Chapter 2

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.

Isabella, Boston, October 1768

It was getting dark as I hurried along the dusty road. I was going home after running some errands, but I started off later than I should have. Talking with Rose and Alice at the tavern where they worked as barmaids had made me forget myself and the time, so here I was scurrying down a dark road and as nervous as a horse.

I was wary of everything around me. My father Charlie had warned me of those brutes who called themselves the highwaymen, criminals who stole from people and did not hesitate to take the lives of men or the innocence of maids. I did not want to come across one. They are always more active during dark. I shivered and spurred myself on faster and faster, jumping at every little sound the night made. Every knocking of a tree's branch sounded like a highwayman's footsteps, the everyday hoot of an owl sounded like the whistle of his bloodthirsty lips.

Suddenly, I felt something- a hand -grasp my ankle and I screamed, tumbling down into the ditch by the side of the road. My basket crashed down in the dirt, and the eggs in there broke, their yellow yolks spilling and soaking into the dust. Still screaming, I struggled to get back up to my feet again, kicking at whoever had grabbed me, but they held fast and I couldn't go anywhere. The person who held onto me groaned. It seemed as if all my worst nightmares were coming true. This couldn't be happening... I thought, as I wondered who would find my cold, lifeless body lying by the side of the road the following morning… if they found my body at all.

"HELP!" I screamed, "SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! HELP!"

My hands grappled at the ground but found nothing to hold onto but dirt and leaves as I found myself being dragged backwards into the darkness of the trees by the unseen creature. I continued screaming, although I knew there was no hope of my being saved. I'd seen no one on the road. I was dreadfully alone.

And then just as suddenly, I felt the hand leave my ankle, and I didn't miss the opportunity to try to scramble back up to my feet. But something threw me onto my back again and pressed me down, making me yell all the louder before a ghostly pale hand covered my mouth, muffling my shouts. I closed my eyes, hoping that my death would be painless and quick. I thought of my father, Rose, Alice, of what would be their horror tomorrow morning when they discovered me, before my thoughts were interrupted by a low, exasperated voice.

"Will you please stop screaming? I feel as if my head is about to split open," the voice spoke. My eyes popped open in surprise and I found a pair of startlingly green eyes looking at me in a rather annoyed manner. When he seemed confident that my screams had ceased for good, he lifted his hand from my mouth and rolled off of me with a groan. I sat up, shakily, and brushed off my clothes, which were now dirtied and torn from my fall. I looked over at the man who had pulled me down. He was still on his back next to me and his eyes were now closed. He wasn't dead. I could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest and distinctly hear his labored breathing in the night. I still had the instinct to run. He was well-dressed, his clothes almost a little over-fashionable, but that didn't mean anything. I still didn't know if he was a murderer or a robber or what. But something about him bade me stay.

"Who are you and why have you pulled me down?" I questioned him. His eyes opened to reveal the deep green behind the eyelids.

"Never mind who I am," he answered, "and as for your second question, I pulled you down because I need you to help me."

"How could I possibly help you? By the way you pulled me down, you don't seem to need any help," I said, resentful for the bruises I could feel forming on my ankle. The green eyes looked at me reproachfully.

"Well, you don't weigh very much. As for why I need help, look at me," he said.

"I am looking at you," I retorted, my eyes grazing over his face. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. His green eyes were perfectly offset by ruffled hair the color of the bells that rang in the church steeple, and his features were straight and well formed.

"Look further down," he commanded. I lowered my eyes from his eyes to his nose. He rolled his eyes.

"Down... ", he said, as I moved my eyes to his chin, and he scoffed, "What, are you one of those Puritans who are forbidden from looking at a man's body?"

My eyes shot back up to his mocking ones now and I raised my chin, and crossed my arms, "I'll let you know, sir, that I'm a respectable woman and was raised in a good household, not like any of those hussies that you appear to be well acquainted with..." Before I could even finish my tirade, the man grabbed my hand and put it against the side of his chest, hissing when my hand pressed against him. I gasped in outrage and pulled it away.

