Work

[Devon Creek]

Devon stood stunned, feet planted in the ground at Morgan's words. We'll be scratching a living at best! Her mouth dropped open and she gave a light, sarcastic laugh. Brows drawn together, she seriously thought about walking away right now and finding better pickings than this. But she looked over at the decrepit farm house then back at Morgan and sighed. It was worth at least a look.

She pulled her bag up onto her shoulder and walked into the farmhouse and checked the fire as asked of her. It was bit low so she found her way to the kitchen and chopped up some more fire wood. On the way back, she was sure to get a better look at the place and figure out if this was really going to be worth the work.

The kitchen was nothing too excitable, though she did help herself to a spare hunk of bread. She tucked her belongings into a small empty larder just off of the kitchen. The main room was nothing upon first glance, though experience had taught Devon that things weren't always as they seemed. After stoking the fire, she poked around carefully, searching for anything of value. She spied a velvet pouch on the grand table and snatched it up greedily. It felt heavy in her hands, the thought making her fingers tingle. She helped herself to a number of coins, but felt the pouch again and was satisfied that the weight hadn't changed to a great extent. It would had taken a skilled professional, like herself, to notice the difference. She placed it back on the table, exactly as it had been before and stashed the money in the pantry. Having done what was asked of her, and then some, she ventured off with a satisfied smile to find Morgan.

[Morgan]

Morgan had his shirt sleeves rolled up and was humming a tune softly as he rubbed over his horse's coat with a hay wisp. Rhythmically, he wiped the sweat and grease away, making Pilgrim's muscles ripple and his coat shine. Morgan was so engrossed in his task that he didn't noticed Devon to begin with (scuse pose).

Then, his eyes flickered upwards and Morgan smiled at the girl in disguise. "Find everything all right?" He asked, pausing in his work for a moment. Pilgrim turned his great head and whickered, moving restlessly amongst the hay on the floor of the stable. "How are you with horses?" Morgan asked Devon, holding out the wisp. "As well as Pilgrim here, we'll have two working horses by tomorrow night. When I see what you can do, then I'll allocate your chores."

[Devon Creek]

Devon looked down at the hay in her hands then warily at the horse. She and horses had never quite gotten on well, something about her made them jumpy, which was never good. With small steps, she approach the beast and began to work. A thought occurred to her as she rubbed Pilgrim, one she didn't enjoy. She was cleaning a horse for nothing more than a bed and perhaps a few pennies and the sad part was, it was probably one of her more glamorous jobs. She shook her head, laughing. Her family would not be proud, but it was okay since the feeling was mutual.

Devon jumped back as Pilgrim kicked back, just missing her hip. She turned to Morgan and groaned. "I'm not great with horses." She said lamely.

Devon would give this place three days, she decided. If it was still as bad as this, she was moving back to Sherwood and Allan would just have to deal with that. She was almost sure she could make more robbing people on the road than she would ever make working here. In truth, she should have felt bad for thinking about leaving this man, but she was a thief and one who knew nothing more than the art of pickpocketing. Sympathy just wasn't in her blood.

[Morgan]

Morgan shrugged his shoulders at "Mark's" admission as to not being good with horses. And sure enough, Pilgrim whickered his discontent. Morgan patted the horse's neck. "You know," He said shrewdly, "Its often said that horses are a good judge of character." He looked hard at Devon on purpose. If the girl had been up to no good in the house, then he'd play on her conscience.

"So if you're not good with horses, what are you good at?" Morgan asked, blinking slowly. "What do you do, Master Mark? Or would you prefer to tell me your real name? Rest assured, it will go no further than old Pilgrim here and myself." He added. "If you want to stay here, then its best if you tell me, lass."

[Devon Creek]

Devon stared open-mouthed at Morgan, then looked down at herself. "That easy to tell, eh?" she asked with a grimace. So much for that idea. She was seriously starting to consider going home to York, they way things were going here. With a shrug, she looked at Morgan. "Devon Creek." She admitted after a bout of silence, save for Pilgrim's soft breathing. She might as well tell the whole of Nottingham who she was at the rate she was going. Folding her legs underneath her easily, she sat on the warm hay. "I happen to good at a number of things. I can clean, and cook. I'm great for fixing things and...acquiring items that have been lost. I've got a knack for finding things. You wouldn't require my other services, I assure you." She added with a laugh. "I suppose you'll want me gone now. I'll get my things." Well, she'd gotten a few coins in the process and the location of a possible hide-out, so her work wasn't wasted.

