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: Appreciate the kind reviews and notes folks are leaving. Hope you enjoy chapter 3!
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.
He had simply wanted one tankard of ale after a long day's hard work in the sun, sweat and grime still clinging to him from where he'd bent at the wheel of the smithy attempting to get it to turn properly again after "the hinge went crooked" according to Errod Wharton the blacksmith.
He'd succeeded finally, as the sun had finally slipped behind the hills far in the distance, the hills he and Ellie had cleared to find this province two and a half months ago.
And now he just wanted his drink before he went home to soak in a warm bath.
It was not to be.
Or, at least, he certainly wouldn't be doing it in peace.
The most obnoxious conversation was occurring at the table beside his, and truly, he couldn't help but listen in. The man he had met a fortnight ago, Cole from the Barker province, was half drunk, sitting with two other men who weren't much better off.
Though the youngest of the three who looked closer to Chuck's age was holding his liquor better than the others, sitting with a calm sort of confidence.
"It belies wonder!" Cole bellowed. "I tell you, Shaw, thou thinketh ye can outwit that cat to win the fair lady's hand. The thing cannot be done."
"Suppose the best man wins then," the dark-haired, smug fellow said. He was wearing a smart frock and trousers that hadn't seen a speck of dirt in their existence, his cloak seemingly without a single wrinkle, hat the same as they both rested on his chair behind him.
The night was mild enough for Chuck to have removed his own hat and cloak, setting them on the chair beside his. He wasn't seeking company tonight anyway. Not that it mattered, since the men were speaking loud enough for the entire outdoor patio of the tavern to hear.
"Oh, I will," the third man said with a cool confidence, sipping his own ale. He had a lighter brown hair. It swooped up from his forehead naturally, clean and well-groomed, not even a hint of stubble on his jaw or above his lip.
"Wilt thou!" the man named Shaw laughed meanly. He thunked his tankard down loudly on the wooden table. "Using what exactly, Bryce of Lark? What dost thou mean to do to catch the cat? I've surmised my wit will do the trick, Cole here means to use his charm—or lack thereof—" That earned him a side-glare. "And what wilt thou do? Have those soft hands build some sort of trap for the nasty little beast?"
"What nasty little beast!" Bryce of Lark asked with a scoff, sitting up more from where he'd been half-lounging in his chair. "I happen to think the thing is quite pretty. Sleek and black as it is. It is quick…but I am quicker."
Chuck inwardly sighed.
And so…
Cole of the Barker province intended to charm the cat.
Shaw meant to outsmart it.
And here was this dainty pretty fellow Bryce of Lark who felt he was capable of being quicker than the crafty puss.
They were three biggest fools he thought he'd ever seen in his life.
The bravado and confidence in each of them was certainly something to behold, however.
Cole and Shaw laughed at Bryce. He looked offended. "I'll have ye know, in my kingdom of Lark, there is no one with hands quicker than mine own."
Cole pointed at him. "And who says thy hands are quick? The farmer's blushing daughter?"
Bryce couldn't help laughing with the other men at that. "Well, her too. But I am the fastest marksman in any province. I've outdrawn every man in every competition I've entered."
Chuck looked up from his tankard just then and noticed something shift out of the corner of his eye. It was a cat, black as night, almost seeming to blend into the dark save for its small yellow eyes. It sat atop the fence, looking down on the scene. And because Chuck imagined it likely didn't wish to be seen, particularly by these men who sought its prize, Chuck was careful not to alert anyone to its presence.
"What, do ye mean to shoot the poor thing with one of thy wee arrows?" Cole asked, still chuckling. Only then did he turn just slightly. "Ah! Well! If it isn't my friend the handyman!" Chuck jumped slightly, looking at the party. All three of them were peering at him, Cole with a friendly air, Bryce of Lark searching and intrigued, Shaw with outright smug disdain. "And how art thou? …Was it Claude?"
Truly? Claude?
