Isabella awoke with a start. On her ivory, bespeckled shoulder a warm hand traced the dots with fingers she knew more of in ecstacy than fear. Her mellow eyes were nothing like the doe orbed beauties that thrust their unnatural busoms in his path, but it could only be said he loved her with a passion none by his side could understand. Some guessed it was the god in her. The purity she wore as a cloak in the dank, dismal locales in which the harem of mischevious evil plotted and succoured their dark thoughts. Others who called themselves mistresses, girlfriends, mothers of young babes swarmed around her, for Isabel was the greatest of anomalies. In this place, no one was left alone, no babe allowed the gentle purity of youth, no dream unpolluted by the men's work. For this was the lair of the behemoth, the dungeon of Saul's enemy, the den of thieves. More evil laid down it's weary brow here, it was said, than in the camps of prisoners awaiting their execution by the sword. Who knew of this torturous place but the fallen and the deranged? But the sick tide of wanderers that paved their way with the Highwayman's bounty? All but one.

It was another of a long string of murky nights, the stars had hidden their charms behind the burlap of rainclouds. It was the night before the storm, and the Earth screamed at her children to dive fast into their beds before the light of the Highwayman's lamps found their bodies. Isabella knew she was tempting the cruel mistress of fate when she journeyed down that road. Her horse's mouth was hot with foam, his flanks soaked with the sweat of the patiently terrified galloping down the smooth trail. She knew the dangers this road could bring, for many had ventured along it's forested pathways, many more whispered tragic tales, stories of murder and theft until the entire world knew nothing but to shun it for the long way round. Tonight, Isabella threw herself along it in a bid to beat time, the tolls of the long, safe road too high a cost for her pocket. Security, it was said, was as expensive as fear. Isabella, however was demistified by the stories, after all this was simply the domain of men. She rode on, until a random explosion sent her barreling to the road, her body skidding to a heaving, painful stop. Her horse laid twitching and knawing in agony, a shot rung out, and it's massive body fell to the silent ground. Struggling to get to her feet, Isabella heard a sickening crack, and her body fell on top of a useless arm. She bit her lip to halt the cry in her throat, as greedy hands went to grab her, yellow teeth not restraining lecherous tongues as they assaulted her neck.

"Let's see that lovely money you're givin' me, my sweetey"

"Aw, this one's got warmer things to give us, eh Finnigan?" he raised her skirts with hungry hands, gripping and groping her burning, bleeding flesh.

"Mmmm, ripe for the ripping" he laughed raucously, but Isabella hung in her injury, molten eyes sweeping upwards to a figure in a long wool coat the colour of tarnishing silver. A gunshot lit the night, as the one with hungry hands fell in a crumpled, dead heap.

"Drop her, and your fate will be the same as his" came the voice thick with caramel tones, and a sleek witted tongue torn between activity and silence. The thief Finnigan clung to the injured girl and shook so vividly Isabella choked back a vicious scream of pain.

"T.tt.thousan.nd app..pologies, m'lord, if we'd known she was your fancy, we'd let 'er be. Mercy, m'Lord for the love of the mother, mercy!"

The thief's trousers soaked in places untouched by the rain, as the man in the coat sank his steps towards them, picking up Isabella with a repulsed sneer, carrying her as tenderly as he dared, before turning and walking in the opposite direction of the city.

"Thank ye, m'lord, thank ye" the thief Finnigan said, kneeling on the dirt. A sneer ran it's way through the villain's body as he turned his gun and another tell tale shot rang out. Isabel snaked her eyes up to the villain's face, taking it in with nothing but what seemed to be a passive glance.

"You're wicked" her soft voice coaxed the villain's eyes to flick down to her, equally fast in flicking back up to the forest around them.

"No reason have you to fear me"

She watched his chin move with the words, and did the only thing a young woman in her position was capable: sleep. She could hear the thief Finnigan's cries as they walked in the opposite direction from civilization as her eyes closed, and the unconsciousness mercifully took her away.

When Isabella's eyes began to flutter open, the villain had been dressing her broken leg in what looked to be a rustic splint out of her corset's bones. A light grunt fell through her lips as she shivered in the cold. It was then she realised her clothing had been completely gotten rid of. In their stead, the man's own longcoat draped over her body in an attempt at propriety. The bloomers she wore were soaked in blood, what was still of use had been ripped into strips for bandages. She raised her neck to magnify her view, but the villain had seen her eyes, and knelt over to her face, taking it in his hands with a horrid tenderness, laying it back down on the remains of her dress without a word. Thumbs cleansed the tears falling from her waking eyes, it was then Isabella noticed the itching of her nose, the exhaustion that comes from a long cry. Her throat ached with thirst, but she said nothing as the villain went back to repairing what he could of her body's wounds. Raising his coat above her knees, he settled it on her waist, nothing but a hankercheif between his hand and her most intimate place. The villain's brow furled in mystery as he trailed a finger from knee to hip, coming just below her maidenhood to stop as a tense whimper fell from the woman's lips.

"This was caused by no fall" he stated it simply, with no remorse, no anger, no outrage but for a glimmer of justice in the back of his eye. What a strange thing, to watch a Highwayman seethe in Justice she thought, her eyes still following the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. Returning to his work, he took what had been a sleeve and wet it in the bowl of crimson tainted water, squeezing the excess and stroking along her legs to clean the blood and stains.