[Morgan]

Morgan smiled at Devon's discomfort. "Well to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure to begin with. There were a few telltale signs though, but unless someone was looking specifically for them, then they wouldn't have taken you for anything but a boy." He pointed out. "You need to make sure you keep a neckerchief around your throat though. No Adam's apple." Morgan tapped his index finger against his own throat. "And sometimes you move like a girl but apart from that, I'd say you've got the act pretty much perfect." He moved towards the stable door then bent down to pick up a pail of grain. Returning to Pilgrim's manger, Morgan tipped the feed into it. Once he'd done that, he turned back to Devon again. "Why would I want you to leave when there's plenty of cleaning to be done here, and if you can cook then thats a bonus for me. No more horses though, I promise. But I might take you up on your offer to fix things although I have a carpenter coming in from the village to carry out some repairs."

Morgan leaned against the stable wall for a moment and observed Devon as though he were deep in thought. "I imagine, by your other services, you mean something of an illegal nature? I hope it isn't anything that would bring the Sheriff of Nottingham or Guy of Gisborne to my door? No? All right, well if you can promise to...umm.....postpone those sort of activities at least while you're on my farm, then you can stay if you want. The choice is yours." Pushing himself away from the wall, Morgan left the stable and returned the wooden pail to the feed store. Then he walked to the fence and looked out of the pasture. The grass was long and lush. It was nearly ready to be cut for hay. He wondered if Devon would stay or go. Although they hadn't known each other long, Morgan liked the girl. She had gumption.

[Devon Creek]

Devon's eyebrows rose at Morgan. She'd had him going for a while. Well, this man was certainly helping her whether he wanted to or not. When he offered that she could stay, she couldn't think of a response. Glad that he had walked off, she groaned loudly. She should just say no and be off, but Tuck's warning came back to her. And though she doubted it at first, she was more inclined to believe that he would be the first to sling her over to the authorities. Or worse. And she couldn't play on any of the others since they already know just about everything. Sherwood Forest suddenly wasn't looking like such a great option.
She could try her luck in Nottingham, but that was too close to the dungeons for her liking. And judging by how things had been going for her so far, it wasn't looking great either.
Going home was out of the question. She'd left her family with no intention of ever going back. With another groan, she walked out to Morgan with slumped shoulders. She was actually going to work for someone. She was going to do honest work for once in her life. Nottingham was just turning out to be a completely new life for her.
"Alright. I'll work. On one condition," she had to grin; she always had conditions. "No more horses."

[Morgan]

Standing at the fence, Morgan didn't look across at Devon although he nodded in agreement at her offer. "Very well," he replied, his voice soft. "Go to the house and find yourself somewhere to sleep. There are only a couple of bedrooms, and one is mine. You may have to share the other one when I get some more workers, but I don't suppose you'd mind that?" Morgan then glanced down at Devon and returned her smile. "See if you can set the kitchen into order. There's a brace of rabbits in the larder that I caught yesterday. I take it you prepare them for the pot? Leave the furs by the back door and I'll set about curing them. They might be small but I'm sure the skins will come in handy for something."

Morgan took a deep breath. "I'll be in the barn if you need me. Just give me a shout when the meal's ready." He was about to walk off when he stopped and put his hand on Devon's shoulder. "Thank you," Morgan added. "Thank you for agreeing to stay." Then without further ado, he strode off to the barn where he knew there were a couple of scythes kept. He'd have to test their blades for sharpness, of course, and maybe use the whet stone to hone them. Then, tomorrow, as soon as the dew had burned off the grass, he could start cutting it for hay.

[Devon Creek]