Chuck fought off the flat look and instead smiled politely around his sip of ale. "Charles," he said as he swallowed. "Good night, Sir Cole."
"Good night! Dispense with the Sir! And how fare thee?"
"Well. I thank ye for enquiring."
"Thou looketh like ye've been through a bad run, young scamp," Bryce of Lark spoke up. He leaned in. "Name is Bryce. I am of the Lark Kingdom. My father is the king therein."
Chuck's eyes widened.
"Aye! Aye, young Charles! We have a prince in our midst!" Cole exclaimed.
Bryce seemed glum at that. "I'm no prince. I am a warrior, an expert marksman."
"Hmm. Yes. Just as I am still a knight," Cole responded.
"How now, why art thou covered in so much filth?" Shaw finally asked, wrinkling up his face in disgust as he peered at Chuck.
"Now, sir, some of it is sweat, be fair. 'Tis from a day's hard work," Chuck couldn't help shooting back. The other two men seemed mightily amused by that. "I've just finished a job. Do not worry thyself, for when I arrive home I will hasten to a bath."
He sipped his ale calmly.
"Young Charles is Pinedeep's brand new handyman. If you need someone to fix thy face, dear Shaw, I would be more than equipped to do it," Cole jested, "But if the wagon in thy wheel is busted or ye have a jammed window in thy rooms, call on Charles here and he'll repair it, will ye not?"
Chuck nodded with a polite smile. "'Tis right, good sir." Shaw looked ready to pounce. "Er, that is, the last part. I am not commenting on…thy face needing to be fixed…sir."
The prince laughed loudly at that, nudging the acidic man beside him with his elbow.
Chuck couldn't help himself then. He addressed all three of them. "I assure the three of ye, I was not meaning to eavesdrop… But I hear ye all speaking about this cat… Sir Cole informed me about this woman whose hand ye seek, how she has given potential suitors the task of capturing her cat thus accomplishing thy suit and marrying the lass." They all three continued to listen. "Dost thou truly mean to attempt to find this cat?" he asked, feeling like said cat was still there as his hair stood up on the back of his neck as though he was being watched.
"Of course we do!" Shaw snapped, challenging.
"Please, I mean no offense. I am merely curious. See, I only learned of the game from Cole not fourteen days ago, and I am new to this province myself." He shrugged.
"You think 'tis hard for someone who has studied with the greatest scholars and philosophers in our human history to outsmart a damned beast?" Shaw spoke up. "Sarah Walker doesn't stand a chance now that I'm here."
"It isn't about smarts. 'Tis about speed," Bryce the prince argued. "Fast hands will win out in the end."
"Is that what the rosy-bottomed kitchen maid told ye, young prince?"
"I could have this knight beheaded for that talk, if we were in the Lark Kingdom…"
"And we are not," Cole shot back, laughing condescendingly. "But I beg of thee to try anyway, with those soft hands."
Bryce blanched at that.
"They're both fools, Charles. I have charmed woman and beast in every land I've come across. No one is immune to my charms," Cole continued.
"I am," Bryce groused.
"Yes, as am I."
"Lucky for me, neither of ye are Sarah Walker…or her cat."
"I happened to meet the lady last week," Shaw said. Chuck quirked an eyebrow in interest at that. "I happened upon her outside of the market. She was headed for the apothecary. She is truly the most enchanting creature, worth the travels all three of us have undertaken. And with the coin her family possesses? I'll never work a day in my life." He grinned. Chuck felt something sickly churn in his gut at that. "She seemed quite taken by me. Perhaps I won't even need to pursue this…pussycat of hers."
Bryce scoffed. "Thou lieth, sir. If ever I saw a worse liar than thou, I didn't know it at the time."
"I'm not lying!"
