Snow, Dick Turpin thought in disgust as he peered into the stable yard of the Rose and Garter coaching inn, watching the grey slush crusting the cobbles disappearing beneath the thick fresh layer of new fall. He had hoped it would clear up but instead the weather had worsened rapidly, thick swirls of snow filling the air and coating roads and hedges and hills, turning the forest into a chill dark mystery under a cloak of white. He was grateful for the warmth of the stable and not at all looking forward to the trek across the stable yard to the inn itself. Still, it beat sleeping under a hedge and freezing solid; a necessity that had become perilously close to becoming a habit when he last prowled Epping Forest.

"Dick?" Swiftnick emerged from the gloomy depths of the stable behind him, dumping their saddlebags on the floor and then blowing on his cold fingers. He knew better that to sneak up on his partner, even though he was pretty sure Turpin already knew he was there. Dick didn't miss much.

"Horses settled?" It had been a hard ride in the worsening weather and Dick had been glad when they arrived and saw the hostler’s face light up at the sight of their prime mounts. Dick had left Swiftnick to see the horses settled under his care. Although he would rather have tended Black Bess himself or trusted her completely to his partner’s care, looking after his own horse would have beneath him in his current disguise.

"Aye. The hostler’s called George; he seems to know what he’s doing." Shooting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder to make sure the hostler wasn’t listening; Swiftnick moved closer to his mentor and hitched his cloak tighter around him. "Now what?"

"You heard what I told the hostler?" Dick murmured back, his breath puffing in the cold air. "That’s true. I bespoke rooms for us before we arrived. I'm Sir Richard Fortescue Smythe and you’re my ward. Remember to stick to the story. No need to worry. A bit of snow doesn't change our plans."

Swiftnick nodded obediently. He knew Dick had been hunted in these parts and they had been acting as Sir Richard and his ward ever since they arrived in the area. Turpin had wanted to show his apprentice his old haunts, but thought a disguise the better part of valour. "I suppose that means we’re going to be stuck inside then?" he said, glancing gloomily at the heavy clouds that were full with the peculiar puffiness of snow.

"Aye, lad. Unless you fancied a ride in the snow?" Swiftnick shivered and with a grin Turpin draped an arm across his shoulders. Swiftnick edged instinctively closer to his warmth. "I know you fancied a ride in Effing Forest, but not in this lot. It’ll get deeper if you ask me...."

"I thought it was Epping forest," Swiftnick commented with a frown.

Dick snorted. "Trust me, Effing Forest suits it better. I forgot how horrible the place was until I got back here." Releasing Swiftnick and scooping up a couple of the saddlebags, he stepped out into the stable yard, wincing as the bitter cold wind whisked his cloak aside and kissed his face with cold lips. Scrunching his way across the slippery cobbles in the thickening snow, he headed determinedly for the inn doors, shoulders hunched against the cold. As he reached the porch, he became aware of an odd clicking sound. "What’s that noise?" he demanded suspiciously of his apprentice.

"W’what noise?" Swiftnick asked, hugging his armful of saddlebags close in an effort to keep warm.

"A sort of clicking..." Dick leaned closer to him. "Are your teeth chattering?"

Swiftnick nodded miserably. "It was warm in the s’stables...."

"Oh, give me strength!" Tucking one hand into the small of the youth’s back, Dick propelled him into the porch, then shoved open the door and pushed him inside.

A wave of warm air smelling faintly of beer and fresh bread met them, making them both gasp after the cold outside. Swiftnick promptly shot towards the blazing hearth, nearly falling into the flames in his eagerness to get close. Dick followed a little more circumspectly, but was no less glad of the heat as he spread his hands to the hearth.

"Good day, gentlemen." The cheerful voice called from behind them and Dick looked round warily, sliding one hand to his sword. "Welcome to the Rose and Garter. I am Luke Shepherd, innkeeper here. What can I do for you?"

"Ah, mine host," Turpin responded as Swiftnick shot a wary glance at him. "I am Sir Richard Fortescue Smythe and this is my ward, Nicholas. I bespoke rooms for us?"

"Indeed you did, sir," the landlord confirmed, prying his large solid bulk out of his seat at the table. Most of his bulk appeared to be solid muscle for he was broad through the shoulders and body and moved lightly on his feet. "My very best have been set aside for you. You’re a mite earlier than we expected though, sir. I’ll send up word to have the fires lit. Dinner won’t be ready for an hour or more I'm afraid."

"Not a problem. Some mulled wine perhaps?" Dick suggested, glanced at Swiftnick as his apprentice gave him an importunate look and added dryly, "And some bread and cheese if you have it? That should tide the lad over."

Glancing at Swiftnick, the landlord grinned in understanding. "Most certainly, sir. Would you care to remove to the private parlour?"

"And forgo this lovely fire?" Dick grinned at him. "I think not, Mr Shepherd."

"Very well, sir. I’ll send Cora through with a tray for you. She can show you to your rooms when you’re ready. Would you wish me to be taking your bags?"

"No, we can manage," Dick said mildly as he seated himself on the trestle by the fire and stretched out his long, breech clad legs. His boots were sadly in need of cleaning he noted gloomily. Swiftnick shot a quick look at him but was loathe to give up the fireside as he felt the heat start to chase the chill from his bones.

"Nice place," Dick observed contentedly as he looked around him. The pub was an old one with heavy black beams supporting the tap room’s low roof and newly white washed walls. Freshly polished horse brasses glinted from the black beams around the fireplace. The walls were decorated with an eclectic assortment of hunting trophies, paintings of coaches and bits of harness, with here and there an old bare-knuckle fight poster. The occasional pot of dried flowers added a touch of colour to an otherwise purely masculine setting.

Swiftnick sat down on the edge of the hearth and looked around him curiously. "You said it was a coaching inn?"

Dick inclined his head. "And a good one from what I hear. Doubt if we’ll see any coaches with this snow though."

"Boring," Swiftnick sighed wistfully.

"Keep you out of temptation," Dick chuckled.

Swiftnick glared at him. "You’re not known here?"

Turpin shook his head. "Shepherd took over after I left the area. Used to be a prize fighter and a good one. So, you keep your hands off the maids or he’ll teach you your manners quicker than I will."

"Me?" Swiftnick gasped indignantly. "Chance’d be a fine thing! I'm surprised you haven’t got me in a chastity belt!"

Dick raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. "I have considered it occasionally. But how do you know what a chastity belt is, my little know it all, hmmh?"

Swiftnick blushed. "Glenrae told me about them," he mumbled.

Dick nodded and leaned forward, nailing his apprentice with a stern look. "Aye, and don’t think I won't get a blacksmith to make you one if I find you straying under some wench’s skirts."

"I can pick locks," Swiftnick pointed out sweetly.

"And I can get the lock welded shut," Dick responded equally sweetly then settled back with a laugh as his apprentice glared at him. Swiftnick was a good lad and Dick was only teasing him. He’d find his way into some girl’s bed soon enough when he was ready.

A clatter of the kitchen door announced the arrival of a buxom dark haired maid with a dimple in her chin and a wicked sparkle in her eye. She introduced herself as Cora and had brought a tray with a pitcher of mulled wine, glasses, a butter crock, fresh bread and an assortment of cheese and nuts. She smiled at both men as she set out the table, though Dick fancied her eyes lingered on him somewhat longer than they did Swiftnick. Thanking her and promising to call her when they were ready to go up to their rooms, Dick watched her go with a thoughtful grin.

"And you tell me to keep my hands off of the maids?" Swiftnick snorted indignantly as he helped himself to a chunk of the bread and the butter "What about you?"

Turpin merely chuckled as he took a cautious sip of the spicy mulled wine. "All in character, my lad," he said lightly as he speared a piece of cheese. "Don’t eat too much or you’ll spoil your dinner."

"That’s hours away yet."

"Oh, yes, I was forgetting who I was talking to...." Dick grinned indulgently.

Swiftnick sniffed and helped himself to the bramble jelly. "So what are we going to do here?" he asked.

"Don’t talk with your mouth full for one thing; manners!" Dick retorted. "We are not going to do anything except what every gentleman and his ward would do. Play a few cards, read, relax...."

Swiftnick stared at him in dismay. He was an energetic lad – a fact which had frequently exhausted Turpin – and not one for a quiet life. "I thought we were going to explore," he protested. "You said there was lots to see."

"Not through thick snow there isn’t," Dick pointed out. "And I know you and your chattering teeth too well too think you’ll enjoy getting cold. I remember the last chill you took."

The young highwayman wrinkled his nose at that. "I won’t get a chill," he grumbled sullenly, but he glanced dubiously at the window. The stable yard was hidden behind a thick curtain of falling flakes and despite himself he shivered. "How long do you think we’ll be here then?"

"Certainly until it stops snowing and the roads are clear enough for us to ride on."

"That’s not an answer."

"Best I can do. Finish your wine before it gets cold. Looks like you’re going to have to finish that book I gave you after all...."

* * *

Sitting in the tap room a couple of hours later, Swiftnick perched in the window seat and gazed disconsolately out into the persistent snow. It wasn’t showing any signs of stopping soon and his hopes of being able to ride on in the morning were looking more and more like fantasy. The snow had also kept the inn empty of visitors, not even the most determined drinker was going to battle through a blizzard for a quick pint. Sighing, Swiftnick watched his breath mist the frosty glass and then drew a little face in the patch of condensation.

Dinner had entertained him for a while. Crisp capons roasted to perfection, peas, potatoes, cabbage and carrots and batter puddings, thick rich gravy and jam roly poly to follow, with more mulled wine and coffee. Dick had returned to their room with an after dinner liquor and Swiftnick had wandered off to the tap room with his coffee to see if anyone had arrived.

He was on the point of surrendering and going to see if Dick wanted to beat him at chess when he heard the muffled clatter of a vehicle rolling into the stable yard. Kneeling up on the seat, he quickly wiped a clear spot on the glass and peered out.

A travelling coach had indeed pulled up in the yard. Drawn by two sweating, exhausted horses, it was obvious that it wouldn't be going any further. As he watched, the door was pulled open by the snow smothered driver in a fancy dark green caped cloak and coat. He leaned inside, holding his hat on against the wind. From the way he recoiled, he met with a sharp reproof and a moment later a small cloaked figure descended from inside the coach. The two of them stood there arguing vehemently, watched dubiously from the shelter of the stable doorway by George the hostler.

His curiosity whetted, Swiftnick slid off his seat and scampered to open the inn door and peer outside. The smaller figure stamped one foot into the snow and raised an unmistakably female voice.

"No, Rupert! Absolutely not! I will not go on. I have been quite certain three times that you would turn us over. And the wheels were stuck forever...."

"Charlotte, my dear, a minor mishap...."

"They will find us frozen to the coach when the snow thaws if we go on!!" Charlotte struggled around in the snow, spotting the open inn door.

"Perhaps some tea and soup will calm you while I arrange a change of horses."

"No, Rupert, no. Not even if you got the royal coach would I go on!"

"You are being ridiculous!" Rupert snapped back at her and took a firm grip on her arm, thrusting her none too gently back towards the carriage despite her protest.

Swiftnick had been watching in fascination, but the look of appeal the young woman cast in his direction aroused in chivalrous instincts and before he knew what he was doing he had darted out into the cold. "Here, allow me to help you bring the young lady inside!" he said quickly, slithering up to the startled Rupert’s side and taking Charlotte’s free arm gently. The look of gratitude she gave him from wide violet eyes made the young highwayman melt in adoration and he barely noticed the snow dissolving into his shoes as he detached her from Rupert’s grip. "Do not fear, sir, I shall see her to the fire. Don’t let me detain you from seeing to your horses...." He urged Rupert and practically carried his prize into the inn, kicking the door shut behind him.

* * *

Swept into the warmth of the tap room and set down before the fire, Charlotte breathlessly clutched at her young rescuer’s arm and gazed up at him admiringly.

"Oh, thank you, sir. You are too kind...." she gasped.

"Not at all...." Swiftnick murmured, gazing at her in awe as she tipped back her fur lined hood to reveal hair the colour of spun gold.

Turpin skidded into the tap room, practically falling over his own feet in his hurry. He had seen the incident from his window when he casually looked out to see what the noise was about and had made record time in getting downstairs, convinced he was about to see Swiftnick shot on the spot by the outraged buck. Instead, he found Swiftnick clasping the hands of the young lady and gazing adoringly down at her, looking for all the world like a rabbit spotting his first carrot.

Dick moaned softly, slapping one hand over his face in despair.

"I say, sir!" The door slammed open again as the dandified buck from the coach marched in. He was probably an inch or two taller than Turpin, well built despite his foppish clothes, dark haired and handsome in a supercilious sort of way. "What do you mean by interrupting like that!? No concern of yours...."

"Oh, Rupert..." Charlotte quavered, tugging her hands reluctantly out of Swiftnick’s hands. "Do understand. I simply could not go on!"

Dick shifted, making sure he caught Rupert’s eye before he strolled over to the fireplace and shot a quick glare at his apprentice. "Nicholas? Would you care to introduce me?" he said dryly.

"Oh er," Swiftnick flushed helplessly.

"We haven’t been introduced," Rupert said frostily.

"No? Then allow me," Dick purred sweetly. "Sir Richard Fortescue Smythe, my ward Nicholas. And you, sir?"

"Rupert Melville. Miss Charlotte Somerville....."

"Ah...." Dick said softly as he saw Charlotte’s sudden blush and Rupert’s chagrined expression as he glanced at her. Swiftnick looked puzzled, suspecting he had missed something. "Come far have you?" Dick continued mildly.

"No...." began Charlotte.

"Yes," said Rupert, clearly realising that Turpin was on to something.

"Hmmh. Perhaps you should get your stories straight," Dick murmured.

Melville scowled at him as if he wished he could shoot the highwayman on the spot. Clearly, if Dick hadn't given an impressive sounding name he would probably given him a mouthful and treated him like dirt for interfering. "It is no concern of yours..."

Dick glanced at the way young Charlotte was clinging to Swiftnick’s arm and the look of barely suppressed panic in her eyes and decided there and then that it was definitely his concern. If nothing else, the way Swiftnick was patting her hand with a wistful expression on his face would have decided him. "Sir, I would consider it the concern of any man who calls himself a gentleman to see that the young lady is safe. Clearly, you cannot go on in this weather. Miss Somerville appears to be half frozen...."

"Oh yes, she, I mean you can’t possibly go on..." Swiftnick agreed ardently, taking Charlotte’s hands in his own to warm them. The look she gave her protector turned Melville green in envy and made Dick flinch gloomily.

Bristling, Rupert took a step towards them, only to pause as Luke Shepherd bustled in with his diminutive wife, Lizzie, in tow.

"Ah, Mrs Shepherd," Dick exclaimed in relief. He had already made himself friendly enough to be granted her first name, but saw no reason to use it in front of Melville. "I believe Miss Somerville is in need of your care and attention."

The innkeeper’s wife responded exactly as Dick had hoped she would. "Oh, you poor mite. You look frozen, love. What you need is a nice cup of tea and a bit of a lie down," Mrs Shepherd responded instinctively the moment she laid eyes on the girl, hurrying over to neatly dislodge Swiftnick from her side. Glancing at her snow damped skirts, she tsked disapprovingly. "And perhaps you should change...."

"Oh, I....don’t have...." Charlotte’s eyes flew to Swiftnick in desperation and to Turpin’s amazement, his apprentice responded with a flash of inspiration that took the words out of Dick’s mouth.

"Miss Somerville was taken by surprise by the snow, I'm afraid. Most of her luggage is stuck in a snow drift in the other carriage. She and Mr Melville came on ahead."

"Yes, yes, that’s right. I only have a few bits and pieces with me....Rupert was taking me to stay with friends...." Charlotte murmured, her eyelashes fluttering over violet eyes in a way that clearly whispered ‘my hero’ to Swiftnick’s youthful masculine pride.

Rupert snorted in disgust and Dick cut him off before he could say anything. "Perhaps, you should have someone bring Miss Somerville’s bags in for her," he suggested. "And whatever you have with you?"

Melville gave Dick a murderous look, but turned in a twirl of caped cloak and slammed out of the tap room back into the snow. Lizzie had already swept Charlotte off to be fussed over and Luke was looking slightly bewildered. He exchanged a look with Turpin and raised an eyebrow.

"I’d best see about getting Cora to get another dinner started then," he sighed. "And I suppose he’ll be wanting a room too."

"And some mulled wine for Mr Melville. I have a feeling he needs his shattered nerves soothing," Turpin suggested.

"Aye, you could be right there," Shepherd chuckled. "Looks like your lad’s thrown a spike in his wheel."

"Ah, you noticed that, did you?" Dick sighed, glancing at Swiftnick who was still staring at the door through which his vision of loveliness had vanished. Chortling to himself, Luke took himself off back to the kitchen, leaving Dick alone with his apprentice. Feeling Dick’s eyes boring into him, Swiftnick dragged himself away from his fantasies and turned to look at him.

"Yes?" he said cautiously.

"What did you think you were doing? Melville looked about ready to shoot you."

"Miss Somerville needed help! What was I supposed to do? Ignore her?"

"That would have been good."

"You wouldn’t."

"Beside the point. I'm older than you. I know how to handle flighty bits of baggage like that."

"She’s not...."

"Swiftnick! She was eloping with Melville and changed her mind! Little idiot probably realised what she was doing to her reputation. I dread to think what Melville would have done to you if you’d been on your own."

"I can handle him."

"Don't be too sure. He’s a mean one under all those dandified airs."

"Maybe she loves him...." Swiftnick argued reluctantly, but he sounded plaintive about it.

"So why was she so scared of him? If you ask me, he’s a fortune hunter who’s charmed her into making the biggest mistake of her life."

"What are we going to do?"

"We?"

"Dick, please?"

Turpin groaned, closing his eyes against the appeal in Swiftnick’s blue eyes. "If it wasn't for the snow, I’d say ride on...."

"But it is snowing...."

