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Author Topic: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight  (Read 5191 times)

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Offline Evie

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Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« on: June 12, 2011, 02:16:08 pm »
   Chapter Eight

   June 9, 1134
   Campsite near the road to Levington


   By the time the lady awakened from my sleep spell, I’d set up wards, unsaddled and tended to Murray, unrolled my bedroll and placed my captive upon it, created a cheery if somewhat small fire, and prepared an humble repast from the travel fare I’d sweet-talked the Green Barrel’s cook into bundling up for me.  I’d not told her I was about to steal her newest barmaid from her employ, of course.  Hopefully she’d never make the connection between my departure and Lady Jennet’s disappearance.  For that matter, hopefully she’d never made the connection between her new barmaid and a missing noblewoman named Jennet, though that last might have been too much to hope for.  Surely she must have at least suspected the establishment’s latest hire was not some simple rustic wench fresh in from the country, much less any native of Desse.

   Lady Jennet’s eyes widened as she noticed the pale glow of the ward surrounding us.   I waited for her to ask the questions she was undoubtedly thinking, but as I turned to face her more directly, her eyes slammed shut again and she feigned sleep.  Fine; let her play her game a little longer.  I stretched nonchalantly as I skewered a link of smoked sausage and held it over the fire.

   A slow movement caught the corner of my eye.  Without turning my head, I glanced in that direction.  The baron’s daughter was edging off my bedroll, easing her way closer to the blue-violet energies at our perimeter.  I bit my lip to keep from smirking as she reached out a hand to touch it, but a laugh escaped as she yanked it back with a shriek.

   “Mind your fingers, sweeting,” I told her belatedly, not bothering to turn my head in her direction.  I knew exactly what that jolt had felt like.  I’d felt it a time or two myself, during my early training and in my more careless moments brushing too close to my own campsite boundaries even as an experienced adept.  I’d been careful not to set the wards to killing strength, but the power bound up in it could still deliver quite a shock.  She could probably still feel the tingle of magical energies in the fingertips she had stuffed into her mouth to soothe them.

   “Go to hell!” she snarled at me around stinging fingertips.

   “I’d rather not,” I said mildly.  “I’ve got at least one bishop praying fervently that I won’t, and I’m hoping that will help balance out all the digging I seem to do in that direction.”  I grinned, offering her the skewered sausage I held.  “Maybe some food will help your temper.  I’ve also got bread and cheese if you like, and if you make like a well-bred young lady, I might even share my wine flask.”

   She stared up at the glowing dome around us, her expression grudgingly respectful.  “What happens to me if something were to happen to you while I was in here?” she asked.

   “Something like what?”

   Jennet shrugged.  “I don’t know!  What if you…died or something?  Would that bubble thing disappear, or would I be trapped in here?”

   I turned to stare at her.  Hell’s bells, what was she planning to do, steal my dagger and stab me in my sleep?  “If I remember my training correctly, you’d be locked in here for all eternity.  Or at least until you starve to death.  So let’s hope that doesn’t happen, all right?”  It was an outright lie—in actuality, the worst that could happen would be that she’d be trapped a day or two until the energies finally dissipated—but as I wanted to sleep sometime during the night, this didn’t seem like the time for complete honesty.  Not with a vengeful young Valkyrie glaring daggers at me, looking for all the world like she was ready to test my theory.

   She returned to my bedroll, pouting.  “Who told you where to find me?  Berthold?”

   Indeed, but I was hardly going to betray the man by saying so.  “Lucky guess,” I told her.  “I figured if you were serious about getting as far as you could from Levington, you'd make for the nearest port.  I hadn't figured on you serving me my nuncheon.  Why were you working at the Green Barrel?”

   She stared at her hands.  “I didn't have much coin on me when I left.  I needed to earn enough to buy passage elsewhere.  Berthold used to tell me stories about Desse; he grew up there and his niece works at the Green Barrel.  I figured I'd be safe enough there until I could save up enough to go someplace else.”

   Obviously Berthold had been careful about which stories to share with a gently bred young maid if she'd been under the impression that the Barrel or any other establishment in its immediate environs was a suitable safe haven for a lady.  Though, on second thought, the staff at the Barrel would have looked after the runaway chit well enough if she were known to be connected to family—even if the connection were so tenuous as a distant relation in service to nobility requesting the favor of them keeping an eye on a headstrong lass until she could be collected—and surely if Berthold had suspected she might turn up there, he'd have sent word on ahead.  The Barrel might be a lowly dive in comparison with, say, the Gold Lion Tavern in Rhemuth, but on the other hand it was several steps up from that vicious hellhole I'd rescued Grub from in Nyford.