"How dare you?" I started to rail, "I am not here for your perverted pleasure, you..." And then, I noticed the sticky substance that coated my fingers where I'd touched him. My eyes widened as I raised my hand to the moonlight and saw blood on it. I looked at him again, this time where he'd forced me to touch him, and saw the wound that I didn't see before. There was a hole in his elegant costume and sure enough, it was stained with blood.

"You are hurt," I stated.

His voice dripped with sarcasm, "A wonderfully astute observation, Socrates. I was shot."

I ignored his jibe as I stared in horror at the wound. I'd never seen someone who was shot before and I couldn't imagine the pain he must be in. I sat up on my heels.

"Stay here, I will bring the doctor," I said, turning to run down the road for Dr. Phillips.

"NO!" he shouted, before he yanked me down beside him again and then, seeing my alarm, he softened his voice and said, "No, no doctor."

"But why?" I asked, "You are hurt. You require a doctor."

His voice raised again in exasperation, "Did you not hear me? I do not want to see a doctor!"

I crossed my arms in ire at this irritating man, "Then what exactly do you expect me to do?"

"Can't you patch me up?" he asked.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably, "I guess I could. I have patched up wounds before, but nothing to this extent. Besides, that wouldn't exactly be proper, considering that I am a woman and you are a..." I blushed, turning my head away.

He scoffed, "A what? A man? Blast proper! Just pretend that I'm your cat or something! I don't care. Besides, it's not exactly proper for a girl like you to be out walking alone this late at night, is it? Impropriety doesn't seem to be a big concern of yours." I gaped at his rudeness for a minute, my mouth hanging open like a fish's. Then I closed it and resolutely stood up. Instant regret washed over his face.

"I am sorry. I should not have said that. Being shot brings out the worst in me, I suppose," he apologized. I stared at him and sighed. As rude as he was, I knew I couldn't just leave him here. There was only one thing I could do.

"Come," I said, offering him my hand.

"I can't exactly get up right now, you know. Otherwise, I'd have crawled to an inn and helped myself," he said, the sarcasm back in his voice.

It was my turn to roll my eyes now, "Why else do you think I'm offering you my hand?"

"Well, you will have to scoot closer. I'm not going to bite you, you know," he said sardonically.

I reluctantly scooted toward him and he draped an arm around my neck. I jumped at how warm his arm was around me. The touch of his arm on my shoulders penetrated straight through my skin, even though I was wearing an appropriately heavy cloak for the cold season. I quickly banished those thoughts from my mind as I tried to lift him up. But he was too heavy and I collapsed on top of him, pulled down by his weight. He groaned a little from the impact but otherwise stayed still.

"Never mind," he said, "I'll find someone else to come help me. Or I suppose I'll just die here..."

I set my lips into the hard determined line that my friends knew well. I wasn't about to give up just yet.

"I said I would help you. That was a promise," I told him. And then, ignoring his surprised look, I threw his arm around my neck and tried again. And failed. Strewn across his body again, I felt something hard bruising my hip and I looked down to see a wide variety of weapons and guns decorating his waist.

"Lord, no wonder you're so heavy," I exclaimed as I moved to disarm him. His hand flashed down and gripped mine, stopping them in the process of removing his weapons. His eyes were guarded.

"What are you doing," he quietly asked me. His voice was just as guarded and wary as his eyes.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" I asked. He didn't answer.

"These things are weighing you down. If you wear them, I'll never be able to get you up," I explained patiently, as if to a little child.

"I can't leave my weapons," he protested.

I pursed my lips, "Look, do you want to live or die? Just leave your weapons here and you can come retrieve them later."

He stared at my face for a second before letting go of my hand, and warned me to "Be careful." I let out a huff of exasperation and proceeded in divesting him of his arms. As I did so, I curiously examined each item, some of them things I'd never seen before. Suddenly, as I was examining one such item, it went off with a loud bang and I screamed, ducking down and covering my head with my hands. After my ears stopped ringing and my galloping heart had slowed to a more normal pace, I noticed another pair of arms covering mine. I hadn't done so intentionally, but my face was now in the crook of his neck, cowering there like a small child and he was... protecting me. He had rolled over so that his body was covering mine and he was protecting me. I lifted my head and looked at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

"Y-yes," I said shakily, "I think I'm good." And then his green eyes grew stormy.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?" he chastised me.