Chuck had finished his ale and he was tired, discouraged by the terrible conversation he was listening in on. They were such fools, all three of them. Though one was clearly worse than the other two. To have the unfounded confidence each of them had—and why not when one was a prince, the other a former knight, and the third, well…Chuck didn't know what Shaw was, but his hands were soft, his clothes fine—that made them believe they'd earned Sarah Walker's bondage to their sides. Like she was a cow that could be passed around, bought with charm, wit, or whatever else.
He just wanted to be home.
So he climbed up from the table, laying his coins down—a bit more than the drink had cost for services rendered, especially since the barmaid had to service these outright idiots.
"Ah, thou art leaving, young sir?" Bryce of Lark asked.
"Yes, your majesty," he responded with a slight bow of his head. The other two men snickered at that and he widened his eyes. "I mean no disrespect, but ye are a prince as they say and—"
"No offense was taken, boy," Bryce said with a well-meaning smirk. But the boy he'd used grated at Chuck incessantly.
"I've had a long day of work. I seek my bath, some food, and my bed," he offered. He didn't feel the need to explain more than that.
"Then we will speak again someday," Cole said, offering a hand towards Chuck. Chuck took it, shaking it, then nodded at the other two.
Bryce seemed pleasant enough with his nod and, "Good to meet thee, Charles."
Shaw just stared at him, unmoving, not seeming to deem him fit for his energy even to shift his face in a polite smile.
The bastard.
Chuck left them behind, pushing through the gate that went halfway up his thigh, ambling out onto the dirt road and quietly making his way through the moonlit roads towards his humble home.
A few minutes passed and he found himself distracted by what he'd unfortunately just heard from three of Sarah Walker's suitors. Not only did they sound like the most incredible fools, he felt the sting of realization; one thing Ellie had tried to express to him but it had gone a little over his head at the time. Sarah Walker's existence was likely plagued by men like this consistently.
No wonder she'd done her damndest to posit her cat as something of a barrier between herself and men like Cole, Shaw, and Bryce. He couldn't imagine just how badly she simply wanted to be left alone, only for Shaw to spot her and interrupt what she was doing to flex his muscles and grin his insincere grin, knowing full-well his intention to steal the rest of her life from her.
As he took his last turn, his home in view, he heard a sound behind him, a rustling or something. Spinning, lifting his fists up to his chest in case he had to act fast and fight off some attacker, someone meaning to steal his coin purse or knock him over the head, he halted, lowering his fists again.
Because there was that cat again, black as night, sitting on the side of the road, staring at him, unblinking, all grace and regality.
He smirked, then let out a soft chuckle. "Ah. Ye scared me, sneaking up on me like so. I thought thou might mean to steal my—" He picked up the coin purse from his belt and jangled the coins inside. He let it fall back to his thigh and crossed his arms, watching the cat lift its front paw to lick from its elbow to said paw a few times before lowering it again. "I hear tale thou art very elusive," he said with no small amount of glee, shaking his finger at it. The he picked up his cap from his head and tilted it respectfully at her, smirking harder at the creature. "'Tis well. Keep it up."
It blinked once at him.
He turned on his heel and walked the rest of the way home. When he glanced over his shoulder to see if it was still there, it was gone.
Cats.
Mysterious little beasts that they were.
He smiled widely as he finished his journey home.
}o{
She stretched her arms up over her head, moving back a few more paces this time. Just for a bit more of a challenge.
Then she situated her bow over her shoulder, her quiver full of arrows on her other shoulder, before she lifted the large stone into her palm. None of this worked on days when she had terrible aim. She was only human, and she'd had those days on more than one occasion.
And now she would find out whether today would be a good aim day or a bad aim day.
Tossing the stone in her hand a few times, checking its weight, the pace with which it fell back into her palm, she finally eyed its destination and took a deep breath, focusing on her target.
With a great heft of her arm, she threw the rock hard, watching it sail through the air as she swung her bow off of her shoulder and nocked her first arrow. The stone clambered into the wooden brace that was keeping the target stationary. And as it was cleared out of the way, the target began to slowly roll to the right, across her field of vision.
