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: Still trucking along. Thanks 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.
A week had come and gone.
And in that week, he had somehow found the balance between doing the work that needed to be done in the village of Pinedeep, helping his fellow town folk where they needed his help, and toiling away at the training grounds on Sarah Walker's property.
In truth, he was giving her more time than he was giving to everyone else combined. But it made them both feel all the better for it when she insisted on giving him coin for his work after the third day.
He had perfected his art, and he now had built multiple targets set to the same system, the levers all situated beside where he knew Sarah liked to stand when she took her shots.
Chuck had streamlined the building of the tracks now that he had a few under his belt.
With a heft, he pulled the food he'd been cooking off of the oven and looked down at it. He'd barely made enough for himself and for Ellie, and yet…
Slicing a piece of the chicken he had baked off, he set it in a small dish, dappling it with the rice he'd cooked as well. He blew on it, cutting the chicken into smaller pieces, putting a little more rice with it, blowing on it again. And he stepped out of the back door into the night breeze.
It was dark, no moonlight, nothing but the light coming out of his kitchen through the open door.
He held the small dish and looked around. Earlier on in the night, when he'd arrived home from working in Sarah's training grounds, before slipping into a nice warm bath, he'd spotted a little black face with round yellow eyes peeking at him from around the corner of the workshop.
It had been an hour since, and there was every reason for him to assume she had wandered back home to her owner for her dinner. He pictured Sarah Walker alone in one of her home's many sitting rooms, a book perched on her lap, a mug of something warm beside her, her little black cat wandering in and purring as she rubbed against her owner's legs lovingly.
But he heard something, the softest of sounds, like a twig snapping. And he had a gut feeling. So he let out a small whistle. "Heeere, little cat. There is something delicious in this dish for ye. And 'tis all for thee." He whistled again.
Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye and he turned. There was his little friend, peering at him with those bright eyes of hers, in a face with features he couldn't easily make out in the dark.
"Well, good evening," he said warmly. "Wouldst thou like some dinner? Chicken and rice sound satisfactory?"
The cat simply stared at him as he knelt to place the dish on the dirt ground.
"Come now, have some. I shall set it here and give ye space anon. Not to worry."
He did just that, setting it down and taking a few steps back so that she needn't worry about him pouncing. He didn't want her to think this was some sort of a trap.
Still, the cat stared. She was smart. Worse than that, he imagined she had been pounced at, snatched at, chased, and other horrid things. She was right to be wary.
He smiled at her.
"I am allergic, if ye remember. I prefer my nose to keep his wits about him. I also have had quite enough where the swelling of my eye is concerned. I still have a bit of purpling here. Thou witnessed my black eye. All that is to say, if ye come too near, these will swell." He pointed to his eyes. "And this will sneeze." He pointed to his nose.
Finally, as if she understood, the cat slowly came out from behind the chopped wood and delicately picked her way across the dirt to the chicken and rice. She began to eat just as delicately as she seemed to do everything else and he chuckled, climbing down to sit on the ground a safe distance away. The cat seemed to keep her eyes on him in spite of everything.
She was clearly clever, and clearly didn't want to be caught, not by anyone.
She had nothing to fear from him.
"How was thy day?" he asked her, propping his elbow on his thigh and leaning his chin in his palm. "Oh, I know well enough, thou wilt not answer, little friend. And that is well."
He paused, losing his mind a bit, knowing he was speaking to a cat. But it was Sarah's cat, after all.
"Thou wilt enjoy this: I was in the market this morn, fixing the milliner's faulty door to his wife's own bedroom—hmm, yes, I had thoughts about that as well," he chuckled, "and when I emerged, there he was. Shaw, lawmaker's son, bastard that he is, strutting through the street as though all of Pinedeep would stop to watch him. As if he were part of a parade. Now, I am not one to seek trouble out. My existence has taught me not to—that surely surprises thee after ye rescued me from the very same man because I sought trouble dancing with thy Sarah. But this time, I felt it appropriate to slide back into the shadows. Still, he wears thy mark across his face. Three lines just there." He poked his cheek, then dragging his fingernails down to his jaw. "In truth, it gave me a bit of joy."
