The Highwayman laughed out loud at the maiden's jeers and scoldings. Her spirit, no doubt heightened by his recent imposition upon her person, was admirable, and there was no denying that she had a certain amount of pluck. There she was, in the middle of the wood, confronting a man who had already proven himself the stronger between the two and giving him quite the piece of her mind! He could do anything to her, anything he wished! There was little she would be able to do but scream and rail against him. Yet she had the courage to stand there and reveal her mind to him in no kind terms. How could he do anything but laugh?

"Well, Greensleeves," he quipped as he gestured at her stained kirtle and blouse, "if carte blanche is all you desire, then my lips shall guard this little secret well enough. As for the shirt on my back? Well! Happier I am to keep my head on my neck! Although... although..."

He let his chuckle die off as he took her measure speculatively. His chewed the corner of his lip in thought for a moment, those bright green eyes narrowed to slits as he gave some serious consideration as to her accusations. "Although, I am not overly sure if I should allow my honor... and my word!... to be called into doubt. After all, if you doubt my word that any reward I might provide would be worthwhile, how can you believe me at my word to keep this little deception a secret, innocent enough as it was? No. No, I must show you that I am as good as my word and that my word is as good as I am."

A gloved hand dipped beneath his cloak towards his belt and tugged forth a woman's necklace, a delicate rope of gold that twisted in the morning breeze as easily as a strand of hair. It's links were minuscule, finely crafted in every sense of the word. No pendant or charm hung from it, but this did not take away any of its luster and gleam. Draping it across the palm of his other hand, he held it up until stray beam of sunlight caught it. Glittering, it worth was clear. Only the Highwayman was not done. He reached back to his belt and drew forth two guinea , their gold surfaces far more worn than the necklace but no less of worth. It was a princely reward he was offering her. The Highwayman placed the two coins in the same palm that held the necklace to show that there was no trick or slight of hand involved, then held the hand towards her.

"I suspect that, unlike the brothers that you decry, my sort of trouble more than pays for itself, fair maid. I thought my luck had deserted me, as this is the first time among many that I had to take to my heels. Yet perhaps my luck has held its course after all." He jingled the golden metal in his hands. They were then placed on a stump near at hand for her convenience. "Take you these, as proof of my word, my discretion, and my thanks."

He then stepped back, further into what gloom still remained with the deeper part of the wood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must recover my horse. He's a great black brute of a thing but somewhat absent minded when it comes to staying where he should; he tends to chew through his tethers if I'm not careful." A sudden thought made him pause before he took his leave. "If such trinkets catch your eye as do those there, come you here again in a week's time. Come to me by the light of the full moon, and I'll reward you further. Your maidenhead and liberty shall be safe, I do so swear. You shall have nothing to lose in this... and everything to gain."

With a courtly bow exaggerated to the point of melodrama, he whirled his cloak about himself and quietly hurried off into the underbrush until he was quite out of sight.

The necklace burned her skin and the guineas her pillow as she lay to sleep the restless sleep of the young on the edge of adventure. Bess was a practical girl, she was, so neither had been left for some roe buck to nibble or rabbit to get tangled in or magpie to feather its nest with. Instead, she had stowed each away safely and then been left with the impossibility of using them in any way. She had not been more than an hour's trek from her village, so travel to another place to spend such riches was out of the question. Neither was she about to flash such glitter in her own home, for all to see and speculate upon.

Bess had always been one to sleep the sleep of the good. Deep and true, she woke before the sun and went about preparations for the day, her time carved out as the sun rose, the remained shared with the village, the inn's guests, her family. But after her encounter in the wood, her sleep was restless, invaded as the caped man had invaded her glen. No longer had she rest in the wood. Instead, she could not bring herself to sleep past the beginning moonlight hitting her eye lids. Was the moon full? Had she missed it? Her heart raced when the night fell and every day was a search for a shadowed face, strong and young, with eyes so green that the color had to have been a trick of the eye.

Had he been near enough, she might have battled her inner nature, her desire for something else, something more, the yearning her childhood of fairy tales and wood-filled wanderings had wrought within her heart. Such leanings of her nature had been given outlet by her secret mornings but now those mornings were no longer secret. They were secret meeting spaces for forest gods and men whose hands burned heat through the waist of dresses. With night, memory returned and he was slender as a new foal, hard as a sapling, soft as a kitten, and bristly as her hairbrush. He was so completely unlike her experience of man, not of the farm stock – rough and smelling of ale and sweat, nor of the more powdered nobility. Instead, he fit into her dreams as not one of them had.

Yes – had he been near enough to her, she might have parsed him out and known him. Instead, with the half lit glimpses, the nearness of him under his cloak, the burst of energy as she attempted to escape his grasp, the glitter and his words about wanting to prove himself and her own safety, all conspired to make him dream-like in day and as real as her own hand in the night.

She floated through the days, fed the day men and dreamt half awake of the night time one, until the moon could not grow full fast enough. She had a sore ear from her father pulling it as she'd almost burnt the stew, the necklace about her neck whispered all hours of the day, and her mind was muzzy after the nights wherein she stood and stared out of the window in her rooms which overlooked where the highway wended from inn toward the wood where she had met him.

The night the moon filled to the brim and spilled into her rooms, Bess almost slept through it as exhaustion had finally taken her. But the touch of light had become something of an impulse and she sat up with a gasp, hand to her breast. For a moment, the dream spread through her limbs and she thought she ought to wake up to check on the moon. But reality spread and before she could think, she had pulled her skirts about herself as well as a shawl and was out into the moonlight before the truth of what she was doing could register.

