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: Yeah I know. Weird. Thanks to Joe for inadvertently passing this strange prompt to me through the information exchange apparatus that is David. You two boys prompted me to start this, then David hinted at me continuing it over and over and over and over and over through the years since I first wrote a few paragraphs just for my amusement. When the world got to be a lot, I decided to dive headfirst into something absolutely different, to distract myself away from the crap and just be with these characters in a medieval town. It was fun. In short, thanks David and Joe! Hope everyone else likes this one.
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.
Monsters had only ever been something he had seen at night, when his eyes were shut tight, when he was tucked away in bed, asleep.
Ugly things with fangs, leering down from atop the thatched rooftops above him, ready to pounce on his head and gobble him up.
Sometimes they had horns like devils.
Some had wings like bats.
Or beaks like falcons, and sharp talons.
They blew fire from their mouths, smoke billowing from their noses like dragons.
They had been figments of his sleeping mind, things he conjured himself after reading books like the ones Mr. Tinnis left on his porch for the young ones to borrow when he was still a boy.
And then the men came.
Monsters with swords, their teeth bared, hatred and fear burning in their eyes. The first time, and then the second, third, and so on.
And again, even now.
Eleanor burst into the back door, already tying her cloak around her neck. "Is that all of it?" she asked in a rush, directing her green eyes to the last of their trunks they'd loaded into the back of the wagon.
"Yes. They're outside?"
"Almost here. I can see the dirt rising up at the end of the road from their stomping boots. We must away. Now"
She slung a few sacks of food over each of her shoulders, then hurried back out of the door. A door he had mounted himself, in a doorway he had crafted and sanded, all connected to a house they had built together.
None of it mattered now.
Now they survived.
He grabbed the trunk in both hands with a grunt and rushed after his sister. After slinging the food into the wagon, she helped him hoist the trunk into the bed.
And even as his sister hissed he was a fool, climbing as she did into the seat of the wagon and grabbing the reins, the young man scrambled over to snag their chickens, tucking one under each arm, before he dove up into the seat beside Eleanor.
She had already ushered their horse forward before his backside even hit the wooden seat, and away they went. Even before they cleared the tree line, he spun to look back over his shoulder and watched as the home he'd spent the last year and a half in go up in smoke, flames licking at the windows he'd worked so hard on. It had been a small house, sometimes drafty in the winter, but it had been enough for him and his sister.
"They're burning it, the bastards," he hissed.
Eleanor didn't look, simply gritting her teeth. "Of course they're burning it. They burn our house, we have naught to come back to."
And that was the point.
These people didn't want them there any longer.
"We shall see if their little potions of bat blood and toad venom will set their child's broken arm or cure her fever," Chuck growled.
The truth was they would not see. Though with Eleanor's extensive knowledge, she likely knew what would happen to the people in the feud-wrought, superstitious town they were leaving behind.
"Good riddance," his sister growled back, but he saw the brittleness in the way she held the reins, her knuckles going white, her green eyes swimming with anger, lips quivering.
And here was yet another place they were cast out from because of the way she chose to practice her medical trade. With tools and instruments of healing rather than potions that were deemed magical by some town elder who swore they knew better.
The trees became thicker the further they wobbled along the rock-laden path, the deeper they rode into the forest.
He reached over, wrapping his hand around his sister's where she clutched the reins with a fury. He squeezed tightly, turning to look at her.
"I am sorry," she said quietly. "I seem to get us into trouble no matter where we go."
"If it is not thee, then 'tis me."
"Doomed to the traveler's life, we are."
"Seems that way. But at least we have each other."
She smiled at him, nodding. "We have each other."
And he hoped that was enough for Eleanor. Because it was enough for him. Wherever they ended up next, they would build again. There had to be someplace for them. And no matter how long it took, they would find it. Someday.
He had no choice but to trust in hope.
}o{
She heard the cart rolling past her fence behind her as she gracefully slung a bed sheet over the drying line. She begged the powers that existed around them in this world not to let her hear the cart slow, or worst of all, stop.
Please keep going. Please.