Chuck snorted, watching the cat eat, delving into the chicken now. She seemed to chew with relish, which made him smile.
"I have to thank thee for leaping to my rescue that night. I know not whether it was about me or if ye simply despise the man. Thou hast attacked him prior, so I think it must be the latter. Still, I thank ye." He smiled. "Cole of Barker isn't the only knight in shining armor in Pinedeep."
The cat looked up at him and adorably licked a piece of rice from its sweet little nose, before it went back to eating, purring at the same time.
Chuck looked down into his lap.
"In truth, I find myself tiring." He missed the way it seemed to almost pause before going back to its food. "Mister Thornton had me repair his liquor cabinet, only to tell me when the job was finished that he could not afford to pay me today. He told me I could collect my pay on the morrow." He frowned. "He wore this smirk when I agreed and left, as though knowing he had won one over on me, as though I am a fool. Surely, he just wants to get out of paying. 'Tis not my intention to let him get away with not paying me for the job I have done. But it rubs me ill that some of these people…take advantage."
He huffed. "And listen, I need coin in order to live just as he does. Without that coin, I can't afford chicken and rice. We are all trying to make it through each day in one piece, aren't we? 'Tis a struggle for us all." Chuck thought about it then and sent her a secret look. "Save for thine owner. She seems…fine. Prithee, do not think I begrudge her of that; I do not. No one I have met has their head on their shoulders so straight as she has. The intensive training she has undertaken is remarkable in and of itself. She is not luxuriating in her wealth and power, the way her suitors seems to be. She also does not seem to feel entitled to anything, the way they seem to feel they are so entitled to her. She is no fool. In fact, I find much about her should be admired. I do admire…I admire her," he breathed, his voice fading as he glanced off into the distance, the moonless night casting dark shadows about their much smaller property.
"Who are you talking t—Ah."
Ellie appeared at the kitchen door, casting a shadow over the yard. The cat looked up, startled for a moment, but went right back to eating after looking up at the physician.
"And so, 'tis the beginning of the end," she said teasingly. "I find my dearest brother sitting on the ground having a conversation with a cat."
He laughed in spite of the flat look he sent her. "She is easy to talk to."
"Mm, I am sure it is so." Ellie smiled warmly down at the cat. "And sharing our dinner, are we?" The cat looked up, another grain of rice on its chin. It shook itself to get it off and Ellie giggled. "Thou art welcome to it, little hero. I know what ye did for my belovéd brother."
"I saw him today in the market. That man Shaw."
"Oh, no." She frowned. "Did he go after thee again?"
"Nay, sis. I hid verily." She snorted and bobbed her shoulders. "But he still bears this beautiful creature's marks upon his spirits forsaken face."
"Oh, good girl!" she exclaimed, leaning in a bit closer to the cat. And then she straightened up and ducked into the kitchen again, leaving him alone with his cat friend. She emerged moments later with a small saucer of milk. "Here. Some dessert." The cat flinched, ready to dart if she needed to. "Sweet thing, I have no need of that key thou weareth." Still, it was wary as she set the saucer down and stepped back again. "Come in, brother, else our food shall be cold by the time it touches our lips. And careful who ye let see you conversing with our cat friend. That will be the next thing that gets us exiled from this beautiful village," she finished with a smirk, ducking inside.
And he was sure what she said was true as he stood up, smacking dirt from his trousers and winking at the cat before heading inside after his sister.
}o{
Straightening to his full height again, setting down his hammer and picking up the cool beverage she'd set beside him in a copper mug as the sun rose higher in the sky and beat down upon his back, Chuck allowed himself to enjoy the light breeze, the cold liquid against his tongue, sliding down his throat as he swallowed.
He hadn't seen Sarah for about an hour, and that was fine. She wandered in and out of the space where he worked, sometimes talking to him, other times just silently watching, handing him what he needed to continue.
And for the last week of his life, Chuck Bartowski had scarce been so happy. Granted, the years leading up to this week, he'd found pockets of happiness in which he'd been able to exist with his sister in peace, even if those hadn't lasted very long.