The wood gleamed silver and onyx in the light from above. The girl's hair was in a braid against a shoulder and her shawl could not fully fend off the chill in the air. She narrowed her eyes against the glare as she stepped into her glen and looked about her. Had she missed him? Was it yesternight not this? She reached to the hollow of her throat and teased at the delicate chain there, at odds with the mean state of her clothing, wending it about her fingertips in worry while she looked about her for signs of his having already arrived and left. It was madness, this wanting to see him again, but she could not help herself any more than she could sleep at nights after having met him.

He lurked within the shadows of the trees and bushes just outside of the clearing's edge. The allure of the scene, the very melodramatic essence of it that he had forged demanded nothing less of him than to wait out of eyesight to see if she arrived. He ground one booted heel into the ground to keep from pacing. God's Breath, how he wanted to see her again! The girl had grown on his mind, overcoming it and swallowing the whole of his perceptions before he even noticed! His flight from the grove the other night had seen him amused at the incident, and if truth were asked he might admit to it all being a passing fancy. He would meet with her... if he had the time. Or the inclination. Yet as the days and nights slipped by, the inclination blossomed more and more into fancy, and from there to interest, and after interest... He found himself distracted from daily duties, forgetting the old thing here and there as his rebellious mind refuse to focus on tasks at hand to instead dwell upon the maiden he had come across in the wood. The feel of her waist had crept into his dreams. So, too, had the gasps and sighs that escaped those lips until he was, only half-asleep, quite sure they were in his own ears. As the night fell and he readied himself for a night's venture, the only gold he thought on was the gold that might be about her neck. Far more to the forefront was the neck itself, and everything both above and below it! And so under the moon and beneath the trees he had come early.

Only would she come?!

Every crack of twig and wind blow rustle raised hope in his heart that she had arrived, only to have all dashed when he realized it was only fair Nature's fancy to trick him. He glanced back over his should now and again to ensure his mount remained steady down the way. The horse, too, was out of eyeshot. It's black coat blended it further in with the shadows, only just barely so due to its immense size. A powerful creature near eighteen hands and all of those hands were of strength and purpose to its master's will. Save that as he had so freely admitted the other night, his gelding was of a wandering nature despite its obedient temperament. In his nervousness, the Highwayman feared the horse might well take to his habit of gnawing through the traces and going for a random stroll through the woods to leave his master looking foolish. His worry was for nothing, at the moment. The black beast calmly stood at the water's edge, feasting upon nettles and drinking from the clear stream.

Movement from the grotto, clear and defined so as to be no trick of the mind, caught his attention. She had come! And lest his senses deceive him, she was as anxious as he! The way she looked about, hand at throat, turning this way and that - it told him much of the state of her mind. He would be doing the same himself had he not schooled his feet to discipline. He had thought to wait it out further after she first arrived, to leave her dancing among the trees to look for him and his promise; now it seemed positively villainous for him to do so. Not that his own ardor had any bearing on the matter, of course, he would tell himself. But as she had come, and come with hopes of her own, how could he not answer in kind?

"Well met, Greensleeves," he called softly from his place among the shadows. And then he ambled into the grotto, dressed all as he had been that first night of their meeting. His voice was dark velvet and thick cream, charming and polite while the rogue's chuckle remained just beneath it all. "I'm glad you've come."

He rose one fitted glove towards her in invitation. "This night is yours. There is food and wine for that which the French call a pique-nique, should you wish. My horse awaits below to carry us towards adventure. I fear, though, I have been somewhat negligent when it comes to music, but should you wish dancing then all the creatures of the wood may be our orchestra with the breeze as its conductor and the trees themselves for its batons."

That hand still extended, he bowed low to her much as he had that first night, a parody of high court that somehow gave all courtesy to Bess and all mockery to himself. "Speak your will, and I shall unfold it to you. And should you wish a name of me? Then call me Reynard, like the fox of old."

Bess spun and stared into the shadows, her heart leaping in both fear and anticipation. Was it him? But who else to call her Greensleeves?

She tucked the shawl more tightly around herself and was momentarily glad for the moonlight, or she'd look flushed. Not green any longer. She may not have been a high born lady, but she was clean, at the very least! Then again, she hadn't been tumbled about in the grasses by the stream either.

Voice caught in her throat, she hunched her shoulders about her ears and took a step closer, bidden by his voice, by the beckoning of a pale leather glove in the silver light. He was shadowed once more and she tilted her head to look at him more closely, to see if he were what her imagination had made of him. But too far, too dark, he was delightful and ethereal still.

And like that, as instant and clear as a dream, he laid her imaginings out before her. Oh, but the romance of the moment! The glancing lights, the rumble of his voice, the smooth gesture of one arm, a strong leg put out in a deep bow. Bess drank in the minute impressions he gave like a drowning man does air. Her eyes wild and wide, she kept so still as he spoke that she might have been on the verge of escaping, though that was so very far from wrong. She held herself as quiet as she was able to keep the trembling of the moment from making her fall to the ground.

Her will? What was her will? Was it to be the strange and tempting pique-nique or a ride upon a great horse which only a forest god might ride? A dance, as if she were some bedecked and bejeweled lady, to the constant thrum of crickets and water upon the air? Or would she wish for something more? Something greater than all of those together?

As he stood once more from his bow, she allowed her head to tilt at a slight canting to the left, dark eyes like holes in her pale face. A shift of breeze and the low-slung moon glinted off the golden chain about her neck. Her fingers played nervously with the frill of the shawl and she chewed on her lower lip as she let her mind dance.

