Chuck versus the Positively Medieval

by Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: In the provincial town of Pinedeep, everyone knows: The only way to secure the hand of the heiress of the Walker fortune is to catch her black cat and take the key that hangs from its collar back to the heiress Walker's home where it will unlock the door and unlock her fortune. When enigmatic siblings from afar settle in Pinedeep, will the shifting winds they bring prove fateful? Medieval AU.

A/N: Thanks again for the notes and reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Medieval Times-though if I did own Medieval Times, I'd make the chairs in that place a little more comfortable and there would be better options for my vegetarian sisters and brothers to eat while enjoying the show.

Chuck Bartowski, Pinedeep's most sought after handyman, spotted Pinedeep's most sought after cat again early that very next day. He was wading in the deeper part of the creek a mile from where he and Ellie had built their home and work spaces.

In spite of rolling his trousers up to his knees, the water splashed up to wet his legs halfway up his thighs anyhow. After the rain that hit Pinedeep overnight, the water was higher than he'd anticipated. But that also meant more fish.

The young man trudged to the creek early in the morning, before Ellie emerged from her own bedroom, picking his way through the fog until he heard the whoosh of the creek.

Now with his shirt sleeves and trousers rolled up, a rudimentary net he'd made himself clutched in his hand, he swept up fast-moving sardines and deposited them in the fishing container he wore on his hip.

He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up from a particularly slippery sardine to find an all-black cat peering at him from behind a tree onshore.

He smiled at her.

She must have followed the creek down from her owner's large property, adventuring on her own, looking to find something delicious to break her fast.

"How dost thou feel about sardines?" he asked under his breath. He saw a smaller fish squirreling its way past the stones in the water, its tail batting back and forth. It was the perfect size for a sweet and petite cat to enjoy.

Timing it perfectly thanks to his experience out on the road for so many years, catching food for himself and for his sister as she gathered herbs and edible delicacies, he gathered up the smaller fish into his net and pinched closer to the top to keep the fish from flopping right back out again.

"Hungry?" he asked the cat, trudging through the water and stepping up onto the shore, crunching barefoot through the dirt and leaves. The cat took a few steps back, arching its spine, its fur standing up.

Chuck stopped immediately. "Sorry! Sorry. Here. I'll leave it here. But pounce fast or it'll flop its way back to the water again." He dumped the fish to flounder on the ground and went back to the water, a safe distance from the cat.

It ran at the fish, pounced on it, killed it immediately, and settled to eat, seeming to keep one eye on the man who'd provided it just in case.

Chuckling, he went back to gathering sardines for his own meal.

Ellie had been away on a call when he'd gotten back from finishing the track in Sarah Walker's training grounds. Leaving his home behind, he'd gone back to the town to be around people, where he was admittedly the most comfortable—not sitting alone in his home, in the cold, all on his own with nothing but a lit candle and a book. Instead, he went back to the tavern to enjoy some mutton, buttered bread, and beer.

And there, of course, had been Bryce, the prince from…some kingdom or another. Was it the Lake Kingdom? He couldn't remember.

He had one bar maiden on his lap, another fawning in a chair beside his, a few of the men from the town crowded about him listening to him tell tales of the many contests he had won with bow and arrow, the creatures he had caught bare handed in the woods of his provinces.

He had insisted he would be the one to catch the fair Walker woman's cat because of it.

For all intents and purposes, this man seemed less egregious than the other two, though none were quite so offensive as the man Shaw.

But his boasting had struck Chuck as deeply egotistical and overly confident. Bryce seemed truly convinced of his own ability to catch the cat that belonged to the woman he wanted to marry.

If the man wasn't draped in his own riches, a handsome prince in his own right, the lowly handyman might feel something like pity for him.

Instead, he dug into his mutton, licking the fat from his fingers.

