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 Posted: Mon Nov 02, 2009 9:47 pm
  Nothing Personal
((1x1 between Boadecia and Dorian Raker)) It starts as nothing personal, really. There's a somewhat roguish character who happens to need money for some reason or another. And happens to be good at the rather shadier aspect of obtaining said wealth. He decides that kidnapping seems like an easy way to make fast money. Considering this is the 1700s, women aren't exactly trained in self-defense. So coaxing one away and locking her up in a room for a couple weeks until her father pays off a ransom doesn't seem all that difficult.
Coincidentally, there is a rather wealthy business owner whose daughter has just come of age for marrying, which has put the spotlight on his family. It's rumored that the daughter is to be married to an equally wealthy family, securing a tie between the two in business and political affairs. Naturally, the daughter is rather central to this whole arrangement, and so for her to go missing would be absolutely catastrophic. Who knows what sum they would pay to get her back?
However, there's someone else seeing this whole kidnapping thing as an opportunity, the daughter herself. She's found herself a knack for growing pretty flowers with deadly poisons, for hiding blades in jewelry and within the ruffles of overly ornate dresses. And as the impending betrothal became closer to a reality, so did her plan to get out of it. She would destroy whoever was necessary, first off being her dear father. But on the very day she planned to kill him, she got kidnapped. Now she thinks she can escape on her own without a trace, make a name for herself elsewhere by whatever means necessary. Of course to do that she has to get away from her kidnapper and make sure he can't sell out where she's hiding. Fortunately, she has all sorts of ways to silence him, most of them in the form of pretty flowers and jewelry.
Essentially, kidnapper vs kidnapped. Kidnapper wants to keep the girl alive and there until he can get his money. The girl wants to escape and preferably also kill her kidnapper. Needless to say, there's a conflict of interest here and what starts as each underestimating the other eventually becomes a very deadly game with the stakes being tons of money, fatality, wounded pride, etc.
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Posted: Mon Nov 02, 2009 11:22 pm
 Lilith Adair
It was nearly sunset, Lilith realized as her eyes caught on the last rays disappearing over the rooftops. She would be expected back by the time the stars were visible. Not that staying out a little late would cause much of a stir comparatively, but she wanted nothing out of place. She wanted to seem on flawless terms with her father, or at least as politely distant and obedient as usual. But she stifled any anxiety she was mulling over. She was, after all, in public.
There was no mistaking the girl's class. Everything about her from her clothes to the very cadence of her step spoke of wealth and status. Her head was held high, her expression told of a past free of the trials of poverty and removed of any compassion for those who had endured it. She found no fault in showing at least that much of the truth to the world. She had never felt the need to look approachable as in all honestly she had no wanting to be approached. She clutched a satin satchel in her gloved hands. The pale green of her elaborate dress served to further draw attention to the blazing green eyes and fire-orange hair that already habitually caught the eyes of strangers.
But beneath the haughty airs and decadence, Lilith was troubled. Tonight things changed. She had hidden behind a false face for the sake of avoiding a stigma, avoiding worries and suspicions. But after that evening, she would rely on that acting to keep her very life. She felt what she had planned was a step into something she couldn't back out of, the point of no return, and that thought was chilling. However the alternative was dire and what good was toying around with ways to kill if one didn't eventually learn to play God with them? And in this case it might as well be self-defense, she rationalized. The excuses seemed hollow, but she didn't really feel that she needed them. She had made up her mind when she had first started hearing rumors that her father had been discussing marrying her off.
Lost in thought, she hardly noticed the streets beginning to thin out. All around her shops were closing and the crowds milling about from store to nearby store had turned to a few small groups rushing to get the last of what they needed before going home for the evening. Lilith shook the thoughts out of her head and quickened her pace a little. The machinations of her little coupe were all in place. She had worked out every logical hindrance and found no place she could easily be seen through or stopped by chance. She only needed to set it into motion.
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Posted: Tue Nov 03, 2009 12:24 am
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
The highwayman kept his distance at first, as the crowds churned like a pit of unquiet adders. They would not know him here. What fame he'd garnered had been found upon the roads far to the north and west, but it still did not hurt to be cautious. Not when chasing a prize such as this one.
She was painted and primped as usual, positively reeking of feminine appeal and the faint odure of well-bred, lily-handed noblesse. The cut of her dress, the delicate coif of her hair, the tincture of rose-oil that she no doubt applied religiously when going out and about to mingle with the common rabble...he knew her type.
He'd even begun to believe he knew her.
