"It is burnt," declared Isabelle Thorne loudly.

"I don't see that there was anything wrong with my porridge, Isabelle." Sandy tossed her long, fair plait defiantly over her shoulder and bent over the hearth again. "It may flavour of smoke, but that's naught to a real hungry stomach."

"Well, I should think I know the difference between my porridge and another's," retorted Isabelle.

Sandy glanced up, her cheeks red from both heat and temper. "Indeed? Well, if I've burned the porridge one day out of the fifty others I've made it, I shouldn't think anyone has cause to complain about it!"

"Girls," said Daren mildly, but with audible rebuke.

Fred rose and beckoned to him. "Come, Daren; we must be making for the castle. Fare well, sisters, till this evening."

"Very well." Isabelle stood up sharply. "We must get the dishes cleared away. Sandy, don't forget you've got to mend that shawl of yours today. Cecelia, would you sweep the floor? It's quite filthy. And goodness, Gwenda, go see what's the knocking at the door! And who's calling at this this hour of the morning..."

Gwenda slid down from the bench and pulled the heavy door open, shrinking back from the tall cloaked figure who stood on the threshold. The scarlet badge of a mail courier made a gleam of colour in the sober study of the sunless morning.

"My land!" gasped Isabelle, paling. "No glad tidings ever came by letter."

The mail courier cast a contemptuous glance around the room. "I have heard this is the house of Frederick Thorne. Is he within?"

"I am Fred Thorne, sir," answered Fred, stepping forward, puzzlement and worry flickering over his face. The courier handed him a letter bound to a neatly tied parcel, wheeled, and yanked the door ungraciously shut.

"Open it up, Fred," said Isabelle, coming anxiously to look over his shoulder. "Why – why, 'tis addressed to Brick Thorne, not Frederick! What can it mean?"

Fred broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

My dearest brother,

How astonished was I to hear rumour of your presence in the east! Truly, I believed that my brother would never leave that wretched land that he had so obstinately resolved to inhabit – and foolishly as well I might add – but let us not dwell on the past.

No doubt you wonder how I heard tidings of you at all, but Berda the fur trader is a dealer in many places, and some time after his visit to your own village of habitation he came to my doorstep, where he passed the night, as we are old acquaintances. And then he told me that in that small hamlet of Ceristen, he had heard tidings of a family called Thorne! My dear brother, I could scarce believe my ears when I heard it.

But now to the point of the matter: I am delighted to have traced you, my brother, delighted beyond words. And as we are now so close to one another – for I still reside in Delgrass where you must recall we parted, in the same village of Cobren – you cannot object, dear brother, to journeying down the river Dirion for a joyous reunion between myself and your own family. Bring them all, for I long greatly to see your fair wife and all your offspring! I have included all that should be necessary for travel expenses, that your purse may not be inconvenienced by our happy meeting.

Your fond brother,

Robert Thorne

"But why did the mail courier ask for Frederick Thorne?" remarked Sandy as Fred scanned the lines of the letter again.

"Oh, that is easy," returned Isabelle. "For of course he would have asked about the village where to find the house of Brick Thorne, and he would have been told there was no Brick Thorne living here, only Fred. But goodness!" she continued, her eyes widening. "He doesn't even know that our mother is dead. And he thinks that Father is still with us!"

"Only natural," Sandy observed dryly, "when he's heard only the vaguest report of our existence."

Fred raised his head, a furrow of bewildered thought drawn between his eyes. "What do you think of it, Daren?" he asked.

"I do not know what to make of it," said Daren. "Surely I never knew that our father had a brother, much less where he lived. Do we know this man is our uncle at all?"

"He did have a brother," Fred answered slowly, shaking his head. "I remember that he would speak of him at times."

"So he did send money after all!" exclaimed Isabelle, undoing the parcel's bindings. "Why, this would buy a week's worth of meal."

"Well, we cannot use it for that," said Daren. "If our uncle has truly sent this money for passage down to Delgrass, it would be wrong to put it to another purpose."

"I suppose!" said Isabelle regretfully.

"But we can hardly dare assume he is our uncle when we know nothing of him save the letter," exclaimed Cecelia.

"True," agreed Fred. "And yet if he is, to scorn his generosity would be rude, and at least we must either use the money he has sent or return it to him. Perhaps one of us alone should go, to see whether he is truly Robert Thorne, and see what may come afterwards."

