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: Thank you for the kind notes! Do me a favor, y'all, and if you're an American citizen, check on your voter registration and make sure you're still registered and will be able to vote next month. If you can vote early, do it. And pay close attention to those local elections—the judges and sheriffs and school board officials and city council.
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.
It melted in his mouth.
Chuck made a decidedly uncouth sound deep in his throat and turned to his sister, thrusting the turkey leg towards her. "Ellie, ye must try this. I think they stuck herbs under the skin when they baked it, like ye do."
But she merely sent him a look, then sighed, rolling her eyes, and delicately leaned in to take a bite of the leg he held. She chewed, letting it savor. Her eyes went wide. "Mm…Mmmm! Oh, spirits…" she said around the food in her mouth, licking her lips as she swallowed. She took the thing right from his fingers then and proceeded to keep eating.
"That…That was mine," he whined, his fingers still slick with the juices of the turkey, herbs tucked under his fingernails.
"Yea, dear brother. It was."
Chuckling, he licked his fingers and shook his head, moving away from the spot they had taken up to watch the acrobats tumble to and fro to enthrall the festival goers. He bought another leg of turkey for himself since his sister had made off with his.
As he looked up, he spotted Sarah Walker.
Oh, but she was the sun itself, leaning down to allow a small girl to deposit the flower crown onto her head. It was crooked, and yet, she did not fix the girl's handywork. She must have thanked her and said something kind, as the girl grinned hard, pressing her hands together in pride and excitement.
But when Sarah Walker stood, something in her face changed, and she spun on her heel. It was only then that Chuck realized the erstwhile knight, Cole of Barker Province, had taken up the spot behind her and was speaking to her.
Chuck had been so focused on the stunning vision of the young woman he'd taken to thinking about more often than not these days, that he had missed the large, sturdy figure of the well-dressed warrior. And of course he laid on every ounce of that infamous charm, smiling, leaning in as he spoke to the heiress.
And so.
Any man lesser than Chuck might feel the vicious slitherings of jealousy seep into his chest watching another man speak to the woman he admired. But Chuck felt no slitherings of jealousy, only a jolt of frustration. Because the charms were not working on the woman they were meant for, and it was clear as day. She was polite, accepting the kiss to the back of her hand, and when he was away again, Chuck didn't miss the way she wiped her knuckles against the back of her beautiful plum skirts.
The indignities she faced left him feeling bitter.
"Your leg, sir."
He jumped a bit, turning back to the butcher. "Thank ye." Having already given the man his coin, he moved back in beside Ellie, feeling less filled with the light of the festival than he'd been minutes earlier. And frankly, he was less hungry for the turkey leg he now held in his fingers.
Dwelling on the woman who had worked her way under his skin to an immeasurable degree, he was shocked dumb when his sister gasped and shoved the rest of the turkey leg she hadn't eaten into his free hand, even as he took a bite of his own.
"The dancing! It starteth!"
Chuck watched as she dashed off, even as she licked her fingers. He gaped after her, holding both legs of turkey aloft, one in each hand. "I just bought this one. B-Because you—Annnnnd hear me she cannot."
The young handyman chuckled, continued to nibble on his lunch, and smiled at the sight of Pinedeep's young women—and some perhaps less young but still full of fire and vigor—all gathering on the dance floor.
There was a flash of golden hair and plum-rose silk then. He stood up straighter to see over the heads of everyone else. Because Sarah had joined the other young women as well, a bright smile on her face, her blue eyes flashing in delight as she joined the circle, hands grasping hands. The town's musicians began to play a lively number, the percussion thumping, lyre thrumming, the high-pitched trill of the flute taking over.
He kept his gaze on Sarah Walker, watched her sway and step in one direction, hop, laugh with the woman beside her, and do the same in the other direction. Just as he'd seen out on her training grounds, she moved with a precision that looked so beautifully natural and graceful. She wore her flower crown still, though she had since straightened it.