She shut her eyes and breathed, "Please", through her teeth.
And then the cart slowed, the ground crunching under the wheels, until it stopped altogether.
Damn the spirits.
"Miss Sarah!"
She sighed, fixing her most polite smile onto her face and turning on her heel. "Good morrow, Missus."
"How now on this beautiful day?"
Sarah lifted her hand up to block the sun as it beamed down upon her blond hair she wore loose about her shoulders in waves. "Yes, 'tis a beautiful day," she said, purposely not answering.
"Cleaning the bed sheets, are ye?"
Tilda, seamstress, seller of her wares…and the town snoop. How often did Missus Tilda push her heavy cart of silks and ribbons past the home of Pinedeep Village's most desired unmarried woman? Was it twice, perhaps even thrice, a day?
Sarah thought so.
Just to glean some new bit of information she could pass along in the market. There was naught to glean.
"Yes," Sarah called back. "I must—"
She tried to excuse herself back into her home but she was interrupted.
"I'm certain that sweet beast of your'n must leave its fur all about the place, hm? Especially in summer."
Sarah struggled to keep the smile on her face. "Oh, yea, mum. But I find that she's much cleaner than my father ever was."
Desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed to be away from this conversation. Sorry, papa.
"Oh! Indeed!" Tilda said with a chuckle. "As a married woman with sons of her own, I can attest!" She cleared her throat. "Save for my eldest. He is a very clean young man."
Oh dear spirits.
"What was that?" she tried, putting a hand to her ear.
"My eldest! He is very astute with his cleanliness!" the woman barked helpfully. An elderly couple pulling their own wares in the other direction of the street paused for a moment to give Missus Tilda a deserving look of confusion and amusement. She seemed only slightly embarrassed, tipping her head towards them with a quiet salutation.
"Is that so?" she called back. "Well, I simply must inside. The rest of my wash need be—"
"Where is the cat? I do not see her. She slinks about the market but I rarely see her. Is she not usually beating about under thy feet?"
Sarah looked around for her cat, scanning the grounds she could see of her large home she'd inherited from her wealthy family line. Yet another reason why men had come to call as often as they had since she reached the ripe old age of fourteen. Her father had been there to politely shoo them off once her mother left this life, and when he left as well, the visits had become even more frequent. Men from Pinedeep Village, and men from the kingdom a mile north as well. Men came from much, much further than that as well. Once word traveled, word of her vast estate and measurable wealth. And of course they spoke of her beauty, such beauty.
Men without means, men with more means than she had. Men with blood connected to royal families, kings and queens, men who had titles, landed gentry. All ages, all shapes and sizes. Some with gifts, some without them, and some assuming that they themselves were the gift.
"She usually is, yes. Only she is not now."
"Mind ye, I ask not for any particular reason, Miss Sarah. 'Tis such a sweet little thing. Your cat!"
Sarah believed the other woman like she believed the grass under her feet was not grass at all but instead was silk woven by fae and planted into the dirt. That was to say, Missus Tilda was lying through her teeth.
"I shall see you anon!" Sarah finally called out, raising a hand, making a quick escape, slipping in through the door and throwing the lock into place for good measure. She slumped against the sturdy wood and huffed, blowing her hair out of her face. Served her right for wandering too far down from her home to where passersby might see her.
She needed to stay buried deep in her own vast property.
It was the same when she went into the marketplace to buy what she needed from her fellow Pinedeep citizens. Always there were eyes following her every move. Admirers, and of course, those who were jealous. Of her estate? Of her money? Of her beauty? Of the way men were desperate to be the lucky one who entered her home and thus won her hand?
As much as she loved her home, her Pinedeep where she had grown up, the deaths of her mother and then father had driven an incurable wedge between her and everyone else. She was no longer the daughter of a Walker. She was the entire Walker legacy, and that had changed everything.
Sarah moved to her wash basin and looked down into it. There was a pillowcase inside still, but she couldn't will herself to wring it out and hang it on the line next to the sheet. That meant being where she could be seen again. No doubt, Missus Tilda would turn and come back around to tell her about her eldest son's bathing habits.
