Well, the new young lord decides he wants the yeoman's property as a hunting lodge, but when he demands it, the yeoman refuses, and so the lord challenges him to a duel. But first, the lord blasts the magical capstone and gateway that protected the yeoman's property, and you know that means bad things will happen as surely as you ever know anything about stories and their telling.

And so

And so, on the last morning of May, as the mists rose up from the dew-draped meadows, the yeoman told his son to be brave and steadfast, to care for his mother and to do his utmost to keep the land, whatever the outcome of the duel that day. To his wife he gave a locket he had transfigured from the latch salvaged from the ancient iron gates; it contained a shard of grey stone and a curl cut from his black hair, tied with a blood-red ribbon. Last of all before mounting his tall steed, he raised her hand to his lips. And then he rode out of the yard with a brave clatter of hooves upon cobbles.

The duel ended badly. On both sides. Straight off, the young lord broke the codes of honour, casting his first curse before the count was complete, but even wounded, the yeoman prevailed, bringing that unscrupulous nobleman to his knees. Before their witnesses, the lord renounced all claim to the property and signed a note promising that neither he nor his heirs would ever challenge the right of the yeoman or his heirs to hold that land for as long as their line continued. When all the witnesses had placed their marks on the note, the yeoman bowed and turned, but before he had taken a step, he swooned. Despite the Healer's best efforts, he died where he fell. He was buried with his wand in his hand, wearing his lord's livery like all his fathers and grandfathers before him.

I know that sounds terrible and sad, but it's not a story about this yeoman; it's a story about his son.