R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

Bransen couldn't deny the growling in his stomach and so he did begin to munch on the wonderful berry pie.

The woman sat across from him and shooed her children off into a corner. She stared at him all along, only turning her head to yell at the children whenever they became unruly. After a minute or so, she began telling him all about her miserable life, of how she rarely had enough to eat, of how her husband was off in the south and probably dead, of how her neighbors wanted to help her-and some were helping to tend the fields-but they were almost all in similar straits. She had few kind words for Laird Prydae, Bransen noted, and few for the Church of Abelle, though if she harbored any ill feelings at all toward the Samhaists, she kept them to herself.

She rambled on and on as he ate the pie, and she gradually shifted the conversation to the subject of her missing husband, repeatedly saying that he'd "been gone so long. So terribly long," and how lonely she was. Naive Bransen didn't even catch on to her leading statements until he finished the pie and she moved to cut him another piece, insisting he stay.

He politely declined and started to rise.

"Ye don't have to be going," she said, and she put her hand on top of his.

For a moment, the dashing Highwayman found that he couldn't draw his breath.

"I knew ye wouldn't hurt me the moment I saw ye at me window," the woman went on, her voice husky. "But there be a part of me that was hoping ye might be wanting more sweets than pie."

Bransen lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "My sweet lady," he said, "would that I could. But time is short and I've much to do." He kissed her hand again, then on impulse, moved in close and kissed her on the cheek-or started to, but she grabbed his face and brought her lips to his, and with an urgency he had never known before.

Finally Bransen extracted himself from her clutches.

"Let me see that face!" the woman purred, reaching for his mask.

But he was too quick, and ready for her now. With a jump and a spin, he was back at the window. "Truly a lovely pie," he said with a salute, and then he leaped outside and ran off.

He looked back a short while later to see the woman, face flushed, staring at him from the window.

Many emotions coursed through Bransen at that moment, not the least of which was a warm feeling that went from head to toe. It wasn't just the passionate kiss that had excited him but the mere fact that this woman, this ordinary Pryd peasant, knew of his deeds and obviously approved!

Full of spirit and full of confidence, the Highwayman dashed across the outskirts of Pryd Town, moving from shadow to shadow as always, but not too concerned that he might be seen-which he often was, peasants pointing and calling his name, and a couple even cheering from afar.

He came in sight of Cadayle's house at long last, approaching the lane from the north. He saw her before he got close, for she was out in the fields, down the long sloping hill behind the cottage, with the family's donkey.

Bransen looked all around, at last spotting some wild-flowers, and he pulled them from the ground and hurried down the hill to join his love.

Cadayle nearly jumped out of her worn leather shoes when she finally saw him, standing there calmly and leaning on the donkey.

"Greetings this fine noon, fair lady," he said, grinning mischievously, one hand on the donkey as the beast contentedly munched the grass, the other behind his back.

"What are you doing about in the light of day?"

"Do you think that I vanish with the sunrise? A creature solely of the night, am I?"

"You've made few friends among the soldiers of Laird Prydae."

Bransen shrugged. "They are not the friends I want," he said, and he pulled his hand from around his back, presenting Cadayle with the flowers.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she did smile and gradually reached for them.

Bransen teased and pulled them back away. "For a kiss?"

Cadayle's smile disappeared and she stepped back. "A kiss?" she echoed. "For my own flowers?"

"Your own?"

"You just picked them on the hill."

"How could you know that?"

"Because they're still dripping of dirt, and I saw them on my way down here. I kept Doully here from eating them, for I could see them from my window. Pretty they were in sunset, but now I'll not have that pleasure again, will I?"

Bransen could not have been more crestfallen, and it showed on his face; but Cadayle just laughed and jumped forward, taking the bouquet. "You are an easy one to tease," she remarked, and she brought the sweet-smelling flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"But, fair lady," Bransen said, regaining his composure, "I named a payment." He started forward, but Cadayle held him at bay with her outstretched hand.

"A kiss is not a payment," she said. "It's given by choice. My own choice."

Bransen stepped back and studied her. "Then it is true," he said, feigning sudden and complete despair. "There is another man who calls Cadayle his lover!"

"What?"

"Ah, I have heard the rumors, my lady. All about town speak of them."

Cadayle waved him away dismissively.

"They speak of Cadayle and a queer little man who works with the monks," Bransen pressed, thinking himself quite clever.

But Cadayle's face went very tight.

"Yes, a creature they call the Stork," Bransen went on, not reading the signs. "Cadayle loves the Stork!"

He finished with a wide smile, one that Cadayle's hand promptly wiped away with a stinging slap.

For a moment, Bransen's heart fell and broke. Had the mere notion of Cadayle with his other self so disgusted her?

But the truth spilled forth in a burst of venom from her that shocked the Highwayman. "Do not ever speak of poor Bransen in such a manner ever again!" she demanded. "Do not mock him!"

"I-I did not," Bransen tried to reply.

"I thought you a better man than that!" Cadayle fumed. "Bransen Garibond's infirmity is no matter of jest, nor is it his fault in any way. You mock me by calling me his lover-but I would be, do not doubt, if he were a healthy man!"

Those simple words nearly knocked Bransen from his feet and had his heart thumping in his thin chest.

"I thought you different from the others," Cadayle continued, despite the Highwayman's holding his hand up to try to calm her. "When you fought Tarkus Breen and his bullies, when you slew him, I thought it in defense of Bransen as much as in the defense of Cadayle."

"It was," he managed to interject.

"But you mock him."

"I do not."

"Then what?"

"I feared that I was walking over a line in trying to court you," Bransen improvised. "I thought it prudent to discern your true feelings for the one called Stork."

"I hate that name. He is Bransen."

The Highwayman conceded the point with a low bow and asked in all sincerity, "Then you do not love him?"

"Perhaps I do."

"But you will not marry him?"

"Marry him?" Cadayle echoed with obvious incredulity. "He can hardly care for himself. How is he to care for a family? Bransen will stay with the brothers of Abelle. It is the only place for him, I fear."

"And what for Cadayle, then?"

"That is for Cadayle to decide."

He dipped another conciliatory bow. In the middle of it, it occurred to Bransen to pull off his mask and reveal himself to her. How he wanted to!

But he could not. He could not so endanger Cadayle as to reveal himself, and he realized that he had not the courage to do so. She had not declared her love for him, after all, but had merely not denied the possibility.

Bransen wished that he were a braver man.

"You are not the only one who cares for Bransen," he said.

Cadayle didn't seem convinced, but neither did she remain overtly angry.