Spirits save her.
She just wanted to live with her books, to disappear into the land behind her home that had belonged to her family for generations, to continue her training her mother had started with her when she was barely walking, and the training her father had done with her as well.
Away from prying eyes.
She didn't need any men invading her private quarters, her home. She didn't men coming out to her training grounds, tut-tutting at her for her bow and arrow, her crossbow, her sword and shield, or her knives.
The armor she had honed for herself, armor that fit her body and didn't hang off of her as if she were wearing an older brother's suit of arms.
If a man were to win her hand, if a man were to overcome the impossible task she had set into place to protect herself from such a fate, that part of her life would be over. As would the amount of time she spent with her nose buried in her family's books.
The chances of her finding someone who didn't stifle her were not good. She was raised by a man who insisted her mother had placed him under a spell. And sometimes she had believed it when she was very young, he insisted so often, and with a straight face, even when her mother giggled and swatted his shoulder. But everyone knew a witch's spell was broken when her life ended.
Her mother's illness had taken her quickly when Sarah was fifteen. And Jack's love for Emma had not broken, it had not even faded. When he passed a few years later, it was from a heart that could not be mended.
There were no spells that stuck her parents together.
It was what she read about in books, particularly the books she was less interested in.
Love.
Rolling her eyes, she finally set to the pillowcase, scrubbing away, humming a tune she had heard while walking past the pub a few nights earlier. And she watched as the black needles of cat fur rose to the top of the water and floated there.
Evidence of the cat who lived on the grounds of her home, wandering, dashing, slinking through shadows, always aware of her surroundings, never to be caught.
Not by anyone.
Sarah's future depended on it.
}o{
One Year Later
"Unmarried still after almost thirty years of being alive. And practicing medicine. Will wonders never cease!"
He smirked as his sister gasped mockingly, throwing her hand up in the air, lifting a bare foot to prop it on their table.
"Art thou not always telling me, no putting my feet on the table? And there ye go, thy foot on the table. We eat there."
"I tell ye not to put thy shoes on the table. Mine feet are pristine. Thy boots are not."
"My workshop is cleaner than thy surgery."
She made a face and shrugged. "'Tis probably true." And she set her foot back on the wood floors of their home. "But I do not wander about barefoot in my surgery."
He shivered demonstrably.
And then he wandered back to the table, serving the soup his sister had made, slopping it into their bowls.
"Thank ye, dear brother," she said warmly.
"Thou hast done the cooking. The least I can do is serve."
He sat in his place at the table and began to eat hungrily.
"And so? Any work today?" Eleanor asked.
"Yea, I found work today again. And I have learned there is an apothecary here."
"I do know't. I was informed of him when I first set up my surgery last month. He came straight to my door, knocked on it, introduced himself, and said something the likes of, 'There needn't be any competition, my dear, hmmmmmm? We can both exist here just fine, hmmmmmm?' Pfft."
"That…sounds something like a threat."
"Oh, it 'twas."
"Shall I break one of the wheels on his wagon?"
She giggled. "That might be fun, but no. We cannot afford to be run out of yet another town. This one seems to actually…accept my means of practicing medicine. The townspeople seem grateful for my skills and not afeared of them. For now."
"Your being a woman is the hard thing," he said, knowing Eleanor would always be followed by that particular stigma for the rest of her life. It was the nature of this world they lived in.
Unfairly.
Foolishly.
People were much healthier, and generally safer, when his sister lived in their town.
"They will learn to get past it when they feel better." She spooned the soup between her lips and swallowed gratefully, sighing. "I need word to spread that I do what I say I will do. In the meantime, what did you fix for the apothecary?"
"Oh. The wheel on his wagon."
Eleanor threw her head back with a laugh. "Well played, sir."
"A'thank ye."
She winced then, sending him an apologetic look. "I was hoping thou wouldst go into the village proper, the marketplace, as it were, on the morrow. I need a few things. Hen is still limping on her little foot and I think I know how to make her feel better. Would ye?" She pouted, making her green eyes big and sad.
