Shifting in his saddle in the afternoon sunshine, Dick Turpin lowered his telescope and squinted along the dusty road towards the top of the rise. The coach was late and he was starting to get a bad feeling about it. The tip off had come from a chance-overheard conversation at the Black Goat inn and the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt.

It had seemed like the perfect opportunity to snatch some rich easy pickings and give his young accomplice a bit more experience. Swiftnick was coming along with leaps and bounds, showing an enthusiastic aptitude for life on the road that sometimes made Dick feel old and sad that the youth didn't have a more honest future ahead of him. The life of a highwayman could be short and have a messy end. It wasn't the glamorous life that so many thought it was. Dick hoped he'd taught Swiftnick how hard it could be, certainly he'd made sure the youth earned his keep.

The coach now should have given them some easy money as it carried a rich couple off to the coast and provided the two highwaymen with some sport. So where was it?

"Dick?" Swiftnick said cautiously, knowing how irritable Dick could get when things weren't going according to plan.

"What?"

"I don't think the coach is coming."

"You noticed that, hmmh?"

"You think it's late?" Swiftnick eased Toby alongside Turpin's glossy black mare.

"Whatever gives you that idea?"

"The fact it isn't here, maybe?"

Dick turned his head and gave the teenager a slow stare. Swiftnick gazed back ingenuously, his blue eyes wide limpid pools of innocence. Dick snorted. He'd been taken in a time or two by that look until he got to know the lad better. Not that Swiftnick wasn't innocent. In some ways he was, but then he was also still young. And there had been times when he asked Dick questions in all naivety that had thrown Turpin for a loop.

Dick fished a recently obtained pocket watch from the depths of his waistcoat and studied it. "We'll give it another five minutes. They could have had a hold up on the road."

"You mean like us?" Swiftnick giggled, then struggled to restrain himself as Dick gave him an exasperated look and a quick swat with his tricorn for good measure.

"No, this is a bad road. They could have got stuck in a rut. Or stopped for lunch. Or any number of other reasons. Five minutes then we'll head over to the Bath road and see what we can pick up there."

Swiftnick nodded obediently, hauling up Toby's head as he sampled the long grass. He shoved his hat back on his head, his blond hair glinting like new gold coins in the hot sunshine. "Look," he exclaimed. "Dust!"

Quickly, Dick put the telescope back to his eye and studied the advancing dust cloud. Swiftnick had sharp eyes, but the sun was ahead of them, making it difficult to see what was advancing towards them through the heat haze.

But it was a coach and a fancy one at that, all gilded and polished and drawn by a fine foursome of white prancers. Dick felt a momentary pang over the horses. They could have made a fine profit on them if he'd been able to risk selling them. "What are you waiting for, Swiftnick? To your place, lad…and don't forget your mask!"

Swiftnick grinned and yanked up his blue silk mask as he nudged Toby in the ribs before riding along the ridge and vanishing among the overgrown undergrowth. Dick counted under his breath, tugged up his own mask, then urged Black Bess into a gallop, sending her across the flower speckled grass and into the dusty road ahead of the coach. Reining her to a halt, he levelled his pistol on the driver.

"Stand!" he roared at the startled coachman who gaped at him from the driver's box and hauled frantically on the reins to halt the horses.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" the coachman wailed, dropping the reins and thrusting his hands into the air as he spotted Swiftnick coming up alongside the coach.

"Coachman? What is going on out there?! Why have we stopped?!" a quavering male voice whined from within the coach.

Signalling Swiftnick to watch the coachman, Dick rode Black Bess around to the side of the coach and leaned down, to pull the door open and peer inside. A bewigged dandyish fop gaped back at him, his wig askew from the sudden stop and his face nearly as white under his makeup as the powder he wore on it.

"Come on, out," Turpin ordered in his hardest 'don't mess with me I'm a killer' voice.

With a whimper of panic, the fop scrabbled at the edge of the door, half-falling out into the road, squeaking, "Oh, mercy, sir, have mercy on a poor hapless traveller…"

"Shut up," Dick snorted in exasperation.

"Is it a man or a mouse?" Swiftnick asked, awed by the display.

Dick flicked a glance at him, pleased to note that the youth was still watching the coachman warily. "Now that depends on the type of cheese he's carrying," he answered. "What do you have to say, milord? What do you have on you to make me decide not to shoot you?"
The fop whimpered and started pulling off his rings; some of which were some very tasty pieces, gold and gems…

Dick blinked and took a closer look. He was almost sure he'd seen one particular emerald before…

His head came up and he gave the fop a sharp look, looking past the powder and paint into the suddenly sharp grey eyes behind the mask. The man's lips curled into a thin cruel smile as he delved into his pockets. "I'm sure I have some gold pieces…"

Instinct made Dick clap his heels to Black Bess' side and the mare leaped, startled and catching the fop with one shoulder as she spun. He was flung back against the coach, the small pistol he had drawn from his pocket exploding noisily in the quiet afternoon. Dick felt the shot part his hair as it narrowly missed his scalp.

"Dick?!" Swiftnick yipped in alarm. "Are you…?"

"Ride!" Turpin screamed back at him. "It's a trap! It's Charrington!"

Turpin had trained the youth well. He obeyed orders automatically, sending Toby racing up the slope at full gallop. Kicking the thieftaker in the teeth, Dick rode after him, deliberately cutting between the coach and his accomplice to cut off the coachman's line of fire as he grabbed for a pistol. Turpin fired back at him, sending the man diving for cover behind the coach and turned back to see where Swiftnick had got to, only to see Swiftnick re-emerge from the woods, flattened along his horse's neck and swinging Toby along the top of the rise rather than into cover.

"Swiftnick, you idiot! Go to ground!" Dick roared at him in exasperated fury. He knew he had taught him better than to ride along the skyline.

"Dragoons in the wood!" Swiftnick yelled back, his voice filled with panic.

Black Bess hammered her way to the top of the rise and swung after Toby as Dick peered in alarm into the woods over his shoulder. Swiftnick was right. The forest was swarming with Spiker's Dragoons that were bearing down on them at full gallop. The thieftaker had lured them into a neat trap.

Swearing under his breath, Dick leaned along the mare's neck, urging her to catch up with Toby. Swiftnick flashed a frightened look at him as the older highwayman came alongside.

"You remember the plan?" Dick demanded as the breeze from their passing almost snatched the words from his mouth.

Swiftnick nodded. "Dick, I don't…"

"Later! First we get away then we worry about what went wrong. Go on…"

Swiftnick turned Toby into the woods, sending the horse plunging through the undergrowth with Black Bess close enough on his rump to get swatted by his flicking tail. Reaching the flat ground beyond, Swiftnick urged the horse into a flat out, ground eating gallop with Turpin following close behind.

Down the narrow dusty track, through the woods then over the rocky ground, disguising their tracks. "Go on!" Dick yelled at him and Swiftnick swung Toby hard right, ducking under a sweep of low growing trees back into the woods and down the all but invisible deer track beyond. He could heard the sound of Black Bess' hooves retreating as Dick headed in the opposite direction across open ground, luring the pursuit away.

Swiftnick kept Toby moving at a fast clip, not galloping but keeping him to a ground covering pace that the horse could keep up for hours.

"Split up! Search the woods! Spiker's voice cracked sharply through the air coming from somewhere off to his right. "I want the boy too!"

Swiftnick's instinct was to kick Toby back into a gallop, but Dick had trained him well and he restrained the urge. Charrington was no doubt on Turpin's tail. Spiker was a familiar challenge and less of a problem for it. The Captain was less likely to find him if Swiftnick kept his nerve and followed the plan. If he broke cover now, he would be found. Following Dick's instructions, Swiftnick kept to the deer path, heading deeper into the woods.

It was a sheer fluke that he ducked under a sweeping branch and emerged into a tiny clearing at the same time as the trooper trotted out of the trees on the other side. For a split second they stared at each other in shock, the trooper grabbed for his pistol and Swiftnick clapped his heels to Toby's side. Toby leaped forward, startled and plunging across the clearing. The trooper bellowed for help and fired, his shot going wide and wild as Toby shouldered the smaller horse aside.

Hugging the horse's neck, Swiftnick urged Toby back into a gallop, hearing the dragoons coming his way fast. Spiker must have filled the woods with every man he could find! Swiftnick's only chance was to make it out of the woods into the thicker cover of the forest beyond and go to ground before he got caught. His only advantage was in knowing the area better than Spiker and his men.

The trees flew by, turning into a green brown blur around him as Swiftnick fled. The troopers were still behind him, crashing noisily though the unknown woods as he swung uphill. All he had to do was cross over the side of the slope and he'd be in deep cover.