She let loose one arrow, narrowly missing the bullseye, nocking another, sinking it just above the bullseye, and another, all the way until the target thumped into the barrier on the other side of the dirt yard she'd built for her target practice.
Sarah Walker growled at herself. She hadn't done as well as she'd wanted, stomping over to the target to yank the arrows out of the straw with the painted leather stretched over it.
But when she made to push the target back up the slight incline to its place to give it another go, it jammed. She frowned, glancing down at the wheels. She kicked one of them and pushed again, only for the wheel to pop off completely, the target tilting forward, its front corner sinking in the ground.
"Damn!" she snapped.
It took a half hour of fiddling with it, trying to shove the thing back, even attempting to wedge the wheel into place, only for it to roll right off again, before she gave up entirely.
A mechanism that held the wheel in place had snapped in half and it wasn't something she could fix. She didn't have the know-how. Putting it together had been trial enough.
Shaking her head at the damned thing, she huffed and turned on her heel to head back inside, changing out of her trousers into a dress, and making her way towards town. Perhaps the blacksmith Wharton could—
Only, she stopped then. Because she realized she didn't have to go all the way into town to ask Wharton to fix her target she used nearly every day to practice with her bow and arrow. She did not have to reveal her secret to a man who talked to others with as free a tongue as Tilda the town snoop.
There was somewhere closer, perhaps much safer for her secret, only a ten minute walk from her land. Less than a week ago, she'd had her wound treated by a physician who was new to Pinedeep, a wound that had now healed fully save for a red mark on her arm that looked to all but disappear, just as Eleanor had promised it would. The other woman had told her about her brother who seemed to be able to fix anything. A real handyman.
If he was anything like his sister, she thought he was capable of fixing her target and keeping its existence to himself. Eleanor seemed intelligent and well-read, enough to busy herself with things other than gossip. Her brother might be the same.
Sarah turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction, shifting her path to the other side of the fork in the road.
Ten minutes later, their property came into view and she smiled to herself. She didn't much care for someone seeing the bit of land she used on the Walker property to do her training. If any of the men in Pinedeep knew what she did in her free time besides reading books, they might die from fits of hysteria.
Would Eleanor the physician's handyman brother die from a fit of hysteria if she brought him back to fix the damnable wheel on her target?
A woman? Shooting bows and arrows? Throwing knives? Sword fighting?
And certainly not a woman with her breeding! Perish the thought!
Snorting, she decided to test him out either way. She needed the thing fixed or she'd have to build another. She didn't want to do that unless she absolutely had no other choice.
She stopped at the door to the home and knocked. She didn't hear anything inside, no shuffling of feet or anything. Frowning, she peered through the front window. She spotted a humble sitting room, a kitchen beyond that, a hallway that led further back into the house. Likely the washrooms, the bedrooms.
But then she remembered Eleanor mentioning his workshop behind the house and she quickly took the path between the house and her own offices.
There was a twenty feet by twenty feet wooden building about thirty feet behind the house. It was much more rudimentary than the home itself, and why not, as it seemed like someplace he did his work for customers. He did not need a castle for that.
The door was ajar and she heard something inside, a light humming. Specifically the deep humming of a man's melodic voice. She didn't feel right pushing on the door and walking in even though he'd left it open, so she knocked instead.
"Pardon me…?"
The humming stopped. She heard boots on wood. And then the door opened.
There stood the young man who'd been helping Missus Naughton a few weeks ago. "Oh. Th-Thou art…" He cleared his throat, opening the door even wider. "Good morrow. How may I help ye?"
"Good morrow," she replied, smiling politely. He was taller up close. And his shirt was slightly untucked at one hip, his suspenders having fallen to rest on either side of his trouser legs. His dark brown curls were unkempt as well. But to be fair to him, he clearly hadn't expected any customers. "Ye are…the new handyman in Pinedeep, art thou not?"