Now, standing in the creek, he found himself chuckling softly. He lifted his gaze to the cat as she devoured her fish. Then he turned his smile back to his work again. "Far be it from me to offer ye advice, my cat friend, but there is one who wishes to catch thee. I warn ye, little one, he boasts of his speed. He has caught rabbits, foxes, even squirrels in his bare hands. So says he," he said with a scoff. "And he has won many a competition with bow and arrow…"

He paused for a moment, having trouble with a larger sardine he had snagged in his net. It was starting to worm through one of the holes as he tried to deposit it in his container. He cursed quietly, wrestling it into the container and slamming the lid shut tight, letting out a rough breath.

"But! Thou seemeth not to have any trouble with that Shaw bastard—well done to ye—but this one seems to know his way around catching animals. Unless he is lying through his teeth, which is highly possible." He laughed lightly and shook his head, deciding that was enough fish for the day. He slowly ambled up towards the shore and quickly plopped onto a rock that would be drier than the ground around it, careful not to get too near the cat. He didn't want his allergies acting up. But he also didn't want it to scare and race off.

"No hands are so fast that they would catch a sharp mind. Thou stayeth two, three steps ahead of him, and he will never catch thee." He turned to peer at the cat. It seemed to ignore him, focusing on its food. "But I have a hunch that I do not need to tell ye that."

He began unrolling his sleeves and trousers, pulling his socks up over his feet and putting his boots back on, but when he stood, the cat was gone, nothing but the picked bones of the fish he'd caught for it left as evidence it was ever there.

Snorting, he shook his head and began his journey back home.

}o{

"Will we be seein' ye at th'moon festival on the morrow, Sarah?"

Sarah turned from where she was hanging her wash to dry, smiling out at Missus Tilda as the woman slowly rolled her wares past Sarah's house once more. The woman set it down for a moment, hands on her hips as she waited for a response.

"Yea, Missus Tilda. Will I see ye there?"

"Oh, aye! And my eldest, he'll be there as well. Perchance ye see him and save the poor boy a word, fair lady?"

Sarah swallowed thickly. "I imagine I will have words with many. Thy son may very well be one." That was the most polite thing she could think of. The woman held up a hand in a wave, then picked up her wares and rolled them along towards town again.

Perhaps Sarah could find a reason not to go to the moon festival tomorrow.

It would be all day, and then the children would go to bed, the ale and beer would flow more freely, and revelry would continue beneath the full moon's light.

While she enjoyed herself every year, she had heard enough about the men who had traveled from far to best her cat and get the key to her home. The three latest of them in particular left her feeling a bit of worry. And if they were there at the moon festival—as she was sure they would be—she may be forced to speak with them. Or worse, dance with them. She did not want to.

The cat wouldn't be able to protect her from that.

As she prepared to hasten back inside again to ponder her choices, she heard the scraping of shoes against the path at the front of her home again. She genuinely didn't have the patience for another—

The thought died in her head as she glanced over her shoulder to find the young physician, new to Pinedeep along with her handyman brother, stopping at the fence in front of Sarah's garden. "So this is the Walker home, which my brother deems the most beautiful thing he hath ever seen," she said pleasantly, smiling prettily.

Sarah beamed at the other woman, hurrying past the garden and popping her gate open. "Eleanor, was it not? Thou art welcome." She gestured for her to come onto her property.

"I wish not to intrude much. Only 'tis my practice to check on my patients. How is thine arm?"

Sarah grabbed at the sleeve of her blouse and gently peeled it back to reveal how well it was healing. "Thou hast done wonders. I do not believe this will leave a scar, even."

"Oh! Thou art healing very well! We can attribute it to the patient listening to her physician," she said, her green eyes glimmering.

"Please, wilt thou come in for some refreshment? I just pulled water up from the well. I have chilled beer as well. Or-or melon water."

The physician paused. "Art thou certain? Am I not—?"

"I insist. I just finished hanging my wash. Having thee to talk to is a much better way to pass the time than watching it dry on the line."

Eleanor laughed with a nod, following her up into her home. "Oh, Miss Walker, thy—"

"Sarah. Please. I insist on that, as well."

