Forbidden Love

The Highwayman

From her window Bess could see branches of trees dancing with the wind and clawing at the night sky. Her father had always said that the wind was a dark spirit. It was locked in purgatory for the sins it committed in life, moaning its pain to the living. It shrieked over the moor and traced icy fingers along the spines of travellers. A gust caught her raven hair and threw it past her shoulders and she shuddered. Despite her shaking, Bess would not leave the window. She was waiting for someone. He came under the cover of night, as he had a dark secret that was reflected in her black eyes. The immoral things he had done only enticed her further. Minutes dragged by whenever he was gone. It was strange how she could love such a man when she barely knew him at all.
An echo in the dark was carried on the breeze. The sound made her lean forward and stare as far as she could down the dirt road that ran beside her window. She heard no gunshots, no shouts of alarm, only the faint thud of the stallion’s hooves as they brought her love closer. This time he was safe. She saw the black of his mount then quickly withdrew her head from her window, hastily barring the shutters.
She checked her appearance once in her mirror, then returned to the window where the sounds of the horse grew louder.  He reached the cobbles of the inn-yard and the shoes of the horse clashed and clattered towards her room. The words of a man coaxed the horse to stop, and silence returned.
The wind whistled through gaps in the wood and the sounds from the rowdy customers downstairs reached her ears. An answering shout from her father silenced the roar of the inn. A sharp tap on the wood’s shutters made her jump. Bess ignored it with a faint smile and reached for a dark red ribbon she had upon her bed. A faint whistled melody slipped through the shutters. One that she had heard before. It was a tune that she imagined when she was alone, and that haunted her dreams.
Her heart skipped a beat as she flung open the shutters and he sat there on his horse. He had a hat upon his head that hid his eyes in shadow. There was lace at his chin and he wore a coat of crimson velvet. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his jacket and not a spot of mud on his doe-skin breeches. His rapier and pistol butts twinkled under the light of the moon in the jewelled sky.
He stropped whistling and grinned up at her silhouette in the window. She caught his smile with her eyes, and it was engraved in her memory and infected her heart. Bess saw herself reflected in his eyes. She saw a girl of seventeen, with tangled black hair and bone-china skin. She was a little breathless and her chest rose and fell in her red dress. Her eyes were wide and their infinite darkness invited him to look inside.
Surprised by what she saw, she swept up her hair and begun to braid it, weaving in the ruby ribbon with practised movements. He laughed then, a deep heavy laugh that swept away the cold.
“I missed you,” he said, and she had to lean closer to hear him. He swept his hat off his head and twisted his neck so Bess could see his cheek. Scarlet tears fell down his face because of a deep blade cut beneath his left eye. “I came close to death today. I was distracted with wasted thoughts of you. I should have been watching the road, but was instead dreaming of your smile. Give me back my mind!”
“Oh?” Haughtily, Bess turned away from the man. “So any thoughts you have of me are wasted. Then I return your mind to you sir, if I am not welcome there.”
He laughed again and hastily beckoned her back. “I mean that, while you are the very air I breathe, you have more pressing matters that consume your time than a mere criminal.”
She turned back to him, and ignoring the teasing light in his eyes, answered, “My love is real. It is blood. With every heartbeat you swell inside my soul.”
Without knowing why, he watched her, smiling. She stood taking in the moment and things seem to slow to a crawl.
Then the silence was broken by a thump as something fell to the ground. Startled, Bess turned, only to see the shadow of a fox run across the dirt road. Satisfied, she looked back, only to find he was still staring suspiciously to the corner of her fathers inn.
“I must leave you,” he said at last. He turned back to her to see her finish the love knot in her hair. “I wish I could take you with me, instead of a reflection.”
“You do not have to go,” she told him with an empty glance. “I love you for richer or poorer.”
He frowned. “I will not have you sleeping on a bed of straw.” His face softened. “This will be the last. When I return I will give you a better life we can share together. But if they press me sharply, and chase me through the day, look for me by moonlight, Bess. I will be back for you. Though hell should bar the way.”
“Come back to me,” she whispered into the wind.
He whistled a tune to her and stood upright in his stirrups, reaching for her hand. She was too far away to kiss on the mouth, but she took his hand and pressed her lips against it. She took a deep breath as if to breathe him in, and tasted him on her lips. She felt his heartbeat through her skin, then the wind snatched her red ribbon from her hair and the night swallowed it. He kissed her black waves of perfume and with a promise he galloped away to the west, chasing the ribbon and the sun.
* * *
Tim had heard their promises with shadows over his heart. Bitterly he watched them as they disappeared in each others eyes and basked in their multicoloured existence. Darkness grew inside him in fading shades of grey, and life had sucked away all the colours in his world. You’re not here, whispered a spiteful voice in his head. You’ve never really been here at all. He was so afraid he would die alone.
He scowled and ran stubby fingers through his hair that was like mouldy hay. Fire withered his heart and blistered his soul. He grew angry, listening to words snatched from his head, things he couldn’t say. Why would she ever love him? Tim was an ostler; someone who could give her nothing. Promise her nothing. Tim felt like a stain, tainting her perfect world.
So he swallowed the hate betrayal and the lies and stored them all inside the dark side of his heart.
He sneaked a glance around the corner at the figures standing in the light, to see Bess turn away from the rider. His heart leapt to his throat when he heard her say, “So any thoughts you have of me are wasted. Then I return your mind to you sir, if I am not welcome there.” How could he say such things to her?! She was an angel; perfect, pure… it was impossible to think of anything else.
The Rider’s reply broke his heart. “I mean that, while you are the very air I breathe, you have more pressing matters that consume your time then a mere criminal.”
