Molehills (Devon/Open)

[Morgan]

In the days that followed what Morgan now preferred to call Devon's flight, he'd had hardly more than a moment late in the evening to wonder over her fate. Despite thinking that he wouldn't sleep a wink that night, Morgan had dozed in the chair, waking with a start as the cockerill crowed at day break. Rousing himself, in a woolly headed state, Morgan had set about his usual morning chores. He threw himself into his work, only to look up expectantly at every little sound, thinking it was his wayward employee returning. Each time, he was disappointed.

Mid morning, he had returned to the farmhouse and called out Devon's name, but his voice echoed around the empty dwelling. Her few meagre possessions were still beside the fireplace and, after a moment's thought, Morgan carried them upstairs to his bedroom where he placed them next to the coffer. At least, there, they would be safe.

Later that day, his newly purchased livestock arrived at the farm. A drover and his dog shepherded the small flock of sheep into the meadow, whilst another farm hand led a fat black cow by a rope. Following on behind came the sturdy horse he'd purchased and the second hand plough. Morgan looked at the plough, his hands carressing the wooden handles. Tomorrow, weather permitting, the ploughman would come up from the village and they would make a start on ploughing the big field, preparing it to plant late barley.

It was only late in the evening, that first day, that Morgan started to worry about Devon again. He took a simple, bland meal for his supper, made worse by the memory of the tasty stew he'd enjoyed the night before. Retiring to bed, Morgan took the wineskin with him. Drinking until oblivion fell on him, he had no haunting dreams that night although he again woke fuzzy headed in the early morning.

And so, that settled the pattern of the days to come. He had been kept busy, helping with the ploughing. Even trying his hand himself. The ploughman, Edward, had laughed at Morgan's attempts but said that with practice, the ex-knight would master the skill easily. After the ploughing, it was time to plant the crop and luckily Morgan wasn't short of offers of help. Several of the Clun villagers, hopeful of earning a few coins, had approached him and because he'd had no other option, Morgan had hired them. Today, the last of the planting had been done and, as the sun started to set, Morgan stood in the farmyard and waved goodbye to his workers.

It had been a hot and sticky day. Morgan's skin prickled uncomfortably with perspiration. The house was empty and uninviting. Morgan was struck with the sudden desire to get away from the place. "The river," he thought, and decided it would be a good opportunity to relax and bathe. Grabbing a towel from the wash house, Morgan strode across the meadow towards the river. When he had first arrived at the farm, he'd spent a fair bit of time getting to know his surroundings and it was on one such excursion that he'd found the pool in the rocks. Naturally hewn, it made an indeal place to lie back in the water and allow it to flow over you, washing a person clean.

Reaching the riverbank, Morgan shedded his workstained clothes and waded out into the cool, silky water. When he was waist deep, he ducked his head under the water and swam a few strokes back to where he'd left his belongings. Resting his back against the cold hard rock, Morgan splashed water over himself. It felt heavenly and he closed his eyes for a moment.

[Devon Creek]

The sun was sinking behind the horizon, the tenth time it had since Devon left the farm. She stood underneath a tree, just beside what had been her camp. Now it was nothing more than a few smoldering sticks and a waterskin, all of her money and scraps of food gone, stolen while she'd been relieving herself. Devon sank onto the warm grass and rested against the rough trunk, thinking about the past ten days.

The first night she'd spent with Allan and he'd given her a lot to think about. And once he'd pulled out the wine, everything was fine and dandy. Then morning came, and with it all the problems from the day before. Devon had left Allan before he woke as was in Nottingham by day break. She lost herself happily in the streets of Nottingham, hoping to steal enough for a decent meal. She'd though back to the farm and her things along with the stolen money. But that made her think of Morgan and then she just got angry or sad or confused depending on the day.

But being back on the streets had been a blessing in disguise for Devon. It made her think like she had before her family had split. Within the three days she was back to being the best pickpocket. But it was the nights that proved a problem. Every sound reminded her of Morgan's scream and she reacted accordingly. And if she wasn't waking every few hours, she was asleep, unaware that her things were being lifted by other skilled thieves. Then she'd wake in the morning and would have to start all over again. But it was fine, she was back to being who she used to be: a selfish, invisible thief. Occasionally she'd slip up and find herself wanting a bit of Morgan's compassion, but she got rid of those thoughts quickly and easily. Her amour was back up, her 'emotional wall' stronger than ever.