The other woman blushed and nodded. "So. Sarah, it is. Thine home truly is magnificent. Though I should amend what I said when I first approached thy gate. My brother does believe this home is beautiful, but he has also called that cat of yours beautiful as well. He has spotted it here and there while going to and from jobs."

"Has he?" she asked, leading the physician through her home and into the kitchen. "Please sit and make thyself comfortable."

She picked up the gourd she'd just sliced and mashed into a pulpy liquid and poured some through a sieve, moving to hand the glass to her guest nervously.

They were both in slightly uncomfortable silence throughout as Sarah Walker attempted to find some way to start the conversation.

Eleanor took it with a "Thank ye", taking a long sip, humming happily, and smiling at the heiress. "I hope ye mind not. He told me he has been helping thee with odd jobs around thy property." Sarah froze, fixing the woman with a long stare, but she was peering down into her glass distractedly. "'Tis a shame Pinedeep was bereft of a proper handyman for so long that thou hast so many things on thy property that need repair. He said something about…odds and ends."

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

So he hadn't shared her secret with his sister the way she momentarily assumed.

Chuck Bartowski continued to surprise her.

"Well, we have seen no man with skills such as thy brother's, though handymen have come and gone. And 'tis even rarer a find—a handyman who can be trusted to keep a customer's confidence, whatever he may see or hear."

Eleanor gasped, an amused glint in her eye. "Pray, what shall he see here?"

With a giggle, Sarah took a seat of her own, pouring herself some of the melon water as well. "Oh, not a thing. But as I am certain thou hast assumed, I do have valuables on my property. Thy brother is trustworthy. I can leave him to his work without him nosing about the place."

"He would never steal."

She seemed almost defensive suddenly and Sarah was quick to respond: "Oh no. No. Pray, do not misunderstand. I know him not, at least not well, but that is my point. I trust him still. I trust both of ye. Not that I think any of Pinedeep's townspeople would ever steal from my property."

The physician's cheeks went pink. "Oh. Spirits, I owe thee an apology. I did not mean to snap so. We have been to so many places, towns and provinces, that have not…accepted us. I fear I am always watchful of a moment when this Pinedeep dream of ours may collapse and we have to flee again." Her small smile twitched and she took another sip.

Sarah leaned in. "Thou oweth me no apologies. I spoke too glibly, Eleanor. But…But thou speaketh of not being accepted, of fleeing…"

Eleanor sighed and sat back against the chair. "I wonder if Chuck—m-my brother, I call him Chuck—" Of course she wouldn't know that was what Sarah had taken to calling him, as well. "I wonder if he would resent me spilling our secrets on this lovely table of yours. I…don't want future jobs he may do for thee to be…"

"Tense?" Sarah asked. She smiled. "You needeth not tell me thy secrets then. Pray, tell me instead where thou learnéd thy trade."

"Thou art kind, Sarah." A hand gently draped over hers on the table. Sarah couldn't help dropping her gaze to it, the warmth of Eleanor's fingers, the way she squeezed, so familiar and yet with so much gratefulness.

Sarah sucked in a deep breath and shook her head a little.

Eleanor let go of her hand and sat back against her chair with a reminiscing smile.

"Chuck teased me when we were children, but I always went straight for the ailing creatures in the woods and brought them home to care for them, make them well again. I was not good at much more than the caring part; I had no know-how whatsoever. But a physician in the town where we grew up took me under his apprenticeship. He was ridiculed, mocked over my being a woman. He loaned me books and I read, and read, and read. I learned much from him. Healers came through from the woods with what they claimed were potions. If thou art losing thine hair, slap some of this on that bald spot and watch it grow!" They giggled together. "Thou must know the sort of nonsense I speak of. In our town, those healers were far more valued than Mister Orion and his splints and medicines and researched methods, all tried and true." Her eyes dimmed and her smile dimmed with them. "He disappeared one night. Chuck and I think they ran him off in the dead of night. We think he must have grabbed what he could and off he went. There were important things missing, things he must have taken with him to start his practice anew elsewhere. But he…left me. Both of us."

