Justice For A Thief

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

The country roadhouse reeked with the smell of ale, smoke and body sweat, the sound of it full of laughter and boisterous conversation, tankards slamming against wooden tables and the occasional cry of a woman being mauled by a horny man. Children belonging in bed at this late hour scurried about under tables for scraps, while serving wenches—some handsome, some frightfully hideous—served up ale and a thick pork stew to those brave enough to try the steamy meat and potatoes. There were a dozen tables in two rows, a bar and kitchen at one end, and though it was nearly midnight, there was hardly a place for anyone just arriving to sit and rest. There were some beds in the rooms upstairs, but most of those crowded inside would slumber with their heads resting against the tables. Or perhaps they might find some straw in the barn across the yard. A nursing mother cooed to her suckling child, while a few sad tunes rose from a fiddler’s bow reminding the observer of a more tender side of life.

Rebecca was in heaven in the company of these squalid sorts. She only occasionally felt any guilt about her means of making a living. She never took from the poor, but only those unwholesome creatures who flashed their wealth about—those with silk vests and velvet hats and smug smiles on their faces as they twisted the lifeblood from the meager and underfed. Every silk hanky, every jewel and watch and wallet she could purloin was satisfaction to her hungry soul. Commonly, she dropped a coin among the poorest, not so they noticed who their benefactor was, but so they could buy a loaf of bread. She fashioned herself a latter day Robin Hood from the legends of old.

It would be her pleasure to reap some of her winnings from gambling houses and the elegant parlors of the London elite, but she would have to perform her schemes carefully, so as not to get caught. That was why she was working her way slowly to that teaming city. She needed practice, and this country roadhouse was the perfect place. Dressed as a boy, her hair tucked tightly inside her leather cap, her breasts bound, her face smeared with a bit of dirt, she snatched her treasure from here and there, while the unsuspecting drank their ale and jawed with their neighbors having no idea they would walk away with a little less in their pockets this night.

She had almost finished her work for the night, the din inside the roadhouse easing some with the late hour. Fewer children scampered for handouts, most leaning into the breasts of their mothers, while their fathers finished the last of their ale. A few babies squawked, while old men coughed and the smoke in the air rose toward the ceiling making the atmosphere clear of the hazy fog. Still, there was a mighty stench about with so many so close. At the door of the inn, Rebecca paused to adjust the pack she slung over her back, when she suddenly felt a hand at her wrist and the breath of a man at her ear.

“Go with me quietly, boy,” the unseen fellow whispered, “and I’ll not make trouble for you.”

She flinched. “Take your hand from me!” she answered directly without bothering to meet him face to face.

“I think not,” he whispered his reply. “You’ve been stealing from the fine guests of this inn, and unless you wish me to make sport of you right now, you’ll do as I say.” She felt something hard press against her shirt. Perhaps a knife.

Her body tightened more surely, while her mind flashed to Duncan’s repeated vow—eventually you’ll be caught. She had few choices: to run; to fight; or perhaps hear the man out, hoping he wouldn’t kill her for the coin and jewels she carried. Walking out the door, Rebecca wrestled with her decision much too long. Surely, she should flee, but before she could gather steam to make a move, the gruff fellow had her collar in his fist, his fingers fused to her clothes. The knife-blade more keenly pressed to her spine.

Led from the roadhouse toward a shack beside the barn, navigating solely by intermittent moonlight, they were in the only place where they could be utterly alone, Rebecca at the mercy of this criminal. When the door slammed behind them, he pushed her toward a bale of straw; and tumbling to the ground, Rebecca’s cap dislodged, her fine red hair spilling out about her face.

“My, my, what do we have here?” her abductor chortled as he squinted seeing a young woman—her face barely lit by the dim light shining through the window. Fumbling through his satchel, he fished out a candle and match to illuminate their confrontation.

