Justric

The Highwayman Came Riding

Well, I think I might be a bit old fashioned... Actually, several people tell me that I am rather old-fashioned... but I believe that this is how writing partners should act towards one another. Partners should support one another, offer constructive criticism and offer ideas to play with, accept both the limitations of themselves and their partners while testing those limitations to always improve without offending. There will no doubt be times when I will be the one flailing about and you shall carry me, while other times we'll both be standing there staring at our respective screens completely stumped and laughing as we help each other along. And then there will be those rare, glorious moments when we're both synced and just throw post after post at one another for half the night just to see what happens next.

I hope you're feeling well again soon, but by no means should you rush your rest and recovery!

The Bonny Black Hare

It's alright. Usually I don't start to wonder if I don't hear back within a week. About a third of the writing partners who responded to my latest interest check have dropped off the face of the earth without a word, and I was beginning to fear you were one of them!

The Highwayman Came Riding

Robert moved to stand before the parlor windows, hands behind his back as he gazed out through the panes to the darkening countryside and the stars that were starting to twinkle overhead in the indigo of evening. 'Open our doors,' she had said. Unthinkingly his mind translated the words into 'letting the enemy into our camp.' He could not stand the Duchess in the least. A pushy woman who lorded her title over anyone and everyone, a woman worse than any of the armchair generals safe in their gentlemen's clubs and coffee shops who had the audacity to claim they knew what the army should and should not do. The few times he had met her in the past, Robert managed to remain pleasant and smiling only by secretly imagining his fingers around her fat throat, squeezing. The Willoughbys, at least, were harmless ineffectuals. Bland little people who did bland little things; Robert recalled that the husband had something to do with manufacturing or some such.

Instead of answering her subtle plea to have the very civilization he sought to escape now come to them, Robert focused on her first comment. "I may have found you a gardner, actually. A young man in the village. Former soldier who lost his hand. Seems like a stout fellow. I left word for him to come and see me should he want gainful employment." Shaking his head in disgust, he continued in a soft murmur. "I pray he calls upon me. It is an evil thing for a man to waste away in idleness because no one sees his value."

The thought of it soured his mood further. Was he any better than poor young Hammish? It was doubtful the boy had willfully surrendered his missing hand, and Robert knew enough of the land that he was just as certain the farmers here about would have little use for a maimed laborer. Just so, Robert had not willfully surrounded his former life and the love he once had for Diane. It had been torn from him slowly by the war just as the surgeon's saw had severed Hammish's hand. In London, Robert would have wasted away in idleness. The gentility and nobles had no use for a soldier who may have served faithfully but still returned as part of the losing side of an unpopular war. Here in the countryside at least...

All the same, there were oaths he had sworn to his wife. He afforded her some pity, bound together in ties that neither of them relished anymore but that she was determined to honor. No, he did not love Diane anymore, as much as he wished he still could. Nor could he let her loyalty to him and their marriage go unrecognized. Finally, he reluctantly agreed. "If it would... please you. Then, yes. Invite who you will, my dear. And should you have those still among your acquaintances who may not shy away from men of caliber who serve the King, invite them to Sunday's dinner as well. The major and his men no doubt appreciate dining with those who still see a soldier's worth. Especially if the seeing is done from a pretty face." He turned about slowly and stiffly, but managed to summon up a small smile of resignation. "I... have no desire to see you stifled and stilled from your friends and amusements, and there are days I fear you might wilt from following me into my seclusion. I still maintain you would have been happier finishing out The Season in London. But small gatherings only, if you would? For the sake of my nerves?"

Robert left several things unmentioned in his agreement. Small gatherings would allow him the luxury of escaping if he felt the need without having to make too many apologies. It would also give him more room to continue to ponder the problem of Bess. Or rather, the problem of Bess's father.

"I think I shall have a drop of brandy," he declared as he faced the windows again, "and then to retire. The walk in the country air was refreshing but taxing."

The Orphan's Wedding

It was a nice little gaming con. Made the best profit to date, too! (I'm a vendor). But it can be exhausting, and I am ever so glad to be back to writing!!

The Orphan's Wedding

Maybe it was the mention of apples that softened his heart towards her just a bit. It was the apple trees that had snared him when he first found the property, the sight of them hanging untended and heavy upon their branches and the smell of those that had fallen to the ground fermenting and filling the country air with the sweet aroma. Upon his discharge, he knew he wanted a life in the rural hills that was far from either city or battlefield. Victor had never desired to be a farmer so much in his life, despite a childhood spent being shipped back and forth between the orphanage and the work fields. Yet with his senses lulled by ripe redness and intoxicating fresh fruit, he knew his place was working the land by his own hand. His softening towards his guest was betrayed to her by the way Victor's body marginally relaxed as he gazed at those same trees.