She cleared her throat and smiled widely.

"Anyhow, there is no unlearning something that ends up baked into thy soul. And so. Here I am. We are doing our best to stay in the people of the province's good graces this time."

Sarah did her best to stem her curiosity.

"Well for now, I have quite a bit of say in this province. And if anyone tries…anything…with either of ye, they will face my wrath. Of that ye can be sure."

Eleanor's smile grew, light beaming from it. "That means a great deal, Sarah. I thank thee."

She couldn't help smiling back just as widely, knowing she had a shy look to her face, as well. If only she could keep the only two people in Pinedeep who seemed not to require anything from her, who seemed to see her as more than just a treasure to be excavated, as allies, perhaps she might find there was more to this province than what she found on her own property.

}o{

Chuck jumped and let out a yelp as the door was whipped open, slamming into the wall beside it. He spun from where he was boiling soup over the fireplace and put a hand to his heart, wide eyes fixed on his sister as she burst in.

"Chuck! She is going to be there on the morrow!"

He shrugged. "And?" Then he stopped. "Lo, wait. Who is going to be where?" She shut the door, turning the lock, and rushing over to him, bumping him out of the way with her hip to take the wooden spoon from him, stirring it herself. "I-I was cooking…that."

"Yea, my brother. I know. But thou burnéd the stew the last time ye made it on thine own."

"That is not true!"

"Sarah!" she cut in. "Sarah Walker. She will be at the moon festival. I asked her today and she paused for quite some time which is…very curious, but then she asked me if we were going, the two of us, and I said of course we wouldn't miss a chance to get to know the people in our new home better, and she finally said she would be attending as well. She is going to be there, Chuck!"

Chuck straightened his spine, his heart racing. "She asked if we would be there?B-Both of us?"

"That is not important." She had no idea how important it was. "What is important is she will be."

She thunked him on the shoulder gently with her fist.

"I am glad. It means thou wilt have someone to talk to," he said with a smile. "I take it ye went to visit her today."

"Me?!" Ellie pulled back, lifting the spoon out of the stew and shaking it a little. His eyes went wide and he grabbed her hand to force it back into the stew.

"Ellie, 'tis boiling, and perhaps we shouldn't—"

"I am thinking of thee, idiot." He blinked at her. "Oh, spirits, please gift me with patience, for my dear brother hath lost his wits."

"Shut thy mouth," he laughed, nudging her.

"She respects thee. Ye know that, dost thou not? She trusts thee. She said it with her own words," she finished, clenching her jaw in excitement.

He spun to face her head-on. "She…said that?"

"Yea, in so many words." His sister looked mightily satisfied. "I like her."

Chuck nodded, distracted. And then he breathed, "Dost thou think she has many people she can just…talk to? She lost her father near a decade ago. She hath no family left. And it seems as though…"

Ellie leaned in. "What?" she prompted.

"Whenever I have seen her in the marketplace, townspeople are polite enough. They smile and are courteous, treat her with respect, seem to like her well. But then they are always muttering and whispering to each other when she walks past them. And she is certainly no fool. If I'm seeing it, a man who is new to this place, who knows not of their stories and cultures and histories, then surely she knows it must be happening. Dost thou think it hurts her?"

His sister frowned. "I am sure it must. Poor thing. I can imagine not…being looked at as a prize and not much else."

"Truly. It almost makes me angry."

"Hmmm…protective, little brother?" She sent him a teasing look through her eyelashes.

"I will finish cooking this stew and not share even a bit of it with thee, Eleanor Bartowski. Continue along these lines, I dare thee."

She laughed uproariously.

They both gasped when they heard a thump behind them, spinning on their heels to look as a sleek black cat sat perched on the sill of their open kitchen window.

"Oh!" Ellie folded her hands under her chin. "What a beautiful cat! Hello, there…"

"Is she not gorgeous?" he asked, smiling at the creature. His sister gave him a confused look. "Her?" He pointed at the cat. "Truly, thou knoweth not whose cat this is? Hast thou never seen her?"

