Lost in the Woods
Who: Sir James, Robin, and a brat (closed)
What: A poor little lamb has gone astray, and needs some help
When: June 12
Where: Sherwood Forest
Sir James road home through Sherwood Forest in a bit of a daze, still stunned by what had happened to him in Nottingham, a fair few miles back now. He had gone to town to run errands, and to go to market, and take care of all the other small business that always needed taking care of and along the way he had…somehow…gotten laid.
Alright, it hadn’t been completely out of the blue; in fact, it had been some weeks in coming, but it had taken surprisingly little seduction on Sir James’ part and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Back in the spring, not long after Easter, Sir James had taken some cookware in for repair. He dealt with a rather comely widow who was, probably, a few years younger than himself. She managed the business end of things for her son, who hadn’t quite gotten his legs under him when it came to the books since her husband died and he had had to take over operations at the foundry. She was a native of Brittany, where Sir James had spent his youth. One thing led to another and before long Sir James realized she was actually flirting with him, something so rare in his recent experience that it was a little disconcerting. Well, having left the pots in her hands, he of course had to come back the next week to pick them up…and then there were more trips to the workshop as Sir James found wear that, of course, had to be repaired, urgently, on every bit of brass and pewter and copper in the house, right down to his shoe buckles. As he was putting her to so much effort, it was only fair that Sir James cement their transactions with meals at a nearby tavern, or sometimes quick drinks if the shop was busy or the children were especially demanding. He rediscovered the pleasures of spending time with a happy, attractive woman. They had Brittany in common, and the shared memories of their generation, and she proved to be the first person he had met in Nottingham who actually wanted to hear his tales from the Holy Land.
This time, Sir James had gotten a late start in leaving Teversal, which meant he had to find a room for the night in Nottingham. However, some kind of guild gathering or special market or some such had filled all the inns near the metalworkers street. Then the rain started. And then there she was, opposite him at a secluded table, in a part of town where she wasn’t known, while outside the weather kept even the most prudish from venturing out of doors. It made so much practical sense for her to stay over that Sir James wasn’t sure either one of them had actually suggested it; it was just as likely it spontaneously occurred to them both at the same time. He mumbled something about sleeping in the chair when they got into the room, but they both knew that was just for form’s sake, and she-emphatically!-let him know that wasn’t what she wanted. She left at the crack of dawn, of course, and wouldn’t let Sir James take her home, saying it would provoke more suspicion if they were seen out together at that hour than if she were seen at alone.
She had seemed flustered when she left, maybe even embarrassed, which bothered Sir James at the time. Now, though, riding through Sherwood under clear morning skies, he suddenly realized why she reacted that way: She was a respectable widow, and a fairly recent one at that, and she probably hadn’t done anything like this before. Well, at least there weren’t any tears, which weren’t completely foreign to Sir James’ experience with women and inns. But it made Sir James a little bit uneasy. A mature yet unmarried woman, respectable but also unfettered…what were his responsibilities here? If she were a servant girl or an honest courtesan he’d give her money, or maybe provide more tactful means of support, but she wasn’t-besides, if you counted wealth only in shillings and pence, this woman probably saw more in a month than he did. Looking back on it now, he had to admit that his actions could reasonably be construed as courtship, though that certainly hadn’t been his intent. Still, she hadn’t mentioned marriage, hadn’t even hinted at it as they lay in bed in the dark afterwards. Not that he wanted to marry her. Marrying a tradeswoman would do nothing for his fortunes or his social standing, and would embarrass his family, though at least she wasn’t so low that it would shame them. Besides, she was past childbearing age, wasn’t she? (Something resembling panic washed over him at the realization that she might not be.) Was it possible that a goodwife like her could want simple companionship with a bit on the….
“BOO!”
“Jesu Mar….!” The sudden assault made Balius lurch and Sir James reach for his sword.
A scrawny young ragamuffin leapt out from the underbrush. He stood astride the path with his hands on his hips, grinning widely. “Hah! Gotcha!” he crowed. “I’m Robin Hood! Give me all your money or I’ll have my men fill you with arrows!”
It was a good thing Sir James didn’t use a riding crop or else he would have taken it to the brat.
“What the…. No, you are NOT Robin Hood!” said Sir James, stating the obvious. “Get out of my way before I run you over! Where are your parents? What’re they going to do when I tell them you’re assaulting innocent travelers on the king’s highway? Huh? Give you a hiding, I hope!” He bent from the saddle to take the child by the hair and give him a good shake.
“Dunno! Leggo!” He struggled to swipe Sir James’ hand away but if Sir James couldn’t withstand the swipes of an urchin, he had no business calling himself a knight. The boy went limp in Sir James’ grasp and looked up at him sullenly. “I’m lost, ain’t I? Dad and me came here to get firewood and then he wandered off and I don’t know where he is. Home’s…thataway,” he added, with a vague gesture to the left. “I think. Mebbe.” Sir James released his grip and the boy, still glaring at Sir James, wiped his nose with the back of his grimy hand. He seemed…damp. Had he spent the night in the forest? If so, he didn’t seem the worse for wear, and boys camped out all the time, but still, this wasn’t good. His parents must have worried themselves sick when the rain started.
Well, there was nothing else for it. “C’mon,” Sir James said. “Let’s find your father. But you’re walking.”