This felt lasting, and he knew—he was aware enough at least—that if he let himself feel that too intensely, the chances of being broken increased. There was no future here, not between them. She was clear about not wanting a future with anyone. And he knew he wouldn't warrant a place on her list if that was not the case and she did seek someone to spend her life with.
"Where art thou from?"
Chuck jumped right out of his skin, spilling some of her well water on his hand and sleeve but just barely managing to keep the mug in his grip. He spun to face her with wide eyes to find her leaning her shoulder against a nearby tree, having changed her clothes so that she wore a pair of trousers and a tan tunic. She'd braided her hair as well, one thick braid that fell in front of her shoulder.
"Sorry," she giggled.
"I heard not thine approach." He flicked his wet hand off to the side to get excess water droplets off of it, then wiped it on the back of his vest.
"'Twas not my intention to be sneakful."
He chuckled and shook his head.
"My question remains however… Where didst thou and thy sister come from?"
"In truth, I don't remember the place," he said with a shrug. "Why?"
"I have been wondering. I know almost nothing of either of ye. Eleanor did mention how she came to practice healing. But I do not know where ye were born, or why ye are here and not still there."
Chuck let out a rough breath, turning to peer at his unfinished work, and then he turned back to Sarah and nodded, moving further into the shade of the tree she leaned against, slowly crawling down to sit on a cropping of roots at its base, careful with his mug still in his hand.
She stayed standing, looking down at him, leaning against the tree.
"We were both born in a place very far from here, a mountain village named Skywood. Much of the place I remember not, as I say. I remember a very clear sky when it wasn't raining or snowing, and I remember a lot of trees. But we left when we were young."
"With thy parents?"
"We never had any. Well, we did. Clearly we had to. But all we know is we were found near Skywood together. I was but a babe in arms, and Ellie wasn't much older than that, maybe four years or so. They found this small child holding a babe, telling them he was her brother, and we were put in the religious house of the village. We slept, ate, and worked there. And when we were old enough to go, when there was nothing left for us there anymore, leave we did. Ever since then, we have been bound to the road, trying to make homes for ourselves only for those communities to cast us out for some reason or another."
Sarah crawled down to sit in the dirt and leaves near him, folding her long legs under her body. "I do not understand. Why were ye cast out from those places?"
"Most villages we tried to settle in did not take kindly to a woman stepping on the toes of the male apothecary, or other physicians who were already there. Ellie does not run her practice the same way many of the physicians in other places do. She uses practical application of preventative methods, rather than simply treating symptoms. And if the symptoms are arising, she doesn't merely throw a potion at her patients as treatment. Those people grew spiteful because Ellie's methods were new. It was change. People fear change."
"They fear different," she said quietly, pulling her knee up and propping her chin on her knee.
"Thou knowst something about that."
She got tense for a moment. "Do I?"
Chuck leaned back against the tree and sipped his water. He swallowed and nodded. "A young woman with more real and measurable wealth in her pinky than every prince, duke, knight, nobleman who shows up in Pinedeep to get their hands on her cat? Aye, ye do."
She smirked. "Thou meaneth the fact that I am an unmarried woman who owns land, a large house, and barrels full of coin."
"Thou keepst thy coin in barrels?" he asked, sitting up a bit.
Sarah let out a loud laugh, throwing her head back. His insides melted at the sound. "Mmm, I do not. I think ye know't." He gave her a secret smile but he missed the way her cheeks went pink. "If I did, those suitors would be trying to find my coin barrels instead of trying to capture my cat."
He chuckled. "'Tis true."
She gave him a long look. "Thou were't insinuating that I am different, and that I am…treated as such in Pinedeep."
Chuck narrowed his eyes, leaning his head back and blinking up at the leaves providing a canopy over them.
He heard her giggle softly. "I am not offended by the truth, certainly not when it comes from thy lips. I am uninterested in marriage, uninterested in sharing my birthright with a stranger who only wants access to what I own and has no care for me, for what I might want or need." She sighed. "I sound selfish. As if the world should revolve around me, what I want."