He'd been watching her a while. Lilith Adair. This was what they called her. Or rather, the chambermaids called her Miss Adair. Her father called her Lilith only when he was rapidly losing his patience. Otherwise, "Lily" seemed to suffice.
But what's in a name? She was a meal-ticket, plain and simple. Dear daddums had a plan for this charming little chattel, trading her off for a strategic alliance to some loathsome toad, no doubt. Hell, before the end, she might even see fit to thank the highwayman for the reprieve from the altar and the matrimonial yoke. But the reprieve would only last long enough for daddy to hand over a satchel of glittering gold in exchange for his daughter's unblemished person. Simple enough. Easy money.
The highwayman's lips arched behind the high collar of his coat, drawing upward into something vaguely like a smile, though devoid of mirth. There was business afoot. Pleasure could come later.
The crowds began to draw away as the sun dipped low on the horizon. Soon, night would fall. Soon, it would be the time when the filth began to run from the gutters, oozing outward to prey upon the innocent...or so the charming rustics believed. Little did they know that the filth was always among them, lurking no further than the napes of their necks. The highwayman did not run from the sun like some nameless evil of the old world, a blood-sucking fiend. No. He was just another working stiff...who managed to eke a modest living from steel-backed charity.
She was too far from home to beat the setting of the sun. And the open span of roadway which distanced daddy-dearest's palatial estate from the rutted streets of the town proper would be bathed in shade before she had a chance to even catch the half-way mark. The highwayman tipped his tricorn a little lower over his brow, his smile growing just a bit wider as he moved to follow.
She would not notice him. They never noticed him. Not until it was too late.
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Tue Nov 03, 2009 1:02 am
Lilith Adair
Lilith followed the winding road up towards where her father's estate lay, lights twinkling in the distance as the sun allowed the world around her to be swallowed in grays and blues. It was not something that worried the girl though. Night, shadows, these were the friends of liars and only the honest feared them. Her confidence didn't fade with the setting sun, but she did become more circumspect, especially as she walked farther from town. It wasn't that she expected danger, but rather that she valued her solitude. It allowed the mask to come down a little, allowed her shoulder to slouch to a less than flawless posture, her gait was not defining her. Here no one was watching, but naturally, this was a fact she had to be certain of. And so when she began to think she'd been hearing something behind her, she did not dismiss it.
She knew better than to make attempts to brush it off. Her hand instinctively went to her sleeve, where it may have appeared she was fiddling nervously with the lace gathered around her wrist. In actuality, her fingers ran pensively over the thin ivory handle of what was essentially an over-sized needle hidden beneath the fabric. Not an effective weapon for battles or drawn out fights, but she imagined she would have the benefit of surprise should she be attacked.
She looked behind her but saw nothing save for the road, a ribbon of moonlight snaking back towards town. There were thin woods and occasionally dark patches of trees she couldn't see into well. Her eyes moved over them, but there were areas that were so black she might as well try to see the bottom of the ocean as the depths of those shadows. And walking towards whatever might be stalking her to investigate seemed like folly. Let them come to her. She'd be waiting.
She started walking again, slow and purposeful, ears listening for even the slightest sounds. She was alone, there was no reason for them not to attack, she reasoned. Fingers a breath away from that delicate ivory handle, she walked with baited breath. She still hadn't completely ruled out the possibility that she was being paranoid. But it wasn't in her to trust her well-being to chance.
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Posted: Tue Nov 03, 2009 1:11 pm
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
The highwayman watched her fret at the lace of her sleeves, glancing here and there as if she might somehow pierce the lingering shadow that clung to the surfaces of the open road and the stand of broad-leafed trees which stretched to either side, forming a border between the rabble and those who ruled. A hawk in spectacles would have little luck. What chance had she? He himself was blessed enough to be looking out, rather than in. He could see her perfectly.
No, she had not seen him. Though he could be sure that she was an alert little doxy.
The highwayman waited until she began to walk once more. The soft clatter of her shoes against the cobblestones almost eclipsed the sound of his own footsteps as he detached from a pool of shadow to noiselessly pursue. He times his steps to her own slow gait, trusting in his longer stride to catch up. One hand dipped into the long leather length of his riding coat to lay upon the butt of his flintlock pistol.
So very close now.
Seconds ticked by; heartbeats came and went. The highwayman drew closer. The muted rustle of steel against leather was caught and carried by a soft, stirring wind, the sound of a pistol being drawn from its holster as the highwayman closed with his quarry. He drew closer, close enough to catch the faintest hint of her scent…not roses as he’d expected, but something lighter and sweeter. He flexed one gloved hand, readying himself for what came next.