#

   June 10
   Castle Levington


   “Welcome home, daughter!”  Baron Garulf's arms opened wide to engulf his prodigal daughter in their hearty embrace.  Clearly he had decided to let bygones be bygones.  The sulky maiden gave him a perfunctory hug before retreating to her solar to lick her wounds.  

   The Baron turned to me once she'd left, lowering his voice so that no one who might be standing nearby could overhear.  “She's not been violated, has she?”

   I shook my head. “Not to my knowledge, anyway.  Granted, she wasn't exactly minded to share confidences with me, but she appears to be hearty and whole enough.  A spirited lass, your daughter, and not exactly helpless.”  I shrugged the shoulder she'd bitten the previous day, still smarting a bit.

   “True, true.  She's a fine filly, my Jennet.”  

   I had to suppress a smirk at the observation.  While 'Jennet' was a common enough name in parts of the Kingdom, being a variant on Joan, it was also the descriptor of a certain sort of horse.  Knowing the Baron as I was beginning to, I had to wonder if his pride and joy had been named for a favorite ancestress or a favorite mare.  Either choice was likely in his mind to be equally complimentary.

   “Well, at least she's not been ruined in her little adventure, so I suppose as long as Lord Odwyn doesn't find out about it, there's no harm done, right?”  Baron Garulf studied me cautiously.  “King Kelson assured me that you are the soul of discretion.”

   “If by that you're obliquely asking if I intend to tell anyone about your daughter's brief sojourn in Desse, I assure you that your secret—and hers—is quite safe.  I can't, of course, speak for anyone else who might have noticed her, but with any luck, no one who might have would have recognized who she was.”

   The Baron of Levington looked doubtful.  “I don't know...I don't suppose you could go back there and...?”  He traced a line across his throat with his fingertips, raising an eyebrow at me.  I raised one in return.  Surely he couldn't be asking me to return from whence I'd come and eliminate all possible eyewitnesses?  

   “No, my lord, I could not.”  Jesú, Kelson would hardly thank me for creating a bloodbath in Desse!  Was the baron truly that mental?  “Consider, my lord, where would I even start?  I found her in a tavern; do you think they keep a list of everyone who entered and left during the days of your daughter's absence?  Not to mention a list of persons she may have encountered in town, or on the road to Desse?”

   “Well...I suppose it matters not, so long as her maidenhead's still intact and Lord Odwyn doesn't find out she ran off.”  The baron brightened.  “It's fortunate you returned when you did.  Lord Odwyn sent me word an hour ago that he intends to pay a call upon my pretty little filly this very evening.  So you'll have a chance to see my future son-in-law.”

   An honor I could do well enough without.  “I pray you'll excuse me, my lord, but I'd hoped to be well on my way back to Rhemuth by then.”  There was just the small matter of payment to be settled first.

   The baron frowned slightly.  “Oh, nonsense!  You just got back; I'm sure you'll want resting up overnight, at the very least.  I trust you'll understand if I don't actually introduce you to Lord Odwyn.  But we have a troupe of jongleurs providing the night's entertainment, so it would be worth your while to stay and watch them perform.”  He gave me a faint smile.  “Besides, you'll need to wait until after dinner at the very least to take your leave; Berthold has taken his half-day, and so he won't be able to settle accounts with you until he returns later this evening.”

   Well, that certainly convinced me as no other inducement could!  After the trouble the baron's heiress had put me through, I was definitely not planning on leaving Castle Levington without the remainder of my pay.

#

   Baron Garulf had been right about one thing; the jongleurs were well worth watching.  They were, in fact, about the only good thing that could be said about the night's feast.  The roast had been of indifferent quality, half-charred on the outside yet with the meat inside so underdone I fancied I could still hear the beast squealing under my knife, and it had been served up with a sallet so wilted and a frumenty so bland that I briefly considered simply gnawing on my trencher instead.  Unfortunately it was baked so hard that even with the food's juices soaking into it, I was afraid I might break a tooth if I tried sating my hunger on the overdone bread.

   How had Garulf grown fat and his daughter so beautiful on such fare? I could only surmise that Berthold wasn't the only member of the household who'd been given leave to be absent on that evening.