Chuck Bartowski was certain, through all of his travels, nary had he seen such a beautiful sight as Sarah Walker dancing in the sunlight, laughing, joy flowing through her. Not the polite smiles she saved for the townspeople in the marketplace, nor the tentative warmth he received slight visions of when he'd been building the track for her target practice, but real joy and excitement flowing through her. Her intricately braided hair swung as the dance sped up. She hopped forward, letting go of hands, dancing in the middle with a handful of other women, grabbing her skirts, her feet skipping about on the dirt, a small cloud rising up around her legs. And when she twirled, her skirts twirled with her, hair lifted by the breeze, she stepped in to his sister, and a real, beaming grin lit her face.
They both laughed together, dancing, hands pressed flat together between them, and they moved away again to dance with other women, before everyone stepped back into the circle and danced the rest of the song.
Chuck's eyes weren't the only ones resting on the young heiress. Though his eyes were the only ones with pure wonder and awe, his heart beating hard in his chest, breathless from the sensations in him. There were others watching with thoughts of riches, miles worth of land stretching every which way, packed with minerals they could exploit for their own means to enrich their own provinces and kingdoms.
And as Chuck became more aware of those other eyes on the woman, he did experience slitherings of jealousy. For he was only human after all.
And it was becoming clearer to him that trouble lie down this path he was on. He knew inherently Sarah Walker was not for him the moment he saw her that day in the market a month ago, her golden locks and flawless skin tan from the time she spent in the sun on her land, her nose, her mouth, those lips…and her eyes so blue he could see them shining from across the marketplace's main road. A handyman would never be able to go anywhere near a woman such as she, with the breeding and the fortune she kept.
But now it was different. He knew of her lot, he knew of her story, and he knew what she wanted. She wanted to stop being pursued as if she were naught but a golden thread men could tie about their waists. A means to an end they all sought that had nothing to do with what she wanted, whether she'd be happy, or even who she was deep down inside.
He would not have her because he would never, ever take her happiness from her. Her happiness lie in being free. He refused to make her less free.
And so.
She would not be for him. He only wished he could help her remain free. But it wasn't his place. She didn't need him.
Still, he wanted to dance with her. He wanted to watch those eyes shine, he wanted her to feel more of the joy she'd felt during the dance. When the music ended, he could see how it seemed to dawn on her the dance was done, the humorous, good-natured whistles and hollers of the audience had faded, and she had landed her feet back on this ground, come down from the clouds. Her smile dimmed as the women left the dance square.
The dancing would continue, and Chuck would hand his sister her food again as she came back to him, still laughing. And he would pine for the chance to ask Sarah Walker for a dance. With no other intentions other than to make her laugh and find that joy again.
}o{
"Ah. So I've found thee again."
Sarah hastened to the physician's side when she spotted her a few hours later, the sun having mostly set, a beautiful orange glow overtaking the town square.
Still, the dancing continued, and Sarah had wandered the outskirts, smiling at the revelry, chatting about trivials with various women of Pinedeep, learning how to make cloth dolls from the jeweler's youngest daughter, Prue.
And now she found someone she could speak with, and not just about trivials.
Eleanor turned, saw her, and grinned, straightening from where she'd been leaning against the beam of one of the stalls. "Sarah!"
They wrapped their arms around each other, standing close, and Sarah found she enjoyed it very much, just standing and watching the festival, basking in her home. Yes, Pinedeep Province had been where she'd experienced the worst of heartbreaks, where she'd faced trials, where she now dealt with four walls of Pinedeep's expectations for her, her wealth, her land's wealth slowly closing in on her. But it was her home, and these people were her people. Whether they whispered and tut-tutted behind her back or not.
She liked that she could stand with her arm around the other woman and take everything in, and be content in the silence. It was a comfortable, warm silence. The two hours she'd spent with Eleanor yesterday had solidified the beginnings of what felt might be a wonderful friendship.
