Highwaymen

Terence cantered eastwards along the road for an hour or so, enjoying the exertion. Occasionally he eased back into a trot to let his mount recover, but she too seemed to revel in the exercise. His garb was black from top to toe. In his belt was tucked the flintlock pistol, primed and loaded with shot. His saddlebags were empty, and he was determined that they should not remain so. He imagined the satisfaction Joanna would feel if he had to admit that he was unable to pay his bill. Dammit! He thought back on their interplay last night, when he had taken pleasure in her so violently, and then again the animal passion of their woodland coupling. He was not himself when he was with her. She evoked something truly elemental. It was ... almost frightening in its intensity, and also wonderful. The thought roused him. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the manner of their introduction, his thrashing at her hands, the night of their meeting. He tried to shrug it away, but it would not subside. His cock stirred strongly at the memory. Gods! How she affected him.

Finally he reached the crossroads and turned left onto the main turnpike. He pulled up the scarf to cover his face to just below the eyes. A mile onwards he espied a rider ahead of him, solitary as himself, trotting the road. Terence spurred his mare into a canter once more, until he had drawn to within a hundred yards of his target. Then he reined her back and quietly approached his intended victim. As he neared the unwitting object of his attention he drew his rapier smoothly and silently. Still the rider seemed unaware of his presence. He spurred his mount and suddenly drew level, shouting to the man as he turned to confront him, brandishing the rapier, "Hold up Sir!"

The other at last turned to face him. He was taken aback but clearly not bemused. Terence admired the younger man's insouciance as he reined in. He watched his quarry's hands, saw that he did not reach for a pistol and, although a rapier hung in his scabbard he made no move to that either as they both came to a halt. The other spoke first. "I judge from your appearance Sir that your intentions are less than honourable."

Terence winced beneath his disguise. "Aye Sir, needs must, I will relieve you of any treasure you may have about your person."

"Should you have the skill to do so Sir!" The other responded, and his hand fell to his rapier.

Terence watched him draw the blade neatly. He could easily have struck him down as he drew, but he could not strike a man so disadvantaged. He waited warily, and spoke. "Then let us dismount and settle this in gentlemanly manner."

He saw the younger man nod his assent, and they both swung down from their steeds and faced each other squarely. They circled their rapiers, testing. The traveller lunged first, but Terence deflected and riposted. He in turn was blocked. Now it seemed they were quite evenly matched, but Terence was the more determined of the two and after two or three minutes of swordplay he appeared to have the measure of the other. "Yield Sir, I do not wish to harm you."

The other raised his eyebrows. "No? But you mean to hurt my pocket, and my pride!" Suddenly he lunged. The edge of his blade flicked across Terence's left arm, slicing the doublet, and Terence felt a sharp sting. At almost the same moment he brought his own blade down on the other's and twisted around it, striking it from his opponent's grip and landing it on the ground.

Through teeth gritted against the pain which was searing his arm he growled, "Now you yield Sir!"

The other inclined his head, and held still as Terence's blade stood at his throat. "I yield."

The highwayman had his victim turn out his purse and pouches, and his saddlebags. The total sum was significant but not overly so. He pocketed the man's gold, all but two sovereigns, and also left him his silver and his personal possessions. He fought to suppress the wave of pain which was beginning to assail him, hoping he concealed it successfully from his victim. "Thank you Sir, I take what I need. I regret that I must deprive such a spirited defender of his property. Good day Sir!"

Somehow he swung himself back up onto his mare and spurred her back the way he had come. Only when he was sure the other was not in pursuit did he pull back to a trot. His vision was clouding with the throbbing pain in his arm. He reached the crossroads, turned back towards the village, and at the first spinney dismounted heavily. He tore off the kerchief from around his face and knotted it tightly around his arm just above the cut, then pulled himself with difficulty back onto his horse and rode as fast as he could manage. The journey seemed an endless nightmare. He drifted in semi-consciousness through throbbing waves of pain. The wound was not too deep, he knew that. But God it was sore! Pain, more than loss of blood, was what afflicted him.

At last he spied the gleam of light from houses ahead. He sighed relief, lying low in his saddle now. Soon he was back in the courtyard and handed his mare to the ostler boy, trying to hide his wound. He gave him a small coin, asking good attention for his steed and hoping this might encourage silence as regards her rider. Then he slipped in by the back way and sought out their room.

He knocked at the door. Heard Joanna's "Come!" and entered. She was sitting writing something, looked up, and saw his death-white face and his uncertain step as he closed the door. She rose rapidly, face anguished, and came to him. Only then did she note his arm. There was a dark dampness sticking the doublet to his upper arm. "Gods Terence, let me tend you."

He smiled relieved thanks as he sank onto the bed, leaning back against the wall for support. He heard her say something. Perhaps it was "Water"? His eyes closed in exhaustion. The next he knew she was bathing his arm. My God how that stung! He looked at the wound. The cut traced an angry red line right across the muscle, mid-way between shoulder and elbow. It was quite deep but nowhere touching the bone, it seemed the good doublet had saved him that. The bitter-sweet smell of herbs wafted to him from the basin with its reddened contents. Joanna tore off a strip of cloth from the bottom of a cotton underskirt and bound it tight over the clean wound. "Sleep now dear", he heard her say. And he did, falling into the blessed relief of unconsciousness as she held him close.

Joanna sat cradling the man in her arm. Gods, she thought. It seems this highwayman is not such a professional as I had assumed. She wondered how he had fared in his endeavour. After she had stripped him and moved him fully onto the bed, she looked in his pouch and saw that he had probably gained some profit from this evening. But at a cost! She wondered at how protective she felt towards him. Finally, she too fell into an exhausted sleep.

In the night, when either of them stirred, an arm would pull the other closer. They passed a night of fitful sleep for both parties. When Terence awoke in the morning, as his eyes flickered open, he caught Joanna gazing at him with a look which stroked his heart-strings. She quickly composed her expression into one of less explicitly devoted concern as she realised he was conscious. He smiled weakly. "Thank you for your ministrations to me this last night, Joanna."

"It was no more than I must do for any who is hurt. How do you feel now?"

"Much better. A little weak. Hungry!"

"Ah good, then you are already on the mend I think. Let me fetch breakfast." She disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a large and well-loaded tray. She set it on the chest, and poured Terence a mug of small beer. He drank thirstily while she prepared him a platter of cold meats and cheese and bread. This he wolfed down hungrily under her watchful gaze. She nodded finally, with apparent satisfaction. "Yes, you are on the mend. Now, tell me what transpired yester-eve."

He related the full tale while she listened in rapt silence. When he told of his forbearance at the other's drawing his blade she shook her head and tutted, but her smile belied her actions. She was in truth pleased to find this man no common criminal, and indeed it came as no surprise. Again she smiled as he described how, even after wounding, he had not tried to injure his opponent, and yet again, when he told of what he left in the man's possession. At the end of the story she patted his hand with affection and sighed. "You are too generous a man to be a true highwayman I think." Her face grew shadowed with concern. "And you live dangerously. One day I fear you may suffer far more than this nasty scratch."

They regarded each other seriously. Then her eyes twinkled mischievously. "I think you must let me look after you, partner. I will take you in hand."

His expression ran through anger and on into something she could not quite read. With his one good arm he reached suddenly for her neck and pulled her unresisting down into a deep kiss. Ah,

now

she had it, he had returned her look of mischief with one of his own! She mused briefly on how she hoped to see more of that look in future. But then her attention was drawn back entirely into the kiss.