Episode 5 part 4
Rupert Schumacher leaned heavily upon the wooden crutch, face red. The padded bandages upon his backside doing little to comfort the wound. He could not sit, he could not stand, the snickering looks of the assembled court adding to his humiliation. Baroness called for the court and those leaders involved with the Trade Conclave to attend in the early afternoon. The castle was abuzz with activity as room to room searches had been performed to root out the assassin throughout the night.
Xavier nursed a tankard of water, his movements hindered to the point Ferrell had to help his cousin to court. Adjusting his collar upwards to hide the rope burn on his neck left the farmer with more questions. In the broad room heavy scents of perfume and herbs were used to cover up other odors of the previous night.
Sylvia Ryan sat upon the throne, dressed in uncharacteristic heavy mail painted black, the circlet of her authority resting on a pillow that was placed on a stone pillar. A half dozen men at arms stood to the side of the throne along with Aideen. The Baroness’s expression was dark and easily slid to irate as the room filled, increasing the volume of murmuring.
Cradling a training arrow in the crook of her arm Baroness Sylvia Ryan began, her voice building with wrath. “For over three hundred years we have held these gatherings. Last night violations took place. It has caused me to reconsider having them in the future. Yet, I am getting ahead of myself. Violations to the pacts as they stand is to challenge MY sovereignty.”
Using the arrow to point at her golden circlet, Sylvia shot to her feet, showing she could move easily in the heavy armor. “Who ‘ere wants my seat? Who among ye wants these lands and duty? If challenge there be, step forward!”
Striding along the carpeted path the Baroness stared down all comers. Even Xavier found himself looking at the ground, her angry gaze shattering any resolve those in attendance had. Satisfied the Baroness again took her seat, twisting her hands around the arrow. “Now we ‘ave settled this. The next violation ends with expulsion ‘n black listing from the agreement for no less than end of my reign as Baroness.”
Murmurs rolled through those gathered, the idea of losing access to trade connections would be ruinous. Imperial emissary Rupert limp hopped with the crutch to address the Baroness, discomfort coating his words. “Your grace. There is still the matter of the attempt on my life. In addition, I do not see Lady Meriwether to corroborate my statement.”
The Baroness leaned forward on the throne, twirling the arrow lazily between her fingers, her face a hard neutral. “Regarding the circumstances, I granted her the solitude she petitioned for. She need not be here.”
Rupert’s confusion shed into anger, “I insist upon her presence. I was nearly assassinated and this is how the matter is to be treated? It only marks Lady Meriwether as suspect!”
Tapping the fletching of the arrow on her cheek, eyes closing to slits once again, Sylvia Ryan nearly growled. “Why does this arrow smell like Imperial arse? Oh, I remember, because it been in one. Mind yer tone, lest I put it back where ‘twas found. Wit interest.”
Rupert could barely keep his feet, the wound throbbed. “You mock me? I a representative of the Undying Emperor! His armies could crush this place in a matter of days!”
Baroness Sylvia Ryan ground her teeth, “What are ye to say to yer, Emperor? That ye were stuck in the arse with a trainin’ arra as ye attempted to rape one of my vassals? No poison on the arra, an’ as my healers tell it the wound was three finger deep. Out of respect I will look into the matter.”
The Emissary fumed, “That is all I can ask, your Grace. This servant of the Emperor thanks you.”
*** ** **
Xavier still required help back to his room, Ferrell lent a shoulder to his cousin. “Well that went as expected.” The Captain remarked; his voice carried amusement.
“How so, Cousin? She looked ready to kill someone.” Ferrell replied, almost wanting to look over his shoulder the hall they just left.
“Something you will never understand without exposure to court. She wasn’t going to kill anyone. That would invite trouble. Right now, she has the privilege to pry into any trade agreement being conducted as she investigates in search of this assassin. Whom ever attacked Rupert just gave the Baroness a standing position over the entire board.” Xavier said with obvious envy.
“What do you think they will do when they capture the assassin?” Ferrell asked, keeping his voice low.
Thinking about it a moment Xavier shrugged briefly, “Well to save face she will likely have to execute the person responsible for the attack. The matter had been dropped but like an idiot Rupert stuck his ass in the fire. He will pay dearly for that in ways unseen but the attacker will have to die first.”
Ferrell felt his stomach drop, blood pounded in his ears. Numbly, he finished escorting his cousin to the room. Wandering the halls Ferrell wiped at his running nose, holding back tears that yearned to be set free. Finally reaching his own room the farmer dropped, sitting hunched over on the edge of the down mattress. Putting his face in his hands, Ferrell sighed deeply, the stress making his chest tight. “What is a man to do?”