"No! I—Oh! …Oooh…" She turned to look at the cat again. "Thou belongeth to Sarah Walker." She froze then. "This is the cat then, is she not? The cat with the key to Sarah's front door attached to her collar?"

"The very same," he said, plucking the spoon from her and scraping the sides to make sure the fat didn't burn to the sides of the pot.

"And she…sits here? On our window? With us?" She tilted her head curiously. "So close?"

"I suppose so."

"Thou art allergic to cats."

He sent her a flat look. "Yea, sis, I am aware."

"Do not come much closer than that, sweet pusspuss," his sister said, using the voice she used when talking to babies. "My brother will sneeze all over this stew and I will be very upset."

Chuck gave off a very put upon sigh. "Thou art in a mood today, art thou not?"

"Help it I cannot. I am finally making friends with someone here. After three months!" She turned back to the cat. "Wait. Thou art a sweet little thing, but art thou not supposed to be…elusive? Way I hear, those fiends drowning in their own pride have been trying to capture this cat and that key on her collar for years," she added, this time at her brother.

He smirked. "They have yet to succeed. She triumphs still." He laughed. "She scratched that ill-souled lawmaker's equally ill-souled knave. Shaw's his name."

"Not him!" Ellie bent forward with a laugh. "Oh, what a good girl thou art!" she gasped out, eyes glinting as she turned back to the cat. She innocently licked at her paw as if proud of herself for what she'd done. "Next time she scratches one of them, but especially him, thou must sendeth them to me. I shall put something on't that will make it sting even more," she half growled.

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ellie. That is exactly how we'll be run out of Pinedeep the way we've been run out of everywhere else we have tried to build our home in."

"I only say it in jest, dear brother." She squeezed his shoulder. "I say this less in jest: thou art a fool if ye heed not my advice about Sarah."

"And what advice is that?" he drawled, shaking his head, stirring the stew more. "If it is anything outside of helping her with repairs on her lands, I refuse to hear it." He sent his sister a look of warning.

"…May I just say one thing?"

"No."

"When last ye gave thine heart to a fair maiden, she was unworthy. Jillian Roberts, naught but an hourly promise breaker. What doth thou perpend of this fair maiden newly in thy life, her long locks blond and eyes blue…"

When Chuck looked up at the windowsill, the cat had gone, leaving him alone with his sister. "I wish thou would stop pushing this, Ellie," he mumbled, swallowing hard and looking down into his boiling supper. "Jillian was a mistake. That dalliance was want for much. The feelings expressed were untrue." And this time, he had true feelings…unexpressed. He knew they were true. He felt it, especially after those days he'd spent bent over the track he built, the way she'd picked up her bow and arrow and made use of it once he got it working, the way those arrows sank into that bullseye, over and over again. The feelings were real, and they burned bright.

But it was not to be.

"Hie, grab us some bowls so we may feast!" he tried, making his voice as cheerful as he could manage.

Ellie Bartowski wasn't a fool, and she knew him better than anyone. She didn't move to get the bowls. "What is it, dear Chuck?"

"I am Fortune's fool, Ellie," he muttered glumly. "Or worse. …Worse yet." She furrowed her brow in confusion. "'Tis nothing. Let us eat." She didn't budge. "Please."

Finally, she sighed and moved to get the bowls, dishing up generous portions for them both. They sat to eat, dipping their bread in the stew, drinking their beer. And Ellie, as dear as she was, didn't bring it up again, instead expressing her excitement about the next day's moon festival.

}o{

Sarah tugged at the laces on the front chest piece of her plum-rose over dress, tying the drawstring neatly and patting it, straightening the skirt over the silk ivory colored chemise she wore beneath it.

She had tied two thin braids on either side of her forehead, pinned back into a larger braid that hung thick and golden down her back. She stepped into the dark grey heels she chose for the occasion and intricately wrapped the laces about her lower shin, tying them securely, before she went to collect her black silk coin purse, slinging it along her overdress's belt.

