The Inkeeper's Daughter...

She rode hard, the horse beneath her stretching its legs out to carry it across the Scottish moors. She gasped as the rain bit into her skin, cutting as sharply as shards of glass into her exposed face and arms. Her dress was beyond salvaging. But what did she care for that? The violin was safely wrapped with her scant clothing and stowed in her saddle bag, hopefully keeping dry from this torrential rain. Just one more hour, Rhiannon thought wryly, let him wait one more hour and he will have the cursed violin.
  A terrified neigh, and her horse was rearing up with such a force that not only did it unseat her, but it nearly collapsed atop of her. She flew backwards, the wet mud absorbing most of the impact. Still, her tailbone had hit the ground hard enough to jar her teeth, and she tasted blood on her tongue where she had bit it.
  “What in the bloody heavens has gotten into you, you dumb animal!?” Rhiannon screamed at the startled horse as it shifted and pranced nervously on the road. She tried to get up, but immediate pain shot down her leg. Collapsing back on her back, the rain still coming down all around her, she completely missed the rider that had so scared her mount. Not until the hoofs of the dark horse were level with her head, did she even notice.
  Wide-eyed and shivering, she looked up as far as her neck would allow, trying to see in the blinding darkness and rain. The rider was matching the horse’s dark coloring, blending into the night so well that she could not discern the outlines of either horse or rider. It was a frightening sight, and she attempted once more to stand. Her leg this time didn’t protest as harshly, and she managed to get on her feet.
  “Will you stand there and offer no assistance? This is your fault, you realize!” She was so livid that any ladylike manner that had been breed in her since birth was forgotten at the moment.
  For a long silent moment, the rider just watched her, and Rhiannon crossed her arms over her breasts in an attempt to conceal what the rain had made very obvious. Painfully aware of her  appearance, she raised her chin another inch and attempted to stare him down (hard thing to do from the ground, mind you.)
  The rider’s shoulders shook and a low rumble came from deep within his chest. It took her a minute to understand he was laughing. Laughing at her, the cad! Without thinking she bent low and grasp the heaviest stone she could find and launch it at him. It hit him scare in the chest, but it didn’t face him and his laughter increased in volume.
  “You are despicable, a most ungentlemanlike behavior I couldn’t have imagined!” She spit at him, more than ready to return to her mount and get on with her wild race against time.
His voice, deep and mocking, halted her on mid-stride, “One should be a gentleman in order to be expected to behave in a gentlemanlike behavior, mistress, and I have never been accused of being one.”
  Chills went down her spine as she construed the meaning of his words. The wet splash of boots on mud made her turn to face him again. He was much taller than she had imagined a man could be. His body, too near to her now, radiated a strength that made her want to run. He was powerful, it sang in his blood like the gypsy drums that haunted the woods near her father’s inn. His wide brimmed hat, kept low over his brow, kept his face hidden from her entirely.
  “I have no money, if that is what you are after,” she warned, half-knowing that coin is not what he was after. “I am not of wealth and standing, and you will receive nothing from kidnaping me.”
  “You are an innkeeper’s daughter.” Her surprise was obvious. He ignored it, and reached a gloved hand to the dark tresses that clung to her cheek. “I came for you.”
  “W-why?” She stammered. “How did you know me and where I would be? My father sent you after me to find me?”
  “It was not your father. I doubt he even now realizes you are missing. That anyone has noted your absence,” he whispered the last. Again, his connotation had her retreating from him, but he still was holding on to her hair, and he tugged it so she was forced to halt.
  “Please, whoever you are, I am not running away. I left a note. There is something very important I need to do, and you are taking precious time away from me,” she pleaded.
“I know where you are headed, but I can’t allow you to go.”
  Rhiannon weighted her options. She could try and fight him off and hope to reach her horse before he reached her, but she very much doubted that would be a successful attempt. If she confided in him, Rhiannon thought she could perhaps enlist his help. He might have claimed to know her goal tonight, but she believed him to be bluffing.
“Help me, then. If you know what I’m to do, you could escort me so I could reach there safely!”