Had she come and he'd been naught but a man, she may have laughed him off. But he was so far more than even her dreams could have made him! “Reynard,” she whispered to herself, to him. “A fox and I am nothing but a Bess,” she said with a twist of her lips. No Greensleeves, not any longer, thought she might have longed to continue the play. In the end, she was but an inn-keeper's daughter, wasn't she?

Or was she? The tempting taint of adventure was on the air and she, no matter her attempt to remain rooted to the ground, felt the earth falling away. She took one step and it felt as giant as if she were wearing seven-league boots. The second step was nothing compared to the first, and the next almost had her before him. As she halted on the fifth pace, she tilted her head back and looked up into his face. He, too, was pale in the moonlight, and the hand he held out to her felt like it was made of steel, encased in the most supple of leathers. Her hand was strong and she gripped his both to keep herself from falling over and to keep him from falling away. Now that she'd reached for the dream, she had little inclination to release him to anyone.

“It sounds, lovely,” she said with a bravado born out of wild dances in dim morning lights. She had been walking a world of fairy and magics for longer than he'd given his blessing on it, so she wasn't completely immune to its heady perfumes. Her lips parted and she smiled, sudden and bright. “Take me t'your horse, ser. Best be on our way a'fore th' night's half gone.”

Reynard chuckled as he took her hand to lead her back towards his horse. "Is it near half gone so soon? Actually, I think the night is just beginning, lovely. And 'nothing but a Bess,' you say? No. That is like saying it is nothing but the moon, or nothing but the sun! No, you may be Bess. But I think I shall always remember you, my savior, as the beautiful and gracious Greensleeves." It seemed that whatever else might happen, the Highwayman was not letting go of their melodrama just yet.

The massive horse stood snorting as they approached, casting a steady eye towards Bess before returning to his diet of nettles and brambles. A quick flip of his wrist, and the tether was released. In an easy smooth motion, one that belied the notion of a slender man not being strong, he swept her up to place her sidesaddle on his mount. Just as gracefully, he then swung up behind her in the saddle with both arms around her to keep her close and safe. It was as though he was born to the saddle. The girl quite safe in his embrace, he took up the reigns professionally as he smiled all the while. The horse made no recognition of their combined weight upon his back; it was as though they were naught more than two file who might have lit upon his saddle, so strong was the beast. "Grab the jug handle there on the front of the saddle," he advised, his breath hot and mischievous in her ear, "There, by the pommel. I shall not let you fall, be assured, good Greensleeves."

With that, Reynard gave a tug on the reins and turned the horse towards the far road. At first, it was a slow and easy trot as the beast threaded its way between the close trees and heavy underbrush. But as the way opened before them into a deer trail, Reynard spurred the horse gentle on until they were at a trot and then a fast cantor. Soon they hit the open road and the scenery blurred before them! Such power and freedom! Reynard's horse carried them so quickly that the stars above seemed to blur even as the moon made as if to follow them! More over than the exhilaration of speed, there was the sheer primal smell that surrounded Reynard and Bess - it was all animal and leather, unrestrained muscles let loose in the liberation of the horse's urge to run free. Ditches and stiles were jumped as though they were nothing, granting the country girl a dazzling display of what just a monster might accomplish at his master's gentle command.

Only the intoxicating odor of the horse was not the only scent in the air. Reynard smelled of lime and bay rum, polished leather and brushed suede. And he reveled in her scent as well, inhaling the fragrance of her hair as the wind sought to tickle his nose with it. She was twice as warm and pleasant in his arms as she had been the other night when she unwillingly provided him with succor, and as much as he played the gentleman to keep his hands about her calmly he truly wished he might let those hands rove. Yet again, Reynard would not prove himself the cad. He was good at playing the gentleman, and if their little play was to continue happily enough then the fox was glad enough to keep to his self assigned role.

After some time and quite some distance from either their forest grotto or her home, he brought the horse to heel. Atop the highest hill on the road, they might look about the moonlit landscape in all its romantic and nightly splendor, the ponds and streams that dotted the landscape twinkling the stars reflections back up at their origins merrily. It was a peaceful night. Only a cool breeze was left to disturb the tranquility even as it added something to the atmosphere.

"There, now, Greensleeves," Reynard asked politely, "Was that to your liking then?"

Bess had been flushed, taken by the hand and led into the dream world with this witching man as its lord. The beast was like any lord should be astride and her girlish heart leapt into full life. Eyes bright, she offered a hand to the steed as the man untied reigns and turned to her. A warm puff on the palm of her hand felt as if it were nothing less than fire and it rippled through her with the force of a midday sun.

She was pliant as he set her into the saddle and when he squeezed in, forcing her to fit between he and the pommel, she blinked up at the dark hat and smiled in pure, unadulterated delight. No matter that she sat astride a man's thighs to make room, never had she ridden a horse with a saddle, least of all a royal creature of eventide before a lord of the forest! He gathered the reigns and turned the horse's head, the cords of muscle in his arms rolling against her back. Then they were off.

It is not an easy thing to ride a horse alone, more so together with another and in the dark, but Reynard directed his mount easily, obviously knowing the forests as well as he might his own apartments. The beast, too, was smooth – a rider's horse and not a great, jarring draft as she had ridden when a child. She began to settle into the pleasantness of the ride, when they broke free of the forest's confines and almost as if by magic, the great horse gathered its hindquarters and leapt into life. Bess gasped softly, hand going to catch at the pommel and catching instead at his sleeve. She let it go so as not to interfere with his riding then found the pommel.