Devon sat against the tree and groaned. As great as things had been going in Nottingham, she couldn't stay much longer. While her slip ups weren't as often, she wanted to far enough away that she didn't have them at all. One slip up had cost her more than just a few coins. She'd gone into the forest to catch something for dinner and had gotten distracted by thoughts she'd tried to suppress. Remembering herself, she ran back to her camp with a small rabbit, only to see a group of three men ransacking the place. She'd tried a fight them off, and now had a blossoming purple and blue bruise on her temple and a couple of cuts on her arms. They'd taken everything too, so she was once again left with nothing. Her mind drifted back to Morgan's farm, thinking of her things and the bag on the table. Although she doubted it was still there, she could find money of his elsewhere.

With a grunt, she pushed off from the tree and walked slowly back to the farm, following the river. In the warm evening light, it look too inviting to her sore limbs, but she walked right in, sneaking into the kitchen. There wasn't much there, but she helped herself to what she could find. The main room was the same, the glowing ashes of a recently put out fire lighting the room. Swearing out loud, she noticed her things weren't where she'd left them. Muttering oaths all up the stars, she strode into his room and began searching for her things and some extra money. She wasn't bothering to be clean since she planned on being long gone by the time he came back. She threw things about the room, searching frantically for a hidden purse of money or something than the few coins she'd pinched upon their first meeting. She swore loudly and grabbed her things off the floor by the coffer, standing to leave. Her temple throbbed with a headache, only made worse by her black eye.

[Morgan]

Having got out of the water before he turned cold, Morgan had hastily dressed before squeezing the water from his hair. Feeling cleaner, it was almost as though he'd managed to wash his cares away in the river. Therefore he felt lighter of heart than he had done for the past 10 days. Walking back across his land, Morgan cast an appreciative eye over the newly ploughed and planted fields. Finally, he had achieved something for the farm, and it left a warm feeling in his heart.

As soon as he reached the farmhouse though, every last warm and happy thought left him. Some gut instinct told him that he wasn't alone. Immediately, he reached for his sword but then Morgan remembered, to his dismay, that it was in his room upstairs. There came a scuffling sound of feet on the wooden floor above. Morgan glanced upwards, following the sound with his eyes. With cat-like grace, he moved to the fireplace where he extracted a suitable stick from the pile of firewood. It would make an adequate cudgel. Weighing it in his hand, Morgan walked as quietly as he could, creeping up the stairs.

There was no doubting it. There was definitely someone in his room. Morgan weighed up his options. It seemed like it was only one person, as he couldn't hear anyone else. Raising his wooden club over his head, Morgan rushed into the room, with a shout, intent on laying about him with his stick. It took only a moment for him to recognise his burglar. And with a shocked look on his face, Morgan lowered the stick. "So you've come back then." He said, stiffly. "Just a flying visit is it?" He asked, indicating to the things he'd kept safe for her. Morgan's eyes travelled over Devon's face. For days, he'd been working out in his mind what he'd say to her when he finally caught up with her. He had planned to be formal and aloof, but looking at her battered face, all thoughts along that line vanished.

Where had she been? And what had she done to get in such a state? Morgan wondered if she'd been abused again, as she had mentioned to him on the night she fled. It felt as though a hand was squeezing his heart so tight. He wanted so much to tell her how much he'd missed her but he couldn't. She'd walked out on him. He even suspected that Devon had timed it so that he would not be around when she came to get her things. His heart iced over and his face froze. Morgan stood to one side. "Well, you've got your things. Why don't you just go." He told her.

[Devon Creek]

Devon froze, her limbs turning glacial at the sight of him. She looked at him coldly, her glare far from apologetic. He spoke to her stiffly, trying to be angry at her. And for a moment, she believed it, then she saw his face crumble. And in that one moment of worry, everything she'd built up over the past ten days shattered. For one single moment she was vulnerable and scared, and wanted nothing more than to feel a kind touch from anybody. But he froze over again and gave her access to the door. It took a moment, but she regained face as well, her cool gaze almost freezing the room. They stood in silence for a long moment until Devon realized that in her search she'd pulled her sleeves up. Now all the bruises, cuts and brands were on display for him. Dropping her things, she pulled the sleeves down hastily then glared at him. Great, another weakness he knows about. Morgan had an awful ability to make her drop all her fronts and acts.

She felt guilty, she felt tired and sore and hungry, but she also felt angry and in someway betrayed. But what she felt most of all was that she needed to get away from the farm. She was afraid of saying something, or doing something that would once again break her down. But Allan's words rang in her mind.