“A man kin start by answerin’ some questions.” Replied the Baroness.
Jerking his head up seeing that Sylvia sitting at the table in the room, carving another slice of apple with a slender dagger. Judging by the remains of the meal she had been there a while. “I am curious to know why a man of the Empire would attack another from the same land. Care to answer, Sir Ferrell?”
Ferrell smoothed his hands over his face. “I didn’t see the color of his uniform. I saw the color of his heart and I chose to stop him.”
The Baroness’s brow furrowed, “I dinna expect that nature of answer. So, this be no internal conflict between the two of ye?”
“None, your Grace.”
Shifting to her feet, the Baroness adjusted her robes, her bare feet padding along the floor. Settling next to Ferrell her look one of pity, “Show me yer hands, Ferrell. Now tell me why yer cousin picked ye to come with ‘im.”
Holding out his hands, Ferrell shrugged. “I was the closest family member to answer the call so he says. That and people do not know me. I am just…”
“A farmer. I thought I be mistaken when I shook ye hand.” The Baroness interrupted.
Tracing her slim fingers over the farmer’s warm calloused hands. “He brought a simple man to ah’ complicated arrangement. Awkward, honest an’ not too bad on the eyes. Sadly, yer cousin also knows ye be expendable.”
Frowning Ferrell tensed wanting to pull his hands away, “Cousin Xavier would never do that to me. Please, your Grace. What would have done in my place?”
Pushing the farmer onto his back, the Baroness straddled his hips quickly. Hair nearly obscuring her eyes as she considered Ferrell. Her voice grew husky with desire, “Woulda killed ‘im. Ye did ‘im a mercy an’ that shows a level of honor not seen in courts.”
Ferrell’s mind reeled as his body squirmed under the pin. The Baroness was everything a man could want and more, yet he just wanted to get away. “I ‘ave an inkling of yer feelings for Aideen. So, donna worry about me just takin’ ya. I do my best thinkin’ up here so tis noah personal.” The Baroness cooed, placing the farmers hands on her hips.
Arching her back, considering the ceiling her look came back down, eyes full of mirthful judgement. Trailing her hands over Ferrell’s chest and arms Sylvia sighed. Clenching her thighs her arms entangled around the farmer’s neck. “Ye be just a pawn in this long, very long game. Tis a rare moment when I git to move ah piece that my opponent wields. Promise me that ye will no speak of what happens ‘ere to yer cousin for three days and all will be set right.”
Ferrell ached in ways her never imagined as he agreed to the terms. In the end the Baroness claimed one of his tunics as a stipulation of the agreement. Sylvia made sure to be wearing it that evening as Xavier paid a visit to her chambers that night…
*** ** ***
Ferrell the Farmer
Episode 5 part 5
The farmer cringed; arms laden with books as he kicked the door open to Xavier’s room. The Captain sat at his desk, back to the door, the purpose was pointed, his cousin was not happy with him. Taking a deep breath Ferrell waited at the door, this had been the third time today he was given a list to fetch tomes from the castle library. Laying the quill down, Xavier leaned back in his chair. “You may enter, Cousin. Put the books on the desk.” His tone was airy but it carried confused anger with it.
Doing as his cousin asked, Ferrell hoped to be dismissed quickly. Books lay strew about the desk top, feverish writings adorned loose papers. Scratching at the stubble on his face Xavier indicated the work, “Do you know what these books contain?”
Ferrell shook his head slowly. Whatever the books were about caused one librarian to look at him like some sort of unsavory demon and another to fan herself when she thought he was not looking. “No Cousin, I do not. I can not read.”
Xavier snapped an angry gaze upon Ferrell, studying the farmer, scrolling the look from head to toe, twice. Disbelief colored his eyes before snatching up the quill again. “You are dismissed, Ferrell.”
Ferrell sucked the inside of his cheek, concerned. “Is something troubling you, Cousin?”
Xavier glowered, “Nothing at all. I am glad to see that you and the Baroness are getting along so well.”
Compassion fell back into confusion as the farmer watched the Captain. “We rarely speak, Cousin.”
Dipping the quill Xavier opened another book, rapidly combing over the words. “I imagine you both don’t have much need for words.”
“I…” Ferrell began only to be cut off by his cousin.
“Dismissed!”
