Justric

The Orphan's Wedding

FYI - I've got a convention this weekend so my replies may be a bit slow. If it's going poorly, you'll probably hear more from me.

The Orphan's Wedding

The wayward bed warmer found and laid by the stair, Victor stumped back out the the porch in time to see the trio approach the steps. The Alderman looked as though he were about to explode from the way he gasped and wheezed as he struggled with the lady's baggage; Victor offered him no sympathies or help. Even if he had, the Alderman was the type to refuse and possibly even take insult at the idea that he was no longer a hale and fit farmer. Feather was... Feather. There was no changing that. The woman from the city was another matter, for she clearly was attractive and poised in such a manner that no one would ever mistake her for a local. His eye caught the the way the pinstriped waistcoat fitted to her torso, the skirt about her hips, and there beneath that ridiculous hat was a face fresh and angelic, framed by the the black dreads. It made the former soldier regretfully reflect on how long it had been since he'd lain with a woman.

"Ah, Master Vinegar!" panted Brown as he mounted the steps. "Allow me to... to present Miss Kijani. Ah, Miss Kijani? This here's Master Vinegar. He'll see to your lodgings and safety." He nodes enthusiastically again as though it was because his words made it all so. He directed Feather inside and up the stairs, following after with the luggage and calling back over his shoulder, "I'll leave you two fine folks to become acquainted like! Me 'n' Feather? We'll set this all to rights, so we will!"

And then it was just the two of them. Victor felt slightly uncomfortable as she looked up at him, then angry at himself for feeling that way beneath her scrutiny. His simple workman's shirt with its low collar and buttoned sleeves was far from being the same white as her impeccable blouse, and the faded forest green long pants with their leather patches and sewn up rents was definitely a far cry from the rest of her finery. Those and his stained leather vest of were all of local make. Only his knee-high black boots marked him as having any city connections; the were the boots of a rifleman and cared for with a soldier's pride. Leaning on the stout hickory cane, he gave Kijani a curt nod.

"Mistress Kijani," he rumbled flatly. "You're as welcome as you may be. My salt and hearth are yours, your health and safety mine."

The traditional country greeting done, he eased himself into his chair with out regard for offering her one. "Strange place for a holiday, if I might say. Not many folks stop in Arbordale." His accent was a strange mix of lower class city life and rural argot, a blend that tripped off the tongue and marked him as an outsider to either place.

The Highwayman Came Riding

He wanted to be in a foul mood. His venture to amorously sally forth so that he might attain the beautiful Bess had been thwarted, yet he could find no fault nor grudge with her father for putting a halt on any potential mischief. The image of her was burned into his brain. Since leaving the Americas, the innkeepers daughter was the most vivacious, spirited, ALIVE person he had encountered; the swells and curves of her body and the rosiness of her cheeks were enticing physical extensions of her nature and had captured his attentions. Wandering back towards his hall, he turned his mind from what he had not attained and to how to attain it. Plans began to form in his mind as he ambled along the lane. An officer for most of his adult life, Robert envisioned it as a military campaign, weighing his resources out and judging the strategies most likely to succeed in bringing him closer to his goal. No one simple thrust was going to work, that was for sure. Certainly not with the bulk of her father defending her encampment. If young Hammish came into his service and proved a loyal man, that would be an ally he might readily call upon! Higgins, of course, was his man. The old sergeant was trustworthy in being untrustworthy, knowing well when to bring either quality to bear so as to best benefit himself. This worked well as their interests tended to coincide. After all, hadn't Robert spoken up on Higgins' behalf some handful of times when an irate camp follower or angry tavern wench stormed the fortifications looking for the father of their bastards? Officers and their sergeants could never be friends, of course. That would be as absurd as a gentleman and his butler becoming stout comrades! But there was a loyalty built of shared experiences and mutual respect that served in friendship's stead. Higgins could help him find a way to win his way into Bess's bedchamber, he was positive.

