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karahalloway · 10 months ago

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The Highwayman: Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Harper makes a choice...

Word Count: 4,200

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, betrayal, physical violence, main character death)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was obviously not fun to write. Nobody wants to kill off their characters, but the rewrite would've deviated too much from the original if I had tried to change such a key piece of this story. So, it is what it is... *runs and hides to cry in the corner* There are some additional notes at the end.

A/N2: This is my second submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

"Oi, Harper!"

I turn my head absently at the sound of my name. "Huh?"

My father is standing beside me with a stony expression. "The poor boy, Théo's been callin' after ye for donkey's, lass! Now, git over and grab those orders the patrons are waitin' on!"

"Yes, Da," I nod quickly, turning away.

He grabs me by the arm. "An' quit yer calf-eyed moonin'. We're gettin' paid t' serve, not t' stand 'round idling."

"Yes, Da," I nod again, hurrying over to the bar as my father releases me, shaking my head in a bid to clear my senses.

After Drake's departure last night, I had been too overcome with excitement to sleep. I had tossed and turned throughout the hours that remained until cockcrow, when I slipped back into my thankless role as the publican's daughter.

My days have begun at sunrise for as long as I can recall. After dressing, and tying my hair back to keep it from falling into my face, my first task was to empty the chamber pots of the previous night's contents from every room.

Then, it was onto the kitchen for a quick breakfast of ale and gruel, before tackling the litany of chores that awaited me each and every day. Stoking the fireplace in the hall. Collecting eggs from the henhouse. Sweeping. Dusting. Darning. Washing. Gathering the remnants of old candles to make into new ones. Checking the stores and making a list of required items to acquire. Brewing and decanting ale. Not to mention serving patrons at meal times, and cleaning up their mess.

The list was endless. And exhausting.

So, I am nigh on dead on my feet and it is not even sundown.

Only the knowledge that Drake is on his way back to me — for the last and final time — keeps me moving forward, albeit at a fraction of my customary pace.

"My apologies!" I gasp, arriving at the bar. "My head is in a bit of a tizzy tonight!"

"There is a full moon out tonight," my father's aide replies solemnly, pushing the tankards of ale over. "So, I suppose you are not wholly to blame."

"Thanks, Théo," I say with a distracted smile, gathering up the drinks and turning back to the hall.

Théo has had a bit of a soft spot for me ever since he came to us as an inn guard a few years prior. But an unfortunate mishap with a fully loaded cart several moons back had forced my father to pull the lad into an expanded role as partner to help keep the the inn running while he recovered from a broken leg. And thus our encounters had become more frequent.

But a couple of strolls on the moor, and one stolen kiss notwithstanding — both very much encouraged by my father, as he had somehow convinced himself that Théo will one day become my husband, and we'll collectively inherit The Crown & The Flame — I have politely sought to discourage any true advances between us.

As fate had already bound my heart to a dark-haired rogue, who arrived on a dark horse in the depths of an equally dark night, nursing a viscous wound to his side and an even fouler attitude.

Brigands, he'd told me, as I stitched him painstakingly up, his eyes flashing with malice while his hand gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle by the light of the lone candle in my room.

I wanted to ask more. But I could see that he was in pain, so I held my tongue while threading the makings of a new scar into his sweat-soaked skin... the latest addition to the brutal tapestry that already marred his flesh.

Once I completed bloody task, he yielded to sleep right there in my bed, somewhat against his will, I have to admit. But, then again, he had not exactly been in the best shape to contest with me. And I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it.

Yet, by the time I had awoken the following morning, having spent the night in the floor next to him — not wanting to disturb his rest, but not daring to leave his side either, for fear he'd succumb to fever — he had vanished, like a ghost in the evening mist...

...that is, until he reappeared about a fortnight later, perched on the sill of my open window like an overgrown crow, nearly sending me to my own grave in fright.

He offered me gold for my services, but I had refused. When he had asked me what I desired instead, I told him: a tale. I have never ventured further than the closest town, and he looked to be a man who'd seen his share of the world.

He obliged, weaving for me the story of his misspent youth eking an existence out from the merciless streets of the capital after a tragedy rendered him a homeless and destitute orphan.

But even as a child, when his family had been whole, he had watched the great ships that sailed in and out of the port — envying their mystery and freedom. And so, he bided his time (and stolen coin) until he was able to finally stow away on a corvette, ending up, ultimately, on the distant shores of a country called La Louisiane inthe New World.

