THE HIGHWAYWOMAN

In the moonlit quiet of  a deer park, Moira lay sprawled on her back.  That last sword move by the baron made her feet tangle.

She cocked her head.  "You wouldn't hit a woman when she's down, now." 

"You're holding a sword," he said, and pushed back his great cloak.  Like a snake a heavy gold chain moved across his chest.  The very  chain sneak-thief Bally mentioned. 

Without taking notice of the fortune's weight, the baron continued, "Your sword, woman.  Leave it be."

"Oh," escaped her lips.

Now he pointed his own weapon at her.  "Open your hand."

"Drop my sword?" she asked, praying her voice wouldn't squeak.  "Why, so you can kill me?"

"Not yet.  You have the breasts and  figure of fine breeding stock." 

Moira half-rolled and flung her sword at him.  With a bare shrug, he deflected her steel to the thick grass.

She lay flat.  "Rats!"

For five seconds he stared at her.

Hunh, no wit to the man.  What's he thinking?

As though in answer he grabbed her arm and slung her, heavy leathers and all, over his shoulder.  Air whooshed from her body.  With her free hand she pushed to get away, but his grip held.  Tighter now.

Not good.  Not good at all.  Should have run for the trees on seeing how large.  Big mistake.  Cross swords with an oaf who's all brawn and no brains?  Now find he knows them fancy Eye-talian parries.   Oh, when I gets free, one over-priced swordmaster-- 

"Unh!" Moira gasped, as he started the march.

Huh, not bad so far. Could be rougher. Broad in the shoulder and smelling of Indies spice; could be worse. 

She reached toward the baron's belt. 

Drat.  Dagger's beyond reach.  Think, girl, think.  So what if he's stronger; you're smarter. 

Seven paces, eight, nine...

No panic.  Whatever happens: no fear.  Right, no fear.  Best defense, an offense.  As though I've a Chinaman's chance - 

"So – you – have – me," she began, his rolling stride chugged her words. "We have to set rules," she continued.  "No more than one babe every two years."

He stopped for ten heartbeats, then resumed his march toward her future of woe.

"And my own quarters with a serving maid."

Again he halted, but this time let her slide off his back to land in a heap.  No longer encumbered, he stood tall and glanced toward the horizon.

Stumps and toads.  Flat on my pride looking up at the great oaf.  Is this how I'll remember him?

He straightened his shoulders and continued his way toward the distant manor.

She propped herself up with one elbow.  "Hey!  Hey there!  You can't  leave me like this.  I'll--"  She closed her mouth, then whispered, "I'd give you sons."               

Dick