"The trees in front there?" he finally offered quietly. "Those apples are free for the picking. Take any you want off of those. Pear trees 'long the far side of the house, too. They're all just as good as anything else I grow. Any one from Arbordale can do the same if they like, so long as they don't get cocky and strip them bare by the wagonload. Small enough price to pay to keep the neighbors happy, and it keeps most of the children from stealing outright from the proper orchard in back. Speaking of which? You can go walking back there if you want, makes for a nice morning hike, but leave off any of the fruit. That all gets sold to the City and towns."

Turning his gaze from the line of trees that separated his property from the country lane that lead past it, Victor turned to look up at her. How long ago had he been the stranger here? True, the villagers of Arbordale had accepted him fairly quickly as one of their own. Most of them even acted as though he had lived among them all of his life instead of just a couple of years, especially once they discovered that despite having been a soldier he did know something of farming. But this pretty young lady was from the city, and while she might have been welcomed as a guest, there would be those in the village who would be far happier with her coin than with her. "Miss...Kijani, is it, then? Not sure if you'll understand, but... Folks around here tend to be a bit private. They like their quiet. And while they all love a good tongue wag to pass the time, they don't like to share that gossip too much with outsiders. So if a bunch of washer wives suddenly shut their gobs when you walk by, don't take it too personally."

Victor looked away suddenly, busying himself with pulling out his pipe from a belt pouch and relighting it with a lucifer match. While trying to give her a kind word, he realized he had been gazing at her as though she were one of his trees. Like the apple trees, she was fresh and alive and healthy. This close to her, Victor could catch the faint whiff of day-faded perfume that came across as enticing as apple blossoms and pear leaves. To cover the sudden embarrassment, he coarsely struck the match and started to puff at the briarwood's stem. "Best advice I can give, Miss Kijani? Don't go poking about. And don't bring any trouble."

The Daemon Lover

The Lord De'Vance leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand at his close cropped beard of iron grey before answering his daughter. "Who is he, indeed?" he muttered to himself before casting sidelong glance at Seraphina. "He is a plaintiff seeking justice, my dear. A justice that we are charged with dispensing regardless of our personal feelings on the matter. Moreover... he is a man claiming that our family has wronged his, a claim that can be quite damaging to both our standing in His Majesty's sight and to your marriage prospects. The latter of the two concerns me far more that the former, my child, for as I love you I would have the best match possible for you. Not only for your own standing, but for your happiness as well." His morose countenance broke into a soft smile as he chuckled at himself. "I should have seen you married years ago, Seraphina. Only I am loathe to lose the comfort you bring me as my daughter. Your mother... she would be scolding me now if she knew I was not giving you your due as a grown woman."

Standing regally and moving towards her, the Baron took both of her hands in his while a paternal smile graced his grizzled face. "I do not see how any could outshine you, my child." He raised her hands to his lips to kiss them lovingly. "But I know how you love your fripperies. Go then. Bring the grace and elegance to brighten our gloomy halls, and let all men know why I take such pride in your beauty. But attend me later this afternoon with Broadmere; I would see this matter with the minstrel settled and have you as witness to carry it to the next generation."

Turning to allow his daughter her leave, he rounded upon Broadmere. "I would know the whole of this matter, Broadmere. Examine his claim most carefully, by my command! Should he be in the right of this, three nights of his insolence will be small enough a price to pay to settle all. And should he be playing me the fool? Then he will provide us with three days of amusement in a less pleasant manner than he might wish."

***

Broadmere hurried after the minstrel, brown robes swishing and swinging as the old man scurried down the corridor. He knew a room was to be made available for Tambernanny in the servants quarters, a single bed accorded to him by reason of his legal claim, but he wanted to be sure that was where the man could be found if he needed to question him further. So intent was the Seneschal in running down his quarry that he nearly passed him in the hallway! The minstrel had stopped to admire a tapestry of unique design.