The horse mounted the higher way and with dirt under hoof, proved that he had been crafted out of winds, just as his master had been formed from night shadows. Bess was thrown against the man's solid chest and she gasped for breath as the wind tore tears from her eyes and she laughed in sheer shock and awe. Never had she moved like this! It was as if they were flying. No – nothing so smooth as the air carrying them, for it was a creature under them, but with the man's body behind, guiding her into natural motion with the horse's rhythms, she had little need to consider their earthly state. Instead, it was the wind and the sheer rush of life which flushed her and stole her breath. Above, the stars glittered and below, the pale road wound through the countryside as if it were a stream of moonlight.

After what felt like an instant, they were back into the shadows and moving at deathly speed along a lesser used track, clearing stiles and through pastures which her mind may have recognized had it been her own world. This was his, however, and only he had the map of it in his heart. Bess was a guest, kidnapped by the lights and the shadows, the winds and the greatest trickster of the English countryside.

All too soon, and an eternity later, he pulled the beast to a stop. She could feel the great heart of the beast against her heel as he tossed his head and blew out a gusty sigh of disappointment. His chest bellowed underneath them and they rose and fell with the horse's attempt to catch his breath. Behind her, the man was still and she -

She was alive! She turned her head to look back at the shadowed face under that great brim and overcome, grasped this dream about the neck to pull him into a clasp. Not so forward, but already, she was lost and she laughed breathlessly and a bit on the edge of madness for what had driven her to such lengths if not madness? He was more intoxicating than elderberry wine, leaving her light headed and senseless.

Burying her face into his breast, she closed her eyes against it all. Her cheeks were cold and his chest was as warm as the beast beneath them. “Thank you,” she whispered and then, returning to a semblance of reality, she pulled back and set her hand on his chest with a giggle (one which she would have been loathe to give him only a few days prior). “Lor', but it's... “ she turned to look out upon the fairy land he'd taken her to.

“Got nowt ta say,” she admitted, ashamed she couldn't give him the words he'd given her. But then, these were his lands, not hers. The magic rolled about him and for her, she was left without a wit in her head. Frozen in place, she mused herself into silence and stared at the silver tipped grasses, the gleam of bright upon waters, as if each one was made of some strange, liquid metal, and woven all throughout, the sudden warmth of the man, the beast, each carrying something sweet and wild to her nose.

The surreal aspect of it all bowled her over and if he had thought to make her stand right then, she'd have merely crumpled to the earth, shaken as she was. Not even inside her hidden hollow had she been so encompassed by Beauty. No simple trinket this. He had given her a key to a country she was sure did not exist but in dreams.

And was it a dream? She lay back against him again, as if she were a puppet with the strings cut. “Are y'real?” she mused. “Ta'en me ta th' underhill, have ye? But I'll nowt ask ta go home, I promise.”

Reynard smiled sadly, a gloved hand reaching up to lightly brush one curl away from her brow to tuck it behind her ear. What did she think he was, some faery lord to take her away from the world and its woes? She was young and full of fancy for all of her common upbringing, and the woman he had started to think of as his own Greensleeves made his heart beat hard when she giggled and smiled at him so. Her body was all too soft and warm in his arms. To think that such a midnight ride would bring this village girl such joy! He felt some guilt as he realized he may have unintentionally deceived her, but now that the masque had begun and the orchestra of the night played for them, he was loathe to leave that dance. But still, he had to remain truthful. Some core of truth had to be at his words, for she had saved him and deserved nothing less.

“I am as real as you need me to be,” he murmured to her, “and I will be fair with you, Greensleeves.” The horse shifted underneath them, huffing as though anxious to be off again. Reynard, on the other hand, had decided there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be just then. As Bess leaned back against him, he boldly embraced her with both arms about her waist and held her close. The breath of his voice tickled her ear as he spoke in hushed tones. “And these are my lands. Or at least they once were.”

“Only you can’t stay here forever, Greensleeves, believe me,” he sighed sadly. “You might say that sights such as these last only a single night and then are gone forever. There’s a magic to it that can not be held by mortals save in their hearts, can not be captured save by dreams and song and poetry. Come the morning, you will have to return to your daily life, Greensleeves. But it will be different, that I can promise you! You shall no longer look upon anything quite the same way again. Because this night will remain in your heart until you are old of age and bouncing grandchildren upon your knee. Because when the winter winds blow cold, this memory will warm you. Because when you are weary and tired, you will recall that a fallen lord found some measure of peace in seeing you smile with delight beneath the moonlight.”

Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head through her dark curls. “This night will be gone soon, Greensleeves. But there will be other nights with different sights… if you wish them.” He gestured back towards where they had come, back towards the forest grotto where they had first met. “At the rise of each full moon, I would wait for you. I would trust you with my existence, and gift you with whatever you might find most desirable within my ability to grant. I will be your secret. For you saved my life, and for that I do not think I can ever reward you fully.”

Reynard loosely flicked the reins that dangled in his fingers, and his mount turned about to slowly walk back along the path they had traversed. It was a slower ride now. What had passed by in a blur of excitement before now crystalized clear before her eyes to reveal the beauty of the lands up close, all made silver in the moonlight as though just for Bess to enjoy. He kept both strong arms about her waist as they travelled. Reynard only let go long enough to snatch at the edge of his cloak so he might wrap them both against the late night chill, and then she was secured in his embrace again.

Back at the grotto remained the food basket and french wine he had secured, the wicker lid fastened tight against any wildlife. There they would pique-nique until near dawn and share in one another’s company. For now, though, Reynard held her fast and let her have her midnight fancy. “Tell me of your dreams,” he whispered, “Tell me what you might desire and what you might imagine in the darkness of the night by your lonesome, Greensleeves. Do not worry for ponderous words, but speak plainly! For a liar I would be if I did not say that I would know you.”