So lost was the Captain in his considerations that he nearly missed the sound of hooves beating their way along the road towards him. Nearly. The jingle of harnesses and pacing of the mounts brought back recent memories of service, for only men trained to ride and fight together upon horseback might ride in such a way. There followed a trooping march of boots. He nearly grinned as he spied red coated militia men approach towards him, their officers' faces high and proud. The British militia was often regarded as something of a joke compared to the regular army, their men rarely seeing combat if at all, as their primary goal was to simply look good with spit and polish and drill. Robert had a slightly different opinion, having commanded a militia unit in the Americas. He knew that any man could be proven or broken upon the field. All that was needed was the chance. And there was something different about this troop. The men seemed harder, their officers exuding the quiet confidence of experience instead of the bravo and swagger of gentlemen playing at soldier. His smile was quite genuine as the major at the head of the column slowed to greet him. With color flying, the regiment marched on past.

"Good day to you, sir!" The commanding officer was an older man, well into his fifties with greying mutton chops and balding head. "Strange to see a gentleman walking unattended this time of evening. Where might you be headed?"

"Home, Major!" Robert warmed to the Major instantly. "I am Robert Vaughn, late a captain of His Majesty's army. American Dragoons. I was just out for a stroll."

"Major Christian Makepeace of the Hillshire First of Foot. Funny name for a soldier, I know." The major held out his hand down towards Robert, who grasped it firmly in friendship. "A cashiered colonial, eh? Gave a thought to it myself a few years ago. Decided I couldn't stand the civilian life."

Nodding ruefully, Robert agreed. "I am starting to think better of my choice, sir. Although I find the country air far preferable! If nothing else, because it is not the city!"

"You are a droll wit, Mister Vaughn. A droll wit indeed." He gestured towards his soldiers. "As the Seasons ends, we've prevailed upon the Resident Magistrate to let us train and camp here for a few months. Most of my lads are ex-army already, looking for easy service. Ha! They learned well enough that the home guard are not as soft as they thought! In turn we are to see to the security and safety of travelers upon the road. Highwaymen and the bandits are rare here, of course, but we mean to keep them rare still!"

Robert nodded towards the columns as they passed. "Your men looked well turned out, major! Well drilled and far more orderly than Horse Guard ever gives us credit for." He gestured in the direction of his home. "The hour is late, and I must be home before nightfall. But I pray you, Major! Tell me you will come to call on me Sunday next as my guest for dinner at Grenmere Hall. You and your officers." He opened his arms wide on welcome. "Those who serve the King in arms are sure to find a place at my table. Come, your word, sir! I'll not be denied!"

Major Makepeace laughter heartily. "Dinner is it? We'll be obliged to you! Training out here has left some of my staff in bad temper, and a night of camaraderie would be most welcome. Sunday next it is, sir!"

The encounter left Robert feeling rather buoyed. He found himself half skipping on the way home, light of heart and full of fancies. A new acquaintance made, a lover to bed, far from the hissing of the city geese that gabbed and preened... Robert sometimes did regret his resignation from service, true, only how could he have asked for a better day? There was a dinner to arrange! And, more importunity, there was a woman to be bedded and the chase would make it all the more delightful. His joyous temperament lasted as long as it took to enter the house and find Higgins waiting for him. The look upon the old non-com's face said it all. It made the glad air in Robert's head become a stagnant murk.

"My wife?" he grumbled.

Higgins nodded, handing him a letter. "You wife, sir." The letter told Robert all he needed to know, which was far more of an education than he cared to learn. With firm chin and clenched jaw, he handed the missive back to Higgins. "Go ahead and mail the damnable thing, then. Maybe it will keep her out of my hair for more than a day! I'll... go to her now, I guess."

Saying nothing, Higgins gestured in the direction of the parlor.

He steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and settling his visage, before he calmly entered. "Wife? We are to have dinner guests this Sunday next. A Major Makepeace and his senior officers. I know as you like to entertain, so endeavored to have them visit with us during their extended time here in the vicinity."

