Free Maythorn's Wish (The Fey Quartet Book 1) by Emily Larkin Page B

stroking her hair. Was Ren thinking of his dead wife, too? “After Maud died, I thought—I hoped—you might offer for one of my daughters,” Maythorn confessed in a low voice. “I could think of no better husband for them than you.”
    “Marry one of your daughters?” Ren seemed to recoil. His hand lifted from her hair.
    Maythorn stiffened. “You don’t like them?”
    “Of course I like them. They’re kind, good-hearted girls, but how could I marry one of them when it was their mother I loved? It would have been a terrible thing to do! A betrayal to them and myself.”
    “Oh . . .” Maythorn’s stiffness eased. She rested her cheek on his chest again.
    The deep peacefulness of Glade Forest settled around them. Ren stroked her hair, then cupped the back of her head in one large hand. Maythorn burrowed into his warmth. “When can we get married?” she asked. “Tomorrow?”
    “I’d like to wait a week or two, if you don’t mind. I want Gavain to have time to get to know you. I want him to think of you as a friend, not a stranger.”
    “Of course I don’t mind.” She wanted Gavain to be happy about having a new mother, not bewildered, not anxious.
    Ren stroked her hair again. “And before we marry, you should speak to the Lord Warder. He needs to know what’s happened.”
    Maythorn shivered. “Must I tell him?”
    “Are you afraid of Dappleward? Don’t be. He’s a good man.”
    “I know.” And she did know. But . . . the Lord Warder. Maythorn suppressed another shiver. “Will you come with me?”
    “Of course I will.”

CHAPTER TEN
    THE RIVER DAPPLE sprang from its source deep in Glade Forest and wandered almost fifty miles before flowing into the sparkling waters of Lake Dapple. Along its banks lay a dozen villages, the largest being Dapple Meadow, in the lower reaches of the vale, where the river meandered gently and the pastures were wide and fertile, and where the Lord Warder made his home. On the third day of summer, Maythorn set out with Ren to walk the thirty miles to Dapple Meadow. Hazel and Gavain came as far as Dapple Orchard, Gavain riding on patient Githa, and those miles passed merrily, but once Hazel and Gavain had turned back, Maythorn found herself growing apprehensive. It was all very well to say that Dappleward was a good man—for he was—but he was also Lord Warder of all Dapple Vale, and as such, he had the power to expel folk from the vale.
    What if he banishes me?
    They’d intended to overnight at Dapple Weir, where Ren’s brother was blacksmith, but when they reached Dapple Hollow in the lazy, bee-humming warmth of early afternoon, they discovered the Lord Warder and his liegeman Rauf Ironfist were in conference with the village alderman.
    “We had a bit of trouble here the night of the bonfire,” Dapple Hollow’s thatcher told them, as they drank water at the village well. “Gilbert Baker got a mite too friendly with John Swineherd’s daughter, which she didn’t like overmuch, and John liked even less, and they got to fighting and John stuck Gilbert with a knife, except he didn’t mean to—they was both drunk.” The thatcher grimaced, and scratched his head. “So the Lord Warder’s come to sort it out.”
    “Was Gilbert badly injured?” Ren asked.
    The thatcher shook his head. “It’s John we’re all worried about. What if Dappleward banishes him? It don’t warrant that!”
    “Dappleward only banishes troublemakers,” Ren said. “Is John Swineherd that?”
    “Neither of ’em’s troublemaking. It was just the drink.”
    “Then John Swineherd should be all right.”
    “I hope you’re right,” the thatcher said, and sighed gustily. “I hope you’re right.”
     
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    NOT LONG AFTER that, two men emerged from the alderman’s house looking sheepish and relieved. Gilbert Baker and John Swineherd, Maythorn guessed. Shortly after that, two more men stepped out into the sunshine. She had no need to guess who they were. Guy Dappleward and