A Week with a Prince

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

Ginny and her companions caught up with the dark-clad group even as they reached the outskirts of the village. It was quite big, maybe as big as the village surrounding Warwick castle, Ginny realised as she watched the first tiny wattle and daub dwellings become larger cottages with dark thatched roofs and then, as they reached the only square, tall stone houses.

They waited while the blonde woman walked to an elderly man dressed in blue bards' robes whom they found sitting in a shadowy spot of the square, surrounded by a wide circle of children and old people listening to his harp.

He stopped playing briefly while he accepted the pouch, which the woman passed him, and they exchanged a few words. Then, after sending a smile and a bow in the travellers' direction, he resumed playing, and the woman was back with them.

"Our old bard is the wisest man of the village. He knows who needs the money the most," she explained, looking at Ginny. "And now let us take you to our inn; I'm sure you are ready for a bath, dinner and a proper bed... How long have you been on the road?"

"Not too long, no more than three days. But I won't refuse a bath," Ginny replied, jumping off her horse and walking at the woman's side up a narrow, winding lane, leaving the square behind.

"Here we are. This is our home. Welcome," the woman said when they stopped in front of one of the cottages lining the lane on both sides. "I'm Iseabail, and this is my husband Andrew and the boys... are boys," she trailed off, shaking her head and smiling, noticing only now that her sons had remained in the square.

"I'm Gwendolyn," Ginny said as she followed Iseabail inside. She left the men with Andrew to take care of the horses and introduce themselves, knowing that the prince might not appreciate it if she disclosed his identity.

Iseabail led her across a spacious, dim room full of tables and chairs, towards a long wooden top laden with jugs, bottles, cups, plates, and trays.

"Morag!" Iseabail called through a door opening into the kitchen, "We have guests!"

A moment later, a tall and lanky girl as blonde as Iseabail joined them.

"This is my only daughter, Morag. She is sixteen, I guess you are not much older yourself, Gwendolyn?"

Ginny smiled, "I'm seventeen."

Morag looked between her and the three men who had just entered the inn admiringly. "Are you... travelling with them? Alone?"

Ginny nodded and opened her mouth, but Iseabail did not let her reply. "Don't you get any ideas, Morag, your place is here. You are too young for such adventures."

"But so is she..." Morag protested.

"I'm sure that Gwendolyn has good reasons for what she is doing. Now take her upstairs, show her the small room, it's ready. Then prepare the one opposite of hers for her companions," Iseabail instructed her daughter, then turned to Ginny, "I'm afraid they'll have to share it. All the other rooms are taken."

Ginny shrugged; she didn't think they would mind sharing a room with proper beds after spending the last night under the tent.

While Ginny followed Morag up a wooden staircase creaking under each step they took, Iseabail took her black cloak off and started filling one of the jugs with ale for the guests.

When Garreth knocked on her door an hour later, when he remembered to bring her her saddle bag, Ginny was washed, dressed in a dove grey, simple, linen gown Iseabail obliged her to accept when she heard that Ginny only brought male clothes for the journey, and her loose hair was drying up by the fire.

Morag, who had stayed with her most of the time, listening to her or chatting cheerfully herself, went to open the door and took the bag from Garreth.

"Are you Morag?" he asked the girl. "Your mother told me to send you downstairs, she needs your help with the dinner."