In an instant, a flash of violent motion, the highwayman clamped a black leather-clad hand over Lilith Adair’s dainty mouth while he pressed the barrel of his pistol to the place where her neck met the base of her skull. He braced himself for a struggle, pulling his legs in tight together to protect himself against a sudden kick.
“Good evening, mademoiselle. Grant a boor a favor and walk with me.” His voice was deep and tinged with the faintest velvet rasp, perfectly unaccented. A man who had learned his English well, but only as a second language. He thumbed the hammer back on his pistol. "Scream and I will burn you down."
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 1:26 am
Lilith Adair
Lilith heard someone walking behind her, or thought she did, but she didn't turn around. She couldn't imagine that she'd be much good to anyone dead and certainly a gunshot could be heard up at the estate. Unless her assailant was unspeakably desperate or simply dumb as hell, he wouldn't just kill her. No change in pace or backward glances gave away her suspicions. She let him come. Suddenly she heard a louder movement behind her, weaponry of some kind or another sliding against leather. She had already half-drawn her weapon, hand grasped tightly over the ivory carvings, when the attack came a moment later.
A gloved hand covered her mouth, forcing her head back against the barrel of a gun. Instinctively she tried to pull away, realizing the futility of this just as she heard a gruff voice over her shoulder. “Good evening, mademoiselle. Grant a boor a favor and walk with me. Scream and I will burn you down.”
The idea of facing off against a kidnapper was not so intimidating to Lilith. It was the reality of this man being close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck when he growled his warning that made her blood run like ice in her veins. Images of broken china and bruised whores flitted nightmarishly through Lilith's mind. The terror gripped her for a moment, sending a tremor through her body, swallowing up the reminders she had calmly given herself to wait. Wait until the moment was opportune, wait until he lets down his guard down. He had no intention of kill her yet after all.
But the fear wasn't something she could deal with, not something she could stifle for its inconvenience. It was what had driven her to be willing to kill her own father in the first place. He would have walked her into her nightmares in a white dress and that was a betrayal she couldn't have forgiven him for. Now some stranger appeared in the darkness, shattering any sense of boundaries, the cold metal on her neck a reminder of just how little he cared whether she even survived much less whether she was left worthless and broken.
The dagger was drawn from her sleeve before she even realized she'd done it. It was simple in make, a very short thin rod of metal tapering to a point, an over-sized needle of perhaps four inches with a handle to make jabbing it into someone a bit easier. She plunged it back towards his right leg, the easiest place for her to stab at given the circumstances. His hand was busy holding a gun to her head, which if she'd taken the time to think about it, might make stabbing him a less than intelligent strategy. However it did mean that he was in no position to stop her.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 1:43 am
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
Damn, but he hadn’t been expecting that.
The kitten had claws, it seemed. Not just a satin mannequin all fit to be paraded down the main streets and showed off like a bit of fine china in the hallowed halls of society. No, instead, the highwayman was dealing with a woman not so terribly above getting her hands dirty. If she hadn’t just busied herself with driving a little ivory-handled poignard into his right thigh, he might’ve taken it upon himself to be impressed.
Thank the merciful heavens for his raiment. The heavy leather coat which wrapped about him from throat to boot-tops and his well-cut buckskins deflected much of the lethal force, fouling the blade and turning the murderous backhand stab into a faint fire-ant pain. The highwayman could say his prayers tonight to the powers that be for the small charity. For now, he bit back a throaty growl of displeasure and pain as the blade sluiced through his flesh and drew a ribbon of blood.
He certainly could not be counted upon to run far in the not-too-distant future.
His hand, still clamped about the wench’s mouth tightened reflexively, the leather-wrapped digits taking a firm hold on her left cheekbone and the right of her jaw. His uninjured leg hooked about her left ankle, sweeping the decidedly devious little damsel from her dainty little feet with a well-practiced application of force. The two motions coincided in such a fashion as to tumble the wench to the flat of her back upon the unforgiving cobbles.
The flintlock trained itself upon the small divot of her collarbone beneath the gentle curve of her throat. The highwayman’s face, half-obscured by his high-collar and the shadow of his tri-corn, was far from friendly as he stepped upon the hand which still gripped the little ivory knife.
His voice had not changed, even in the face of the easy-meal ticket‘s struggle. “Don’t be stupid. Drop it.” He paused a heartbeat, no longer. "Please."
