Squire Hayseed

by S E Zbasnik

  Gavin’s chest rose, the moonlight glinting off his star across the crest. He gazed out over the estate, then turned to the gate itself. “There was ample opportunity for you to run. You had more than enough stolen goods to set yourself up. Yet, you never did. Not until you had no choice. As if in some part of your heart you wished to be a squire.”

  That wasn’t why. She just…she never had the right opportunity. Hayley was waiting for it to show itself. And she wanted to learn things, to help her in the future. To…

  “Goodnight, Squire,” Gavin boomed, his body turning to wrench open the front door.

  Before it closed to welcome the knight and champion into its warm hearth, the girl standing in the warming darkness said, “Evening, Ser.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A blade whipped past Hayley’s face. She shifted on her foot, pivoting to bounce the parry away and bring her armed hand up into striking form. Rolling her shoulder back, the crisp air cut down her lungs as she sucked in a breath to prepare for the next attack. Just before striking, a foot lashed out and whipped over hers.

  It knocked her left foot out, but Hayley dodged with the right. Too bad it wasn’t fast enough, her entire balance thrown off. Like felling a dead tree, she tumbled towards the ground. A gloved hand lashed from ahead of her, catching the girl before she plummeted straight into the churned up frozen mud below.

  “Not bad,” Gavin said, his face drifting closer before he helped haul Hayley to her weary legs. Swiping his sword through the air, the knight stepped back towards the edge of the paddock while Hayley winced. She shifted her blade to the other hand and eyed up the white patches of dead skin forming on her pads. Each one matched perfectly with the grip of her sword, sometimes tearing off after a long match. One of them was ripped apart, the hard skin weeping blood.

  “Is there a problem?” Gavin asked, shifting his body back into position.

  Hayley drew her pinkie over the wound and found the blood barely dribbled out. Shaking her head, she slotted the sword back into place, “No Ser.”

  “Good,” he smiled, “now go again!”

  They’d been at it all day, her knight of the opinion that the crisp air would help her shore up some of her lagging arm issues. She didn’t understand how, but she couldn’t refuse. For the past three months, as autumn froze to an impenetrable winter, Hayley did whatever her knight asked of her, for the most part without question. It was cold in her world for many weeks, Gavin often leaving her alone to her work which he expected to be finished before his return. He seemed barely able to look at her, even taking two or three day long excursions without the squire.

  The others knew something was up. Ania was kind enough to not ask. Finn…Hayley found it easier to ignore. She was up from dawn till dusk, chopping, stabbing, sewing, reading, cooking, and plucking. Gavin volunteered her to the kitchen staff as an expert procurer of geese for winter meals, which meant she had to rip every single feather off of their evil hides.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the continuous motion didn’t cut into her palms and leave her fingers gnarled. Nor did it help that she was the slowest of the bunch, some of the others having to assist lest dinner arrive for breakfast. There were dark days when Hayley thought it wasn’t worth it. Trying to behave, putting on the costume of the godly squire would never work. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but with winter beating down over the land there was no chance she’d survive the escape to Ostmount never mind on the streets.

  Hayley was certain her knight would never defrost, his glares the only way he’d look at her, his voice always curt and words chopped. Even as the weeks turned into months, he never ceased in inspecting the home and her pockets for anything stolen. Every day she had to empty them out onto the table proving that she hadn’t broken her promise.

  The man seemed to turn to stone when it came to his squire, Hayley fearing he’d never be capable of even humoring her. So, when she returned to her bed after a long, snowy Christmas spent bedding down the animals in warm stables her heart nearly leapt out of her throat. Tucked on her blankets, with a knot of string wrapped around them, were a pair of sheepskin gloves. A small note was attached which simply had her name on it.

  Terrified of being accused of stealing them, Hayley took the gloves right to Gavin and admitted the truth. He glanced once over at the soft leather barely perched in her palms and told her they were to keep her from tearing open her palms while training. A gift. Her first one. Ever. She spent all of Christmas night with those gloves pinned to her chest.

  “Squire, pay attention!” Gavin thundered, whipping her eyes up to him.