"No." He shook his head vehemently. "Thou art selfish only in the opinion of a person who is selfish themselves, someone who wants thee to do whatever they want and need. Perchance the world should not revolve around thy wants and needs, Sarah, but I would argue that thy life should. And thy life belongs to thee. We only get one swipe at this. Living it at the beck and call of another, without love, without respect… I would not wish it on mine worst enemy."
She stared at him for some time, silently, her eyes soft and so arrestingly blue. "Not even Shaw?" she finally asked, a hint of humor in her eyes.
Chuck laughed. "Thou wilt not believe me, but no, not even him."
"Even if he goes after that other eye?"
"I have a confession, fair lady," he chuckled. "I say I am a peaceable man. The truth is that I have never learned to fight proper. I would try to stop him and I am afraid I would fail." He picked up a leaf and played with it, not looking at her. "Dost thou think me less of a man for't?"
She laughed and shook her head. "I would be ridiculous to think that, sir. I have seen thy skills with metal and wood." She gestured out at her targets, the tracks with the mechanisms to make it easier for her to do her target practice. "What thou hast built on my training grounds this past week…'tis nothing short of miraculous, Chuck. I do not care if ye can hit another man well or not." She climbed up to her feet and brushed dirt from the backside of her trousers. "Historically, men who won't hit other men don't tend to hit women either."
Chuck raised his eyebrows. She had made a good point.
He heard her footsteps retreat as he gingerly pushed himself up to his feet, his knees protesting after crouching to work on her training equipment for the last few hours.
Chuck was too distracted flicking an ant off of his pant leg to hear the squeaking of a door being opened, the clanging of weapons. And so he was shocked past all recognition as he heard a quick whistle, glanced up, and saw a blade flying towards him.
His hands were quick, even if he wasn't skilled at using weapons. He knew tools backwards and forwards. And his brain corrected itself away from fear to what he knew as he snatched the hilt of the blade out of the air and held onto it securely.
As he stared down at its deadly sharpness, heavy in his grip, frightening in its grandeur, he felt shock swing back in again.
He lifted his wide-eyed gaze to Sarah, gaping at her. She stood there with her hands on her hips, boots spread on the ground, a sword jutting out from her hip where she held it.
And his mouth moved on its own, a voice coming from between his lips. "Have I offended thee in some way?"
Sarah laughed so hard she rocked forward, dropping her heroic pose and moving in closer. "Never in my life have I met anyone who is quite this talented at making me laugh."
That made him grin happily, as confused as he still was. "I am glad. But why are we both holding swords?"
"I want thee to know the basics in how to use one."
The heiress said it so plainly, so easily, and yet the words were not settling in his own ears.
Chuck narrowed his eyes. "A sword. There is…a sword…in my hand at this moment. 'Tis a beautiful blade, and this hilt… Is it made from bone?" He weighed it in his hand again.
Sarah smiled, seeming impressed. "Thou knoweth thy materials."
"Mm, 'tis heavy but it also has a lightness to it."
Her smile widened, and without warning, she lunged forward and smacked his blade with hers, sending it flying out of his hand and onto the ground as he made an embarrassing yelp-like sound.
At least Sarah seemed to enjoy it, he supposed, as she threw her head back with a laugh. Glee shining in her face, she gestured at the sword he lost with a flick of her head. "Pick it up. I shall teach thee how to hold it better so that Shaw cannot do what I just did."
"Sh-Shaw? Hast thou heard anything in the market? He hath challenged me?" Cold fear rocked through him.
"No, no." She closed the distance, putting a reassuring hand on his chest. Something else rocked through him at her touch. At how intimate it was, and how unpracticed and natural. "I am sorry. I was teasing. I did not mean to frighten thee so. None hath laid challenges on thee, sir. Likely, they will not in the future either."
Chuck let out a relieved breath. "Ah. I see. And they will not because I…pose no threat to their suit." He swallowed hard. "What threat do they face from a mere handyman who allows his customers to fleece him of his pay when he does a job, who cannot hold a sword properly, and only just learned how to graze the outer edge of his target with a bow and arrow?"