Bess reveled in the quiet beauty before her, the perfection of it all. Her heart soared with the night breezes as they plucked light off of the waters and the grasses, the aspens and the brush – leaves made of glitter under the clear sky. All about was the warmth of the lord at her back, lost to his fairy lands as she was lost in them. Still the soft puff of air against her cheek carried a humid chill of deep night and all was laid bare and alive before them.

For a moment, a heartbeat, Bess was made one with the world about her. Through the touch and the words of the man wrapped about her, she felt she knew some great, unspeakable truth whispered into her. It was a catch in her throat, a tingle throughout her person. Then it was gone and left behind it a blessing, the hand of God upon her breast and here, she was to be, for whatever space she was.

Heathen though it might have been to imagine that her world and this fairy one could exist together in tandem, yet Bess' youth worked for her and in her untutored imaginings, even such disparate parts could become one, glorious whole.

His voice returned her to the world and she breathed it in, regaining her senses as it were. His life in her hands, this great lord outside of his home. She could feel the rush of excitement that this need not be the only time and she tensed with it, but held her tongue. Anything she could think to say would only seem course and unseemly. She was a tavern keep's daughter, was she not?

As he wrapped her snug into the cloak smelling of citrus and the bay leaf powders her father kept a tin of, she let her fancy take her. What had she dreamt of before this? Fairy lights on a breeze? Hidden eyes taking in her morning singing?

“Nowt as glorious as this,” she bit her lip and looked about. “Never had time ta think on anythin' so fine.” With a shake of her head, she strove to gain her decency back and found it completely lacking. “It's all so lovely, innit? Like fairy lights at Christmas up at the manor. Only not on just a bit of tree, this 'ere's all bouts, like a king's ransom of it all. An' there's the ride an' this bit'o Shadow he is,” she patted the crest of the horse beneath with a smile. “An' you!” She turned slightly to look up at him. “'M no doxy ta be ta'en in by a pretty face nor a bit o'flash. But you, you 'aven't asked for a bit a'me, have you? No, it's all lights an' rides through a land what don't exist nowhere else, an' you, a lovely lord such as yisself, askin' ta know annithin' about little me?” She laughed then. “If y'ain't a fairy lord, you're barmy. Y'd have ta be.

“Ain't got nowt but th' tavern an' Da an' Theo. Tha's m'brother, Theo is. I done little else but clean up an' cook an' watch over him when Da can't. Theo's a bit of a handful, he is. Him and the Little boy. The pair of them can get up to mischief afore you blink, let alone after!”

With a tap of her knuckles against her arm, she peered up at him. There was a glitter back and she could see him almost plain, enough to see no sign of anything supernatural, though it wouldn't make sense for him to look anything but real, if he was walking the lands about. “And if we're bein' honest, I didn't know what it were I was t'do ta save you. I'm thinkin' ya did it yerself on me, all unwillin' like. I wouldn't ha' known how ta make anyone leave ya be. Sides, what was they chasin' you for any ways?”

Oh, there was the twist of those lips and if she knew boys, she knew that half cocked smile. Her eyes narrowed up at him. He was a fox, he was, all the way through. But he was her fox and if she could hold to the evening a bit longer so as to get him to not run off, she'd count herself lucky, for as he said, her memories would not die with the morning.

Reynard grinned, knowing she was being sly and enjoying that knowledge. “Is it any wonder that the words ‘brother’ and ‘bother’ sound so much alike then? Sibling can be… quite trying.”” he chortled in sympathy. The, as though a thought struck him, the laughter died away. “Think on this, Greensleeves. Just as you dared to dream when you came to our meeting tonight, so too might your Theo have his fancies. Be sure to show him some kindness, some tenderness now and then despite his mischief. Perhaps your life of work may not allow for much, but grant what you might to him in sisterly love and motherly love. You may find his behavior much improved. My own brother…”

He stopped himself, not wanting to ruin the night with such memories of his own family affairs. Chuckling darkly, he shook his head. “Another time for that, perhaps. After all, this night is for you, my Greensleeves, not for maudlin reminiscing! “

“Will you, nil you, you did save me that night,” he admittedly candidly. “Even after my pursuers were well away, you might still have screamed and called them back. You might have struck at me with a rock. You might even have lighted back to your home and raises a hue and cry, saying you were lured in the woods and come upon by a seducer. But you didn’t.” His words softened to a whisper again, and Reynard bent his head to whisper sweetly and gratefully into her ear. “You didn’t. You heard me out, accepted my apologies, and allowed me my flight. In doing so, it seems to me that you not only saved my life but something that makes life all the worth living, that without it life would be naught more than a drudgery of existence. Hope, Greensleeves. You saved my life with hope.”

And the words were true. Reynard had come to the point in his life where he had decided to face the callous world dressed in the armor of his hurts and heartaches, to take on the combined force of humanity’s injustice and fate’s cruelty. Left to his own devices, the highwayman would not doubt have become more villainous over time. Only now, a village maiden had believed in him enough to come to him in the night, trusting in his promise to vouchsafe her innocence and maidenhead with only trinkets of gold for reassurance. Whimsically, Reynard had to wonder if there wasn’t some magic in this might after all. What had begun as a lark and a show of gratitude was becoming a bewitching enchantment upon him.

“And I would never take from you anything that you did not freely offer, Greensleeves.” He dared enough to place the lightest of kisses behind her ear. “Even then, I would bid you to well consider the granting of any such gifts first. As promised, I will be fair with you.”

Her last question remained unanswered, and his heart felt heavy for the mentioning of it. Still, he had promised her whatever he had in his power would be hers, and he was determined to remain an honorable rogue.

