Work Text:
The HighwayMan
Lukanette Style
Prompts- Thief/Fortune/Mischief/Regret
Luka gripped the reigns tighter. He looked ahead The wind was cutting through him. He had to see her before he left. The Royal carvan was coming so he didn't have long. The Inn renowned for its warm atmosphere and delicious pastries come into view. It was dark and closed for the night, but the cakes and pies were not why Luka was heading there tonight. His tricorne hat sat on his head as he galloped down the well traveled road, stretching through the end less moor. The moon was high in the sky. His ocean blue velvet coat tails whipped behind him. His doe skin trousers were tailored to his exact form and his riding boots are to his thigh. His most precious article of clothing however, was the batch of lace he kept tied around his neck at his throat, handmade by his beloved. His pistol and rapier glinted in the moonlight. He reigned in his horse to make the noise the horse made on the cobble store way quieter.
"Easy Sass, "he muttered. The upper bedroom window was dark. He didn't have much time but he had to see her. He cracked his whip to the window. There was no movement. He whistled a melody, -her melody- to the window and the shutters flew open. Luka took a moment to gaze upon the innkeeper's daughter. Marinette, with long black hair and sapphire blue eyes and lips as red as roses looked down at her beloved mounted on horseback. She leaned as far as she could, but she could not reach his hand. He stood in his stirrups, they hands could not reach. "I have not long my darling, I'm after the prize tonight, "Luka said. "The gold will be mine before the morning light." He reached into his saddle bag and retrieved a long, red ribbon, Marinette's long black hair, the only part of her he could reach, he grasped it as he inhaled her perfumed scent, and tied the ribbon in her hair -in a love knot. "The gold I'll get will be more than enough for your bride price," Luka stated." Watch for me by the moon light." I will come for you by the moonlight, even if hell it self barss my way." Marinette spoke, her voice was his heart's music, "Luka I love you and we will be together after tonight." She blew him a kiss and his face flushed with longing. He inhaled a deep breath full of her scent again, and pulled Sass's reins and galloped away towards the west. Marinette calmed her racing heart and returned to her tiny bed in her tiny chambers. Not long now and she would be with Luka forever.
But unknown to both of them, the stable hand, Adrien, the blond boy who the innkeeper had taken when the lad's parents had died had long been besotted with Marinette. But alas, he would never have enough for Marinette's bride price. He would never be enough for her. Even if the Dupains had promised he would take over the inn, Adrien knew Marinette would never love him as long as that thief held her heart. The black cat stirred first. "Plagg?" Adrien whispered. He heard the whip crack and he leaned out the stable and saw him. Couffaine he thought, bitterly. His eyes weren't the only thing that was green then. He watched as the bandit wooed Marinette and tied the love knot in her hair. "The gold I'll get will be more than enough for your bride price" Couffaine announced. Adrien froze. The robber was going to steal the amount for her bride price and then steal her away. He had to do something. Adrien watched as the Highway man rode into the distance, and then settled down back in the hay.
The day progressed and Luka did not return.
Dawn
Morning
noon
evening
Moonrise.
Marienette sat by her window with her-embroidery eagerly awaiting Luka's return. She heard the hooves and sat up to get a clear view. Her heart sank. The bright red coats stood out along the vast fields on the winding road. The troops were coming. Adrien grinned mischievously. Tonight, he would pay the bride price and Marinette would be his. The soldiers barged into the inn, eating the cakes and pies and messing the house, without gold or permission.
The Dupains Tom and Sabine looked at each other helplessly as their inn was ransacked.
"We know the bandit is here. He will pay for stealing from His Majesty."
"Search the house and the grounds!" the red coat commander ordered. "We will not leave until that snake is caught!" commander shouted.
Adrien stood tall at the man, "He'll be here," he promised," He'll return for his prize. I am sure of it. Now where's my money?"
Tom and Sabine gasped "Adrien! Why?"
"Why else? For Mariette! Everything I do is for her! I have to save her from him!" he shouted. "He's coming back to claim her!"
The commander stiffened, "Secure the daughter, make sure she doesn't escape, or give away our plan. We'll use her as bait." The troops stormed up the narrow stairway and burst into the maidens room. She screamed in protest as the soldiers grabbed roughly, groped her, and tied her on the floor, to her tiny bed. The only saving grace was that she could still see out the wind ow, the road that Luka would ride down. "Look for me by the Moonlight I will come for you by the moonlight, even if hell itself bars my way." The soldiers gagged her so she could not scream. The placed a rifle under her arm. "You said she would not be harmed! "she heard an all too familiar voice screech out.
Adrien, she thought bitterly.
"Let us know if you see him darling," the troops kissed her head and she bucked in defiance She struggled against the ropes, but they would not loosen. She watched as the daylight faded and the sky dark red and she still struggled against the ropes.
The inn became dark and their old clock started chiming, it was midnight. Her hand moved. The tip of her finger touched it. The trigger at least was hers.
Silence was deafening. The inn laid dark. no one moved, no one made a sound.
Trot-lot, trot-lot.
Marinette looked out the window.
Luka!
“Ready men! "The commander whispered.
Luka! No! Run!
Marinette looked to her love, gleaming in the Moonlight, and closed her eyes, and drew one last deep breath. And moved her finger.
Luka was so close to the inn, he could practically smell Marinette's perfume. Tom's pies. He urged Sass to keep going, but he was alight with love. Tonight, Marinette was to be his bride. He was going to rouse them alll, pay Tom Marinette's bride price and send the stable boy for a vicar.
Bang!
The shot rang clear in the silence of night. Luka stopped Sass. He could hear the wails of Tom and Sabine just a moment later: "Sass, hiyah." Luka turned around, screaming "I will come for you, you fucking Cowards," he cursed to the sky. Tears stained his face as he galloped away, the dust flying up behind him. Suddenly, Luka felt nothing as he fell from Sass in a heap on the road. The sharp stinging sensation in his back letting him know he had been shot.
At least we'll be together Marinette, he thought, as the blackness claimed him as he laid in his own blood, with his beloved's lace at his throat.
Many winters later, the old man with dull green eyes passed by the abandoned inn ruins.. The wind was blowing much like that night. It had been many years since the highwayman had been taken down by his majesty's men, but for the old man, the gold he was paid for his partt did little to ease his conscience. He closed his eyes and thought back to that night and he saw them again. Couffaine riding up to the old inn door. Marinette opened the shutters and let her hair flow down, letting Luka tie the love knot in her long black hair.
The original poem
The Highway Man.
By Alfred Noyes
PART ONE
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.