"If anything, he should know better than anyone how much it takes to stay sane once you've been through something like that." But would he? She looked up at him from across the room and asked silently if he would. Then, before she could stop it, she whispered, "Do you think I'm weak?" It was a quiet question, barely audible even in the still night, but spoke volumes for Devon. Her cold, indifferent mask shattered and her true insecurities showed on her face. Realizing her mistake, she grabbed her things quickly and almost ran past Morgan to the stairs.

[Morgan]

Morgan blinked, a stricken look upon his face. "Do you think I'm weak?" She had asked him before attempting to bolt. Moving quickly, Morgan blocked Devon's escape by putting his arm across the doorway like a barrier. Slowly, he inclined his head so he could gaze down at her. "Weak?" He whispered. "Of all the words I could use to describe you, Devon, weak has never been one of them."

Moving to stand in front of her, Morgan put his hands gently on her shoulders. "You're smart, perhaps too clever for your own good at times." He risked a ghost of a smile. "You're fiercely independent and prickly. But yet, I feel that deep down that isn't you." Slowly, Morgan removed his hands from Devon's arms and took a step back. He was dealing with this all wrongly. Morgan didn't want Devon to go but he didn't know how to ask her to stay. Then, suddenly, his stomach growled with hunger and Morgan grimaced. "Look, its getting late. I don't suppose you want to stay for supper?"

[Devon Creek]

She looked up at him with worried eyes, unable to move under his gaze. It wasn't until he held her shoulders she realized she was shivering. He spoke so gently, so softly that she found herself believing him. She looked up into his face and thought about every time she'd thought about him or something he'd said. She thought about the few times she'd allowed herself to hope for something like this and wrong she'd been. She returned his flickering smile and was about to reach out when he pulled back.

There was a moment of silence then Morgan's stomach grumbled and he followed with, "Look, its getting late. I don't suppose you want to stay for supper?"

Devon hesitated, looking down at her things for a long moment. She wanted to stay here, work for Morgan, but part of her yearned to be back on the street. There, you knew where you stood with everyone else. You didn't need to worry about anybody but yourself because no one was looking out for you. It was simple and easy and something she'd been doing her whole life. But she'd been doing it with her family for a long time, and now that they were gone, she wasn't sure how well she could fare on her own in a shire like this one. She picked at a loose thread on her bag and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, for supper," she said quietly then snaked around him to the kitchen. In the homey kitchen she sighed and sat on the floor. Supper, just supper. If something wasn't right there, she could head out again with no hard feelings, right? She knew it would be harder than that, but at least she had an escape route now. Just one meal and then she'd could choose. She walked out of the kitchen and looking at her nail intently. "What do you want to eat?" she asked almost shyly. Normally she would have been louder and making a joke about how little there was, but she a lot to think about now, and maybe not enough time.

[Morgan]

Morgan slowly followed Devon down the stairs but remained in the hall as she went into the kitchen. Shuddering suddenly in the cold air, he approached the fire place and took up the poker, riddling out the glowing embers before adding more wood. Crackling, the flames slowly took and the fire began to grow and throw out more heat. Morgan looked into the flames and warmed his hands.

"What do you want to eat?"

He looked up at her voice and saw her framed in the doorway. "Umm, there's some bacon that could be fried up." He said, wracking his brains to try and remember what he'd got. "Some eggs and bread. I had to get a woman from the village to come in and prepare some food but I finished the stew she made at lunch time. Wasn't a patch on what you made though," Morgan bowed his head as he softly said that last bit.

Replacing the poker, he walked towards Devon. "Let me help." he said, slipping past her and heading for the larder. Reaching up, Morgan took the slab of smoke cured bacon from a metal hook and took it back into the kitchen. Picking up a knife from the table, he cut thick slices of the meat. "The pan's over there." Morgan pointed to the heavy griddle pan with his knife. He was burning to ask Devon where she'd been and what had happened to her but bit his lip. There would be plenty of time for that later, once they both had a meal in their stomachs. And she looked like she needed feeding.

[Devon Creek]

Devon nodded and went over to get the pan. It was heavier than it looked, but she managed to get it up onto the wood stove. Her arms burned though, a mixture of the bruises and the sore muscles being forced to move. Despite her efforts not to, a small moan escaped her lips as she rubbed the heel of her palm against her bicep. Her eyes flickered over to Morgan to see if he noticed, but she quickly moved her gaze to the meat he was slicing. Poking the fire to life, she laid the thick cuts out on the pan and a wonderful aroma filled the air. Her stomach rumbled loudly in the relative silence of the kitchen and she laughed a little at the sound.