Reynard looked up towards the moon high above, focusing his sight upon it as it helped clear the morose feeling that accompanied the telling of his tale, however brief. A dark bitterness remained in his voice, a hint of cold steel and hard lead as he stiffened in the saddle. “As for those who hunted me… These lands were mine once. Or at least my family’s. Ancient oaths, rites of custom, and the solemn word of law were broken in favor of man’s glittering gold and clinking coins. Our lands and our responsibilities were purchased away. I would seek revenge and collect a toll from those who trespass against the rightful lord of these fields and forests. For daring to do by stealth what I can not do by mortal law, they hunt me.” A grim smirk tugged at one corner of his lips. “Fate and fortune that night were strangers to me that night as I sought treasure to replace what was taken from me.”

The horse had carried them surely back to the grotto as he had told his tale, the food basket now clearly revealed beneath the moonlight to sit besides a stream. Before, shadows had hidden their midnight feast. It was as though it had appeared by magic now that lunar light shone down upon it.

Suddenly, in a mercurial change of mood, Reynard laughed again heartily. “Yet I should thank them, should I not?! For in their clamoring over my breach of promise towards the hangman’s daughter, the pursuit led me to a greater treasure. To you. My Greensleeves.”

He was as light as a fae, and twice as dangerous, this displaced lord. He wrapped about her like a particularly intoxicating wine.

Bess followed the cadence of the tale with the natural fireside intensity of the poor. He might have stepped out of song to carry her atop the back of a great, midnight stallion to the glade where they had begun. His lands, spread out about them like a mocking to him and the richness and sudden magic of the pique-nique as foolish as a child's mudpie, still he went on and for a moment, she wondered at when the Fairy Queen might come to steal him back like Tam Lynn.

Was he any sight near enough to reality in thinking she should be treasure fit for such a man? She smiled and looked out upon the grove as the came to a stop. The steed tossed his head and Bess sat forward in anticipation of his dismounting. “You speak a gilded toungue, y'do,” she looked over her shoulder to watch him swing down, then slid off herself, grasping his shoulder as she did so. “As I said, 'tis only a Bess ya have.”

She stepped from him, then glanced about the glade. With a light laugh, she spun. “It don' matter one wit wha' yer wanted for, I think. Per'aps in tha' other world, but yeh don' have ta live in it right now, do you?” She stopped, grasped her skirts as they flung theirselves abouther legs, and grinned at him. “Come, 'tis nowt wrong wit' havin' a bit of a game, now an' ag'in. When th' moon's full an' the fairy are too high in th' trees to bother, my Reynard is'n a man a'tall, but a dream. Let's keep it tha' way. I'll be your Greensleeves, I will. You be my Reynard. An' like that!,” she stood straight and snapped her fingers between them with a wide smile, “we have a land what no one will e'er be able ta take.”

Reynard laughed in delight, his smile showing clear beneath the moonlight as he heard Bess aver that they should have this nights and the moons to follow as their own. He felt strangely light in heart! Already, though it was four weeks and some til the moon would shine this full again, he began to dwell on where he could take her next, what sights he might show his Greensleeves to make her smile and dance about so. He even thought he might have just the place!

"Then so be it," he avowed brightly to her, catching her up suddenly in his arms to swing her about gayly. "Rude daylight may chase away this dream, but let it rest safe and warm in our hearts, Greensleeves. But come! The night is past half done, and our midnight luncheon awaits. Cold meats well seasoned, with french bread all twisted about and fresh apples from what remains of my orchards, all to be washed done with the finest mead left in my halls. All for us, and naught for another, Greensleeves. I'll not have you to your bed hungry or thirsty, but full and refreshed to face the waiting for our next tryst."

Lightly, he ended the twirl by pulling her back into his arms. Reynard removed his hat to reveal a thatch of unruly brown hair, the mask still in place about his cheeks but with eyes dancing merrily. "And you, Greensleeves? Will you grant me a kiss this night? A single kiss only is all I ask, to treasure as mine own and make the days sweeter until I come riding for you again."

It had been an audacious request, but Bess flamed all the same when she thought of how she'd darted in and set a light peck on his cheek. With a laugh, she had told him to give him more would ruin it, oh but she'd taken liberties she'd not taken with anyone! Even with the morning light, the smell of him in her nose and the feel of his rough cheek under her lips left her heart racing. She fingered the gold necklace at her throat whenever she was in the kitchen. There, beset by the hidden moment, she would think that the patrons could smell it on her, that she'd been so close to a man. That she had acted so wantonly!

And she had laughed, like a child, and made light of him for the mask he wore because the gleam in his eyes had been something she had felt to her toes. He'd fed her and she'd drunk a wine which tingled in her nostrils and she'd laughed more, overcome by the evening.

Such a grand thing, a pique-nique! What a grand lord, her Reynard.

Lord Vaughn had graced them once more, walking down from Grenmere Hall. He had smiled at her when she served him and he'd spoke to her of her color, which made her more certain that the magic of the evening had to be glowing out of her. That, or the hidden gold of the necklace. It remained out of sight when she was out of the kitchen. It would not do to have it seen. No doubt it was stolen, much like the fine foods and drink must have been. Not that she cared one wit! It was her magic and if a bit of pilfer had to happen along the side for it, it only gave a touch of danger which thrilled her.

Danger, however, was the very thing upon the minds of the small entourage atop the small carriage which carried Mrs. Oren Harcourt toward the very hall Lord Vaughn had removed himself from. Fannie it was, and her husband, a respectable rector of Northern Framlingham, glad to be freed of her attentions for a fortnight. She was a delightful thing, round as a french bun, with pink upon her cheeks not even powder could cover. Her bow-like lips were often in laughter and she was a force of light and noise in any room she inhabited. It had made her a great guest to have in London, but in the small town in which her husband oversaw, she rattled about in the small house beside the rectory.