The Bonny Black Hare

"S'Breath," James wheezed as he watched the hare. If this wasn't the beast of Earnest's stories, it was certainly related! The way it moved, cut past, jumped over the slightest obstacle, confounded the two lead dogs... it was incredible! His gelding reared back too late as the hare jumped over in an impossible leap over the saddle, James fighting at the reigns to keep his mount in check. Then they were off again, pounding along the half forgotten deer track that led them deeper and deeper into the wood. He vaguely recalled the solicitor telling him of an ancient spring house that used to be somewhere on the property, too far from the house to be of use and with little more than stubs of stone walls that marked where it once stood. It was somewhere in this direction, he remembered. Was that where the hare laired?

Fair Maid and Boarer crashed into each other again as they gave chase, the hare continuing to confuse them by running beneath their legs and over their rumps as it made its dash. James had to laugh at the sight of it. This wasn't a chase! It was a circus! She was a streak of black fur that would quickly out distance them with a few quick bounds, only to reappear again from some side hedge or from behind some tree as though to ambush them! And then she would be away again, legs flying and eating up the yards, up and over fallen logs and beneath the bracken. Was there ever such a creature as this?? If he caught it, James was not sure he'd have the heart to kill such marvelous creature. It would be like tearing up a masterpiece or taking sledge to sculpture! The idea of capturing it arose in his mind, giving him a greater cause to smile at the prospect and greater purpose to his heels as he urged the horse onwards.

Then they were riding downwards, diagonally across a low hill so filled with trees and brush that he could scare see more than a few yards out. Relying on the two younger dogs to sniff out the hare was proving futile, even as she proved them fools. Youth and vigor were not working. Time for experience and cunning. "Draper! Go to, boy! Go to!" The ancient hound raised his nose to give a great sniff and then was off like a cannonball. Draper was bred to the trails, the finest beagle a man could ask for, and while the dog was advancing in years it knew the hunt and the game far better than any other. He might not be able to overtake the hare, but he could definitely smell it-

James was unable to complete the sentence for the world was pulled out from under him. The remains of the stone wall had appeared as if from nowhere, startling his mount into stopping cold and throwing the rider forward and over. The young master flew over his steed's head. A distant part of his mind became petulantly preoccupied with the fact that his hat had left his head at the same time. And then he was soaked. Cold spring water seeped into his clothes and boots even as the pond's water broke his fall. Sputtering, James attempted to rise, only to slip on some rock beneath the surface and fall backward into the waters again indignantly. Behind him, the horse whickered as if in amusement while the two younger dogs with tongues out jumped into the water with him joyously. Draper slowly worked his way downwards towards them, the old hound's sad face bearing the cast of one who is not amused.

The Daemon Lover

Baron De'Vance raised his head suddenly at the sound of his daughter's voice, a small smile of pleasure coming to his lips. He still grieved over the loss of her mother, dead these many some years now, carried off by one of the spring plagues that seem to ravish the the population nearly once every decade. That loss was tempered by Seraphina. She was the lord's only child and greatest joy, the latest product of a great line that had served the King and country loyally for generations, a child dutiful and beautiful who could ease her father's trouble mind with but a single word. Despite his current troubles, a heartfelt smile was the least he could offer her.

"Seraphina," he rumbled in paternal pride. He straightened the deep blue doublet about his shoulders, then gestured to a chair set near to him. "We... have an unexpected visitor. A minor matter, I'm sure. Rest yourself, my dear. Sit. I'm sure it will not take long."

There was a stir towards the great double doors that lead into the main hall, and the Baron's head turned back around. The change in his expression from benign to thunderous was a sheer sign that whatever was about to happen was not a minor matter. His eyes followed Broadmere as the ancient limped forward in his thick velvet robes of ochre, the golden chain of office clanking hard against this skinny chest. The Seneschal's lips trembled for a moment as he sought the words one might use on so strange on occasion. What courtier ever found himself in such a position?! To be forced to announce the arrival of some mud stained tramp to one of the great lords of the land? It was a shame he could scarcely bear. "My lord," he finally stammered out, "M-may I present... er... Tambernanny... the Minstrel."