Her steps were quick as she walked back to the kitchen. He had said there were rabbits in the larder, so she swung it open to find two large rabbits hanging from a hook. Then she looked down to find her belongings underneath. Didn't see those the first time, she thought as she kicked her bag to a clean corner. The rabbits were plump, perfect for a stew. After three years of eating the stuff, she'd made cooking it into an art. Skinning them was always the hardest part because if they hadn't been shot in the right area, it ruined the pelts. But Devon was pleased to see that both of them had clean circular holes right in the forehead. He was a good hunter then. Impressive.
She made quick work of the skins and left both full pelts by the door. They weren't cut up to her standards, but they were good enough.
Once she had the meat all sorted, Devon grinned happily. Cooking was something she always loved to do. And since her family never really had much, she had to be creative with what she had on hand. But cooking was what she was good at. When she was younger and not ready to steal, she would take care of the meals. It was the one thing she was truly good at in her family. In fact, compared to her brothers she was an average thief.
"Oh, well," she said while searching for a pot. A large copper one caught her eye and she lifted it to the fire. Now the good part, she thought. Filling the pot with water and some wine she'd found in the larder, she went searching around the farm for some vegetables. Occasionally she'd walk past Morgan with a handful of carrots or parsnips and wave as best she could. She cut them up into pieces and threw them in then watched it. Something was missing, it didn't taste full yet. Pursing her lips, she hoped it wasn't the meat. Her footsteps echoed as she paced the small kitchen. A scent from outside caught her attention and she walked out. There it was, growing just outside the door. Sprigs of Sage and Bassell shot up the side of the farm, scenting the air lightly. Grabbing two handfuls, she cut them quickly and threw them in.
With some time on her hands, she looked about the stone and wood kitchen. It wasn't well stocked but had many of the essential tools. Whoever had owned this place before certainly liked food. There were some instruments she was itching to get her hands on. She'd have to talk to Morgan about getting more food. They certainly needed flour, at least.
Devon stopped, her brows shoot up. They? They insinuated a we. Sudden change of heart? she asked herself. Not likely, she thought a second later and decided to blame the smell of the stew. Which smelled delicious. Grabbing it from the fire, she found two large bowls and divided it between the two, hers a tad larger than his. She hadn't had a whole change of heart then. Grinning widely, she called to Morgan that it was done. A loaf of bread found its way to the table and by the time she heard Morgan's footsteps, the table was set with stew, bread and ale.
"Good enough?" she asked before sitting. She was about to dig in when she realized that it was in poor manners to do so. Yes, and? she thought as she took a large bite of the bread.

[Morgan]

Morgan sniffed the stew's aroma appreciatively and his stomach rumbled hungrily. Ignoring Devon's question, he approached the table and looked down at the bowl. Saliva began to fill his mouth. Reaching for a hunk of bread, Morgan sat down to eat. Dipping the bread into the gravy, he transferred it to his mouth, savouring the taste as he chewed slowly.

He glanced up at his companion and smiled. "Its very good. You're right about being a good cook. This is amazing." Turning his attention back to his food, Morgan didn't look up again until he'd scraped the bowl clean. Sitting back in his chair, Morgan took a draught of his ale to wash down the last of the bread. "That really was a meal fit for a king!" He declared with a chuckle.

[Devon Creek]

"You'll make my head big with compliments like that," she warned as she finished her own portion. It was good through. She was glad she'd found the herbs nearby. Looking across the table at Morgan, she wondered what else there was to do. There wasn't much cleaning to do since both she and Morgan and cleared their bowls thoroughly.
"You're missing a few essentials from the larder, so I might go to the market and pick up a few things. What you have here is alright, but it's cheaper to make your own bread, trust me." That would be an interesting trip. Try as she might, Devon was sure that a few things would find their way into her pockets without others noticing. So long as it didn't bring the Sheriff to the door, she was happy.
Night had almost fallen and the sky was a shocking array of reds and oranges. Everything was finished around the house; she'd cleaned up after dinner, taken care of the fire in the kitchen and packed her belongings into one of the spare rooms. Devon started a fire in the main room and sat on the floor, absorbing the heat. She wasn't sure where Morgan was, having lost track of him once she began working, but occasionally a floor board would creak around her. She laid down on the wooden floor and soon found that her eyelids were rapidly drooping. With a final yawn, her eyes slid shut and she was soon sleeping peacefully in front of the hearth.

[Morgan]

Morgan nodded his head. "Very well. Buy what you can in Clun. The villagers need the money. Let me know the other items and I'll get them when I go into Nottingham." He sat back in his chair and contemplated the fact that he still had his meeting with Prince John to attend to. Reluctantly, Morgan stood up and pushed his chair back. "Well I'd better go and finish feeding up the livestock for the night. Clean the dishes then you can call it a night." Turning, the farmer walked out into the farm yard, shutting the door behind him.

It was one of his favourite tasks, feeding and settling the animals for the night. It gave Morgan time to think over what had happened that day and what he needed to get organised for the morrow. Glancing back at the house, he looked at the illuminated window. Whatever had prompted him to hire Devon, Morgan still wasn't sure but one thing he did know was that she was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. It took him a little while but, eventually, Morgan had finished for the night. Returning to the house via the scullery, he stripped off his shirt and washed his upper body. Taking a ragged towel from a nail, Morgan dried himself. Carrying his soiled shirt, he tiptoed into the hall. Morgan assumed that Devon had taken herself off to bed. Looking up at the landing above his head, he wondered which room she'd chosen, when a log shifted in the grate and fell, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Grinning to himself, Morgan realised that the girl had settled down there for the night. She'd look like a cinder soot by the morning.

