She waits for Fuller

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 refrained from taking from her the one thing he could never return, considering the provocation he had been given it was a testament to his resolve not to take that final step. She touched her face tenderly remembering the feeling of his kisses on her trembling lips and the feel of his hard frame pressing against her soft curves. Charlotte wondered if she would be this resolute if Black Brand had taken her maidenhead, was the fact that Mr. Fuller had not spread her open beneath him when he had the chance to the main factor in her decision? Having experienced the passion of Mr. Fuller's desire, she wondered if she would have even tried to stop him if he had been intent on deflowering his chained captive.

The sudden heat from her loins was an 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. Nothing short of a complete and public physical exam of her maidenhead in front of the entire academy of science would silence the skeptics who could 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 a reminder 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. 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 once as she swept the ashes back into the hearth and and added more wood to the fire and again before remaking the bed to breath in the scent from his clothing.

With the bed once more in its place, the wood chips swept up and the iron hook returned to the wall once again holding the thick cloak only the braided cord that she had used to hook the axe remained as evidence of her clever escape. She tucked the cord into the roping under the bed with a mischievous grin.

"It'll do your brother some good to wonder just how I escaped from his clutches." She told the picture of Mary as she leaned the axe back against the wall of the cavern by 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 tin 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 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. What other duties would an uncivilized brigand like him expect from his captured young ****?

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 their plundering, 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 could high station guarantee a maiden's safety, for the sheltered daughters of the Saxon Lords were highly sought after prizes if they strayed too far from the safety of their castles. Charlotte's hands were twisting into her lap, pressing her skirts between her thighs as she wondered what it would have been like to have been one of those innocent maidens taken in an age where the enslavement and **** of the fairer sex was the norm.

Could she be sure that Mr. Fuller would not finish what he had started earlier upon his return. He had after-all left her chained to his bed. Did he plan to join her on that great bed upon his return? She looked at the bed with renewed interest. It was certainly large enough for two people to share without even touching each other, but could a man and a woman spend a night in the same bed without succumbing to temptation? She poured the tea and tried not to think about what it might be like to share a bed with a man like Mr. Fuller.

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