Hanging his head, the farmer reached the hallway closing the door nearly all the way. Sweeping an arm over part of the table to clear it, Xavier leapt to his feet, pacing in front of the mirror. Venting at his reflection, “I make a gentle inquiry and all she tells me of the encounter is that ‘He is sturdy’. Sturdy! Really! What does that even mean? I am the greatest lover of the Titan Sea and lose to a man that is merely known as ‘sturdy’. There has to be more to this than I am seeing…”
*** ** ***
The farmer spent the remainder of the day hiding in his room. The intrigues of the place were far beyond the scope of anything he could imagine. It really was a game to them, and Ferrell had no idea how to play it. He had been cut off from the rock he saw in his cousin. Staring out his window Ferrell looked out over the city. The citizens of the land seemed to be happy at all hours, they even celebrated when someone died or so he had been told. Xavier at least informed him they would be staying through the winter as the seas were never favorable in freezing season.
Donning his uniform, the farmer, made his way into the night. The music cascading around him failed to lift his spirits. People on the streets either gave him a wide berth or a contemplable, harsh shoulder brush. Loneliness wrapped over his heart as he plodded his way up the stairs of a tavern. Placing a coin on the bar, he was reluctantly served. Even money could not wash away the distain others had for him.
Ferrell leaned heavily on the bar, the patrons singing around him. Merriment was alive and well it seemed. Prodding the stein, the farmer stared at his frowning reflection. Scratching upon neck of the ill fitting uniform, Ferrell pondered his life. In a strange land were everyone seemed to dislike him for the colors he wore. The place was quaint, near the docks and well away from the castle he loathed.
Giggling, a woman in country garb hopped on the stool next to the farmer. Musical words were directed at the farmer. Looking over, Ferrell took in the smiling face of the woman, her blue eyes holding a glint of interest. The gentle gap in her front teeth granting a more youthful appearance. Twining a finger in dirty blonde hair she stared at the Imperial expectantly.
“I am sorry, I do not speak your language.” Ferrell said, politely.
Laughing, the woman leaned closer. “It be alright. I speak Imperia’ too.”
“What did you say before?” Ferrell asked.
“Whatever it be, it canna be that bad.” The woman replied in teasing comfort.
Cracking a grin Ferrell chuckled despite himself. “I suppose not.”
Waving the barkeep down, the woman placed an order. The barkeep flipped a mug on the end of a steel hook that replaced a hand before filling it with cider. Setting it down in front of the woman, eyeing Ferrell almost warily as she moved on to the next patron.
“First time the Isles?” The woman asked, taking a heavy drain of the mug.
“First time anywhere.” Said Ferrell already feeling small once again.
Blue eyes studied the man next to her. “Well ye be no soldier, else ye be with the others in the corner there. Let me guess yer profession.”
“It is rather…” Ferrell began only to be shushed by the country woman.
Snapping her fingers, the woman grinned. “Ye be a painter.”
Looking away, Ferrell shook his head, though a grin replaced the frown. “No.”
“One of those tax workers?”
Snorting, almost spitting out the bitter ale. “No.” Ferrell said.
The woman pressed on, smiling wider. “I know! Ye be one yer Emperor’s personal fan bearers! I knew it!”
Ferrell threw his head back in a laugh, falling into the charms of the woman of country. “No!”
Patting the farmer’s shoulder, the woman drained the last of her cider. Dropping the mug to the bar top she sighed, “Seriously now. Ye be a country lad.”
“How can you tell?” Ferrell asked still smiling.
Having a second cider the woman gave Ferrell a half critical look. “We be knowing our own. Yer back, the shoulders and the hands give it away. I be guessin’ ye be a wheat farmer.”
“Oh, wonderful lady, what is your name?” Ferrell asked, delighted to be in the company of someone he held common life with.
“Abbey. Abbey Dunn. And ye?”
Ferrell shifted on his seat to face Abbey, “Ferrell. Ferrell Huber. It is a pleasure to meet you, Abbey.” Feeling uncomfortable suddenly at using his full name.
Giggling again, Abbey tugged at Ferrell’s sleeve. “Come along. I wanna show ye something.”
Paying his tab, the farmer followed Abbey. Winding through the streets they departed the city at the northern gate. Cresting a rolling hill, Ferrell took in the night scape of the rolling moors of the island. The land dipped and spread out in a wide valley, farms carpeting the floor of the place. Abbey came to a stop, panning a hand.
“Here we be. Biggest crops we have had in cycles. If ye be missing home, we could use the help.” Abbey explained, making an offer to the man.
Ferrell’s smile faltered, “They would never accept my help.” Looking down at his uniform, crestfallen.
Abbey shook her head, undaunted. “Lose the colors, ye would fit spot on and in.”
“Is it not illegal to do such a thing?” Ferrell asked, already considering the idea.
Leaning on Ferrell, Abbey grinned. “I be no telling if ye do. Think it be good fer ya and it be helping us.”