Neither horse nor rider saw the weed filled ditch until it was too late. At Swiftnick's desperate request, Toby gathered himself to jump, but the ditch edge crumbled under his rear hooves, sending the horse pitching forward. Swiftnick was thrown from the saddle as Toby thudded down on chest and forelegs, explosively kicking his way free of the ditch in fright. His head spinning from a sharp collision with a rock, Swiftnick rolled over groggily, landing in the muddy water filled ditch as Toby neighed and took off up the hill, terrified after the fall.

"This way!" someone bellowed from the woods. "I heard a horse!"

Dazed and scared, Swiftnick floundered along the deep ditch, burrowing in amongst the overgrown trees and bushes until he was hidden under the lip of the ditch bank. Wrapping an arm around a tree root for support, he held his breath as the first trooper emerged from the trees.

"After him, men! Don't let him get away!" Spiker roared, his voice hot with the hunt. The Captain was first across the ditch, his horse making a neat jump of it. A handful of troopers followed, the lip of the ditch breaking under their hooves and sending clods of mud splashing into the dirty water.

As his pursuit pounded away over the hill, Swiftnick closed his eyes and rested his bloody forehead on his damp tree root, letting out a sigh of relief. He would give them a few minutes to get clear, then head for the rendezvous with…

He couldn't think straight. Couldn't quite remember…

Maybe if he rested his head would stop spinning. Then he'd remember…

All he needed to do was rest for a minute….

* * *

Brutus was a big dog, a large shaggy Wolfhound specially brought in from Ireland for hunting. He snuffled along the track, delighting in the fascinating scents as he quested to and fro and ignoring the two riders following him. Finally he came to the muddy ditch and all the interesting smells where the horses had jumped across. The scent of blood made him growl softly, sniffing along the edge through the bushes until he found the source and then giving tongue in delight.

Lord Rodney Havering reined in his showy black filly, peering into the bushes curiously. He was a tall, pale young man with long dark hair and snapping dark eyes. Unlike many of his generation, he was slender, uninterested in gluttony for his interest ran more darkly elsewhere. "Find out what he's after in there, Luke," he ordered briskly.

"All right, Brutus, off with you now," Havering's steward urged as he slid down from his horse. He waded into the bushes, grabbing the dog by the collar and pulling him off. Brutus came amiably enough and sat down, his huge fluffy tail pounding the bushes and sprinkling the steward with dirt and water as he watched Luke poking about in the undergrowth. "It's a boy, my lord," Luke called finally. "Looks like he's taken a bad tumble."

Havering kicked free of his stirrups and dismounted, striding briskly into the brushes and forgetting about his impeccably cut breeches and glossy black riding boots. "My goodness, a veritable Botticelli angel," he exclaimed as he parted the bushes and got his first glimpse of young Swiftnick lying unconscious in the shadowy shallows below. "Fish him out and let's have a proper look at this young windfall, Luke. He might be useful."

Luke pursed his lips but obeyed. He didn't have much choice. Havering was a temperamental master at the best of times and he was at his worst when crossed. The steward had learned at the end of a whip not to get between the noble and what he desired; be it human or object d'art. He slid down into the ditch and slid an arm around the youth, hoisting him out onto the bank. Havering had retreated back to open ground, leaving it to his steward to haul himself out of the ditch, sling Swiftnick over one shoulder and carry him out of the undergrowth. Luke deposited him gently on the ground as Havering knelt, taking the youth's head on his knees where he could pet him like a half drowned kitten.

"I was right," Havering whispered as he smoothed the soaked hair away from Swiftnick's bloody face and eyes. "A fallen angel tumbled into my arms. Ah, what joy. A new subject exactly when I needed one. I am truly honoured."

Luke's lips twitched but he restrained his disapproval and spoke steadily. "He's taken a nasty knock on the head from the looks of him," he observed. "Maybe I should take him to the village. We don't want him to die on our hands."

Havering flashed a dark eyed look of annoyed exasperation at him. "Nonsense, Luke. He isn't going to die. He's a gift from the sky. We'll take him to the hall and I'll tend him myself. He'll need a bath of course. He's filthy. Now, give me your cloak, we must keep him warm…"

* * *

He roused to the feel of hands peeling his clothes off and instinct drove him to lash out, fighting the grip that promptly pinned him down. He couldn't remember why but the urge to flight or fight swamped him…

"Take it easy, lad, I'm not going to hurt you…" the voice was deep and kind, slightly rough edged with a local accent.

Subsiding, since he obviously couldn't escape the implacable grip, he flopped back and cracked his eyes open. The face leaning over him was older than the voice sounded, slightly weathered and strong featured with cool grey eyes. He wore no wig but had thick black hair tied back from his face.

"That's better now," the man said easily, loosening his grip. "My name's Luke. What's yours?"

"It's…." He floundered, unable to remember past the horrible grey blur in his memory. "I don't know," he whispered in misery and rising fright. What was wrong with him? "I don't know!"

"Hey, easy now, lad," Luke said kindly. "No need to panic. You took a knock on the head that's scattered your wits. It'll come back to you. Don't you want to know where you are?"

He nodded uncertainly, sneaking a look around Luke's big boned presence. He was lying on a four poster bed on top of a heap of towels in a room decorated with heavy dark wood and fancy mouldings. Sun was streaming through the window, glinting off the steaming water in a gold and white enamelled bath tab by the fireplace. From the angle of the shadows it was late afternoon sliding into early evening. It was hot, the air sultry and sticky with a threatening storm.

"This is Lord Havering's hall. You’re his…guest." Luke explained. "Can you tell me what happened to you?"

"No…" He experimented with sitting up, gingerly pushing himself upright. When Luke didn't restrain him he swung his legs off the side of the bed and stared blankly at his bare feet, then touched his bare chest and looked up the steward with a wary frown that made his head hurt.

"Don't fret, lad," Luke chuckled. "You're filthy and I was going to give you a wash down is all. You were out on the hunt with Lord Havering and took a fall off your horse. You fell in a ditch which is where we found you."

"Oh…" That sounded reasonable. He did have a vague memory of a flying sensation….

"Since you’re awake now, you can take a proper bath. Here, let me give you a hand up…" Luke helped him to his feet, the steward's sheer size and brisk attitude overwhelming any protests he might have made as he was stripped out of his muddy breeches and helped into the steaming hot water. He gasped as he sat down, making a grab at the side and giving Luke an alarmed look as he felt the aches and pains suddenly surge through his body. "Aye, lad, you're covered in bruises," Luke said easily as he collected a violet scented soap and a handful of wash cloths for him from where they lay on a chair. Handing them to him, he picked up a bucket of water and tipped it over his head, making him gasp again and squirm. "Don’t forget to wash out your hair. Now, do you think you'll be all right if I go get you some food? A lad your age is bound to be hungry…"

He nodded, his stomach gurgling at the reminder that lunch had been…well, when had lunch been? He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten…

Luke chuckled. "You get yourself cleaned up then and I’ll be off to the kitchens. Stay there until I come back. We don't want you taking another fall and hurting yourself…"

* * *

An hour or so later, Luke watched the youth polishing off the last of the stew with a hunk of fresh bread to mop up the last of the gravy. Despite his obvious stiffness, his paleness and a tendency to squint painfully, there was obviously nothing wrong with his appetite. Cleaned up, with his hair washed and gingerly towelled, he was a nice looking lad, well proportioned for all that he was small and sweetly shy of his nakedness. He had insisted on keeping a towel wrapped around him as Luke examined the bruised gash on his head that had matted his hair with blood. Luke had bathed it and applied a herbal poultice to the wound, wishing he could shave the hair away from it but knowing Havering would have him whipped for spoiling the youth's looks even for a moment. In the meantime, the other servants had emptied the bath and taken it and the dirty towels away. Luke knew there would be whispering in the servants quarters tonight about who the new young stray was, but if they had any sense they would keep their mouths shut about it to anyone outside the house.

"Who did you say owned this place?" the youth asked now around a mouthful of bread.

"Lord Rodney Havering," Luke answered. "He's got guests this evening so you’d best stay out of sight. He’ll talk to you tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Luke frowned at him.

"Why should I stay out of sight if I'm a guest too?"

Luke revised his opinion, realising that the youth was a smart one underneath the ingenuous expression. "They’re not the kind of guests a boy your age would want to mix with," he told him steadily, following the instructions Havering had given him. "They're a mixed bunch of men…. Sir John Glutton's one of them. You know him?"

A faint cloud of a frown had crossed the youth's face at the mention of Glutton. "The name's…familiar…"

"I ain't surprised you remember him, knowing what's he's like. You’re better off staying out of his way. The man's a bully and a boor, like most of the others"

"Are they staying here too then?"

"Only for dinner. It's a matter of form really. Lord Rodney doesn't associate with them much. He's a younger man, you see, and prefers a different set. Glutton wants to buy a painting from Lord Rodney. The man's got no taste but likes to pretend he has."