I'd become so caught up in his recounting of far-off lands, strange peoples, and even stranger creatures, that the dawn of the new morn snuck upon me unknowingly... predominantly because he had yet to sufficiently explain to me what the devil a 'cocodril' was and how it was not quite akin to a dragon.

"I shall return to finish the tale," he promised, turning back to the window.

"When?" I pleaded, desperate to hear more... and loath to see him to leave again.

"I know not for certain, lass," he admitted, reaching a gloved hand out to brush a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. "But look for me by the moonlight."

And that's how our liaison had started — in a dark room, under the magic of the moon, our hearts filled with secrets.

But tonight, the charade will finally be put to bed. For together with the money, I intend to leave my father a note explaining everything. As that way, he'll at least know that I am safe and well... even if that knowledge will likely be a meagre balm against the pain he'll no doubt feel at my perceived betrayal.

But I cannot continue living in pretence. My nights with Drake have opened my eyes and my heart up to possibilities that I never dared conceive of, let alone believe to be within my grasp... and I am eager to start a new page.

I just have to bide my time 'til my love's return... in spite of the fact that patience is certainly not my strong suit.

A few more hours, I tell myself stoically as I navigate 'round the long trestle tables. And then—

The door of the inn bangs open, sending a torrent of cold air rushing into the warmth of the hall.

My head snaps towards the sound of the intrusion, a fool's hope budding in my breast, in spite of the knowledge that Drake would never risk such a public entrance...

...but what I see sends my heart crashing into the pit of my guts.

"Search every nook and cranny!" bellows a lanky man sporting the guilt buttons and epaulettes of an officer of rank. "Leave no floorboard in this rat's nest unturned!"

"What is t' meaning o' this, sir!" deplores my father as a line of armed Greencoat dragoons stream into the inn. "Ye can'na just—"

"I can — and indeed, am required by the edict of the law!— when I have been given reasonable suspicion that an establishment is harbouring a known and sought-after criminal," retorts the man with thin-lipped sneer, surveying the eaves as if he expects ruffians to pounce onto him at any second.

Da's eyes crackle with indignation. "Harbouring? A criminal! That accusation that is beyond outrageous, sir! This 'ere is a reputable place, I'll have ye know, an'—"

"Not according to the witness who came forward this morning," the man cuts in brusquely over the sound of boots and crashing furniture echoing up from around the building. "By whose own words, this inn is a hotbed of salacious going-ons, not to mention illegal activity. So, I suggest that you—"

"Who!" demands my father, his features contorted in offence and rage. "Who dares speak these scurrilous lies and—?"

The officer thrusts his arm out. "That man over there."

All eyes in the hall shift as one to land bodily on the subject of the disputation.

"Théo?"

The name tumbles from my lips in a hoarse croak of disbelief. My father cannot seem to even manage that, as he stands, staring mutely, hurt and betrayal carving his aghast countenance.

"So, you see, Mr Gale," continues the man unabashedly, seemingly oblivious to the shocked silence that has cloaked the room, "the source of the accusation is more than credible. A man of good and honest standing in this community, who also happens to be an employee of the—"

"Good and honest?" spits Da, rounding on the intruder with barely concealed malice as he finds his voice again. "He fabricates lies for his own gain! Though what that could possible be, I'll—"

"I saw them," says Théo softly, almost as if in apology, coming to stand by my father in front of the bar. "Last night, I—"

Da reaches out to grab his aide by the lapels of his jack, face nigh on puce with gall. "Saw who? Speak, lad, or I swear t' Almighty God, I'll—"

"Midnight Jack..." Théo replies, making no effort to protest the roughness of his treatment. "...and your daughter."

The tankards I am still holding slip from my fingers to crash to the hard-packed earth of the floor in a mess of shards and ale.

"They were talking," Théo continues, eyes meeting mine solemnly as my father's hands slip from his clothes in horrified silence. "They'd left the window of her room open and I could hear—"

"Captain Beaumont!" cries a soldier, rushing down the stairs with a clatter of heels and buckles, carabinier still in hand. "We found something!"

"Report, Lieutenant Besnard!" snaps the captain, rounding on his subordinate with impatience. "You know I detest being held in suspense!"

"I think it best you come and see for yourself, sir," the lieutenant replies, shifting his eyes in my direction.

Dread pools in my veins like lead. Oh, no...

Captain Beaumont chews on the assessment for a short moment. "Very well, Besnard. Let us assess your findings. And bring these three along — I am certain they too will find the results...captivating."