As the shack began to glow, Rebecca’s eyes widened in fascinated horror, seeing not some scurvy brute, but a brawny, bearded fellow with a most handsome smile. His blue eyes throttled her attempt to scream with a power she’d never known from any man. Her heart took an immediate jolt as she instantly compared him to Duncan Forsythe. He was not as tall as her lover, but with such broad shoulders, he gave the appearance of strength—and mystery as well. She hadn’t laid eyes on a fellow so attractive since leaving home three weeks before. This one not only had the schemes of a blackguard, he had the poise of a nobleman and the charisma of the most polished rake. And quite obviously, having unmasked the truth of her gender, the fellow was as taken by her as she was by him.

“A woman and a thief? What a delightful combination!”

“You say I’m a thief, I say you’re a liar.”

“I think not. It’s not often that I get the opportunity to spy on a fellow scoundrel like myself, but seeing you work the inn tonight was quite interesting. If this is a serious occupation, you have lots to learn.”

“I am quite practiced,” she answered indignantly.

“And I say, you’re lucky one of your marks didn’t discover the robbery and send you to the county magistrate.”

“I don’t get caught,” she fumed, as she sat up, trying to climb to her feet.

His jovial smile infuriated her.

“Perhaps not? But then there’s always a first time, and with your sloppy style it’s sure to happen sooner or later.”

“That’s what Duncan says,” she murmured to herself, as she brushed the straw from her britches.

“Duncan, who’s Duncan?”

“No one important.”

“Ah, your wounded lover, I suppose.”

“I have no lover.”

“Then, perhaps he jilted you?”

She ignored this snide remark. “What do you want anyway?”

“Well, now,” he said, stroking his clipped black beard. “That depends on what you’re willing to give.”

“I’m willingly give you nothing.”

“I’m sure. But surely you understand that I need some p*****t from you to keep my silence. It’s either show me your generosity or it’s off to prison.”

Ah ha! That’s what this was about. At least she no longer believed her life was in danger. The fellow was simply a rogue, a villainous rogue perhaps, but he wasn’t a murderer—just an opportunist. “You can have this,” she said, pulling a watch from her pocket. It’s the best piece I stole tonight.” She held out her hand and he swiped the gold piece away, putting it inside his jacket.

“I want the jeweled hair comb,” he said.

“Hair comb?”

“Yes, the hair comb. Shall I search you for it. I’m sure it’s somewhere inside those britches you’re wearing. You could do better than those, you know,” he said staring at her crotch like he was stripping them off. “Dead giveaway.”

“I’ll thank you not to stare at me like that.”

He chuckled. “You are a sassy one. Now, about that comb?”

Fuming, she pulled the object he asked for from her coat, giving away the prize that made the night worthwhile.

“And the ring,” he went on.

“The ring! That’s the only thing left of any value, and there’s hardly any value in that at all.”

“I know,” he smirked.

“You are a disgusting ass!” she blared.

“I’m saving your hide, my dear,” he sounded so sincere. “By the way, what is your name?”

She wasn’t sure what she could say, but before she could think up a fake name, the real one slipped out. “Rebecca.”

He smiled. “Rebecca,” his voice caressed the word, “how lovely. As is your hair, and those eyes,” he moved forward and gestured with his hand as though he wished to touch her face. She couldn’t move. “Not a color you often see—a little green, a little gold.” His voice held her mesmerized. There was only a candle to see by, and in that light Rebecca’s eyes seemed to glitter. “I want the ring.”

She jerked herself awake. “You tell me your name.”

“William Ellerby,” he answered.

“That’s your real name?”

“I have no need to lie. Let’s have the ring and you can be done with me.”

“Why would you be such a scoundrel when you know good and well there’s plenty to plunder from the foolish.”

“Perhaps to teach you a lesson. Regardless, the ring is mine.”

William Ellerby was close enough for her to feel his body heat, close like he was in the roadhouse. The smell of him was arousing, that manly musk she so associated with s*x.

“Here,” she said as she fished through her bag and withdrew the worthless bauble with the pretty stone. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” She stuffed her hair inside the cap and grabbed for her satchel on her way out the door.