"Oh…"

The youth pushed his stew bowl away and reached for his teacup. After a second of hesitation, he shifted his grip to pick it up by the handle then take the saucer to hold underneath as he sipped. He looked awkward, as if it wasn't something he was used to, and the gesture confirmed Luke's opinion. The lad was a commoner for sure, but someone had taken him under their wing and started teaching him some manners. And wouldn't there be a fine to do if it turned out some noble had already laid claim to the lad?

Cup and saucer clattered as the youth put it down again and pressed one shaky hand to his forehead. His complexion was starting to look a little grey and frayed around the edges and Luke felt a surge of concern. "Here now, you should be in bed," he decided quickly, sweeping the lad to his feet and over to sit on the edge of the goosedown mattress. Folding back the covers, he chivvied the boy into bed, letting him settle himself comfortably amongst the feathered pillows and silk coverings from the magical East before he covered him up with a light sheet in the heat. Nothing but the best for Havering when his patrons would pay anything for his paintings, not to mention how easily he could blackmail his other clients with threats to reveal their little peccadilloes.

"Get some rest now," Luke urged. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

The youth gave him a weak smile, too dazed to be anything other than trusting to someone who had shown him nothing but kindness. Luke smiled back in a friendly fashion and felt a like a bastard inside for lying to him. "Go to sleep, lad. You’re safe here…"

* * *

"Damn the young puppy, where is he?" Turpin growled into the rain, peering off into the gloom towards the path Swiftnick should have followed to their meeting place at the cave. The swift brewing storm had broken with a vengeance, blasting the ground with rain and lightening as roll after roll of thunder roared deafeningly overhead. Nor was it showing any signs of letting up.

Behind Dick in the cave, Black Bess snorted and rolled her eyes, unsettled enough by all the noise to stamp her hooves. Retreating from the rain, Dick came back to the mare's side to soothe her with a gentle pat and an offer of half the apple he was munching. "Well, lass, this is a rum to do, isn't it?" he said quietly, talking to the mare to quiet her nerve's as much as his own. "Where do you suppose young Swiftnick's got to? He can't have got lost. He's been here too many times. Charrington didn't get him. He was too close on my heels. That leaves Spiker."

Turpin scowled, chewing his half of the apple despite Black Bess' efforts to snaffle it from his hand. He pushed her nose away gently. "Nothing else for it. We’ll have to stay here a while and wait for him. He might have gone to ground to avoid Spiker. If not, we'd best see if we can find out what's happened to him."

* * *

Lord Havering toddled along the corridor, aware that he was ever so slightly drunk after matching Glutton almost cup for cup of wine. He clutched a large leather portfolio, full of his latest drawings and sketches that his friends had pawed over and promised later payment for.

The likes of Sir Glutton would never see the special little items Havering kept for private sale to interested clients. He was only interested in a painting with Havering's popular name on; something he could show off in his manor house and he had brought a rather dull landscape for his entry hall. He would have had a fit if he knew of the other kinds of paintings Rodney did.

The squire had been the first to leave, having to be bodily heaved into his coach by his servants and unaware of a sale for darker tastes that would follow after he was gone. Rodney's other guests had stayed late, only leaving after some boisterous speculation of who the new subject of his paintings would be after the unfortunate accident that had occurred to his last model. The drunken way they had been carrying on as they had ridden off promised mayhem among the local villagers if they caught anyone.

Aroused and excited by the storm hammering the manor house, Havering paused outside the door of the guest bedroom, teasing himself over whether or not he dared to enter. Luke had told him the youth was asleep and had taken the drug slipped into his black tea without even noticing it. It meant he would sleep through the night, oblivious to everything. Havering could do as he liked.

Smiling to himself, Rodney took a grip on the door and eased it open, peeking inside. The room was lit by the candles Luke had left and the occasional searing flash of lightening from outside. He pushed the door the rest of the way open, slipping inside and approaching the bed on tiptoe.

The youth lay half curled up, the sheets tangled around his hips, leaving bare legs and torso exposed. In the soft gleam of candlelight, his tanned skin glowed like gold. His body was well muscled, slim but firm. His hair, freshly washed, curled riotously around his face, tumbling into his eyes and over one rounded cheekbone. One hand was curled between cheek and pillow, the other rested on the sheet, fingers loosely furled and relaxed as he slept, breathing softly.

Havering watched raptly, hypnotised, his mind a riot of images and fantasies.

The youth stirred, wriggled a little as the crashing explosion of thunder right overhead reached down into the depths of his sleep. The sheet slid a little more, exposing a slice of hip and thigh, the suggestion of a curve of buttocks, silk shaped over him, concealing yet revealing…

Mouth watering, Rodney took a deep breath and eased forward, fingers reaching to twitch aside the rest of the sheet, then hesitating, wondering, tantalising himself….

The lightening flashed, dazzling him, leaving black and red afterimages on his eyes…

Blinking furiously to dispel the shadows, Rodney was swept by awe; the dance of shade and shadow of candlelight and lightening had conjured magical images. Wings, black and iridescent spread out across red satin sheets; folding around the golden image of the youth as he lay loose limbed and languorous asprawl in the bed…

"Yes, oh, yes," Rodney whispered, the artist within him soaring with joy as he saw perfection in his mind's eye. "I see it…my masterpiece…They'll pay a fortune…. A fallen angel seduced…"

Havering dropped his portfolio to the floor, groping with shaking fingers for charcoal and paper. He must get the image down before it left him, before his fleeting image of his angel fled once more. This time it would be perfect. This time he would seal the innocence within the canvas, keep it safe and treasured and his prize unchanging; immortal and perfect. A captured angel, his forever…

* * *

"Swiftnick? How could you lose someone like Swiftnick?" Molly demanded, as she stood in the inn's stables, her fists planted firmly on her ample hips. She had spotted Dick riding in shortly after first light and waved him into the stables out of sight. The storm had left everything wet and gently steaming as the day warmed up, but the air itself was cool and Turpin was glad of the shelter for the moment. .

"I didn't say I'd lost him," Dick replied impatiently as he finished off the last bite of bread and cheese she had brought him. "Only that I can't find him. Have you seen him or not?"

"Not since he was here with you, what, a week or so past?"

"A week?" Turpin groaned.

"I haven't had word he's been taken either," Molly offered consolingly, knowing that for all his sharp tongue Turpin had a soft spot for the lad. He wouldn't be here looking for him if he wasn't worried. If it had been fear that the boy would talk, he would be long gone, not searching for him.

Turpin nodded grimly. If Spiker had him, word would be out by now. The Captain liked to gloat and Spiker knew damn well that Swiftnick was a perfect lure for Turpin. The same went for Charrington; he'd use the lad against him sure as eggs were eggs.

"You know, he could be dead…" Molly offered reluctantly.

"What?" Turpin stared at her blankly.

"He could be dead," she said again. "Shot escaping maybe…"

"Nah, not Swiftnick," Dick refused to believe that the lad could have been killed. "Spiker would hang him from a gibbet as an example and Charrington would put out word that he was alive and captured. And his prancer's missing too. Nah, it's something else. Something's happened to him and I've got to find him."

Molly nodded in agreement. "Aye, that you have. Best if you don't stay here though. Charrington's been around here looking for you."

"I thought he might have been." Dick admitted. Coming to the inn had been risky, but Swiftnick might have come to Molly if he had been hurt and needed help. He'd have been sure of a warm welcome and a place to hide until Turpin came for him. "If you do hear anything, can you get me word?"

"I'll leave a message under the old bridge as usual," Molly offered.

"I'll be grateful. And if he does turn up here…"

"You know I’ll hide him. Go on now, before Spiker turns up on your heels…"

"You’re a good woman, Molly." Dick grinned at her as he swung into Black Bess' saddle.

"So the men keep telling me," Molly snorted. "Not that they stop long. Off with you now, you flirt."

Dick winked at her and urged his mare out of the stables, heading off across country. There were one or two other hiding places he could check for Swiftnick where the lad might have gone to ground if he was desperate. After that, well, after that he wasn't sure what he was going to do. But he wasn't going to give up searching for him. One way or another he would find him or learn what had happened to him…

* * *

"And the boy remembers nothing?" Lord Havering questioned his steward the following morning. He had risen late; his night spent sketching furiously before the images faded.

"No, my lord. Not his name, where he comes from, who he knows…nothing," Luke answered politely.

"A blank canvas then," Rodney murmured, gazing out over the immaculate gardens of his manor house. "How charming."

"If you don't mind me saying so, my lord," Luke offered warily. "But someone's been teaching the lad some manners. He doesn't strike me as an ordinary young cove."

"Quite extraordinary I would say," Havering mused.

"He might be someone's protégé," Luke warned.

"Oh pish," Rodney sniffed. "Their loss is my gain. Obviously the boy was running away from a cruel master and will no doubt be grateful to have tumbled into my tender mercies where he will be loved and cared for." He beamed at his steward until he registered his grim expression. "Oh, don't look so sour, Luke. You can ask a few discreet questions among the riffraff to find out if anyone has lost their pet. In the meantime, the boy is a gift from the sky fallen into my lap and I can hardly be so badly mannered as to ignore such a boon. Where is he now?"