The younger brother merely rolled his eyes at his sister. "Ye do not have to do that, sis. I am headed in early anyway. I was commissioned to fix the smithy for Errod."
"You know how to fix a smithy?"
"The wonders never cease!"
They laughed together, finishing their supper.
He rose the next morning later than his sister, as she was already taking patients in her surgery that jutted off from the house they'd built when they first found this village on the outskirts of the kingdom of Xithia. There were other villages, other towns. They rode through them and didn't stop until they found this one. Why this one? Neither could say for sure, only that they both knew to stop. To settle here.
And settle they did.
He fixed his grip on his toolbox as he emerged into the marketplace, passing the vendors with their wares and fares, smelling the spiced chicken being cooked over a fire behind the pie cart. Chicken pies like none other. He'd had one the other day, even brought one back for Eleanor.
"Ah, ist thou that handyman everyone speaketh of?" the rosy-cheeked wife of the baker called from beneath the tarp where she sold her husband's baked goods. He smiled and hastened over, stepping into the shade with her. He smelled the intoxicating aroma of baking dough wafting out from the ajar door behind her. "New in town, are ye?"
"I am, yea."
"An' how ye likin' it?"
"Very much, missus. Very much, indeed."
"I hear as ye've got a sister," she said in a booming voice, putting her large hands on her wide hips and looking up at him from her much shorter height. Even so, she felt a head taller than him in the way she held herself.
"I have a sister, aye. Eleano—"
"She knows somethin' about sickness. Pain. Innit?"
"She practices medicine. She knows a great deal about helping folk with pain and sickness."
"See as I got this pain up'n down me leg here." She thumped a fist against her outer thigh. "Me left leg. Hurts like the devil's power at nigh' when I'm lyin' next ter me husband. To him I say, me leg hurt like the devil's power. An' you know what he say? Lie on t'other side then." She gestured back towards the door. "Useless. If the man hisself make this not as good as he does, I would be on t'other side o' the world by now."
The young man widened his eyes and pressed his lips together. "Shall I ask her to pay a visit?"
"Aye, young man. That'd be fine. On the morrow, if she can. She will be fixin' me leg up good, and today, who but her wee brother curing the ills of yon chests. Foller me." And she hastened him along with her, behind the long wooden tables on which the intricately woven loaves of bread and knotted bread rolls sat presented in all their beauty. His mouth watered as he spotted the way the the tops glistened with egg whites the baker must've used to spread on them before they were slid into the oven.
His stomach growled.
Perhaps Errod would not mind him being postponed slightly.
"That is the important one. We keep our coin in it on the daily. One of the springs on the chest snapped off ta who knows where? Down on our hands an' knees we were, tryin' ta find it. Philip thinks one of Reemus's chickens happened by, t'ate it thinkin' it was feed. Stupid creatures." She slapped a hand on the chest. "Ye can fix it?"
"Of course. I have extras I carry with me at all times," he said, hoisting his large toolbox he always brought with him on jobs. "'Tis not the only one broken?"
"Certainly not. Got three of 'em. Some in better shape, some close to junk."
"When I am through, they will be close to brand new."
She raised her dark eyebrows. "Well now, that I would like ta see." She pointed to a small bench in the corner of the stand. "T'ere ye can sit to work. I will be here tendin' to me own work sellin' me loaves if ye need any'n."
"Grammercy," he said with a tip of his head. He went to the chest with coin first, as this seemed to be the most important one. "Erm, Missus Naughton, have ye the time to empty the coin before I get to work? 'Twill make me feel more comfortable, and I will make an easier time of't."
"Aye. I knowst thou not. Canna be too sure ye won't pinch a coin er two while me back is turned."
Chuck fought off a frown. She didn't mean anything by it, he was sure.
She scooped up the chest precariously, the lid wobbling terribly, and she hastened inside, but not before calling over her shoulder. "Mind, don't be nibbling on me loaves. I see t'any bites out of 'em, I'll t'row you in me husband's oven and feed ye to me dogs."