"Aye!" he blurted, nodding. "Please, erm, please step inside my…erm, this is my workshop."
He held the door and stepped back as she gracefully slid inside. He kept the door open wide, seemed to notice he had his suspenders half off, and quickly scrambled to sling them back over his shoulders, eyes wide. "Oh. P-Pardon me. Sorry…"
"Do not fret on my account…" She paused, waiting for his name.
"Charles. Last name is Bartowski, but Charles is-is just fine. Technically Chuck. But no one but my sister has taken to calling me that so I'm not sure why I decided to say that to thee just now." He shook his head.
Sarah giggled inwardly, pressing his lips into a thin, amused line. "Chuck, is it? I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker."
"I remember." He ran his hand down the front of his work shirt. "The baker's stall. A few weeks ago."
"Yea. Of course." Sarah twisted her hands together in front of her. "I remember as well which is…why I am here. I do have a problem I was hoping ye could help me with. 'Tis—" She glanced at the workbench he'd been at, then realized he'd just set what he was holding in his other hand down on it. It seemed to be some sort of wooden toy perhaps?
He followed her gaze. "Ah. Yea. I was working on that when thou arrivéd."
"What…is it?" Sarah felt herself blush slightly as he gave her a wide-eyed look, as if he wasn't expecting her to care either way. She pulled on the tie of her cloak. "'Tis not anything I should pay mind to. 'Tis not my business. I apolo—"
"Nay! Thou art perfectly free to ask. My sister is a physician, and she helped a family in town deliver their newest child recently. I thought perhaps I'd bring a toy for the older children so that they don't feel left out. 'Tis a silly little thing, really. It powers itself here. I built a mechanism… Y-Ye just flick this switch here and back and forth the cat's tail goes." He picked it up and showed her, his brown eyes lit with wonder as he held it in his palm. "In truth, all of these tales I hear in town about thy cat gave me the inspiration to make it a cat rather than some other creature. Certainly 'tis not my best cat but I've never been good at molding ears with wood. 'Tis not easy." He shifted it so that she could look better at the ears, a slight blush on his face. "'Tis hard to do with wood. I got this one's ears wrong the first time, then I kept whittling and whittling. I have to stop; I whittle too much and the poor thing won't have any ears at all. How dost thou know 'tis a cat without those ears?"
"Fair question," she said quietly, peering at the cat. She felt light looking at the toy. It was as sweet as it was inventive. "Thou madeth its tail move on its own?"
"Yea."
"How?" She shook herself then, tugging on her blouse and clearing her throat. "I am sorry. I came to ye for help and I am distracting us both with my curiosity."
Chuck lifted the toy. "I welcome curiosity." Then he swallowed, setting the toy to the side and lifting the leather apron he wore over his head to toss it over the seat of the workbench. It caught a bit on his suspenders and he wrestled for a moment, blushing again. "But th-thou sayeth ye need help. What might I do for thee, my lady?"
"I am afraid 'tis not something I can bring to thy workshop. Thou must cometh to my property. If 'tis not a bother for ye." He smiled slightly and began to hustle around the workshop, gathering things. "And it would be rather easier for me to show thee rather than to try to explain it."
"Oh. 'Twould make it easier if I know what tools to bring. Hm." He straightened from where he stooped over a large chest. "Belay that. If 'tis something ye will not be able to bring here, that means 'tis a massive task. For a massive task, I will bring massive task tools. Heh."
"Dost thou mean now? Immediately?" She was shocked.
He paused, glancing at her. "I thought thou needeth me now…"
"Oh. I do. Thou haveth not…other pressing matters to attend to?"
"Nothing is more pressing than my customers, my lady Walker."
"Sarah."
He sent her a wide-eyed look. She merely smiled.