"Still in his room. He slept deeply."

"Ah, yes, the fragrant lotus juice. But he is awake now?"

"I suggested he join my lord for breakfast."

"Excellent," Rodney said, pleased. "And you are quite sure he does not remember anything?"

"Nothing at all, my lord," Luke said firmly.

"Ah, the perfection of total innocence that displays itself in every line of that dear sweet face; a true protection from the evils of this world. But he deserves a name, does he not? I cannot simply call him the boy. My…patrons will want to know his name."

Luke winced inside, but managed to keep his expression stiff as a board. "Yes, my lord."

Rodney considered, tapping one finger against his lower lip reflectively. "Ah, yes, I have it. We shall call him Gabriel. My patrons will adore him." He gave the steward a sharp look. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go and fetch him. I grow impatient to meet this young paragon of virtue."

* * *

He rolled the name around his mind, mentally tasting it, wondering why it didn't seem to fit into the puzzle of his thoughts. But then nothing in the manor house was familiar. Lord Rodney was a stranger. The gardens although pretty meant nothing. The eyes in the paintings that adorned every wall - some of them painted by Havering himself - made him feel very small and young and unsure of himself. The only things that did intrigue him were the numerous silver ornaments dotted around the place. A beautifully made snuff box, although he shied away from the snuff itself when Rodney offered it to him, made him wonder at its cost. The lovely tea set of chased silver that adorned the breakfast table screamed expensive taste as it sat among the silver knives and forks and bone china so thin you could see though it. At first glance, it seemed obvious that Lord Rodney was rolling in money, but when he looked closer he noted that very few of the objects were actually new.

Well, it was a name, he supposed. Something to call himself when he needed to. But it still didn't seem to fit.

"You seem distracted," Rodney commented from the other end of the breakfast table. "Aren't you hungry?"

He glanced at the food laid out in front of him. "I'm afraid not, my lord," he said cautiously. He had eaten some of the toast and the eggs, but his head ached, making him aware of a nibble of nausea warning him against eating too much.

"Ah well, you did have a bad fall. No doubt your appetite will return," Rodney winked at him. "Can't have you losing your figure, now can we?"

He glanced down at his body with a faint frown, wondering in bewilderment what he meant. His own face was a stranger too him, although he had felt a little more familiar with himself when he woke than he had the night before. His body at least seemed to fit some hidden self-image of himself. "No…" he said slowly. "My lord, may I ask what you know about me?"

Havering froze for a second, then smiled. "Very little I'm afraid my dear Gabriel. You came to me desperately needing help to escape from your cruel guardian. I took you in, fed you, clothed you, cared for you. All I know of you is that your name is Gabriel and that you are alone in this world but for me."

"Who is my guardian then?" he asked cautiously.

"Perhaps it's better if we don't speak of it any further. Mention of him only upsets you."

He frowned, frustrated by being thwarted. Surely if he was the ward of someone then he should have some memory of them, of where he had lived and what his guardian looked like…

A shard of memory lanced through his thoughts so sharply it hurt; a dark haired man maybe in his thirties who grinned at him with apparent affection, winking at him and offering him a handful of something that sparkled as he reached for it…

"Gabriel!" Rodney's voice had turned impatient and he started back to himself, almost dropping his precariously gripped teacup. "Weren't you listening? I said it's time to begin our session."

"Session?" he blurted in confusion.

"Our art session," Rodney told him. "You model for me in return for staying here."

"Oh." He struggled valiantly with the concept for a moment then gave up and looked plaintively across at Havering. "Model what?"

"Oh, my sketches and paintings, of course," Rodney replied. "I showed you some of my landscapes, remember?"

"Yes." He did remember, but he had been more interested in seeing if his faulty memory recognised any of them than in their painter or his talent. "I wasn't in any of them…"

"Oh no, no, not yet. We have barely begun. When I find exactly the right pose, I shall display it in London and you will be the talk of the town. Everyone will envy me your perfection. Come now, we must begin while the light is still so unusual."

* * *

"But it’s a skirt," he protested indignantly as he emerged from behind the screen in Rodney's studio a short while later.

"Not a skirt, a chiton," Havering corrected primly as he examined his brushes. "It's Greek."

He hesitated, tugging nervously at the hem of the white linen with its stripe of lavender blue. "It makes me look like a girl," he complained. "And it's too short…"

"Nonsense. You have lovely legs. You should show them off more often. Now come and sit over here…" Rodney took his hand and led him over to sit on the floor on a large sheepskin rug. The servants must have been busy since well before dawn picking flowers from the gardens for the rug itself was all but invisible under torrents of scented blossoms in every colour imaginable. "Let me see now…yes, a rose I think…Here, hold this a moment." Rodney pressed a rose into his fingers, tucking another into his blond curls. He flicked back the hem of the chiton, pushing it back along his thigh. Rodney's fingers lingered high on his warm skin, then as he drew breath for a feeble protest, dropped away. "Yes, almost right…raise your knee now…yes, beautiful. Stay like that….Don't move…"

Havering darted back to his easel, his eyes alight with pleasure as he started to sketch rapidly. "I shall call it Antinous Awaiting Hadrian," he decided happily.

"Who?" he asked warily, feeling rather silly to be sitting so poised amid the flowers. He felt like something out of a fairy story.

"Ah of course, you don't remember. The Emperor Hadrian and his constant companion, the fair and lovely Antinous."

"Funny name for a girl," he muttered, taking a sniff at the rose. "Won't it matter that I'm a boy?"

Rodney peered at him over the top of his easel and smiled mysteriously. "It will be an artist's interpretation," he told him reassuringly. "Now, I shall put the Emperor in as a shadow; a mere suggestion of his presence; of power and innocence, virtue and lust…All things in balance…Hold that flower like that again, Gabriel, yes, that's perfect….The merest hint of red across your face from the colour of the petals…The light captures you perfectly….almost golden…"

He held still obediently, tuning his burbling out but wanting to please his protector. It was the least he could do for Rodney when he apparently owed him so much. He only wished he knew what he was talking about half the time.

* * *

Turpin was tired, mentally and physically. Over the last three days, he had been to nigh on every one of his hideouts that Swiftnick knew about and had visited most of their regular haunts to no avail. No one had seen hide nor hair of the boy; nor had they heard anything about him.

As dark fell he found himself at the Green Man inn, a dubious place at the best of times and not one Dick would normally visit unless desperate. He certainly would never have taken Swiftnick to the place. The lad was far too young for the kind of depravities rumoured to go on there.

Once Black Bess was stabled and he was inside the inn proper, he ordered himself a plate of roast beef and an ale and settled himself at a table out of the way, hoping to pass unnoticed. It wasn't long before his reticence drew attention noticed and a couple of would be tough men started jostling each other, nodding towards him and making snide remarks that he couldn't quite hear. Turpin sent a warning glare at them as he pushed aside his plate and turned his attention to his ale. He had considered taking a room and sleeping at the inn before moving on to check the last few and more unlikely places for the lad to be hiding. Somehow though he didn't think he was going to find him. By now it was plain that something unusual had happened to Swiftnick and Dick dreaded that he was going to learn that his body had been found lying in a ditch somewhere. Too many youngsters ended up that way when someone took it into their head to take what they didn't want to give.

"Hey, have you heard? Turpin's got himself a pretty young mate to ride with," one of the thugs was saying with an ugly leer on his face as he looked over at the highwayman. "Not been paying no mind to the ladies any more they say…"

Dick growled in his throat, resisting the urge to get up and crack their heads together for the insult to both him and Swiftnick. They were both obviously drunk or they wouldn't be being so stupid.

"I heard he got tired of the lad and did him in," the other thug sneered. "Now he's riding around like a lovelorn swain pretending to search for his lost lover boy."

The inn had gone very quiet as the patrons watched uneasily, waiting for the violence to erupt. "I think he sold him to a brothel," the first thug cackled. "Or maybe…"

"If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face," Turpin interrupted, rising to his feet and resting his hand deliberately on his sword hilt. Both thugs tensed, staring at him warily as he circled the table and walked towards them. One of them got up, flexing his brawny arms and ready to meet the challenge. After a second's hesitation, the second one got up too, nudged into it by his partner.

"You want to argue it about it, then drop the sword and fight like a man," the bigger of the two men urged. "Less you're a coward."

Turpin gritted his teeth and calmly started to unfasten his sword belt. He was in the mood for a fight he realised. He had been spoiling for one ever since Swiftnick went missing. He felt responsible for the lad and was desperately worried over his disappearance. He needed someone to take it out on and he was afraid to go after a coach for fear he'd kill someone in his current mood. These two were asking for trouble and deserved what they got.

