Corpus Tamrielicum - The Imperial Library

[30.9] KING EDWARD IX
"I am less fortunate than you in some ways. I am a wanderer, and born to wanderers, a tinker
by trade, though I can turn my hand to most things. I have never been married and have no
children, nor have I ever had a home other than the wagon my horse pulls. I've never stayed
long in one place. My parents named me Sai, but most folks call me Lucky."
"Lucky is what I will call you then, for you have indeed been lucky for me."
He stood and stretched, and began clearing the remnants of their meal from the table. He
poured water from the copper kettle into the basin and washed and dried the dishes,
something she had never seen a man do before. After the babe was fed they played with him
on the hearthrug while he told her of some of the odd and wonderful places and peoples he
had met with on his journeys, and once again her life seemed very narrow and dull. After an
hour or two the babe grew tired and cranky, and she took him on her lap and sang to him until
he fell asleep. She laid him in his crib and wrapped him warmly in a rabbit fur bunting.
When she went back to the fire, Lucky reached for her hand and held it for a moment, without
a word, then they were in one another's arms and kissing hungrily. They shed their clothing
and lay together shamelessly, enjoying each others bodies in the flickering rosy firelight. He
loved the roundness of her breasts and thighs, belly and buttocks, and said she was as juicy as
an apple. His bleached lean muscular body and silken hair fascinated her as much. She had
loved Tom and known pleasant moments with him, but nothing like she felt with this stranger.
She woke in bed in the morning, to the baby's crying as usual. Lucky wasn't there and she
thought he must have been a vivid dream. Then the door opened and shut, and he was striding
toward her, fully dressed, and motioning her to stay where she was. He kissed her lips, then
brought the babe to her and stood watching as he suckled. "What a pity that we remember not
the pleasure we once knew."
"Yet we have pleasures still that we will remember," she said, and felt her cheeks redden at
her boldness. What a wanton he must think her!
"Indeed," he said, and laid his cold hand against her hot cheek.
The storm had stopped during the night, but the snow was deep on the road, and it was clear
that it would be days before the horse could pull Lucky's small wagon along the road. That
wagon was brightly painted with leaves and vines and flowers in red and blue and green and
yellow. The wheels were red with yellow spokes. It had a canvas top, also painted, blue with
white fleecy clouds. Josea loved the wagon but it sorted oddly with Lucky's quiet greyness.
Lucky did small jobs for her, mending tools, hinges, and utensils. He cut more wood for her,
saying that if she did not need it this year, there would be another. He stayed a week and a
thaw came and then a freeze, and the road was rutted but fit for travel. They looked at one
another in the morning light, and he said that it couldn't hurt to stay another day, or maybe
two, if she was not yet tired of him. She wasn't.
After another week, Lucky asked her if she would come with him. Her heart leaped at the
question, but she looked around the little house where she'd spent all her life, thought of her
land and village and her babe, and said, "I can't go. I've no desire to travel, and I don't want to
bring my babe up as a homeless waif."
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