Free The Highwayman's Footsteps by Nicola Morgan Page A

and the steel blade. My mouth felt dry and my knees began to quiver like petals in the wind. I told myself it was the bitter cold and wet, but I knew it was not. I forced my knees to be steady.
    A dim lantern on a table sent an eerie light around the dwelling. The thick curtain draped over the window had prevented me seeing this from outside. How could I have been so heedless? I cursed my lack of caution.
    I backed away. “Stay! Put your hands in front of you!” cried a voice, surprisingly young and light. Surely this was not another girl? Surely I was not destined to have my life twice threatened by a girl? But as soon as I looked at him fully, I saw the dirty red of a soldier’s coat, the white of his breeches. I saw, too, his small size, his thin legs, and as my eyes travelled slowly upwards, I realized that this was no more than a boy. Younger, probably, than myself.
    Nevertheless, if he was dressed in His Majesty’s uniform, he was deadly and well-trained. Yet, I reasoned at the same time, my thoughts working fast, if he was in His Majesty’s uniform, what was he doing here? Was he a deserter?
    If a deserter, then he was on the wrong side of the law. As was I. Yet if he was a deserter he was the more dangerous – because he knew that if he was caught he would be killed, shot without reaching the gallows. So, he had little to lose, and would not spare my life for small reason.
    How should I talk to him? Or should I rush him and hope to cross that small space before he fired? But no, the bayonet would halt me and I could not assume I was stronger than he.
    Another thought brought a new concern. Were the soldiers pursuing him? If they found him here, it would mean discovery, and perhaps death for Bess. And for me.
    â€œI heard the soldiers,” I lied. “They are coming this way. They will find you here. If you shoot me, they will hear. If you leave now, you have a chance. You could escape, if you make haste.”
    His face was clear to me now. I have never seen a face hold such pale terror. His eyes were wide and his lips open, the jaw rigid. He looked like a small boy waking from a terrifying dream; but this was no dream and he knew it.
    I took a step towards him.
    â€œNo!” he almost whispered. “No! Please!”
    A soldier does not say please before he shoots, but I did not wish to frighten him further. I stopped, holding out my hands, palms facing upwards to show that I held nothing. “I will not harm you,” I said. “Only let me make a fire and change my clothes. You can leave and I will say nothing.”
    â€œWhy wouldst thou say nothing? Why wouldst thou not give me away? They would reward thee.” His voice sounded thin, pitiful, close to the edge of madness.
    I gambled. “I would not risk it,” I said. “I am running from the soldiers too.” It was the only way I could convince him that it was safe for him to leave. I knew it to be a risk but I could think of nothing else.
    He kept the musket pointing towards me as he edged towards the door. I turned slowly, keeping him in my sight, holding my hands steady in front of me. If he would simply go, that was all I wished for. Exhaustion began to take over, as I waited for him to leave, thinking of the fire I would soon make, the dry bed I would soon sleep in. For a moment I felt dizzy, just thinking about resting my aching limbs.
    He made his way to the open door and through it, out into the veil of snow. The blizzard had eased, and only a few flakes fell now. The yard was almost silent as he hurried away.
    I turned into the room, breathing hard, and closed the door firmly behind me. I adjusted the lantern to burn more brightly. Holding it up, I looked around. The room was surprisingly well furnished, with two large chairs, a solid table, and several well-made chests. An open door to the right revealed a deep box-bed with many blankets piled on it. Ahead, to the right of the cold fireplace, a