   Berthold had returned, though at the moment he was occupied, having withdrawn from the Hall earlier than the rest, hopefully to count up the coin still due me.  I glanced towards the High Table, craning my neck slightly to see around an acrobat who was contorting his lanky body into a shape so implausible, I wondered idly how he'd manage to get about if it actually ended up sticking in that position.  To my host's right sat Lord Odwyn, the Lady Jennet's unwanted intended, and to his right sat the lady herself, sharing her suitor's trencher.  Her storm-clouded features lifted at that moment, her gaze boring into me as if she were wishing death upon me thrice over.   I was glad, given the lethality of her focus, that the maiden was no Deryni.

   Lord Odwyn barely spared his attention for the lady, only distractedly shoving a few morsels of food her way.  He speared a gobbet of pork roast enthusiastically, gesturing with wild animation with his knife as he carried on a spirited conversation with his host.  The baron grinned, loudly appreciative laughter booming through the hall as he guzzled down more of his wine.  The wine, at least, was of better quality than the rest of the meal.  Berthold had seen to that much before quitting the Hall, bless him!

   I stared in fascination as Lord Odwyn turned his head briefly to sneeze gustily over his food.  He wiped at his nose with one sleeve and turned back to our host, evidently picking up right where he'd left off, heedless to the droplets of mucus now glistening upon his bushy beard like sparkles of dew.  From the Baron's lack of reaction, I had to assume he saw nothing amiss with his guest's deportment.  Lady Jennet, on the other hand, turned an unbecoming shade of green and pushed her end of the trencher away, evidently having lost her appetite completely.

   The steward of Levington returned to the Hall.  He gave a brief glance around the room, spotting me, and discreetly made his way to my side.  “The remainder of your fee, my lord,” he murmured as he reached me, handing the pouch to me beneath the table's edge.   

   I surreptitiously tested its weight as I affixed the pouch ties to my belt.  “My thanks, milord Berthold.”  I glanced towards the damsel at the High Table, feeling vaguely sorry for the poor chit despite her ill treatment of me the night before.  I could hardly blame her for that anymore, now that I'd seen the man her father intended to give her to.  In her place, I'd have bitten me too.  “Will she do all right with him, do you think?” I asked the loyal old retainer, seeking reassurance.

   The man frowned.  “Hopefully it won't come to that.  I'm still hoping Lord Garulf will come to his senses and find a more suitable mate for his daughter.  But if he doesn't....”  He sighed.  “I suppose I should have told the dear child more stories about the other side of my family in the Free Port of Concaradine.”  He gave me a wry smile and patted my arm.  “Not your fault, lad.  You had your orders, as I have mine.  Though had I known for certain she'd actually gone to Desse, I might have told you to try Nyford instead.”  He sighed.  “If only the man's lands weren't directly adjoining the baron's, I'm sure he'd be far more amenable to reason.  Normally he's quite solicitous of Lady Jennet's wishes—a bit too solicitous at times, if you ask me—but the prospect of a future grandson inheriting both his own lands and de Roet's manors has deafened his ears to other possibilities.”

   I watched as the lady slipped away from the table, unnoticed by either father or suitor, to retreat to her chambers.  “Has she some other suitor that she favors?” I asked.

   Berthold shook his head.  “Oh, I'm certain she'd favor pretty much any man who might ask for her hand at this point, so long as he wasn't Odwyn de Roet or some other of his ilk.  But it's not the Lady Jennet who must be won over, but her father.”  

   Another roar of laughter ensued from the High Table.  The Baron slapped his thigh, wiping at tears of mirth.  I stood, tearing my eyes away from my host and his favored guest.  “Berthold, I think I shall require a bed for the night after all.  It's growing quite late, and I begin to think Baron Garulf is right; my trip to Rhemuth can wait until morning.”

   “Very well, my lord.”  Berthold studied me with a faint smile, though he forbore to ask the question brewing in his eyes.  It was just as well; I'd not have answered him honestly.  What he didn't know, he couldn't be held responsible for not stopping.

#

   June 11, after midnight
   Castle Levington


   The Great Hall was silent, aside from the occasional grunt or snore from a member of the baron’s household.  I rose from my pallet as silently as I could.  The straw filled mattress rustled slightly in the darkness, but no more so than any of the other pallets cushioning restless servants as they slept.  

   I extended my senses, using my Deryni gift to ensure that no one besides myself was still awake, perhaps simply feigning sleep.  All of the minds around me were caught up in either the stillness of dreamless slumber or the characteristic sort of mental activity that I’d come to associate with a dreamer’s sleep.  Excellent, all was just as I’d hoped I’d find it.