“Why do I get the idea there is more than just one reason you brought me out here?” Ferrell asked, feeling Abbey rest her hand on his chest.
More giggling sounded from Abbey, “Last Imperial I met was not exactly a good sort. Perhaps I be looking to balance the scales?”
“I believe you have me at a disadvantage.” Replied Ferrell, though he was not averse to the idea proposed.
“I donna believe in playing fair. No fun in it.” Said the country farmer, pulling Ferrell along with her.
** ** **
The farmer woke to an empty bed, Abbey’s scent in the air, memories of the previous night shining into the day. Yawning the man rolled off the bed, scratching the side of his head, smiling. Redressing in his uniform Ferrell stepped over a sleeping dog, ears picking up on gleeful chatter in the next room. Opening the door, Ferrell stifled a yawn. Abbey’s smiling face swung his way.
“Fair morning there! Come, come, I want ye to meet someone. Aideen this is…” Abbey said only to be cut off by the shield maiden.
“Sir Ferrell.” Aideen muttered, her expression hardening as she looked between the two.
Swallowing hard, Ferrell did his best not to look away from the intense glare of the shield maiden. “Morning.” Was all the farmer could, manage?
Fake smile plastered on her face; Aideen set down the tankard of water. “Sir Ferrell would ye grant us a moment?”
Grateful for the reprieve Ferrell nodded, moving to head outside. “Of course.”
Picking up on the tension, Abbey called after Ferrell. “Donna wander far, there be breakfast to be had.”
Frowning the shield maiden looked to her friend. “What ye be doing wit him?” Words coming off as a demand more than question.
Taken aback, Abbey’s brow furrowed. “Found him at the Squared Circle. Pleasant fellow, not too hard on the eyes either.”
Lowering her voice, “Ye know who his cousin is?” Aideen asked while looking to the door.
Rolling her eyes, Abbey shrugged. “Nay. Who?”
Aideen prickled. “Foster. Xavier Foster.”
The name froze the county woman, brushing it off Abbey looked away. “Donna care. Comparing the two be like apples and potatoes.”
“I am warning ye away from him, Abbey. He be possibly dangerous.” Insisted Aideen, her aggression growing.
Once again, the eyes swept up in a roll. “Knock the chalk off would ye? He be a farmer.” Abbey set her gaze on her friend, ready to match intensity. “Wait. Ye have claim of him?”
Aideen balked with a start, suddenly the one off balance. “I…what? Me? No!”
Surging forward with her words, Abbey growing angry. “If ye do, say it. I be glad fer ye and I back out of it. No harm done.”
Blush of returning anger filled Aideen’s cheeks, “Ye lay wit’ him?” disbelief ringing in her words.
Abbey held up two fingers, implying more than one encounter. “Aye. No bad either. Sturdy fellow.”
Standing now, Aideen’s hands went to her hips. “I have concerns of this, Abbey.”
Rocketing up, getting nose to chin with her friend. Abbey fumed, “Nay. Ye be looking for me to apologize. Wonna do it.”
In a rare move, Aideen stepped back from her friend. Holding her voice steady. “Abbey, I am telling ye he be more than he seems. Dangerous, like all Imperials. Can ye not see reason in this? I be just trying to protect ye.”
Abbey stared a hole in her friend. “Enough. Ye donna get to come into me home and speak down to me. Gorman Bridge, fifth bell, today!”
Blinking her surprise, “Ye gonna fight me for him?” Aideen asked nearly dumbfounded.
The country woman let Aideen listen to her own words in the building pause. Whether the shield maiden admitted it openly or not the interest was present. Shaking her head Abbey nearly snarled. “Nay. I am fightin’ ye cause yer being a stuck up bitch. Again.”
Sitting on a wooden bench near the pig pens, Ferrell worried. Aideen was here for a reason and it was likely him. Scratching the head of a curious piglet, the distraction bringing a fragile smile to his face as the creature leaned in for more attention. A bright red fireball stomped by, hand on the hilt of sword. Pointedly ignoring Ferrell, the shield maiden bothered not looking back, eyes ahead promising a bad time for all in her way.
“Me thinks she likes ye.” Came a voice from behind, steady and growing cheerful again.
Watching Aideen leave, Ferrell looked back to the piglet. Trying to figure out whom Abbey was speaking of. “Who?”
“Aye.” Abbey said cryptically.
“We start in the morrow, if ye be interested, still.” Abbey offered, warm, welcoming arm snaking around his shoulders. “Donna worry about her; she be needing some time to get her head sorted.” The country woman added.
“Alright then.”
Backseat Muse 