Molehills (Devon/Open)

[Devon Creek]

Having been thoroughly cleaned and dried, Devon padded barefoot to the main room with the intent of thanking Morgan earnestly for the bath. The skirt of her dress swished around in the darkness, the soft rustling accentuated by the soft sound of her steps on the worn floors. She looking around for her new master and snorted when she saw him slumped in a chair by the fire.

"Strangely familiar," she muttered to herself and drew a quilt about his shoulders. In the process, however, her still damp hair dripped onto his forehead, sending a trail of moisture down his nose. Devon froze, unsure of what to do, but shook her head at herself with a soft chuckle. A spray of water flew from her head and probably covered the man in a light mist, but Devon was already retreating.

The room was welcoming as she entered it, the bed calling to her silently. She removed the dress but kept the slip on and slid between the sheets. Before her eyes slid shut, she wondered wryly if she'd be awoken in the still of the night by a blood-curdling scream.

[Morgan]

Morgan awoke suddenly. It was dark now, the candle had burned out and the fire was just a few glowing embers. Moonlight flooded through the small window, lighting silver patches on the floor. His fingers pulled at the blanket covering him. For a moment, he frowned, unable to remember picking it up. Then he remembered his house guest was back. She's probably thrown the cover over him. Morgan gave a small smile and allowed his head to loll back against the wooden chair. Although the chair wasn't as comfortable as his bed, he really couldn't be bothered to move now. It wouldn't harm him to sleep in the chair until morning.

Pulling the blanket up to his chin, Morgan thought back and relived the first time he'd met Devon, how she'd come to work on his farm for him, the tasty meals she'd prepared and the conversation they'd shared, how she'd been there when he'd woken up screaming and then how she'd disappeared until finally turning up again. Morgan gave a deep sigh. Although he'd tried to think of her as a little sister or unobtainable, in truth, he liked her. Really liked her. But he wasn't so lovestruck that he knew it was completely one sided on his behalf. No, it was best to wipe all such thoughts from his mind. What would she want with an old battle scarred wreak like himself. In time, she'd probably find herself a nice dull boy and settle down.

Tomorrow, after his chores were done, Morgan would saddle up Pilgrim and head into Nottingham. It was time he allowed himself to get a little drunk and maybe enjoy a fumble with a trollop.

[Devon Creek]

Devon stretched from under the covers, her fingers brushing the wall behind her and her toes peeking out from the bottom of the bed. She slumped back down with a happy sigh and looked up at the beams above her head. Well, it seemed that she wasn't headed out of town any time soon. She was happy about that, and happy she was back here, not that she'd ever tell anybody that. But she liked it here and to be honest, she liked Morgan too. As a fellow surviver. Her mother had a name for those sorts of people, people who were similar. Kindred spirits, that was it. It was just a fancy word to Devon and part of her believed that it was nonsense. But how could two people who'd been through so much end up in the same house by chance? How did her mother and father meet, two people so alike it was unnerving?

Maybe it wasn't so strange, but it was far too sentimental for Devon to even consider properly without a grimace. Still, Morgan accepted her despite the obvious flaws and now she had a job. And a boss, and (if she dared to say it) a friend. If the last one didn't work out, she still had Allan for a night of fun. Not to mention a good stash of cash if things went wrong. But she wasn't going to leave again, if she could help it. For once in her life, she was going to make an honest effort to be good.

Laughing at the concept, Devon rolled over and quickly fell asleep.