Stand and Deliver M.R | Chapter Two
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summary: The journey to Harcourt Hall continues, something brews within Thornwick forest, and a chance encounter on the road changes everything...
wc: 3.3k
You’d almost forgotten all about the fallen branch in the road, the steady clip-clop of hooves lulling you back to softer thoughts as the sun entered its final hour in the autumn sky. A winter wedding could be nice, you’d decided. Snowdrops blooming through frost, a blanket of white dusting across the churchyard. It was fruitless to pretend like the matter rested in your hands, when in truth it had long been settled in spaces you were prohibited from occupying.
Asides, to refuse such a match would only cause an uproar that you’d sooner avoid.
The dowry arrangement was to be discussed between your father and Lord Harcourt alone, to ensure both families found the terms profitable, both financially and socially. You’d inferred enough from your fathers tone to know that this was a marriage of convenience, first and foremost, and that any feelings of love that blossomed from this match were an added bonus.
Your meeting with Frederick was merely a nicety, a courtesy to see if the match was well-suited, as your father had put it. But you knew this was about confirming if you were deemed worthy of Frederick. You were under no illusion; families like the Harcourts did not take kindly to social embarrassment of any kind, not least marrying off their heir to someone… unbecoming.
The knowledge settled heavy in your chest. You were no more than another grain in your fathers stores, weighed and priced, a commodity just waiting for the highest bidder.
A defeated breath slipped out of you as you smoothed your skirts, despising the gesture almost as much as the shuddering of the carriage over the forest floor. Gradually, the rhythm beneath you altered, the steady beat of hooves softening into something hesitant, until the motion slowed enough to pull you from your thoughts.
Outside, the guards were murmuring in low voices, the sound carrying through the wood in tones too measured to be just idle conversation. You leaned towards the window, careful to peel the curtain back just a smidge, and peered out at the road ahead.
A chill had begun to seep through the air and your nose scrunched as you leaned closer to the glass, your fingers clutching the curtain tightly— ready to pull it shut at a moment's notice. The tree-line looked the same as it had earlier, the same towering oaks and bramble thickets skirting the forest floor. The same, unchanged view you’d been journeying through for the last half hour at least; nothing that explained the sudden decrease in pace.
The hairs on your arm began to prickle as the driver muttered a curse above, sounding puzzled as you rolled to a stop once more. The guards had dismounted from their steeds, their hands hovering at their sword hilts as they approached the middle of the road. Even from the carriage, you could hear the faint crunch of wet leaves underfoot as they fanned out.
One took a few paces towards the tree-line, his sword half-unsheathed as he disappeared from your line of sight. The other glanced back at the carriage, his gaze fixed presumably on the coachman, then dropping to the window sharply.
You ducked instinctively, letting the curtain fall closed as your pulse spiked. That prickle you’d felt earlier creeping up your spine once more. Neither of them acknowledged the grunts of confusion from the coachman, or responded when he asked why they’d halted in the first place.
Alarm began to thud in your chest. A gut feeling that something was wrong.
From above, the coachman barked down at them. “Why the devil have we stopped?”
Hope fluttered tauntingly as you listened eagerly for a response, your breathing shallow as his question was met with the same, stony silence as before.
“These are dangerous roads to linger on,” he warned, presumably to the guard who you’d ducked away from. You could hear the horses nickering as if in agreement with their driver. “Do you hear me, lad?”
Silence.
“Dangerous roads,” he repeated himself, calling out to the horses as if he meant to continue on the path without protection. But the carriage remained still, the horses snorting sharply, their hooves stamping against the dirt.
Your ears strained, unable to hear anything but the panicked rise and fall of your chest as you breathed shallowly. A bad feeling coiling in your gut.
A shout rippled from the air above, and the carriage teetered violently. Your hands flailed out to steady yourself as you toppled, struggling to remain upright. The horses whinnied in complaint, their hooves scraping against the forest floor, the noise grating and unpleasant.
Instinct forced your hand to your mouth, muffling a sharp intake of breath right as the coachman's yell fell silent, loud thuds echoing against the wooden exterior of the carriage. Your stomach clenched, eyes widening in terror as your gaze slowly lifted to the roof.
The carriage bobbed slightly, boots shuffling against the wooden shell as though someone were shifting their weight above you. Your hands trembled as you shrunk back against the wall furthest from the door, fixated on the spot you were certain whoever was up there stood.