As always, she chose not to dress more formally, even if that was the intention of Pinedeep's moon festival. She tried her best not to attract too much attention.

She lined her eyes with coal, pinched her cheeks a bit, applied rouge, and rubbed a light rose color to her lips. The other women would have much deeper colors of rouge, eyes painted, lips bright red. They would add rouge to their bosoms as well, she knew. They all did, young and old.

But she preferred to stay in the shadows on this day.

She preferred to stay home on this day. But as she sat with the physician, the newcomer to Pinedeep Village, talking about the moon festival, she was reminded of all of the wonderful sights, the community, the scents. And Pinedeep's best cooks, bakers, distillers, all came out to offer their food and drink.

Her trepidation about the looks and whispers was eclipsed by the excitement of seeing Pinedeep's newest community members experiencing the festival for the first time.

She would get looks, and the whispers would sound such as this: Sarah Walker—coveted and yet unattainable fair maiden, what was she up to coming out for everyone to see her when no one could pursue her without that damnable cat and that key?

She'd heard them enough when people hadn't realized she was near, in the market and elsewhere.

There was so much in her that wanted to stay at home, work in her garden, feed her need for more training now that the handyman had made her target move so much easier and safer.

And then there was the handyman. Yes, and his sister, how friendly she was, how open and thoughtful and warm she was. Without even a bit of judgment. Eleanor had the makings of a real friend.

But Chuck Bartowski, with his box of nails, nuts, bolts and his hammer, had so much wonder in him. Like a child, a little boy. She had gleaned from the little information his sister had given her that they had been nomadic, traveling from town to town, not being accepted in any of them—the why of it, Sarah could not know. They clearly had no other family; it was just them. How hard had his life been up until this point, and still he'd smiled with so much wonder and awe at her training grounds, the straw men she attacked with her knives, the thick wooden posts she used to train with her swords, the moving targets for her bow and arrow. Even the grounds of her property had received that wondrous look to his face, his brown eyes gleaming with golden specks of light and his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

She wanted to see his reaction to the moon festival. With every fibre of her being, she wanted to watch the way it would all make him glow from the inside out. She could stay out of everyone's line of sight and perhaps watch him that way, but it felt important for her to be seen. She had told Eleanor she would attend. The physician wanted to share a drink with her—"at least one!" she'd excitedly said.

And so Sarah climbed onto her horse and rode into the town proper, watching the clutter of buildings come into view after half an hour of leisurely riding.

When she approached the massive town square, she felt a smile naturally grow over her lips. They'd strung ribbons and other decorations everywhere, and everything looked so festive. It was easy to forget her problems, the music flowing into her ears, people celebrating, laughter, singing.

Sarah swung off of her horse, tying him, moving in to kiss his nose, thanking the children who were tasked with tending guests' horses.

She wandered into the festival, her skirts swishing an inch above the dirt with each step she took. Glancing around the town square, she remembered when she was a child, when things had been so much easier, so much nicer. She'd only been seven or so, holding a ribbon attached to the top of the tall pole, skipping in and out as she giggled with the other children, going 'round and 'round until she was half dizzy from it, falling into the other girls and laughing so hard she thought she might choke.

Her father and mother had been somewhere with the other adults, off to the side, watching it all unfold with big smiles on their faces. No one had been looking at her like the heir to the Walker fortune. At least, she didn't remember it that way. She'd just been a child enjoying the festival with her friends.

Those same children were grown now, like she was. Some of them were still here in Pinedeep, like she was. Only they were married, had babes of their own, and instead of playing with ribbons and skipping about, watching men blow fire from their mouths and screaming with excitement, those were the same people who bent their heads and asked just what was going on with that Sarah Walker, why didn't she marry and settle down, let a man do what she certainly could not and be lord of the Walker land, run it, tend to it, make more profit from it than she was…of course by digging up its resources. Pinedeep could be a booming town if only she'd stop hoarding the priceless minerals on Walker lands.

