The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Of course.” Lucia’s voice was timid and frightened.

  “I will keep you safe.”

  “I know.”

  Len turned Oberon to the left and urged him into a trot. For now she would follow the track. Being lost in the depths of Sherwood by night was something she did not relish. She had found the way out of the woods and she would not abandon it unless danger threatened.

  They rode in the deepening darkness for what felt like a long time. Len did not speak, and she sensed Lucia’s eyes on the track ahead of them, watching for the slightest hint of danger.

  Suddenly, Lucia tensed in front of her. “What is it?” Len demanded, peering into the distance.

  “I thought I saw something glint. Ahead. A slight glimmer, like metal.”

  Len pulled Oberon to a halt. Lucia was barely breathing, but Len could feel her heartbeat. Her own pounded in a similar rhythm. Her eyes searched the track and the trees up ahead. For a moment she thought Lucia’s frightened mind had envisioned a threat where there was none. And then she discerned the slightest hint of movement. A bright spot in the dark where the last of the setting sun reflected on metal. The metal of a sabre blade.

  “Militia.” Len said it softly.

  “Militia?” Lucia had begun to tremble.

  “Yes. But I’ll be damned if they’re getting their bloodstained hands anywhere near us.” Len’s words were almost a growl. She yanked Oberon’s reins and steered him into the woods to their right. As soon as they were among the trees, she made him trot at a diagonal to the track, taking them closer to the militia who barred her from the direction she knew she needed to travel, but farther away from the track on which the militia lay in wait. The soldiers in their shiny uniforms would not search the woods. No doubt they all believed in the spectres which were said to haunt the trees. The outlaws of days gone by would be on her side tonight.

  She nudged Oberon into a gallop as they drew parallel to the place on the road where the militia loitered. Oberon’s hooves were loud on fallen leaves and broken twigs. But they were past the patrol now, deeper into the trees.

  A shout sounded in the night behind them. Len did not pause for a moment, she pushed Oberon harder. Even if the soldiers did follow, she had faith that she and Lucia had enough of a head start to be safe. Still, she could not breathe freely just yet. There were stirrings behind them, a rattle of metal and another shout. Another set of hooves, distant but menacing, echoed Oberon’s. Len did not think about it. It did not matter. She was attuned only to Oberon, to his flight through the trees, to her arms gripping Lucia firmly. No rider and horse could catch them. Oberon was swifter than any horse she had ever known, and Lucia’s added weight was only slight.

  After another minute, she could not hear their pursuers. She hoped they had given up the chase, though she was all too aware they had maybe only abandoned the hunt through the forest in order to wait for them elsewhere. They had to find somewhere to go to ground for the night. She did not want it to be in the depths of the forest. And she wanted to find a landmark before she took cover.

  The trees thinned again, and up ahead was a far wider road. The turnpike, where it passed through the forest. The most dangerous of all roads, but enough to give Len a sense of where they were. She took a deep breath and galloped Oberon into the open, turning him wildly in the opposite direction from where the militia would be. They were exposed, but it would not be for long. Len looked about her to a familiar rise, spied a small cottage, and knew where they were at once.

  “Hold on,” she told Lucia. “Close your eyes if you must.” She turned Oberon towards a low part of the hedge, kicked him forward, and prayed he did not let her down. They approached the hedge. Below them, Oberon reared onto his hind legs. She felt the powerful muscular surge as he pushed into the air and soared easily over the hedge. He landed well, but heavily, and Lucia was thrown against his neck with a little cry she barely managed to suppress. Len pulled Lucia back close to her own body and did not slow Oberon as he galloped on, across the pasture they had leapt into. She kept the cottage she recognised to her right and knew what she would find on the far side of these two pastures.

  As they rode through a gap in the hedge into the second pasture, she slowed the horse into a trot. His flanks heaved beneath them as he recovered his breath, and she could smell the bitter odour of his sweat. He’d never let her down. Len listened carefully and heard no evidence they were being followed.

  Lucia seemed to sense her relax. “Are we away from them?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “Yes.” Len was confident now and glad to be able to reassure Lucia with an affirmative answer.

  “Where?”

  Len did not reply at once. Instead, she waited until they had travelled over a rise in the land, and a small village appeared in front of them. Several houses, an inn, and a small church with a pointed steeple. “Here. Underwood.”

  “Oh!”

  Len realised Lucia’d had no sense of which part of the countryside they were in. Maybe she was even surprised to be so close to her own home, which was not so very far across the fields.

  “But won’t the militia search here?”

  “Perhaps. But we are not going to take a bed at the inn, after all.”

  “Why do we not hide in the trees?”

  “They are searching for outlaws who hide in the woods. I feel safer out of the forest. Besides, to get back to the woods, we will have to cross open land again. I would sooner not.”

  They rode to the outskirts of the village, to where the pasture met the hedge of the churchyard. Just as they neared the hedge, Len heard the sound of hoof falls along the road through the village. “We will go no further into the village,” she said. Though she did not suppose the single horse she heard was evidence of a militia patrol, it would not do for them to be seen by any passers-by. “Do the spirits of the dead alarm you, Lucia?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because we’re going to spend the night with them.”