The young man gulped as she disappeared inside.
She reemerged a minute later, huffing and puffing as she hurried to him. He could spot the slight wince on her face when she put pressure on that leg of hers and he took note of it for later when he saw his sister again. "Now here 'tis. In all its glory. Ye get paid when the work is done, like."
He nodded, taking the chest and setting it down, immediately getting to work. It was easy enough work for him, a run of the mill fix to a spring. He had fixed the mechanism on the back of the chest and discovered the latch on the front that kept it closed needed tightening when he heard Missus Naughton give off a quiet gasp, followed by a thoughtful hmph.
Chuck glanced up at her. She had her hands on her wide hips and she was staring at something across the marketplace, her eyes narrowed.
"Now ye canna convince me she know not t'power she has."
He made a face, confused. "What was that?"
"That," she said plainly, gesturing towards whatever it was she was talking about. "Walkin' 'round, out 'n about, like she ha'nt a care in t'world. She know it, every man an' his son, wife, sister, brother, everyone has got eyes on 'er. An' wit' good enough reason."
Chuck finally craned his neck from where he sat at his work, trying to get a look at who she was talking about.
Across the way, there was a woman in a fine pearl-colored silk blouse, a brown skirt falling from her waist to her ankles. A long blond braid hung down her back, ending where her slim hips began. Her back was to them as she spoke with the seemingly dazed man handing her a bundle of root vegetables, which she set in her basket. And then she turned to look around the marketplace, continuing her shopping.
What he saw when she turned brought him to his feet, his knees quivering as he moved to his full height. His boots moved him to the table at Missus Naughton's side. If the table hadn't been there, he might've been pulled all the way to the young woman's side.
Because he had never seen such beauty before in his twenty four years of life. He could see her eyes were blue even from where he stood across the market from her, wagons and horses kicking a bit of dust up into the air between them. Wisps of her blond hair that escaped the braid dangled perfectly over her face, one eyebrow cocked, hinting at a mind that did not accept the way things were, at least not without a bit of questioning.
He still had his tool in one hand, Missus Naughton's chest tucked under his other arm, the latch still hanging loose from where he had loosened it to repair the screw.
"Who is that?" he breathed. The fairest lady ever he had seen. He was ashamed of how hard his heart was beating in his chest. He heard it loudly in his ears, drowning out the din of the marketplace. He was worried his client might be hearing it as well, it was so loud.
The woman beside him stopped and he felt her slowly turn to look at him, her gaze on his profile as he watched the young blond woman gracefully move to the next stall, her steps looking almost like she was gliding across the dirt ground.
"Now now. Ye better not go doin' that, lest ye seek punishment."
He blinked, then looked away from the stunning woman. "Punishment?"
"Aye. Best not go gettin' ideas in that head o' ye'n." She must have seen the confusion in his face. She rolled her eyes with a huff. "That one is for t'bigger fish, sonny. Ye be'er not e'en t'ink o' goin' near that one. Approach her, ye best not. Hm?" She gave him a warning look through her eyelashes, hands still on her hips.
"I…was not. I was just…curious."
"Mhmm. Sure ye were. Look here, t'lass has got 'er methods to keep men away, an' that certainly includes a mere handyman who just rolled inter town not two months ago. I am sure ye'r a fine handyman, like. But she wants ye not. Seems she do'ent want anyone." She sniffed in amusement. "Even if ye had blood ragin' with royal lineage an' t'like, everyone knows, court 'er reg'lar ye will not."
Chuck's confused frown deepened.
He turned to watch as she spoke to the young girl selling ribbons. She leaned down close to the girl, speaking to her as if they were exchanging secrets no one else was allowed to be privy to. The young girl was beaming shyly, ribbons in hand as her customer let them run through her slender, graceful fingers delicately, reverently almost.
He couldn't help being curious. So he asked, "Why do ye not court her…erm, regular?"
Missus Naughton snorted at him, shaking her head. And then she slapped her hand onto the table in front of her as though something occurred to her. "Now that's right 'n all. I forgot ye'r new to town. On'y heard of the young handyman an' 'is sister wot could fix broken bones and mend ailing souls a few months ago."
