(c) 2000 Nene Adams

The swords clashed loudly, a shower of fiery sparks leaping from the singing steel.

One of the opponents was a highwayman, dressed in black from head to toe; ebony breeches clung to his legs like a second skin, tucked into thigh-high boots, while the cloak knotted around his throat flowed down his back like great bat wings. A vizand mask was tied across the upper half of his face, leaving only a chin and oddly feminine lips visible. A wide brimmed hat was jammed down on his forehead and a profusion of dark-dyed ostrich feathers curled from the side like billows of smoke. Blue eyes, as brilliant as sapphires bathed in flame, sparkled in glee as two uniformed guards attacked him.

"Is that the best you can do, gentlemen?" the highwayman quipped, side-stepping one guard’s charge and delivering a tooth-rattling boot to his backside as the man stumbled past.

The second guard snarled. The red-and-white tunic of his uniform hung in shreds, testament to the highwayman’s skill. "We’ll see you hanged yet, Charlie Rose!"

"Not in this lifetime, I’m afraid," the tall, lean, black-clad man said with a confident smile. Parry, parry, riposte... the thin but deadly blade of his rapier danced through the air, singing shrilly as he adroitly evaded the guard’s blows.

The first guard got up from the ground, shaking his head groggily. One of his eyes was swelling rapidly but he could see well enough to realize the highwayman’s back was completely unprotected. He drew his sword back and charged, intent upon skewering the man who’d been responsible for humiliating not only himself, but so many of his bretheren.

Charlie Rose, the nortorious Roaring Boy, the Roving Black-Hearted Blade, seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He leaped aside at the last possible moment, sticking out a foot to trip the man running past him. The guard narrowly missed impaling himself on his friend’s sword and fell face down in the dirt, spitting and cursing loudly. Rose gave him a casually brutal kick to the temple and the man lay limp and silent.

Slowly, the highwayman turned back to his only remaining opponent. The guard gulped and his eyes narrowed. The point of his sword shook.

Rose smiled. It was the cheeky grin of a charming bastard and it infuriated the guard to undreamed-of heights. With a scream of pure rage, he stamped forward, sword swinging back and muscles tensed, intent upon splitting the highwayman’s head like an overripe melon.

Rose ducked beneath the blow and smashed the hilt of his rapier behind the guard’s ear. The man dropped like a stone... leaving the highwayman alone with his defenseless victims.

He glanced over at the coach, which had pulled off to the side of the road. Sheathing his rapier and drawing a loaded flintlock, Rose said in a deep, husky voice, "Stand and deliver, my man!"

The driver glanced at the dark figure in the road ahead, rolling his eyes in fear. 

From within the carriage, a woman’s voice sounded peevishly. "If the King’s guards want payment for this night’s work, tell them I’ll not put up a bloody cent. T’is their duty to protect travelers from scum like Master Rose. And they’d best not try and load the body into my coach, either. Let them drag that thief back to London by his hair!"

The highwayman cocked his head and abruptly, a broad grin stretched across his face. He walked towards the carriage, reaching out to pat the coach horses’ velvety noses as he passed them by. The driver was too frightened to do more than move his eyes.

"Now who can this be?" The highwayman jerked open the door of the carriage. "Kindly step outside, milady," he said politely, thrusting the flintlock inside and smiling even more broadly at the chorus of frightened squeals. "How stupid of me. I mean, my ladies."

Three women scrambled out of the coach; they wore the lacy mobcaps and simple gowns that marked them as mere maidservents. Rose winked saucily at one bold wench, who simpered and pushed her bulging bosoms with her hands, encouraging them to spill even further over the square neckline of her dress. Being robbed by a dashing, dangerous and mysterious stranger was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them, and each one of the maids dreamed that the highwayman – so romantic! so handsome! – would whisk them away on the rump of his horse for a night of torrid passion and whispered promises.

The girls sighed simultaneously and surreptitiously adjusted their clothing and hair to its best advantage.

The same female voice that had spoken a mere moment ago now sounded again from the lightless interior. "How dare you, sirrah!" she snapped. "Do you know whom you are dealing with? Those are the King’s guards you’ve murdered!"