   I crept out of the Hall and up the staircase leading to where I knew I would find the baron’s private chambers.  I knew exactly where I was headed; I had, after all, been there once before.  Deep inside, I thanked Berthold for the tour he’d given me three days earlier, though doubtless he’d not guessed I’d put my newly gained knowledge to such use.

   There it was…the third door on the right.  I lay a cautious handle on the doorknob, extending my senses within.  As I’d hoped, all was silent inside.  There were two people within—one mind caught up in dreaming, the other one quiescent.   I touched the dreamer’s mind once more.  It was Jennet’s, and her dreams were troubling her.  I could hear a quiet whimper through the wooden door.

   I briefly toyed with the idea of pushing both minds into a deeper state of sleep, but I wasn’t sure I could do so from this distance with unfamiliar minds and no direct physical contact.  In theory it was possible, but there was too much at stake for me to risk the attempt.  I could, if I mucked things up too badly, accidentally jolt one or both into complete wakefulness instead.  Definitely not something I wanted to risk.

   I held my breath and turned my focus to the tumblers in the door’s lock instead, using my mind to shift each one as silently as I could until I felt the door’s latch turn freely under my hand.  I pushed the door open.  It creaked quietly on its hinges.  One sleeper stirred, but only long enough to roll over on her trundle.  She appeared to be one of the lady’s maidservants.

   I walked on cat feet towards the dreamer, pondering the best way to approach her.  I meant this as a rescue, but considering our last encounter, she was unlikely to view it in that light or to be cooperative.  The last thing I needed was for her to wake up screaming that there was a man in her bedchamber looming over her, intending mischief and mayhem.  Kelson would be less than charmed to hear this explanation for how one of his knights’ steaming carcasses ended up dumped on his doorstep, and while I believed I could probably best the baron or his prospective son-in-law in a fair fight, I didn’t care to take my chances against the entire Levington household.  No, it would probably be for the best if I left her sleeping for the moment.

   I touched the maidservant’s brow softly, sending her into the deepest slumber possible without stopping her breathing altogether.  Hopefully she would remain sound asleep until the dawn’s light.  I did something similar to Lady Jennet, but with a much lighter touch.  I wanted her easily awakened, but only when I was ready for her to be.

   Once I was assured she would stay asleep, I lifted her out of the bed.  Quite fortunately, she was a dainty little damsel; I felt grateful she’d evidently taken after her late mother and not after her hulking brute of a sire.  Turning towards the door, I realized the first flaw in my plan. Carrying her in both arms as I was would leave me unprepared to draw my sword if anyone chanced to notice our departure.  No, that would hardly do.  Shifting her weight, I tossed her over my left shoulder instead, freeing my sword arm.  Much better.  I grinned to myself as I realized the inherent dangers of carrying the volatile lass in this position; it was a plan that could end up biting me on the backside quite literally, if the chit awakened too soon and decided to defend herself from her abductor.  The thought of simply gagging the feisty little ferret held a certain charm, but I suspected such a move would far outstrip the boundaries of gentlemanly behavior, if hauling her about like a sack of turnips had not done so already.

   I stopped at the door to listen and sense my surroundings before opening it again.  As I'd hoped, all was still quiet within the castle.  I slipped out, making my way silently yet swiftly towards the stables below.

#

   Fortunately my saddle and all my kit were easily found near Murray's stall, for I dared not wake a groom to ask after them.  There'd be too many questions about my sudden departure in the middle of the night as it was, and even more once the heiress's disappearance was discovered.  My preference would have been to have left the castle the night before, so the Baron and his men would assume me well on my way to Rhemuth by the time the maiden was discovered missing, but while I'd felt confident I could make my way from the Hall to her chamber during the wee hours of the morning and pick my way through one locked door, I'd been less confident I could sneak my way back into a mostly unfamiliar castle's outer defenses singlehandedly without drawing the attention of the presumably alert night guards.  

   I pondered my options as I tacked up, saddling Murray, checking and tightened the saddle's girth, making sure the saddlebags were secured, securing bit and bridle.  There was a groom I’d discovered sleeping nearby; I altered his memories as he slept, giving him the false memory of having been awakened in the middle of the night to make ready my horse because an urgent message had just arrived summoning me back to Rhemuth immediately.  He would remember little else besides that, his focus naturally being on waking up enough to get my rouncey saddled, but he'd have some vague memory that it had been one of the castle guards who had awakened him.

