R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

"Perhaps I should have let the powries finish him and his wife before taking my reward," Bransen went on. "But then, of course, the innocent drivers would have been slaughtered as well, and that I could not allow."

"But you would have allowed the prince to be killed?"

The Highwayman shrugged.

"And his wife?" Cadayle pressed, clearly distressed.

"Well, perhaps not, though I am not very fond of the lairds of Honce and their ignoble henchmen."

"They are our protectors."

"They protect themselves," the Highwayman argued. "I have seen Laird Prydae's castle, and I assure you, the man wants for nothing."

"He is appointed by God, so say the priests. His line is blessed, as are the lines of all the lairds."

The Highwayman laughed at her, but inside, Bransen thought her words no laughing matter. He had come to understand the "sanctity" of the lairds, anointed by both monk of Abelle and Samhaist alike, each trying to gain favor with the powerful noblemen. The Book of Jhest had told Bransen a different story. The Jhesta Tu mystics outright rejected any special relationship between the secular leaders, of tribes and kingdoms and holdings, and God. But the peasants of Honce didn't see that; not even Cadayle, whom Bransen considered very intelligent and aware-mightily so, compared to the other peasants.

"Then I suppose that God will not be pleased with me for taking…this," Bransen answered, pulling forth the jeweled necklace he had pilfered from Olym.

Cadayle sucked in her breath, and the glittering of her eyes rivaled that of the stones in the starlight.

"Lady Cadayle," Bransen began. "Beautiful Cadayle. If you are to try to convince me that Princess Olym Delaval's neck is more fit for this than your own, I pray you save your breath and your effort. If God has blessed any woman with the beauty to properly complement this necklace, then surely that woman is you."

She raised her gaze to match his stare, and still she said nothing.

Bransen moved forward slowly, unthreateningly. She was afraid, he could tell; she was even shivering a little, and not from the chill night air. Bransen reached up and draped the necklace about her thin neck, reaching behind with both hands, and even moving closer to look over her shoulder as he worked the clasp.

He could feel her breath on his neck, so warm, and after he had secured the clasp, he stayed in place for a while, basking in the feel and smell of Cadayle.

Finally, he leaned back so that he was right before her, his hands still upon her shoulders.

"I cannot keep this," she said, and he put a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Of course you cannot," Bransen agreed. "But wear it this night, and secretly for as long as you desire. No doubt Laird Prydae and Prince Yeslnik will offer a fine reward for the piece. When they do, say that you found it at the side of the road, and collect your due. For your mother, if not for yourself."

"I cannot."

"Of course you can," said Bransen. "I will scatter a few coins near to the oak at the forward end of this very lane. Say you found the necklace there. The fools will believe that I dropped some of the booty."

"But-"

"What else am I to do with it?" Bransen interrupted. "I have no need of coin, am well fed and well housed."

"Then why do you steal?"

"Because I know that I am among the few who can so make such a claim of health and comfort. Because I know that Laird Prydae and all the other noblemen live in luxury while the rest toil for their benefit, even die for their benefit." He wanted to add, "And because it's fun," but he thought it better to keep that a secret.

"And I do appreciate beautiful things," Bransen added, and he stared intently at Cadayle, grabbing her eyes with his own, and he would not let go. "And truly that necklace is a pale bauble beside the beauty I now see. Upon you, it shines so much the brighter."

She blushed and couldn't hide her smile, and she started to look away. But Bransen wouldn't let her. He brought his hand up beside her cheek and slowly turned her to face him directly. He couldn't resist her, then, her smell, her warm breath, her beauty in the starlight, and so he leaned forward and dared to press his lips against hers.

To his amazement, she did not pull away from him, and her arms came up around his back, pulling him closer.

For Bransen, there had never been a moment as sweet.

Cadayle pulled back after a long and lingering moment. "I should not have done that," she said, and she broke free of his embrace.

"Oh, but I want to do it again!" Bransen blurted, and Cadayle put a hand over her mouth and giggled.

"But I do," Bransen said, and it was his turn to be embarrassed.

"Have you never kissed a woman before?"

Bransen thought on that for a moment, in light of his encounter with the farm lady. "One kissed me, once."

Cadayle giggled again. "Only one? A rogue like you?"

"And how many men has Cadayle kissed?" Bransen shot right back at her.

She grew very serious suddenly. "None before like that," she said.

Bransen felt his legs go weak. "One more kiss before I go?" he asked.

"Just one, and just a kiss, and then you must be on your way, Highwayman."

Bransen came forward in a rush, but Cadayle held him back long enough to calm him. Then she kissed him, long and soft and sweet.

The taste of her followed him all the way back to Chapel Pryd, all the way back to his dark and dirty hole. Callen brought her hand to her mouth to hide her gasp, and she felt for a moment as if she would simply fall over. Never in her life had she ever seen any piece of jewelry as fabulous as the necklace Cadayle was wearing.

"You saw him again," Callen breathed.

"I found it by the side of the road," Cadayle said. "Along with these." She held out her hand, showing the few coins the Highwayman had given her to seed the story.

Callen's eyes went narrow. "You didn't find anything."

Cadayle squirmed, the observant mother noted. "Under the tree, mother. There might be more. You and I can go look in the morning's light."

"Cadayle…" Callen said in even and controlled tones, her best mother's voice. "You've not ever lied to me before."

Cadayle seemed to visibly break, then, her shoulders slumping.

"The Highwayman came to you again this night."

"Yes."

Callen took Cadayle's chin in her hand and lifted her face so that their stares locked. "And what did you give him for the necklace?"

Cadayle's eyes went wide in shock, which brought a wave of relief to the older woman.

"I did kiss him," Cadayle admitted a moment later, and Callen scowled. "But not for the necklace. I kissed him because I wanted to."

"Would you have kissed him if he hadn't given you the jewels?"

"Of course!" Cadayle blurted, and then she seemed embarrassed and lowered her gaze once more. "I mean, it wasn't the necklace that made me choose to kiss him."

Callen pulled her close for a hug, then pushed her back to arms' length. "But you cannot keep it. You know that."

"He told me to turn it over to the laird and prince for the reward they will likely offer. Still, I feel as if I'm stealing. Perhaps I should just give it back for no reward."

"You're to do no such thing!" Callen snapped, and Cadayle shot to attention. "No, you do as the Highwayman bade you. Laird Prydae and Prince Yeslnik aren't to miss any reward, and God and the Ancient Ones know that we could put the coin to better use, for our sake and for that of all our hungry neighbors."

Cadayle brought her hand up to the precious necklace and her look went wistful, revealing to the observant Callen that her daughter wasn't truly enamored of the idea of parting with the gift.

"You know that you cannot keep it," Callen said softly. "Wouldn't Bernivvigar be happy to find you wearing such a thing?"