A sharp cry rippled through the trees, the sound of a blade being unsheathed cutting through the chaos. Tears had begun to pool in your eyes, as a sinking realisation began to dawn — that sinking feeling had been right.
Leather boots scuffed against brittle twigs and fallen leaves, punctuated by grunts of exertion and ragged panting. You tensed, head snapping to stare in the direction of the brawl, despite being blind to what lurked outside.
Above you, the carriage creaked then righted itself. Mud squelching just beyond the door, as if whoever had been on the roof had jumped down onto the path. Another grunt, followed by the sickening crunch of bone sounded, and your blood ran cold as something heavy hit the ground.
“Stop right there, crow.” A voice instructed evenly.
A breath shuddered from you in fragile relief. It must be one of the guards, here to protect you from the stranger. Just like your father had reassured you.
Your relief was short lived, however, as a low laugh drifted back in answer. Breathy, unhurried. And far too close to the carriage door. Your brows drew together as the stranger replied through what sounded unmistakably like a grin.
“Still playing dress up, are we, Berkshire?”
Berkshire. The name meant nothing to you, no tangible correlation that might ease your blindness to whoever stood outside. Only, that it was undoubtedly a man’s voice talking, or rather, taunting. Husky, edged with a gleeful warmth that unsettled you right to the core.
“We’ve no need for names out here,” the guard returned evenly, blasé almost. “I want only what I’m owed. It was no simple task earning the old fool’s trust.”
Your stomach dropped, tuning out of their exchange. Owed. This was no rescue. Suddenly the carriage felt smaller, thinner, as if it too was conspiring against its cargo.
And what a fool you had been, swallowing your misgivings that morning, allowing your father to send you off, trust placed wholly in people you’d never met. Your very life placed in the hands of a devil. There were worse things than being held up in exchange for gold, after all.
An idea sparked as you twisted, keeping one eye on the door as you moved. Fingers trembling as you unlatched the hook of the storage chest buried beneath the seat. Surely there must be something in here, a pistol tucked away, a travelling blade. Anything at all.
Alas, your search proved fruitless; as all that rested in the wooden chest was a small coin purse and a jewellery box. A lady’s belongings. You could almost hear your father’s voice, weapons were for men with something to defend, not a lady travelling to meet her betrothed.
“Five minutes.” The guard, Berkshire, muttered.
“Three is plenty.”
Your heart stuttered as footsteps approached. Your gaze scanning to find the lock, the lock that was meant to be bolted shut at all times. The lock that had somehow, amongst the carnage unbolted and lay useless to your safety.
Just as you surged forwards to snap it shut again, light flooded the carriage. The door yanked open firmly, hinges creaking under his grasp and a lump formed in your throat as you finally caught a glimpse of the stranger.
A black cloth mask covered the upper portion of his face, two slits where his eyes were, fixed on your frozen frame. Beneath a weathered tricorne hat, dark curls fell across his forehead, twisting and winding at the nape of his neck, just long enough to brush the tips of his shoulders. He exhaled smugly at the sight of you, brown hues cloaked in black staring you down. Assessing.
You could only return his stare, wide with fear at the shadow mere inches away from you. He tilted his head then, voice low, edged with amusement that made your cheeks redden and your stomach lurch.
“Well,” he said in a velvety voice, different to the tone he’d used before with Berkshire, “Let's make this easy, shall we?”
He stepped fully into the doorway, blocking all light that shone through behind him. Your back pressed firmly against the wall of the carriage, trying to edge away as a gloved hand reached out towards you.
“Out you come.” His head nodded towards his outstretched hand.
Not a shout or a threat, but not a request either. A command delivered with quiet certainty that you felt unable to refuse. His eyes narrowed, as if reading your thoughts as you debated your options. A smirk began to spread across his lips as you spluttered, head shaking like you had a choice in the matter.
“No.” you refused, like a petulant child. Rooted to the spot as your outrage warred with your fright.
His eyes flicked to yours warningly, and his head tilted further as if urging you, very carefully, to reconsider. Something like amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it never quite became a smile, just that sort of half grin he’d flashed before. His jaw was sharp and had he not been in the process of robbing you, you might dare to say he was handsome— for only being able to see the lower portion of his face, that is.