  His laughter came again, but this time it was so dry and full of contemp that she hated him for it. Her hand shot out too fast for him to deflect it, and her palm connected with his smooth cheek with a satisfying sound that made her be very pleased with herself. “Don’t you dare mock me, you devil! I beseech your help and you but laugh at me.”
  “I laugh at the futility of what you are asking, mistress, not your plea for help. The road you are taking leads to bloodshed, and I have come away to warn you of it.”
  Blood drained from her face and she swayed on her feet. “Farrell!” she whispered. The rider’s hand steadied her, and through the rain she peered into his face, half in shadows as it was. His vibrant blue eyes, the only light in all that darkness, watched her. “My brother, I am bringing his violin. He was to play for the Red Coats, to entertain them so that they wouldn’t loot the village,” she mumbled. Rhiannon wasn’t aware that she was shaking her head, over and over. His gloved fingers grasped her chin to stop the movement.
  “His violin would not have stopped them once the British dogs had their fill of the barkeeper’s ale. It was violence they were after, mistress, and it is what they created,” his voice had softened as he spoke, waiting, she was sure, for her to break in hysterics. When they didn’t come, he proceeded with his tale. “A drunk patron got in to a heated argument with one of the Red Coats. It incited the rest of them, and a brawl broke out which ended with a Red Coat being run through with the patron’s knife. The whole village was torched to the ground, the few that survived were arrested and will hang by morning.”
  “Farrell, what of my brother?!” she prodded, ashamed that with all the innocent souls lost this night, it was only for her brother she could ask for.
  “When I arrived, the Red Coats had already moved on,” he said gravely. “There was nothing anyone could have done, mistress. Your brother died defending a young family.”
  A long, mournful wail escaped from Rhiannon’s throat, and she clutched at the rider’s coat to keep from collapsing to the ground. She shook with the violence of her grief, and she found herself enveloped in this stranger’s arms. This man who had kept her from riding into a hell beyond imagining, who had seen her brother last. “Was he still alive when you saw him?” she asked softly from the folds of his riding coat. At his nod, she guessed, “He knew I would be arriving soon too the village, he wanted you to intercept me.” Again his nod gave her the answers she wanted.
  “Who are you?” Rhiannon asked as she pulled away from him.
  The rain had finally let up, not that she had noticed until now. The rider removed his hat, and bowed his dark head low. “I’m but a highwayman. But tonight, I am a messenger for the dead. Call me Duncan, mistress, and I am at your service.”
  “My brother’s body, we have to bring it home. My father will want to do the services for him. I must go to the village.”
  His blue eyes burned as he regarded her, “I can’t allow you to do that. The family he protected took care of his body accordingly, never fear. But at this moment, the Red Coats are still out patrolling the night, and I must keep my promise to your brother.”
  “I will not leave him to the hands of strangers!”
  “You have no choice,” he insisted. “Once these dogs are on the hunt for blood, nothing is going to stop them, and what do you think will happen if they cross paths with one such as you?”
  “They wouldn’t dare! I’m not a criminal, nor part of what took place tonight, they have no quarrel with me!” she protested, pulling further away from him.
  His hand grasped her upper arm, and with a hard shake brought her close to him. “No, they indeed have no quarrel, but I would wager that one look at you and their loins will be the only thing the dogs will be thinking with,” he growled crudely. Her gasp of outrage at his words were ignored as he pressed her body to his, molding it to him so she could feel her effect on him. “Have you ever seen dogs fight over one piece of tasty meat? By the time they have passed you around the whole lot of them, your body will be broken and they will leave you for as good as dead.”
   “Enough, I can see what you mean.” She pushed against his broad chest, and he let her go. Her heart was beating too fast and her cheeks were burning, but she attributed to the grief she was experiencing and nothing else. Tears still threaten to spill at the mere thought of her handsome, playful brother.
  “I will escort you home, so let us go before those dogs decide to explore further out.” He helped her mount. Now that the rain had halted, and the clouds had started to break apart, the road was more visible. They rode in comfortable silence, Rhiannon so wrapped in the loss of her only brother, she failed to notice the side glances from Duncan.