"I know, I know. Let me think...." Dick turned to pace across the tap room and stare out into the thick snow. Swiftnick followed him hesitantly, watching him hopefully. "All right, we have to keep them here. The girl will be safe enough with Lizzie to watch over her. I don’t doubt she’ll fix her up with a maid to chaperone her. Rupert will be....my problem." Dick had been going to include Swiftnick, but thought better of it. Swiftnick was likely to get on the wrong side of Rupert simply by being there. Charlotte’s reaction to his apprentice had been too sweetly innocent to do anything other than rub the dandy the wrong way.

"Then what?" Swiftnick pressed.

"Well, I dare say someone will be looking for them." Dick said firmly, hesitated, then added, "We’ll stay until the snow eases up enough for us to ride on...." Swiftnick opened his mouth to protest and Turpin over rode him. "...and that’s all. She won’t come to harm and by then she’ll have hopefully decided to go home."

"But what if she ran away with Melville because she was desperate to escape?"

"Then she’d better marry him, hadn’t she?"

"She doesn't want to marry him, anyone could see that!"

Looking at her with your eyes, they would, Dick thought wearily. "Well, what do you suggest? Kidnap her and ride off with her? Then what? You think she’d make a good highwayman?"

"Now you’re being mean."

"Practical, lad. And another thing, don’t you go getting all mushy over her."

"Me? Mushy?!" Swiftnick looked quite shocked by the idea.

"Aye, lad, mushy," Dick said sternly. "Whatever else you pretend to be, underneath it all you’re a highwayman and don’t you forget it."

Swiftnick’s eyes narrowed indignantly. "Oh, so I’m not good enough for her, am I?" he said bitterly.

Dick sighed at his mood swing and put an arm around him. "Of course you are. But she may not think so and I don’t want you getting hurt. It wouldn't be fair on either of you if she liked Nicholas better than Swiftnick, hmmh?"

Swiftnick frowned and shrugged. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he complained. "She’s pretty right enough, but....so what?"

Too young to know what he might be getting into, but not old enough to avoid getting hurt, Dick thought gloomily. "Never mind, lad, you’ll get it in the end. Now, off out of the way before Rupert comes back. And no sneaking peeks through Miss Charlotte’s keyhole."

"As if I would!" Swiftnick sniffed indignantly as he strutted to the door. "I don’t know which is her keyhole yet!" His grin sparkled with impish mischief as he looked back at Turpin a moment before he ducked out.

Shaking his head in rueful amusement, Dick settled himself in the window seat. He fancied Rupert was going to have to explain himself. Miss Somerville was certainly far too young to be riding around alone with any man, let alone someone like him.

By the time Melville returned from the stables, Shepherd had delivered the wine and a platter of cold meats, cheese and bread to tide the new arrival over. Dick had had a quiet word with him about the girl and won his willing support. According to Luke, Lizzie had already chosen Cora to act as the girl’s maid and chaperone.

Turpin could tell Melville was in a disgruntled mood from the way he barged into the tap room and looked around him impatiently, clearly expecting Charlotte to be waiting for him. Stripping off his gloves, he slapped them against one hand then turned towards the door Lizzie had led the girl through earlier.

"Ah, Melville, there you are," Dick greeted him inanely, not wanting the dandy to go off looking for the girl. He beckoned him towards the table by the fireside where he was sitting. "Or may I call you Rupert?" Melville gave him a chilly look and a curt nod. "Do come and take a seat and have a cup of this excellent mulled wine. The innkeeper has a marvellous cellar."

Rupert gave him an irritated look, but the offer of the hot wine drew him over to take a seat at the table. Dick poured him a cup of wine and handed it up to him. "Mr Shepherd set out a small repast for you," he explained, indicating the food. "He thought you might be hungry after your long trip."

"Somewhat, but I had better go and find Charlotte," Rupert argued, but he sat down and helped himself to some of the meat and bread anyway.

"Oh, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s safe here...."

Melville froze in mid bite, glaring at him and unsure if he heard the emphasis in Dick’s voice or not. He inspected Dick from head to toe, taking in the well cut jacket, linen shirt and impeccable breeches. Turpin had changed for dinner and, as part of his role, wore clothes that had been made for him. He looked the picture of a rich gentlemen. "Your meaning, sir?" Rupert said frostily at last.

"Well, it’s so dangerous to travel in this weather. No telling what you might run into," Turpin smiled at him vacuously. "Highwaymen, don’t you know."

"Didn't see any," Rupert said flatly.

"No...." Dick said slowly, sipping his wine and watching him carefully over the rim of his glass. Shepherd had put out the best crystal for his guests. "I saw your carriage, not the kind that would attract them I suppose." Turpin spoke from experience. If he had set eyes on the carriage on the road in this weather with no guard up and a dandy up on the seat, he would have run a mile; suspecting a trap and certain that there would be nothing worthwhile contained within to be worth stopping them for anyway.

"Perfectly good carriage," Melville snapped.

"For town, perhaps. Not really suitable for a cross country jaunt though," Dick mused.

"As soon as the snow stops, we will drive on."

"In a hurry, are you?" Dick murmured innocently.

"We were hardly expecting to have to put up in a coaching inn," Melville sniffed with a disdainful look around him. "I am sure that once she has rested and had a bite to eat, Charlotte will insist that we go on. You know how women are...."

"Quite," Dick said softly. "You know, Rupert, you may fool yourself, but you don’t fool me."

"What?" Genuinely startled, Rupert looked at him in surprise.

"Come now, it’s blatantly obvious that you were eloping with the young lady and that she has changed her mind."

"How dare you, sir?!" Melville exploded, bounding to his feet to loom over him.

Unimpressed, Turpin merely leaned back in his seat, propped his booted feet on the end of the table and gave him a roguish look over the rim of his glass. "Oh, you would be surprised what I dare," he said dryly. "You see, I object to seeing young women taken advantage of by people like you."

"I don’t know what you mean! You insult me, sir!"

"Oh, stop spluttering and sit down, man!" Turpin barked at him, startling Melville into obeying the sharp order. "You can’t deny that you were eloping."

"It is none of your concern."

"Unfortunately, since you have arrived under my very nose, and Charlotte has turned to my ward for assistance, the two of you have made yourself my concern."

"There is no need...." Melville argued. "Charlotte is allowed herself to become overwrought by the journey. She is very young...."

"Too young for your game, Rupert. Barely out of the school room I’d say."

"We are married....." Melville began.

"Are you indeed. Where’s the ring then?"

"We haven’t yet...."

"In my experience, the first thing any young lady getting married wants is a nice sparkly ring she can flaunt to her friends. Nor do they randomly turn up at a coaching inn in a town coach in the middle of a blizzard with no luggage. Nor do they let people think they aren’t married."

"Charlotte does like to play little games...." Melville said weakly.

Turpin snorted in derision and glared at him. "Balderdash! I suggest you tell me exactly what you’re playing at."

Rupert drew himself up at that. "I have no need to tell you anything."

"You’d better, otherwise you’re going to find yourself extremely embarrassed when I lock you in the cellar away from the girl."

"You wouldn’t dare!"

Turpin raised an eyebrow at him. "Was that a challenge?" he asked mildly.

Melville stared at him. He might be well built, but he clearly wasn’t one for a fight and for all his veneer of sophistication, he could tell that Turpin was a dangerous man. "Very well," he said stiffly. "We were indeed eloping. Charlotte’s guardian has refused his permission for us to get married. We had no choice. We are very much in love and cannot be thwarted."

Dick snorted again. Having seen the way Charlotte looked at Swiftnick, he doubted that love came into it. She might have thought it an adventure until the blizzard blew up, but Dick doubted that the silly little widgeon had thought any further than how exciting it would be. In fact, he rather suspected that she hadn't realised she was eloping at all when she got into the carriage. Still, there was presumably a reason why she had been so foolish as to risk her reputation. "Let me see now, is she an heiress by any chance?" he murmured.

Stone faced, Rupert stared back at him. "In a small way. There is some land I believe," he said flatly.

"A title perhaps....?"

Melville ignored that. "Until she is married, her guardian controls her money and her lands, therefore he has refused to give her his permission to get married."

"Don’t you mean permission to marry you?" Dick asked sweetly. "Who is this guardian?"

"I will not insult him by telling you, sir," Rupert said with curling lip.

"You know what I think?"

"No, neither do I care."

Turpin smiled coolly. "Ah, but I think you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be lying to me. I think this guardian thinks she’s too young to marry you or anyone else and that he suspects you of being a fortune hunter..."

Melville opened his mouth to reply rudely then caught himself at the glint in Turpin’s dark brown eyes. "I am not a fortune hunter," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then I suggest you do the sensible thing and wait until she’s old enough to accept you on her own behalf. This guardian of hers will undoubtedly think better of you for it if you do. If you’re not after her money, there’s no real reason for you to get married yet."

Rupert opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and looked thoughtful. "We want to be together...." he murmured, but Dick thought it was more because he thought the comment was expected of him than anything else.

Suppressing a smile, Dick refilled the dandy’s glass for him and then settled back in his own seat. He suspected he had given Melville something to think about and a way out of the situation he had found himself in. The guardian, whoever he was, was probably out looking for the girl at that very moment; Dick would have been in his position. If Melville admitted to eloping with the girl, he was likely to find himself invited to a duel; pistols for two, breakfast for one as the saying went. The wisest course of action for them both, was to make out they had gone for a carriage ride and been caught out by the weather. That would save face on all sides. At least, if he cared about Charlotte at all it would be the right thing to do. If he didn’t and was only after her money, then he’d do all he could to ruin her reputation and force the guardian into letting them get married. Dick wasn't going to let that happen, for Swiftnick’s sake if nothing else.

"I had better go and speak to her." Melville rallied, prepared to be the romantic lover once more.

"No," Dick said flatly.

"Sir...." Melville began through gritted teeth.

"If you have a care for her reputation, you will not attempt to see Miss Somerville alone." Turpin told him grimly.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Sir Richard Fortescue Smythe. I believe I did tell you, but you may have forgotten in the excitement of the moment," Dick responded mildly. "The point is, the young lady is obviously under age and in need of protection. My ward appears to have volunteered me for the role. I have spoken to Mrs Shepherd and she has agreed that one of his maids should sleep in her room as a chaperone. I assume that you will see that it is the only correct thing to do."

Melville stared at him, barely able to suppress his anger at Turpin’s blatant interference. "Quite," he agreed through gritted teeth. "But Charlotte will be frightened at finding herself alone among strangers and you take too much upon yourself, sir. I will see to her care and chaperonage."

Dick smiled at him lazily, raising an eyebrow towards the door where Shepherd had appeared. "Ah, I believe Mr Shepherd has come to show you to your room."

Melville glanced at the innkeeper and shoved to his feet with a scowl. "Very well. I shall speak to Miss Somerville at dinner."

"If you’ll excuse me for saying so, sir, Miss Somerville will be eating in her room," Shepherd said politely. "Mrs Shepherd says she’s quite exhausted."

And probably wants to avoid Melville, Dick mused, sipping his wine contentedly and taking a mental note to find out what spices Luke put in it.

Infuriated, Melville gave him a curt nod and stalked to the door to follow the innkeeper. As he got there however, Swiftnick appeared and came to a startled halt, clearly not having expected the buck to still be there.

Melville looked down his nose at him bitterly. "As for you, young man, I advise you to stay away from Miss Somerville. She is not for the likes of a fortune hunter like you, despite what your guardian may have planned."

Swiftnick stared at him speechlessly, too amazed by the man’s rude effrontery to say a word. Satisfied by what he considered the youth’s cowed silence, Melville pushed past him and stalked after Shepherd, starting a string of supercilious questions as he followed the innkeeper towards the stairs.

Turpin had followed Melville to the door on seeing Swiftnick; meaning to be in reach if there was trouble. Seeing the look of fulminating fury in his apprentice’s blue eyes, he draped a casual arm across his shoulders to hold him in place.

"Did you hear what he said to me?" Swiftnick exclaimed, steaming indignantly, as he glared after the dandy.

"Aye, I heard. Not too bright, is he? He doesn’t know the quickest way to make you do something is to tell you not to do it."

Swiftnick shot an outraged look at him then pouted as Dick grinned at him amiably. "I only wanted to help," he mumbled.

"I know you did, romeo."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. There’s some of the meat and cheese left. You want some?"

Swiftnick hesitated, but he followed Turpin back to the table and accepted the offer of bread and cheese and a slice of good ham. "What did you find out?" he pressed as he settled himself by the fire.

"More than he thinks, I suspect, considering the lies he was telling me. He’s a fortune hunter. Bringing the girl on this trip was a way to get her on her own and persuade her to marry him I suspect. She’s an heiress from the sounds of it with a guardian who doesn't take too kindly to Melville."

"But why would she want to marry him?" Swiftnick protested.

"I don’t think she meant to elope with him. Didn’t she make some comment about going to see friends? Why don’t you ask her?"

"Me?!" Swiftnick squeaked in alarm.

"Aye, why not? She seems to have taken a liking to you straight off. Melville certainly thought so otherwise he wouldn't have bothered warning you off. Probably sees you as competition." Dick smiled as he saw Swiftnick starting to fret under his teasing. "I’ll soon have you married off and out of my hair."

"But I don’t want to get married! I barely even spoke to her."

Turpin chuckled at his young friend’s unconcealed panic and relented. "I'm teasing you, lad! You’d be miserable in her world. And she certainly couldn’t live in yours. No harm in a bit of flirting though. Cheer you both up."

"But I don’t know how to flirt. I won't know what to say to her!"

Dick stared at him in mute disbelief. He’d seen Swiftnick quite happily flirting with many a serving wench, learning to respond in kind to their gentle teasing of him. "What would you say to Kate? Or Sally? Or....."

Swiftnick blushed furiously. "That’s different! She’ll probably want me to read poetry to her or something...."

"Well, as long as you don’t resort to anything dirty...."

"Dick! I don’t know any poetry!"

"Ah, an oversight I shall have to correct," Dick said cheerfully.

"Will you be serious?"

"Swiftnick, lad, I don’t want you to be serious. I don’t want you to go getting involved with her. All I want you to do is talk to her. She needs a friend and she may talk to someone of her own age more willingly than to a maid or to me. Someone has to find out if she needs help and you’re it. Do you want Melville to take advantage of her?"

"No!"

"Then make yourself pleasant. I know you can do that. Half the serving girls on our lay are panting to be your first."

Swiftnick blushed even darker. "First what?" he mumbled in embarrassment.

"Don’t you give me that after that little crack about chastity belts!" Dick chortled. "You know perfectly well what I mean. I doubt if she’ll put in an appearance now but if she does, I dare say she’ll want to talk to you. If nothing else, she’ll want to thank you for being nice to her earlier." Taking a sip of wine, Dick hid his smile in his glass at the sullen look Swiftnick gave him. It was obvious that the lad was torn between following his own natural inclinations towards the girl and objecting to being shoved at her by Turpin. Hopefully, the resulting confusion would enable him to keep the girl at an emotional arms length. The last thing he needed was for his partner to fall head over heels in love with a wench who was totally unsuitable for him.

* * *

An hour later, Dick and Swiftnick had settled in the parlour off the tap room, where a fire made the smaller room warmer than the other. Turpin had fetched the chess set from his room and had persuaded Swiftnick to play with him. The youth wasn’t very good, but he was learning and Dick was good humoured about teaching him.

"Swiftnick, that’s a knight," he said patiently.

"But it looks like a horse."

"Yes, but it’s still a knight," Dick said firmly.

"Then I can’t move there?"

"Yes, you can. There’s nothing wrong with the move. But don’t keep calling it a horsy thing."

Swiftnick gave him an impish grin. "How about if I call it Toby then?"

"I shall hit you," Turpin answered dryly, drumming his fingers on the table top as he studied the board. He was playing a tricky game, knowing he could have beaten Swiftnick three times over by now, but he didn't want to put the lad off completely out of frustration. Besides, he knew Swiftnick wasn’t concentrating; he usually played better than this.

Noises from the stable yard made him lift his head alertly, listening as Swiftnick scooted out of his chair to peek from the curtained window. "Another carriage?"

"Aye," Swiftnick nodded. "A gentleman and a lady up, no groom....Looks like an expensive turnout."

Turpin padded over to his side, peering over his shoulder into the shadowed yard. The man and woman in the carriage were having a quick discussion, then the gentleman in his fine caped coat climbed down to march into the stable. He returned after a few moments, bringing George the hostler with him who emerged reluctantly from the shelter of the stable. After a quiet word with him, the man walked back to speak to the lady in the carriage. At her nod, he helped her down into the snow. Putting an arm around her, he led her towards the inn as George took the carriage into the stable.

"Looks like they’re staying. What do you suppose they’re up to?"

"Well," Dick said softly. "Unless I'm mistaken and they’re here for an assignation, that’s Miss Somerville’s guardian come looking for his ward."

"Melville won’t like that. What do we do?"

"Why, go and introduce ourselves of course. Casual like..."

* * *

Shepherd had already turned out to meet the new arrivals despite the fact it was getting late. When Dick casually wandered in, apparently in search of the innkeeper, the gentleman cast a dark eye on him.

"Ah, Sir Richard," Shepherd greeted him politely. "I won’t keep you a moment."

"Not at all.," Turpin replied amiably. "I was merely going to request some more of your excellent mulled wine. It’s quite delicious."

The gentleman raised a saturnine eyebrow. He was of dark countenance with hair of a deep glossy black and eyes of a startling royal blue. His features were even but a little too craggy to be called properly handsome and he was intimidatingly tall. "Eleanor? Would you care for some mulled wine?" he murmured to the woman beside him. She had set back her fur lined hood revealing brunette curls surrounding a pretty rather than beautiful face and lustrous brown eyes.

"That would be nice, Peregrine. It was rather cold in the carriage." She turned her gaze on Shepherd. "I believe Lord Somerville’s ward is here: Miss Charlotte Somerville?"

The gentleman beside her looked quite taken aback by the forthright question, but quickly rallied. "Yes, quite. Melville’s carriage is your stable. I suppose he’s here as well."

"Yes, my lord," Shepherd scraped a bow. "Sir Richard insisted on the young lady having her own room and a maid to help her. My wife had been looking after her."

The gentleman glanced at Turpin again. "My thanks, sir. And you are?"

Dick introduced himself and Swiftnick who was hovering watchfully behind him.