He chuckled to try to take some of the self-pity out of it. And yet, he felt her words acutely. Likely, they will not in the future either. Why challenge a man who had no footing being anywhere near a lady such as this? With her heart that beat towards kindness, her endless wealth baked deep into the ground of her property, and even more endless beauty? He was naught but a bee buzzing about their faces, easily smacked away.
Sarah watched him for a moment, her gaze steady, and he could not even begin to know what was going through her mind, if she'd seen or felt his self-pity in spite of his trying to hide it behind humor.
And then she looked down at the sword on the ground. "Pick up the sword, Chuck." He didn't, for a moment, just meeting her gaze. She stepped in just an inch or two closer, tilting her chin up to look into his eyes even better, and her hand stroked his chest just so. "Pick it up," she repeated.
He did and she stepped back. He turned it in his palm a few times, looking down at it. "I do not want to hurt thee, Sarah," he said, his voice hoarse from how close she had been.
Sarah gave him a wry look, her mouth tilting up on one side, her eyes flashing. "Oh. Trust me, thou wilt not."
He realized how that must have sounded then and he held out his free hand, palm facing her. "No, I…I did not mean that I am so skilled with one of these that I will best thee. I have every reason to believe it is possible I may trip on mine own two feet, fall at thee, and purely by…clumsy accident, cut thee with my blade."
She smirked. "Sir, thou needeth not fear. Thou wilt not cut me. By accident or otherwise. We shall start with thy stance."
"Hm?" He blinked at her, confused.
"The way thou art standing, boots so close together." She stepped in close and put her hand on his chest, giving him a hearty push. He staggered backwards with a surprised grunt, just barely catching himself from falling, arms flailing.
He found his feet again and gaped at her. "Thou shoveth me?!"
Sarah shrugged innocently. "Yea, good sir, I do. With thy feet so close, 'twas a simple task, pushing ye, causing thee to lose balance."
"Oh. My stance. I-I spread my legs?"
"Mhm." He did. "Shift thy right boot forward." He did. "Bend the knees." He did that, then. And this time when she swept in to give him a push, he didn't budge. "There. See the difference?"
His lips tilted in a crooked smile. "Yea, I do see. Dost thou mean to teach me how to swing this sharp fellow?" He twirled the rapier in his hand a bit.
"Well, firstly, do not play with it so." She clasped his hand in both of hers after sliding her sword into the scabbard tied at her belt on her hip. He blushed, properly admonished. "'Tis sharp," she said gently. "Thou shan't cut me, but I would like to make sure cutting thyself is not what happens, either."
"I thank ye for't."
And damn him for blushing when she moved in a bit closer to force his fingers to spread against the hilt. "Thou art holding this too tightly." He loosened his grip just slightly. "Good. Comfortable?" He nodded. If she moved any closer, he might find himself less comfortable, he decided. "This blade is a rapier, and so, 'tis most effective for thrusting." She paused for a moment. "Attack," she added. "'Tis a thrusting attack, rather than slashing."
Thankfully, she stepped back and unsheathed her own rapier gracefully, a satisfying swish making him shiver almost. "I shall demonstrate on this dummy." And he watched as she turned to an old dirty shirt stuffed with hay and mounted on a wooden post, lunging forward and thrusting the tip of her rapier into the chest area, cutting at the shirt.
Chuck couldn't help wincing with a hiss. "Straight for the heart," he muttered.
She smirked and came back. "Indeed." Help him, spirits, but she strolled back to him with the blade of her rapier propped jauntily on her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Now… Hold up thy sword."
He did, getting his feet in place on the ground, holding it the way she instructed, and lifting it in front of him. She hummed, inspecting his stance carefully, and then she stepped to the side and lightly pressed her blade into his. And with a calculated slowness that made his blood boil, she ran her blade down the length of his, a foot from the hilt, and then stroked her blade back to the tip again.
They made eye contact halfway through and he was sure he was standing in a pit of fire.
"To truly succeed at fighting with this blade, one need perfect her footwork."