And then, as her eyes scanned over the dancers, she found something that made her freeze, her blue eyes fastening on little Tamsin who'd sold her the flower crown she still wore atop her golden hair. The little girl picked up her dress in her stout fingers, curtsying, smiling so hard her eyes were mere lines in her small face.
But who was she curtsying to but none other than the handyman? The same handyman whose sister was currently clinging to her right hand in both of her own?
He bowed back, straightened and outstretched a hand with a comically serious look on his handsome face. Tamsin laid her much smaller hand in his. They stepped twice in one direction, four times in the other, then twice back again to be where they began. With a hop, they switched places, and away they went again, stepping together and then away, all with their hands still joined.
A happy laugh burst from the slightly shorter woman standing beside her, Eleanor grabbing her arm with one hand and pointing with the other. "My brother, the silly knave."
Silly, yes.
…And wonderful.
When the tabor and tambourines began to play faster, the flute trilling at a quicker pace to match it, Chuck and Tamsin danced faster, and they weaved through other people. The little girl's steps were unsteady, childlike, and she was trying so hard to catch up to the others, but he stayed right with her, slowing down, stooping low so that she could reach his hands to press her palms to his, hopping left and right.
Sarah heard a wild giggle, but when she turned to glance at Eleanor, she realized it hadn't come from the physician. In fact, it had come out from between her own lips, having originated in her own chest.
Little Tamsin stomped her feet, then began to sweep her skirts back and forth as Chuck swayed his hands back and forth with her as though he was clutching onto skirts of his own, making a face to get laughter out of the child.
And then the other women twirled in circles. The little girl's eyes went wide at missing the step, quickly beginning to spin, her dress twirling with her. She kept going and going, even as the other women in the couples stopped, moving into steps and hops again.
And when the child tilted a bit as if dizzy, her feet pitter-pattering on the dirt, Chuck subtly reached out to keep her from toppling headfirst into the ground, and instead, they went right back into the dance.
Finally, the dance ended. Sarah let go of Eleanor to clap her hands together uproariously, cheering, her chest feeling light as though there was nothing but air in it.
Chuck bowed low to the child, sweeping his cap from his head. The girl curtsied, and then leaned in to kiss the top of his curls, leaping up into his arms to hug him. Propping her on his hip, he carried her from the dance floor. But then his eyes caught his sister and the heiress, and his gaze settled on Sarah in particular. Grinning wide, he carried Tamsin over.
"Well? Thou hast seen us dance. With thine own eyes," he pronounced gallantly, making the little girl giggle again at his antics. He grinned harder, his nose wrinkling, sincere charm seeping out of him as he breathed hard from the dance. "What didst thou think, fair maidens?" Then he let go of the girl with one hand to hold it up. "Wait. No. Do not tell me. My fair partner Tamsin was wondrous, dear, and grace personified, from her red curls all the way to her curled toes." All three young women giggled at that. "But what of the knave she danced with? All left feet and gangly limbs like a deer only just bornéd and trying to gain its footing." He let out a tsk sound.
"Thou art only gallantry and poise, sir," Sarah pronounced. "I commend thee."
"Thou art the best, sir!" Tamsin said, her missing tooth causing it to come out in a sweet lisp.
He blushed sweetly. "Well. I thank ye both. Notice mine sister hasn't aught to say on the manner. I can always count on this one choosing honesty over kindness."
Eleanor slapped his shoulder gently, laughing. "Thou were't very graceful. A wild horse prancing through the meadow."
They all laughed as he finally let a squirming Tamsin down. She curtsied one more time with a big smile at all three of them, before skipping off back to her mother's flower stall.
"Hmmm. Methinks thou hast won an admirer, dear brother," Eleanor was saying.
But then they were alerted to a crying child approaching, his mother giving him a stern look as she pulled him along to Eleanor's side.
"Thou art the new physician in town? The apothecary is closed for the festival and I need thine help. This little scoundrel climbed up onto the roof and fell off and now he claimeth pain in his arm." She turned back to the boy. "When thy father hears about this, Henry."