"All right, Sarah. Wilt thou take refreshment in the house while I gather my tools? We might have…Well, I am sure thou art used to fine cheese and bread that is soft on the inside with a crunch on the outside, but if thou art hungry…"
Soft on the inside, crunch on the outside? Sarah felt her smile widen. "Please worry not over that. I am fine with neither drink nor food. And I am certain thy refreshments ye and thy sister keep are fine, as well." He sent her a doubtful look that made her giggle quietly. "If 'tis all the same, might I wait here?"
"Be my guest. Please!" He rushed across the workshop, yanked a padded chair closer to her and grabbed a cloth to clean it speedily for her, all the while blushing again. "Sorry, I-I do not receive…many guests here."
"Apologize not. I am perfectly at my leisure."
Sarah watched from the chair as he gathered his things, staying quiet as he bustled about, his mouth going a mile a minute, talking about how nice the marketplace was, how many things he'd been able to find there. How he intended to save so that he might try one of Missus Batton's rare fruit tarts one day. As a treat.
She thought he was nervous and that was why the words spilled out of him so.
It was sweet. He seemed sweet.
He finally led her out of the workshop, taking a key from a ring on his hip and locking the padlock, before he moved towards the wagon, hoisting two large toolboxes into the back.
"We are taking thy wagon?" she asked curiously.
"Indeed. I will not allow Sarah Walker to tire out her feet. Not on my watch. Spirits forbid."
She let out a short laugh. "I shan't wilt if I'm forced to walk a few miles, sir. I walked here after all."
"Yea. But these toolboxes are heavy. I would try to carry them both and then my arms would tire and thou would be presséd to carry one of them. And I am especially refusing to allow Sarah Walker to walk and carry one of my exceptionally heavy toolboxes."
Sarah rolled her eyes, but was amused at the hint of teasing even as his cheeks went pink again.
He offered a hand as she neared the high seat of the wagon. She looked at it for a moment, and then he wilted slightly, seeming ready to pull his hand back and wipe it on his pants, as if thinking the look on her face meant she was aghast that a man with dirty hands such as his, lesser hands, would ever dare assume she'd want to touch her fingers to his.
So she quickly slid her fingers over his, genuinely not minding the calluses, the smudges of grime, probably from oil, fire, whatever else he used in his work.
Sarah felt something shift, the ground under her feet perhaps. His hands were warm and callused, with long fingers and a surprisingly soft palm, his grip gentle but supportive.
And as he helped her up into the seat of his wagon, she found he was strong as well.
Sarah fixed her skirts appropriately around her ankles as he hurried around to the other side. She took note of the sincere affection in the way he stroked the horse's mane and then face, pressing a kiss to its cheek, before he climbed up into the seat beside her, picking up the reins.
"Ready?"
She could only nod.
And as they rolled along, her shoulder bumped his here and there, and she noted the big grin on his face. It wasn't about the fact that he was sitting next to her. He hadn't let his eyes rove even accidentally. He hadn't attempted to play himself up, he was not trying to seem impressive. There wasn't even a hint of playing for her hand or trying to circumvent the process she had created.
No, instead she thought the grin was at life itself. The way the sunlight glimmered through trees and dotted the ground. The pleasant breeze. The scent of the damp grass in the air. This man had built a toy cat with a mechanically moving tail for a few children in town who might feel left out because their parents were caring for a newborn babe. It was incredibly thoughtful.
There was a certain wonder in him, and in his smile.
It wasn't anything she'd experienced heretofore.
The ride was quick indeed with a horse drawn wagon, and as they approached her home, she heard Chuck give a short intake of breath. She turned to send him a curious look. "Is everything all right?"
"This is the Walker home then." He looked at her home with awe in his face. "Beautiful."
"So I have heard." From the many, many men who wished to push into it, take up the space in it, and sleep in her bed. She smiled, having him pull around the house and down one of the many paths that led through the woods on her property.
Within a minute, they pulled into a wide-open field, the same field Sarah had just been practicing her archery talents in.
He pulled the wagon to a stop, rushing down and hurrying to her side to help her climb down as well. As she stepped down beside him, he seemed to almost carefully slip his fingers out from hers, pulling his hands in closer to his own body and enfolding them together, squeezing.