  “If you continue to sway on that saddle, I’ll be forced to sit you on my horse, mistress,” he grunted. By the sound of his voice, Rhiannon couldn’t tell if it would be worse for her than for him if that were to happen. But in any case, she straightened out and concentrated on keeping her eyes open.
  “I can only ride with you to the town center, will you be alright to reach your father’s inn?” he asked as they neared her town. At the unspoken question in her eyes, he laughed. “Mistress, despite my honorable actions tonight, I am still a law-breaking highwayman, and wanted for that matter. If you were seen riding with me, in the middle of a storm-ridden night without an escort, I’m afraid you will be left to the wolves. I could not do that to the sister of a brave man such as your brother.”
  “Thank you for assuring Farrell on the last minutes of his life, and for keeping your word to him,” she said, leaning across the short distance to reach for his hand where it rested on his thigh holding the reins to his horse.
  Duncan squeezed her fingers, and then brought them gallantly to his lips. The way he stared at her, made her remember the feel of him against her body earlier. Blushing, she took her hand back and stared ahead.
  But a few miles outside from the outskirts of her town, they were forced to rein in their horses. A small patrol of Red Coats came stumbling from the woods to their right. By their disheveled uniforms and lack of coordination, they seemed to be well into their cups. Duncan kept his mount close to Rhiannon’s, blocking her from the direct view of the patrol. She quietly prayed they would be too drunk to noticed them and would stumble on towards the road behind them. Alas, the heavens were not smiling on them. Her damnable horse expressed the sentiments of its rider and snorted loudly. Two of the Red Coats turned towards the sound and found them.
  Duncan lowered the brim of his hat even further and moved his horse forward a bit, testing on whether the patrol would stop them or not. “Oy! Ye gonna pay the respects to yer superiors and dismount that horse of yers,” yelled the biggest of the lot, also appearing to be the soberest of all.
  Duncan did without ever taking his eyes from them. But without his large body covering her from view, she was in full display to the Red Coats. Two of them separated from the group to approach her mount.
  Rhiannon was trembling, still soaking and her clothes clinging to every womanly curve she possessed; she cursed her idiocy at turning down Duncan’s offer to take his coat. She kept her eyes on Duncan as he chatted easily and with a sense of friendliness that belied his hatred for the British dogs, as he liked to call them.
  The two Red Coats went to stand on either side of her horse, one going as far as grasping the bridle, securing himself that she would be going nowhere. “What a night you chose to go riding, miss. Or would that be missus?” he inquired as he gazed at her ringless fingers. The other one laughed at his comrade’s wittiness. Rhiannon refused to even look at him, and sat silently as if the saddle was her throne. “Now, now, miss. You should be more warm towards us, we patrol your roads to keep the likes of you safe, you know?”
  She had to bite her tongue to keep from calling them murderers and rapists, but she managed to control herself. The two exchanged glances, and the one holding the bridle laughed. “I think you should dismount, miss, so we can talk with you at eye level.” Still, not a word from her, not even a glance. This angered the one who had been speaking so far, and she felt his filthy eyes roaming her body as if she wore nothing at all. Rhiannon prayed that Duncan would get the go ahead from the patrol’s leader so he would return to her, but he was still involved in the charade.
  A warm, grasping hand felt up her leg, jolting her so bad that she stared at the large Red Coat. Involuntarily she smacked the hand away, “Keep your filthy paws to yourself, dog!”
  Without a warning, she was being yanked down from her horse by two pairs of rough hands. She let out a blood curling screamed as she hit the ground. In the background she could hear Duncan as he tried to reach her, but all her focus was on the two men who were tearing at her clothes. Neither had a weapon in hand, they were just using sheer brute strength. But Rhiannon had a weapon, her kirk lay hidden in the holds of her skirt. She just had to reach for it.
  “Get off her, damn you!” she heard Duncan, and a clash of swords was suddenly echoing in the night. Fear for him as well as for herself made her desperate, and she finally wrapped her fingers on the kirk’s hilt. The sharp sound of cloth tearing made her wince, and she felt the cold breeze touch one of her breasts, now bare to the view of the hungry dogs. One bent low over it to put the tender flesh in his mouth, but Rhiannon chose that moment to use her one advantage. Grasping the kirk, she drove the short but deadly blade into the man’s temple, halting him with his mouth open and tongue lolling. He collapsed to her side without so much as a moan of pain, the kirk coming out of the wound as he fell.