"I likes nothing better than a fair fight," a male voice commented from the shadows with a touch of Scottish burr to its furry depths. "So why don't you lads put those knives you’re a carrying down and make it that way."

Dick half turned his head towards the voice, both surprised and pleased to recognise it. "That you, Glenrae?"

"And who else would I be?"

Turpin smiled mirthlessly and turned back to the two thugs. "Well?" he demanded.

They hesitated, the bigger one twitching one hand towards his waist and the weapon hidden there.

"And might I be adding that I've a fine brace of pistols squared away at the pair of ye?" Glenrae added dryly. "Not that'd I’d be meaning to be spoiling your fun, Dick, me boy. The knives now, lads…"

One by one, the men drew concealed long knives from beneath their none too clean clothes and put them on the table. "So now you shoot us, do you?" the bigger one sneered bitterly. "Is that how you've earned your reputation Mr So Called Best of The Highwaymen? You can't even keep that blond sprog of yours in your bed. Run off on you, hasn't he?"

"No, this is how I've earned my reputation," Dick snarled and punched him in the teeth, putting all his strength into the blow. The thug went sailing over backwards, crashing into a table and splintering it under his not inconsiderable weight. "You say another word about me or Swiftnick and I’ll slice your damn tongue from root to tip…."

The thug bellowed in drunken incoherence at being knocked down by the smaller man and launched himself from the shattered remains of the table, hurling himself on Turpin. Dick attempted to dodge but the second thug got in his way and all three of them went down in a kicking, biting, punching sprawl of limbs and cursing.

Sighing heavily, Glenrae sat back with his tankard in hand, put his feet up on the table and settled down to watch the show…

Hissing and spluttering, Dick came to himself, wondering why someone was attempting to half drown him in ale. The last thing he remembered was watching in triumph as the big thug reeled and went down with a crash on top of his companion.

Blinking and squinting he somehow managed to focus on the blurred, craggy features of the Scotman. "On your feet now, laddie buck," Glenrae ordered, reaching down to grasp him by the front of his waistcoat and lift him bodily to his feet. "Ye want to be gone before yon playmates of yours get back on their feet."

Dick peered down at them with a surge of smugness, then around him at the wreckage of the inn. The place hadn't been that full when he arrived, now it was completely empty. Spotting the innkeeper glaring at him in outright fury, he fished out a handful of coins from his purse and tossed them on the only table still standing. "For the damage…." he told the man as Glenrae hustled him towards the door.

"Ye're not going to be welcome back here for a while," the Scot observed as they trotted towards the stables for their horses.

"I wasn't that welcome to begin with. What are you doing here?"

"Och, a little of this, a lot of that," Glenrae chuckled, winking at Turpin. He was a big man with bright blue eyes and a mane of brown hair and was as usual dressed in high style. "Been a while, laddie. But I see they have nay hanged ye yet despite what they said at York."

"The rumours of my hanging have been greatly exaggerated," Dick said with black humour as he patted Black Bess' rump and started to untie her. "But that's what they get for impersonating me. You care to ride with me a way?"

Glenrae inclined his head gracefully. "Let me get my nag and I’ll be with ye. I want to hear about this lad of yours…"

* * *

An hour later, Turpin and Glenrae sat comfortably against the bole of a tree, watching the blue white blaze of the stars overhead. Black Bess grazed peacefully a short distance away with Glenrae's so called nag; a handsome chestnut that had a fine turn of speed on him.

"Ye sound fond of the laddie," Glenrae observed, taking a slow pull at his waterskin that happened to be have been filled with ale fresh from the barrel during the fight. The innkeeper had of course being looking the other way at the time.

Dick grunted, studying his unshined boots. "He's fair company," he admitted.

"And ye're worried about him."

"Never said that."

"Come off it, laddie. Ye've spent three days looking for him ye said."

Turpin sighed. "He's wilful, proud, uppity, headstrong, reckless…"

"Sounds like ye…"

Dick glared at the Scotman. "He got foisted off on me."

"Yet he was still with ye. Ye've kept him around and now ye're looking for him because he's gone astray. Loyal and smart too, is he?"

"I don't know about the smart," Turpin growled and snatched at the wineskin. "He's probably holed up with some wench somewhere."

"Inclined to that, is he?"

Dick hesitated. "To the lasses, aye," he admitted.

"But not to the wandering without telling ye," Glenrae guessed. "I think ye've got a problem, Dick me boy."

"You think I don't know that?" Turpin grumbled.

"So, ye've searched everywhere he might be," Glenrae continued thoughtfully.

"And a few he shouldn't," Dick muttered, thinking of the Green Man.

"Ye don't think the likes of Spiker's got his paws on him?"

"No, nor Charrington. I’d have heard by now. They'd want me to know. There'd be flyers up about his hanging."

"Aye," Glenrae frowned into the darkness. "Now, don't go tearing me tongue out, Dick, but ye say the lad's a pretty one? There are some as pay a pretty penny for a fair face."

"Swiftnick wouldn't…."

"Not saying as he would," Glenrae said quickly. "I'm saying he might not have had a choice. Some would pay and ask no questions."

"They know he's my partner," Dick argued, folding his arms across the tops of his drawn up knees.

"So?"

Turpin turned and glared at him.

"Och now, I'm no casting aspersions on your reputation. But that might be a bit of spice to the fish barrel," Glenrae pointed out hastily. "And if it scared them, well, a trip up to London for a quick sale maybe. A ship would take him for nothing. Or if they'd had their fun and wanted to get rid of him…"

"Slit his throat." Dick said softly and rested his head in his hands, muffling his pain filled voice. "Don't think I hadn't thought of that. Damnation, Glenrae, he's only sixteen and not safe to be let out loose on his own….I should never have left him."

Glenrae smiled ruefully. "And ye'll be kicking yourself for that from here to the day we find him," he observed. "And then ye'll probably give him a whipping for scaring ye."

"We?" Dick lifted his head and gave him a sharp look.

"Aye, if ye want my help it's freely given," Glenrae replied calmly. "If ye're fond enough of the lad to go looking for him, then he must be worth it. I think I’d like to meet the young whippersnapper."

Turpin gazed at him for a long moment, then slumped and let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Glenrae. I could use some company."

"Aye, I can see that. Now, do ye have a hidey-hole near by when we can sleep? Or do we trust to yon stars to watch us?"

Turpin glanced around him, getting his bearings. "With Charrington around, it's best to take cover. I know a safe place not far from here…."

* * *

The itch in the back of his leg was getting worse. The more he did his best to ignore it. The more impossible it became.

He was standing in the sunlight pouring through the open window, holding a porcelain dish that he was supposed to be pretending was solid gold and filled with sweet wine. He faced a chair draped in sheepskins that Sir Rodney had told him would be a throne in the painting and filled by the immortal presence of Zeus, who he was also supposed to be imagining was there. He was supposed to be filled with love and adoration for Zeus, although how he was supposed to display emotion to a shadow filled chair he couldn't imagine. At least he knew who Zeus was; some random scrap of memory had surfaced when Lord Havering was laying out the scene for him and he could remember the dark haired man telling him a tale about the immortal, something about a woman and a swan…

Anyway, he didn't mind the playacting or the posing; although the bowl was getting pretty heavy. He didn't even mind pretending to be this Ganymede The Cupbearer because it sounded something like an ancient Greek version of being a pot boy, but he really didn't understand why he had to stand around in the all together to do it! Let alone why he had agreed to it; refusing had seemed like it would cause too much trouble. And he wasn't sure he was happy about the way Lord Havering smirked when he told him about Zeus kidnapping Ganymede. That sounded a bit off to him.

He shifted his weight gingerly from one foot to the other, hoping to ease the itch without Sir Rodney noticing and yelling at him. The Lord had a vicious temper and he had come close to hitting his ward a time or two when he wasn't quite quick enough to understand what he wanted.

The cup trembled in his hands and he bit his lip, concentrating desperately on not spilling the contents. His head was starting to hurt fiercely with the strain of standing still and the reflection of light off the wine's red surface made his eyes hurt…

"Gabriel!" Havering's voice cut into his thoughts and he jumped, shooting a nervous look at the painter. Havering was glaring at him, his fingers clenched until they turned white on the edge of his paint palette.

"Yes, Sir Rodney?"

"I thought I told you to stand still…."

"I'm sorry, sir," he said miserably. "But I'm getting very tired now. My head…"

"What about it?"

"My head hurts," he admitted in a small voice.

"Do you think Ganymede would care about that? Zeus will give him immortality for his favours!"

"I'm not Ganymede," he muttered sulkily then looked at Havering sharply. "And what favours could he want from a human?"

Rodney stared back at him. "Oh, never mind. We'll finish for the day. Go and rest before dinner."

"Thank you, Sir Rodney." Depositing the bowl on the table, he grabbed up the deep blue Chinese silk robe Havering had given him to wear and wriggled into it, then darted out of the room before Sir Rodney could change his mind.