"Been here scarce over two months, as ye said."
"Hm. Of course ye know about 'er not." She paused dramatically. "Sarah Walker."
So that was her name. Sarah Walker.
He swallowed hard, not daring to repeat it, for fear this disapproving client would judge him for what she heard in his voice.
"She has a cat, like."
Chuck nodded. "I see." Then what she said actually sank in. "W-What? A cat?"
"Aye. A cat. Ye might rethink those soft eyes ye'r t'rowin' at 'er. Listen, 'ere." And they both leaned in closer. "She has got no fam'ly left, see. But she come from a landed flock. The Walkers have owned most of t'land in Pinedeep for cent'ries."
"Ah. She is wealthy."
"Aye. Ye'r catchin' on, young pip. But! 'Tis because of that wealth, she had men from all o'er t'land. Pilgrims, makin' a holy journey t'find a young, beautiful wife with as much land as she has? On'y she rejected e'ery man crossed 'er path. They sought her out from t'ousands of miles away. All for naught." Chuck shifted his gaze back to the woman as she wound the ribbons she had bought from the young girl around her wrist and tied it, smiling at the salesgirl one last time, nodding her head, and crossing the dirt road, looking left and right for passing wagons and horses, before coming closer to peruse the wares of the milliner a stall away from Missus Naughton's.
Chuck had to tighten his grip on his tool to keep from dropping it on the baker's foot beside him as the beautiful young woman came even closer, her beauty that much more arresting from a nearer distance.
The baker lowered her voice. "I t'ink she grew tired of it. E'ery day, men showin' up, proposin' marriage, showering 'er with gifts, layin' treasures at her feet, like. Men she wanted not of, men who failed at wooing. So she came up with somet'in' that would make less potential suitors show up at 'er door a'knockin' all hours o' t'day. That is where t'cat comes in."
"I was wondering why thou mentioned a cat."
"I was gettin' to it. My, ye'r an impatient lad." He narrowed his eyes at her just a bit but she seemed not to notice or care if she did notice. "She put out a sort o' notice. And it spread 'cross t'land. Any suitor, any man, no matter his creed or station, whether he's royal or the poorest of all t'paupers with naught but t'threads on s'back…any suitor who catches that cat o' hers well enough to snag the key it keeps on its collar can come to t'door of Sarah Walker's grand house on 'er fam'ly's land, use that key to unlock t'door, and take her hand in marriage as a reward."
His eyes widened, and for a moment, Sarah Walker seemed to pause, and just as her eyes began to lift, as if she felt his gaze on her, he looked down at the twisted loaf of bread on the table in front of him.
He could see her go back to perusing the shoes on the milliner's table in his peripheral and he lifted his gaze to her again.
"All he has to do is catch that cat, take the key from its collar, and let himself into her home with the key, and he will have her hand in marriage as a reward," he said quietly. "That…seems…"
Missus Naughton let out a guttural laugh. "Aye, lad. Sounds easy, does it not? The cat? She canna be caught. Again, men came from all corners, tryin' to catch her spirits forsaken cat. Traps? No. Bait? No. One stupid bastard tried to kill 'er cat, t'ought he had t'answer. He could catch t'cat easier if he just kill't it. We ran 'im out of Pinedeep right fast. He shows 'is face 'ere again, he'll be stuck to a spit and slow roasted o'er a fire."
Chuck felt ire and disgust churn in his gut. "He tried to kill her cat? And he thought that would win her hand?"
"He t'ought rules were rules. If he got t'key, he'd get her 'and. Even if she hated 'im for killin' t'beast, she would be his." She shook her head. "Stupid, stupid bastard. T'cat was much smarter 'n him."
"I imagine she must be smart if she's not been caught yet."
"Mmm. So t'would seem."
He had to smile, watching the enigmatic Sarah Walker for just a few moments longer, letting himself take her in, assess her.