"Peregrine Somerville," the man replied, shaking hands briskly with Turpin. "Eleanor Ashton, my wife to be."

"Delighted to meet you both," Dick purred, sweeping them his most elegant bow. After a quick nudge, Swiftnick copied him somewhat more awkwardly.

Somerville nodded absently. "Mr Shepherd, we will require two rooms, one for myself and one for Miss Ashton. I will pay for any of Miss Somerville’s requirements and I apologise for any trouble my ward has put you too."

"Oh, she’s been no trouble at all," Luke sounded somewhat relieved by the offer of payment. From what he had muttered to Dick earlier, Melville had made any mention of it at all. "She’s kept to her room since she arrived. She had her dinner sent up only a short while ago."

"I’d better go and see her," Somerville growled.

"No, Peregrine," Eleanor spoke firmly as she laid her hand on his arm. "I will go and see her. I think you’ve frightened the poor girl quite enough for now. Why don’t you practise your scowling on Melville. He at least deserves it. Mr Shepherd, if you will please show me her room?"

Somerville glared at her, but his eyes were twinkling with obvious amusement as she swept out with the awed innkeeper. After they had gone, he turned his glower on Turpin, inspecting him and Swiftnick with a steely gaze. "My apologies for this interruption to your stay," he murmured politely.

"I take it was something more than the weather that brought you here," Dick said mildly, taking a seat.

After a second, Somerville unbent enough to start unfastening his coat and seating himself. "Quite," he said dryly, glancing at Swiftnick who decided to take himself out of reach of the man’s glare to stand by the hearth. "I would appreciate your discretion," he said slowly. "I doubt if the silly little widgeon knows what a mess she’s landed herself in. I obviously owe you my thanks if you saw to it that she was chaperoned." He glanced at Swiftnick again, frowning.

"Seems the least I could do. Can’t say as I trusted that Melville chap. Seemed a bit of a rogue to me."

"Damned fortune hunter," Somerville said flatly. "Been sniffing round young Charlotte since she arrived. The goose doesn't have the sense to spurn him."

"Probably doesn't know how to," Dick murmured. "Probably flattered by his attentions too. Young girl, first time out...."

Somerville grunted and inclined his head. "My brother’s girl. Got himself killed when she was little. Her mother has remarried to a good chap. Eleanor managed to persuade the pair of them to go off on the grand tour and leave Charlotte with me. She was running wild; her mother had no control over her. I barely know the girl but I'm starting to see why. Eleanor hopes to bring her out, but after this little escapade I'm not so sure she wouldn’t be better off back in the country. She needs a firmer hand on the reins than I have." He paused, looking vaguely disconcerted by his own eloquence to a stranger.

Swiftnick made a small sound that didn’t sound at all complementary and Somerville shot a suspicious glare at him.

"Nicholas, it’s time you went to bed I believe," Turpin said sternly. Swiftnick shot a betrayed look at him, but something in Dick’s expression made him straighten up from lounging against the fireplace.

"Yes, Richard, you’re right, of course..." he purred, all sweet innocence. "Good night, sir, good night, my Lord."

Dick suppressed a groan at the defiant look he caught in Swiftnick’s bright blue eyes, but murmured a reply as the lad stalked out, head held high.

"Ah...." murmured Somerville. "I suspect you can see my problem."

"My brother’s lad," Dick said dryly. "But a good boy generally. I've had no real trouble with him."

"Hmmh." Somerville was obviously contemplating the idea of having Swiftnick and his own ward in the same inn and wasn't at all happy about it. Dick couldn’t really blame him; if the girl was wild enough to run off with Melville who was considerably older than she was, then a likely looking lad of her own age was probably going to be even more inviting a temptation to trouble.

"The last thing he’s going to do is elope with anyone. He’s far too young," Dick soothed casually and got a frosty look in reply.

"Charlotte did not elope," Somerville said grimly.

"No? Then what was she doing riding around with barely any luggage with someone like Melville?"

"Running away from me apparently; according to Eleanor anyway. She asked Melville to take her to her friends in the country. If she’d had the sense to take her maid, I’d have let the little fool go! But no, she thinks it’s a grand adventure and goes off on her own with him! Trusts him for goodness sake!"

"She is very young," Dick pointed out.

"Hah! Melville isn’t! Blasted obvious what he was up to. When I get my hands on him....!"

"Why’d the girl run off then?" Dick asked.

"Goodness knows!"

"No?"

Somerville glared at him for a long moment, but he was obviously a man in desperate need of another man to talk to. "Melville asked permission to marry her. I refused..... "

"Naturally."

Somerville inclined his head. "Charlotte got hysterical about it when I told her that I had no intention of letting her marry him. Said I was only refusing him so I could keep my hands on her fortune."

"I doubt if she was serious."

"That’s what I thought. So I called her bluff, told her that if she wanted to marry she could marry Sir Lionel Sheridan. Man’s rolling in money. Blow me if she didn't up and take off. Can’t understand it."

"Her mother has remarried, you say?"

"Yes. What’s that got to do with it?"

"Well," Dick said slowly. "It seems to me, that she might be frightened."

"Frightened? Frightened of what?"

"Of being sent back to the country on her own. For goodness sake, man, think about it. Her mother sends her off to stay with someone she hardly knows, no sooner does she arrive than you decide to marry as well. She can see the same thing happening to her all over again and she’s probably terrified she’s going to be sent off to someone she’s never heard of at all. And then you go and turn down Melville, who she obviously likes, in favour of Sir Lionel Sheridan of all people! He’s twice my age!" Dick had had the pleasure of robbing the man more than once.

"I certainly didn't expect her to take me seriously."

"Speaking from experience, at their age, they always take you seriously when you least expect them too," Turpin sighed ruefully. "She probably doesn't know you well enough to realise you didn’t mean it and panicked. I doubt if she wants to marry anyone."

Somerville snorted irritably, glancing round as Shepherd returned. "Where’s Melville?" he asked, once he ascertained that Miss Somerville had not fled the inn in terror at his presence.

"In his room. He bespoke dinner."

"Dinner is an excellent idea. Did Miss Ashton request anything?"

"No, sir. We were not expecting anyone else...."

"Ah, quite. Well, whatever you can provide will be gratefully received. Sir Richard mentioned mulled wine?"

"I’ll have some sent in immediately, sir. And your luggage has been brought in and taken up to your rooms." Shepherd sounded slightly dubious about the luggage situation but forbore to question the nobleman on the subject. With another bow, he headed off to the kitchen where another dinner was being hastily prepared.

"I could go and find Melville myself," Somerville mused.

"Better to wait until morning," Dick advised. "He won't be going anywhere in this weather and a while to reflect will probably do everyone good."

"You may have a point," Somerville sighed. "Eleanor was certainly right about me not speaking to Charlotte. I probably do terrify the pigeon witted creature...."

* * *

Swiftnick couldn’t sleep. His thoughts kept going round and round until sheer frustration made him get up and dress, thinking perhaps to sneak out and check on Toby if it wasn't snowing too much. Or possibly snatch a snack from the kitchen. He snuck a peek into Dick’s room next door. Turpin had been late coming to bed, having stayed up playing cards and drinking brandy with Lord Somerville. Swiftnick had stayed awake as long as he could and hadn't heard him come up. Seeing that he was asleep however, he pulled the door too and let himself out onto the landing.

The ancient floorboards creaked under his feet, each one playing its own note as he stepped carefully over the uneven surface, holding his candle up so he could see where he was going.

Rounding the corner by the stairs, a shadow moved and let out a startled squeak. Swiftnick instinctively caught the hat box the slender shape dropped and held up his candle to see her face. Hands clasped under her chin, Charlotte gazed back at him in alarm.

"Oh, you did frighten me!"

"I'm sorry," Swiftnick said automatically. "I didn’t think anyone else would be up."

"Neither did I," she admitted faintly, sliding a quick nervous look over her shoulder. "But I thought I saw someone...."

"There’s no one there now...." Swiftnick said, following her gaze and wondering if he imagined the shadow he saw slipping around the corner of the corridor.

"Maybe it was a ghost," Charlotte whispered with a delicious little shiver of terror. "Wouldn't that be exciting?"

Swiftnick gave her a faint frown, wondering what she was up to. He knew Melville’s room was on the far side of the inn, so he didn't think she had been heading there. In fact, she seemed to have been heading for the back stairs that came out near the rear door and the exit to the stables. "Where were you going?"

"Oh I...." Flustered, she dithered, then caught at his arm and gave him a pleading look. "My guardian’s here!"

"Yes, I know. I met him. He seems all right...."

"Oh, but you don't know him! He’s going to be so angry with me. I couldn’t face him."

"You’ll have to," Swiftnick pointed out practically.

"No, no, I don’t. I'm going to take the carriage and go to my friends. It isn't far from here."

"Take a carriage?" Swiftnick exclaimed in genuine shock.

"Oh, hush, do, please. Someone will hear!" She looked around her in wide eyed panic.

"You can’t take a carriage," Swiftnick said firmly, recovering himself.

"I'm quite a good driver really."

"The roads are impassable with snow," Swiftnick argued.

"A horse then, although I don’t ride as well as I do drive..."

"You’d never make it! You’d get lost in the snow. And probably kill the horse as well!"

"Oh, do you think so?! I wouldn't want to do that. Perhaps if I walked...."

Swiftnick looked at the dainty hand on his arm and the hat box he still held and for one traitorous moment thought she was a complete idiot. Then he looked into her huge violet eyes and was enchanted all over again. "No," he said firmly however. For one thing, he knew if she left now, he’d never see her again. "You can’t possibly run off like a goose. Your guardian can’t hurt you. You’ll have to face him. Miss Ashton seemed nice. Won't she help you?"

"Oh, Eleanor’s nice. But she’s betrothed to him."

"Then he can’t be all that bad, can he?"

Charlotte looked quite struck by this. "I suppose not..." she said doubtfully.

"And taking Melville’s carriage wouldn't be the done thing at all."

"He lied to me, you know. He said he was taking me to my friends but he wasn't. He got quite lost in the snow."

"Indeed," Swiftnick said dryly. He wasn't as naive as Dick thought he was at times and he knew perfectly well what Melville – who he was privately calling The Slime – had been up to. "Look, you’d better go back to your room before someone realises you’re missing."

"Will you come with me?" Charlotte pressed, gazing at him anxiously.

"What?!" Swiftnick gasped. She was a lady! Surely she didn't mean....

"You could take me to my friends...."

"Certainly not!" Swiftnick snapped, chagrined relief adding an indignant edge to his voice. "That would be quite....reprehensible of me! Not to mention you."

"Oh, oh yes...." Blushing, Charlotte dropped her head and clasped her hands together at her trim little waist. "It would be so romantic though, don’t you think? To run away together in the middle of the blizzard...."

"Sounds cold to me," Swiftnick said firmly. "Your room is this way, isn’t it?" He’d asked a maid who’d giggled at him, called him Romeo and teased him unmercifully for asking.

"But will you?"

"Run off with you? No...."

"I apologise for asking you. It was most unladylike of me," she murmured as she let him steer her back down the passage. "No, but would you come with me when I speak to my guardian? You’ve been so kind to me, so understanding, I'm sure I could face him if you were there....."

Swiftnick had been starting to feel dreadfully cold in the chilly corridor, but her words and trusting look made him feel warm all over. "I will if I can," he promised then looked up sharply, hearing the creak of a floorboard. Hastily shoving the hat box at Charlotte, he retreated around the corner before they could be caught together.

"Oh, Miss Charlotte, there you are!" Cora’s voice whispered softly. "Whatever are you up to?"

Holding his breath, Swiftnick pressed flat against the wall and hoped Charlotte wouldn’t give the game away.

"I couldn’t sleep and thought I would perhaps get some tea from the kitchen. But I got all turned around in the darkness. Isn't that silly of me?"

Cora seemed to accept this and apparently didn't notice the hat box for she hurried Charlotte away back to her room, assuring her that she would fetch the tea for her and she only had to ask.

Relieved, Swiftnick slipped away, making his way back to his own room to slide under the covers and warm his feet on the bed pan, soon drifting off to sleep to dream of Charlotte’s eyes and lips.

And in the next room, Dick put his head in his hands and groaned softly. "Why me?" he complained as he climbed back into bed. Following his apprentice around a draughty inn and stubbing his toes on the floorboards was not his favourite way of passing the night. But at least, Swiftnick had shown some common sense in fending off Charlotte’s new plan to escape.

* * *

The following morning, Dick was up and dressed and carefully tying his neckcloth when Swiftnick put his head around the door.

"Morning, Dick," he chirped as he slipped inside.

"Morning," Turpin responded gruffly, casting a sour eye on him in the mirror. "Sleep well, did you?"

"Oh yes," Swiftnick perched on the edge of the bed and swung his feet.

"Strange that. I didn’t."

"Shouldn’t have stayed up and got drunk then."

"I didn’t get drunk," Dick retorted. "I've told you before, I don’t get drunk around people I don’t know. It was your little nocturnal perambulation that did it."

"Huh?" Swiftnick froze and eyed him warily.

"Your little midnight assignation, your romantic rendezvous with Miss Somerville."

"It wasn’t like that," Swiftnick protested, turning pink.

"No?"

"I was hungry...." Dick turned and stared at him and Swiftnick’s blush darkened. "No! I didn’t m’mean....You know I didn’t! I wanted a kitchen from the sandwich, I m’mean...."

"Calm down," Dick chuckled, turning complacently back to the mirror to study his neck cloth in satisfaction. "I know what you meant."

Swiftnick took a deep breath. "I went to get a sandwich from the kitchen. I didn't expect Miss Somerville to be up! She was going to run away and I had to talk her out of it."

"Glad to hear it. A young girl can get herself into all sorts of trouble wandering around on her own at night. Good thing she ran into you rather than Melville." Dick slid a sly glance at his apprentice. "Better not do it again. Her fond guardian might misconstrue what you were up to."

Swiftnick didn't answer, busy staring suspiciously at his mentor. "How do you know anyway? Did you follow me?"

Dick hesitated for a second. "Yes," he said simply, deciding on the truth. "Not that I would have done if you hadn’t woken me up in the first place. What does that tell you?"

"That if I want to have a midnight meeting with someone I should be careful not to wake you up," Swiftnick retorted waspishly.

Turpin chuckled. "I trust you not to do the wrong thing, my lad. I don’t trust you not to get yourself into trouble with Melville."

"You think he might have been wandering around in the middle of the night?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Dick said darkly.

"I thought...."

"Yes?" Turpin prompted when his young friend hesitated.

"Miss Somerville said she thought she’d seen someone. I thought I saw someone too. There might have been someone there. It could have been Melville. Or it might have been Cora...." Swiftnick paused and gave Turpin a glare. "Or you...."

"Or Somerville sneaking into Miss Ashton’s room?" Dick said lightly, wanting to steer Swiftnick into safer waters. He had a feeling Melville had been there; if not following Charlotte then attempting to slip into her room. He couldn’t help wondering how desperate the man was; desperate enough to kidnap the girl perhaps? Either way, he didn't want Swiftnick getting all heroic on him. "This place is full of odd shadows, lad. Don’t worry about it."

Swiftnick gave him a dubious look. He was smart enough to know when Dick was fobbing him off and took the hint. "You think breakfast’s ready?"

"I expect so. After we eat, we’d better take a look in on the horses."

"You think we’ll be able to ride out?"

Dick smiled faintly, able to tell from Swiftnick’s tone that the youth wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed Most likely the latter, he suspected. It was blatantly obvious from the look on his face every time he mentioned her that Swiftnick thought Miss Somerville was absolutely wonderful. Dick thought she was an idiot and far less grown up than his apprentice. He was torn between shoving them together in the hopes that Swiftnick would quickly grow bored of her and reluctance to do so in fear that it would have the opposite effect on him. Love made no bargains with common sense as Dick had learned to his own cost in the past. "I doubt it. But I still want to look in on the horses. They had a hard ride in the snow and I want to be sure they’re all right."

* * *

Charlotte hesitated in the doorway, peeking shyly around the edge of the parlour door at her handsome rescuer from the day before. He had the most wonderful blond hair, all bubbling curls that she was sure had nothing to do with styling, that made him look like a romantic poet. He was simply dressed in a dark blue coat over black breeches, boots and a white shirt. A style that made him look quite different from the fashionable Melville; who she had sometimes thought was a little too proud of himself and prone to over dressing. His head was bent over a book as he sat by the fire, one leg slung over the other to show off his thighs.... Rupert didn’t read much and he have legs like that either. She wondered if Nicholas rode a lot....

Suddenly feeling quite warm, Charlotte must have made a small sound for he looked up sharply. Their eyes met and Charlotte felt a little quiver go through her. She hadn’t imagined it, he did have blue eyes. Eyes of the brightest blue she had ever dreamed of. Like the sea in the sunshine, or cornflowers, or sweet scented bluebells....

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered as he stood up hastily. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was looking for my guardian."

"I think he’s with Mr Melville. I heard shouting....I mean they were talking...."

Charlotte sighed and gave him a tremulous smile. "I had better wait for him then." She looked round vaguely, wondering if she should go back to her room.

"Here! Allow me..." Nicholas sprang to hold a chair for her by the fire and, feeling it would be churlish to refuse, she drifted forward and sat down gracefully. She could feel herself gazing at him adoringly and hastily dropped her head. Her gaze fell on the book and she seized on its presence in relief. "Ah, do you read?" she began, then blushed as Nicholas gave her an on odd look. "I mean, obviously, you do. Is it yours? Perhaps Mr Shepherd has books here...?"

"It’s mine," Nicholas assured her as he sat down at a cautious distance from her. "Robinson Crusoe."

"Oh, I haven’t read that. My governess doesn't consider it suitable for a young lady. Have you read Shakespeare?"

"Some," Nicholas said, sounding cautious. "I prefer Robinson Crusoe."

Charlotte relaxed slightly. "Rupert doesn’t read," she confided. "Shakespeare wrote some wonderful poetry. Do you like poetry?"