Rodney stared after him, licking his lips as he viewed again the youth's delicious little sulky pout now captured on canvas. The boy was learning to tease as the world started to corrupt his fresh innocence and beauty. Learning how to corrupt his master by tempting him, by seducing him into the sin of lust…

He shuddered and looked again at the painting of Ganymede, taking in the play of golden sunlight on the curve of hip and buttocks, the way it ran liquid down his back…

Was this how Zeus had been seduced by Ganymede's sweet wiles?

His vision shimmered, a swirl of dust motes in the sunshine shaping themselves into fiery wings…

In almost feverish haste, Havering covered his painting with a protective cloth and hurried to replace it on the easel with his masterpiece of his Fallen Angel. It must be finished, he must complete it before his Angel fell into darkness and was lost to him. He must not let himself be tempted again…

* * *

"Really, Rodney, are you listening to a word I say?"

Havering winced, as Percy's brisk no nonsense tones cut impatiently into his thoughts. Gazing from the windows, he had been idly a day dreaming images of a scantily clad young Gabriel in his latest series of sketches; not that the boy knew about them of course. It was a simple matter to persuade him to pose for him; the boy obviously felt he owed Rodney something and displayed his gratitude by innocent obedience. A few anatomical sketches in various poses of Gabriel held all sorts of interesting possibilities. For example a sketch of him bedecked in a wisp of black velvet and draped across the studio chaise lounge was inviting in itself. If seated nude astride a chair with his chin resting on his arms on its back or spread-eagled against a wall or floor, he could be awaiting a beating or languishing after one. Leaning against a classical column and gazing thoughtfully out across the gardens, it took only a little thought and care to add in a hand caressing a bare hip or lifting a handful of hair.

On the surface all innocent enough as far as Gabriel could tell, but a little addition to each could turn them into a seductive masterpiece. Rodney smiled faintly, mentally altering one sketch to add in a whip. The way the boy winced now and then after his fall was useful, adding verisimilitude to the images.

"Rodney!"

"Oh, what is it now, Percy?" Impatient as the disturbance, he turned to glare at the older man.

"I was saying that it is high time you sold some more pictures in London. It's all very well holding little tete a tete's down here, but you must remember society," Percy lisped as he lolled back in his chair, sipping Havering's best wine. He was dressed impeccably in the height of London fashion, his handsome new deep red coat sporting silver buckles to match his shoes and his wig elegantly powdered and curled. "If you leave it much longer your London clientele will go elsewhere to find someone to cater for their somewhat jaded tastes."

Havering's lips thinned disapprovingly. "You know I haven't had a decent model since…Jacques…"

"What happened to Jacques was an unfortunate accident. Who knew he would hang himself?" Percy said primly. "You must put it out your mind. My goodness, he was only a peasant boy. They're ten a penny. And besides, what happened to that last boy you had that you were so keen on? Young Ned or whoever he was…"

Havering eyed Percy's fluttering hand as he waved it around and turned back to the view. "He disappeared," he said quietly, staring off towards the darkly stooping trees and their thick undergrowth. There were two dark oblong spots in the rich earth out there where Ned lay alongside Jacques, both forever safe from the taint of evil that corrupted the world. Jacques should never have crossed him and to hang himself as it if it was Rodney's fault he had succumbed to his devilish temptation had showed appalling ingratitude. As for Ned, the boy had been of strong peasant stock, he should never have succumbed to death so willingly after a mere flogging! He had deserved his punishment too. Rodney licked his lips, remembering how the boy had squirmed and begged for mercy…

Damn it, if he hadn't betrayed him and sold his favours to Percy for a mere florin!

"Pity. He had promise," Percy observed. "That death scene you did of him as a cabin boy after a flogging by the pirates…that was truly inspired! Another like that would make you a fortune; an absolute fortune. They were simply begging to buy it."

Havering smiled coldly. "A one off. You know I never paint except from life."

"A pity," Percy sighed wistfully. "I still have that exquisite little one you did of Jacques stripped for a beating. Reminds me how to a keep a damned servant in place."

"I'm sure," Rodney shifted uncomfortably.

"So, what's your next project?" Percy pressed. "Something entertaining I hope? Something to tantalise the clientele, hmmh?"

"I have finished the second pirate picture," Rodney admitted slowly.

"Oh, at last? May I see?" Percy sat forward eagerly. "I do so love your pirate series. They make me go all a quiver. The excitement of it all you know…"

Rodney inclined his head graciously. The danger and excitement of the images had thrilled him too; of youth and innocence surrounded by the evil and debauched pirates, looming over him, leering… He shivered gently. "This way then, Percy."

Percy came to his feet, hurrying after the younger man as he led the way from his main hall to Havering's locked study across from the studio. Rodney let him in and closed the door. Locked away here was where he kept his sketches and finished paintings, away from prying eyes and shocked young sensibilities. He wanted Gabriel to keep his innocence, not lose it by seeing the depravities his predecessors had succumbed to.

The pirate painting was leaning against the wall, covered by a dustsheet. Removing the sheet, Rodney lifted it onto his desk and propped it up so Sir Percy could see.

Percy gasped, clasping his hands to his cheeks as he sighed in pleasure. "Oh, Rodney, you have done it again. It's a masterpiece! You have surpassed yourself!"

Havering smiled thinly and looked at the painting again. He supposed Percy was right. He usually was when it came to his paintings. He always knew what would sell. For this one, he had adapted his original painting of Ned among the pirates; now young Gabriel was there, cradling the body of his rich friend against him as he stared up at the ugly, hungry faces of the pirates surrounding him. A sword lay on the deck beside them, hanging loose from Ned's hand as if he had lost his life defending the blond youth. Gabriel was clad in tight blue knee breeches, bare foot and with his hair loose but he wore iron chains at wrists, throat and ankles. The Captain of the pirates who happened to look a lot like Blakemore was reaching for him, a whip on one hand as the other fumbled with the belt of his breeches. Rodney smiled darkly; there would be no doubt in the mind of the viewer what he had in mind for his young captive.

"And who is this exquisite young creature?" Percy reached out, one fingertip hovering over Gabriel's cheek. "I'd love to meet him. Or is he a dream?"

Havering resisted the urge to slap his hand away. Gabriel was his! "That is Gabriel, my ward," he answered.

"Your ward?" Percy gave him a startled look. "I never knew you had one."

"He's a by blow of a distant relative."

"And which relative would that be?"

"None of your damned concern, Percy. I know what your wagging tongue is like. He ran away from his guardian and is staying with me for a while."

"Then he's here?" Percy gave him a delighted look. "You know how I adore meeting your models. Do let me see him."

Rodney gritted his teeth. "He's to join us for dinner," he said flatly, reaching to recover the painting. "He's resting at the moment."

"Indeed?" Percy managed to make the remark sound like a salacious innuendo.

"He took a bad fall from his horse a few days ago. He's still a little shaky," Rodney paused, then decided on a half-truth. "His memory is a little flawed and he's can be a little vague about some things. He was raised by the servants so his manners are less than could be desired."

"Ah…." Percy smiled, looking intrigued.

"And if you tell anyone he's here I’ll cut your tongue out," Rodney added with a snarl. "There was enough talk after Jacques' hanging himself and Ned…running off, I don't need that again. It quite ruins the atmosphere."

"Quite, quite, it'd quite put you off painting, what? And we can't have that." Percy said cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. "Now, tell me, what else do you have for me to sell for you? Some more of your delicious young ward perhaps?"

Rodney nodded and reached for his portfolio. "The boy makes an excellent subject. Sweet and innocent, yet nicely provocative. Innocence on the threshold of discovery. And very willing…"

"How perfect," Percy said hungrily, reaching for the first small painting of Ganymede with the brooding shadows around him. "Menace and innocence…Rodney, I swear you get better…"

"I get more experienced in knowing the tastes of your clientele," Havering replied dryly. "Gabriel lends himself to the classical period; Antinous, Ganymede, Hephestion…"

"The pirate paintings sold well," Percy frowned. "I'm not sure that concentrating exclusively on the classical…"

"This is Antinous…." Rodney swiftly drew the painting of Gabriel among the flowers from the stack of drawings.

Percy caught his breath, staring at it in mingled lust and pleasure. "So…provocative…" he whispered. "Where's me quizzing glass….?" He extracted the lens from his waistcoat pocket and screwed it into one eye, peering closely at the painting.

"Hmmh…Hephestion isn't quite ready," Rodney said carefully. "I had thought to do something a little more modern…"

"Modern?" Percy tore his eyes from the painting with an effort. "How so?"

"Highwaymen," Rodney said simply. "I have in mind a small series; the highwayman kidnapping the youth from a coach…"

"A rich noble's son? Clad in gems?" Percy pressed, licking his lips.

"I think so…"

"Debauching him?" Percy added hopefully.