Rose’s blue eyes sparkled with good humor. "Why, if your appearance is as lovely as your melodious voice, milady, I can scarcely restrain my impatience to view your charms. And the guards are not dead, merely sleeping, which is their primary occupation, I understand. Now come out at once, if you please, or I will be forced to come in there after you."

The maidservants sighed again in pure admiration.

With a snort of annoyance, Lady Sarah Summersby emerged from the coach. She was a petite but voluptuous young woman with startlingly bright copper-red hair. Her large gray eyes, set a shade too far apart from her aquiline nose for true beauty, seethed with resentment.

"You blackguard!" she challenged, scrambling down the steps and ignoring the highwayman’s proffered hand. "I’ll see you hanged for this and I’ll spit on your grave, to boot!"

Rose blew her a kiss, much to the lady’s further fury. "Did your mother never tell you that such sour looks were unbecoming?"

"Ha!" Lady Sarah’s dress of steel-silver satin was cut so low that her nipples were practically visible through the froth of lace that outlined the plunging neck. Her ivory breasts quivered with indignation and threatened to topple out of her gown entirely as she panted in rage. "T’is the High Justice for you and no mistake, sirrah! How dare you rob His Majesty’s servants on the King’s own road!"

"I would dare much more, milady, for the merest chance to bask in your warm and gracious presence." The highwayman was at his most charming and the watching maidservants giggled. A glare from their furious mistress quelled their hilarity if not the hot looks they continued to bestow upon the black-clad robber.

He flashed them an impudent, salt-whilte smile and said, "Now, milady... deliver up your money and your jewels... and I mean the jewels around your pretty white neck, not the sweet rubies that are falling out of your dress. Alas... I have no time to sample the lovelies properly, else I’d hardly turn down the invitation."

Lady Sarah crossed her arms over her chest to hide her ample bosom and tapped a foot nervously; the peacock feathers in her headdress bobbed in time. "You’ll get nothing from me, you rogue! Nothing!"

"Ah, well." He shrugged. "We’ll see about that, milady. I am sorry you choose to do this the hard way... then again, perhaps I’m not sorry at all." The long barrel of the flintlock dipped, nosing about the bottom of Lady Sarah’s skirts. Both the lady and her maids gasped in horror as the hem of her dress rose scandalously higher, revealing shapely ankles and well turned calves clad in tight knitted hose.

"Ah-ah!" Rose cautioned when the lady tried to pull herself away. He reached out his free hand and grabbed her arm firmly, holding her in place. "I’m not quite finished viewing all that I came here to see."

Lady Sarah gasped in thwarted anger as her skirts were raised nearly to her waist. She bit her lip so hard it nearly bled and her cheeks blazed with scarlet blushes.

A little higher, showing softly rounded thighs clasped by jeweled garters, and the barest hint of fluffy copper curls that lay between. At this violation, Lady Sarah let out a shrill scream of pure fury and tried to struggle away from the highwayman’s grasp, but it was no use. Her strength was no match for his; the man’s deceptively slender build concealed oak-hard muscles that easily kept her from escaping.

Now Rose let go of her arm and wrapped a wiry arm around her waist, keeping the lady’s skirts up and giving everyone – with the exception of the driver – a good look at Sarah’s charms. Thrusting the flintlock into the waistband of his trousers, he shoved his fingers between her thighs, making her scream again... and emerged with a bulging leather pouch in the palm of his hand.

He let Lady Sarah’s skirts drop and pushed her away, pulling the flintlock out again. "I had a feeling you were hiding a treasure beneath your skirts, milady," he said, weighing the pouch before tearing the strings open with his teeth. Tangled strands of pure gold, set with winking rubies, shimmered in the moonlight.

"A most generous contribution," Rose said with a smile. Lady Sarah’s hands shook as she straightened out her violated dress; the pouch had been tied to her petticoat strings, dangling betwixt her legs - a place everyone thought reasonably safe from thieves.

"T’is little pleasure you’ll get from your prize," she told him bitterly. "I’m on a mission from the King and that’s his property you’ve got there." Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats shattered the night air and Sarah hissed triumphantly, "More of His Majesty’s guards! You’re a dead man, you blackhearted bastard!"