"Be not concerned, most of the blood originated from your mount"

The rest of the time was spent in silence, until the villain had patched her wounds, and made a fire, taking what had come from his own possessions and handing Isabella a cup of water. She drank it urgently, downing the cupful in less time than it had taken to pour. Once her thirst was sated by three more cupfulls, the villain reached into a bundle and brought out a white dress with lace on the trim, and low swept collar. The empire waist was fastened with a blue band of thick organza ribbon, and he placed it carefully down beside her, bringing with it a pair of knee length undershorts, and a thick woven shawl. She went to stand and dress, but was arrested by a hand on her shoulder, met with a gaze that wandered back to her injured leg. Nodding, she slipped on the bloomers, raising her arms as the villain helped her with the dress, turning the fragile woman to tie the blue ribbon in a secure bow, his wandering hands fixing the fabric on her arms, shoulders and legs. Their eyes locked in a battle beyond words, until the villain sighed, reached over, and brought her to sit on his lap. She had been shivering for miles, and he had no intent of leaving a lady in the cold of this pale autumn night.

"You don't like people voicing appreciation" she mumbled, somehow unembarrased by the man's vagrant hands.

"They should leave their thanks for prayer, I require no gratitude."

"Only penance?"

". . . You talk much."

"Only when there is wisdom to be gained from speaking"

Isabella wrapped her arms around the villain's neck as he held her close for a moment to lean and take a loaf of bread and some sausage left warming beside the fire. Breaking the bread, the villain passed his captive a piece, fixing her in his arms to rest comfortably as they shared the bread and meat that he cut with his knife. A thought entered Isabella's mind that she was eating from the knife of a murderer, but the feelings soon passed, filling instead with an aura of contentment about the atmosphere around the small fire. This man was most assuredly evil, but for the moment nothing could be done and Isabella was a woman of deep motivations to live in peace for the few moments she had been given. This was not to say she was a shallow sort of girl, but one of deep learnings, heavily brooding educations and enough studies of philosophy to stump the doctoral minds at the few universities in the land. She thought of herself as a sort of feminine Socrates, an Aristotle in petticoat and corset, whose purpose was to review and understand the world at large and small.

The human soul fascinated her, extremes so impossibly diverse could be born from what would seem to be the nuclear individual. Madmen had been born boys, grown into hatters, soldiers, highwaymen or poets. The man before her became an immediate fascination, his quiet demeanor and serious eyes soaked in some past trauma, to be certain, some harbouring troubles that bit at his sleeping mind. Her consciousness swam atop her frail body, watching herself drift through the motions of action, until she saw her eyes drifting towards another deep sleep. It had occured to her that the villain must have drugged her, the anomaly of an unbroken sleep when a man of what appeared to be rudimentary skill set broken bones was too strong to deny. Not unwillingly, Isabella let her head fall into his chest, he smelled of firewood and alcohol, the presence of meat was on his breath as he chewed his last piece before wrapping the food back in it's previous location of the cotton cloth and placing the package on the top of his saddlebag.

The villain rose with her fastly in his arms, laying her upon the bed of carpet remnants and blanket scraps. Loosening his collar, and vest, the villain laid down beside her, bringing her back up to his chest and wrapping her shawl securely around her, he draped his long coat over them both, and held her firmly to him. Isabella's eyes watched her body relax into him, and drifted closed as she once again fell into a deep slumber.

"Isabel. . . Isabel" the villain's voice stroked her ears in tandem with his fingers, coaxing her out of her slumber and into the dusky brightness of the day after the storm. Dewdrops fell lazily outside the cave, as the smells of autumn twisted towards a cold, and bitter winter. Again, his thick voice lulled into her ears.

"Isabel"

How did he know her name? Was the man magic? A wizard in highwayman's clothing? Perhaps he was Merlin awakened from his long slumber at the end of the world. Perhaps some dark magician born of another of those secret societies in London, or France. Perhaps she had moaned it in her sleep or he had noticed the sloppy embroidery on her underthings. She let out a moan, rising up with help from the villain.

"The storm has past, we will be leaving for the caves once you are ready"

Now this was a conundrum: what did he think she had to do before being ready? She couldn't bathe and dress, nor could she gather her things or stand on her own two feet.

"I am as ready as you make me, Sir." Came her response, as she took a breath unhindered by that infernal corset of hers. His leathery caramel voice huffed in amusement as he slung his long woolen cloak onto his other clothing and hefted her up gently into his arms. The dress he had procured for her hung pleasantly over what little curves she possessed, and accentuated her petite and featherlike figure. Dusty brown hair had been slung back in a tight coiled braid on her head, yet now it was loosely arranged and curling slightly in the damp, frightfully frigid air. Although she could not be called beautiful, her quiet nature and quick thought carelessly increased her daring sweetness to create a situation where she was thought either terribly clever, or too bold.

None of this seemed to matter for the villain, who walked them to a large horse, which was entirely too well kept to belong to some ruffian with a stolen, yet formidable coat. No, Isabel was convinced deep mysteries and deeper logic was to be found by following this wicked villain with words of soft toffee. It was her sacred duty as a philosopher to come to the bottom of his whispering mystique and come to it she must! As he had said, she was not to fear him. That was a beginning, and like those stories and tales she was forever gleaning from this was to be the start of some irreparable adventure.