"Well, that was the last of it," I noted, and then looked at him, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Protecting me."

He raised a dark eyebrow, "And how do you know I wasn't simply trying to get my 'perverted pleasures' as I think you described it."

I blushed and said, "I really shouldn't, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

He gazed at me in what seemed to be stunned silence as I lifted his arm to rest across my neck again. This time, I managed to pull him up to his feet. It wasn't easy, but I did it. It was then that I noticed how tall he was. He was more than a head taller than me so that I had to crane my neck up to look at his face. He was still looking at me as if I had grown a second head.

"What?" I asked him.

He shook his head, "Not many people give me the benefit of the doubt, you know."

"Well then," I said matter-of-fact-ly, "I supposed it's time that someone did." I walked over to the side of the road with him hobbling beside me, and I hooked my fallen basket with my foot and brought it up so I could grasp it with my hand. I didn't bother picking up the eggs that had fallen out. They were all broken anyways...

And so we continued down the rest of the way. I was no longer frightened of anything. For some reason, this wounded man gave me courage when I had none, and we arrived at the inn only short while later.

I stopped when I got there, a new dilemma presenting itself. I didn't know where to put him... I certainly couldn't let him stay in my room, and Charlie would not appreciate it if I put him in one of the guest bedrooms. Then, my gaze landed on the stable and I found my solution. Charlie never went into the stables, except to speak to Jacob, our stable-hand, about some matter with the horses, and in there was a loft that no one except I went to. And besides, even if Jacob did find him, I sincerely doubted that he would mind much. We were such good friends that I didn't think he'd refuse to help me tend to this poor man.

The stable was dark when we entered it, the only light that of the moonlight pouring in through the only window. The little room where Jacob slept was dark and so I figured that he must have been asleep. I looked up at the little loft that I was thinking of and the man followed my gaze.

"You're not going to put me up there, are you?" he asked incredulously.

"I have no where else," was my explanation as I laid him against a wall and went in search of a ladder and a rope.

"Well, how exactly are you going to get me up there? I can't climb up there myself and there's no way you're going to carry me up," he said.

I flashed a triumphant smile at him, said, "Easy," and showed him the rope I'd found and pointed to the pulley that glinted in the moonlight.

"Surely you jest," the man said in disbelief.

"I can assure you that I don't," I replied as I tied the rope around his waist and made a hard and tight knot. I set the ladder up against the loft and climbed up, the other end of the rope in hand. I pulled myself up onto the ledge and looped the end of the rope in the system of the pulley and gripped the handle.

"Just hold on," I called down to him. I was only answered by a groan. I used all my strength to wind the handle as the man began his ascent to the loft. When he was finally level, I steadied myself so that I wouldn't fall off the loft and pulled him onto the ledge. Panting with the exertion, I looked around for a knife to cut him out of the rope.

"I'm going to have rope burns for a week," he complained as I sawed away at his binds.

"Shhh..." I said, "Would you rather have still been lying there by the side of that road?"

After I'd removed all the rope, I tossed aside the knife and looked at his wound. I poked and prodded at the frayed fabric to see the wound better. The man looked at me curiously.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing," I retorted, "I'm trying to figure out what I need to take care of that wound."

"Well, all that poking and prodding is not going to do any good. You have to remove my shirt if you want to see anything of use," he said.

I gaped at him, "Now surely you jest."

"Surely, I don't," he replied sternly and then sighed, "Fine, I'll make it easier for you." And he started on the top button of his shirt.

I grabbed his hand, squeaking out a "Don't!" But he only looked at me with that one dark eyebrow raised.

"You went through all that trouble to get me up here. And I'm pretty sure you don't want a rotting corpse in your stable. It might spook the horses," he said dryly.

I could only glare at him.