“Out,” he repeated, his hand flexing impatiently.
You shuddered but relented sensibly, ignoring his offered hand and gathering your skirts instead. You edged closer cautiously, holding your breath as you noted that he hadn’t moved back at all. Rather he lingered in the doorway, watching you through half-lidded eyes. He was close enough that the scent of worn leather and mud invaded your senses, and you hesitated to move closer— already nearer than you wished to be.
Only when he noticed the subtle pause in your movement, the flicker of your gaze between the carriage door and his frame, did he step back at last. Slow and deliberate but nimble all the same. His gaze burned into you as you clambered from the carriage, the short stem of your heel sinking into the dirt with each step.
A low huff of laughter left him as he dropped his hand, shaking his head as if in offence as your dismissal. You didn’t dare meet his eyes, but you could feel the weight of his stare as you schooled your expression into something neutral, your shoes ruined by the damp earth.
He nodded towards a spot a few paces away from the carriage, looking you over as you moved meekly to where he had gestured. Your teeth toyed with your bottom lip, watching him as he glanced toward the guard, then to you, and back to the carriage.
“Good,” he mused, pleased. “Now stay put.”
He grunted as he hauled himself into the carriage. Behind you, one of the guards— the one that had disappered into the treeline— lay half conscious, groaning as he pushed onto his side to cough.
The other one, Berkshire as the stranger had called him, stalked over and kicked him in the ribs, hard, before returning and pausing a few paces from your side. You winced at the violence, averting your gaze to the open carriage to behold the storage chest clicking open once more, your mouth dropping open in quiet disbelief.
You watched helplessly as the masked man’s hand dipped inside and he let out a pleased laugh. The sound of coins jangling filled the air. Your coin purse appeared a moment later, weighed in his palm. He hummed thoughtfully, removing some, then slipped the rest into his coat, ignoring the sharp gasp that escaped you.
The few he had removed he tossed towards Berkshire. The gold glinting in the mud as it landed near the man’s boots with a dull clink.
“For your trouble.”
Berkshire didn’t bend to lift the muddied coins but his jaw ticked as he glanced down at them, then back to the stranger in mild irritation.
The smile he received in return was lazy, knowing.
The thief's hand reached again and you blanched as he pulled a velvet lined case from the chest and cracked it open with his thumb. Inside lay the jewellery your father had insisted you wear to meet your future fiancé, and now they dangled helplessly in his grasp.
The stranger gave a low whistle, turning to you with a grin that this time reached his eyes, even behind the mask. Your mother’s pearl earrings lifted from the box and held up to the light as he examined them.
Your lips parted as recognition struck.
“Not them,” you breathed, taking a step forward and immediately freezing as he barked a laugh. Perhaps it was foolish to argue with the stranger, to believe you had any influence over what he took, yet the words tumbled out all the same. Desperate, pleading.
His head tilted wordlessly, as if daring you to stop him. When you remained motionless he simply shut the case and tucked it under his arm with infuriating calm. His gaze trained on a modest gold necklace that piqued his interest next.
“The earrings,” you blurted out, painfully aware of how your voice wavered with uncertainty. “They… they’re sentimental. My mother’s.”
Your throat tightened with every word, and you loathed how small your voice sounded. How your weakness was bared for all to see as you took another tentative step towards him.
For a moment he said nothing. His gaze lingering on you— not mocking now, but curious, as if he were considering your words. Then, they dropped to the box tucked under his arm. Your breath caught as he thumbed the case open once more, unhooking one of the earrings from their case.
The single pearl glinted as it arched through the air, your feet stumbling as you caught it in your hands. Shielding the dainty treasure as you stared down at it, an unsettling familiarity surrounding the small object.
The other he tucked into his pocket, carelessly.
Heat burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let it spill. Focusing instead on the small gem you held in your open palms. He rummaged some more, unhurried as though he knew you were occupied with the earring and would offer no more protests.
“Well then,” he announced after a few moments. His tongue ran slowly across his lower teeth as he watched the fury kindle in your eyes. Remorseless he bowed, almost theatrical. “Your generosity is much appreciated, Miss.”
Your nails bit into your palm around the pearl, clenching tightly as if he still might try to pry it from your grasp. Humiliation swelling in your chest with every second he lingered. Anger too. And something else, something far more confusing, coiled low in your gut.