Havering nodded jerkily, an image that had been bothering him surfacing on his tongue. "The youth tied to a bed, captive yet perhaps not quite unwilling…then later, riding with the highwayman as they rob a coach, then a hanging with the highwayman coming too late to save him, holding him…"

"Oh, Rodney, they will pay a fortune! Yes! Everyone reads the ballad sheets! They all adore the tales of highwaymen!" Percy seemed about to faint with pleasure. "Oh, I can see it now. Why, perhaps you could even use that villainous cad Turpin for the highwayman! He's supposed to have a youngster riding with him now."

"Perhaps," Rodney nodded, intrigued by the idea of perverting the highwayman's reputation. The man was a villain after all, he deserved it. And how many of his patrons dreamed of being carried off by a highwayman? Yes! It was perfect. He would do it and make a fortune from the paintings; they would glory in youth and rage at the callousness of age and villains like Turpin!

"And your new pirate painting? I must admit I've taken quite a fancy to it myself…"

Havering smiled faintly, pleased by Percy's display of eagerness. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement if you wish to buy it…"

"Oh, I do, I do…It's quite glorious…"

* * *

Standing in front of the dining room's doors, he was nervous and uncertain why. He had become used to eating dinner with Rodney over the last few days, even if the servants made him uneasy. He always felt like he should get up and help with the dishes at least. Rodney had been sarcastically patronising when he absentmindedly handed his plates to a startled footman at dinner the first time. Since then he had kept his head down, terrified of making the wrong move and drawing Havering's wrath down either on his own head or the servants. Whether or not it was the bang on the head still affecting him, he wasn't sure, but it always seemed much easier to go with the flow than to buck the current. What Rodney wanted, he did; whatever it was.

His politeness to the servants at all times seemed to have earned him a certain amount of respect and affection; there always seemed to be a plate of sweetcakes for him and the serving girls always had a smile and a flirtatious giggle for him which he liked. The servants made him feel at home in their presence; something that Rodney never did. The more he learned about Havering, the more the older man scared him. This invitation for dinner with Sir Rodney and his guest had struck him as more of an order than anything else. He had always been told not to show himself to any of Havering's guests so why this Sir Percy should be different he didn't know. The fancy clothes he had been given baffled him too; they didn't feel right somehow. The velvet coat and the white ruffles on his shirt made him feel overdressed and his breeches clung uncomfortably. He was sure they were too tight in places despite what the maid who had been cleaning his room said.

"What are you waiting out here for, lad?" Luke asked from behind him as he came up from the direction of the kitchens. He was dressed in his full livery for once and looked imposingly severe. "You know Sir Rodney told you to be on time."

"I know, I…" he stopped and swallowed.

"Pull yourself together," Luke urged as he opened the door for him.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the steward and stepped through into the dining room, blinking at the candelabras on the snowy white tablecloth where the servants were laying out dinner.

"Ah, Gabriel, there you are, at last," Havering exclaimed, his impatience showing itself in his voice. He looked flushed this evening and from the full glass in his hand had already drunk a little much of his best wine. "Luke, a glass for my young ward."

"Yes, my lord," Luke swept past Gabriel, making a tiny gesture to move him forward. Taking the hint, Gabriel walked along the side of the long table to Sir Rodney, noting the stranger sitting on the far side on Havering's free hand.

"Gabriel, this is my good friend, Sir Percy Blakemore. Percy, this is Gabriel."

"Quite enchanted to meet you, my boy," Sir Percy said smugly, looking Gabriel up and down as if he was a piece of horseflesh he was considering buying. "Come here and let me have a proper look at you."

Baffled, Gabriel glanced at Havering for advice, but there was no help there. "Go on then, he won't eat you." Rodney said irritably and waved an impatient hand at him. Reluctantly, he continued his walk around the table behind the nobleman and halted beside Sir Percy. Blakemore rose to his feet and beamed at him, popping a quizzing glass in his eye as he deliberately circled Gabriel, studying him intently from every possible angle.

"Rodney, the boy is an angel, a veritable angel. I don’t suppose you’d consider-?"

"No," Rodney said flatly.

"Not even for one evening? I’d pay well…"

"I need his innocence," Rodney said sharply.

Sir Percy sighed heavily and pinched Gabriel briskly on the buttocks. "Come, sit here beside me then, my boy," he urged.

Gabriel stared at him, blushing in chagrin as his hands clenched into fists of outrage.

"Gabriel…." Rodney said however, his voice smooth as lamp oil. "There's a place set for you here." He indicated the seat across from Percy. "We can’t disrupt the dinner arrangement's now, Percy."

Gabriel retreated in relief, taking his seat beside Rodney as Luke held his chair for him. The steward had placed a glass beside the place setting and now retrieved the wine bottle from a silver wine cooler, filling it for him. Under Rodney's stern gaze, Gabriel took a small sip and smiled weakly. He much preferred the malty taste of ale to the sharp bite of wine.

Percy was frowning, clearly put out. "Its very wrong of you, you know, Rodney," he complained. "You shouldn't show a starving man a feast and then expect him not to eat."

Rodney sniffed and waved at Luke to start serving the meal. "Unripe fruit is bad for you as you know," he replied coolly.

Percy grunted, his eyes fixed hotly on Gabriel. "Tell me about yourself then, lad," he urged.

Gabriel blinked. "Tell you what?" he said cautiously. "I don't know what you want to know."

"Amnesia, you know," Rodney put in.

"Yes…" Percy gave him a slow look. "So, Gabriel, you don't know where you came from, who your family is, probably not even your own name. Is that right? How…convenient…"

"I suppose…"

"Don't go upsetting him now," Rodney snapped sharply. "I'm his family. The rest he'll remember all in good time."

"No doubt," Percy took a mouthful of wine and smiled at the youth. "Are you a good boy?" he went on casually. "Obedient? Compliant?"

Uncertain, Gabriel looked at Havering. Rodney had stiffened, his lips thinning with anger. "Answer him," Havering snapped.

"Yes, my lord. I am."

Percy nodded and took another thoughtful look at Rodney. "Sleep the sleep of the innocent, do you? Deep and without dreams?"

"Sometimes I…dream…" Gabriel said without thinking, remembering the dark haired man and a constant stream of coaches…

"I'll wager I know why," Percy chuckled, studying Rodney's tight expression in amusement. "A little honey in his night time milk, hmmh, Rodders old boy?"

"It helps him to…rest," Havering said grimly.

"Oh, quite, I've no doubt of that," Percy sniffed. "Stop looking as if you've been sucking a lemon. Why should I care?"

Rodney scowled and turned a glare on Gabriel. "What dreams?" he demanded icily. "You've not told me about any dreams."

Gabriel shrank in on himself, nervous of Sir Rodney's anger. "They're nothing," he stammered. "Only dreams…."

"About what?" Havering snarled.

"Uh, horses, riding…." Gabriel managed. For some reason he didn't want to tell anyone about the dark haired man who made him feel so…reassured somehow.

Percy cackled with laughter. "Normal dreams for a lad his age, Rodney," he chortled. "Boy's got urges is all." He winked broadly at Gabriel, his salacious smirk making the youth flush. "Dreaming of riding a fine stallion, hmmh?"

"Uh, yes…" Gabriel admitted innocently, sitting back a little as Luke started to serve him with the roast meats. "His name's Toby…"

Both older men fell into a startled silence, staring at him. "Toby?" Rodney finally choked out.

"Who is this man?" Percy growled.

Gabriel shot a puzzled look at him. "Toby is a horse, I think. He was brown…" he paused, frowning at the vegetables Luke was adding to his plate. He hadn't meant to reveal the snippet of returning memory, but now that he had, "Maybe he was the horse I was riding when I fell." He lifted his head again, looking hopefully at Havering. "Is he here? Could I go to the stables and see?"

"No," Rodney said flatly. "I've told you, you can't leave the house. You’re not strong enough. You still have the dizzy spells."

"I’d like to go riding," Gabriel said wistfully.

"I said no!" Havering roared at him, slamming his fist down on the table so hard that his glass jumped and nearly spilled. "One dizzy spell and you could break your fool neck! Why do you think you fell in the first place? I've told you time and time again! No riding!"

Gabriel swallowed, ducking his head and managing not to talk back.

"Lad deserves a beating for being so insolent," Percy remarked; a weird note entering his voice. "If you’re soft on the lad I’ll take a crop to him for you myself."

Havering caught himself, breathing hard as he glared in fury at Gabriel's bowed head and tense shoulders. "No!" he barked, then controlled himself and said more softly, "No, if he deserves a beating it'll be at my own hand." He licked his suddenly dry lips and reached for his wine. "The boy's not himself as you can see, Percy. Why don't we have our dinner before it grows cold? Then Gabriel can take himself off to bed and you and I can talk about that painting you want, Percy."