The boy just continued to cry as Eleanor sent her brother and Sarah apologetic looks.
"Duty calls."
And off she went, carefully guiding the child away with the mother in tow.
Which left Sarah alone with the brother.
Shifting her weight, she swallowed and turned to him. After the way he had danced with the child, the sincere kindness and subtle way he'd kept her from being embarrassed, even joined in on missing the steps and making her laugh, not caring what anyone else might think about it, keeping her safe the whole way through, the silliness of the faces he made at her on top of everything else? She could feel the heat of a blush rising from the bust of her chemise.
"The boy's arm is dislocated. Pulled from its socked." He pointed at his own shoulder. "I could tell. 'Tis easy enough for Ellie." He turned back to smirk at her. "I must confess, I did worse than climbing on roofs when I was a lad, around his age."
She smirked back. "I believe that. Is that where thy sister learn't her trade?" she teased.
"An idiot younger brother with a penchant for getting himself hurt? Nooo, certainly not." But he nodded even as he drawled the last part, making her laugh loudly.
"I have doubts."
"Doubts?"
"That you, sir, are an idiot. I doubt it."
Chuck smiled warmly. "Thou art kind, my lady, and I hope I do not offend, but thou knoweth me not, 'least not very well yet."
"Oh, very well yet is it…?"
"Mm." He nodded, leaning against the same post his sister had been leaning against. "Give it time."
She meant to. She would. She hoped, at least. "A man with the skillsets to…" She lowered her voice just in case. "…better my target practice experience with a system of pulleys and levers didst thou call them? That is no idiot."
"I will let thee win this argument because I am at least that smart."
Sarah laughed again, watching as the oranges in the sky deepened, the sun continuing to creep down, the full moon already on the rise, visible above their heads.
Chuck made a pained face, however, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. "I want nothing more than to stay and tell thee more about my faults, but I see one of my customers on the other side of the square purchasing a sweet treat and he owes me coin for work I did. I mean to collect."
"Ah, I take it he has been avoiding ye…"
"Indeed." He sent her a roll of his brown eyes. "I beg thy pardon. May…I find ye again? Soon?"
She liked the way he added that last request. Soon.
"Ye may, sir. And I hope when next we meet thy purse will be heavier."
"Thank ye," he said, bowing to her with amusement in his face.
She watched him rush away, trying to ignore the small pang in her chest.
}o{
He knew the song was nearing its end, the revelers hopping to and fro, laughing, and he stayed on the outskirts, combing the square for blond hair, blue eyes, a crown atop her head strung together with flowers that matched her eyes.
The sun had slipped behind the horizon, children were still out and about, but the moment the oranges and reds faded to deep purple, they would start to meander back to their homes for bed. So Wharton had told him, a glint in his eye. Apparently that was when the real fun started, but Chuck had no idea what that could possibly mean.
Sarah Walker hadn't danced all day, not since the maidens dance that kicked off the frivolity hours earlier. He knew she had not because—and he was rather embarrassed by it—he had watched. He had kept an eye on her. He hadn't been able to help watching her. The moment he saw her, it had been like being struck by lightning.
And while her beauty and grace was part of it, there was everything else she possessed as well, including the kindness she'd shown both him and his sister. And the kindness she showed little Tamsin, his very own new friend. It was the way she peered so fondly at these people, how clearly she loved this, her home. Even with the limitations it placed on her, the limitations her society placed on her, the way she so clearly yearned for the freedom to live the life she wanted to live, and they wouldn't let her.
Still, she didn't walk through this life with bitterness or disdain. She was clear-eyed about it all, intelligent, brilliant even…and yet, she seemed to love this place, these people, in spite of everything else.
However, he did not understand one thing. Why was she not dancing? Not one man in the whole of the town square had asked her. Not Bryce, the prince. Nor did Cole or Shaw, none of the others, either. Not the shopkeepers, the elders. She enjoyed dancing, he'd seen it in her, and he wanted to see that again.