Striding through the double doors as confident as any knight victorious, the young man was smiling as he ambled into the hall. Long legs ate up the distance at what could only be called a leisurely rate. He certainly did not dress like an entertainer. Blue trews, white tunic and green leather doublet, his clothes were travel stained and worn, as were the black boots upon his feet, his head topped off with a wide brimmed cap of matching emerald sprouted a peacock's feather, the only truly colorful spray about his wardrobe. No, he looked like any commoner you might see upon the road. The weathered leather pack slung over his one shoulder bulged, which might give one the impression that he was tradesmen or wandering merchant at best. Until you looked upon his face. Angular and handsome, his golden hair was long and curled gently about his shoulders. The goatee and mustache were of the same hue and shade. Setting it all off were the eyes: sparkling and bright green, they bespoke of mischief and amusement at the entire proceedings, as though the Baron's court and all in it were children playing some elaborate game that he had stumbled into. Looking to the left and right with a bemused smile he ambled forward to stop before the Lord's Chair. Then the smile went from bemused to dazzling. Had any peasant had such pleasing looks and wholesome teeth??

Lord De'Vance was un-moved at the sight of him. To him, this man was an annoyance that was arriving upon the day before the most annoying day in the year. That put the baron in a sour mood indeed. Leaning forward in his Chair, the steely eyes narrowed. "We are told," he rumbled, "that you appear here claiming Fallow Law, Master Tambernanny. I hope you are aware of the punishment for perjury when making such a claim against a liegeman of the King."

"Oh," the bard answered lightly. His voice was a soothing wry baritone, coaxing and light all at the same time. "Oh, yes, I am aware, your lordship. It's a very serious thing, isn't it, the whole stealing of land thing. While you didn't do it yourself, your great grandsire wronged one of my great grandsires regarding several acres of land just south of the River Wintermelt. The documents I've provided to your man," and he gestured towards Broadmere, " are copies of records that prove this. The land is now unusable as it has become a bone-yard, a cemetery for the poor and impoverished. Even were you to grant it back to me, I could not use it as it is."

The Lord De'Vance glanced at Broadmere, who could only shrug his withered shoulders and make a slight waving motion to the scrolls he held beneath one arm. The Baron's face went from frown to outright scowl at this intruder and his accusations, this tramp who appeared before him with no reverence or respect, no oblique deference or care for the noble's station. Did he not fear the power the lord could bring to bear upon him? Or was he simply so unlettered as to launch into his complaint without regard for his betters? "And what, Master Tambernanny, are you asking of me? Money? A grant of lands in exchange? Unfold your mind to us, man, that we may properly consider what course of action to best take."

At this, the traveler laughed out loud as if he had heard the most excellent jest. "Money, my lord? Land? What would I do with such things?? Land would tie me down, denying me the profession that I love as dearly as life itself! And coin? My pack bulges with all that I need," he tossed off negligently. "What good these earthly desires? You may as well promise me the moon, the sun, the stars themselves for all that I could use them."

Lord De'Vance stood suddenly, anger plain upon his face. "Then if you want nothing for these lands, why do you come before me?!"

"Why, to entertain you!" The minstrel laughed out loud again. "I shall drop any and all claim to those lands on the condition that I play before you for three nights: this eve, tomorrow and the day after, that being Lark's Day. The morning after Lark's Day? I shall leave! And any documents your man needs my mark to relinquish said claims shall be yours as well!"

"All this... just... to entertain me?"

Tambernanny bowed low, the first sign of any obeisance he had made since he had arrived. "You and your court, my lord Baron. You and your court." His head raised slightly, he caught a glimpse of the Baron's daughter and gave her the quickest of winks.

The Orphan's Wedding

Friend?? The country girl considered the word. She had a few friends that she saw now and then: Lilac from down the way, Wrenfly from over the way, cousin Brookfall... she hadn't seen any of them much of late, on account of them having already married. The lady was asking to be friends... but she was to serve the lady... She shrugged off the confusion, the thought too taxing for her mind to stay on top of. It was strange the lady not knowing to cook! What mother wouldn't teach her daughter such a needed task??