  Len dismounted and aided Lucia to the ground. Walking quietly and listening keenly, she led the way to the entrance to the churchyard. In the corner behind the church, a large, old oak spread its dark branches wide and low. In the late evening light it was a looming, dark shadow. Len walked between the headstones in the direction of the tree.

  “We’re going to spend the night here?” Lucia sounded as though she did not want to question Len’s decision but could not quite reconcile herself to it at once.

  “Yes. Unless you have a better suggestion.”

  “Would it not be warmer inside the church?”

  “There is Oberon to think of. Besides, there is only one entrance and exit to the church. If we should be discovered, we would be trapped. In the churchyard, we can be through the hedge and into the fields if we must.”

  “You think of every possibility.”

  “I have no choice but to.”

  They reached the oak. Len led Oberon close to the trunk, into the deepest shadow. Beneath the tree, the ground was firm, and dry enough. She sat down with her back against the tree trunk. “Join me, Lucia,” she said softly.

  Lucia was seated beside her in moments, her shoulder pressed against Len’s. Len wrapped her arm around Lucia’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “We’ll be safe here, my love,” she said.

  Lucia looked up at her, though it was too dark for Len to make out her expression. “You speak of love?”

  Len had barely noticed that she had done until Lucia asked her question. Now her heart acknowledged the emotion with a rush of warmth through her body. “Yes.”

  “I had thought never to know what love is,” Lucia said. Len waited for more, but there was none.

  “And do you?” she asked. The importance of knowing the answer was suddenly greater than she would have dared to acknowledge.

  “I believe so.” Lucia sighed happily and leaned closer to Len. Len held her tightly and smiled in
the darkness. Elation and fear waged a war inside her. To be delighted to have the love of a woman like Lucia, or to be terrified of the inevitable loss to come, the burden of knowing she had made Lucia love her and thus exposed them both to greater pain than they need ever have felt?

  They were silent for a long time. Len listened to Lucia’s breathing as it settled into relaxation. An owl hooted in a tree not so very far away. She looked out across the churchyard. The tall spire was an outline against the deep dark blue of the sky. The moon had risen enough to give a pale illumination to the scene in front of them. Her gaze settled on the headstones between their hiding place and the church itself.

  “Do you ever think about death, Lucia?” she asked.

  “Yes. Since my mother died I have been quite afraid of it.” Lucia said. Len was touched by her immediate and unquestioning honesty. “I had nightmares, even. But now…” Her words trailed off as if she was not sure how to articulate what she wanted to say.

  “Now?”

  “Now I find I am less afraid. I think I was not so much afraid of dying, as of feeling that I had not lived before my time was over.”

  “And what has changed?”

  “In the last days I have known what it is to really live.”

  “You think an outlaw life is the one you craved?”

  “I think a life with you in it was the one I longed for, without knowing it.”

  Hot tears threatened Len’s composure and she did not reply, not wishing Lucia to see her weakness. Eventually, she said, “But what if there are no more nights after this?”

  “Then I will have known this night and the ones immediately before it.”

  “Would that be enough?”

  “No.” Lucia’s reply hung in the air. It would never be enough, whatever they said now. That awareness was a tension between them. Len was almost nauseous with it. Oh, for the power to keep time from moving forward. She struggled to keep her composure and not rail out loud at the injustice of a world that would snatch Lucia from her.

  Len remembered that Lucia was by her side now. To be cherished and treasured. She would not waste this night on anger and resentment. Too many of her nights had been wasted that way. She turned to kiss the top of Lucia’s head and felt calmer.

  They were silent awhile longer. “Do you ever wish for a different life?” Lucia said at last.

  “You mean one within the law?”

  “Yes. I know you would not go back to your old life or the restrictions it imposed. But to be constantly in fear for your life—to be a shadow, always. Does it make you happy?”

  “Death can catch us at any moment, whether by the hangman’s noose, a riding accident, or a fever. I am probably less likely to die today than a woman in childbirth,” Len said. “And there are times I wish I could be seen, and known. But it is the price of my freedom.”

  “You make it sound rather noble and romantic. To be a thief.”

  “Let it be known that I am no common thief, Lucia.” Len laughed.

  “You are the Robin Hood of modern times I suppose?” Lucia said lightly.

  Len grew more serious again, as she contemplated the comparison. “I am not. Though it is true, I do not take anything from those who cannot afford it, and my men and I would be poor if we did not take what we do. But my motivations are mostly selfish, after all.” Len toyed with her hat in her hand as she spoke.

  “You’re very old fashioned, you realise?” Lucia said.

  “Do you mean my hat or my thievery?”

  “Tricorns are dying out.”

  “I am aware of that. And so are highway robbers. The turnpikes and the militia patrols are seeing to that.”

  “Is that not progress?”

  “It is the march of time, ever onwards. I do not know if it is progress.”

  “But if fewer people are turning to crime?”