Perhaps it wasn't his place, and then… he didn't much care if it was or wasn't.
He wanted to dance with her. He wanted those eyes to swim with light, that sparkling smile to hit him in his chest. He knew it was a dangerous path, he'd known it from the moment he first saw her. He knew he would end up hurt eventually…
And he wanted to dance…
With her.
His eyes finally settled on her. Her back was to him. She was speaking to the flower seller, Tamsin's mother Ysolde, a young woman perhaps only a few years older than he was, with pretty red curls that fell down her back. He had helped fix her water pump and she had been very kind, had paid him right then on the spot, unlike some of the others he'd helped over the past three months since he arrived in Pinedeep.
But Ysolde wasn't his goal as he carefully picked his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the blond braid, the wisps of hair that escaped her ties and fell over her perfect ears, resting on the swoop of her proud jaw, brushing against eyebrows she seemed to enjoy arching in his direction when she teased him during his time improving her training grounds.
He came to a stop behind her, folding his hands at his lower back. Ysolde caught sight of him and her green eyes went very large, quite possibly the size of the flower crowns her daughter had been making all day. Sarah must have realized the conversation she'd been having halted suddenly, and when she glanced at the other woman's face, she turned suddenly, spinning on her heel, coming face to face with him.
She stared up at him with wide, expectant eyes. But there was curiosity as well. And that curiosity rang in his chest. Like a beacon of hope.
Chuck Bartowski drummed up all the courage in him, thinking again of the unbridled joy she'd had in her face earlier on in the day.
It gave him the final push he needed.
"May I have this next dance, my lady?"
She gaped at him, and he didn't quite understand why. "With me, sir…?"
"Yea, my lady, with thee." He bowed his head politely.
"Indeed, sir, ye may," she replied immediately, sounding almost breathless.
He straightened up just as the song filtered off to the last thump of the tabor, and he quietly stretched his hand out towards her.
Sarah didn't pause. She didn't even excuse herself from the conversation she'd been having. She simply slid her fingers against his, letting him gently take her hand. As they moved through the townspeople to the floor, he had his gaze locked on where he would take her, his heart racing faster than the fastest horse in the land, he was certain.
Perhaps if he hadn't been so focused, he might have noticed the wide-eyed looks, the whispering, the way three pairs of eyes in particular shot razor-like looks in his direction.
Instead, he kept his gaze on Sarah as they reached the floor where other dancers were taking their positions.
He stepped in closer, laying his hand on her waist just above her hip. And Sarah stood with one hand on his shoulder, the other resting lightly on his long fingers.
The boisterous song began with the jolly bowing of a fiddle. As one, every couple began prancing left and right, hopping happily to and fro in one another's arms. That smile burst onto Sarah Walker's features immediately.
It filled him up.
One of the other male dancers let out a holler, and adrenaline struck Chuck directly in his chest as Sarah twirled out of his grip, moving into the center of the circle the men had formed with the rest of the women.
She hopped on either foot, swishing her skirts in her hand. Chuck clapped to the beat of the tabor and tambourine, laughing as Sarah sent him one of those arches of her eyebrow.
Chuck opened his arms as she pranced back to him, accepting her back into his embrace as they danced in circles again, hopping to and fro, the beat fast, their feet faster.
And when he was the one twirling out of her arms to meet the men in the center of the circle, the women forming the outer rim, he grinned hard at Sarah, bowing low, before straightening to his full height and clapping his feet against the dirt, the men shifting left, then right. When he made a silly face at her, widening his eyes and pressing his lips together, puffing his cheeks, she laughed so hard she rocked forward, clapping to the beat with the rest of the women.
As he hopped back to her, he waggled his head teasingly.
And as they danced in each other's arms again, she laughed even harder, throwing her head back, breathless and brimming with that same unbridled joy he'd wanted to see again so badly.