So she wasn't simply beautiful, born to a family with a lot of land and therefore riches a'plenty. She was also smart, and it seemed she must have a sense of humor as well. To send out a missive to her own land and the lands surrounding that she will marry the man who catches her cat and steals the key from its collar, knowing there wasn't a soul alive who could catch the beast took a certain amount of wit. Even if it wasn't entirely impossible to catch the cat, she would at least not have to deal with the usual parade of suitors knocking on her door.
He found he was very amused.
"Ah. So ye'r laughin' at t'whole thing, is it?"
Chuck cleared his throat and held the chest up so that she could inspect the latch. She poked it as it swung to and fro on its screw. "It is amusing, so. Seems her cat isn't the only one outsmarting these visiting men, these suitors, from all over the land."
"It is a bit funny, I will grant ye." She snorted and gestured at the chest. "Now what're ye doin' that this is somehow worse 'n it was 'fore ye got 'ere?"
"It was loose when I checked it. That's a good way to make it easier for some desperate jester to break it and get to what's inside. I have loosened it so that I can fix the screw. Then I will tighten it and make it harder to break into."
He fixed it right where Missus Naughton might see him at work, and potentially spread the word about his skill to the other vendors. He might get regular work finally. As it was, jobs drifted in here and there. But Ellie was earning much more than he was to keep their roof from leaking, to keep them fed and clothed.
And as he told the older woman what he was doing, he was so engrossed in his work that he did not catch the mysterious blond woman shifting her gaze to Missus Naughton's baked goods, eyeing him curiously, and moving in closer.
}o{
"Well, see here! Much better, it is!" Missus. Naughton, the baker's wife, exclaimed as she latched the chest the tall young man Sarah had not remembered seeing before held up for her to inspect.
"'Twill keep any prying hands from taking thy coin, Missus Naughton. Of that you can be sure. I also sell locks. Not too expensive, but 'twould be more secure."
"That I have to t'ink on, lad. But I shall find ye if—Oh! Why! If it isn't Sarah Walker herself!"
Sarah smiled at the older woman with a bow of her head. "Good day. Have you any of that sweet loaf I bought last time?"
"Aye, f'course, lass. How many do ye want? Wrap it up for ye, I will."
"Just the one. 'Tis only me at home." She smiled a bit more, polite as she was.
"Hmmm. Aye. An' tha' cat."
Sarah ducked her head, her smiled widening even further. "Yea, and my cat. She…tends not to enjoy bread as much as she does cream and rice." She cleared her throat, her eyes lifting to the unfamiliar young man.
He seemed frozen, rooted to the spot, the chest resting in his arms. His cheeks were a bit pink, maybe from how warm of a day it was, his eyebrows raised so far they nearly disappeared into his dark brown curly hair.
"Dost thou need a handyman?" Missus Naughton asked her as if noting Sarah's attention diverting. She switched her gaze back to the older woman. "Pinedeep has a handyman now. A good one, if I may say't." She slapped the young man on the shoulder. He grunted quietly at the contact but grinned at the compliment.
"I see," she said, watching as the baker's wife began packing up one of the sweet loafs for her. "Thou art not from Pinedeep," she said matter-of-factly to him. She had never seen him before, she was sure now.
He shook his head. "We came to thy province not eighty days ago. Give or, erm, take a few."
Missus Naughton handed her the loaf swaddled in cloth and Sarah handed her extra coin. "'Tis too much, miss."
Sarah shook her head. "Keep it. For the cloth ye wrapped it in."
"'Tis still too…" She stopped, seeming to realize she was being foolish not just taking what the rich heiress offered her. "Grammercy, my lady," she said instead, nodding, slipping the coins into her coin purse at her belt.
Sarah nodded back, smiling one last time at the apparent handyman who was new in the Pinedeep Province. He smiled back, the frozen shock seeming to finally melt away from his features, and she turned to walk away from the baker's stall, heading in the direction of her home.
A/N: And so. The heiress and handyman meet. The sparks are flying not, but 'tis time for that later. ;)
Review if you're able. I would appreciate hearing what everyone things. Thanks!
-SC