Tim turned round the corner again and sunk dejectedly to the floor. So the rider did love her. And this man could offer her so much more… but… he had said… criminal. Could he be… Tim jumped again to his feet to glance again at the rider. His scarlet coat, his spotless boots. A pistol and rapier at his side. Tim lent farther forwards, his eyes hollows of madness. The rake he rested on fell to the ground.
The sound stopped conversation and silence begun to scream inside his head. A fox ran by his side and across the road. Tim waited a second. Then another. Then conversation began again. Tim began to breathe again, fear of discovery leaving him.
As the Highwayman rode away Tim heard him say; “look for me by moonlight.” A malicious smile played across his mouth. Bess was an angle; perfect, pure… but she was naïve. With whispered verses of feigning love he stole her heart. Tim had to prove to her he was wrong for her. That the highwayman would take her by the hand and lead her to hell.
* * *
Bess waited for him. She sat at her window for the most part, watching the weather change. She waited through sunrise, and noon. Then, out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, she heard the dull thud of the boots of marching soldiers. Curious and slightly worried, Bess lent out the window and stared into the sun, shielding her eyes with her arm. She watched until her eyes could take no more, and a half-score of redcoat troops came marching into view.
She watched as they trooped past the window and walked up to the old inn door. One glared straight into her eyes and smirked. It froze her heartbeat. Without a word to her father, the landlord, they stepped through the door.
Silently she sat at her mirror braiding her hair, listening to the sounds of the inn downstairs. Why were they here? Surely they could not have found out about him? She brushed aside her anxiety. They were probably just here to “inspect” her fathers products like they had last summer.
Relaxing, Bess busied herself with her hair.
A sharp tap on her door quickly sent her to her feet. “Who is it?” Her voice sounded calm, almost serene. She hoped whoever was on the other side couldn’t hear her ragged breathing. There was no reply. Slowly, Bess pressed the palm of her hand on her chest to prevent her heart jumping into her throat. She walked over to the door and leant her ear against the wood listening for any betrayal of who was there. The door burst open, giving her a sharp blow to the head. She fell to the floor and her room turned black.
* * *
Wiggling her fingers she slowly woke. The pain in her head was all she felt. She tired to move her arms up to touch her face, but something held them fast. She was on her knees tied to a post of her narrow bed. Then she heard voices.
“Have you heard the Tale of the Highwayman?” The man stood at her side. He twisted his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. “It’s a true story. I’ll think you’ll like it. It’s about a man who donned a mask when the moon was full and stalked the roads on a mount from hell. This Highwayman did the work of the devil himself, until the noble soldiers of King George chased him down…and he was hung for his sins.” Bess sobbed and tears of terror fell from her eyes.
The captain pulled her hair and whispered with breath that smelt of decay, “Now keep good watch.” His words froze her heart. “We will take back what your highwayman stole from us. He will pay us with his blood.” He roughly tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast then wandered to a table to play cards with the soldiers. All but two had left.
They had left the window open, and she could see the dirt highway. She looked with a pain in her chest at the road that he would ride.
Night had fallen and darkness stood in the corners. There was Death at that window, Hell stood in the lengthening shadows. She heard her love say “look for me by moonlight, Bess. I will be back for you. Though hell should bar the way!”
In panic, she twisted her hands behind her, but the rope that held her was strong. The sweat on her fingers mixed with blood. She stretched and strained in the dark of her room and hours crawled past like years. The only noise she could make was a whimper, which sent King Georges men shaking with mirth.
She couldn’t remember feeling anything but this fear. She knew exactly what was in store, and the knowing made it worse. Her screams were silent, echoing inside the emptiness of her head. Her hands finally reached the gun, but she could move no further. Her wrists burnt, she couldn’t breath, she felt everything slipping away.
He would die, and everything they had strived for would have been pointless. And her life would be worthless without him.
Then in the night she saw a shadow in the west. No one would travel that road at night, for fear of the Highwaymen. There was no one else it could be.
Could she survive without him? A tear fell down her cheek. She had to warn him. There was danger here, death awaited him.
With the tip of her finger she touched it, the trigger finally in reach. So she looked as far as she was able, with the barrel of the musket beneath her chest. The blood in her veins throbbed to her love’s refrain.
The hooves raced closer… had the soldiers heard it? The trotting ringing clear. It echoed in the distance! Were they deaf and could not hear?! She stood up straight and still.
The horse carried him closer in the frosty silence. Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath, and a tear fell slowly from an ebony eye, and raven hair fell over her shaking shoulders. Then her finger moved in the moonlight, the musket shattered her chest in the darkness and she warned him with her death.
* * *
Hearing the shot echo around him, the rider turned from his path to the west, and fled as if the devil was behind him. He didn’t see who stood bowed at the end of her bed, drenched in her own blood. But his heart grew heavy as he ran from whatever demon awaited him at the inn.
* * *
It wasn’t till dawn that he heard it. How the landlords black-eyed daughter watched her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
His thoughts disappeared, his hope died. The place that held her was empty, anger filled the hole. He surrendered to the depths of despair. He shrieked his curses to the sky and raced down the road towards the inn, revenge on his mind and rage in his heart.
Another shot echoed down the dirt road, and another life was taken. The red-coated soldiers shot him down on the highway, and he fell from his horse and lay in his blood. The red splashed over his wine-red jacket and seeped into the mud.
* * *
The wind, some say, is the dark spirit of a soul trapped in purgatory for past sins. It moans its pain to the living and carried with it is a whistled tune that you have to strain to hear. Sometimes even a red ribbon can be seen caught in the branches of a tree, as though braided there by a pair of practised fingers.