The song was winding down, he could feel it, but he wanted it to continue forever. He pulled her just a bit closer, his hand tightening on her waist, their faces close as they beamed at each other, eyes meeting.
He let out a holler of his own, tilting his head back and looking up to the moon that was becoming brighter now that the sun's glow was dimming.
Sarah laughed, her voice loud and boisterous.
They stepped back again and he tucked his wrists against his hips to do a few dance steps that mirrored her, and with one more hop in place, they moved into one another's arms, danced in one more circle, and with the last few beats, stepped away again.
He bowed low to her as she curtsied, that one last trill of the violin singing out through the night.
Chuck clapped with everyone else, breathless, but his eyes didn't break from hers, not even for a moment. He wished to live in this moment for the rest of his life, her chest heaving from the dance, the biggest grin he'd ever seen from her stretched over her face, her blue eyes sparkling like gems. He was happier than he'd ever been in that moment.
But the spell broke then, the dance was over, and he oh so gently took her hand to lead her away from the dancers who continued to stay in the square for the next jig.
Sarah turned to him, her cheeks pink, and she curtsied to him once more. "I thank ye for the dance, good sir."
He couldn't find words of his own, so he bowed his head with a smile, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched her spin on her heel and rush into the crowd.
}o{
Sarah accepted the intricate face mask that was handed to her by a winking Missus Naughton. The woman leaned in and muttered, "I gave 'im the night blue mask with the black feathers. Heed me words, lady."
As she tied the purple cat-eyes mask over the upper half of her face, Sarah decided she'd be avoiding any mysterious man with a blue mask that had black feathers.
The part of the festival that happened under the light of the full moon wasn't without frivolity entirely. But the dances were slower, bodies pressed closer. Couples came together and the gig was that no one knew who they were dancing with.
Everyone knew who everyone else was. That was the truth.
With masks on, however, single, unmarried dancers had something to hide behind in the light of the next day. Whose lips did they kiss, whose hand did they hold…? And Sarah knew of multiple instances when barriers were shirked, vacant secret spaces discovered, and passions ignited.
The moon festival had hastened many a blessed union in that way.
Still, everyone knew Sarah Walker wore the ivory chemise and the plum-rose overdress, her blond hair tied back in an intricate braid. They knew her blue eyes, the supple lips. The mask would hide nothing.
And just as she'd been avoided in the hours they'd all spent dancing in the sunlight, she would be avoided here. Pushing that one dance out of her mind for a moment, she move through the masked revelers, smirking at the way the usual suspects had partnered themselves off, flirtation beginning, while those who'd already married, elders, and others stayed in the outskirts, drinking and talking.
She shifted in another direction, only to find a man in a round blue mask, black feathers spilling up from either ear, staring at her as he leaned back against a beam, arms crossed. He smirked when their eyes met.
Would the prince ask her to dance?
No.
She knew he would not. He wanted more than a dance. He wanted the resources her land had buried beneath its dirt and grass meadows. He wanted to dig it up, toss it in heavily guarded wagons, and ship it back to his kingdom of Lark.
She'd heard enough around town.
Perhaps he wasn't a terrible man, but he didn't, wouldn't, turn her head with his royal blood. She didn't have to know what being wanted for herself felt like to know that wasn't anything she'd ever feel with him.
Sarah broke his gaze, turning her back to him, moving through the room. She halted, a smirk growing on her face as she saw another recognizable man. Even with his deep black mask, she knew the profile, knew the tunic he'd been wearing earlier on in the festival when he spoke to her after she received her crown from Tamsin.
Only instead of stooping low to brush his lips to her knuckles, he held another woman's hand, a woman Sarah didn't quite recognize, perhaps one of the maidens who worked at the tavern? There were a few new hires. He was pushing her palm to his lips, speaking in low tones to the blushing woman. The red of her cheeks clashed wildly with the light green feathered mask over her eyes. And his hand was in an entirely inappropriate place.
Cole of Barker Province knew his way around women. Clearly.