Making sure the fire was safe and that Devon was warm enough, Morgan crept upstairs to his room. Throwing his dirty shirt in the corner, he rubbed his fingers through his hair and walked to the window. Morgan threw open the shutters and breathed in the cool night air. Tiredly, he slumped down on the edge of his bed beneath the window and tugged off his boots then lay back on the bed. Morgan closed his eyes, allowing the cool breeze to caress his face. Perhaps it had been the busy day, or maybe he was still exhausted from his journey back to England, but it was not long before Morgan was in a deep slumber.

And that was when the dreams started. In his sleep, Morgan started to frown and shake his head. Caught in the vivid dreams, he relived the horror that he thought he'd left behind. His fists balled the coarse blanket beneath him. "No, please no." Morgan moaned, shaking his head more sharply now. His body trembled violently, then he shrieked. It was a sharp animal like sound that tore through the quiet night. Morgan sat bolt upright, screaming as the night terrors took him.

[Devon Creek]

Devon rolled over sleepily when she felt a presence around her. Opening her gray eyes, she saw Morgan, albeit a blurry one. She saw him walk up to the landing above her and disappear into a room. It was only when she settled back down that she realized the blanket thrown over her. Pulling the corner up to her chin, she quickly fell back into a light slumber. It was a blissfully empty sleep with no thoughts clouding her mind. Peace took over her completely in the still night and she remained that way until the darkest hours of night.
Then she heard it above her. Dull sounds, muffled by the ceiling, but it sounded like a fight. Thuds and bangs reached her ears and before her mind had fully awoken, she was up and her body was alert. She grabbed a discarded log from beside the fire as her mind took things in about the room. None of the doors were open and the fire had long since gone out. It was dark outside with only the silvery light of the moon to guide her through the house. Mind still partly asleep, she climbed the stairs and followed the noise to a bedroom. Judging by what she saw, she thought someone was attacking Morgan so she approached the bed quietly. He thrashed around and moaned in agony. Without thinking her body and mind went into survival mode.
When Morgan bolted up and screamed at a pitch that would have woken the dead, Devon reacted instinctively. She launched herself onto the bed and pushed his bare chest back down. With a knee planted on either side of his hip, she held the log above her head, ready to attack. Her wide eyes searched his face wildly, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. She realized in shocked silence that nothing was there and that she was pinning her boss down. With a groan, she rolled off of him and let the log fall. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until stars appeared.
"What the hell just happened?" she asked hoarsely. Her mind was still foggy, but the longer she sat there them clearer it became. "I thought someone was trying to pinch your stuff."

[Morgan]

Morgan was disorientated. He shouted out some words in Muslim then fell silent as he realised he wasn't in that stinking hell hole anymore. Breathing heavily, he slid a knife from its sheath from beneath his pillow and, scrambling up the bed, took a defensive position. Moonlight glinted off the blade. Slowly, Morgan's head cleared. Blinking, his eyes became used to the inky dark and he made out the huddled outline of Devon.

"By all thats Holy!" Morgan exclaimed, "Are you trying to murder me, woman? Fetch me some wine. Over there, on the coffer." Reaching for the tinderbox beside his bed, Morgan first put down his knife then managed to get a spark to light the rushlight. A wavering glow lit his bedroom. The sweat on his skin started to cool and he shivered. "Where's that wine?" He snapped, holding out his hand impatiently for the wineskin.

[Devon Creek]

Devon fell off the bed she saw the blade glint in the moonlight. She stalked over to the wine and spun around sharply when he snapped at her.
"There," she spat, throwing the skin at him with unnecessary force. Standing a good enough distance away, she regarded him shrewdly. Warm orange light brightened the room slightly, giving her enough light to see that his body was covered in goosebumps.
"I wasn't trying to murder you! I though someone was attacking you, you idiot! Why would I kill you, I barely know you!" Her voice shook slightly with adrenaline. "Forgive me for trying to save you sorry little-" she stopped abruptly, folding her arms across her chest.
"Do I get an explanation?" she snapped in the same voice he'd used not two minutes ago. She snapped her fingers at him impatiently. She was angry, tired, sore and not in the mood to get yelled at by Morgan. If it had been a normal hour, things might have been different, but the timing of it all simply angered her now.