Free Destiny's Path by Frewin Jones

spoon. “So, you wish to trade meat for clothing and…what? Pots? Farm tools? What else?”
    â€œClothing would suit us best,” said Branwen. “Perhaps a dress and a wimple, and a jerkin and leggings, and maybe a woolen cloak or two—if you are willing to part with them.”
    â€œWe have spare garments,” said the woman, hooking her head to a simple wooden box under one of the windows. “But it is a lot you ask for only two deer, my child. If your need is so great, maybe you would be willing to work to make up the difference? The boy could set to the winnowing, and perhaps you could spend a morning at the loom?”
    Branwen glanced at the tall wooden loom that stood against the wall. There was already cloth in the frame. Branwen had seen women at the loom daily in Garth Milain, but she had never been asked or expected to join in the time-consuming and laborious task.
    All the same, if a morning of weaving would get them what they needed, she was willing to accept the woman’s offer and try her hand at the loom. But could they afford that kind of time? Neither her vision of the coming carnage nor Blodwedd’s message from Govannon of the Wood had given any indication ofwhen Ironfist’s attack was due to fall on Gwylan Canu. Today? Tomorrow? By the new moon? When?
    â€œI see you have your doubts about my offer,” said the woman, now spooning the steaming-hot stew into two bowls. “Eat now and think it over. For the two deer, I can offer little more than a cloak or two and a gown. If you need more, you know what I’d have you do.” She handed the bowls to Rhodri and Branwen then heaved herself to her feet. “I must check on the babe,” she said. “Talk it over—you’ll find it’s a fair offer, and the longer you are prepared to work, the better you will serve your folk back in Cyffin Tir.”
    So saying, she went stooping out through the low doorway.
    Branwen waited until she was sure the woman was out of earshot. “You shouldn’t have called me Branwen,” she hissed to Rhodri.
    â€œI know,” he said, his face troubled. “The moment I said it, I knew it was a foolish thing to have done.” He shook his head ruefully. “You were right—I should have kept quiet. We should have told her I was mute!”
    â€œAll the same, no harm was done,” said Branwen. “Just be more careful from now on.” She lifted a spoonful of the stew. The meat was chicken, and she could smell cabbage and onions, too, as well as parsley and a hint of rosemary and savory. It smelled wholesome and appetizing, and she ate it with pleasure, speaking between mouthfuls. “But what are we to do? Can weafford to spend time here? There’s little purpose in us telling our tale to Iwan ap Madoc if we arrive in Doeth Palas too late for it to do any good.”
    â€œI think we have a few days,” said Rhodri. “It will take Ironfist a little time to organize his men and take them to the coast—it’s not something that can be done all of a rush.”
    â€œSo, you think we should stay here and work?”
    â€œI would rather not, if we had the choice.” Rhodri glanced over to the wooden box of clothes. “I’m thinking that if I were a little less honest, I’d be sorely tempted to grab what we need and make a run for it.”
    â€œSteal from her?” said Branwen in dismay. “How can you think such a thing while you’re filling your belly with her food?”
    â€œNot steal,” said Rhodri. “Borrow. As we did the horses—remember, you said when you took them that you would be glad to bring them back to their rightful owners when your need of them was done. So it would be with this woman’s clothes. That’s all I was suggesting.”
    Branwen shook her head. “It’s work or nothing,” she said. “We could offer to bring them more