Nicholas gave her another of those odd looks and she wondered if she was being too forward. Her governess wouldn’t approve of that. But then she hadn't approved of Rupert and considered some of Shakespeare’s writings to be far too racy for Charlotte to read. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the playwright at all, but she did love his poetry and felt a certain longing to have Nicholas read some of his sonnets to her. "I love his sonnets," she gushed enthusiastically. "And don't you think Romeo and Juliet is so terribly romantic? I have a copy of the play with me. Perhaps we could read it together....?"

"Ah, here you are," Eleanor exclaimed as she swept in, in a rustle of lilac skirts. "Peregrine has been looking for you."

"I've been right here waiting for him," Charlotte replied demurely, then surprised herself by adding, "Did he think I’d run away?"

Eleanor frowned at her. "That isn't funny, dear. You could have got yourself into a lot of trouble if it hadn’t been for Sir Richard and his ward."

"Oh, yes," Charlotte agreed breathlessly, dimpling at Nicholas in genuine gratitude.

"It was nothing," Nicholas mumbled, blushing. "Anyone would have done the same."

"Yes, dear. But it was you," Eleanor said mildly, her eyes sparkling with gentle amusement at the youth’s embarrassment. She glanced over her shoulder as Somerville loomed up in the doorway. His lordship glanced at Nicholas and raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention to his ward.

"Charlotte, I have spoken to Melville. Unfortunately, the snow means I can’t send on his way as I would dearly love to do but I have told him he is not to see you or make any attempt to speak to you. If he bothers you again...."

"He doesn't bother me!" Charlotte came to her feet in a flurry of pale green silk. "Rupert’s been terribly kind to me."

"He’s a fortune hunter, you little idiot!" Peregrine roared at her in exasperation. "I forbid you to see or speak to him again!"

"He loves me!"

"He loves your money!"

"Now, Peregrine....." Eleanor protested faintly, but his lordship ignored her as he bore down on the quivering Charlotte.

"And if you can’t see that, you’re a bigger fool than I took you for, Charlotte!"

"I’m not going to marry that loathsome Sheridan!"

"You’ll damn well marry who I say!"

"I will not!" Charlotte cried, stamping her foot and lifting her chin defiantly. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she shot an imploring look at Nicholas. Looking quite aghast, the young man got to his feet.

"Now, you listen to me, you little minx! I’ll take no more of your airs and graces!" Somerville bellowed. "You’re barely out of the school room and I have no intention of allowing you to throw yourself away on the likes of Rupert Melville! You’ll do as I say or I’ll damn well lock you in your room until you’re old enough to see sense!"

Charlotte burst into tears and ran out of the parlour.

"You can’t talk to her like that!" Nicholas burst out.

Breathing hard, Somerville turned a flinty glare on him. "I’ll talk to her however I wish to! Who do you think you are to interfere, young man?" he demanded harshly. "Another fortune hunter, are you? I've got a damned good mind to draw your cork for you...."

"You touch him Somerville and you’ll regret it," Turpin said icily from behind him. "And I’ll thank you not to talk to my ward that way."

Somerville turned to stare at him, taking in the negligent way Dick lounged with his hand hooked into the fastening of his jacket. He knew a man who knew how to fight when he saw one and suspected that Turpin was a man for the sword. He also saw the outrage on Eleanor’s face and winced slightly, distracted at the thought of causing her distress.

"Damn it...." he rumbled, turning to her in appeal. "She makes me so furious....."

"I know," Eleanor acknowledged, softening. "Melville angered you. I told you, you should have let me tell her."

"Yes, yes, I know." Taking a deep breath, Somerville turned to Swiftnick. "My apologies, Master Nicholas. I should not have allowed my temper to get the better of me."

Swiftnick flicked a glance at Turpin and at his nod, grudgingly accepted the apology before he edged around him and squeezed past Turpin. "Stay away from her for now," Dick warned in a whisper as he slid out into the corridor. "You’ll only make it worse." Swiftnick scowled but nodded and headed off towards the tap room.

"My apologies to you also, Sir Richard," Somerville said with grim politeness. "Eleanor insists I am being over protective. She may well be right. But I am sure the care of my ward would be far easier if she was male."

"Don’t be so sure of that," Dick said dryly, thinking of the hair raising scrapes Swiftnick had tumbled into.

"At least a boy wouldn't be full of romantic fairy tale nonsense about thwarted love affairs and elopements..."

Dick could feel his eyebrows climbing at that. Obviously, Somerville hadn't seen the way Swiftnick and Charlotte looked at each other.

"Neither is Charlotte," Eleanor protested.

"Nonsense, you know she is. She’s convinced herself she’s in love with Melville purely because I said she couldn’t be because she’s far too young and he’s totally unsuitable."

"A sad mistake," Dick murmured from experience. "They never think they’re too young. Far better to let her flirt with him until she got bored. She will at her age, you know. "

"There, you see? Isn’t that what I said?" Eleanor exclaimed. "You only had to stall, not to give her a flat out no."

"But..." Somerville protested plaintively. "I can’t stand the man. The thought of letting him hang around, flirting with her...."

Dick smiled faintly, sympathising with him. Somerville obviously had no more idea how to cope with the girl than Turpin would have done.

"Yes, Peregrine. I know that. But you really have handled her badly, you know, dear. Let me go and talk to her again. I'm sure I can convince her that if she’s patient and waits a little while, we can talk you round...."

"What?! Never!"

"It won't come to that. I'm sure that as your opposition is worn down, Charlotte will lose interest."

"And if Melville is the fortune hunter you think he is, he’ll lose interest even faster," Dick added. "You’ve made it clear to him that the answer’s no. I doubt that if he needs money, he’ll dare wait for her now."

Somerville gave him a thoughtful look. "You are a very astute man, Sir Richard," he said slowly.

Turpin smiled at him amiably. "Did you offer to buy him off?"

"No," Somerville mused. "But it’s an idea. I doubt if Charlotte’s infatuation would survive finding out he gave up on her for the sake of money. On the other hand, he might be willing to risk persuading her to run off and marry him anyway. That’s why I forbade them to see each other again. As soon as she does marry, she takes control of her land and money. Or rather he thinks she does.... If I refuse my permission, than I retain control of both until she comes of age. Melville probably suspects I’d relinquish control rather than watch her starve."

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. "Then I suggest you watch Melville rather closely before Charlotte decides to make a real attempt to elope with him..."

* * *

Swiftnick was confused. Charlotte baffled him, by turns fascinating him and exasperating him with her idiotic fancies. He was glad Melville was staying out of his way though, he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to the man. Charlotte was obviously under his spell, although Swiftnick couldn’t understand why. Any sensible girl that he knew would have seen straight through the man to the fortune hunting rake he obviously was. Somerville himself seemed all right; a bit short tempered perhaps, but he reminded Swiftnick of Turpin in a way and he could see how Charlotte provoked him by being such a widgeon at times. He couldn’t understand why Charlotte couldn’t see through his gruff manner the way he did Dick’s. Eleanor was nice too. When it came right down to it, he simply couldn’t understand why Charlotte wanted to run away in the first place.

"Hsst!"

Baffled by the sound, Swiftnick stopped on his way to his bedroom and looked around him uncertainly.

"Nicholas!" Charlotte appeared at the corner, beckoning to him frantically.

Somewhat dubiously, Swiftnick moved towards her, wincing at every loud creak of the floorboards and desperately hoping she didn't have poetry reading in mind.

Charlotte clasped his hands the second he came within reach and dragged him through an open doorway. "Oh, thank goodness it’s you. I was so afraid it would be my guardian. You see how he is? He doesn't care about me at all."

"Then why did he follow you all this way?" Swiftnick blurted without thinking.

Charlotte’s eyes rounded. "Oh, Rupert was right. He’s fooled you too."

"I didn’t think you were supposed to talk to him," Swiftnick said, disapprovingly.

"Well, I have!" She stamped a silk slippered foot. "He thinks we should go now."

"Go where?" Swiftnick asked curiously.

"Oh, somewhere. I don’t know. We barely had a moment to speak before that innkeeper came along. And I couldn’t tell he doesn't approve of Rupert."

"Didn’t you say Rupert lied to you?" Swiftnick pointed out. "You said he told you he was taking you to your friends and lied to you."

"Oh, he explained that. He got lost in the snow. I told you..."

"Yes, but it still seems a bit....wrong to me," Swiftnick said slowly.

"He’s going to take me to my friends...."

"Charlotte, I don’t think you should believe him...." Swiftnick argued, pressing on desperately when she gave him a horrified look. "Are you quite sure he doesn't mean to elope with you?"

"Elope!" she stammered, staring at him in amazement. "But my guardian told him we couldn’t marry."

"Goose," Swiftnick snorted. "Don’t you know anything? If he took you to somewhere like Gretna Green, he could marry you before anyone could stop you."

"Really?" Charlotte looked quite taken with the idea. "How terribly romantic that would be...."

"No, it wouldn't. Gretna Green is a horrible place," Swiftnick said firmly, although he had no idea what it was like at all. "It’s a, a den of iniquity...."

"What’s a den of iniquity?" Charlotte asked in fascination.

Having only heard the phrase from Turpin, Swiftnick had no idea but he wasn’t about to tell her that. "A terrible place that no decent young lady should go to. And no real gentlemen would take her too either. Besides, if Rupert loves you, he wouldn’t want you to disobey your guardian. He’d wait until you’re of age to marry him without Somerville’s permission."

Charlotte sighed unhappily. "But that would take forever."

"But you don't want to marry him anyway."

"I don't want to marry Sir Lionel either. But I’ll have to if my guardian takes me home. He said he’d make me if saw Rupert again. Oh, Nicholas, I wish I could go to my friends! I won't marry Sir Lionel. He’s ancient!"

"Well, you can’t," Swiftnick said firmly. "I mean, even if you did, you couldn’t stay with them forever. Your guardian would come and take you back."

"But perhaps I could marry Rupert properly before he could....Rupert says the only reason he doesn't want me to marry him is so he can keep his hands on my money."

Swiftnick frowned at her. "But if he wants you to marry Sir Lionel, he won’t be able to keep your money anyway."

Charlotte gazed back at him, her eyes wide with adorable confusion. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that....But, but he said if I did marry Rupert against his wishes then I wouldn't be able to have access to my money until I come of age."

"Have you told Rupert that?"

"Of course not, silly! He was obviously lying to frighten me. But it wouldn't be so bad anyway. We could have a little cottage together and I could cook and keep chickens. I like chickens, don’t you? Rupert could grow roses and we’d be so happy."

"Living on eggs and honey?" Swiftnick suggested wryly.

"Yes, yes, exactly. Oh, you do understand! I knew you would. It would be so romantic!"

"You have no idea," Swiftnick said dryly.

"Why, maybe Rupert could become a highwayman! That would be so exciting!"

Swiftnick flinched and took his hands out of hers. "That’s a terrible idea!" he said firmly. "Why would you want to marry him like that anyway?"

"So, I wouldn’t have to marry Sir Lionel! He’s old!"

"Well, Melville’s old too. Besides, Somerville probably only said that to stop you talking about Melville."

"Oh, but Sir Lionel asked for me. I know he did. I heard him. That’s when Rupert said he would marry me and asked my guardian, but he refused him. So, I decided to run away to my friends."

"What about your mother?"

"What about her?" Charlotte asked in bewilderment.

"Well, why don't you write to your mother and tell her what’s happening? I'm sure she wouldn't want to marry anyone you don't want to. And I don’t think your guardian can make you without her permission too, you know."

"No?"

"No," Swiftnick said firmly. "I'm sure he does care about you, you know. He wouldn't have followed you all this way, if he wasn't worried about you."

"He only wants to protect my reputation to protect his. That’s what Rupert says."

"If it wasn't for Rupert, your reputation wouldn't need protecting," Swiftnick pointed out acidly then pressed on valiantly because he was thoroughly fed up about hearing nothing but Melville’s name. "I would never have put you in this position. I’d have been willing to wait for you forever if I had to."

Charlotte stared at him in awe, her eyes shining with bliss. "Oh, Nicholas," she whispered in a sigh as sweet as a rose’s scent. "I believe you would. Oh, that we two should meet and fall in love so suddenly. It’s as if it was meant to be. Rupert has delivered me safe into your arms ...My guardian would never object to your suit surely. Sir Richard would support you, wouldn’t he?"

Having a feeling that he was sinking up to his neck in an unexpectedly concealed quagmire, Swiftnick smiled at her bravely and reflected that Dick was likely to thrash him senseless and then string him up. "I don’t...."

"Oh, Nicholas, please? Don't you see? It’s the only way. I don’t love Rupert...."

"You said...." Swiftnick said weakly, mesmerised by the distant shimmer of tears in her eyes.

"Oh, I know he loves me, but that’s why he’ll understand about us. Peregrine couldn’t possibly think you’re a fortune hunter. And if Sir Richard supports your suit as I know he will if you ask him, he’ll have to agree. Then I wouldn't have to marry Sir Lionel but I could marry you, even if my guardian does make us wait a while. That would be all right though. If we were betrothed, it would give us time to get to know each other properly."

Either she’s insane or I am, but that makes a weird sort of sense, Swiftnick thought in alarm. Much as he liked her though, he wasn't sure he was ready to be betrothed to anyone. Besides, it was Nicholas she was talking to, not Swiftnick. "Oh, what a tangled web," he mumbled because he had heard Turpin say it.

"Shakespeare! You know Shakespeare too! Oh, it’s so romantic. It’s was meant to be!" Clapping her hands together in delight, Charlotte glowed up at him in laughing delight.

Gazing back at her, Swiftnick felt the urge to kiss her and leaned forward, his eyes on her lips as they parted. Suddenly realising she had stopped laughing and was gazing back at him shyly, Swiftnick flushed and drew back, suddenly as shy as she was. "We shouldn’t rush into anything," he blurted.

Charlotte blushed to and lowered her eyes. "No, no, you’re right. With the snow, we can’t leave and we can be together anyway....And I should tell Rupert...."

"Yes, but there’s need to tell Somerville yet....I’ll need to tell...um...my guardian first..."

"Perhaps you’re right," Charlotte whispered, her eyes lingering on his mouth as he blush deepened. "I, I....why don’t we meet in the parlour before dinner?" she suggested.

"Good idea."

"I’ll bring my poetry book and we can read together."

"That’ll be nice," Swiftnick agreed, deciding that he could bear the poetry if it meant he could gaze at her for a while. He stood gazing at her now, amazed by her delicate beauty and the strange urge he had to protect her. Under his gaze, Charlotte fluttered her eyelashes and let him take her hand again. This time, Swiftnick bent his head and very gently kissed her fingers, feeling a tenderness towards her that totally bewildered him.

Charlotte gave him a huge eyed look and drew her hands free with obvious reluctance before she slipped past him and with one longing backward look over her shoulder slipped away down the corridor.

Feeling at if he was floating on air, Swiftnick practically skipped off towards his own rooms and never noticed a scowling Melville watching him go from the shadowed doorway.

* * *

"Have you gone completely mad!" Turpin roared half an hour later as he stood over his hapless apprentice in his room. Swiftnick had told him the whole story, watching a silent Turpin come closer and closer to exploding point as he listened.

Swiftnick responded with indignant anger. "No! She’s right. It would mean she wouldn’t have to marry Sir Lionel."

"Somerville doesn't intend her to marry Sir Lionel or anyone else, you idiot!"

"So, he does want to keep control over her money!"

"Somerville’s rolling in money! He doesn't need hers as well!"

"Greed...."

"No! Melville’s a fortune hunter."

"How can he be? Somerville has control of Charlotte’s money. If she marries without his permission, he keeps the money."

"I doubt if he can do that otherwise he’d have told Melville straight out. But that isn’t the point now, is it? Now, she thinks she can marry you!"

"But I don't want to marry her...." Swiftnick argued, but he didn’t sound too sure about it.

"And I don’t want you to marry her either. How do you think Somerville’s going to react when he finds out you’re a highwayman? Fortune hunter? That won't be the half of what he calls you on the way to the gallows! He’d probably rather have Melville than you."

Swiftnick flushed in humiliation and scrambled to his feet. "You don't have to be mean about it!" he yelled back at Turpin. "I know I'm not good enough for her but that doesn’t make me feel any different!"

Stunned, Dick froze in surprise and by the time he could recover his voice Swiftnick had grabbed his cloak and was already out the door and running. "Nick! I didn't mean it! Come back here!" he yelled after him in exasperation, startling a passing maid on her way to make the beds. She stared at him and Dick retreated, slamming the door and leaning back against it. He knew where Swiftnick had gone; the stables. He always headed for Toby when he was upset. But it was what he had said that disturbed Turpin; the lad had feelings for Charlotte? Dick could only hope that he meant feelings of friendship. He didn't want to see the look of pain on his face if he was in love with the minx....

Deciding to give his young friend a little a breathing room, Dick took a deep breath and opened the door. He would go and sit in the parlour with a stiff drink and wait for Swiftnick to settle down and come back inside. Hunger and cold would soon drive him back to the fireside...

* * *

Rubbing his face against Toby’s glossy neck, Swiftnick stepped back and sighed miserably. The bay turned his head, butting his nose against his rider gently with a sympathetic whiffle. He always knew when Swiftnick was upset; an unexpected grooming was always a sign of it.

"I don't know what to do, Toby," Swiftnick whispered gloomily into the flickering ears as he rubbed the bay’s broad nose. "I really do like her. But marry her? Dick’s right. I can’t do that. I know I'm not old enough despite all that stuff about girls growing up faster than boys, I don't think that’s true. Charlotte acts much younger than me." Toby nibbled his hair, breathing warm hay scented air over him. "But I can’t tell her. I can’t say, by the way I'm a highwayman and not who you think I am at all." Swiftnick sighed again. "Besides, she’d probably think it was romantic."

Black Bess snorted from her stall and Swiftnick smiled ruefully. "Yes, girl, I know. Dick would belt me for telling her anyway. And he’s right; Somerville would send me to the gallows. Then Charlotte would probably have to marry Sir Lionel anyway. So the only thing I can do is go along with her for now. Maybe I can persuade her to say nothing to Somerville and go home first."

Stepping back, Swiftnick gave Toby a pat and tugged a few wisps of hay free from the net to feed to him. "She’ll think a secret romance is well, romantic...."