Undaunted, the highwayman turned to meet this threat so coolly that the maids nearly swooned. Grabbing Lady Sarah again, he crushed her so tightly against his body that she couldn’t breath. His head dipped down and he forced his mouth upon hers, pressing her unwilling lips open and thrusting his tongue inside, tasting her sweetness, her spice. Sarah struggled for a moment, whimpering, then her hands came up of their own accord and wrapped around Rose’s shoulders, held the back of his neck.

This kiss seemed endless, a meeting of two such volcanic passions that it seemed the very night would be set aflame. When Rose pulled away, they stared at one another, Sarah’s gray eyes wide and filled with an emotion that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with awakened desire. The highwayman smiled and ran a gentle thumb across Sarah’s bruised lips, soothing her trembling with soft caresses. Then a trumpet blast sounded and the moment came to an abrupt end.

Rose laughed softly and winked, blue eyes glittering. "I think I’ve stolen more than your baubles this night, milady."

Without giving her time to reply, he spun her away and leaped into the saddle of his horse, a huge, satanic-looking steed with a flat, hostile glare. Clapping heels to the horse’s sides, he rode away, the wings of his cloak flaring out, and in a heartbeat, the Roving Blade was gone.

As the King’s guards came pounding up the road and stopped at the carriage, the figure of the highwayman appeared on a nearby hill, silhouetted against the moon. His horse reared, plate-sized hooves slicing the air, and Rose flourished his flintlock. His throaty laughter floated down to them, a sardonic compliment to an excellent night’s work. A cloud moved across the moon, blotting him from sight... and when it moved away, he had disappeared without a trace save the faint echoes of hoofbeats thrumming like a pulse down the King’s highway, far away from the scene of his crimes.

Lieutenant Bassington took in Sarah’s flushed cheeks, disheveled dress and heaving breaths. "Are you all right, milady? That rogue didn’t... harm you in any way?"

Sarah blushed hotter and looked down at her hands, trying to forget the hard body of the highwayman, the taste and incredible feel of his mouth... "No, Lieutenant. I’m fine. But the bastard’s stolen something of mine that’s very valuable – a set of rubies, in fact. They’re priceless and I want them returned."

Bassington’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Did he now?" He glanced at the giggling maids and wondered if the highwayman hadn’t taken a taste of the lady’s charms as well. Everyone knew what they said about the ravenous sexual appetites of noblewomen. Still, he wouldn’t make an issue of it – Lady Summersby was too well connected at Court.

"Well, mum, Rose is well away but we’ll make the attempt to retrieve your jewels and catch the bloody thief." He signaled and several of his men took off in the direction of the highwayman’s trail, bent low over their horse’s necks and urging them to speed with spurs and whips.

"Thank you, sir." Lady Sarah smoothed her palms over her cheeks, wishing she had a more concealing complexion. "I was on my way to dine with the Countess of Grangemoor," she offered by way of explanation. It wasn’t usual for ladies of quality to be out and about so late at night. "The King kindly gave me two of his guards as an escort but Rose overcame them."

"So I see," Bassington replied in disgust, eyeing the unconscious men. "Shall we accompany you the remainder of the way, madame?"

Sarah sighed. "No, thank you, sir. After such a trying evening, I much prefer to return to the palace. I shall inform the King about what has happened, including your most timely intervention. Had you not appeared in the nick of time, who knows what the rogue might have done!"

Bassington tipped his hat in her direction. "Very well, mum. We shall escort you to the palace and see you in safety to the door." Turning his head, he bawled, "Smart formation, gentlemen! There are ladies present!"

"Oh! Thank you most kindly, sir." Lady Sarah shooed the maids back into the coach and clambered inside herself. Leaning out the window, she called to the driver, "Jennings! Back to the palace, if you please!"

It took three shouts and a stout smack across the lips before Jennings recovered enough from his fright to drive.
 
 

In the wee hours of the morning, Lady Sarah finally returned home to Summerfield, the grand stone mansion of her ancestors that sprawled in a private wood outside of London.

Wearily, she entered her bedroom, pulling her gown away from her neck. The maids she’d been traveling with were all palace servants and she’d left them to the tender mercies of their peers, who would no doubt spread the word of her violation at the highwayman’s hands. Her own servants were more discreet; she knew she could count on their silence.