He thought that would translate to her, or perhaps he thought her cat might turn her head for him, since that was all he required.
He was wrong.
Still, she found the sight of him whispering love to another woman comforting. She knew these men. Even still, she knew Shaw as well, even though she had yet to see him.
Not a single one of them had a chance at stopping her cat from playing games with them.
The dances rushed past, and Sarah found a barrel to perch herself on top of, smiling at the sight of others enjoying the after dark festivities, the roaring flames from the torches set up by elders around the square made light dance with a seductive flickering, swaying.
It was easy to be caught up in it. The atmosphere dripped with secrets and intrigue. Heat, even.
And then her eyes swept away from the dancers. A sensation had her hair standing up at the back of her neck. It wasn't a good sensation. She saw a man in a black mask with red flames stitched up at the corners, rising above his eyebrows.
Shaw.
He was looking at her as if he might devour her. A sick feeling rose in her breast. Would he do it? Would he take her off of this barrel and walk her out to the dance floor now that the music was slower and had more heat to it, more seduction?
She could not do it. She did not want his hands on her.
Shaw began to move towards her from across the square and she broke his gaze, petrified, needing something, anything to run to.
And as she looked to her left in a panic, away from the lawmaker's son, she saw someone else familiar. He had apparently been watching as well from behind the vibrant red mask, roses stitched in patterns around his golden-brown eyes. He put a hand on the shoulder of the man he'd been speaking to, likely making a polite excuse, and he quickly moved through the bodies in his path, snaking his way to her side.
Her heart raced, her panic easing into something else that made her blood rush. And as he beat a wanton suitor to her side, he offered her his hand, pulling all of her attention away from the unwanted pursuer.
"My lady, may I have this next dance?"
She might die from relief.
And wasn't that man Cole supposed to be the knight in their midst?
She slipped her fingers into his, allowing him to help her down from the barrel. She didn't glance to her right at all.
And when he added, "…whoever thou art", a relieved, bubbly laugh snuck through her lips.
No, she wouldn't even look at the other man, allowing Chuck Bartowski to guide her away from him, to the safety of the dance floor. They had to wait a few long moments for the other song to end, and she held fast to his hand, clinging, so grateful, every part of her awash in relief.
Finally they let go. And he stretched his hand out between them, pushing it towards the dance floor, and she lightly laid her hand atop his, feeling the hard bone of his knuckles against her palm as they moved out to the floor with the other couples.
A strange hush overcame the crowd.
And she knew, she knew it was because they were well aware of who the young woman with the blond hair, blue eyes, purple mask and plum-rose overdress was. And they knew the handyman wasn't the prince, or the knight, or the lawmaker's son—the threesome who were in Pinedeep to vie for her hand.
Sarah strove to ignore everything but the dance. It was too late to pull away. Anyhow, she did not want to pull away. He had whisked her away from a dangerous man. She'd seen something in Shaw's face that made her recoil in horror.
But then the music began, slow and sweeping, the hurdy-gurdy droning, a rhythmic and bewitching thumping of the tabor and tambourine guiding the low flute. She was gathered up in the power of it, and her feet moved of their own volition as she turned to face her dance partner.
They turned their hands so that their knuckles were pressed together, arms raised between them, fingers pointing up to the sky. Two steps forward, one back, forward again, and back. His eyes fell to hers and she stared back, tucking her other arm at the small of her back.
They turned again, this time pressing their left wrists together in the space between them, repeating the dance in the other direction.
"'Tis I," he said then, his voice low. "Charles Bartowski. Chuck. Thine own handyman."
She felt a slight shiver go through her, this one much more pleasant than she was prepared for. Thine own… She forced herself to smirk. "Yea, good sir. I know."
"I prithee, what gave away my true identity?" Chuck asked, stepping in close, his right shoulder pressed to hers, his arm slung across her belly, hers across his, and they stepped in a slow circle, turning their heads to continue to look at one another, not that she'd pulled her gaze from his, not for a second.