* * *

"Do stop fidgeting, Gabriel," Havering ordered impatiently, glaring at his model as Gabriel shifted restlessly. The youth was curled up on a pile of soft cushions in the sunshine from the window and Rodney was painting in a seraglio background. Clothing wise he was a nude as an egg, but he was dripping with the Havering gold and jewels, his fingers sparkling with Rodney's own rings.

"Sorry, my lord," Gabriel murmured, staring in fascination at the large sapphire in gold glinting on his middle finger and comparing it to the one set in the pendant around his neck. The sparkle and shine of the gems fascinated him and some little part of him was taking a mental note of how much money he could get for them if they were sold. A stab of pain shot through his head suddenly, blurring his vision as the dark haired man's voice filled his ears as he held out a handful of sparklers to him; Old Harry will give us a pretty penny for them and say nothing to the dragoons…

"Gabriel!" Rodney roared in fury and Gabriel looked up startled, realising he had come to his feet without thinking.

"What? I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking…" he stammered in fury as Havering stepped out from behind the easel and bore down on him. "I didn't mean…" Rodney hit him, the blow cracking across his cheekbone and sending him tumbling back into the cushions.

"I will tell you when to move!" Rodney bellowed and kicked him in the ribs for good measure. "Perhaps Percy's right and I should give you a damn good hiding! Where's me whip?!" He swung away from the youth, searching the studio for the whip he had used in the pirate paintings.

Dazed and hurting, Gabriel curled up in the cushions, watching Rodney warily even as he searched the room for escape. The door was always kept locked when Havering was painting for he resented being disturbed, the only other way was out the window and across the lawns into the trees. But how far would he get without clothes? If the alternative was staying here and taking a whipping though…

Rodney had found his whip and came back to stand over Gabriel, staring down at him with a confused expression mixed of rage and bewilderment. "How can you enrage me so much, my Gabriel?" he said softly. "Stand up, boy."

"No, you're going to beat me," he snapped back, defiant but scared.

Havering growled and grabbed, yanking him to his feet. He ran a fingertip along the youth's bruised cheekbone and sighed. "I shouldn't have hit you. It'll show on the painting." He held the whip up between them. "Have you ever tasted one of these?"

"I don't think so…" Gabriel admitted.

"Kiss it…"

"No…"

Rodney seized a handful of blond hair and yanked his head forward, pressing the whip handle against his lips. Gabriel squirmed and struggled but was slammed to his knees and the whip was once more forced to his mouth. Fighting tears of humiliation, he held still, tasting the leather on his tongue.

With a grunt of satisfaction at having subdued him, Havering let him go and stepped back, touching a sparkling of teardrop on Gabriel's cheek before he started ripping the jewellery off him. "Beautiful," he growled and grabbed Gabriel's hands. "Hold it like so, offer the whip to me as if it was Ganymede's cup…"

Scared and bewildered, Gabriel obeyed, kneeling on the bare boards of the studio as Havering changed canvases and seized his paints. Muttering Rodney started to paint in a frenzy, muttering under his breath. "Innocence slipping away, so little time to capture it all…. " Once he lifted his head and gave Gabriel a penetrating look over the easel. "Don't think you won't be punished, boy," he said grimly. "You will be. Don't forget that…"

* * *

Released from the studio, Gabriel was trembling with exhaustion and fright. Sir Rodney seemed to have gone mad, demanding pose after pose from his model long after the light was gone and he was painting by oil lamp and blazing candlelight. Havering had sent him straight to his room where he curled up on the bed in utter misery, too tired to even think about washing off the paint on his face.

A light tap on the door made him stiffen, wondering if it was Sir Percy again. Blakemore always seemed to be around over the last few days, always watching with those hot hungry eyes that made Gabriel feel so…dirty.

"It's me, lad. Can I come in?" Luke called quietly. "I brought you a supper tray."

Sliding off the bed, Gabriel padded barefoot over to the door and unlocked it, letting the steward in. "Sir Rodney's dining with Sir Percy," Luke told him as he looked the youth up and down with a worried air. "He told me you'd be eating in your room. Have you annoyed him?"

"I think so." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gabriel swung his feet as he told him of the way Havering had exploded over his moving.

"Takes his painting seriously does the master," Luke observed as he wrung out a cloth in the water from the pitcher and handed it to the youth. "Here, clean that stuff off your face now."

"Sir Rodney called it coal. He says the Egyptians used to wear it," Gabriel explained as he gratefully wiped his face clean. The cool cloth felt wonderful.

"That's as maybe," Luke grunted. "Strikes me as they were a funny old bunch." He paused, eyeing the very obvious bruise on Gabriel's cheekbone. "Did he…hurt you much?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I've had worse," he said cockily, then managed a rueful smile. "Can't remember when though. Luke?"

"Aye, lad?" The steward looked up from uncovering the supper tray.

"Do we have a brown horse called Toby in the stables?" Gabriel asked hopefully.

"No, lad," Luke said with only a fraction of a hesitation. "Here, eat up now before it gets cold. They'll be bringing up the hot water for your bath in a minute."

"Hmmh," Gabriel chewed on the chunk of bread Luke handed him thoughtfully. "How about a black mare?"

"There's the master's filly."

"Is she called Bess?"

"No. Forget these fancies, lad. You've got a good life here."

"I'd still like to know what kind of life I had before. I don't feel like I fit in here sometimes."

"Nonsense." Luke turned away to fuss with the towels a maid had left on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

"Who was my guardian before Sir Rodney?"

"Now why would you be asking that?"

"Because I want to know."

"Aye, well, I don’t know his name."

Gabriel frowned at him. "Does Sir Rodney know?"

"I've never asked him."

"He must do. He wouldn't have taken me in otherwise, would he? I mean if my guardian was as cruel as he says," Gabriel broke off as there was a polite scratching at the door.

"That'll be your hot water," Luke decided briskly. "You finish off that food and then take your bath. You'll feel better after you're fed and rested. And you'll be better off not asking too many questions. Lord Rodney won't be best pleased if he thinks you’re ungrateful."

Gabriel nodded and went back to chewing his sandwich. It was obvious Luke didn't want to answer his questions, but that wasn't going to stop him asking them. Havering's temperamental explosion had scared him badly and he had decided that it was high time he started to think for himself again.

* * *

Sipping at his wine in the privacy of his own room after a drunken Sir Percy had gone to his own bed, Sir Rodney shivered in delicious pleasure as the memory of Gabriel's frightened face swept into his thoughts again. The boy had looked so deliciously frightened kissing the whip handle. He had felt his artistic juices suddenly surge forth, flowing as they had with Jacques, as they had when he whipped young Ned…

The creative power within him had seemed unstoppable, washing away the sin of lust and temptation with the paint…

There had been Percival, first kneeling before the altar in vigil clad only in his thin shift amongst the cold stones, the light from the candles on the altar making his body shimmer through the veils of his shift. Beyond him in the darkness, Rodney had seen the shapes of temptation forming; had captured the ghosts of Jacques and Ned there among the shadows, hoping that by trapping them in paint he could stop them corrupting his sweet young Gabriel.

And then, Percival draped across the Siege Perilous; one leg hooked over the ornately carved chair arm, nude and lovely and enraptured by the jewelled chalice held cradled in his lap, the grail that had come to him in his innocence. And beyond the Siege Perilous in the darkness cavorted the corrupted Knights; with mighty, naked Lancelot, his face enraptured by greed and his body aroused by lust reaching for the youth, seeking to destroy his purity and his right to the grail by tormenting him with earthly lusts. Lancelot's own imaginings drawn there in the darkness of the floor beside the throne, where darkness and light writhed and coupled together among the shadows.

As Gabriel grew tired, Havering had created Hephestion clad in a short Egyptian kilt, with armbands of sapphire studded gold, a gold and blue enamelled collar and headdress posed in the candlelit gloom; his lover Alexander a dark shadow behind him, shading his burning golden glory.

And then as Rodney's imagination wandered, Gabriel himself in a long white nightshirt, his head bent back and his chest exposed through the fine linen; candlelight outlining his body through the folds of flimsy fabric. His head was drawn back by a loving hand, his golden hair pulled back from his vulnerable throat as the vampire bent over him; his black as midnight eyes burning from among his mane of long black hair as he kissed/bit into his ecstatic victim's throat. A fine trickle of scarlet blood ran down his throat, following the curve of his collarbone and down his bare chest beneath the nightshirt, drawing the mind after it…

Sir Rodney fell back on his bed and let his glass slip the floor.

Hephestion to his Alexander. Antinous to his Hadrian. But more so….they would be perfect together. All he had to do was complete his paintings and ensure his purity was saved.

Gabriel was the one. He was sure of it. Gabriel wouldn't leave him. The sin of temptation, the lure of corruption would be trapped in the paintings and he would stay with him, young and beautiful forever.

Oh, yes, Gabriel was the one. Gabriel was his….

* * *