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 8:48 am
Lilith Adair
As the dagger struck into first coat then pants and found both difficult to penetrate, Lilith was almost worried it would have been for nothing. Or at least, worried until she felt his body recoiling away and heard the muffled growl of pain from behind her. It hadn't gotten much, but at least it had done something. That fact was satisfying at least, however Lilith had very little time to be smug as her assailant readjusted behind her before she suddenly found her feet no longer beneath her. Panic swept over her as she realized she was falling backwards. She way she fell, she managed to avoid getting the wind knocked out of her, but her head smacked hard against the cobblestone.
She didn't move for a minute, her primary concern with remaining conscious. But beyond the throbbing pain coursing through her skull, there didn't seem to be any hindering damage. She wasn't slow to notice the gun now pointing at her clavicle. Her eyes locked onto the deadly barrel rather than the face beyond it. She'd rather he remained faceless to her as long as possible.
She winced as the highwayman's heavy boot came to rest on the hand still holding her weapon, crushing her thing fingers beneath his weight. “Don't be stupid. Drop it.” She considered seeing if she could pull another one on him before the last word escaped his lips. “Please.” It carried absolutely no air of sincerity and she knew better than to think what he had just instructed was a request. But it stopped her from trying to stab him again. For now.
“Hard to open your hand when someone's busy crushing it,” she snarled. She braced herself up on the arm that wasn't pinned to the ground, trying to pull the other out from under his weight. Her eyes slid away from the gun as she did so and she looked him over for the first time, not that she could see much. He wore a long coat that fell down past his knees, so all she could see was dark leather wherever she looked. What little of his face she could have otherwise seen was obscured by the man's hat. So he still remained an anonymous shadow.
Good, she thought, it would make it easier to kill him when the time came.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 2:38 pm
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
This brat was not making his job easy. Even flat on her back, a flintlock leveled at her breastbone, and a rather dangerous looking fellow standing on her sword-arm, she managed to pull her comely features into a damned fierce rictus. Not what one expected when the puling whelp of a rich man sprang to mind. Not what one expected at all. Features of the highborn and the mannerisms of a common guttersnipe.
She hadn’t fainted at their first exchange as he might’ve expected. Nor had she ineffectually struggled against him like a cornered hen. Instead, she’d produced a weapon and done her damnedest to hamstring him. And then, rather than crumpling to the cobbles and falling mercifully unconscious, she’d rolled with the blow and managed to hold onto her sense. Even now she was making to rise, lifting herself from the road and struggling to free her weapon, rather than accepting that the man with the firearm was clearly in control of the situation.
Fearless. Cute.
The facial features that could be glimpsed beneath the tri-corn and high collar seemed to tighten, as though the highwayman smiled, or perhaps bared his teeth. The nostrils of his prominent nose flared, the skin of his cheeks going taut. More than likely a smile. Never allowing the barrel to dip from its alignment with the meal-ticket’s collar, he shifted his weight, standing on the blocky toe of his right riding boot, freeing her hand while simultaneously pinning the narrow blade to the cobbles. The wound in his thigh burned. There would be time to worry about the scratch later, when this girl was properly hobbled and far from here.
“Try.”
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 4:17 pm
Lilith Adair
She watched the man's face for his reaction to her snarky reply only to see what looked oddly like a smile spreading over it. Not the reaction she would have expected after stabbing a man. It made her uncomfortable, that smirk of his. Her face flushed, eyes looking evasively away into the empty darkness.
The moment the pressure lifted from her hand she pulled it out and away from him. Knife be damned. She had others. She took the opportunity to scramble to her feet and take a couple steps back. She wasn't too worried about the pistol trained on her. If he was planning to kill her for not cooperating, then he would have done so after she'd stabbed him. Besides, the gunshot was likely to be heard up at the manor. But the knot on the back of her head made it plain enough that he wasn't above hurting her. And the rapier sheathed at his side was both a quiet and less fatal method of persuasion. Not one she wanted to be on the receiving end of.
She was not stupid enough to run. He would catch her in about half a second, she had no illusions about that.
Instead she summoned every ounce of courage she had left to recreate the noble visage. And not that of a wantonly doxy either. She had seen the way her father could look at people, the look that made them stutter even when they were completely certain just a moment prior. She had spent years learning to do the same and she'd seen its effects on others. Her features changed in a controlled, subtle way, allowing the anger to show through that control so that it looked more like a warning than blind rage or some idle threat.
