"Fancy meeting you here," said Basden as he dismounted. He handed his reins to one of the three men with him. They were the same three that Wilson had encountered the previous night when Aella had chased Basden out of the tavern like a dog with his tail between his legs.

"Looks like you just can't seem to get enough," said Wilson.

Grace looked at him quizzically. "What?" she asked in a whisper.

Wilson waved his hand at her, motioning her to quiet. "Did you decide that you might come out here to pick on another woman?" he asked in a loud voice.

Basden grimaced, as if he had taken a large bite out of an over sour lemon. He strode through the gate and walked up to stand in front of Grace and Wilson. Looking at Grace, he said, "It seems you are keeping poor company. When you marry me, I shall insist that you don't fraternize with the riff raff." He leered at her slightly as he said this.

Wilson stepped forward, raising his hand to strike Basden. As he did so, Basden pointed towards his men on the horses. All three of them had drawn crossbows and were pointing them at Wilson. "Temper, temper, my good man. You may not want to pick a fight you will certainly lose." He smiled viciously at Wilson. "Then again, it would please me to no end if you chose to strike an agent of the Barony on official work. The penalty for that is instant death. So please, don't hold back on my account."

Wilson lowered his hand. Seething inside, he bit his lip so as to not say anything.

"Basden," said Grace, "What are you here for?"

Basden looked from Wilson back to Grace. "My dear, I am here to ask your hand in marriage." As he said this, he looked her up and down. "What do you say?"

Not able to refrain any more, Wilson shouted, "You cur. She shall marry you over my dead body."

"We can definitely arrange that," said Basden as he looked over at his men. "Was it a request?" he asked Wilson.

"Basden, you know I have no interest in becoming your wife," said Grace. "I insist you stop asking me. It is becoming rather tiresome."

Basden laughed. A short barking sound. "Well, you certainly put on airs as if you were royalty. But, it appears you are just a commoner." He shook his head slowly. Looking Grace up and down once more, he added, "Such a pity. A waste, really."
He walked back to his horse. Reaching into his saddlebag, he withdrew an official looking document. Rolled up parchment sealed with a dark red piece of red wax, the wax had the official green ribbon of a Barony document. Basden broke the wax seal as he walked back over to where Grace and Wilson were standing. He looked at them both. Clearing his throat, he unrolled the parchment and said, "It is quite possible, being the commoners you both are, that neither of you are capable of reading. As illiterates, it is my duty, as a representative of the crown, to read this official document."

Wilson began to say something. Before he could even get started, Basden looked at him. "This is official business," he said. "If you interrupt me again, I shall have to declare you a threat and have you neutralized." Without hesitating to see if Wilson was in agreement he began to read the parchment.

"To whom it may concern, The Good Baron Doomstill has declared an extra tax of ten golds on the lands of Goodman Hasp. In light of the fact that he has been absent for over six years, in light of the fact that he has set himself in defiance to the crown, Baron Doomstill now declares him a traitor, an enemy of the crown, and declares all his lands forfeit if the extra tax is not paid by his descendants within 30 days. This matter has been signed by Justice Fillmore and is currently being taken to the Crown. In thirty days, the Baron shall take possession of these lands, all the buildings on them, as well as any livestock and goods left on them. Signed, Baron Charles Doomstill in the seven hundred and forty third year of the Five." Looking up from the parchment Basden smiled viciously. "If you decide in the next few days that you would prefer a life of wealth and privilege over a life of destitution and poverty, Grace, well you know where you can find me. My offer, against my better judgement, stands open to you for the next twenty-nine days." He walked over to the door of the cottage, removed a small hammer from his belt and a large iron nail from a pouch on his belt, and tacked the notice onto the door. Walking away without a glance at either Wilson or Grace, he mounted his horse. Without another word, not even a backward glance, he rode back the way he came. The three men, not bothering to sheath their crossbows, rode after him. A cloud of dust followed the foursome.

A dusty quiet settled on the farm. It seemed that neither Grace or Wilson wanted to speak. As if by not saying anything they could eliminate what had just happened from the fabric of reality. Several minutes later, the dust just beginning to settle, Wilson looked over at his sister.

"I'm afraid this is all my fault," he said.

Grace laughed quietly. A small sob came out in the middle of the laugh. "Always trying to be the center of everything. Still at it?" she asked bitterly. Her face trying not to crumple into full blown crying, she waved her hand by way of apology. "I'm sorry, Wil. Let's not start that again. That filthy man has been trying to wed me since I can remember. He disgusts me." She walked over to the parchment and tore it off the door.

Wilson kept still.

Grace walked into the cottage. "Well, we might as well have another cup of tea," she called out. Her voice strained and stretched. "Come in here, Wil."

Wilson walked in and sat down quietly. "I'm sorry Grace. What can I do to help?" he asked.

Grace nodded her head in gratitude, her eyes full of sorrow. "I'm afraid there is nothing anyone can do. I shall most likely lose the farm. I guess Dev and I shall just have to get married sooner rather than later." She smiled at the thought.

"Well, you'll be glad to know that I gave Devon my blessing last night," said Wilson. "Not that you needed my permission or anything," he added hastily with a glance to make sure he hadn't set Grace off again.

"We had hoped to move him here after the wedding and keep the farm going. Dev's dad said he would be fine in the tavern by himself and if he got too busy, he could hire old man Taylor's son to help." Grace poured herself some more tea. "Looks like we'll all three be working in the tavern. I'm not sure it will support us all. I guess I could take up sewing."

Wilson laughed at the thought. He glanced at Grace with a wry grin. "You were never much of a seamstress Grace. Did something change while I was gone."

She laughed. "No. I'm still terrible. But I'm sure we can figure something out."

They both sat, staring at the hearth. Drinking their tea.

The Black Oak Sword

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Chapter 2: Part 1 , Part 2
Chapter 3: Part 1 , Part 2,Part 3
Chapter 4:Part 1,Part 2
Chapter 5: Part 1
Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2
Chapter 7: Part 1, Part 2
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14:Part 1

© 2017, Stone Golem Publishing, All rights reserved--no part of this may be used without express written consent.

**All pictures used are labeled for reuse. They come from Pixabay

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