Given an opportunity, she had squeezed into one of the travel gowns of yesteryear which she had not sold and packed the other three she had kept. She'd taken some funds to have two more quite needful gowns created and sent behind her to Grenmere and with little more than a litany of things for to remember, had left her husband to blissful silence as she'd climbed aboard the rented carriage with her father's footman and driver atop.

Fannie hadn't a thought to the wood through which they passed. She moaned some over the frightful road, as it left bruises in delicate places. Above, however, both men clutched tightly to the sides of the bench and kept a keen eye on the forest surrounding. For here, there were rumors of bandits and highwaymen.

Reynard seemed glad enough of just the peck upon his cheek, thrilled even! Even in the moonlight within their private grotto, the flush upon his cheeks beneath the mask were clear for it was a blush of both embarrassment and thrill. They luncheoned in the dark, drank, and laughed. The wine began to go to their heads after a time, yet he remained the gentleman throughout! Caught up in the moment, the Lord Reynard found himself just as fully engaged by Lady Greensleeves spirit as her earthly charms. Perhaps more so! For as they talked and jested, he found in her a lively wit and wily intelligence that he expected most would never suspect of this country maid.

Their parting come the pre-dawn was reluctant, with Reynard escorting her on foot to the forest’s edge where upon he kissed the back of her hand as if Bess were some grand lady. Recklessly, he paused there and watched her go. His Greensleeves was long out of sight and the sun was starting to rise by the time he finally turned to go.

The Highwayman found his heart curiously light. Was it missing? Had she stolen fit away from the road agent? Reynard had only meant to grant Bess a thank you for granting him the liberty of her silence the other week, and now found himself thinking more and more of her. God’s Breath, why did the next full moon have to be so far away?! As he rode towards the crofter’s cottage where he lodged by the secret forest paths, Reynard cast his mind to what pleasure and sights he might grace Greensleeves with the next time and what wonders he might show her. Another midnight repast, certainly. Better still… a gift. Something she could wear openly, something she might appreciate that wouldn’t raise awkward questions or raised eyebrows as to her character. Reynard decided he would dedicate himself to the hunt, then, both for such a trinket…

…and for Greensleeves herself. After all, what did he have to lose?

***

Late that next afternoon, he set out again upon his quest for revenge and gold. The Season was near enough to its end, and there would be carriages galore upon the road as the wealthy made their ways from the city to the countryside. There would be balls, as well, dances and soirees and cotillions for the young to preen and prim before prospective mates like colorful birds. The old ones would natter and chatter and gossip. It would be all matchmaking and one-ups-manship as social lions and lionesses scrapped for their place in society. Reynard had always been amazed at how the smiles were truly bared teeth and how pity was nothing more than patronizing.

In many ways, he regarded his self-chosen career as a highwayman to be that of an equalizer. And the expensive carriage that made its way towards his chosen point of ambush certainly looked in need of lightening! Was it so poorly constructed that it sat so low upon its suspension springs?? Or did it have some great weight upon it to make it sag so? Reynard hoped for the latter, for great weight might mean great wealth!

He waited this time, allowing enough time for the carriage to just pass before he urged his black beast from out the wood and onto the road. The two men were looking ahead and to the sides, not towards their flank, and so Reynard made his assault from that direction. It also gave the highwayman the chance to see if any bodyguards might follow as they had the other night. Luck was with him, however, and the carriage was without escort. The grin beneath his mask was bright and savage as he road out immediately behind the conveyance.

His heart was beating fiercely in his chest as his mount galloped up close enough for him to grasp a luggage rail and swing himself atop and behind the drivers. Both driver and footman looked around, startled at the unexpected commotion, and right into the bore of horse pistols each. Behind those guns the Highwayman knelt and gave the feared cry that drivers and wagoneers alike feared: “Stand and deliver!”

The driver, well experienced and no fool, sighed in resignation and pulled back on the reigns to slow the horses to a stop before raising his hands high in the air. The footman was not so experienced, and was either strong in bravery or strong in ignorance; his hands he began to raise up as the carriage slowed, only to then dive beneath his cloak to fetch out a pistol of his own. Without regret, Reynard fired his pistol into the man’s skull. The corpse rolled up its eyes and slipped from the bench to tumble down upon the road with a sigh. Cocking an eye at the driver, Reynard looked back towards the driver whose only response was to shake his head in exasperation. Brave? Ignorant? It hardly mattered, for either quality meant death.

The driver then slipped from the bench as well, stepping towards the compartment door and giving three hard raps against it. He eyed the road agent up the roof as he called out, “Madam? There is a… gentleman who wished to speak with you.”

Reynard grinned all the wider at the driver’s wit, and what looked to be a promising prize with which he might woo his Greensleeves…

Fannie had tumbled into her skirts at the juddering stop of the carriage. Her squawk of outrage bit itself back with a sudden report, loud and insistent, which shook the windows of the post chaise and she was forced to brace herself against the fore wall. She hung there, panting and staring out at the wood beyond.

Imagination was not the realm of Fannie and the sounds lent themselves a certain mystery which she felt to her bones but did not know from whence it came. True, the gun had been something, as had the call to stand and deliver, both of which she had some knowledge of, even if it were nothing more than her father's hunting and the telling of horrors in the parlor respectively. Therefore, when the driver came to her door and spoke without a quaver, Fannie it was who felt she had perhaps it all wrong.

“A moment!” she quavered as she strove to put herself to rights, drawing herself upwards and straightening skirts. When the door was opened from within, she popped her head out like a pup in a box and gaped at the red faced man on the ground before her.