There had been storm clouds brewing in the sky all day, a thunderous rumble in the distance, but the air remained dry and expectant. Rebecca figured she’d find cover in the barn along with the other travelers needing lodging for the night, but just as she was about to dart into the yard away from her roguish friend, rain began to fall in buckets. Sheets of water were blinding in the dark night. Just a second in that deluge she’d be soaked to the skin. Jumping back into the shack, she took a deep breath and sighed.

Ellerby sat in the corner on a bed he’d made of straw, a jovial smile on his dark and rowdy face, a bottle of wine in his hand.

“Like some, I’m willing to share.” He lifted the bottle as though he was raising a toast.

She stared his way while listening for signs of the rain to let up; but the downpour continued unconcerned with her need to find cover for the night away from this miserable man.

“I imagine you’ll get quite wet if you chance it. But then, you could bed down with me.”

“Bed down with you!”

“I wasn’t speaking of a carnal sort of thing—though that would be nice. I suspect there’s quite a lovely body inside those ridiculous clothes.”

She wanted to spit in his face, or slug the smug expression from his lips. She burned, but that burn had no where to go—not if she had to share bed space with the fellow.

“Yes, I’ll have some wine,” she snarled at him. And swiping the bottle he offered, she slunk down to the floor opposite William Ellerby. After taking a long drink, she offered to return it.”

“Oh, take another,” he said. “I think you need it.”

“So you can get me drunk?”

“And why not?”

She knew his game, but the wine was too warming to turn down.

The pair talked about the thieves’ life while getting drunk, exchanging stories, good and bad, about their fortunes. William Ellerby had been many places and was adept in his stealing skills far beyond Rebecca’s experience. She listened to his long narratives with interest, thinking she could pick up some useful tips, though she was most intent on figuring how she could get back what he had taken.

The room began to blur around her. And as the hour passed, she moved closer to her companion. Tiny rivers of water made their way under the walls of the shack. They might be floating on a lake by morning if the sky continued its glut of water. Yet, Ellerby’s bed of straw should be thick enough to keep her clothes dry so she could travel the next day. Sitting beside him seemed like a practical matter as much as anything.

Inside his space, however, there was much to fight—her physical arousal being the most notable. His body fed hers with sensations she’d missed; and thoughts of Duncan returned—Duncan in bed, Duncan naked, Duncan’s c**k between her lips, his hands working over her sore limbs before she slept, his warmth between her thighs. She missed him more than she imagined.

Ellerby’s hand grazed hers, his breath was close, his blue eyes climbed their way inside her mind, and once there, toyed with the contents as though she’d given him permission to walk around. She shivered, the damp cold biting inside her coat. Their only recourse was to snuggle close, which with so much wine in her system was a natural response.

Avoiding contact and encouraging it, they played that adolescent dance with lust, seeking opportunities to get closer and avoiding them with minds not so rational anymore. Any moment they might slip.

“Close your eyes,” she found him telling her.

She had them closed before she realized what she was doing—if she might be foolishly forfeiting her life. But then, he kissed her eyes, and then her nose, and then her lips—his two lips burning against hers, hers parting, and a little whimper escaped. The effect was noticeable, jabbing her keenly at her crotch. His hairy face buried itself in the crook of her neck, while his aroma drifted toward her nostrils. Loosening her shirt, he pulled it up to find her bound breasts offering the promise of much more to entice his hands. Unwinding the muslin, her bosom billowed free, and he was on her without a compliant. Tearing for each other’s flesh, they forgot the rain, the prickly straw, the damp air and the cold.

She found his body dark with hair, his c**k like the great pistol of a black flower rising staunchly from his groin. Three weeks, too long to go without this potent relief. Her mouth and lips ran their way about the mighty thing and drew the scent of him inside her. Her hands touched satin and throbbing muscle as she grabbed the stalk and jerked it well. She caught a dot of c*m breaking loose and licked the sweet of it away.