“Lay a hand on me again and I will do worse,” she threatened, thinking to herself what she could potentially use to follow through on that should he call her bluff. The poisons in her bag would be hard to get to and at this point he would be expecting her to pull tiny weapons out of nowhere, so those had already lost their biggest advantage. It seemed negotiations were in order then.
"What is it you want?"
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 4:46 pm
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
She twisted beneath him, surrendering her weapon and arching back onto her feet. In her overly elaborate brocade gown, it was no mean feat to rise with such alacrity. With grudging respect he allowed her a step back, closer toward home. She wouldn’t bolt, not if she valued her life. Even so close to her home, she could not possibly want to try the restraint of a man carrying enough weaponry to hold of a handful of city-watch.
True enough, the .32 caliber mauler round in his pistol would be hellishly loud, and would certainly carry so far as her father’s home. However, by the time even a token resistance could be mounted by the hired help, the round could easily punch a hole the size of a tangerine in her pretty throat and leave her lying on the roadway, awash and drowning in her own blood like an ill-bred dog. And that was if she was terribly lucky. At any range, the smooth-bore pistol had a tendency to be fairly inaccurate. And when it missed, it tended to miss low…gut-shot, she’d beg the highwayman to come back if only to silence her cries with a kiss of slender steel. But he’d be long gone if things came to that.
So kitten decided to show her haughty disdain, once again disregarding the man with the weapon’s mastery of the situation. Her face rearranged itself from the pained fury into a dour glare…must’ve learned that one from Daddy-dearest. She threatened him, quietly promising some ephemeral consequence should he lay a finger on her once more. Perhaps she’d scream, kick, pull another weapon. A bluff. There was little she could do. She was only delaying his timetable, nothing more.
The highwayman quirked an eyebrow. What was it that he wanted? How did she expect him to answer that? He wanted her to bloody cooperate so that he wouldn’t have to muss her pretty face too terribly badly. He wanted her to walk into the thicket where his horse awaited and to sit it like a good girl as they made their way back to the holdout he’d arranged in the abandoned inn nearly a night’s ride to the east. He wanted to get paid.
He motioned with his free hand toward the bank of shadow which he’d so recently departed and the woods which stretched beyond. “Walk with me.” He canted his head to one side as he considered. “Or prepare to be dragged.”
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 8:15 pm
Lilith Adair
Lilith looked from the dark wooded area to the man holding a gun to her. A fine corner she'd backed herself into. He knew enough of her tricks to keep her from hurting him and she could see there wasn't a shadow of a doubt stirring in him from her bluff. She had nothing but the false sense of agency she'd been given by being allowed her distance. There was a hollow fear coursing in her that Lilith couldn't weed out of her voice as she realized her defeat. Her first confrontation of any kind and she found herself completely at someone else's mercy. Relying on whatever reason he had to keep her alive.
“Fine.”
She glared moodily at the trees as she walked, refusing to so much as acknowledge his existence as she tried to make her way through the woods without tripping, which was no small task in heels. She was considering which poisons she had with her and the effects. It was how she'd dealt with anger since she was a little girl. Plotting revenge had always made it a little easier to handle feeling powerless.
She was preoccupied enough by her own thoughts that when something very large shook its head, metal jangling as it tossed around a course mane, she stumbled back a few steps before realizing she was looking at the man's horse. So then he had no intention of taking her anywhere nearby. The wedding occurred to her, the business proposal...she glanced back at the highwayman's appearance. He was rough but he hadn't made any advances on her, not really. It was simply business then. Ransom probably.
She hoped this were the case at least. It would mean he had no reason to hurt her, assuming she cooperated. Of course, this didn't change the fact that he had a gun pointed at her or that she would be riding to God knew where with a strange man. And hoping for the best case scenario didn't mean she didn't need this time to plan for what would happen if she was wrong.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 9:27 pm
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
The highwayman braced himself to grab the daft little wench and throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes when he saw her glance in the direction of his flourishing hand. She seemed to consider for a quiet moment, glancing at the darkened timberline and seeming to weigh her options. Apparently they were not looking so terribly good.
“Fine.” She relented, finally, trudging off in the direction of the forest edge without any further goading necessary. Brilliant. It only took a moderate flesh wound on his part and being dropped to the bloody stones and threatened at gunpoint on hers. He could only hope everything else went just as swimmingly.
She picked her path through the forest in her ridiculous court-shoes, stumbling here and there over exposed roots without so much as glance back or an acknowledgement to his very existence beyond the dutiful yielding to his direction. She’d be a fun one to hole up with.