Toby nodded and accepted the hay gratefully. Black Bess snorted again and with a grin, Swiftnick ducked around the partition to share the hay with her too. "I daren’t tell her Dick’s refused his permission; she’d probably want me to elope with her. But I could tell her that once she’s home..." Black Bess gazed at him from dark liquid eyes and nuzzled him, showing an affection that was usually reserved for Turpin alone. Swiftnick sniffled and smiled gratefully at the mare.

"At least you love and Toby love me, hmmh?" he said, rubbing her warm velvet ears before sliding out of the stall to give Toby a last pat before he padded over to the stable doors and tugged his cloak around him.

A blast of freezing cold air hit him in the face as he pulled the door open wide enough for him to slip out into the yard. Thick snow crunched under his boots as he felt his way along the sheltering stable wall and flakes whirled up out of the blue tinged darkness, blown hither and thither by the gusting winds to nip at his face. He was starting to shiver as he came up to the corner of the building, meaning to make a quick dash across to the inn.

As he took a step out into the wind, he nearly slipped on a patch of ice and slithered a step. As he flailed for balance, a shadow loomed out of the snow filled darkness and grabbed at him, swinging him around and ramming the stripling into the wall. Swiftnick twisted instinctively, flinging up his arm to protect himself face, but his head slammed against the brick and stars exploded in his vision, bursting outwards until the snow turned to flakes of cascading darkness that filled his head....

* * *

Turpin was starting to twitch as he pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and examined it yet again. Swiftnick had been out in the stables for a very long time. If it hadn't been for the fact that Charlotte was sitting beside Eleanor with her embroidery, he would have been starting to wonder if the young idiot had eloped with her. He eyed her broodingly, aware that he was attracting Somerville’s attention as the nobleman looked up from his book to frown at him.

"Something wrong, Sir Richard?"

Dick looked at the pocket watch he was gripping too tightly and very deliberately put it away. "Nicholas went to check on the horses. He seems to be taking a long time. I’d better go and see if he’s all right."

Charlotte looked up at him as he stood up, then glanced at the pattering snow flakes making crystal patterns on the darkened windows. Her eyes filled with alarm as she looked back at him.

Catching her expression, Dick smiled faintly. "Maybe one of our horses has come up lame."

"What about the hostler, George, isn’t it? Isn’t he there?" Eleanor looked up from her own sewing.

"In the kitchen having his tea," Dick answered. "He won't check on them until later."

"I’ll get my cloak and come with you. I could do with a bit of exercise," Somerville said mildly as he got up, but there was a troubled look in his eyes as he spoke.

Turpin inclined his head as he strode out of the parlour, feeling a rising sense of urgency as he bounded up the stairs to fetch his own cloak. Somerville was quick to follow him, meeting up with Turpin on his return. There was a brooding look in his eyes as if he had his own suspicions to worry him. Dick ignored him; his concern was Swiftnick’s safety, never mind whether the stripling was sulking out there or not.

The wind was bitter outside; blowing sharp edged flakes into their faces that stung the skin and made it hard to see for squinting. Dick held the shielded lantern close against his body, letting it throw a pool of deceptively warm looking light across the snow as he shouldered his way towards the end of the stable building.

"The doors are over there, man!" Somerville bellowed into the wind, unwrapping a fold of cloak enough to gesture towards them.

Dick gestured in response, not bothering to answer. His own instincts guided him towards the stable wall, knowing Swiftnick would have stayed in its shelter and out of the wind until he had to cross to the inn. Somerville followed him, muttering under his breath.

Dick ignored him, lifting the lantern higher as he reached the wall, sending the golden light dancing over the snow to throw eerie blue white shadows in the darkness.

An odd snow drift, a bundle of dark cloth where a fold showed black as night against the snow.... The snow itself was ruffled as if it had been kicked up then smoothed over by the wind blown drift...

The hint of a pale features....

"Nick!" Dick lunged, sinking to his knees in the deep snow as he grabbed at the cloth and tugged, unfolding the cloak from around the unconscious figure of his apprentice.

"Oh my...." Somerville gasped in alarm, leaning over his shoulder. "Is the lad alive?"

Burrowing his fingers under the youth's collar, Dick felt with frozen fingers, holding his breath until he was sure he could feel the faint beat of his pulse. "Yes!" he hissed in triumph and dug at the snow, pushing it aside until he could get his arms around him to lift the youth. Swiftnick felt as cold as ice against him and he could not feel even a hint of shivering.

"Here, let me help...." Somerville said quickly, moving to help carry the unconscious youth.

Suppressing a surge of resentment, Dick nodded. Leaving the lantern sitting in the snow, he allowed the nobleman to help him gather Swiftnick up and carry him hastily back across the snow deep yard to the inn. He had to kick at the door, bellowing for it to be opened until Shepherd appeared.

"My goodness, sirs, what’s happened?" the innkeeper exclaimed in alarm as the two men carried Swiftnick inside. George hovered behind him, looking concerned.

"An accident. Looks like the lad slipped on the ice," Somerville said, meeting Dick’s angry eyes in silent warning.

"Is that so now?" George commented dubiously. "I’d best go and have a look at the horses. Wouldn’t want anyone to make off with them."

"You’d better get the lantern while you’re out there. I had to leave it," Dick said absently, his eyes on Swiftnick’s face. The youth looked even paler in the warm lights of the inn’s tap room.

"Why would they want to?" Somerville said acidly to George.

"Smugglers, sir," the hostler retorted sourly as he ducked out into the darkness.

A shrill shriek from the parlour door made Somerville swear as Charlotte scurried in. Before she could rush to Swiftnick however, Eleanor appeared and grabbed her arm briskly.

"But he’s hurt!" Charlotte squealed.

"Yes, dear, but there’s no need to behave like a goose. You’d only get in the way," Eleanor told her firmly. "You’d better take him upstairs, Peregrine. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Somerville glanced at Turpin to see what he thought.

"I think we can handle it," Dick said grimly. "We’ll put him in my room. It’ll be warmer..."

"I’ll get Lizzie to get some hot soup and coffee on," Shepherd said worriedly. "You’ll want extra blankets...."

* * *

Dick lay quietly on the bed with Swiftnick cuddled to his own body heat, watching the youth’s pale face against the lavender scented sheets. His breathing had improved over the last hour and he wasn't quite as colourless as he had been when they carried him into the room and stripped him out of his snow soaked clothes. His skin had been blue white with cold and icy to touch and Dick had fought a battle against his own panic as he dressed him in a nightshirt and wrapped the fire warmed blankets around him. The warming pan in the bed had been replaced three times since then and Dick was sweating even if Swiftnick wasn’t. There was a bump the size of an egg on the lad’s head, although the skin hadn't been split.

It could have been an accident, Dick supposed sourly, the lad could have slipped on a patch of ice and knocked himself out. But somehow he doubted it. There had been something about the way he had been lying that hadn't seemed the result of a fall. Bundled up against the wall like that he would have been out of sight if it hadn't been someone as suspicious as Turpin who had been looking for him.

Was that a faint shiver? Dick peered at his apprentice hopefully. Despite how cold he had been Swiftnick hadn't been shivering at all and Dick knew that wasn’t good. It meant the cold had reached into the bones of him.

"Toby...." Swiftnick mumbled groggily suddenly, his head moving slightly against its pillow of Turpin’s shoulder.

"Swiftnick?" Dick whispered urgently. "Nick, my lad, come on now....."

Slowly, the blue eyes opened, foggy with unnatural sleep as he attempted to focus on his mentor. After a moment, he blinked and a violent shudder ran through him as Swiftnick instinctively hitched himself closer to his mentor’s solid warmth. "It’s cold!" he protested indignantly, through chattering teeth.

"So it is," Dick admitted shakily, hugging him tight in one arm and dragging the blankets up that his shudder had disturbed. "What happened, sunshine?"

"When? What? Who?" Swiftnick blinked at him. "Toby....No, I....." He frowned hard, unable to think straight.

"Never mind. Stay where you are while I get you some soup...."

Swiftnick mumbled a vague protest as Dick slithered out of bed. Turpin firmly tucked the blanket back in around him before he fetched the soup from the pot warming by the hearth. With the hot cup in his hands, Swiftnick roused enough at Dick’s coaxing to drink the thick savoury soup with obvious pleasure at its heat. A second cup followed the first and he was halfway through it, before he could look at Turpin with understanding.

"Someone jumped me outside the stables," he said slowly.

"Did you see who it was?"

"Too dark." Swiftnick started to shake his head, then winced as he felt the throb of the bruise. "He shoved me into the wall."

Dick’s felt his teeth grind together. Someone had knocked his accomplice out and left him to freeze in the snow.... Not Somerville, he had been in the parlour. Certainly not either of the women. Shepherd and George had no need; not even if they suspected he and Swiftnick were highwaymen. Who else but Melville?

"I don’t know why...." Swiftnick added plaintively.

"Melville I’ll bet...." Dick said grimly, but before he could ease his partner’s confusion with further explanation, a brisk knock at the door made him tense and lay a finger over his apprentice’s lips. "Hush...." he warned as he eased off the bed and laid a hand on the pistol he kept in the bedside drawer. "Who is it?"

"Somerville," came the brisk answer. "May I come in?"

Turpin relaxed. He didn't think Somerville was the danger to them. Unlatching the door, he let the nobleman in. Peregrine nodded to him, then glanced at the bed and bestowed a relieved smile on a groggy Swiftnick.

"Good, your lad’s awake at last. The ladies and I were getting worried. Anything I can do?"

"Shoot Melville?" Dick suggested darkly.

Somerville gave him a startled look and then nodded wryly, his eyes brooding. "You guessed."

"It wasn't hard, was it? The only one not where I could see them."

Somerville nodded. "Yes, my apologies."

"Why? You don’t control him."

"Unfortunately not," Somerville admitted. "But I do know what he’s like. He doesn’t like to be crossed or thwarted and he has been known to be violent. I should have said something perhaps. But I saw no reason for him to turn on your ward."

Dick glanced at Swiftnick, glad that the youth was more interested in his hot soup than their conversation. Presumably, Melville must have realised Charlotte liked Swiftnick and wanted the competition out of his way.

"I’ll speak to him," Somerville said quietly.

"Still here is he then?"

"In the parlour awaiting dinner and looking as if nothing has happened."

Turpin nodded slowly. "Does he know?"

"I’ll tell him Nicholas is awake. Charlotte will insist on knowing. She seems very fond of your ward."

"A good reason for Melville hitting him perhaps?"

"It would seem so." Somerville agreed grimly. "Shall I ask Shepherd to send dinner up for you?"

"An excellent idea. I’d rather not leave Nicholas until he’s feeling more himself."

"Quite," Somerville said blandly and turned to go. Dick followed him to the door, deliberately closing and latching it behind him.

Melville was prone to violence, was he? And what else was he prone to? Kidnapping young girls perhaps? The man bore watching. He certainly wasn’t going to let Melville get anywhere near Swiftnick again.

* * *

An hour later, Dick closed the door quietly behind Cora and glanced over at the bed. Swiftnick was watching him, blankets tugged up around his neck. Picking up one of the extra blankets the maid had brought in, Turpin unfolded it and settled it over the bed on top of his apprentice.

"Looks like she brought all the spare blankets in the inn. Let’s hope no one else gets cold," he chuckled, feeing uncommonly cheerful out of sheer relief. "Are you feeling any warmer yet?"

Swiftnick nodded sheepishly. "I’m sorry to be so much trouble..."

"You’re not normally," Dick said lightly. "Want something to eat now?" Shepherd had brought up a tray of food since Turpin had refused to leave his partner alone.

"I'm not hungry," Swiftnick admitted, hitching the blankets up a bit higher. "I've pinched your bed, haven’t I?"

"You needed to get warm and the fire was built up in here. I can always sleep in yours," Dick said easily, absently picking up the book Shepherd had delivered with dinner. There was a note tucked into that smelt faintly of perfume and had a little rose carefully drawn on the pink paper. "Ooh, look, Swiftnick, your lady love’s sent you her book of poetry. Isn't that romantic?"

"Don’t make fun of me!" Swiftnick protested sharply, however, yanking the blankets up and burrowing down into the warm nest they made to hide.

Turpin stared at him in astonishment that slowly turned into an anxious frown as he put the book of sonnets down. "Is it so serious with you two then that I can’t tease you?" he said softly as he came over to sit on the edge of the bed and gaze down at his friend in concern.

After a second, Swiftnick tugged the edge of the sheet down and looked at him, a whirlpool of confusion in his dazed blue eyes. "I don’t know," he admitted reluctantly. "Its all so confusing. I like her a lot, but I don't want to marry her. I don’t want to marry anyone. I'm too young and I'm not ready and it’s all going too fast...."

"Yes," Dick agreed quietly. "It can be like that...."

"I'm not even sure I do like her as much as I think I do," Swiftnick said, struggling to explain. "When I'm with her, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. When I'm not, I think about her. And then, then I start wondering why because she’s a complete goose at times...." he paused, gingerly feeling the bump on his head. "Dick, what if I am betrothed to her?"

"You can’t be," Turpin said flatly.

"But...."

"Look, lad, for one thing you’re not who she thinks you are. For another, you’re too young to be promised to anyone without the permission of your guardian..."

"But you’re not...."

"No, Mary is, but since she’s not here I’ll stand in her place and very firmly say no. That is what you want isn’t it?"

Swiftnick inclined his head a fraction. "Yes...." he said slowly.

Dick only wished he sounded more certain. "Good. The same goes for Charlotte. She can’t promise herself without Somerville’s permission. I can’t see him saying yes anyway, but I can have a quiet word to make sure. Now what is it?" Turpin had spotted his apprentice’s dubious expression.

Swiftnick was frowning uncertainly. "I don’t know if telling her flat out no is a good idea," he said slowly. "She might decide to run off with Melville again. She doesn't seem to know what she wants to do."

"Full of fairy stories," Dick muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind. Look, she hasn’t finished growing up. Neither have you actually, but I'm darn sure you’re a lot more grown up than she is." Dick was well aware that life on the high toby had made Swiftnick grow up a lot faster in some ways than he would have wished for. "She’s full of romantic ideas is all."

"She seems to think every man she meets wants to marry her."

"She’s an heiress. She’s probably right. She’s been raised knowing she’ll marry for wealth and position and she’s rebelling against it. You can’t blame her for that."

"But, what do I do? I don’t want to hurt her!"

Dick opened his mouth to point out that he couldn’t see how Charlotte could be hurt when she might only be playing out a silly fantasy of her own, when he changed his mind. If Swiftnick could have become so quickly attached to her, it was possible his feelings were reciprocated. It would be needlessly cruel and probably a big mistake to tell Swiftnick to his face that she wasn't serious about him. "You can’t marry her either," he said carefully. "What we need to do is find some way to let her down gently and persuade her to go home with Somerville." He grinned at his apprentice teasingly. "You can be noble about it, tell her you’re not worthy of her and let her believe herself the tragic lover."

"She’ll want to run off...." Swiftnick warned.

"Hmmh. So," Dick brightened up. "I know, we’ll tell her that I have already promised you to someone else and I’ll make sure you don't get a chance to run off with her. I can even insist you stay in bed."

Swiftnick gazed at him in awe. "I'm not staying in bed," he argued. "But it almost sounds like you’ve done this before."

Dick chuckled, lightly slapping the youth's knee through the blankets before he got up. "Swiftnick, my lad, I've had plenty of experience of letting women down gently. It’s something of an art form." Crossing to the pretty little table by the fireside, he picked up a plateful of sandwiches and brought them back to the bed. "Eat something while I pour the tea out," he commanded. "You might as well because you’re certainly not flitting off to any little assignations with Charlotte now...."

* * *

Dick awoke in darkness, instantly coming alert with the training of a highwayman. For a moment he was uncertain what had aroused him and he lifted his head from the softness of his pillow, straining to hear if it was Swiftnick stirring in the other room.

The sound that had disturbed him came again; the faint sound of footsteps passing his door in the corridor, the creak of the ancient uneven boards as someone stepped lightly across them.

Dick eased out of bed, flitting across the rugs to listen at the door. The footsteps crept on past, moving down to what had been Turpin’s door.

A faint rattle indicated the slow cautious turning of the door handle with the faint squeak of a bearing that needed oiling.... A soft under breath curse told him that the intruder had discovered the door to be locked.

Dick grinned mirthlessly. Everyone in the pub knew he had changed rooms with his apprentice and no one had reason to come calling the middle of the night on either of them.

Unless it was Charlotte?

Dick considered that for barely a second. Sweet little idiot Charlotte might be, but he was sure she was an innocent with it. She would no more consider paying a call on Swiftnick than Swiftnick would consider visiting her.

There was really only one person it could be. Melville. Chances were he thought to throw a scare into Swiftnick. As if half killing him in the yard wasn't enough.

Turpin’s jaw tightened as he felt the burning edge of his temper smoulder.

There was a scraping noise and the faint squeak of the door handle again, accompanied by the slow creak of a floorboard that resented being stood on.

Turpin nodded to himself. If he was Melville he would see if his own door key fitted....

Moving quietly, Dick quietly unlocked his own door and curled his fingers around the handle, waiting....

He didn't think Melville was stupid enough to linger too long. If he couldn’t get in, he must retreat before he was seen...

Another soft curse and the floorboards creaked again as Melville started to return along the corridor.

Turpin waited to swoop, keeping his breath deliberately quiet and easy.

Melville hesitated outside the door and Dick imagined him leaning against it, listening...

He was ready to jerk the door open and spring on him if Melville turned the handle, but he didn't. instead the floorboard creaked again as the man moved away...

Turpin grinned, eyes glittering with excitement as he counted the soft steps....

With one swift yank the door came open and Turpin leapt, springing down the corridor to pounce on Melville from behind. The man had no chance to even cry out before Turpin was on him, one arm clamping down tight across his throat to shut off any shout for help, the other seizing Melville’s right arm and twisting savagely up his back as he rammed him face first against the wall.

"How do you like it, Melville?" he hissed into his ear.

"You madman...." Melville rasped, half choked by the arm clamped across his throat.