He sighed and shook his head with a hopeless look. "I am good with my hands, Sarah, not with my feet."
She tilted her head, their swords still pressed together. "I beg to differ, sir. I danced with thee twice. Thy feet are quite skilled." She didn't pause at all before she dove in, their swords crossed up between their bodies, faces close. "Attack me." He made the most reluctant face he was capable of and she glared. "I am not made of porcelain."
"I know. The mere idea of attacking thee does not sit well with me, Sarah. Even if I know thou wouldst best me."
Sarah tilted her head back, smiling up at him. "Commendable." She dropped the smile just as quickly, her blue eyes flashing. "Do try to get over it."
She stepped back then as he let out a rough breath.
"Come. Attack, Bartowski."
Chuck whistled low. "Thou hast used my family name."
Sarah laughed, and he thought perchance he might catch her by surprise, using her laughter as a distraction while he lunged forward towards her, swinging the sword around at her midsection.
Not only did she bring her sword across her body to block his attack with what looked like minimal effort, she continued her laughter as she did so. He stepped back in surprise, the contact of their swords making it vibrate strangely in his grip.
"That feels…strange."
"Yea. And that is why ye must hold it in a strong grip, but not too strong. Thou must have full range of wrist movement." She demonstrated with a swivel of her sword. "Gripping too tight restricts." She stepped back again and he attacked again.
She parried it easily. "Good. Again. This time, watch my feet."
Chuck did, and he watched as her feet shuffled along the dirt, not steps as much as she shifted them backwards.
"I know where the ground is at all times. Where barriers are, walls, other objects that may hinder my movement." She backed towards some roots, but before he could warn her, her foot shuffled lightly against it and she side-stepped, away from harm, not losing her balance or moving the sword from being pointed at him. "See? My feet feel it first and I am able to correct." And then she stepped in a small circle around him as he watched her, those boots she wore crossing over with each step. "Again. Control. I never put my back to thee, facing forward always. Attack again."
Chuck lunged and she tapped the point of his rapier away from harm, before stepping in close and grabbing his sword hand with her free hand, their blades crossed again, faces close again.
"I saw the way thou shuffled thy feet. Very good. Thou art listening."
It was very difficult not to listen to her when she spoke. And now she was pressed close again. She tried to push him, but his feet were planted in a protective, balanced stance, and he didn't budge. She grinned at him. "Thou art a very good pupil."
He grinned back. "Thank ye."
Sarah cleared her throat and shuffled around so that she stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Do as I do."
And he stood beside her, doing every slow movement of her feet, every thrust of her sword, along with her, beside her, his own rapier shooting forward with hers, his long arm reaching further than hers, especially with how long his legs were as well.
After a few minutes, she slowed, lowering her sword arm, and he couldn't keep back the question he'd had in his mind since they began almost an hour earlier.
"How dost thou know all of this?"
Sarah ducked her head, seeming thoughtful, quiet in thought almost. "Swordplay?"
"Aye."
She bit her lip, then played with the hilt of her sword in her hand, twisting it first one way, then the other.
He pointed. "Thou toldeth me to do that not!"
Sarah sent him a highly amused, albeit flat look. "I am highly skilled with this blade, sir, while thou art…not. To put it kindly."
Chuck made a face. "Was that a kindness?"
Sarah giggled, then shook her head at him. "'Twas truth." She shrugged. "As for this…" She raised the rapier in her hand up in front of her face, laying it horizontal in the air, running her gaze down the blade. "Some of it I learnéd from my father." He was surprised by that. She seemed to spot the surprise in his features because she sniffed wryly. "Jack Walker was not blessed with a male heir. He only had me. And so. The man set to teach me the things all other fathers would have taught only to their sons."
He watched her, a small smile on his lips. She lowered her sword again, lifting her chin, as if challenging him to say anything other than what he did say, which was: "Knowing naught about him but what thou said just now, thy father has my respect."