He was walking away before you could fully process the movement. The dark, worn leather of his coat retreated toward the treeline where a horse, dark as night, waited.
“That’s… it?” you called despite yourself, heels sinking deeper into the mud as you took several impulsive steps forwards. “You just take what you want and leave?”
Berkshire scoffed behind you. Letting out barely audible murmur that sounded awfully like an insult of some sort. The thief didn’t spare you a glance as he hauled himself onto the saddle of his horse, gathering the reins in one hand.
“Forgive me,” you threw over your shoulder, cheeks rosy from the indignity of it all. “I’m not accustomed to the etiquette of robbery.”
That, at least, earned you a quiet laugh. Amused, unbothered. Still, he did not turn. He merely clicked his tongue, urging the horse into motion, the pace quickening with every stride.
“Coward!” you called after him, the word tearing loose before pride could restrain it.
It wasn’t until the galloping of hooves faded, and the tree-line swallowed him whole that you finally tore your eyes away from the direction he had left in, still muttering away to yourself.
The burdened sigh from behind you only alerted another threat, Berkshire.
“Enough.”
You stiffened but did not turn. A newfound sense of unease spreading throughout your body.
“He’s gone,” he continued evenly, bored almost, “And shouting into the trees won’t bring him back.”
Your jaw clenched as you spun, eyes narrowing at the so-called guard.
“He stole from me,” you seethed. “And you helped him.”
“Yes.” He nodded, staring at you with little empathy. “I did.”
Berkshire watched you carefully, calculating, and you held his gaze.
“We will say that the carriage was set upon,” he said, glancing towards the groaning guard. “That I intervened, valiantly. That the thief fled when he realised he was outmatched.”
Your brows drew together, lips pursing as the anger pulsed within you once more. “That isnt what happened. I won’t protect him— or you.”
Berkshire's eyes sharpened as he took a step closer, gazing down his nose at you as he said his next words clearly.
“It is what happened,” he replied quietly, but not any less threatening. “Because it is the version that serves you best.”
He stepped closer, ignoring the way you faltered back, and lowered his voice.
“If word spreads that your escort colluded with a highwayman, do you imagine the blame will rest solely at my feet?”
He leveled you with a glance, then shook his head slowly.
“Families like the Harcourts,” he continued calmly, “do not look kindly upon scandal. Nor weakness. And especially not carelessness in who you place your trust in.”
The implication hung heavy between you. Hadn't your Father said just this morning that he had selected these men himself?
“You will say nothing of the coin exchanged. Nothing of names.” His eyes held yours steadily. “And this will remain an unfortunate robbery. Nothing more. Do you understand me?”
The pearl in your fist dug deeper as your fingers clenched, exhaling sharply as you admitted defeat.
“...Yes.” you gritted out.
He nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”
He bent then, collecting the few coins that lay scattered in the mud. Wiping each one methodically against his glove before pocketing them. Just like the thief had.
“Compose yourself,” he added, but not unkindly, “and return to your carriage.”
You resigned to follow his orders, not because you wanted to, but because there was little else to do but listen.
Mud clung to the hem of your skirts and caked the underside of your heels, tarnishing the wooden step up and the floor of the carriage as you took your seat once more. Berkshire had seen to it personally that the door slammed shut behind you, leaving no opportunity to run. Not that you could even if you wanted to.
Outside, he spoke in hushed tones. Orderly, precise. The same sharp menace that he had used with you, presumably recounting the lie he’d forced you to corroborate. You sat stiffly, gaze glued to the single pearl that remained in the palm of your hand, gleaming brightly despite the sinking feeling in your chest.
Your breath left in a slow, trembling exhale. He hadn’t needed to give it back. He could have easily pocketed both with little regard for something as trivial as sentiments. Even at that, one earring surely couldn’t be pawned or gifted. Not without questions raised about its sister pearl. But he had given you it all the same. And left without another word.
The thought haunted you long after the carriage pulled off once more, continuing on its path as if nothing were the matter. You would still meet Frederick before the moon rose. Still be expected to act ladylike and gracious, even with the mud that stuck stubbornly to your clothes.
Worse still, your father would have questions. And as true as Berkshire’s words had been, you weren’t entirely sure you could lie to him.
a/n: chapter two is here!! as always; reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated <3 x