A pair of muskets

The two muskets that stood leaning against the wall were a reminder of just how dangerous this man was. That he was a highwayman, an outlaw, and abductor of women and a rapis - Charlotte stopped herself in fairness to Mr. Fuller. Her captor been forceful, especially when he first led her to his cave, but he had yet to deflower her in spite of several clear opportunities. Furthermore, judging by her body's wicked betrayal she might well have been as willing as a randy widow by the time he spread her legs and pressed into her. None-the-less the muskets were a testimony to the lawless lifestyle Mr. Fuller had chosen for himself. Why else would a man have two flintlocks with powder and ball if not to shoot to kill. These longarms were no gentleman's fowling pieces, the heavy stocks and large caliber of the firearms were very much like the muskets carried by the company of the King's foot stationed in the village, they were weapons designed to kill men and nothing else.

Charlotte had plenty of experience with firearms, not muskets of this size but the operation of the smooth-bore was identical to the smaller sporting guns she was familiar with; she knew exactly how to load the weapon and prime the pan to make the deadly gun operational. The bigger question was did she have the resolve to shoot Mr. Fuller in cold blood? Over the years Charlotte found that although she was quite proficient at shooting skeet and paper targets, she didn't care at all for hunting live animals. Like her passion for fox hunting except for the bloody denouement, Charlotte hated seeing the wounded winged foul and dumb beasts thrashing in the grass. How much worse would it be if it were an actual man, no matter how heinous his actions had been.

Of course, she did not have to shoot Mr. Fuller in cold blood. Her father would tell her that the smart thing to do would be to fire the ball through Black Brand's chest as soon as he stepped through the wall of mist; kill him without mercy before he realized how much danger he was in, but that was not the only option. Once the brigand saw that his position was hopeless, she could demand his surrender. Ideally, she would use the manacles still dangling from her ankle to secure Mr. Fuller but she couldn't risk letting him get that close to her, however there were several stout pieces of cordage about including the length of leather that he had used to bind her wrists. There would be a certain irony in seeing his muscular arms bound with the same leather strap that had held her as he had dragged her through the forest.

With a firm nod of her head, Charlotte turned her attention to the two muskets. The moisture from the cave was slowly damaging the weapons even with the coating of gun oil that covered the barrel and firing mechanism, but the hammer arm locked into place with a audible 'click' and although the action of the trigger was much firmer than she was used to, the flint dropped sharply onto the steel when she tested the pull. Charlotte had to guess how much powder to use, deciding after a moment of consideration to double the charge she used for her sporting pieces, the powder was coarser than she was used to and the ball easily four times the weight her gun took so the amount of powder seemed reasonable. After tapping down the lead ball and swatch with the heavy ramrod, she turned her attention to filling the firing pan carefully with the fine priming powder in the cap of the horn.

Once the musket was loaded and primed Charlotte rested it on the bed propped up on one of the bolsters so she would not have too struggle with the weight of the heavy weapon. She even folded up one of Black Brand's heavy quilts and placed it on the rocky cavern floor so her knees would have some comfort as she crouched behind the bed waiting for Black Brand to return.

And she waited.

The hardest part was not thinking about who Mr. Fuller was and why he had assumed the role of vengeance. Instead she focused on how Black Brand would undoubtably finish what he had started earlier. Why else had he chained her to his bed if he did not intend to ravish her upon his return from his mission. His intentions were clear as spring water. And - she reminded herself, this would not be,as an act of love, or even wild passion, but rather as a calculated move to hurt her father. He planned to take her for no reason other than bringing dishonour upon Charlotte and her family, to deflower her upon this very bed as she struggled futilely under his muscular frame.

After a while Charlotte wicked mind began envisioning the outlaw's villainous act. She imagined of Black Brand forcing apart her legs as she struggled beneath him and the plunging that massive member that she vividly remembered pressing against her belly deep into her untouched sex. The tingling of warmth from her core should have been enough of a warning to keep her mind from wandering into this dangerous territory, but somehow she could not leave this erotic fantasy. Her avid imagination found it too easy to picture him holding her ankles high above her head as he rammed into her again and again.

Had she still been chained to the bed where he left her she would have had no chance in resisting him, even free of the bed and armed with the musket she still was in a **** position, and her active imagination refused to give her any reprieve. Charlotte was well into a scenario in which Black Brand had somehow rolled her over onto her belly so he could press into her from behind like a bull covering a heifer when she was startled to see Mr. Fuller step into the cave and brush the drops of water from his woolen pants.

"Freeze!" She yelled loudly as her finger found the trigger and she settled her cheek against the stock of the heavy musket.