"Hm." The heiress peered at him for a long while, and then she put her hands on her hip, her rapier jutting out to the side by her leg. "Thou art truly a rare man, Chuck Bartowski." Unable to drum up words to respond to that, he stayed silent, realizing he was still holding the rapier and feeling absurd. Thankfully, she continued after a moment. "Not very many men could walk into a situation such as this one I invited thee into without feeling there is something unnatural and wrong about a woman spending her free time perfecting her archery skills…let alone sword fighting? Perish the thought." She nibbled on the inside of her cheek. "'Tis why I entrusted thee with seeing all of it."
"Hmm. Thank y—Ah, but ye asked me to come to thine home to help fix the mechanism on thy moving target, and thou didst so before knowing anything about me."
She turned her fair features out towards the trees and squinted in the specks of sunlight cutting through the shadows on her face from the leaves above. "'Tis true, I knew nothing about thee. But thou remembereth, I had met thy sister. The two of us had long talks about various things, and she doth love thee dearly, and so of course she spoke of her brother, the handyman. I might have decided to take a risk on thee based on my assumption—flimsy though it was—that Eleanor Bartowski was wonderful. And she simply could not have a brother who was not to be trusted. At the very worst, thou might secretly think terrible things about me for all of this, but thou wouldst be the abject professional, keeping it all to thyself rather than spreading throughout Pinedeep that their prize heiress they wanted to marry off to their sons is secretly shooting arrows at targets and stabbing straw men with swords."
"I would not cause thee such trouble. Not for anything."
Sarah smiled slightly at that, her blue eyes soft. "I know."
"So I…was a risk."
"A measured risk."
"Still a risk."
She made a doubtful sound which caused him to chuckle.
Chuck held his rapier up and looked down the length of the blade, squinting his eyes, careful not to even glance in her direction as he asked, "And was it worth the risk? In the end?"
"Is it the end?" she asked quietly. He swung his gaze to her and there were two spots of color there. "'Twas worth the risk. Many times over."
He sucked in a deep breath and then he lunged towards her, bumping her with his shoulder so that she staggered back a few feet. She gasped, her jaw practically falling to the ground at her boots.
"Fiend!"
He laughed as she hopped back and held up her sword, mimicking his pose. "Thou needeth to work on thy stance, fair lady."
"Oh, thou art playing with fire."
"And fire, 'tis more for the liking."
"Indeed?"
She attacked this time, and he barely managed to smack it to the side so that it missed his arm. He trusted she wouldn't actually cut him, just as she said. And she wouldn't let him cut her.
He thrusted his rapier twice towards her, and on the third time, he lunged his right foot in, stretching. But that put him in quite the vulnerable position apparently, because Sarah side-stepped the thrust, snagged his sword wrist, bumped her midsection right into his face, and sent him sprawling backwards onto his ass, legs akimbo.
Chuck lay there in the dirt, gawking up at her as she stood above him, her boots straddling his hips, her sword in her right hand, and his in her left hand.
"Methinks 'twas a good first lesson. Dost thou?"
"Is it over? Did I make that big of a mistake?"
She grinned down at him and carefully stepped away from him, eyeing him the whole way as she went back to the shed. "No big mistake. I shall tell thee what ye did. Thou madeth too big a play, I easily made thee pay for't." When she reappeared, the swords were away, her scabbard with them, and she turned to lock the shed door, wandering back to his side and reaching a hand down. "On thy feet, swordsman."
That made him giggle, and he slapped his hand into hers, letting her help him up to his feet. She pulled hard enough that he had to stagger forward just so, their chests bumping, and he felt a deep blush on his cheeks ass she let out a soft, "Oh" and looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Pardon me," he breathed, looking down at her, their hands still grasping tightly. Were his fingers clammy? Or were hers? Was it both? From the effort of dueling, surely.
Sarah cleared her throat. "Come inside for some cool refreshment. Please."
"I shall. Thank ye."
She nodded, pulling her lips between her teeth, and then she looked at him one last time and turned on her heel to lead him back down the path to the house.
A/N: It's me. You know I can't resist a tension-filled swordplay lesson. Hehe.
Please leave a review if you're able. I appreciate them a lot.
Thanks for reading!
-SC