Feather's eyes darted about again while she bit her bottom lip. "He was a soldier," she finally volunteered, "I remember Da saying he were a soldier. But they sent him home. On account of his leg, miss. He were wounded, Da said, but they couldn't put on one of them legs that weren't a leg for whatever reason. So he came here and lives in Master and Mistress Pearsons' home." The girl paused. "They're dead, you see, miss. Only he didn't kill them, even though he's a soldier. They died almost three years ago. Master Vinegar didn't come here until a year later, which was two years ago." Her eyes narrowed with the effort of trying to recall something that happened more than a year ago. They finally focused as though she was staring at something far, far in the distance. "He does't come into town much, miss, or so my Da says. He... tends to stay on his own, quiet like. Doesn't like Master Bandleman, though. They fought about something, I remember. Now Master Vinegar takes his cart into one of the bigger towns for his chandleries and the like." The focus was gone, and Feather shrugged happily for she thought she was being of use. "Da thinks Master Vinegar ought to be married, that it's no good for a man his age to live without a wife, and my Ma told me I should find my way into his bed while I'm here, which is silly." Feather laughed at the ridiculousness of the very thought. "If I slept in his bed, where would he sleep?!"

There was a cough from the roadside, and Alderman Brown hustled his amble bulk towards the cart with his chest heaving. "Ah! Miss! Ah!" He stops before the cart, bent over with hands upon knees as he wheezed. Waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the cottage, he coughed again. "G-good new, miss! Master Vinegar'll take you in, right enough. Keep you safe, dry and fed. He's asked me to handle his accounts for him in this manner, but with night falling we should... we should get you settled! He's... ah... he's a busy man, though, so mid-days meals... er... you'll have those at our house, if you're willing. Or you can do as you like, well... of course you can, miss. A minute while I... catches me breathe, then... and I'll have your bags and such into the house." He gave another flutter of a hand wave towards his daughter. "Feather, sweets? Give your mistress a hand down and take her to Master Vinegar, would you, love?"

***

Victor closed the door behind him as he surveyed the central room, still trying to reconcile the idea of having people in his home after enjoying his solitude for some time. It wasn't that the large cottage was unkept or dirty. Far from it! Years of soldiering had left their mark upon him in many ways, including the discipline of keeping one's domicile and possessions in order. The large room of the stone cottage was dominated by fireplace and chimney that stood central and rose up through the ceiling beams; a clever design, its opposing hearths allowed for heating both sides of the room. The wider of the two sections served as a section for eating and crafting. It was homey, with a rag woven rug to keep the cold from biting the feet and simple but sturdy wooden chairs and tables; a narrow stairwell led up the second floor where the three bedrooms were located. None of them were used by Victor, though. He hadn't been up there more than a handful of times since purchasing the property. No, his bed he had wrestled himself to the far side of the fireplace. The space had originally been used for cooking and as a pantry for a large family; with himself as the only occupant, Victor easily had space to set up his sleeping arrangements to the back of the cottage while leaving the cooking area closer to the front door.

People. In the house.

Young Feather he could dodge. Victor had nothing against her personally, but he was growing tired of her family's machinations to see him married off. Some day he might well marry still, there being dances and festivals of one sort or another nearly every moon's passing, and those celebrations often bringing in folks from outside the village or taking the village to outside folks. It wasn't unreasonable to think he might meet some woman there to take to wife. Weary as his mind was, he was simply not ready for the venture.

This lass from the city, now? That was a different matter! He knew what the gentry and nobles and well to do preferred, which was to be in charge. Victor had scars across his back from 'gentlemen' officers who asserted their dominance with lash and frame, who ordered men into the breaches to die by the hundreds so they could declare their superiority over 'gentlemen' that did the same to their rank and file. Why would he have any expectation to believe different of her?