"Madman, am I? And, what about you, you pervert, what are you up to sneaking into my lad’s room this late?"

"I took the wrong turn; I was looking....for my own room...." Melville broke off with a gasp of pain as Turpin twisted his arm.

"Don’t give me that. You hit Nick, left him out there to freeze...."

"No, he....slipped...."

"Know that, do you? There, were you?"

"No....please, you’re...choking me...."

"Choking you isn’t half what I’d like to do to you," Dick snarled. "I’d challenge you to a duel if I thought you were worth it, but I wouldn't sully my sword on the likes of you."

"W’what....do you.....want....?"

Reluctantly Dick eased up a little of the pressure on the man’s throat. He could feel Melville starting to sag from lack of air and, satisfying though it was, he didn't really want him to keel over. "You leave Nick alone and you leave Miss Somerville alone."

"What does she...matter to you?" Melville forced out with an effort. "Look, be reasonable," he gurgled. "You don’t want...your ward to marry her. But if I...marry her....I’ll have her money. I can....pay you...."

"You worthless little toad!" Turpin exclaimed in disgust, although he had to admit the man had arrogance if nothing else. At least now he knew for sure that Melville cared nothing for the girl herself. "Is that all you want her for? To marry her for money?"

"Why else would I marry her but for money? She’s pretty enough...but she’s a silly creature..." Melville retorted, twisting in his uncomfortable position against the wall and cursing again as Dick tightened his grip to hold him still.

"You’re a manipulating bastard, ain’t you?" Dick said bitterly. "It would be all the same to you if she was in love with you."

Melville thumped his free hand against the wall in angry frustration. "It’s all right for you. You have what you want. All I have is a name, a liking for gambling and a worthless old manor house that gobbles money. I have to marry for money, what else can I do?"

"Give up gambling for a start," Dick retorted in disdain. "And give up on Charlotte. Somerville won’t let you marry her. He’d rather shoot you."

"You can’t talk to me like this."

"Oh, yes I can." Dick yanked him away from the wall and shoved hard, spilling the man to his knees on the rough floorboards. Melville twisted and half shoved back to his feet, pausing to stare into Turpin’s expressionless eyes. In the darkness of the corridor, he looked as menacing as any angry ghost. "Go back to your room and stay there, Melville," he ordered. "Miss Somerville’s not for the likes of you. And if I catch you anywhere near Nicholas again, I’ll break both your legs for you."

Melville blinked, putting one hand up to his cheek where it had scraped the wall. Then he shoved angrily to his feet. "You, sirrah, are no gentleman," he spat.

"Never said I was," Dick retorted stonily, folding his arms as he gazed back at Melville in scorn. "And you’d do well to remember that."

Melville blinked, clearly disconcerted by Turpin’s calm acceptance of the insult. Then he spun on his heel and stalked away, head held high as he disappeared into the shadows.

Dick gazed after him silently, waiting half hopefully to see if he would turn back. He wouldn't mind the excuse for a proper fight. The bit of rough housing had barely whetted his appetite. Finally accepting that Melville had gone to skulk and sulk in his own room, he let himself quietly back into the bedroom and locked the door again.

"Dick? Is that you?" Swiftnick called from the next room, sounding nervous.

"Aye lad, only me," Turpin strolled to the door to look in on him. "Everything’s all right. Go back to sleep."

"Was that Melville?"

"Aye, I set him straight on a couple of things. Like why he shouldn’t mess with my apprentice. Now, go back to sleep, sunshine. You want to look your best for Charlotte, don’t you?"

Barely awake, Swiftnick gave him a drowsy smile and settled back into bed, wriggling back into the warmth of the blankets. Smiling to himself, Turpin returned to his own bed. He had thrown a scare into Melville, now to see what his next move would be. It would be interesting to see if he mentioned his late night meeting with the highwayman to anyone and what spin he would put on it if he did.

* * *

The following morning, Turpin insisted on Swiftnick eating his breakfast of hot tea, soft boiled eggs and jam smothered toast in bed before he reluctantly conceded that the youth was near enough back to normal that he could be allowed to get up. As soon as he was able, Swiftnick made his escape from his partner’s watchful eye and, leaving him talking to Shepherd about the possibility of the roads clearing, made his way downstairs.

The parlour was empty but a big fire was blazing merrily in the grate and Swiftnick was happy enough to stand in front of it. Although the bruise on his head had subsided, he still felt not quite himself and he couldn’t seem to stay warm for long. The way the wind squealed around the corners of the inn didn't help for it made it seem colder than ever, although it seemed to have stopped snowing at last. Having brought his book with him, Swiftnick settled down in the nook by the fire and found his page. He wasn’t normally much for reading, but he was enjoying the tale of the castaway. He was so engrossed in the story that he didn't notice that the door had opened until the first draught whispered around his ankles, then he looked up and stared at Melville as the older man stood in the doorway glowering at him menacingly.

Not quite sure what to do, Swiftnick set down his book and stood up, prepared to square up to him. His chivalrous instinct made him want to tell Melville to his face what he thought of him for the way he had treated Charlotte, but common sense told him he was asking to get his teeth knocked down his throat by the bigger man.

Glancing over his shoulder however at a sound from behind him, Melville abruptly swung on his heel and stalked away down the corridor. "Somerville, I wish to speak to you," his voice echoed back to Swiftnick as the youth slumped in relief at avoiding a confrontation. "Fortescue Smythe had the audacity to threaten me...."

"Good for him," Somerville retorted acidly. "I'm surprised he retrained himself to threats rather than drawing your cork."

"He did not dare make the attempt. I am a match for him..."

"That is a matter of opinion, Melville. If you wish to talk, come in here. Charlotte, run along and do stop looking like a startled rabbit."

Swiftnick brightened at hearing Charlotte’s name mentioned, then hesitated as he realised he would be better off staying away from her. He was dithering over what to do when Charlotte took the choice out of his hands by appearing in the doorway. For a moment she stood quietly gazing at him, a vision in a pale lemon dress, then with a little cry she rushed forward and grabbed his hands.

"Oh, Nicholas! I thought I would never see you again. You were so brave. When I realised you had been hurt, I was so terribly afraid!" she cried, hugging his hands to her bodice.

Swiftnick stared at his fingers, not daring to so much as twitch them. He could feel a blush rising as he swallowed hard. "I’m fine," he managed.

"Oh, but you look so pale. And last night, you were as pale as ice. I barely slept thinking of you. I cried for ages."

"Did you?" Swiftnick was flattered although somewhat doubtful as to the truth of her assertion. She didn't have the look of someone after a sleepless tear filled night. She looked, as always, incredibly fresh and lovely with her eyes such a deep violet that he could drown in them. He shook himself mentally.

"I never cried like that for anyone. Well, except for when I heard about Sir Lionel and realised I would have to run away...."

Swiftnick found himself smiling at her sudden honesty and very gently extracted his hands from her grasp. "I'm not sure we should be alone...Your guardian might not understand," He allowed himself a quick grimace thinking of what Turpin would say. "I know mine won’t."

"Oh?"

"I'm too young to marry apparently. And-," he paused, struggling with a faint fleeting memory. What had Dick told him to say? Oh yes.... "Charlotte, I cannot marry you. I am promised to someone else."

Charlotte’s eyes rounded in dismay. "Promised?" she stammered.

"A long standing arrangement. I don’t even know the girl really," Swiftnick told her as she sank gracefully into a chair.

"Then it cannot be serious. You do not love her?"

"No..." Swiftnick admitted but he couldn’t give her the answer to the question he thought he saw in her eyes. He couldn’t say he loved her, not knowing she didn’t know he was a highwayman.

"Then it can be broken, Nicholas, it can be broken! We can be together."

"Perhaps," Swiftnick said slowly. "But not yet. I am not free and I do not think that my guardian will agree to it. I'm not even supposed to be alone with you."

"Oh..." Charlotte pouted in disappointment, folding her hands neatly in her lemon silk lap.

"Charlotte, you must speak to your guardian." Swiftnick crouched in front of her and dared to take her hands, adding hastily. "Make him understand that you only ran away because you’re afraid of Sir Lionel."

"I have," she said in a small voice and gave him a brave, wan little smile that made Swiftnick want to cuddle her. "You’re right, he’s really not an ogre at all. He doesn't want me to marry Rupert and he refused Sir Lionel’s offer for me. He only said he hadn’t because he lost his temper."

"You see? There’s no need for you to marry anyone yet. What are you going to do?"

"Go back to Somerville Manor. Eleanor says I may come out early." Her eyes shone with anticipation of that great event and she squeezed Swiftnick’s hands firmly. "I am to have a great ball. Oh, say you will come and dance with me."

"If I can..." Swiftnick said softly, only wishing that he could.

"Oh, but you must. Don’t you see, our guardians will soon come to see how perfect we are for each other and approve the match."

Swiftnick swallowed, unable to answer. He had a feeling that Charlotte had been spoiled and expected everything to be as she wanted. Having her guardian refuse Melville, even though she didn't want him, had obviously come as a shock to her. Now she was making romantic plans for him and Swiftnick couldn’t help feeling a little like a puppet.

A swish of skirts from the corridor made him leap to his feet and scoot over to the fireplace, grabbing up his book on the way. Charlotte hastily rearranged her skirts and sat up, looking innocent.

"Yes, I have a fondness for novels myself," she was saying as Eleanor swept through the door that Turpin held open for her. Dick raised an eyebrow in his apprentice’s direction and Swiftnick felt himself starting to blush again.

"Ah, I see you found him," Eleanor observed. "Good morning, Nicholas. I trust you are all right?"

"Good morning, Miss Ashton. Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you for asking." Swiftnick turned a worried look on Turpin as his mentor came to share the warmth of the fireside.

"You gave us quite a fright, young man," Eleanor continued mildly, glancing at Charlotte with a faint smile that suggested she knew exactly what had been happening.

"Oh, yes, he did. I was saying how frightened I was and how brave Nicholas was after his accident."

A heavy silence settled over the parlour. Swiftnick looked uncertainly at Dick who inclined his head to him to give him a gentle nudge.

"It wasn’t an accident," Swiftnick mumbled obediently. "I was attacked."

"Attacked?! By footpads?! How awful! Eleanor, did you hear? Footpads!"

"Yes, dear, don’t be melodramatic. You’ll have Nicholas thinking you’re a goose behaving like someone out of one of those romance novels you’re always reading," Miss Ashton said briskly. "He didn't say it was footpads."

"Oh but...." Charlotte began, looking at Swiftnick anxiously.

Swiftnick knew what she wanted to him to say; that it hadn’t been Melville. Part of him wanted to support her, another part wanted to stick the knife in Melville and ruin whatever little good opinion of Rupert that she had. The trouble was, he was innately honest about some things. "I don’t know who attacked me," he admitted aloud. "I didn't get a good look at him. Enough to know that he was bigger than me and that he meant me harm."

"Footpads...." Charlotte repeated.

"No," Swiftnick shook his head and winced at a reminder of his bruise. "They didn't rob me."

"And they wouldn't come this close to an inn in this kind of weather on the off chance someone was wandering about outside," Turpin put in steadily. "No, it was someone from inside the inn."

Charlotte stared at him, paling. "Are you s’suggesting....Rupert...? How could you?"

"No one actually mentioned him," Dick pointed out blithely. "You thought of that all by yourself."

Charlotte pressed a shaking hand to her lips and lowered her head, clearly fighting tears. With a sigh, Eleanor sat down beside her and put an arm around the trembling girl. "Come now, don’t be a goose, my love," she said kindly. "Rupert has flattered you with his attentions. He is a handsome man after all. But his intentions have not been honourable. A gentleman would not encourage you to run away, even to see friends. Nor would he lie to you. Do you realise what damage he would have done to your reputation if Sir Richard and Nicholas had not come to your rescue? All playacting aside, you would have been forced to accept his offer. It would have been the only one you would ever get if it got out."

Charlotte shot a hurt little look at Swiftnick, but before he could speak Turpin clamped a resolute hand on his arm and turned him away from her with a stern look.

"I realise you are very young and do not perhaps realise how foolish you have been," Eleanor continued. "Not all men are honourable, my dear. You are used to thinking of them as friends and guardians rather than as men perhaps. Not all of them are like your Peregrine. Melville went too far, but I think perhaps he had a little too much encouragement – albeit unknowingly – from you."

Charlotte was blushing furiously as Eleanor finished. "My guardian calls him a fortune hunter..."

"He is," Dick said firmly. "And a man with a violent temper I suspect. His attack on Nick was no doubt out of frustration and a desire for revenge. Somerville is beyond his reach, but Nicholas was an easier target. I dare say it was done on the spur of the moment, but no less cruel an act for it."

Charlotte stared at him, nodding slowly. "For love of me..." she whispered and came to her feet, gliding into a startled Swiftnick’s arms and resting her head on his shoulder. "I am sorry, Nicholas. I could not know how far love would goad him..."

Dick looked at the expression of bliss settling over his apprentice’s face as Charlotte leaned against him and the youth wound his arms around her slender waist. Dick he reached for his apprentice’s shoulder as Eleanor hastily pounced on the girl.

Charlotte blushed as Swiftnick hastily let her go and ducked his head in chagrin.

"Yes, well, none of that now," Eleanor said firmly, colouring a little. "You mustn’t embarrass Nicholas by being so forward. That’s what I'm talking about, my dear. He’s not your guardian."

"No..." Charlotte whispered, looking at Swiftnick with shining eyes. Swiftnick stared back at her raptly, starting a slow smile.

Dick rolled his own eyes, wishing he was plain Turpin and could give the lad a quick clip round the ear. He found himself catching Eleanor’s gaze and smiled ruefully.

"Why don't call for some tea?" she suggested valiantly. "Then perhaps we can play a game of cards...."

* * *

Standing in front of the fire some time later, Dick slid a dubious glance over at the window where Swiftnick and Charlotte were playing an enthusiastic game of spillikins. The game of cards Eleanor had started had quickly been abandoned; Charlotte had no skill and little interest in the game and had persuaded them all to play spillikins. Turpin and Eleanor had soon grown bored but from the giggling going on as the two young people bent their heads over the table in rapt attention, they seemed to be enjoying the childish game.

Eleanor was sitting peacefully embroidering, but she looked up at Turpin, noticing his attention. "A childish pursuit, but one they seem to enjoy," she murmured. "Charlotte is adept at it."

"Yes," Dick murmured thoughtfully. He had noticed that for himself when the four of them were playing. She would probably make a good pickpocket. He couldn’t help but feel suspicious of their too apparent innocence pleasure in the game though.

Swiftnick lifted his head, smiling at Charlotte and very much aware of the way of her deft fingers selected and carefully removed each slender piece from the game. Charlotte smiled back, her eyes saying all the things that the chaperonage of the others prevented her from saying aloud. Her foot brushed his ankle under the table and she blushed prettily, hastily drawing back. Swiftnick’s smile widened, filled with by the whirlpool of confused, inarticulate longings she made him feel.

"More tea?" Eleanor suggested.

"Er, I will, yes, thank you." Being polite, Dick came to sit down and accept another cup of tea in the fine china. He kept one eye on his apprentice, noting his faint blush.

Swiftnick felt his skin warm as her hand touched his over one of the straws and he looked into her eyes, sinking into their brilliant depths until she too blushed and turned her head away. She had incredibly long eyelashes, he noted happily.

Dick sipped his tea and fought the urge to frown. They were up to something, he could feel it. It was probably nothing more than flirtation, but even so....

For all the giggling, they looked too demure to be entirely innocent...

Dick knew perfectly well about undercurrents.

Swiftnick didn't think he had ever noticed Charlotte’s mouth before. Her lips were a perfect shade of soft pink, very soft and inviting lips they looked too. The lower one had a tiny little pout to it that made him want to kiss it....

Her tongue flickered over her upper lip in concentration and Swiftnick felt a sudden surge of heat rush through him, watching in awe as it traced lightly over her teeth....

He wanted to do that. Wanted to mould her lips to his own....

Wanted to....

"Having fun?" Turpin loomed up over them, his shadow falling across the table as he glowered at them.

"Oh yes!" Charlotte chirped innocently, hastily whipping her foot back under her skirts.

Swiftnick froze, looking up at Dick like a caught pickpocket. Dick gazed back at him solemnly, the faintest of twinkles in his eyes, and Swiftnick could tell he knew what he’d been thinking.

The creak of the door saved Swiftnick from having to say anything as Somerville strode briskly into the parlour. He greeted them all cheerfully, bending to kiss Eleanor on the cheek and lightly caress her hand for a fleeting moment.

"Well, Shepherd tells me the snow is starting to clear," he said amiably. "He’s expecting a coach soon. If that arrives safely then we’ll know the roads are clear enough to travel."

Eleanor murmured in relief, but Dick noticed Swiftnick and Charlotte exchange a look of mingled chagrin and dismay. Quietly, Turpin put his hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. "Excellent. That means we’ll be able to get home too, Nick."

Swiftnick looked up at him with a weak smile, relieved that there was no sign of teasing in his partner’s dark eyes. He wondered if Dick understood his feelings or was merely reminding him of reality.

"What about Melville?" Turpin asked briskly.

"What about him?" Somerville asked blandly, sipping the tea Eleanor had poured for him.

"You were closeted with him for some time, Peregrine," she reminded him. "What did he say to you?"

Somerville’s eyes dwelt on Charlotte for a long moment and the girl coloured, then gave Swiftnick a grateful look as he reached across the table and took her hand. Dick made a faintly reproving noise, but Swiftnick only frowned at him defiantly. Somerville looked more exasperated than anything else, but the look Eleanor gave him made him hold his tongue. "He had quite a few things to say about Fortescue Smythe for a start."

"Did he now. Such as?" Dick asked warily. If Melville had somehow found out that he was a highwayman....

"Said you’d threatened him. I told him he was lucky that was all you’d done. Made another offer for Charlotte and threatened to ruin her reputation if I didn’t accept."

Charlotte gasped, appalled by the treachery of her beau. "How could he?!" she exclaimed.

"That’s the kind of man he is. I warned you," Somerville told her.

"Yes, but...." Charlotte eyed him suspiciously.