  “I did not say there were fewer criminals, Lucia. Merely fewer highwaymen. Less robbing from the rich at the roadside. But while times are hard and freedom must be fought for, there will still be criminals. I don’t mean those intrinsically evil creatures, without a heart or any sense of morality. I mean men and women who are not bad at heart but forced to turn outlaw, through their circumstances, or through their yearning for more than their life is. Only the future will bring indiscriminate thieves. They will steal from those who have no more than they do.”

  “You think it is better to have highway robbers roaming the roads?”

  “I do not know, Lucia. I only point out that the old ways are passing away. There will be no highwaymen by the middle of this century, if you ask me. The world is changing beyond recognition. The speed of it frightens me a little. Because I do not know what the future will bring.”

  “But the change could bring freedom. The ability to choose you have craved so desperately.”

  “It could. But those who hold the reins of power—the silly, fat Prince Regent and his insane father, the rich men in Parliament, and the fathers and husbands in every house in this country—will not allow us freedom without a struggle. Perhaps it will be unnecessary for a woman in my place to turn outlaw. Perhaps. But there will be a fight, Lucia. I am sure of it. The old world and the old ways will not simply die away quietly. Look at the streams of blood in Paris and our current war with France, which began because simple people wanted a better life. A world without highwaymen would be no bad thing, I grant you. But what threats will that new world bring in our place?” Len felt her chest constricting as she spoke, with a very real fear of the future she very rarely expressed. It was soothed somewhat by the simple pleasure, the new freedom, of being able to discuss these things with an interested and receptive listener, a woman she loved.

  “You make it sound very bleak.” Lucia said. She sounded thoughtful.

  “Perhaps I am merely realistic.”

  “Perhaps.” They lapsed once more into contemplative silence. Eventually it was Lucia who spoke again. “But there will always be love. I believe in that now. You have made me believe in that.”

  Len smiled. She could not help it. “If there is only tonight, Lucia…”

  “Then there is nowhere I would rather be.” Lucia turned her face to Len’s. Their lips met in a tender kiss, so full of love that Len was not sure her heart, awash with joy and sadness all at once, could take it. She kissed Lucia more deeply, felt her soft hair beneath her fingers, and knew Lucia was right. Just then, the future did not matter. Lucia mattered, and Len loved her.

  Lucia broke off the kiss. “You might be the last of the highwaymen of Nottinghamshire, Len Hawkins.”

  “Aye, that I might.” Heat stirred in Len’s loins at Lucia’s tone.

  “Then you must live up to your future legend.”

  “My legend?”

  “Yes, the shadowy rider of the black stallion, handsome face obscured by a mask. Fearless and devious thief, and the ruination of weak-willed women who fall under your spell.”

  “Are you under that spell, Miss Lucia Foxe?”

  “I am.” Lucia took Len’s hand and kissed every fingertip. She held Len’s hand to her bosom, then pushed it lower, until Len felt the heat at the meeting of her thighs. “And I ask you to fulfil the legend. Ruin me. Again.”

  Len groaned and leaned in to kiss Lucia again. She pulled Lucia’s skirts higher quickly, with urgency, as Lucia breathed hard into her mouth. She caressed Lucia’s soft, welcoming sex, felt just how much Lucia wanted her touch. And she held back.

  “You would be the mistress of an outlaw?”

  “Yes.”

  Len caressed with a firmer touch and Lucia writhed against her.

  “But the lover of Helena Hawkins?”

  “I want that more than anything.” Len did not doubt Lucia’s honesty. She eased her fingers into Lucia’s hot body, exulting in Lucia’s cry of ecstasy before muffling it with more kisses. The owl screeched again, but apart from that the night was still. In the shadow of the oak, Len made love to Lucia as if the future was as bleak as
she predicted, and this was the only night in which love could shine and find its fulfilment.

  Because she knew it was true. There was only this night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Lucia awoke from the sleep she had fallen into in the early hours of the morning, Len was already awake. Her hand was still twined with Lucia’s beneath the velvet cloaks they were wrapped in, but she looked out across the churchyard pensively. Dawn had barely broken, and the world was blue and violet, the horizon beyond the church a vivid gold. Though she looked towards the sunrise, Len’s dark eyes were blacker than ever. A mask had come over her face, displaying all of her desolate emotion at the same time as it displayed none at all. Watching her, Lucia saw her strength and weakness combined, and her heart thudded more quickly in her chest. She was gripped with a terrible fear for Len’s safety and, still further, the anxiety that, even if Len was safe, they would be parted. After the love she had felt in the night, it seemed impossible. Yet here she was, in the shadow of a great oak, hidden in a churchyard from the militia. Len would raid a workshop tonight. Terrible things could happen. All the wishing in the world would not prevent it. She squeezed Len’s hand.

  Len turned to look at Lucia. Lucia caught her breath at the intensity in her eyes. She waited for her to say something to reveal its cause, but Len merely held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away again. Lucia wondered what Len was thinking. Was she still reflecting on life and death and the passing of time? Was she dwelling on the idea of last night being their last? It had been so easy in the night to grasp hold of that notion, to allow the sense of urgency to intensify every feeling. But now, in the aftermath, it was impossible to accept. It was impossible not to want more. There would be more. Lucia refused to accept that this could end. Now that she finally believed in love, she would not let it slip away in the night.