The money, man. Think of the money.
The highwayman drew a deep breath and let it filter through his nose. For the princely sum he would demand of her father, he would be willing to spend a week or two in the company of the hellcat. And if her father did not pay (altogether unlikely), he might console himself with the pleasure of shooting her. Win-win, as they say.
Bess, the roan destrier in which awaited in the moon-drenched clearing, shook her head with a slight jangle of tack. The beast was obviously of princely stock, a charger who might trace her lineage back to the steeds of knightly orders, standing nearly seventeen hands high. As the highwayman gave a low whistle, and clucked his tongue, the horse turned its massive head to regard the approaching pair. The highwayman gestured toward his captive with the pistol, indicating the horse.
“You can ride, I assume?”
He holstered his weapon and closed to offer assistance to his prisoner, being sure to take hold of Bess’ reins with one gloved hand and cooing gentle reassurance in an equally guttural and lilting tongue to the steed.
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 11:19 pm
Lilith Adair
The horse was a beautiful creature. Hard to see in the light, but enormous in size and beneath the short fur looped muscles she guessed could have carried them for days.
Lilith had been riding since she was young and actually felt quite comfortable with her equestrian skills. But being as she was a lady her father had seen to it that she rode side-saddle, a thing this mare was clearly not prepared for. Which left her with two options. The first of which was to simply ride side-saddle and cling to her attacker in the hopes of not falling off for however long they were riding or to get astride a horse behind a man, which was simply not happening.
The highwayman had holstered his gun at least for the time being, which made her a bit more at ease. But it didn't eliminate or even much diminish the threat of it. And after a moment's hesitation, she accepted the leg up onto the creature's back where she sat towards the front, both legs draped over the left side of the horse. She felt the weight of the horse shift slightly as it took a small step. She could easily recognized the instability of her position. Oh yes, this was going to be just marvelous.
Her gaze wandered to the reins as soon as she was up, but they were held tightly in the man's hand. She looked away again in disappointment. That ruled out that possibility. However, she got the impression he would have shot her the moment she tried something like that. Stabbing him with needles was one thing, but if the man was driven by greed in the first place, he wasn't likely going to take kindly to her trying to steal his horse.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 11:48 pm
I have been a rover
I have been a bold deciever...
“Éasca , Bess, sean préachán,” the highwayman whispered low into the horse’s throat in the odd lilting tongue as he lifted his captive into the saddle. The horse snorted and lowered her head as the feather-light load settled onto her back and shifted into position. She could have just as easily shouldered an armored knight arrayed for war, the slip of the wealthy man’s daughter had hardly any right to be referred to as a load.
The highwayman patted Bess’ neck as he turned away to swing his way nimbly into the saddle. He didn’t relinquish the reins, loathe to give the girl he’d already once underestimated a chance to best him a second time. There was danger down that road, and he’d hate to shoot at a woman set astride his most cherished boon companion. Bad business practice and far too troubling to ponder. Better to be safe than sorry.
The highwayman settled into the slope of the saddle, leaving little room for the girl between his own hips and the high saddle-horn which fronted Bess’ tack. She’d be able to keep her dignity, but the ride would be fairly uncomfortable at any stretch.
“Hold tight, lass. We’ve a ways to go before sun-up.” He clucked his tongue once more and applied a bit of gentle pressure to the destrier’s flanks with his boot-heels. Bess started off at a slow walk, gradually coming up to a smooth canter as she nudged through the treeline. “And mind you try nothing unfriendly”
The clearing fell away behind them and Bess picked her path through the forest until they came upon a blazed game trail. Her feet once more on certain ground, Bess dropped into a steady gallop which had them streaking through the darkness like a bit of cloth cut from the very fabric of night and tossed on torrents of moonbeams.
“Mo cailín,” the highwayman breathed as the horse picked up her pace, a smile once more twisting his lips upward as he spoke the words which reeked of rain-washed fields and early sunsets. He was well on his way to his sanctuary, in possession of a, if the expression be pardoned, king’s ransom, and free of any damage more serious than a night in a pub might’ve bought him. Things were looking up.
Minutes passed into hours, and before terribly long, the trees gave way to pastureland. As the ground unfolded beneath them, and the highwayman steered the massive roan toward a thin ribbon of highway, an old inn, its casements barred and sign removed, loomed from the darkness, a stone and timber giant, shifting in its slumber.
All but home free.
...chose to make my money
With my pistols and my rapier.
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