"Oh for goodness sake!" Eleanor said in exasperation, catching her expression. "Let’s have no more of this nonsense. You no more want Melville than I do. Your only interest is in defying your guardian. Peregrine, what did you tell him?"

Gazing at her admiringly, Somerville smiled. "I reminded him of how young Charlotte is and what kind of trouble he would be in if he did attempt to ruin her reputation. A successful elopement is one thing; sooner or later it would become accepted. An unsuccessful elopement is quite another thing, however. Melville is blustering in desperation and I have called his bluff."

Charlotte paled. "B’but what if he does...." she stammered.

"You should have thought of that before, Miss Minx," Somerville told her sternly.

"Don't be cruel, Peregrine!" Eleanor said sharply. "You’ve made your point. She knows how silly she has been."

"Yes, but has she learned her lesson?" Somerville said sourly, eyeing Swiftnick askance.

Charlotte blushed but lifted her chin proudly, her fingers digging into Swiftnick’s hand. "Am I to have no choice of my own then?" she demanded.

Somerville gazed back at her steadily for a long moment, then abruptly softened. "Yes, Charlotte, you will have a choice. I have no doubt you will have any number of suitors when you come out. You needn’t be in such a hurry to find one."

Charlotte shot a quick vulnerable look at Swiftnick, who smiled at her reassuringly. "I have invited Nicholas to my ball," she announced defiantly. Turpin jerked as if she’d stabbed him with a pin and both young people looked up at him in surprise. "Oh, and Sir Richard too of course," she added hastily, realising she had been remiss.

Feeling a bit put out at being an afterthought, Dick nonetheless smiled at her blandly. It was the expression on Swiftnick’s face that told him his apprentice was hurting; the promised treat was out of his reach and he knew it.

"Very well," Somerville said stiffly. "But I warn you, I expect no more of this wilful behaviour or there will be no ball. Nor will you invite Melville."

Charlotte stared at him indignantly, then nodded. Spoilt she might have been, but she was learning that she could not always have her own way. "I had no intention of inviting him," she said stiffly. "It would be needlessly cruel of me. I realise that his behaviour has perhaps been reprehensible, but it was done from love!"

Somerville gaped at her and Eleanor sighed wearily. "I trust you informed Melville his presence would not be required," she said

Somerville gave her a blank look and then nodded. "I told him I’d throw him in the nearest midden if he dared showed his face around Charlotte again. I also informed him that her money and lands remain under my control if she does marry without my permission before she is old enough to do so." He smiled ruefully at the mutinous look on his ward’s face. "I assure you, my dear, if you marry someone I approve of that won’t be a problem." He paused, glancing at Eleanor again before he sighed and continued, "I am sorry if you truly wanted to marry Melville, but he wasn’t suitable at all. I promise you I will not force you to marry anyone you don’t want to."

Charlotte sighed tremulously, glancing at Swiftnick again.

Swiftnick smiled and patted her hand, but sat back circumspectly. He didn't want to upset Somerville and for all his adoration of Charlotte, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that came over him every now and then. It was all going much too fast for him. He didn't want to find himself promised to anyone and he knew perfectly well that that if he was really Sir Richard’s ward that could happen only too easily. If Somerville pressed Turpin, Dick might be left no choice but to agree to a betrothal. A betrothal that Swiftnick would have no choice but to break and Charlotte might never know why he disappeared. His thoughts whirled into a chaotic confusion where he was suddenly robbing her coach....

"Nick?" There was genuine concern in Dick’s voice as he leaned over his apprentice, resting one hand warmly on his shoulder and giving him a little shake.

Swiftnick opened eyes he didn't know he had closed and gazed back at him in dizzy distress. Without a word, Dick searched his eyes and shifted his arm to lie across his shoulders.

"You’re white as a sheet, Nick. I think you’d better come and lied down for a while," he said quietly. "Are you cold?"

Swiftnick nodded shakily, realising that he was indeed feeling cold and starting to shiver. "I'm sorry, Charlotte," he murmured.

"Oh no, it’s all right. You’re so brave," Charlotte caught his hand and gave it a warm affectionate squeeze before she let him go. "Parting is such sweet sorrow..."

Swiftnick smiled at her weakly as he struggled up. Turpin let him stand on his own and followed him to the door, staying close as he glanced back. "Could someone ask to have some hot soup sent up?" he asked. "He needs warming up."

"I shall attend to it," Eleanor promised, rising gracefully to her feet in a swish of skirt. "Come along, Charlotte, you can help me...."

* * *

Once more curled up in bed, Swiftnick sighed as he drank the hot milk Lizzie had sent up for him. The savoury soup Charlotte had brought him with her own fair hands had been nice, but with Eleanor hovering watchfully and the chills shaking him, he hadn't felt much like flirting with her and he had been glad when she’d gone back to the parlour.

Turpin was lazing in the chair by the fire, reading a broadsheet. It wasn’t a new one, but it was considerably more recent than anything else he had come across. Swiftnick’s sigh made him look up. "Still cold?" he fretted.

"Getting warmer," Swiftnick assured him. "Can I have my book?"

"I thought you didn't want to read it."

"I changed my mind. Can I have it?" Swiftnick wanted something to take his mind of Charlotte.

Dick unfolded himself to get it for him. "Why the sigh then?" he asked as he brought it over.

"Sigh?"

Dick demonstrated the big sigh he had heard. "Pining for Charlotte, are you?"

"Don’t tease," Swiftnick said irritably. "I can’t help it."

"No, I know you can’t," Dick admitted ruefully. "Wasted my time warning you, didn’t I?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Drink your milk." Dick returned thoughtfully to his seat by the fire, reflecting that he was grateful Charlotte couldn’t see his apprentice all curled up and looking like a fluffy dormouse. He hadn't dared send him to bed until after she had visited. He was fairly sure that the pair of them were fighting biological urges already that didn't need any further ammunition.

"Dick?"

"Hmmh...."

"What do you think would happen if I told her?"

"Told her what?" Dick eyed him suspiciously over the top edge of the broadsheet.

"Who I really am."

Turpin opened his mouth to scream at him, then forced himself to bite his tongue. Swiftnick needed to think it through for himself for he would never accept Turpin’s orders on the subject of what was best for Charlotte. "What do you think would happen?" he responded deliberately.

Swiftnick gazed at him dubiously, sipping his milk again. "She’d either be horrified and never speak to me again. Or she’d think it terribly romantic and want to run off with me."

Dick nodded slowly. "Exactly..."

"I can’t tell her, can I?" Swiftnick said gloomily. "If I tell her and she’s upset, she’ll never trust any man ever again. And the running off bit’s obviously impossible. What would I tell my mother? My mother would kill me!"

"And me," Dick muttered darkly under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I think you’re being very grown up about it, lad. I'm glad you don't want to hurt her."

Swiftnick didn't answer, but sipped his milk and let Turpin go back to his reading. "Why aren’t you yelling at me?" he said suddenly at last.

"Would it do any good?" Dick asked in mild curiosity.

"No."

"No point then, is there? You can’t help it."

"You know that?"

"Been there, done that. As long as you don’t go hurting yourself or thinking you can handle an elopement or anything else stupid, I’ll stay out of your way." Dick paused, staring at the page in front of him. "But I’ll still be here. If you need to talk like...."

"Dick?"

"Aye?"

"Thank you...."

Turpin sniffed. "Oh, drink your milk and get some sleep....I’ll wake you up in time for your dinner...."

* * *

Swiftnick stirred restlessly, aware of the wind whistling tunelessly around the eaves of the inn. The first coach had arrived that afternoon, bringing news that the roads had cleared in the bright sunshine and brisk wind. An hour later a second one had arrived from the opposite direction, confirming the news and bringing fresh broadsheets that Turpin and Somerville both pounced on like starving men.

Swiftnick had been allowed to come down to the parlour for a fine dinner of best lamb, vegetables, crisp batter pudding and roast potatoes with a lemon syllabub to follow. He had joined the others in playing cards for a while, his eyes drawn to Charlotte at every chance, but at the edge of his attention he was aware of a restless increasing tension in Turpin. Dick wasn't used to being in one place for long. The man could relax and do nothing with the best of them, but being snow bound was not to his liking and the highwayman was starting to feel trapped. Swiftnick felt it too, a restlessness that spoke of a good straight road and a fast horse and a coach to rob to spice the night.

Melville had wisely decided not to join them, eating alone in his room but claiming some of the broadsheets for himself. Swiftnick was glad of that, he was still in two minds as to whether to be afraid of the man or furious with him.

The ladies went off to bed early as Somerville had decided that they would make an early start for home the next day’ an announcement that drew Charlotte’s languishing looks to Swiftnick. Under the watchful eyes of all three chaperones, Swiftnick could only smile back at her forlornly and hope to get a few words with her before they left. Surely Somerville wouldn't begrudge them that.

Bereft by Charlotte’s disappearance and imminent departure, Swiftnick soon went to his own room, more of Lizzie’s hot milk and the comfort of his book. Dick arrived an hour or so later, bright eyed with enthusiasm.

"I'm going out, lad," he told him.

"Out?" Swiftnick sat up in bed. He had taken off his shoes, but hadn't bothered to undress yet and had wrapped a blanket around him for warmth.

"Aye, out. Somerville is of a mind to check the roads and I've of a mind to join him."

Swiftnick gazed at him wide eyed. "What? Now? In the dark? You’re not going to rob anyone, are you?" he asked in alarm.

"With Somerville there to watch? Don’t be daft!"

"Even so..."

Dick leaned closer, his eyes alight with the wicked glow of deviltry. He wanted, needed to get away from the inn and its confinement and its occupants. To be himself, to feel alone with the wind and the darkness and the road...

"I won’t rob anyone without you," he promised with a grin.

"I’ll come with you."

The deviltry faded from Turpin’s eyes to be replaced with the quick flash of concern. "Ah, no, you won’t."

"Don't you trust me?" Swiftnick pouted.

"I don't trust you not to get a chill."

"I won't get a chill...."

"No, you won't, because you’re staying here. And I promise not to ride off and abandon you. All right?"

Swiftnick grimaced in chagrin that Turpin should know his fears so well. "You’ll be careful?"

Dick laughed the crazy wild laugh that Swiftnick knew so well. The wind had got under Turpin’s skin and, like a kite, he had to be off and away. "Yes. I’ll be back for you." He whirled away, vanishing into his room to emerge clad in his back cloak and hat and with his pistols primed and ready in his belt as he buckled on his sword.

"Somerville’s going to suspect something if you go out like that!" Swiftnick exclaimed in dismay.

"Aye, he will. That I won't be attacked by footpads," Dick chuckled. "He’ll be armed himself, he told me so. Suggested I armed myself likewise. You stay here, Swiftnick. No riding after me."

"The mood you’re in, you might shoot me for a shadow," Swiftnick muttered sourly, folding his arms.

Dick’s eyes sparkled with a dangerous light. "’Tis the wind, lad, ‘tis the wind making me tingle to be free." He patted the youth’s knee through the blanket and whirled away to the door. "No flirting with your lady friend while I'm gone," he warned with a wink and then he was gone, leaving Swiftnick unsettled to the warmth and shadow play of the candle lit room.

That had been several hours ago and Swiftnick was getting uneasy. He knew Dick was perfectly capable of looking after himself, with or without the encumbrance of Somerville. But the wind sounded strong enough to be dangerous and there was still a chance of more snow.

Sliding out of bed, Swiftnick slid his feet into his shoes and padded over to the window to peer out into the darkness. A few solitary flakes of snow whisked past on the window, but the sky was black with vibrant white stars glittering high overhead. He could see the dark outline of the trees scraping the sky beyond the walls of the stable yard, tossing in the wind...

Unable to return quietly back to bed, Swiftnick scooped up his candle then unlocked the door and let himself out onto the landing. Turpin had his own key to the other door and had advised his apprentice to keep his door locked to guard against the chance of Melville coming prowling while he was gone.

The inn was quiet, hushed by night and the threatening gusts of wind. The candles had been extinguished and the one Swiftnick carried fluttered and danced, setting shadows leaping to partner its light across the walls. Stepping lightly so as not to wake anyone, Swiftnick crept along the landing, finding his way across the creaking floorboards to the stairs and then down towards the ground floor.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but like Turpin, felt the restless call of the road crooning to him. He envied Turpin his freedom and wished he could have gone with him. Sometimes the restraints Dick put on him chafed him sore.

Melville’s voice floated to his ears, too soft to be heard beyond the parlour door if the inn had not been so quiet.

"Charlotte, listen to me, my love. It was the only way. No, don’t go..."

A rustle of cloth, a little gasp...

Swiftnick tensed, stalking towards the door.

"I love you, my darling. I could not stand to let you go without seeing you again," Melville continued on, pressing his suit. "I understand why you have submitted to Somerville. I know how he frightens you. But we can go now. The roads are clear."

"Go where?" Charlotte whispered and Swiftnick halted with his hand on the door, suddenly wondering if he had the right to intrude. Perhaps she really did love Melville...

"To Gretna Green," Melville answered briskly.

"But Gretna Green is miles and miles away," Charlotte exclaimed, sounding horrified. "I asked Cora. And it’s so cold! I'm sure we would end in a ditch."

"Don't be a silly goose! We will not drive straight there, but stop along the way at another inn...."

"I could not travel without a maid...."

"We will travel as husband and wife....You will not need a maid."

Charlotte made a choking sound. "Rupert, I cannot...." she exclaimed. "I have no wish to be your wife."

"But I will be your husband....." Melville growled. "To start with, a kiss...."

"Let go of me!"

At the sound of Charlotte’s frightened squeak, Swiftnick’s temper surged and he slammed the door open, striding into the room on a tidal wave of outrage. His startling appearance allowed Charlotte to rip herself out of Melville’s arms to run to the young highwayman’s side.

"Oh, Nicholas! Thank goodness!"

Swiftnick juggled girl and candle for a fleeting moment and then hastily set the candle down on a convenient dresser.

"You again? I might have known!" Melville exclaimed in exasperation, glowering at him. His eyes were too bright and his face flushed.

"I think he’s been drinking," Charlotte whispered.

"I agree with you. You’d better go back to your room."

"Oh no!" Melville moved sharply to block the exit, turning the key in the lock. "Not yet. I will finish what I have to say first."

Charlotte clutched at Swiftnick’s arm. "I thought he was you..." she whimpered.

"He doesn't look anything like me," Swiftnick pointed out, confused and somewhat insulted.

"No, no, he sent me a message asking me to meet him here. I thought it was from you!"

"Little hussy...." Melville hissed.

"Don’t talk to her like that!" Swiftnick snapped angrily.

"Well, what else would you call her? Running to meet you? Do you really think it makes any difference whether it’s you or me?"

"Yes, it makes a difference," Swiftnick said quietly, glancing at the lovely face turned imploringly to his. "She’s full of romantic ideas, not reality. Meeting me is a lot different to meeting you. You’re old enough to know better. She can trust me, not you."

"Insults!" Melville spat.

"Truth," Swiftnick shot back. "You tricked her into coming here. I’d never have sent her a message. I suppose you put my name to your note to fool her?"

Melville flushed slightly as Charlotte made an outraged little noise. "She wouldn't have come...."

"Exactly. She doesn't trust you now she knows you better." Swiftnick drew himself up. "Now, stand aside, sir. I think it would be best if we all forget about this. You’re obviously drunk."

Melville however scowled and took a step towards him. "No, I think not, my spoilt little friend," he growled. "I am not as drunk as you think. Let me explain something to you, to both of you...." He slid an appealing look at Charlotte as she attempted to hide behind Swiftnick and softened his voice. "When I met Charlotte I thought her perfection itself."

Swiftnick shot a quick look at Charlotte, seeing her eyes widening in rapt attention. She was very susceptible to flattery, something Swiftnick felt himself at a loss to give her. How could he explain the fluttery feelings she gave him when he couldn’t even express them to himself?

Melville gazed at her, pleadingly. "I had never seen such beauty, such sweetness, such innocence....I could think of nothing else but that I must have her...."

"And her money?" Swiftnick suggested with poisonous sweetness, surprising himself.

Charlotte frowned uncertainly, looking at him as her little fantasy was shattered.

"No, no, you wrong me...." Melville said hastily.

"It never even crossed your mind?" Swiftnick asked with bitter sarcasm. "Why the rush to elope with her then? Why carry her off when she upset, pretending to take her to her friends? Why not persuade her to reconcile herself with Somerville? Why not wait and show them all that you wanted Charlotte for herself and not for her wealth?"

"Because she deserves to love where she chooses. Why should she go without when she has money?"

"And you do not...." Charlotte said quietly.

"It didn't matter to you before..."

Charlotte took a deep breath, lifting her chin proudly. "No, not when I thought you really loved me. Or when I thought I loved you..." She glanced shyly at Swiftnick. "I was mistaken."

"You’d choose a stripling over a real man?!" Melville exploded in outrage.

"That would depend on who is the real man," Charlotte whispered and she gave Melville a hurt look. "I have been foolish, yes, but I am not a fool. Peregrine is right. You are a fortune hunter. You would have taken advantage of me at the first opportunity. It is a hard lesson to learn that not everyone can be trusted, even when you think you know them. I have played at love and lost. Perhaps next time I will; realise it is not a game."

Swiftnick gazed at her in mingled surprise and admiration. Melville however snorted in disgust.

"Oh, fancy words, my love," he mocked. "The truth is, you’ll end up with whoever got the fanciest title and the richest purse. Only they don’t call it fortune hunting, they call it match making. And don't go thinking pretty Nicholas there will ever stand a chance of winning Somerville over. He doesn't have the title to hook him."

Charlotte blushed and ducked her head as Swiftnick glared at him. "You go too far, Melville," he snapped.

"Do I? Or do I not go far enough? Charlotte, your reputation is already irretrievably lost. If I leave here without you, I will ensure that it is in tatters by telling everyone how I enjoyed your favours."

Swiftnick’s fists clenched in fury, but to his astonishment it was Charlotte who moved first. Her slim hand cracked across Melville’s supercilious face with a snap like breaking glass.

"How dare you!" she blazed.

"I dare!" Melville exploded back at her, touching his burning cheek. "I am obsessed by you! I have been able to think of nothing else but bedding you since we met! Somerville will have to relent when he presented with a fait accompli...."