Gloved hands seize me roughly from behind, and push me towards the stairs. Yet I am too overcome with an ill sense of foreboding to even think to struggle, the cold hand of trepidation binding me more surely than any man could.

The gold... They found the gold...

The dragoons troop us up the stairs in dreadful silence, save for the sound of the creaking floorboards ‘neath our feet.

Marching the our group down the length of the corridor — along the length of which doors stood ajar, revealing the mess of upended contents within — we at last arrive at our destination.

The soldiers shove my father and I unceremoniously through the doorway of my room...

...and I immediately spot the gaping hole where the loose floorboard should have been.

My insides tighten painfully.

"Ah, you were right, Lieutenant," approves Captain Beaumont as he strides towards the foot of my bed. "This certainly is a sight to see!"

My father's eyes widen as he lays eyes on the treasure as well.

I wish I could explain, to help him make sense of it, but fear has lashed my tongue against the wall of my throat.

Kneeling down, the dragoon commander reaches into the small space and lifts out a handful of coin and jewels. "Now, what could an inn-keeper's daughter possibly want with such bounty?"

"It inna hers!" cries Da suddenly. "It's mine! My daughter, she—"

"Clearly is the inhabitant of this room," comes the steely toned rebuttal. "The brush on the dresser, and the ribbons poking from the drawer... These clues make it abundantly evident that it is a woman who sleeps herein. And I see only one woman..."

A chill runs down my spine as the captain lifts his eyes to mine. Brown — like Drake's — but without an ounce of warmth or humour.

"It is her room, aye!" affirms Da desperately. "But she knew nothin' o' the gold! 'Twas an arrangement 'tween myself and—"

The captain scoffs as he straightens back up, letting the booty fall through his fingers to clink back into the recess in the floor. "Noble of you, Mr Gale, to wish to safeguard your daughter. But I think we can all confidently conclude that what you have just uttered is a bare-faced lie..."

Da emits a grunt of agony as one of the soldiers steps forward on silent command to strike him in the back with the butt of his musket.

"...and I do so despise liars," Captain Beaumont declares dispassionately as several more dragoons descend on my father.

"Stop!" I plead, straining against my own captor as hot tears slide down my cheeks at the sight of the brutal retribution. "I beg of you... Please! I confess! The gold is mine! My father is innocent—!"

Captain Beaumont holds up a hand and the beating halts just as abruptly as it began. "There are no innocents in this sordid business. Merely degrees of culpability. Take him away."

"No!" I shriek in desperation as the dragoons lift the prone form my father up and proceed to drag him from the room, specs of rusty blood dripping onto the floorboards in their wake. "Where are you—!"

A gloved hand smacks across the side of my face, sending my vision into a spin as the sharp taste of blood exploding in my own mouth abruptly cuts off my remonstrations.

Through the thick haze of pain and tears, I see the forest green of the captain's coat move past me as the jingle of coins echoes on the edge of my awareness.

"Seems your information was actionable, Mr Mallet," Belvedere Beaumont surmises as he steps over to the dark form of Théo, who has been observing the entirety of the interaction with an ashen face. "And for that you shall be rewarded."

Raising my head, I see Theo stare at the clutch of ducats like they are tainted.

"What..." Our betrayer swallows thickly. "What will you do to them?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr Mallet," replies Captain Beaumont assertively, hefting the leather pouch in his palm. "But you can rest assured that the hand of the law will be swift and decisive."

Théo's eyes widen in sudden panic. "But... But you want The Highwayman..."

"Like I said," intones Captain Beaumont, raising the coin pounce higher. "There are no innocents. Only degrees of culpability. So, unless you desire to share in the fate of your employers, I suggest you take the prize I am offering you, and spend it wisely."

Théo jerks his gaze to mine in anguish. "Harper... I am sorry."

Grabbing the money, he dashes from the room like the naked cur he has revealed himself to be.

Bastard...

"A true blessing, and a curse... money," Captain Beaumont observes, turning back to me. "It changes hands — and loyalties — so readily, does it not? Almost like magic."

"What do you want?" I spit at him, acutely aware of the fact that I am now very much alone with, and at the mercy of, this monster.

"But love...?" the captain continues, as if he hadn't heard me. "Love — or its absence — is far more duplicitous. It crawls into our hearts and twists our minds out of any rational sense of order."

"And what would a man like you possibly know of love?" I demand with more bravado than I feel, in a desperate attempt to mask the fear suffusing my limbs.

"I know it can spark wars and topple empires," he relies coolly, reaching out to pinch the strand of hair that had escaped from my bun between his gloved fingers. "Perhaps even hang a thief."