She worked off the busked bodice of her dress until her breasts bounced free of their confinement. Sarah sighed; she hated being laced to such extremes but in the King’s Court, fashion reigned supreme.

Thinking about fashion led her to the embarrassing interview she’d endured with the King upon returning to the Palace. Her good friend, the Countess of Grangemoor, was His Majesty’s secret mistress; Sarah had been charged with acting as go-between, delivering letters and gifts to and from the palace because her presence would never be suspect. The King’s love affairs were usually somewhat less than private but since the Countess was married to the volatile and duel-mad Count Henri, His Majesty hadn’t wanted to take a chance on the unstable Frenchman’s temper and scorn of lese majestie.

The pouch of jewels had been a love gift from the King, intended to grace the Countess’ pretty neck at the next Court function. Everyone suspected the beauty had a mystery lover but no one knew who. Reporting to the King that his expensive present had been stolen by a notorious highwayman hadn’t been the easiest moment in Lady Sarah’s life. 

Suddenly, Sarah stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the floor, coppery brows drawing together in a frown.

Ebony hued clothing lay scattered on the carpets – trousers, ruffled shirt, boots and cloak. Weapons were also in the pile – flintlock, rapier, scabbard. The clothes seemed to have been abandoned in a haphazard fashion but actually led the eye in a more or less straight line right up to the great canopied bed that she’d slept in all her life.

The curtains had been drawn back and swagged with gilded cords. A figure lolled on the peach satin sheets, lazily picking through a platter of chilled fruits.

It was a woman, long and lean, arms and legs showing sleek muscle beneath her olive-toned skin. Hair as black as raven’s wings spilled down her back and across her broad shoulders, curling down to her trim waist and boyish hips. Her breasts were small and firm, tipped with small pink nipples. Bright blue eyes sparkled at Sarah from behind the vizand half-mask that concealed the upper part of the woman’s face.

"Charlotte!" Sarah gasped, hurrying over to the bed. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Not at all," the woman replied in her deep, husky voice. "I took the backroads; those idiot guards never even got a whiff."

Charlotte Rosings untied the mask and tossed it aside. Her features were too strong for beauty but she was quite handsome. "So... how much do you think we’ll get for these little bijoux?" she quipped with a dazzling smile, offering a leather pouch on the palm of her hand.

Sarah took the pouch and opened it, spilling the rubies out onto the bed. The necklace, bracelets and earrings blazed in the candlelight like drops of fiery blood. "Do we really have to sell them?" she asked regretfully.

"Sweet, if the King caught you with those baubles around your neck, he’d have your head on a platter. Come now... when we get enough of a fortune together, we’ll sail away to America and I’ll weigh you in so many pretty sparklies that you’ll stagger."

"Oh, Charlie..." Sarah fell into bed, kissing her lover’s mouth again and again. "This is the best haul yet!"

"Thanks to you, sweet." Charlette popped a grape into Sarah’s mouth. "We make a good team. You keep your ear open at Court for travel news and tell me when and where. I make the snatch and we’re practically rolling in guineas, ducats and reals!"

Sarah squirmed out of her dress and lay beside the woman she adored, coppery hair fanned out on the bed, gray eyes aglow with passion. "I love you, Charlie! If the roving blade business ever goes out of style, we could always take to the stage!"

"There are some things one simply can’t fake, no matter how great one’s acting skills." Charlie leaned on her elbow, staring down at Sarah, a faint smile quirking up one side of her mouth.

"Oh?" Sarah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "What’s that, then?"

"This..."

Charlette kissed Sarah hard, a hand slipping down her lover’s body, caressing and pinching her satiny skin until it glowed.

"And this... and this..."

"Oh! Oh, Charlie!"

Blazing rubies slid to the floor, forgotten...

And the Roving Blackhearted Blade stole far more that night from Lady Sarah than mere jewels.

About the author

An armchair historian with a vivid imagination, Nene lives in Holland with her soulmate, Corrie, and two spoiled fairy princess dogs. In her copious spare time, she reads, writes, reads, cooks, reads, plays RPG games, reads... you get the idea.