, after all, aided her and the children in their precarious descent into the Cleft.
Still, he’d followed them here uninvited. She owed him no more than the minimal courtesy.
“Thank you for your help, but I’m sure you’ll find our activities extremely boring. We’ll be gathering plants and minerals the entire morning. You need not linger to help us.”
“Ah, but ’twould be my pleasure to do so,” he answered, mocking her forced politeness with an excessive display of courtliness. “If you would but direct me, I’m certain I can be of some assistance to you.”
Wynne’s eyes narrowed in frustration, to be rewarded only by the faintest shadow of amusement in his warm brown gaze. He was laughing at her, and it galled her to no end.
“Perhaps there is one task,” she said as a truly wicked idea came into her head. Though she knew she should not be so unkind, even to this Englishman, some devil seemed to drive her. She consoled herself with the reminder that he had no business being here in the first place. Nor even in Wales. He’d brought this trouble down upon himself.
“I need to replenish my stores of parsley fern. Only the leaves, mind you. I’ll find a plant, and perhaps you can fill this pouch with the newest leaves. Just the tiny pale-green ones.”
“What do you use them for?” he asked as he followed her.
For causing a severe rash on those who think to cross me, she thought spitefully. But her answer was more evasive. “Oh, for medicinal purposes.”
“For coughs? Or bleeding?” he prodded.
“No.” She searched her
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