"What?" she asked when she felt Morgan's eyes on her, noticing the little frown between his brows. "I'm fine, you know. I've eaten, alright? Sure, it wasn't much, but I haven't been completely helpless." She hadn't meant to, but she'd snapped at him. At this point, she didn't want his pity. She could fend for herself, she didn't need someone taking care of her. She'd just been rusty this time. Taking a breath, she turned back to the larder and took out a few eggs. Cracking them into the pan alongside the bacon, Devon took the opportunity to try to unknot her tight muscles. Her shoulders and legs felt the worst, though her arms weren't faring too well either. Not that she'd let on to the fact; he'd already seen enough damage.

She reached up and slowly began to rub her shoulders, her head falling back when the knot finally released. She sighed contentedly and went back to the food, dividing the food equally between two wooden plates.

[Morgan]

All the time that they were preparing the meal, Morgan fought so as not to look at Devon. He was acutely aware of her proximity though, and when she hissed with pain he could stand it no longer and looked at the girl. Despite all her assurances that she was "fine", Morgan was starting to sincerely have his doubts but decided it would be prudent to say nothing at that moment.

The meal cooked, Morgan fell on it hungrily. After all, he'd worked long and hard in the fields today. He didn't speak as he ate. In fact, he only looked at Devon when he stood up to cut some more bread. Cutting two slices, he passed one to her then sat himself down and continued with his meal. Only when he'd cleared his plate and finished the last morsel of bread did Morgan sit back and really take a good look at Devon.

"You're a mess, girl, thats for sure. And, no offence, but you could do with a bath." Morgan wrinkled his nose. "I don't know that I want to know where you've been or what you've done. Its none of my damned business." He paused for a moment as though chosing his words carefully, then he ran his fingers through his hair and signed, "Look its getting late. You're welcome to stay the night, have a bath, whatever. No strings attached." He held his palms up in surrender. "If you want to walk out of that door right now, then I won't stop you."

[Devon Creek]

Devon sat down and devoured her meal without a breath. The things were still hot, but it felt good to have actual food at a table. She nodded at Morgan as he passed her a slice of bread and began picking at it. She broke off a small chunk and chewed it slowly as he spoke. When he wrinkled his nose at her, commenting on her smell, her eyes sparkled. She felt a smile creep onto her lips, her old self quickly coming back. She tossed a piece of bread at him with a cheeky grin.

"I am floored by you gracious compliments," she said, the comment accentuated by an eye roll. But her eyes fell quickly to her lap as she considered his offer. He said no strings attached, but things were never that simple. She knew that going back to the streets was going to be a problem, given what she and Allan had been up to. And she knew that part of her wanted to be there.

She spoke slowly, choosing her words. She'd allow for one night to fully explain herself so she'd better make it count. "I want to stay. I will stay and work, but you have to understand something. This is probably the first time in twenty-five years I've been in a proper house. And it's the first time in five years I've had to work alongside anybody. So this is all a bit...foreign to me. Some thing goes for the whole idea of actually earning and working for money, it's something I've never done. So, it's like I'm starting over here, with you." She kept her eyes down, taking a quick breath.

"And it's weird because I never thought I'd feel like this, but it's like I want to start over. Just to prove to them that I can get on fine without them." Devon screwed her eyes shut, this was getting too personal now. "I'm going to muck up. A lot. It's practically a given, but I'm willing, more than willing, to try." She scratched the back of her neck, running her fingers through her short locks. With a bit of a sigh, she put her arms on the table and leaned toward Morgan.

"I ran because it's all I know how to do." She admitted quietly. "It didn't know what to do or what to say, so I ran." She looked down at her hands, annoyed that that was what her family had taught her; when in doubt, run. If you're afraid, run. Great advice, she thought venomously.

[Morgan]

Morgan listened silently as Devon talked. Now and then, he gave a small nod. "We all make mistakes," Morgan said finally. "But, I believe in second chances and I'm giving you yours. You know you're welcome to stay as long as you work. And I guess we'll sort out everything else as we go along." He looked thoughtfully at Devon for a brief moment then stood up suddenly and carried his plate into the scullery to be washed and dried later.

Pausing by the door, he looked Devon in the eyes. "I'll finish feeding up the animals and give you some privacy to have that bath. Take my advice and burn those clothes Devon, I don't even think washing will revive them." Then, grinning to himself, he turned and disappeared out of the farmhouse to finish the farm's evening chores.