"Ah, Master Tambernanny! I had some-"

"What do you think of this scene?" the young man asked expansively. "I mean, look at it, sir! A unicorn, a nymph, a rather ridiculously depicted satyr... As if the three were merrily at a tea party! Such a sight could never happen, had to have been born out of some tedious weaver's under taxed imagination! Now if it had been a dryad?" He gave a little wiggle of one hand to indicate that such an image might be marginally preferable. "It would not offend my eye as much if at least the weaver had some skill!"

Broadmere was not only caught blindsided by the casual interruption from someone far beneath his station but also outraged at the insult. "That tapestry," he bristled with firmed jaw, "was created by our Lord De'Vance's grandmother, Master Tambernanny. It was a gift to her son, our Lord's father, upon his successful return from putting down the Brewer's Revolt in Afterdam! It is here in the hall so that all might admire her artistic endeavor and its elegant beauty in their passing!"

Tambernanny half turned about to curiously regard the old man before nodding knowingly. "Of course, of course, my lord Seneschal. His grandmother, you say?" He faced the tapestry again and took another moment to examine it. Silence prevailed for several moments as he pondered the tapestry anew, armed with the historical significance of the piece. Shrugging, he shifted to walk back down the hall towards the servant's quarters. "Well, much can be forgiven of the dead, I suppose."

Sputtering in indignation, he stared after the bard incredulously before glancing quickly at the tapestry and then following after again. "Master Tambernanny!" he called firmly, "There is much we must discuss! I insist you that make yourself available so that we may complete the details of establishing the grounds and the settlement of your claim of Fallow Law."

"Yes!" the bard agreed enthusiastically as he clapped his hands together. "Yes, lord Seneschal, there is much... much... that we need to discuss! For example, which balcony out there in the courtyard is the Baron's daughter's?"

From indignation to affronted ire at the minstrel's improper question, Broadmere grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him to a stop. Tambernanny allowed himself to be halted and faced the old man with a raised eyebrow. "And what," Broadmere grated, "business is that of yours, Master Tambernanny?"

The young man's expression was surprised innocence, his other eyebrow arching up to match its brother. "Why, it is every business of mine! I am an entertainer! A musician! A jester and jangler and jongler and joker! It is my trade, sir! My very trade and livelihood, to make people laugh and smile!" Lowering his voice confidentially, he leaned a smidgen closer to the vassal. "You must have seen how she scowled at me? That frown? That glowering glance that would have flayed me where I stood if only it could? Can you, a man of your years and experience in life, a man who has seen much of the world and what it has to offer... Can you tell me in all honesty that such a beautiful face as hers should be marred by an expression like that??"

For the life of him, Broadmere could not find any reason to argue against the tramp's reasoning.

And so it was that within the hour, Tambernanny found himself beneath her balcony to play for her. His fiddle he had pulled from his pack, and the serfs and guardsmen about their duties in the yard paused at the sound of his rosined bow skipping lightly across the strings to ring like light laughter. It was a fast jig, lively and joyous but far more complex than anything one might hear at any barn dance or country faire. Tambernanny's fingers slide and jumped along the fretboard in such manner that seemed beyond mere professionalism. In fact, it almost seemed that his fingers were not helping to make the music but actually dancing to it! All the while, the man grinned happily as though there were no other place he would rather be and no other thing he would rather be doing.

The Bonny Black Hare

Have you lost interest? It's alright if you have, I know sometimes things just do not work out. But I would like to know if possible.

Thanks!!

Angel of Mud

Have you lost interest? It's alright if you have, I know sometimes things just do not work out. But I would like to know if possible.

Thanks!!

The Orphan's Wedding

Pretty good convention! I made a decent profit, too. Now I just have to get the cash into the bank before my creditors start cashing the checks! I just got back a few short hours ago, so I’m off to bed. With luck, I should have a reply for you by tomorrow evening.

The Highwayman Came Riding

I think you are perfectly correct in assessing Diana. How Robert sees her and how she actually is are two different things, and I like the direction that you seem to be taking with her! Mind you, a side comedy-romance between her best friend and one of the officers could also make for an amusing back story! That's neither here nor there, but I thought I would throw that out there. In all honesty, Diana is your character. Evolve and shape her as you will, and I shall not wish for you to play her any differently than that.

Do not worry about being overly anachronistic! The idea is to simply flow with the general zeitgeist of the time; I'm sure if an expert in the time period were reading this, s/he would point out several glaring historical errors of my own. More importantly, the idea is to have fun telling the story together.

I just got back in from a convention a few short hours ago, so I’m off to bed. With luck, I should have a reply for you by tomorrow evening.