"You can close your eyes or turn around if you want," he said, "But you're going to have to see the wound anyway. There's nothing I hold more dear than a promise." I huffed. I did promise to take care of him so it seemed as if I really had no choice. So I crossed my arms and sulkily turned around.

After a few minutes, I heard a "Done" from behind me so I took a deep breath and turned around. What I saw rendered that breath useless. He was... magnificent. There were no words to describe his perfection and I barely noticed that I was staring. He looked back at me, his eyes unreadable as he watched me watching him, until I finally turned beet-red and averted my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, "that was improper of me to stare."

He shrugged, "You've never seen a man's body before, I can guess. It's only natural to be curious."

I turned my gaze back to his body and focused on his wound site. I brought my face closer to it and examined it. I could see the place where the bullet entered his flesh, and as I poked and prodded a little, I could also tell it wasn't too far in.

"Wait here," I told him. And then I went to find bandages, cleansing tonic, a pair of tweezers, a cloth, food and water...

I clambered down the ladder and quietly let myself into the house, but before I could go any further, Charlie called out from the stairs. I hadn't seen him in the dark.

"Why are you back so late, Isabella? And-" his tone grew horrified, "What happened to you?"

I looked down at my dress, all torn and covered with dirt and the man's blood. My mind raced to find an excuse.

"Erm... I stayed too late talking with Rose and Alice at the tavern, and when I went to the butcher's, he accidently tossed a raw pork leg at me. And then I fell down while I was walking home," I quickly explained.

"But I didn't ask you to go to butcher's today," Charlie said.

"Erm..." I said as my mind raced again, "No, you're right. But Rose and Alice had to so I followed them there."

Charlie sighed and then said, "Alright Isabella. But next time, don't stay too late and for goodness' sake, try not to be so clumsy, will you?"

"Yes, father," I said, my head lowered in repentance.

"Alright my child. Now clean yourself up and go to bed."

"I will, father," I replied and watched him disappear into his bedroom. I crept into the kitchen and found the medicine cabinet there. I thanked God that the cook was already asleep and I pulled everything I needed into my basket. I crept out of the house again and into the stables, climbing up the ladder to the loft. The man was still there and hadn't moved an inch, except for his head, which was turned to look out of the window. As I pulled myself onto the platform he turned his head to look at me as I pulled various items out of my basket. I took out the cleaning tonic and uncapped it.

"This might sting a little," I told him, as I dipped the cloth and dabbed it at his wound. He hissed, closing his eyes, jaw clenched as the tonic bubbled around his skin. After I deemed the wound clean enough, I dipped the tweezers in the tonic and inserted it into the wound. Sure enough, I didn't have to dig far before I found the little bullet and I pulled it out, gagging a little at the gore that stuck to it. I set it down on the ground and dabbed the wound with the cleaning tonic again. Then, I took the strips of cloth and wrapped it around and around his chest, where the wound was. Finally, I took out the small bottle of brandy I'd brought and handed it to him.

"To dull the pain," I explained. He downed it without a word, only grimacing as the liquor burned its way down his throat. He handed the small bottle back to a very surprised me, as usually I couldn't even taste it without sputtering. I took out the blanket I'd brought with me as well and covered him with it, then set the food I'd brought beside him. His eyes were already closing in exhaustion.

"Won't you tell me your name, now?" I asked him. His eyes opened up all the way to look at me, a strange expression in the beautiful green orbs, as if contemplating whether I was worthy of being granted the honor of knowing his name.

"Only if you tell me yours, fair lady," he murmured.

"My name is Isabella Swan," I said.

"Isabella... it suits you," he said, and then keeping his promise, he replied, "You may call me Edward."

Glad that I finally had a name to the face, I replied, "Alright Edward. Now sleep. You need your strength." And even before I'd finished the sentence, he was asleep. I lingered for a few minutes longer, staring at that perfect face. He was beautiful, dangerously so. I'd never seen anything like him in all my life. I brushed a tendril of hair away from his eyes and he sleepily turned his face toward my touch. Startled, I pulled my hand away and kept it to myself for the rest of the time. It was a while before I reluctantly left him to go to my own bed and slept, dreaming fitful dreams of emerald-colored eyes.