  “Yes, Ser,” she said. Fishing into the belt around her midsection, Hayley picked up her gloves and slipped both on. “I’m ready.”

  “You should be ready before it begins. Prepared before the first sword leaves its sheath. Understand?” He recited his canticle and Hayley bobbed her head. She’d heard it often, Gavin continuously upping her training every week. It seemed pointless. Hayley wasn’t getting any better, but he wouldn’t give up on it.

  She drew her arm back, raking the sword closer to her body. Gavin’s eyes darted over her before he sighed, “Elbows.”

  Shit. Hayley tucked them in tight. Her spare hand practically lunged behind her back lest it get in the way. Her knight eyed up her form, then bowed his head that it was good enough. Drawing a foot in the snow, he lifted his sword across his body. It seemed to be his preferred fighting stance, though it looked almost impotent to the outside viewer. In that position, he moved fast to defend from any possible attack, yet it was anything but easy. Hayley got both her knuckles knocked raw when she tried it.

  Taking a deep pull of the chilled spring air, Hayley shuffled her shoulders to lengthen her neck. She moved to strike when something splattered into her back. Her entire body jerked forward, frozen water dripping down the cloak she tossed over her shoulders. Another two lobbed attacks struck her, but Hayley didn’t look away from Gavin. He was armed, he was the danger.

  Damn it! A fourth snowball landed right on her ass. She wanted to kill whoever was doing that.

  No. Focus. Keep your eyes on… From her periphery, she spotted a tuft of red hair rising above the white, that massive forehead pig pink in the cold.

  Finn.

  He wrenched his arm back and with a great giggle lobbed a snowball right towards Hayley’s head. Should she dodge it? She was supposed to be watching Gavin, not the snowball. Or asshole stableboys who had it coming.

  Freezing wet snow splattered against the side of her head and ear, clumping into the gap in her shirt and slithering down to her skin below. Hayley’s entire body contorted to try to slide away from the cold, but she didn’t let go of her sword. She may have obliterated her fighting stance, but at least she kept a grip on her weapon.

  “Squire…”

  Crap. Hayley scrunched up her face, doing her best to ignore the cold water leaving a trail down her ribcage. “Yes, Ser?” she asked.

  “Are you not going to defend yourself?” Gavin said, his face stern as always.

  Hayley snapped back to attention, her sword arm sliding into position with little thought. But her knight snickered, causing Hayley to wither in fear that she failed until his eyes shifted over to the snowball-lobbing monster behind the barn. She looked up to him, uncertain if that was what he meant when Gavin dipped his head so far down his chin scraped his chest.

  “Defend yourself,” he said again and reached a hand out to take her sword.

  Greedily, Hayley dashed out of the torn apart training grounds to land in the surprise spring snow. Her hands scooped a massive amount up, nearly the size of a human head, which she tucked tight to her stomach while trying to shape it out. A shadow stretched from the back of the barn, Finn clearly preparing to lob another round at her. Hayley flattened her back to the wall perpendicular to him and she began to ease her way closer.

  Shutting off her breath, Hayley waited — the giant snowball freezing her
hands to a burn. A chuckle betrayed the boy as he swung out of his hiding place, arm raised back. She watched his eyes drop as he realized his victim vanished. Before he could react, Hayley shoved her arms forward, slamming her snowball straight into Finn’s face. The smirk obliterated into a white shower, Finn stumbling backwards until he fell flat on his ass into the snowbank behind him.

  Hayley dusted off her gloves and placed both hands on her hips, staring down in glee at the boy drowning in snow. “Serves you right,” she began to taunt when his hand hurled the last snowball at her. It splattered on her chest, and the two combatants met eye to eye. Finn, pinned to the ground, snow clinging to his eyebrows. Hayley, looming above him, her hands reaching towards the ammunition below them.

  “Ah!” both cried, Finn trying to spin to clump up a ball in his palm. Hayley realized she couldn’t possibly reach it in time, so she began to kick through the snow. Powder erupted off the last few inches of winter, some of it striking Finn. The boy was scrabbling on his knees, getting his feet under him as he took to running.

