Read Online Tale of Gwyn by Cynthia Voigt - Free Book Online Page A

not warm enough for an old woman,” Gwyn repeated. “I’m sure Da will—”
    â€œOf course he will and ought to, but you know as well as I do it won’t repay us for the time lost at the loom.”
    â€œI’ll fetch down the extra food,” Gwyn said, trying to appease her. “You’ll have use for some cheeses.”
    â€œOsh aye, and if we’re so generous, couldn’t it have come sooner,” the Weaver answered. She was thinking, Gwyn knew, of old bitterness; of the time when her husband had sickened and she had been left with the three children to raise.
    There was nothing Gwyn could say so she gave up trying. She looked up to meet Cam’s eyes, smoky blue, flecked with yellow.
    â€œIt’s a hard life my mother has,” he said. As always, his voice sounded as if it had laughter just barely held back behind it, however serious his words.
    â€œAnd you, good-for-nothing”—the Weaver turned on him—“sitting by the fire spinning tales all day, telling us what a great man you would be, given a chance.” But her voice softened as she looked at her son, who went over to put an arm around her and ask her, “Would you have me desert my home, then? And my poor weak and helpless mother who cannot stand up for herself? In times like these?” The Weaver shoved him away, but her eyes watched him move back to the fire, and she didn’t look displeased.
    The Weaver put water on the fire to heat, for compresses to wrap around Old Megg’s ankle. “—and she shouldn’t have been walking on it all the way down here, if anyone had any sense—” Cam grinned at Gwyn behind his mother’s back.
    Gwyn wanted to close up Old Megg’s house. Burl insisted on staying with her. “They’ll have expected us back at the Inn by now,” she told him.
    â€œYou shouldn’t go alone,” Burl said, his voice firm.
    Gwyn felt her temper rising. It was, after all, her decision to make. She caught Cam’s eye.
    â€œNot me, Innkeeper’s daughter.” Cam shook his head. “It’s bitter cold.” She knew his real reason. He wouldn’t go near the vineyard that once had been his father’s holding, and he wouldn’t stir to help the Innkeeper in any way.
    â€œBut the goats,” Gwyn said. They had to do something about securing the goats that were left and trying to recapture any that were wandering about.
    â€œI’ll see to them,” Burl told her, “and put the fire to bed. Let Cam walk you back home.”
    â€œOh no,” Cam said, stretching his feet toward the fire.
    â€œI’ll be all right,” Gwyn told Burl. “We’re wasting time arguing,” she pointed out.
    Burl was studying Cam.
    â€œThe Innkeeper doesn’t like me keeping his daughter company,” Cam said easily, laughter rippling behind his words. Gwyn felt so sorry for him with his queer pride. . . . She turned around abruptly.
    â€œI’ve the staff, which I know how to use. It’s not far and I’d hear them coming. Da won’t blame you,” she promised Burl.
    â€œThat’s not what my concern is.”
    â€œThen let’s get going,” Gwyn said roughly. Without looking back, she left the house and turned south. No, she told Burl, she wouldn’t wait for Wes, and no she wouldn’t wait for him to get back with the goats. Her mother would be making everybody miserable with her worrying. Gwyn thought, for a moment, Burl would insist on coming with her. She drew herself up tall and told him to “See to those goats.” It was an order. Burl obeyed it.
    It didn’t take Gwyn long to walk off her crossness, but there was a confusion inside her that neither the white woods nor silent sky could soothe. What kind of men would attack an old woman? Or an old man, for that matter, she thought, remembering the day before, and slaughter a dog, too.