  The larger of the two sprang to his feet and away from her and her bloodied weapon. Whatever he saw in her eyes must have warned him against attacking her, not while he was incapacitated by both alcohol and lack of weapons. Instead, he turned to seek assistance from his fellow Red Coats. But only one was still standing, and he was badly losing the battle against the Scott. In that instant he had a decision to make, fight or flight. The cowardly bastard chose to run, and he made a dash for the cover of the woods.
  By the time Rhiannon had moved away from the dead guard and put the remains of her dress together to be decently covered once more, Duncan had unarmed the guard still fighting. The Red Coat was very close to where she was standing, half in a daze, the kirk loosely gripped on her hand still. The man stood hesitating for a moment, and Duncan must have guessed his intentions, for he warned him, “If you so much as take a step towards her, I will cut away at you so slowly and painfully, you would wish for the quick deaths your comrades had.”
  The Red Coat was not stupid enough to tempt fate, so he too made a run for the safety of the woods. The three dead bodies of the Red Coats laid scattered on the road, and Duncan was afraid that it would mean a retaliation against the town if they were found, so he dragged them to the woods, stripped them and buried the cloths and swords some distance away. Rhiannon sat on the side of the road, holding tightly to the lapels of Duncan’s coat.
“I killed a man,” she mumbled when he came back to her. Before he could reassure her, though, she laughed. “Do you think he might have been the pig that killed my brother?”
  “It is possible,” he agreed. “But even if he wasn’t, he had likely committed a crime just as bad if not worse towards another innocent person, so you did justice tonight, not murder.”
  She looked up at him from where she still sat, her dark eyes wild with fury. “He would have rapped me, Duncan. Without any thought, or reason!”
  “But he didn’t have a chance, you didn’t allow it to happen and you fought back,” he said, lifting her in his arms. “You were amazing, mistress. The fire in your eyes as you faced that second man would have made your brother proud.”
  Sighing heavily, she nodded and settled on the saddle where he placed her. But still he didn’t mount behind her, but on his own horse. She was sad to be parted from the warmth of his body, but said nothing as they rode on.
  The first rays of dawn were tinting the horizon, and they made haste to reach the heart of the town. Rhiannon was suddenly anxious, not wanting to see him go. “Will I ever see you again?”
  “Perhaps, if I happen to pick your carriage to steal from,” he teased her. Her breath caught as he turned to face her and she saw him for the first time in the full light of dawn. His deep voice had made him imagine him looking rugged and weather-worn, but what she found was a man less than ten years older than her, perhaps on his early thirties, with smooth cheeks  and an aquiline nose that matched his straight brow. He was extremely attractive, and even the scar that marred his temple couldn’t detract from it. The hat and the rain had done a number on his wavy hair, the ends plastered to his thick neck. Duncan ran a his fingers through it when he caught her staring.
  “Not looking the part of the dashing and romantic highwayman, am I?” he chuckled, and she smiled warmly in return. He sucked in his breath through is teeth, “If you knew what you do to a man when you smile at him like you do, mistress, you would be more guarded as to who you would bestow such a gift.”
  “You may not look it, Duncan, but you surely sound the part,” she said dismissing his flattery. “I must go, now. I will be eternally grateful to you, and if there is ever anything I could do to repay the kindness you showed me tonight, I will not hesitate to grant it.”
  “Mistress, just allow me to call on you some moonless night, and I will deem this debt repaid,” he said.
  “Such a small thing would not do to repay you, but I would be glad to see you again, Duncan. Just tap on the shutters of the last window on the second floor, and I shall open it.” She turned her mount on the direction of the inn, but his hand grabbed her the reins from her hand so quickly that it jerked her towards him. He gripped her shoulders and kissed her. It was an urgent, hungry kiss, and she welcomed it. But it was quickly that he straightened her out on her saddle once more, and with the hat back on his head, he touched the brim of it as he urged his mount to go.
  Rhiannon watched him go, her fingertips touching the now sensitive lips. “Until the next moonless night,” she said to his retreating back.