She knew the things people said when they didn't think she was around to hear.

What a strange girl, they whispered now, those people she'd played with when they were all children. With her cat and her rules, forcing men to degrade themselves scrambling after the beast to get the key to her home. Some called it the key to her heart.

But it wasn't.

It never would be.

Because if someone ever did catch her cat, obtain the key, and walk into her home, Sarah knew it wouldn't be a man who cared if she was happy or not. They wanted what they wanted. Her happiness would not come into play. They would never have her heart. No matter how long she lived in this place with them. She didn't expect any marriage she might enter into to be anything like the marriage Jack and Emma Walker had. None of the openness, none of the honesty, and certainly not even a speck of the love.

She forced all of that out of her mind and focused on the beauty of the festival, the way the sun shone down, warm but not too warm, a light breeze playing with her long, flowing sleeves on her chemise.

Sarah found herself laughing as a gaggle of children burst out from behind the corner, half scaring her out of her skin, nearly running into her, having to dash quickly around her skirts.

"Now, watch where ye're goin', ye scamps!" Missus Naughton bellowed as she crossed into Sarah's path, arms full of delicious smelling loaves of bread wrapped in cloth. "Sorry about th'wee ones, Miss. Ye know how they get on a day like t'day!"

Sarah grinned. "No apology necessary. I did the same thing when I was their age, and during the moon festival at that? Who can be anything less than incandescent on a day like this?"

The baker's wife beamed blearily. "Aye, tha's the spirit, lass! Come, try this. If ye aren't…meetin' somebody." She winked.

Slightly confused at that, Sarah smiled and followed the baker's wife to her stall. "My poor man's stuck a' the ovens fer now. Can't see any o' th'festivities. I'll send our apprentice Tom in to relieve 'im in a few hours. But here. It's a twist loaf. Added specks o' cinnamon. See wot ye think."

She sliced a section of it off and Sarah immediately took a bite out of the piece she was handed. "Mmmmm," she groaned, chewing. "Cinnamon…nutmeg?" she asked. Missus Naughton's eyes glowed as she grinned, her cheeks pooching as she did. "The crunch on the outside, and 'tis like cotton on the inside. Ye Naughtons have outdone yourselves."

"Oohh nowwww," the baker's wife groused, giving her a nudge. "Ye're bein' kind. Have some more. Please."

Sarah did, thanking the woman.

"And maybe ye can take even more an' share it with some sweetheart some'ere, hm?" She winked again.

"Sweetheart?" Sarah asked this time, swallowing what she'd just chewed. "What…sweetheart?"

"I hear tell there's a prince wot come from another kingdom. Lark, so it is. Is it Lark? I t'ink tha's wot I heard. A prince, Miss Sarah. We've a prince af'er the hand of one of our own, Pinedeep's own. Surely ye'll dispense wit' that cat game ye've been playin' fer a whole prince." She shoved more of the bread into Sarah's hand. "Go find 'im, see wot he thinks of that." She winked harder.

Sarah gaped. "Oh. Oh, I'm not—"

"Listen, dearie." Missus Naughton leaned in close. "I didn't have aught to me name when I was a lass. Nobody wanted me. I barely had a roof over me head, family could barely keep me fed. I wos sixteen when Mister Naughton saw me, said I was a little nub of a girl but he t'ought I'd become a bloomin' rose. He saw somethin' and I'm lucky he did. It's got not'in to do with love. Storybooks are just a lotta nonsensicals. Mister Naughton's no prince, but he treats me kind and I have a roof 'n food. I live well. Look not for storybook love. Real, 'tis not. That Prince of Lark? He is real. And ye won't get any better."

She knew the woman meant well, and yet her chest burned with shame, embarrassment, and anger. Fury, even. This was all so deeply unfair. She had a roof, she had vast lands that sprawled for miles on end. She had freedom, health, food—much of which she grew herself on her own land. She had cows and chickens she tended just fine on her own. She had a goat. She had everything she needed.