(ooc: sorry its short....)

[Devon Creek]

Devon looked up when Morgan suddenly rose and quickly disappeared. When he returned, she nodded and thanked him. She snorted when he told her to burn her clothes.

"You're probably right." She said, looking down at the tattered and soiled shirt. Thank God she'd stolen that dress, but she'd have to get another pair of trousers and a tunic soon. She stood and dumped her plate with Morgan's, deciding that washing could wait until tomorrow. She gather her things and found the bath on the upper level in one of the bedrooms. A fire was soon lit and two pots of water were resting on the hearth, warming.

"Okay..." Devon muttered to herself, looking down at the clothes on her thin frame. The shirt was threadbare now and the trousers were worn at the knees, both useless with the threat of colder weather. She slid out of them, her arms protesting as she lifted her shirt. With the water boiled, she slid happily into the bath. The hot water felt harsh against her cuts and bruises, but it was wonderful at the same time. She scrubbed the dirt from her hair and feet, then decided to sit until the water went cold.

She was going to do this. She was going to work, Morgan had accepted her and was giving her a second chance. Devon realized how lucky she'd been to come across Morgan. The similarities between them was beginning to worry her though. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he'd hired her. But she got an eerie feeling about it, about how strange it was that he'd hired her in the first place. Too coincidental for her liking. So instead of pondering it, Devon slid deeper into the tub and closed her eyes.

[Morgan]

Having finished his chores for the day, Morgan stood staring up at the night sky. The stars were shining brightly, beacons of light in the inky blackness of the sky. Having wasted enough time, he was sure that Devon had probably bathed by now, Morgan returned to the house. Lifting the latch, he stepped into the hall. The room was empty, the fire in the hearth had burned down low and the sap in the logs spat and fizzed as the flames heated it.

Morgan raised his eyes up towards the landing, his hand on the newel post of the staircase and his foot on the bottom step. Cocking his head to one side, he listened carefully for any sound of movement above. Catlike, Morgan walked up quietly up the stairs. A chink of light shone through a crack in the door. Moving closer, he could see the rim of the bath and the sound of water lapping against the wooden tub. Leaning just a bit closer, a floorboard creaked under his boot. Morgan froze then, shutting his eyes, he turned away from Devon's door and walked towards his own room, this time making no attempt to move without a sound.

Once inside his room, Morgan moved towards his clothes press and took out an old well patched shirt. What had he been thinking of? Spying on her. Morgan shook his head, as if he were trying to rid himself of any foolishness on his part. Perhaps he ought to take a trip into Nottingham some time, and spend the night at a local hostelry. Wine, women and song, thats what he needed. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together.

Retracing his steps, Morgan paused outside of Devon's door and tentatively knocked. "Devon," he called out, "I've got an old shirt you can borrow if you need clothes. I'll....errr.....leave it here on the rail." Doing just that, Morgan then beat a hasty retreat downstairs.

[Devon Creek]

Devon sighed in complete happiness. Her once tight and knotted muscles were beautifully relaxed and she felt cleaner than she'd felt in years. But she still couldn't manage to drag herself out of the warm water. Suddenly, a board creaked outside her door, sending a jolt through her body. She half-stood and peeked through the crack in the door, but didn't see anything. She shivered in the cool air, goosebumps tightening her skin. Hopping from the bath, she pulled the dress over her head hastily.

"Devon," she heard him call and poked her head around the door to face him. Her hair dripped down onto her neck and she wiped at it as he spoke.

"Thanks," she yelled down the stairs at his retreating back. She laughed quietly and added under her breath, "Nothing to be afraid of. Just one person." Shaking her head, she took the shirt gratefully and began emptying the bath water.

[Morgan]

Downstairs, Morgan did his utmost to compose himself and, with a modicum of success, he managed to achieve this. Now, he told himself, was not the time to lose his head or heart over a woman but what a creature Devon was! She, like Morgan, was a born survivor and against the odds, they were the sort of person that would always struggle through. Morgan sat down in his wooden chair by the fire and poked a stick with his boot, pushing the wood into the heart of the fire. He sat there, deep in thought, as his eyes slowly started to get heavy.

Morgan jolted awake within seconds of almost dropping to sleep. He yawned and stretched. After all, he'd had a very busy day what with ploughing and planting. All that exercise took it out of a man. Within moments, Morgan's head began to nod again and he was soon snoring lightly.