I watched the man, the Highwayman, take her in his arms. "Me!" I nearly cried out. "It should be me!" For I loved the innkeeper's daughter, Bess with her curls the color of the deep, merciless night. As he dipped and twirled her in a contented dance, I whispered to myself a murmur of yearning. "Bess, my love, I shall win your heart, don't you worry."
I knew deep within my soul that that was what I must do. An idea, a terrible, brilliant, terribly brilliant idea, hit me like a bolt of lightning and I nearly fell back at the cruelty of it. 'Twas the perfect plan, albeit cruel and undoubtedly unforgivable, and Best would rest in my arms at last. The Highwayman, the criminal who would inevitably bring her agonizing heartache, was my only obstacle. With him out of the picture, I could ease each ache and dry each tear that brought pain to my love.
From the stables behind the inn, I watched with boiling envy at the way he could make her smile. While I knew within my heart that Bess would someday soon see me in a new, loving light, I was blinded by jealousy and envy and I acted on impulsive thoughts.
He whispered hopeless promises that I knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill by the sworn deadline of moonlight. He kissed her tenderly, and that was the last straw to be singed by my already burning flame of anger.
I mounted one of the horses in the stables, and away I rode, off into the purple-lit forest. I urged the horse to push forward, and it galloped at remarkable speeds towards King George's palace. The journey was completed in half the usual time and I was hasty to find a pair of Redcoats.
"A thief, off to rob the King!" I shouted, forcing away any phantom thoughts of guilt at giving the man away to the authorities. "At moonlight, no later, the Highwayman will be at the old inn. You must intercept him for he is otherwise too quick for capture."
The two men nodded in unison, the uniformity of it a bit haunting. They each hopped on their horses and rode swiftly into the night, towards the inn, closer to the Highwayman.
I felt my heart race victoriously, thoughts of Bess filling my mind and making it impossible not to grin like mad. Bess, at last, would realize her where her true affections lied and we would live happily and eternally together. The visual alone had me giddy with relief and hope for the future, almost as if I was seeing glimpses into my own soon-to-come life. I would do anything to prevent that life from falling, slipping, out of reach, especially when it was all so close to being grasped by my yearning fingers.
I rode joyously through the night, returning to the inn where I would soon embrace the innkeeper's beautiful daughter, the magnificent flower named Bess. However, a sinking feeling tugged at my heart the closer I rode towards the inn. I couldn't quite place it, but there was so obviously something wrong that I couldn't shake the unpleasant tugging at my nerves. My unease was only made more prominent by the chilled air, colder than Maine usually was this time of year.
As I ushered the horse back into the stables, it felt as though my heart had come to an abrupt stop. I watched, frozen in shock, as the laughing, mocking men in red coats tied Bess to her bed frame. I watched in utter horror as they nudged her side with the cold metal of the musket.
It all happened so fast that I'd barely moved an inch towards my love when the gunshot rang clear. I dropped to my knees in remorseful agony as the carpet was soaked with her blood. I felt a cry of grief bubbling up in my chest, but it only sounded as a choked off, "No," as I watched the life leave her eyes.
Bess, the innkeeper's daughter, the beautiful Bess who held my heart even after death, was gone.
The memories of that cold night in the winter of 1774 still haunt me, as does my grief and remorse at what I've done. Every night, as I lay on my bed in my frail, elderly state, I swear I can still hear the contented laughs of my love and the man who never broke her heart.