  “No, you don’t!” Hayley called, easily giving chase after. His face, red marking where the snow struck, whipped back to find her raking her fingers over the rabbit hutch roofs. It wasn’t a lot of snow, but it was enough. Hayley kept crushing it tighter and tighter together while nipping on Finn’s heels.

  He ran in a panic, arms flailing while he spun to the right. No doubt he thought the bathhouse would protect him, but Hayley wasn’t about to give up. Redoubling her efforts, she dashed around the blind spot from behind the building and straight into…

  An ambush! Snowballs splattered onto her face and chest, Hayley’s only weapon tumbling to the ground as she raced to protect herself. Through the bombardment, she heard a flat laugh echoing against the dingy white landscape.

  Losing her fight, Hayley tumbled to a knee, the cold wet seeping through her trousers. “How could you?” she shouted, probably more dramatically than was necessary.

  “Easy,” Finn skidded back from wherever he ran to hide and wrapped an arm around his accomplice, “Ania’s on my side.”

  “No,” the girl’s flat voice dipped deep into darkness. She yanked two snowballs off her pile that Finn led Hayley right into, and turned to the boy clinging to her. “I am on no one’s side,” Ania finished with, pelting Finn right across his massive forehead.

  “Ooh,” Hayley both winced and crowed, “great shot.”

  “Damn it!” Finn was trying to leap away, but Ania had him pinned. He was forced to ping back and forth to try and avoid her well-timed snowballs. “This isn’t funny!”

  Hayley staggered to her feet, barely wiping away the snow caught in the crinkle of her leathers before she stood next to Ania. Laughing hard at the boy hoisted on his own petard, she said, “Funniest thing I’ve seen all season.”

  “You…you…girls!” Finn shrieked, finally making his escape by way of hopping over the fence circling the sheep paddock. The Saints were in a particularly giving mood that day as at that exact moment silence wrapped around the farm — so the sound of Finn ripping the seat of his trousers clean in half cracked like thunder.

  Hayley’s eyes darted to her companion, “Did you…?” she asked and Ania nodded fast. Not that she needed to hear it, as Finn was scrabbling with both of his hands cupped to his ass while backing away. A red, impotent rage claimed his entire visage, but even through the burning shame when his eyes caught Hayley’s something else pulsed deep inside.

  They hadn’t talked much since she was accused of stealing from the Countess. She hoped it was due to Finn thinking her knight would string him up by his ankles if he tried anything forward, but as more time passed and Finn didn’t try again she had to accept the truth. He knew what really happened. So did Ania.

  Whether due to Gavin telling them, or process of elimination, they figured it out and were cold to Hayley. Everyone was, practically begging for her to run back to the city. Forget she agreed to give this squiring her all. She didn’t realize this could be so much harder until there was no one to break up the silence but her own whispers.

  Hayley didn’t talk about it with anyone. Didn’t make mention of the few times, when she’d be hip deep in a blizzard, she thought of running for it. The thoughts didn’t vanish just because she was without means, but she never made good on them. It probably didn’t mean much to people that Hayley stuck around when she had nowhere else to go.

  A foot kicked into the pile of handcrafted snowballs, sending them crumbling back to the earth. Hayley turned to Ania, her face knotted in confusion as she asked, “Don’t you need those for another attack?”

  “Finn will sulk if I do.” She tugged the scarf wrapped around her chin higher to protect her nose. “And he is such a baby when he loses.”

  Hayley snickered. “That ain’t a surprise to god or the devil.”

  After patting off the snow clinging to her gloves, Ania turned her swaddled head to Hayley. The always burning eyes honed as she asked, “Will you be coming to dinner at the manor tonight?”

  Scratching the back of her neck, Hayley shrugged. “Dunno. Depends on what my…” The thought faded as she realized Ania wasn’t asking but inviting. “No idea what my knight had planned.”

  “Oh, he can…he should attend as well. There’s a,” she rifled her fingers back through her hair before realizing it was all bundled below scarf, “a new recipe I tried today and I’m curious for tasters.”