   Yes, that would do.  By the time it became apparent that none of the guards had similar memories of coming to the stables to awaken the groom en route to fetching me from the Hall, I'd be long gone.  Or perhaps it might even be possible to approach one of the guardsmen and plant such memories?  That would be even better, if it could be managed.  How to manage it, though....

   I glanced at the sleeping heiress.  Now was as good a time to wake her as any; I certainly didn't want to be burdened with her dead weight while making my escape, if she could be coaxed into riding silently.  And I thought, given the alternative of marrying Lord Odwyn, she could be quite easily convinced to help me lure one of the guardsmen out of sight of his companions long enough for me to plant the false memory of the summons in his mind.  If only I could get her to listen to my plan rather than simply react with disgust and horror upon her first sight of me.

   Fortunately, I had an idea for that as well.

   I probed at a certain spot within her mind, rendering her temporarily mute before I woke her up.

#

   She would have screamed when she saw me, but I’d already eliminated that threat, so she settled for kicking sharply at my ankle.  Fortunately I caught the movement from the corner of my eye and dodged just out of range.

   The lady struggled to her feet.  Stepping back into range of the flailing fists, I grabbed her by one wrist, pulling her roughly towards me so I could pin her arms to her sides. Listen to me, you little hellion; I’m trying to rescue you!  I Mind-spoke to her as I drew her close.

   She gave up her fight, although her eyes still looked suspicious as they glared up at me, studying my face in the dim moonlight streaming in through the stable window.  

   Do you want me to take you with me, or shall I leave you here to marry Lord Odwyn?  I could, you know.  It’s your choice.  I’ll not force you to leave here if you’ve changed your mind and decided to become Lady de Roet after all.

   The fury in her face slowly subsided, turning into confusion. I decided to relax the control I’d set in her mind, allowing her to whisper.  “Why are you doing this?” she asked once she realized that she could.

   I sent her a brief impression of Lord Odwyn as I’d seen him the previous night, sneezing over her food, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and—I wasn’t sure whether to consider it worst or best of all—almost completely ignoring his bride-to-be.   Look, we got off to a bad start, but I have sisters.  I can’t imagine either of my sisters being given over to a lout like that.  Is the baron your father mad, an imbecile, or simply land-greedy? One of those sisters had once been given over to a husband far worse than Lord Odwyn, but at the time neither my brother Seisyll nor I had realized it.  And once we did…well, that impediment to our Javana’s happiness no longer existed.  

   The emerald eyes looking up at me filled with tears.  I bit back a curse; the last thing I wanted to deal with right now was a crying woman.  Actually, the last thing I wanted to deal with ever was a crying woman, but now was definitely not a good time. So, are you coming with me, or would you prefer just to head in some other direction as I look the other way?  That would make my life so much easier, come to think.  If she decided to run off on her own again, I could simply unsaddle Murray and put all my kit back, sneak back into the Hall and return to my pallet as if I’d never left it, and when the damsel was discovered missing in the morning, accept another half-pouch of coin in exchange for assurances that I’d search for her again.  And then I’d avoid Desse, Concaradine, and every other port in Gwynedd for the next decade.  It was a nice fantasy while it lasted.

   “Maybe you’re not such a thoroughgoing bastard after all,” she whispered.  “I’ll go with you.  If nothing else, you’re better than Lord Odwyn.”

   It was hard to say whether that was damning with faint praise or praising with faint damns.  Normally I love it when a plan goes right.  This time, though, I suspected I’d bitten off far more than I could chew.


Chapter Nine: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=731.0
« Last Edit: June 20, 2011, 09:21:34 am by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Evie

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #1 on: June 12, 2011, 02:22:59 pm »
(I have friends from Canada coming into town tomorrow, so y'all get this chapter a day early.  Enjoy!)
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline AnnieUK

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #2 on: June 12, 2011, 02:27:29 pm »
Oh Sextus, (shakes head sorrowfully) will you never learn?

And I have to admit to LOL at this bit "What he didn't know, he couldn't be held responsible for not stopping." and imagining Alkari berating him for grammar.  Look at all those negatives in the same sentence, Alkari!

Offline derynifanatic64

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #3 on: June 12, 2011, 03:20:23 pm »
The s... is really going to hit the fan when all of this gets out.  Sextus may end up wishing he'd never been born.  I wonder how history will treat him.  Maybe a flash-forward segment within a chapter with this story being read by Arilans in the 21st century.
We will never forget the events of 9-11!!  USA!! USA!!