What: A poor little lamb has gone astray, and needs some help
When: June 12
Where: Sherwood Forest
Sir James road home through Sherwood Forest in a bit of a daze, still stunned by what had happened to him in Nottingham, a fair few miles back now. He had gone to town to run errands, and to go to market, and take care of all the other small business that always needed taking care of and along the way he had…somehow…gotten laid.
Alright, it hadn’t been completely out of the blue; in fact, it had been some weeks in coming, but it had taken surprisingly little seduction on Sir James’ part and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Back in the spring, not long after Easter, Sir James had taken some cookware in for repair. He dealt with a rather comely widow who was, probably, a few years younger than himself. She managed the business end of things for her son, who hadn’t quite gotten his legs under him when it came to the books since her husband died and he had had to take over operations at the foundry. She was a native of Brittany, where Sir James had spent his youth. One thing led to another and before long Sir James realized she was actually flirting with him, something so rare in his recent experience that it was a little disconcerting. Well, having left the pots in her hands, he of course had to come back the next week to pick them up…and then there were more trips to the workshop as Sir James found wear that, of course, had to be repaired, urgently, on every bit of brass and pewter and copper in the house, right down to his shoe buckles. As he was putting her to so much effort, it was only fair that Sir James cement their transactions with meals at a nearby tavern, or sometimes quick drinks if the shop was busy or the children were especially demanding. He rediscovered the pleasures of spending time with a happy, attractive woman. They had Brittany in common, and the shared memories of their generation, and she proved to be the first person he had met in Nottingham who actually wanted to hear his tales from the Holy Land.
This time, Sir James had gotten a late start in leaving Teversal, which meant he had to find a room for the night in Nottingham. However, some kind of guild gathering or special market or some such had filled all the inns near the metalworkers street. Then the rain started. And then there she was, opposite him at a secluded table, in a part of town where she wasn’t known, while outside the weather kept even the most prudish from venturing out of doors. It made so much practical sense for her to stay over that Sir James wasn’t sure either one of them had actually suggested it; it was just as likely it spontaneously occurred to them both at the same time. He mumbled something about sleeping in the chair when they got into the room, but they both knew that was just for form’s sake, and she-emphatically!-let him know that wasn’t what she wanted. She left at the crack of dawn, of course, and wouldn’t let Sir James take her home, saying it would provoke more suspicion if they were seen out together at that hour than if she were seen at alone.
She had seemed flustered when she left, maybe even embarrassed, which bothered Sir James at the time. Now, though, riding through Sherwood under clear morning skies, he suddenly realized why she reacted that way: She was a respectable widow, and a fairly recent one at that, and she probably hadn’t done anything like this before. Well, at least there weren’t any tears, which weren’t completely foreign to Sir James’ experience with women and inns. But it made Sir James a little bit uneasy. A mature yet unmarried woman, respectable but also unfettered…what were his responsibilities here? If she were a servant girl or an honest courtesan he’d give her money, or maybe provide more tactful means of support, but she wasn’t-besides, if you counted wealth only in shillings and pence, this woman probably saw more in a month than he did. Looking back on it now, he had to admit that his actions could reasonably be construed as courtship, though that certainly hadn’t been his intent. Still, she hadn’t mentioned marriage, hadn’t even hinted at it as they lay in bed in the dark afterwards. Not that he wanted to marry her. Marrying a tradeswoman would do nothing for his fortunes or his social standing, and would embarrass his family, though at least she wasn’t so low that it would shame them. Besides, she was past childbearing age, wasn’t she? (Something resembling panic washed over him at the realization that she might not be.) Was it possible that a goodwife like her could want simple companionship with a bit on the….
“BOO!”
“Jesu Mar….!” The sudden assault made Balius lurch and Sir James reach for his sword.
A scrawny young ragamuffin leapt out from the underbrush. He stood astride the path with his hands on his hips, grinning widely. “Hah! Gotcha!” he crowed. “I’m Robin Hood! Give me all your money or I’ll have my men fill you with arrows!”
It was a good thing Sir James didn’t use a riding crop or else he would have taken it to the brat.
“What the…. No, you are NOT Robin Hood!” said Sir James, stating the obvious. “Get out of my way before I run you over! Where are your parents? What’re they going to do when I tell them you’re assaulting innocent travelers on the king’s highway? Huh? Give you a hiding, I hope!” He bent from the saddle to take the child by the hair and give him a good shake.
“Dunno! Leggo!” He struggled to swipe Sir James’ hand away but if Sir James couldn’t withstand the swipes of an urchin, he had no business calling himself a knight. The boy went limp in Sir James’ grasp and looked up at him sullenly. “I’m lost, ain’t I? Dad and me came here to get firewood and then he wandered off and I don’t know where he is. Home’s…thataway,” he added, with a vague gesture to the left. “I think. Mebbe.” Sir James released his grip and the boy, still glaring at Sir James, wiped his nose with the back of his grimy hand. He seemed…damp. Had he spent the night in the forest? If so, he didn’t seem the worse for wear, and boys camped out all the time, but still, this wasn’t good. His parents must have worried themselves sick when the rain started.
Well, there was nothing else for it. “C’mon,” Sir James said. “Let’s find your father. But you’re walking.”