"That is a good decision, Fred," said Daren thoughtfully. "As the eldest, you should go, Fred."

Fred nodded. "I will go."

+++

Mordred stared after the disappearing rider.

"What is it?" asked Laufeia's voice behind him.

Mordred stirred and looked down at the letter in his hand. "Another one," he snapped.

"Another one! You are sure?" Laufeia stepped up to his side, frowning.

"'Twas posted from Delgrass. Who else?" Mordred ripped the missive open and scanned the close-set lines. " 'Mordred Kenhelm, despite your cold refusal we greatly desire to gain you as a partner in our clothier's trade. We would be very happy if you accepted our offer this time.'"

He crumpled it in his fist. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. How did they learn about me? My very name? How can they know that I am suitable for their 'partner'? Why me – a mere peasant? One out of a hundred thousand!"

"We did not always live in Orden," said Laufeia suddenly and softly. He looked down at her and saw the hint of worry in her eyes. "Do you think..."

"Hush," he said sharply and turned to go into the house.

"Mordred, if someone wants to make trouble over – well – anything – we must put a stop to it."

"I cannot send them another letter, especially if I do not know what their real motives are. It would likely confuse matters rather than settle them."

"Then go to Delgrass. You can travel with Fred; he is going to see his uncle there already. Please, Mordred. Whatever this means, we ought to clear it up."

Mordred sighed. "All right, Laufeia. But you must promise not to worry about me."

Laufeia laughed, weakly. "Me, not worry?"

"You girls are so silly." Mordred patted her shoulder. "I can take care of myself. I'll be fine."

+++

"Jared," said Arad Earle quietly, "Mordred Kenhelm and Fred are going down to Delgrass, by way of Cobren. I would have you accompany them, for your mother's family lives there, as you know. It would be good to hear from them again and know that they are well."

"Aye, Father." Jared did not lift his eyes from his plate.

Anger.

His whole quiet, reticent self was averse to the feeling of anger. Yet it was in him now. It encompassed him about and throbbed furiously with the blood in his veins. When it had first crept through his being, feeding on itself and mounting slowly but steadily like the tide, he knew not, but now it burned like the edge of a white-hot blade.

Had it begun with Gerald?

"Hello, Jared."

It could be just those two words, but the lordliness, the subtle spite was great enough to rankle in Jared's mind for days afterwards. It had perplexed him at first, and hurt him. Why did Gerald think he was so much above him? Then the taunts took a new turn.

"You can't come down to Orden City?"

"I didn't say I couldn't." Jared's lips tightened imperceptibly. "I am working at present, if you did not see that."

"Oh, I see," said Gerald with an abominably thoughtful air. "No, it's quite all right, I see. It's a pity, though, that your parents just think they can tell you everything to do. They keep you working all the time, it seems."

"I like work," retorted Jared, with an uncomfortable sensation that Gerald might be right.

Gerald sighed, as if at Jared's narrow-mindedness. "Well, how about when you're finished? – that is, you will be finished at some point?"

"I would have to ask my father first."

Gerald's eyes widened pityingly. " Your parents don't let you go where you please without asking permission? Can't you make any decisions of your own?"

Shut up, was what Jared longed to say to him. He kept his eyes on the pitchfork and thrust it viciously into the hay, the anger soaring higher.

Gerald was not finished. "Don't be angry, Jared. I'm not questioning your parents' judgment. After all, they probably do know best, and if they don't think you're man enough, then maybe you aren't."

"I don't want to go!" Jared had exploded, whirling to face him, the pent-up anger escaping loose for a moment. He realized how much like an excuse it sounded as it left his lips.

"Of course," Gerald agreed soothingly, his eyes saying he knew otherwise. He turned languidly and left the barn.

After that, matters only worsened. And as his hatred for Gerald grew and flamed like a poisonous wound, it began to slowly feed another growing anger towards his parents. With all the things Gerald said, he was right, and Jared hated how much he was right. He hated the disloyal feeling of anger at them, but he could not drive it out. He was tired of being told what to do. Someday he was going to show Gerald that he was not a spineless sniveling boy, but a man. Maybe now was the time to do it.

____________

There you go! Chapter One! Let me know what you think, everybody! Think I might post the second in the next couple of days, but after that it'll be a weekly schedule.

1/19/18: The beautiful chapter banner you see above was made by CelticWarriorQueen17 ! Thanks so much, dear friend!