Blushing in embarrassed rage, Charlotte once more swung at his face, but this time Melville caught her wrist in a cruel grip. At her little cry of pain, Swiftnick jolted forward, then froze as Rupert twisted the girl’s arm behind her back and held her close to him.

"No, my young swain," Melville warned grimly. "You will stay out of this like a good little boy."

Swiftnick tensed at the sneer in his voice. "I will do such thing. If you want to save your own reputation you’ll let her go before I call for help..."

"Go ahead and call," Melville urged with a curl of his lip. "Do you think I didn't take precautions? A few drops of laudanum and no one will know anything." He bent his head, his lips close to Charlotte’s flinching ear. "Did you think the flirtatious little Cora would say no to a sip of wine with your bereft beau when I slipped my note under your pillow? How did you think you slipped past here? Or dear Eleanor?"

"You are a monster...." Charlotte quavered.

"Merely a very determined man, my dear," Melville purred. He lifted his head again to catch Swiftnick’s eyes. "Stand aside, boy."

"How far do you think you’ll get?" Swiftnick argued.

"Far enough to find an inn and finish what I started," Melville answered coldly. "Come Charlotte, your carriage awaits...."

Charlotte shrieked and twisted, attempting to reach over her shoulder to claw his face. Cursing, Melville grabbed for her wrist, struggling to hold her still. Seeing his chance, Swiftnick dodged in close and threw a punch over the girl’s shoulder.

Shocked more by the youth's temerity in hitting him than actual pain, Melville loosened his grip on Charlotte, allowing Swiftnick to yank her bodily out of his arms and push her behind him.

"Run...." he urged.

"You little.....!" Melville flung himself at Swiftnick, grabbing for a hold on the agile youth. Swiftnick ducked, dodging out of range of the bigger man’s swinging fists. Dick had taught his apprentice quite a bit about fighting, but even more about surviving. One of the first lessons was, if forced into fight with a bigger man, staying out of reach and letting his opponent wear himself down. Melville was swinging in rage, wine and emotion wiping out all science, but Swiftnick had little doubt he would be the one to suffer if any of those punches connected. All he could do was keep him so angry that he forgot the sword he was wearing and angle Melville around so that Charlotte could slip out the door while the older man wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, Charlotte didn't seem to intend to move away from the chair she was sheltering behind and was watching the fight anxiously, urging Swiftnick on with little gasps and cries of encouragement.

She thinks we’re fighting over her! Swiftnick realised in exasperation and totally missed the next punch that clipped the side of his head as he hastily attempted to duck at the last second. Stunned by the blow, he staggered, then doubled up in pain as Melville seized his chance and hammered a punch into his midriff.

Gasping in pain and feeling breathless from the blow, Swiftnick dropped to one knee then fell all the way to the carpet and rolled, frantically avoiding Melville’s attempt to kick him. Clutching his middle, he struggled up as Melville paused to catch his balance, then desperately hurtled forward and head-butted the bigger man in the stomach, returning the favour of his blow.

With a whuff of sound, Melville doubled up and lurched back, gasping curses.

Eyes narrowed, Swiftnick looked round, grabbed up the poker from the fireplace and started after him, meaning to drive him from the room. "I'm warning you, take your carriage and go!"

Melville looked up sharply and shook out one arm, sliding a hideaway pistol from its concealed holster on his wrist.

Swiftnick skidded to a halt then flung himself frantically aside as the pistol went off, the noisy blast filling the room with smoke and sound. Charlotte started screaming in terror as Swiftnick crashed against a cabinet of dainty painted crockery, fine wood and glass crunching as he slid to the floor. She made a dash to his side as Melville gaped, looking quite appalled by what he had done. Then he took a step towards the girl, eyes narrowing in deliberation....

The door crashed open and Turpin stood there, flinging off his cloak to land in a pool of darkness around his feet....

Turpin had heard the shot as he approached the inn on foot. He had put Black Bess in the stable and rubbed her down briskly, flinging a blanket over her. Experience had taught him to care for his horse quickly and efficiently, while Somerville was still grooming his borrowed mount. Dick was also puzzled by the absence of the hostler, who would normally have turned out of his rooms over the tack room to attend to the arrivals.

The flickering lights in the parlour had attracted Turpin’s attention as he crossed the yard. The wind was still strong, but the restless urge had been lulled by the brisk ride through the frosty moon spun night. Now he was alert for danger, curious about the lights when the inn had been in darkness when they left. Some hardy drinkers making a late arrival perhaps? It was possible but he doubted it somehow.

The sound of the shot as he reached the door had Turpin leaping inside, arrowing straight for the parlour. Reaching the door and hearing Charlotte sobbing, he kicked the door open and stepped inside, shedding his cloak in one practised move as his dark eyes swept the room.

Swiftnick lying in a heap against a broken cabinet. Blood on his shirt as he stirred weakly.... Alive then....

A hysterical Charlotte kneeling beside him and shredding bits of petticoat...

Melville reaching for her with a look of intense irritation on his face....

"Melville...." Turpin hissed and drew his sword. He had suddenly found what had been missing from the night, a chance to release his pent up frustrations in a decent fight.

Melville jumped and swung around to stare at him. He waved the pistol. "I can explain," he said hastily.

"Can you?" Turpin glided forward, smooth as a cat on the prowl.

"Stop where you are!" Melville pointed the pistol at him.

"I know it’s empty," Dick growled. "I heard the shot...."

"The boy fired at me!"

"He doesn't have a concealed pistol...." Turpin purred, stalking closer.

Agile as a frog, Melville leapt backwards, dropped the pistol and drew his own sword, levelling it at Turpin’s chest in warning. "I warn you, sirrah, I am an excellent swordsman and I have had enough of your petty threats! Stay where you are!"

Turpin gave him a cat like grin. "Do I look like a man to be fooled by idle boasting?" he asked quietly.

Melville swallowed hard. "The boy is jealous of Charlotte’s love of me. He attacked me! I had no choice...."

"But to fire on an unarmed youth half your size?" Dick asked sarcastically, his eyes glittering as the wind whirled once more through his senses. He wanted to race the moon, but he would settle for a fight and vengeance to the harm done to his apprentice. "I think not...." Quick as a whip, he moved, sword point stabbing and sliding, flicking aside Melville’s prompt parry to rip his jacket sleeve.

Melville twisted and riposted, driving Dick back a step.

Turpin smiled, moving only to find space to fight and batting aside his follow through with innate skill . He stood his ground when Melville strode to drive him back, a glittering half smile on his lips that never touched his eyes as he let Melville fling himself against the web of steel he wove around himself.

Melville had had a good teacher. He fought well. But he was showy, inclined to arrogance in his moves believing that he was better than any opponent. Turpin had had good teachers too, but he had learned to fight for his life, not for sport. When Melville attempted to lure him into a trap with a deliberate opening, Dick moved back, taunting him. When Melville used a cunning feint and lunge, Turpin read and met it, mocking him with casual defeat of the trick. When Melville slammed forward in a deliberate malicious attack to run him through, Turpin turned aside his blade, pinked him in the leg and goaded him onwards.

"Best you can do?" he sneered. "Miss Somerville could do better than that!"

With a cry of fury, Melville lost control and went for him, in a slashing, beating attack that held no finesse and only sheer rage.

Dick fell back, a little startled by what he had provoked and suddenly on the defensive. When had he had time to think about it, he would berate himself for his own arrogance, right then he was too busy fighting to hold him off. Then Melville gave him an opening, this time a genuine one and Dick took it, sliding his own blade along Melville and with a savagely skilled twist of his wrist, flicking the sword from Rupert’s hand.

Melville howled in rage, attempted to lunge after the blade and froze as Turpin’s sword point pricked his throat, drawing blood....

Dick froze too, breathing hard with excitement as he looked into Melville’s madly flickering eyes and smiled in lethal satisfaction....

At that moment Melville represented all those conniving monsters who thought themselves better than everyone else, who thought that everyone must bend a knee to them....

"Don’t kill him, man!" Somerville’s voice came from far away. Too far too be important. There was nothing but the singing of the wind and the point of his sword.

"Dick!" Swiftnick’s voice cracked on the half warning, half reproachful hail, calling him back from the precipice.

With a growl of irritation at his own lack of self control, Dick responded to that call and stepped back smartly. "You’re not worth it," he snapped in disgust.

Melville jerked in insulted outrage; half started after the sword then froze as he spotted Somerville. His lordship was aiming a rather fine duelling pistol at him.

Dick flicked a glance at him, not surprised that he had missed his arrival while deep in his concentration on the fight. Allowing yourself to be distracted during a fight was a good way to get yourself killed. "I dare say, his pistol is loaded. So I suggest you sit down, Melville," he said icily.

"Would someone care to explain what is going on here?" Somerville demanded as Melville collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands as he slumped in defeat.

"Oh, please! Nicholas is terribly badly hurt!" Charlotte wailed, finally finding her voice.

At that, Dick was at his young partner’s side like a shot. Swiftnick had propped himself up against the cabinet and was starting to catch his breath.

"I'm not," he whispered to Turpin as Dick leant over him in alarm. "But she’s got ankles...really pretty ones too....and legs...."

Dick glanced at the girl, who was indeed displaying a nicely turned ankle as her slippered foot peeped out from under her torn petticoat. The white fabric itself was pressed against Swiftnick’s ribs.

"Aye, you usually find that ankles come attached to legs," Dick said dryly as he peeled aside blood soaked shirt and torn petticoat to examine his apprentice. The bullet had scoured his ribs, leaving a messy but fortunately not deep scrape that was bleeding profusely. "How did you think girls walk?"

Swiftnick grinned shakily at him. "With a sort of wriggle," he confided.

Dick lifted his head and met Swiftnick’s somewhat dazed blue eyes. "Aye, you certainly are all right," he said gruffly as he pressed the petticoat firmly back into place. Swiftnick winced and paled a bit. "He’ll be fine, Miss Somerville."

"Oh but, he’s been so brave...." Charlotte quavered, her hands fluttering with an effort not to get her blood stained fingers on her skirts.

"Heroic though it might seem if it was otherwise, I'm very grateful it isn’t. He really isn't that badly hurt; fortunately for Melville." Turpin gave Melville a dark look as he continued, "A clean up and a bit of a bandage will soon set him right.," Dick assured her, glancing over at Somerville who was scowling as he divided his attention between guarding Melville and eyeing his ward. Noting where Swiftnick’s eyes had wandered, Dick leaned over and tugged Charlotte’s skirt back down over her foot. She blushed furiously a Dick grinned at her. "I thank you for your care, my dear, but I suspect I'm not the only one who wants to know what’s been going on...."

* * *

Standing in the shelter of the inn door the following morning, Swiftnick watched Somerville’s carriage being turned around in the yard to collect its passengers. Melville had already left, a defeated man. He had spent the night locked in his own room under the alternating guard of Turpin and Somerville’s grim guard. Quite what they had said to him, Swiftnick didn’t know, but Melville had been thoroughly cowed when he left. The young highwayman rather doubted that he would bother Charlotte again.

The very thought of her hurt and Swiftnick half turned to go back into the warmth of the inn, his sore ribs twinging. The night before, Turpin had washed and poulticed and bandaged him thoroughly, leaving him barely able to move. The herbal slave he used had stung a little at first, but soon soothed the wound to the point where he had been able to fall asleep. His side was stiff now and he had a few bruises from the fight with Melville, but on the whole, if it hadn't been for the thought of Charlotte, he would have been in fairly good mood.

"Nicholas...." She was suddenly there, dainty hands clasped in front of her as she gazed up at him from under her fur trimmed hood. "I only have a moment. I slipped away from Eleanor to say goodbye to you in private."

Gulping, Swiftnick took the hand she extended to him and bent to kiss it in instinctive awe of her beauty. Looking up at her again, he felt himself stripped bare by wonder and opened his mouth to tell her the truth. "Charlotte, I...."

"No!" She stepped forward, drawing her hand free to press her fingers against his lips. "I know what you’re going to say."

"You do....?" Swiftnick stammered in shock, suddenly alarmed at her knowing.

"We’re too young to be promised to each other. It was foolish of me to think we could make it so by wishing. Like Romeo and Juliet we must be parted. And parting is such sweet sorrow, I cannot bear to say goodbye. Please, do not be hurt. We can be friends."

Swiftnick felt weak in relief. She didn’t know he was a highwayman! And now he was glad he hadn't told her everything. "I shall treasure the very thought of you..." he heard himself saying.

Her lovely violet eyes sparkled with sudden tears.

"Charlotte! Where are you?" Eleanor called. "We must be going..."

Swiftnick glanced over his shoulder into the yard, seeing Eleanor beside the carriage with Somerville and Turpin talking quietly beside her.

"Oh, Nicholas, I...." With a sudden whisper of silk and a drift of some faint sweet perfume, Charlotte suddenly pressed her lips to his, a kiss so sweet it swept Swiftnick’s senses away with its tantalising yet innocent promise. He put his arm around her slim waist, held her lightly as some fragile butterfly then reluctantly let her go as she drew back. She touched her fingers to her lips in wonderment for a moment, blushing, then with a smile of pure mischief, she was gone, dancing out across the slick cobbles to the carriage to be helped inside by her guardian.

Swiftnick stared after her, his lips still tingling from the touch of hers, his body filled by a sweet ache....

He saw her wave from the window as Somerville swung the carriage onto the road, watching until it vanished from sight, then he turned and fled back into the inn...

* * *

Turpin opened the bedroom door quietly an hour or so later. He had seen his apprentice’s flight and said nothing, had let him go and seek his solace in silence. When he estimated the lad had had time to settle a little, he went to stir him out of hiding. He found the youth curled up in the window seat, staring out at the grey chill day. He half turned his head as Dick came in, then turned away again.

Setting down the bottle he carried, Dick poured a measure of good cognac into each of the two glasses he held in his free hand and strolled over to the window. Swiftnick looked up at him defiantly.

"If you’re going to say I'm too young to be in love, don’t," he said belligerently.

"I wasn't going to," Dick said quietly, offering him the cognac. "If you’re in love, you obviously are old enough."

Swiftnick stared at the glass. "Don't make fun of me either...."

"I wasn’t going to," Dick answered, proffering the glass again. This time Swiftnick took it and moved his feet so Dick could sit down on the edge of the window seat.

"I don’t know how I feel..." he mumbled, staring at the golden liquid in the crystal glass in confusion. Dick never gave him alcohol normally. This felt like a offer of consolation between men. Part of him was grateful for it, part of him wished someone would cuddle him and chase away the sadness.

"But it hurts?" Dick suggested.

Swiftnick took a sip of the cognac and sighed. "Aches...."

Turpin nodded. "Yes...."

"Are you going to say you warned me?"

"No. Love has no respect for a man’s wishes," Dick said softly. "I could say lots of things, that it stops hurting after a while, that someone else will come along, but they’re nothing but platitudes."

Swiftnick wrinkled his nose and shifted, letting his feet drop to the floor so he could sit beside Turpin. "Does getting drunk help?"

"No, not really," Dick answered. "Its still there, right along with the hangover. And the hangover only makes you feel worse. You want to give it a go?"

Shaking his head, Swiftnick took another sip of the cognac, feeling its warmth ease a little of the frosty feeling inside him. "I’ll miss her, you know?"

"Of course you will," Dick agreed.

"Maybe I’ll see her again. Maybe I’ll find a way to go to her ball..."

"Maybe," Turpin inclined his head, hoping Swiftnick would come to see the futility of tormenting himself with dreams. He thought he would. He was young after all. Charlotte would either become his dream woman or he would remember her flaws and let her slip away. He thought it would be the latter.

"You thought she was an idiot."

"Not entirely.

"She was...."

"Unworldly...." Dick said, glancing at him his young friend with a faint rueful smile for his impatience. "You’re not. You’re older than her."

"We’re the same age." Swiftnick said, confused.

"Still older...in...experience. She thought herself in a fairytale. You know better."

"So does she now," Swiftnick murmured, saddened.

"It’s called growing up. You need a girl with sharp wits with who you can be yourself. But there’s no need to hurry. At your age, love is supposed to be for fun."

Swiftnick twirled the glass between his hands and sighed.

Dick eyed him askance and lightly draped an arm across his shoulders. "Want to go and rob someone?" he suggested teasingly. "It always make me feel better. And I heard there’s a nice ripe coach or two on the way...."

Swiftnick gazed back at him and, despite his inclination to mope, found himself grinning. "Maybe we could catch up with Melville and rob him."

"Not worth your powder and shot," Dick assured him. "Want some lunch? Lizzie’s done roast beef with all the trimmings....."

Swiftnick considered this and then nodded. "I am hungry," he admitted.

"Good lad," Dick plucked the glass from his fingers and set it aside. "I asked her to make you a pudding too."

Swiftnick looked at him in surprise, reading the affection and understanding in his dark eyes. "You did?"

"I believe you said Mary always makes you jam roly-poly when you need cheering up," Dick said awkwardly.

"Ah Dick!" Swiftnick shifted, burrowing against the older man and wrapping his arms around his waist, needing the solid comfort of the older man’s strength and support.

Dick gave him a self conscious hug in response and ruffled his hair affectionately. "It’ll be all right, Swiftnick. Promise," he said gently, patting his shoulder. "I said I’d be here for you..."

Swiftnick lifted his head, snuffled once and then pulled away determinedly, grateful for Dick’s affection but suddenly uncomfortable at behaving so young and vulnerable. "Dinner will be getting cold," he said briskly as he slid to his feet and trotted over to the door. "Coming?"

"Aye, lad." Dick got up as Swiftnick darted outside, the floorboards squeaking as he raced off, hoping to outrun the hurt by being busy.

Ambling after him, Turpin found himself smiling, sympathising with how it felt to feel that way. If Swiftnick was hungry, then he would be fine. He could have done worse than fall for someone as sweet Charlotte, even if she was an idiot. Light of step and spirits lifting at the thought of being free of the inn, Dick stretched his legs and followed his apprentice, feeling oddly warm inside at the knowledge that Swiftnick would turn to his friend to be his guide and comfort when he needed him.

oooOooo