The air rushes from my lungs in horror. "No..."

"Lieutenant!" Beaumont barks over his shoulder, spinning on his heel away from me. "Rope!"

"Right here, sir!" affirms the subordinate, pulling a length of cordage from his pack.

"Bind this woman," comes the clipped instruction. "And take her to the window."

My struggles are for naught as my wrists are lashed together in front of my body.

"That renegade dog clearly loves you," declaims Captain Beaumont as his goons drag me to the casement. "Or he would not have entrusted you with the safekeeping of his ill-gotten treasure. The question is... Do you love him in turn?"

I raise my chin definitely as I am thrust onto the hard ledge of the window sill. "More than you can comprehend."

He meets my gaze with a serpentine smile. "That was my hope."

I stare at him in bewilderment as he reaches past me to crack the window open. "What are you—?"

"The way I see it," he continues, almost conversationally as the cold night air rushes over my skin, "you have a choice to make. Either you assist me in luring our mutual friend to his untimely, but very much overdue death — thereby potentially absolving you and your father of any involvement in this sorry affair, though that will be for a judge to decide — or I will claim obstruction of justice and hang the lot of you as accomplices. The decision is yours."

"You are vile..." I bite out through clenched teeth as a my mouth is smothered by a kerchief.

"I am a man of the law," he counters dispassionately. "And the law is clear — the penalty for highway robbery is death. Either by action, or association. And the evidence against you is, sadly, rather weighty." He flicks his eyes towards the gaping hole in the floor where two dragoons are busy loading the booty into a sack. "So, do not blame me for the unsavoury consequences of your own foolishness. You set yourself on this path. Knowingly."

I turn away from him, a torrent of guilt streaming down my face.

What have I done...?

The minutes tick slowly past, and the hours crawl by like years as we wait in silence under the silvery light of the moon.

And I have ample time to contemplate both my fate and my doom.

For there is no doubt about it — I am doomed, one way or another. Captain Belvedere Beaumont has made that abundantly clear.

Either I give up the love of my life, or I consign both myself and my father — not to mention my unborn babe — to a shallow, unmarked grave that will be forgotten just as soon as it is dug.

Both options are too horrendous to even contemplate.

Which is why I have very seriously debated throwing myself off the ledge of the window I am sat on. As that way I can at least break the captain's malicious hold on me.

But suicide is an unforgivable sin. Or so I've been taught. And, in any event, my death would be for naught, for I would doom the men I love just the same... Drake would walk unknowingly into the dragoons' ambush and Captain Beaumont would most likely slit my father's neck in spite.

So, I sit. And wait. And curse the fates — and myself — for this unforgivable turn of events. Because if Drake and I had eloped last night, our destinies would've been very different.

"Rider on the knell, sir," advises a soldier with a spyglass trained across the moor.

"I see him," confirms Captain Beaumont, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Raising my head, I spot the lone figure silhouetted against the darkness as he crests the hill, second horse in tow.

My heart jumps into my throat. Drake.

"Not a sound," orders Captain Beaumont as Drake and Drogon disappear from view in the shadow of the hill. "We bide our time and let the fair lady lure the rogue in."

The soldiers nod as they set about priming their weapons.

My mind is racing. I have to warn him... But how?

I feel the point of a blade press against my throat. "Just so you do not get any funny ideas in that pretty little head of yours..." warns Captain Beaumont as he takes up position behind me, the barrel of his pistol coming to rest on my shoulder, my form concealing his in the darkness.

I cast my gaze around the room. But my hands are bound and I have no recourse to even my voice, let alone a weapon.

But then a dragoon kneels down in front of me...

...and the ghost of a plan begins to take shape in my mind.

It is risky... and fraught with danger. Not just for myself, but for Drake as well. But I have been presented with a sliver hope. And though it may be a fool's hope, I must take it. As I cannot, in good conscience, purposely lead the man I love to slaughter.

I will not give Captain Beaumont that particular satisfaction. And — in any event — a life without Drake would not be worth living anyway.

The minutes continue to pass with bated breath as we wait for Drake to reappear.

"Movement on the roof, sir," whispers a dragoon, adjusting the hold on his musket.

Sure enough, a shadow has appeared in the darkness, drifting across the thatch of the barn in stealthy silence.

"Hold your fire," orders Captain Beaumont, pulling the cock of his flintlock back. "We need him in range. And for the love of God, do not fucking miss!"

The soldiers nod tersely as Drake creeps unknowingly closer.