Pulling chest to chest, they were naked, clutched tight, so the pillows at her breasts flattened into the black down of hair. Her n*****s hard with heat bore into him like stars bore through the black of night. He settled down inside her snatch, rooting about her cunt like he was looking for things. While she expected some vicious probing, he was more content to tease her, to move his erection slowly in and out of the creamy portal, each time drawing it over the head of her clit. She sighed, weary of his method to control her, wanting more, needing more, needing him harder with faster strokes.

“You rush, so, Rebecca,” he whispered.

“I’m drunk and I’ll fall asleep in the middle if you wait much longer.”

“Oh, I think not,” he disagreed, though he didn’t stop the tease, the playful banter, or the massage of her clit. She was on the verge interminably, feeling as though she were standing on the crest of an ocean wave, struggling to paddle over the rising edge of it. The closer she got, the harder she worked, the more she paddled toward the end, only to have the wave disappear and drop her down on a smooth sea to await another rising swell.

“Ellerby, you madman, take me!” she shouted, hardly heard for the blast of wind that battered the shed’s walls. She cried, then whimpered, then realized almost too late to notice, she was riding a wave to that great other side, cunt squeezing c**k, throbbing, numb, anxious, furious, then suddenly at peace. His hands were on her ass, slapping it rudely as it ended, so that when she awoke she realized how it ached.

“You like it rough?” he said as they were opening eyes again and pulling away from a half-sober embrace.

“I like f*****g, Ellerby. Don’t make too much of this.”

She truly wished he would make a lot it. Staring into his face, a little glow was all she could see with the candle wax nearly gone. He was handsome as hell. She loved his smile, the beard, the blue of his eyes and all that roguish charm. He was an enigma to Duncan’s straightforward virtue. She could enjoy him for more than a night—but only if she could maintain her self-respect. He might be a promising lover, but she would not become some bending maiden to any man’s schemes.

“Oh! Fair Rebecca, I will make much of this. I have here a lady who steals things to make a living, who loves bad wine, and who’s willing to risk much in order to find pleasure. You are one of a kind, though I doubt I should trust you for a second.”

“Well, that makes two of us then,” she answered, discovering that being haughty would serve her well.

“You know, we could join forces,” he suggested.

“And share my spoils with you? You’re crazy!”

He laughed. “I only make the offer to make you mad, and because I know you’ll never stoop to anything so vile. You have some royal snobbery in your blood. You have too much wit to be a simple beggar turned thief. In fact, I bet you’re estranged from a vile father or miserable husband. That you’re on the lam because they’ve thrown you out! This Duncan fellow, perhaps?”

“No one threw me out! I left!” She declared.

“Aha! I was right.”

“You are a contemptible ass like all the others.” She rose from the bed, looking glorious in her splendid nakedness. Ellerby stared at the fuming beauty as she dressed. Angry women had a look all their own. Spitting fire, they exude a lustiness to bring a certain longing to his heart. A fresh c**k was sure to rise seeing her breasts undulate with heat, jiggling, n*****s half erect. He’d miss having the opportunity to suck them if she left. He laid a hand on her ankle, while Rebecca’s eyes skirted the room. She was looking for her britches, and wiggled to free herself from his grip.

“The storm is getting worse,” he said trying to be kind.

She stopped, all the sound either could hear was the hard rain on the roof and the wind in the trees. “So it is,” she answered.

“Perhaps we could make peace and go our ways in the morning.”

She looked down on him, suddenly feeling a little affection. For a moment she’d been sober but all clarity faded now.

“How do I know you just won’t steal all I have?”

“You don’t. But then, you could steal from me. I take as great a risk.”

“Yes, you do.”

She sunk back down to his side, sighing—feeling much too drunk to want anything but sleep. “Are we miserable, or what?” she asked

“Two fools in a foolish world. No better or worse than the rest. Perhaps, just more inventive.”

That was not a bad sentiment to end a night. Half-naked, curled in blankets, they slept until the c**k crowed to greet a cloudless morning.