The Orphan's Wedding

The short answer is 'yes.' LIL'COn is a very small, local convention that hosts to gaming of any and all sorts. It's 'big brother' is Queen City ConQuest, which happens in the early fall. There's a room for video games both new and 'classic', board games, collectible card games, table-top rpgs, wargaming, etc.. etc... No LARP events, though. Not because it's not considered gaming but because there tends not to be enough room what with everything else going on. I hand craft and sell historically based board games (Morris games, Fox & Geese, Alquerque, Tafl, Tablut, Victorian horse racing games, and so on) as a vendor.

Sadly, the convention today got postponed due to the weather. All that last minute rushing and anticipation! Argh! But to grasp the silver lining of my castle that I've build in the clouds, it gives me a chance to get caught up on the writing rpgs! And there is a larger convention next weekend in Geneseo, NY. They are doing a steampunk theme this year, and as my display includes a 1930s cathedral radio that plays 1920s music while I dress in a style from 1910, I hope to draw in some decent profit.

The Orphan's Wedding

Feather sat besides the great lady in all of her finery, feeling small and mousy next to her. The Alderman was stout, wide and rosy cheeked, Feather was just the opposite: tall, thin, gawky and whey faced with plain features and flyaway blond hair that fought the attempt to braid it in even a single plait. Soulful grey eyes stared out in tremulous terror of saying the wrong thing or near anything at all. She was pretty, actually, in an underfed, country sort of way. A meek girl of seventeen, she feared offending the fine guest from the city. She had no idea what might offend such a person, but her father was taking great pains to tend to her so she must be important. Feather paused before and after each sentence. It was a halting way of speaking, but the farmer's daughter knew no other way to communicate; the words were there in her head, but she had to concentrate on getting them to come out in the right order.

"No, miss. Never been a maid." Feather looked down at her own feet as she sat upon her hands to still them. Eyes darted to and fro as she worked out what to say next, and there was a small smile of pleasure as she said eagerly, "I can wash, though, miss! Me Ma and I, we do the washing at home! And I can sew and cook, too!" Pause. "I don't know about stations though, mum. No engines come out this way, Da says, they're for the army men."

Her eyes lit up again as the next answer worked its winding way to her lips. "There's no shop, miss, but Master Bandleman comes with his cart every Seventh Day! He says he has wonders from all over the word for those of us with the coin! He might have some books, miss. And Seventh Day is only two days from now since this is Fifth Day!" Feathers eyes danced about again as if searching for anything she might have missed within her own mind. "Oh, and Da has a book!" she added helpfully. Feather looked up towards the city girl hopefully, watching for any sign of kindness or approval at her contributions.

Alderman Brown, the meanwhile, was rubbing his hands and chuckling in satisfaction. Everything was going well. The young lady would be safe in the house of a soldier, even one as wounded as Vinegar; she would have her holiday and hopefully tell her friends of the delightful little village that was good for resting the body and soul; Feather and Vinegar would spend some time close together and might grow on each other; and... and... all would be right with the world! "Well and good, Vinegar! Well and good! And I promise you, promise you I will, that you'll scarce hear a peep! Er... if you might spend at least a little time... helping Feather? You know she can be a bit... well... She's a good girl! Knows how to keep a house! But..."

Victor resisted sighing in annoyance again. This hardly sounded like he wouldn't notice the women living in his house. What it did sound like was that he was correct in thinning the Alderman was throwing his beloved daughter at Victor again in the hopes of a wedding and someone else to care for her. Brown loved his daughter, doted on her even! But declining years and sons who had families of their own to tend to made it harder to look after the simple girl. Having already given his word, though, Victor was loathe to go back on it.

"Fine. Fine. She can have the grand room up and on the left, the door locks on the inside. There's a crib room off of that with a small bed that Feather can have. Feather'll need to clean the dust out of the rooms and put to fresh sheets. There's spare blankets in the cedar chest in my room. Spare comforter, too." He rose up with wince, leaning heavily on his cane and glaring at the Alderman when he started forward as if to help. Defiant against his pain, Victor stumped about. "You get her things in. I'll stoke up the fire so she had embers for the bed warmer. I just have to find the damned thing, first."