But she wasn't a man.

And until there was a man on her property, knights and princes and sons of this nobleman and nephews of whoever else, would continue to travel to Pinedeep. Her cat would avoid them until she couldn't any longer.

That was the reality of her situation.

"Thank ye for the kind words, Missus Naughton," was all she could say, attempting a smile. She didn't know how successful she was, but the baker's wife didn't seem put out by her response.

Sarah took one more bite, and when she was out of sight, she spotted the blacksmith's ten year old son sitting off on his own on a bale of hay, kicking his feet and grinning at the man with two snakes slung over his shoulders. She sidled in close, making sure Missus Naughton was preoccupied, and handed the bread off to the boy.

He beamed. "T'ank ye, miss!"

She nodded once and kept moving.

She found the dance floor, the musicians still tuning, chatting with one another. The dancing wasn't set to start for over an hour, and instead a dance troupe was putting on their own show in the corner with their own musicians, thrilling the children and adults alike with their weaving steps and bowing.

An hour passed without incident, Sarah perusing the stalls for anything she might covet, tasting delicacies, slipping sellers coin and thanking them.

She'd halted at a stall offering flower crowns, the little girl weaving them oh so delicately with her stubby fingers, leaning down to speak with the girl about her art, giving her more coin than she was asking for and allowing the child to set the blue flowered crown atop her head for her, when she heard a voice behind her.

"The elusive Sarah Walker…"

Sarah fought the frown that awakened inside of her from showing on her face, instead focusing on the little girl. "Thank ye very much for my crown. I will wear it proudly today."

The little girl beamed with not a small amount of pride, showing a gap at the front of her mouth where she'd lost a tooth.

Sarah straightened up and turned a more polite and less genuine smile on the man who'd come up behind her.

"Well met, sir. How are ye?"

"I see not that little black beast of yours wandering about on this festive day," he said, casting his eyes about. And then they fastened on her again. She saw the want in the stormcloud blue of those eyes he had on her. "I don't believe I've ever properly introduced myself." He smiled, offering his hand, palm up. "Cole of Barker Province. I'm one of my province's most decorated knights."

Oh? Had he slain any dragons? Any beasts of rival size?

She inwardly smirked at the thought.

"Good day, sir." She was forced into politely slipping her hand into his. She shivered in a bad way as he closed his clammy hand around hers and bent to press wet lips to the back of her knuckles. "And no, my cat won't come near this place most likely. She is a'feared of crowds."

"Hm. Charming little thing, is she not? I hear as she scratched one of my rivals. Can't say I'm upset about that." He grinned toothily.

"She means no harm. But she doesn't like strangers and she doesn't like to be touched."

"Hm. Shaw is about as uncouth as they come. I'm not surprised he sprang at the little thing. Will ye be taking part in the dance?"

"Yea, sir," she said with a nod.

"Hm. Well. I will be watching then. Good day, my fair lady." He bowed deeply, sending her an extra smile as he wandered back through the crowd.

Sarah subtly reached back to wipe her knuckles against her overdress, wanting to get the awful feeling from her hand. She would dance with the rest of the ladies, she would revel in feeling like one of the towns people for a few songs, and she would enjoy the hoots and hollers of the men as the women twirled, bowed, weaved in an out in rows with pretty smiles on their faces, but then she would fold back into the shadows.

No princes, no knights, no one else would get a dance with her.

Men of Pinedeep knew not to approach the unattainable Sarah Walker for a dance at the moon festival, save for men in town who were already wed, mostly elderly men, who would pose no threat to her suit. But even those well-meaning men would hold back this year, as three very powerful, eligible men were here for her, seeking her hand. Their power would stay the less powerful men's hands. And those powerful young men, single men, her suitors, would instead focus on the cat, the real goal. Her land, her life. Cheap thrills of a dance at the moon festival would do nothing to help them achieve that.

And so.

She would be forced to merely watch the revelry instead.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you're able to review, I would really appreciate it.

-SC