"Art thou teasing me, sir?"
"No. Never." They spun on their heels, slinging their other arms around one another and stepping in a circle in the other direction. "Was it the shining cloak I chose to wear on this special day? 'Tis the smartest I own."
Sarah held an amused smile at bay, just. "The roses, sir. On thy mask."
"Roses, fair lady?"
"Yea, handyman. Thou dost seem the type to admire a good rose…" He let out a quiet snort, his eyes going wide in the holes of the mask, as if he'd surprised himself with the sound.
"And what of thee, Lady Sarah?" He paused as they shifted away from one another, completing a few steps. They stopped for a beat, bowing and curtsying, and as he bowed, he tilted his head up to continue meeting her gaze, quietly continuing. "How dost thou feel about the fair rose flower?"
She didn't know how to answer, knowing she should, she needed to find something to say, something glib, smart. She needed to keep up with his teasing. And she found she couldn't, the torchlight playing in his eyes in a way that made her think of gold glinting at the bottom of a rushing creek.
Sarah both did and did not want to continue with this dance.
Having no choice but to continue if she meant to avoid causing a scene that might make all of this worse, she swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact as they stepped together.
As her front made contact with his right side, he hoisted her off of her feet, her weight held aloft a few inches, pushing into his lithe body. He tilted his head back to look up her body, eyes meeting still as she looked back down at him.
Her body dragged against his as he eased her back to the ground, oh so slowly. When her boots touched dirt smattered wood, she shifted her body in the other direction, hearing him breathe, "And now we shall dance the remainder of this tune in silence…"
Sarah lifted her hand closest to him as they stepped to her right, his left, and the backs of her fingers gently stroked down the side of his face.
His body went tense in a way she was certain the other male partners' hadn't in spite of their women doing the same to them. They twirled in the other direction and she leapt into him, having him catch her and lift her off the ground again, this time with her back against his chest.
It was harder to look into his eyes, and so she looked down at the way his fingers clutched the silken material of her clothes. The way his knuckles went white, he held onto her so tightly.
Not possessive. Never possessive.
And still, he set her down, she twisted her body, and her other hand stroked slowly down the opposite side of his face from before.
Sarah stood still, Chuck picking up that same hand delicately in his long fingers and walking around her in a circle, brown eyes meeting blue. She only lost sight of his gaze for a split moment as he came around her back, and then he pressed his chest into her shoulder blades.
With her right hand in his right, left hand in his left, they stepped together, Chuck's feet moving against the ground beside her own. She had to crane her neck but she found his eyes again and she didn't look away for a moment. Something about the mask made them stand out even more. And they were so beautiful.
As they stepped to the left, he let go of her left hand and instead dared to touch her jaw with the tips of his fingers, running them down her jawline so lightly it was like a feather's touch to her very sensitive skin.
Sarah pulled in a deep breath, her chest heaving. Because that wasn't part of the dance.
And when she turned to face him again, pressing their left wrists together, moving in a circle, shifting in the other direction with their right wrists together, the music faded from her consciousness entirely, and there was only Chuck Bartowski.
With one last lift in which his fingers seemed to cling even tighter to her waist, she wondered if he didn't want the dance to end. Was he clinging to keep her near him? Trying to get every little thing he could from this moment before it was over?
He put her down and they stepped away. He bowed and she curtsied on that last note.
And when they stood to their full height, applause erupting around them, she stepped in close, picking up his fingers and squeezing them weakly. "I thank ye for the dance, good sir."
Chuck opened his mouth to respond, but she bowed her head one more time, breaking eye contact finally, and she spun on the heel of her boot, making haste past the rest of the revelers, not stopping until she burst through the door out into the cool night air and heaved several deep breaths.
A/N: Hiiiighwaaaay toooo the DANGER ZONE. (guitar riffs)
If you're able to review, I'd appreciate it a lot. Thanks for reading either way.
Next part soon!
-SC