  “You mean prisoners?” Hayley asked, her lips opening wide to voice the words before landing on a big smile. Ania returned it even as she snorted to herself and rolled her eyes. “Sure, I’ll…”

  The thrum of hoof over snow cut off Hayley and she turned not away from the oncoming horse but towards. It wasn’t a great war stallion that stomped through the courtyards, but a bent-back nag with a boy a few years on Finn clinging to the saddle. Wiping off her hands once more, Hayley ran out to him.

  “What have you for him today, Master Devon?” Hayley shouted. She didn’t reach for the horse to touch it, nor the bridle the way Finn would, but she managed to get close enough.

  Devon dug into the saddlebag to the right, his head nearly thrust inside so his skinny body was bent in half. At that moment, strutting as if he didn’t just split open his trousers like a butterflied chicken, Finn slipped beside Hayley. His finger graced over her arm a breath before he took up the messenger’s bridle to keep the horse steady.

  Not that the nag had any intentions of moving, at least until Finn grabbed on. “Oi, what the…?” Devon began before his head lifted and the drippy eyes met with Finn’s. “Ah, hello Finn,” he muttered, already returning to his sack.

  The stableboy ran his hand up the horse’s withers, giving it a good pat as he chided, “It’s too cold for you to be racing about the countryside on her. She ain’t got the years for it.”

  Hayley scratched at the back of her neck, finding the hairs rising from some stupid machismo contest between the two boys. She didn’t know a damn thing about it, only that whenever Devon arrived he and Finn would peck at each other like chickens. At least there wasn’t much blood, not that she’d be the one offering to clean it up.

  “Well,” Devon finally yanked his hand out of the saddlebag and pressed a pile into Hayley’s greedy fingers, “maybe if people didn’t expect their messages in any weather, I wouldn’t have to drag her out into it.” He finished with a glare at Finn before turning to Hayley. “How’s the day finding you, Miss?”

  It was stupid calling her Miss as if she was someone who deserved to be called anything. Even squire was a farce, but Hayley bobbed her head at the thought and felt a rising flush on her cheeks. “Not bad, had a good breakfast, got thrown around in the ring with Ser Gavin. Oh…” Her smile turned full on mischievous as she stared right at Finn, “and I ripped his pants.”

  Finn’s eyes flared open wide, his teeth chattering as he raced to try and defend himself, but it was Devon who cut through. “You…and he, his trousers were, you ripp
ed them?”

  “What?” Hayley folded her face in confusion when the utterly disgusted look on Devon’s face and the rising leer in Finn’s landed. “No!” she shouted, whipping her hands through the air. “No, he was chasing me. I was chasing him. There were snowballs, and…the fence. He did it on the fence. Not-not that it and…”

  Dear mother, Mary of god. Sliding back on the balls of her feet, Hayley bunched the letters in her fist and shouted, “I need to get these to my knight. So…good day, Devon.”

  The messenger’s cheeks were stained pink from the cold’s kiss, but he lifted his hand and gave her jolly wave, “Good day to you too, Miss Hayley.”

  Turning fast before either of the boys dragged her into one of their pissing contests, Hayley dashed for the small house. As she blew through the door, a cinnamon-scented heat curled up against her bones like a fat house cat. Hayley moved to slam the door shut when Gavin shouted from his room, “Boots!”

  With a silent sigh, she dug off her shin-high boots and kicked both outside lest they leave evil puddles on the floor. Apparently, accidentally stepping in a bit of water with socked feet on was her brave, stout knight’s one undoing. He practically leapt to the roof the first time it happened, then shouted himself raw over the minor thing.

  After hanging her cloak and leathers on the rack behind the door, Hayley shuffled sock-footed towards the happy fire. “Devon just arrived,” she called.

  “Oh? How many?”

  “Four.” She shifted quickly through the meager pile. There wasn’t a visit from the friendly-local messenger that didn’t include at least one missive for the knight. Sometimes there could be as many as eight to ten letters for him.

  “Read the first one,” Gavin called from deep in his room. The door was open, but only a crack. All the time she’d been here and she hadn’t seen more than an inch of his private refuge. The coverlet on his bed was a burgundy hue, which was all she knew.