}o{
He needed his fingers to stop buzzing as if a thousand minuscule bees had stung him. Only she'd touched him twice now, once while he was helping her into his wagon, a second time while he was helping her back down again.
And both times, he struggled to recuperate from it.
"Follow me." Sarah gestured with a flick of her head, leading him through the grass. She moved with so much grace, agility, but mostly it was the surety of her gait, the way her head was held high, chin up, shoulders back. She moved like there was a crown atop her golden hair.
He slowly fell into step behind her, furrowing his brow in curiosity as she halted next to a strange contraption with what looked like a leather canvas used for target practice stretched across it.
"I created a moving target so that I could practice my aim with bow and arrow. But I was attempting to push it back into place and the wheel broke just here." She knelt down beside the wooden wheel, poking at it. "I was going to try to just reattach it, but this piece here snapped. I believe 'tis actually broken. I had hoped it had simply come loose, but I heard the snap with my own ears." She held up the splintered wood around a piece of metal.
"What… is this?" he asked quietly, kneeling down beside her to inspect the contraption. "Is this a wheelbarrow?"
"'Twas a cart. My father would use it to move anything heavier than he could manage under his own strength. When he died, I fashioned it to my own needs."
Chuck gaped at her, then turned back to look at the cart, before spinning to watch her again. What she said settled in his mind, shifting down into his chest, and he frowned, waiting for her to meet his eye before he said, steadily, "I am terribly sorry. Thy father, I mean."
She seemed surprised. "Oh. No, 'twas…years ago now." She shook her head, turning back to the problem at hand. And then she seemed to almost think better of it and eyed him for a long while, before she muttered, "But…I thank thee."
He swallowed hard, nodding. She was truly alone then. And for years it seemed. He wondered at whether she was lonely. Or if she made peace with this place, being the only one here besides her cat, whatever livestock and poultry she kept.
And then he shifted his weight, bracing his knee against the ground to lean in closer. "I see what snapped here."
"Dost thou think it can be fixed?"
"I will fix it. 'Twill be easy enough."
"Oh. Good. Thank ye. I'll pay thee handsomely."
Chuck brushed that off with a swipe of his hand. Then he glanced at her again. "Thou—I heard ye mention practicing thy aim. 'Tis a moving target to practice thy aim." He put his hand on the contraption. "How dost thou maketh the thing move? I know, the wheels on the cart. Of course 'tis how it moves, but what sets it in motion?"
She sent him a dubious look.
"Ye saw the toy I'm making for those children; of course I would be curious about machinery like this." He sent it a perplexed glance.
She smirked in his peripheral. "Ah. Yea. Of course ye would be." Sarah stood, fluffing her skirts to get the grass off of them. "It starts there, across the yard. Dost thou see the slight incline in the ground?"
Chuck followed the ground towards where she pointed. He could see the incline, just a slight one. "I do."
This woman who was being sought after by nearly every eligible male in not just this kingdom, but even those far, far away from the inconspicuous Pinedeep Province reached over to pick up a wooden plank that was half a foot, maybe more, in length. She thrusted it out for him to see. "I jam this under the wheel, I move to stand wherever it is I mean to aim from, then I throw a stone to hit this," she explained, lifting the wooden plank again. "Knocking it loose. With nothing holding it in place, the target begins to roll across my line of vision. And I take my shot. Over and over again, until it stops just here. Then I roll it back into place, jam this under the wheel, and I go again from somewhere else. Usually further back."
He stood to his full height beside her. "Thou useth a bow and arrow?"
"Yea. 'Tis my least proficient weapon, in truth. 'Tis why it tends to be what I practice the most."
"Least…proficient weapon… Dost thou mean because ye use other weapons as well?"
She nodded and poked one of the holes in the leather target. She seemed uncomfortable about admitting it.