“Well?” her demand borrowed from her father's house, she lifted her brows high into her wig before she took in the direction of his eyes. “What? What?” she sputtered and tilted her head to one side, but finding it impossible to keep her wig as it ought to have been (even as a smaller monstrosity than the gentile woman might wear in society, it was meant to keep for the duration of her stay and falling off into the mud might sully it beyond repair) she was forced to reach for the driver's hand and scramble out of her carriage. “Why are we stopped? I heard a noise! Is it the wheel?”

Once in the roadside, her feet dusting themselves in the turned up dirt left from too much travel before them, she spun, hand to hair, and peered up at the man atop her carriage.

“Here now!” she waved a hand at him. “Get down this instant.” Her other hand reached out and grasped the driver's arm and she opened her mouth to pant. Adrenaline flushed through her and her eyes rolled like that of a frightened horse and she gave a soft sound of dismay as she watched him dismount her carriage.

“Oh!” she gasped, took a step back, and would have lost her footing if it were not for the driver who quickly grasped her arm. “Oh, you... you mean to rob us.”

It was an unnecessary statement, for it would have been hard to think anything but with his firearms and his dusted cloak. He was a figure for romance in a girl's heart and a great deal more terrifying to one who believed in the various creature comfort of her fire, her jewels, and her father's gifts of carriage or monies when his daughter asked them of him. To have someone sink so low as to remove any of these things from her seemed as incomprehensible as having to take a mail coach.

“Yes,” Reynard replied politely although with an impish grin beneath the mask. How foolish they always looked whenever they were stopped, how at a loss for wit! At best they would quaver or bluster, while at worst they would become creative in their panic. Thankfully, the genteel woman before him seemed the former; Reynard would have hated to have to shoot her. Some unkind portion of his mind, however, had to wonder if doing so might not be a great boon unto her spouse. The woman’s voice was shrill on his ears. “You are quite correct, dear lady. I have no wish to cause any more harm than required for my efforts, and I deeply regret the shooting of the other serving man. Be that as it may, that shall not stay my hand should you refuse me my simple request.”

Belatedly, he realized he had never cocked the second pistol. He hid his own rueful forgetfulness with theatrics, cocking the hammer now with a decisive click as he took aim at her down the gun’s length. It made for a punctuation to complete his demand.

“Let us not banter and bargain here, dear woman.” Easily, Reynard grabbed the luggage rail once more and gracefully swung himself down to land easily before the pair. “You may keep your carriage, your luggage, your life, and your honor.” Saying the last part was a trial, for the highwayman could not imagine anyone trying to take the woman’s virtue without a full array of siege engines. “To go through all of that would take far, far too much time. So to be of an expedient nature, your monies and jewels will do me well enough. In a pile there, by the step of your coach, if you please. Not you, sir,” he held up his free hand in forbearance as the driver reached for his own purse. “I would not take from yeomanry, honest or otherwise. The lady’s wealth is my only quarry here. So set it down and step away towards the ditch. In it actually.”

As trained, his horse began to walk towards him as the driver automatically backstopped towards and then down into the drainage ditch that lined the road, his hands carefully remaining in sight. Reynard grinned again. The woman was wearing a fortune in jewels, and no doubt that purse of hers was fatter than a Christmas goose.

“Please, do not make a scene, dear woman,” he urged kindly, “for when you regale the magistrates with this tale, it should be with an honest tongue that you recount both your own bravery. Not to mention prudence and common sense. Should it temper your wrath, know that my deeds are not done solely for my own benefit.”

Reynard was more pleased with himself than he could imagine, for with his horse close at hand and his prize soon to be claimed, he would be away into the forest to count his blessings and his coins.

***

Robert sat in the parlour, his pipe lit and a snifter of brandy close at hand. His usual comforts did little to ease his nerves. True, the arrival of his wife’s closest confidant and companion would certainly lift her spirits and make him all the more free to pursue his desired solitude. Once Fanny arrived, he could easily take his leave for a time without notice. He imagined himself visiting the tavern once more, and moreover trying to gain the attention and affections of the lively innkeeper’s daughter! Even were she not willing, it was the chase that livened the Captain. The thought of her quickened his blood, sharpened his eye, and though he might never lay with her save in day-dreams, the sight of her lush body and the sound of her quick laughter made himyoung again! How gladly he would slip away to look upon the fiery lass once more!

If only that wretched woman would arrive!

Once more, Robert glanced at the mantle clock in disgust. What comfort his wife found in Fanny’s presence was beyond any comprehension of his own. Perhaps it was simply some quirk of the female persuasion? At least the cavalry officers who would attend them for tomorrow night’s dinner had something in common with him, tales of war and trials of command, all of that! Fanny grated upon his nerves. Worse, there was little doubt in Robert’s mind that she would be sharing no end of ill advice with his wife. She couldn’t damn well leave well enough alone, that was her problem in his eyes. There was something about her that drew such words as ‘machinations’, ‘plots’, ‘scheme’, and (worse of all) ‘good intentions.’ Heavens knew what foolishness she would inspire Diana to sample!

Diana… His wife had been more accommodating the past week. Since their late night conversation, she seemed far more subdued and, while not allowing him to stray too far from the house, Diana had been more willing to allow him his moods. The thought of his own wife did sooth his anxious nerves somewhat. He would have been far calmer if it had not been his wife’s friend that they were waiting upon. Calmer still if she wasn’t expected at all!

That imagined scenario led to a shudder of distaste. Fanny… arriving unannounced and uninvited… Now there was a mental image of the foulest hell!