She decides to wait

Charlotte moved about the cave for the next few minutes with a small smile that refused to dissipate. It made no sense, this crazy decision to wait calmly for her captor's return. Perhaps in a work of fiction the plucky heroine would stay to confront her abductor, but in this new age she knew she should take flight while she still could. Black Brand had already demonstrated his contempt for Lord Marlton and his intention to hurt her and her family by any means at his disposal. None-the-less Charlotte was comfortable with her intention to stay and confront Mr. Fuller.

The Highwayman had already taken from her the one thing he could never return, considering the provocation he had been given it was a testament that he had been as gentle as he had. Charlotte touched her abdomen tenderly still feeling the soreness within her. It was a marvel that her untried passage had been able to take a man of his size entirely within her. The moment of her pain was still clear in her memory, but she knew Mr. Fuller had tried not to hurt her; had he wanted to punish her with his manhood she certainly would not even be able to walk without limping. She remembered with equal clarity the gentleness of his kisses on her trembling lips and the feel of his hard frame pressing against her soft curves. Having experienced the passion of Mr. Fuller's desire, she wondered if she would even pretend to stop him if he intended to repeat his conquest of her tender flesh.

The sudden heat from her loins was a clear indication of that feminine weakness. What was it about her nature that was so excited by the idea of an innocent maiden finding herself at the mercy of a powerful warrior? The iron chain clamped around her ankle was a constant reminder of her vulnerability, and perhaps part of her decision to confront her assailant. If she returned to her family with this bolted to her leg, she'd be subjected to endless speculation and gossip. Her disgrace would be unavoidable. Even if she had still been a intact, nothing short of a complete and public physical exam of her maidenhead in front of the entire Academy of Science in London would silence the skeptics who would (correctly as it turns out) believe nothing but the worse when a young lady falls into the hands of an outlaw like Black Brand.

The two muskets that stood leaning against the wall were evidence of just how dangerous this man was. Why would a man have two long arms with powder and ball if not to shoot to kill whomever got in his way? These muskets were no 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 assigned to capture Black Brand and put an end to his banditry.

Charlotte swept up the wood chips from the foot of the bed and tossed them into the embers of the fire and then to pass the time, she continued to tidy up the cavern. At Marlton manor a whole troop of servants worked at keeping the Tudor mansion polished and sparkling and Sarah would pick up the soiled clothing and odds and ends in her room, but when she had been at finishing school she had been responsible for keeping her own chambers neat. So while she waited for the return of Mr. Fuller she busied herself picking up the pile of clothing that she found at the foot of the bed. Some of the garments were so grimy she wished she had a tub of warm sudsy water like the scullery maids used to wash the laundry, but a pair of trousers two linen shirts were not too bad and she folded them neatly. She pressed the folded garments to her face before setting them on the top of a battered sea-chest; the odor stayed with her as she stepped back. It was a smell of smoke, evergreens and musk so unlike the colognes and powders worn by her suitors, or the snuff and liquors that she associated with her father and his acquaintances. She paused to breath in the scent from his clothing as she swept the ashes back into the hearth and added more wood to the fire and once again before remaking the bed.

When she found a second set of bed linens she decided to hide as much evidence of her escape as possible. Charlotte remade the great bed with the new sheets and carefully returned the hook to the crack in the cave wall, rehanging the cloak with a wry grin on her face. The shredded sheet was folded neatly and tucked into a dark corner, but the coil of braided sheets she hid in the roping of the bed.

"Just in case I need to free myself from your brother again." She told the small picture of Mary before returning the hand axe to the hearth. Twenty minutes later, she sat on the three legged stool by the crackling fire and rubbed her hands on a damp rag cleaning the accumulation of grime from her soft hands. An old kettle filled with fresh water from the falls was almost at a boil and a very fine porcelain tea set was waiting for the boiling water on the hearth. Would Mr. Fuller appreciate the time and effort she had put into his living quarters, or would he take offense that she had intruded into his private world. She chuckled softly aloud:

"That's what you get for bringing a woman into your secret man cave." Soon though, the doubts that had been held in check with her activity began growing, what if she had given too much credit to the integrity of the outlaw? A dangerous idea teased at her psyche and although she tried to push it away the thought returned again and again stronger with each revival. It was not all that long ago that a warrior like him might have kept a slavegirl to tend to his household as she had.

A pretty young maid captured from some distant village to cook and clean for him while he lounged by the fire, drank his mead and sharpened his sword. With the chain around her ankle and her dress dusty and wrinkled from the day's adventures she even looked the part of the thrall kept to cook and clean for her hated foe. Experience had shown her all too well the other duties a passionate man like him would expect from his captured female ****.

In spite of her best efforts to banish the treacherous notion Charlotte found she could not help imagining what would be demanded of a maid carried off by a Norse raider as part of his plunder from a successful raid. No young woman was safe from the plundering of those ancient warriors, both young mothers and unwed virgins were regularly taken in raids even this far inland from the seas -sweet plunder for the pleasure of those brutal men. Neither religious vocation nor high station guarantee a maiden's safety, for both cloistered nuns and sheltered daughters of the Saxon Lords were highly sought after prizes if they strayed too far from the safety of their walls. Charlotte's hands were twisting into her lap, pressing her skirts between her thighs as she remembered what it had been like to be one of those innocent maidens deflowered by a Viking who demanded the complete surrender of his captured prize.

Would Mr. Fuller continue what he had started earlier upon his return? He had after-all left her chained to his bed. Did he plan to rejoin her on that great bed upon his return and continue exploring her weak female body until he had discovered every one of her secret desires? She looked at the bed with renewed interest. From her married schoolmates she knew that most men would not become aroused more than once in a night, but her romances painted a far more disturbing picture; in those books the men seemingly had an unending appetite for the sweet unspoiled flesh of their captives. She poured the tea and tried not to think about what it might be like to be led to that bed by Mr. Fuller, and the different ways he still might find to plunder her sensitive body.

Too late to do anything about it now though, because Mr. Fuller had just stepped through the curtain of mist and into the light of the oil lantern.