"Five paces..." rasps Captain Beaumont, his hot breath gusting my ear. "Four... Three... Two..."

I close my eyes. Forgive me, Da...

"O—"

Kicking my legs out with a roar of determination, I heave myself backwards with all my might. My feet catch the side of the musket balanced on the ledge before me, sending a shot sailing out into the night with a bright flash of gunpowder.

I pray to the moon and the stars that it missed Drake.

Captain Beaumont's pistol discharges next to my ear as the back of my head collides with the bridge of his nose, shattering it with a bony crunch.

The knife he's been holding clatters to the floorboards as he stumbles backwards with a cry of pain. And as the support of his body disappears from behind me, there is nothing to hold me aloft.

I thud bodily to the floor, gasping for breath as the suddenness of the impact knocks the air from my lungs, my ears ringing from the earlier crack of the pistol, the smell of my singed hair burning my nose.

But I only have one aim... One mission... To get ahold of that knife.

Twisting myself around, I spot it — glinting in the moonlight merely a foot away.

Throwing my hands out, I reach for the weapon, the roar of shouts and gunfire breaking above my head...

...but find myself crying out as my hair is grabbed from behind.

"You conniving whore!" hisses Captain Beaumont as he wrenches me backwards, my scalp screaming in protest. "You will rue the day you were born!"

Tears blur my sight as I feel the hair rip from my head.

But still I strain towards the knife, which lies just beyond my fingertips, my teeth gritted against the pain, my heart hammering.

The edge of my nails scrapes the hilt...

A lone shot punctures the maelstrom of the chaos.

Captain Beaumont's grasp falters, and I crash back onto the floorboards.

Grasping for the dirk, I twist back 'round...

...but the sharp movement sends pain shooting through my chest and I am suddenly gasping for breath.

The knife falls from my hands as I clutch at my breast... and my fingers sink into the warmth of the flesh within.

"You cack-handed ingrate!" screams Captain Beaumont from above me. "I'll have you whipped for this!"

"She was trying to kill you, sir!" comes the voice of the lieutenant as the acrid taste of blood blooms in the back of my throat.

"She was our only hope of luring that bastard in!" shrieks Beaumont in rage, the stomp of his boots rattling the floorboards next to me as he advances on his subordinate, causing me to cough. "And you shot her!"

"Sir!" shouts another dragoon. "A horse and rider! Galloping north!"

"After him, you witless buffoons!" orders the captain, his face streaked with crimson and rage. "Do not let him get away!"

The soldiers scramble from the room as my lifeblood seep out of my veins onto the dusty floorboards.

And as the darkness closes in on me, I offer my soul up to the night with one final wish...

Fly, my love... Fly like a witch on the wind.

The story continues in Part III: The Highwayman Comes Riding (coming soon)

A/N: Some notes and comments below:

Cocodril - I appreciate that it's alligators that live in Louisiana, not crocodiles. However, according to a helpful article I found, the correct Louisiana French term for alligator is 'cocodril' or 'cocodrie' (both pronounced the same), or occasionally 'caïman', but never 'alligator' as alligator is considered to be an English word, and therefore not part of the 'correct' French vocabulary. Also the terminology makes sense from a historical, cultural and linguists perspective — Europeans would have been familiar with crocodiles from ancient time (Ancient Egypt, etc.), but not alligators, and would not have originally realised that there was a difference until people like Carl Linnaeus and Charles Darwin started systematically cataloguing species, starting in the late 1700s, so they probably just initially applied the familiar but 'wrong' term and it stuck. That said, French French does differentiate between 'alligator' and 'cocodrie', but that is a more recent linguistic development than the original French Louisiana one. Okay; massive tangent concluded 😆

Musket - If anyone has read the original poem, or listened to the song, you will have probably realised that I made another change to the story, namely the manner in which Harper dies. In the original, Bess is bound to the foot of her bed, her hands tied behind her, and a musket lashed in such a way that it points to her heart. However, she somehow manages to not only free her hand from her bindings without anyone noticing, but she also manages to grasp the trigger of the musket. Now, if anyone has bothered to look at what a musket actually looks like, you will quickly realise that this sequence of events in the original poem/song is a straight up impossibility because muskets of this era are friggin' long (typically around 5ft or 1.6m), so there is no way that I can see that Bess would've been able to reach the trigger if she is stood up, or even sat down. So, the manner of death had to change. That said, I tried to stay as true as possible to the original. But, if anyone disagrees with me, happy to be educated!

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