He gaped at her, and she must have noticed his reaction, for she only seemed to stand even taller, turning to face him head-on. "And so now thou wilt tell me I should not do something so dangerous, that it isn't a woman's place to do things such as this. Practicing with weapons. Training with a bow and arrow."
Chuck furrowed his brow. "My lady, thou judgeth me too quickly. Perhaps ye have not truly known my sister long enough, nor well enough… if ye did, ye would know a man raised under her roof knows better than to tell a woman where her place is. Whether 'tis dangerous or not. Eleanor Bartowski would have strangled me for even thinking about doing such a thing."
Sarah blinked at him, clearly confused. "I…see. I admit, I am surprised. I wouldn't have brought ye here if I didn't urgently need a handyman to fix this wheel. If anyone knew this is partly how I pass my free time…"
"I understand," he said with a frown. "My sister is a physician. In one of the towns we fled from, they would have captured her and tied her to a stake, burned her, for the wonders she works with her trade. If we had run not… when we had…" He swallowed thickly. "People fear what they do not understand. Fear breeds hate. Should thou wisheth me not to tell anyone what I saw here today, merely say the word."
She seemed not to know how to respond to that. Instead of speaking, she nodded mutely. "Please," she finally whispered.
"It shall be so." He nodded once, then leaned down to pick up the broken bits of metal from amongst the blades of grass. "Without judging ye for engaging in such activities, I wonder if ye might permit me to ask why."
"Why?"
"Mmm. Why dost thou train like this? Why dost thou shoot arrows at moving targets fashioned in such a brilliant way as this? What is it all for?"
"Ye mean because the moment someone catches that cat, I marry, and when I marry, my husband will forbid me from doing any of this ever again?" she asked, smirking again.
"No, I-I suppose I meant it generally," he admitted. "But now that thou art saying it in that way, it didn't quite sound how I meant for it to sound. Knights train so that they may slay dragons," he said with a small, amused smile. "Warriors, kings' men. They all train in weaponry. I may be new to Pinedeep, but I believe thou art not a knight, nor art thou a warrior, or a person put in this life to do the king's bidding."
"Thou art right. I am not any of those things." She seemed amused as well, her blue eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. "I like the doing of it. Is that reason enough?"
He found himself grinning at her for that. She seemed to almost be challenging him. He liked it more than he thought was safe or healthy. "For me to say, it is not. I have no power over thee, Sarah Walker."
She sniffed, almost a snort, then put her hand on the target. "Nay. The real reason is that it both hones my skillsets, my hand-eye coordination…" She paused, then smirked and added, "And it keeps me humble."
Chuck gave her a curious look. She reached over, lifting an eyebrow as she touched a deep dent in the upper corner of the target, almost as if something sharp grazed it as it went past.
"On days when I'm sitting atop a particularly high horse, when I make a shot like this?" She delicately slotted her finger to fit into the ravine the bad miss of the arrow cut through the hay. "Well, it knocks me right off of that high horse and onto my hindquarters."
Chuck couldn't help laughing, ducking his head and nodding. "My lady, I respect that greatly."
"Thou should. Not many drum up mechanisms such as this to keep themselves humble." They exchanged a smile and then she dropped her gaze to the wheel again. "But ye have said ye can fix it?"
"I said I will," he corrected with a good-natured grin. Then he knelt down at her feet again, shifting his box of tools closer. "I'll get to work on it immediately."
"Wouldst thou like some refreshment?" she asked, repeating the same refrain he'd used on her earlier. He sent her a bit of a crooked smile. "I've just brought some water up from my well. 'Tis cold."
He raised his eyebrows. "Yea. I-I would…if it isn't an imposition."
With a nod, she went away, still light on her feet, and he went to work. He missed the slight glance she gave him over her shoulder, the pause in her step, the slight smile on her lips, before she hastened off to collect his refreshment.
A/N: Ooooo "I said I will" okay, Sir Confidence!
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-SC