Offline Alkari

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #4 on: June 12, 2011, 04:20:34 pm »
A sequence of negatives?  Quite understandable when Sextus was in the grip of mental confusion and temporary insanity.   I wonder how long it will take him to come to his senses, LOL?   Denis will be wearing out those volumes with lists of sins and penances ...

 

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #5 on: June 12, 2011, 04:41:21 pm »
LOL!  Yes, Sextus is undeniably not thinking on all cylinders right now.  :D  Not that he'd be too bothered about using double negatives in any case; he's a medieval man, not post-Renaissance, and that pesky rule didn't really come into play until fairly modern times, historically and linguistically speaking.  They're still considered part of perfectly grammatically correct speech in some other languages, even if English speakers get our knickers in a twist over them now due to trying to over-think the logic.  It's that new-fangled Age of Reason thinking trying to apply mathematical type thinking on linguistics.   ;)   (See http://www.thefreedictionary.com/double+negative for a capsule history of the "double negatives" rule.)  So if double negatives were just fine and dandy for such writers as Chaucer and Shakespeare, Sextus would figure he's in excellent company, even if 21st Century grammarians would clutch at their hearts and threaten a dead faint.   ;D
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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #6 on: June 12, 2011, 05:00:13 pm »
As I understood what he was saying, I wouldn't worry about it anyway!!

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #7 on: June 12, 2011, 10:15:26 pm »
The s... is really going to hit the fan when all of this gets out.  Sextus may end up wishing he'd never been born.  I wonder how history will treat him.  Maybe a flash-forward segment within a chapter with this story being read by Arilans in the 21st century.

"Wow.  Great-great-great-whatever-Grandpa Sextus sure was an idiot at times, wasn't he?"

"Yeah.  But at least his horse was sensible."

 ;D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
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Offline Elkhound

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #8 on: June 13, 2011, 09:58:35 am »
Aside from anything else, Sextus has her down in the stables in her nightie.  Perhaps there should be something about his perloining a set of boy's clothing for her?  (It would be easier her travelling in male disguise; see any Shakespeare comedy.)

Offline Evie

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #9 on: June 13, 2011, 10:24:43 am »
She'd probably have to agree to cut her hair short, though.  There's a limit to how much hair one can stuff inside a man's hat, and ladies wore their hair quite long in those days.   :D

The next chapter begins several days later, but I think it's highly likely Sextus managed to "acquire" more suitable clothing for her before that.  Chances are she wore a spare set of his clothing until they got close to a town, then he bought her something a bit more suitable (at least let's hope he bought it rather than borrowed it off some clothesline!) using some of the money from that nice coin pouch he'd recently earned, and brought it back to wherever they were camping for her to change into.   Having her ride for three days wearing her nightgown might make them just a tad conspicuous....  ;D

"Have you seen my daughter?"
"What does she look like?"
"Red hair, emerald eyes, practically naked...."
"Heck, yeah!  She was with some lucky bloke; they went that way."

 ;)
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
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Offline Elkhound

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #10 on: June 13, 2011, 11:24:20 am »
She'd probably have to agree to cut her hair short, though.  There's a limit to how much hair one can stuff inside a man's hat, and ladies wore their hair quite long in those days.   :D

They could braid it and pretend she's a borderer.

Offline Evie

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #11 on: June 13, 2011, 01:39:32 pm »
Considering that the border braid, once doubled back on itself and secured, is only a few inches long, that implies shoulder length hair or thereabouts.  Given that Jennet's hair would be somewhere between hip and knee length, that's one heck of a huge border braid, even doubled!  :D
« Last Edit: June 13, 2011, 01:42:19 pm by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #12 on: June 13, 2011, 04:15:09 pm »
Seisyll was so impressed when Sextus brought Brat/Amanda/Grub home.  I can imagine the reaction if he shows up with Lady Jennet in tow!  Uncle Denis just might haul poor Sextus off to a monastary for his own good (or that of the Arilan family).
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Evie

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #13 on: June 13, 2011, 04:33:36 pm »
Fortunately, Sextus doesn't live at Tre-Arilan these days, since he's now in Lady Avisa's household.

Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure Lady Avisa is not going to be any more thrilled by this latest development than Seisyll would be.   :D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Elkhound

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Re: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered--Chapter Eight
« Reply #14 on: June 13, 2011, 09:32:53 pm »
Sextus in a monastic establishment?  What did the abbot ever do to you?

 

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