The Outlaw is elusive, but a message delivered into the right hands will find its way to her...

Danielle struggled with the ropes that bound her wrists. Usually she was quite adept at getting out of bindings, but the Raven and her men had been thorough. She was not going to be able to get out of these on her own. She had known that for a while. But she kept on struggling, moving her wrists back and forth, because something in her would not quit.

Her father used to say that to her. "Danielle, my child, you don't know when to quit. It is imperative to know when you are beat."

But unlike many other lessons her father had taught her, Danielle had never quite gotten the concept of quitting. So there she was, hogtied in the forest, rubbing her wrists against her bindings.

The Raven and her men were camped a few meters away. They had fed her and given her a blanket to lie on. Other than that, they had left her alone. They seemed uninterested in tormenting her, a fact for which Danielle was secretly grateful. Her captivity would be so much more unbearable if she had to contend with torture. Danielle had never been tortured, but she had gathered that it was very unpleasant.

A rowdy song went up from the men surrounding the main fire. The sky was dark. Danielle leaned against one of the crates she had been placed between. She watched the merry band of outlaws, now seemingly trading stories of their exploits around the fire, and thought that they were all rather civilized for a bunch of career criminals.

"Here ya are girly." A matronly looking woman missing her two front teeth smiled down at her from above the crates. In her fat, callused hands she held two, rather warm looking blankets. The woman's accent, like the Raven's, was foreign, and it took Danielle a moment to understand what she was saying.

"Thank you, madam." Danielle said once she'd caught on, inclining her head slightly as her parents had taught her to do in court. There was no reason not to be polite, not when one was in such a precarious situation.

The woman chuckled, "No need to thank me, my dear." She said. With a wave of her hand she was off, back towards the singing men by the fire.

Danielle sighed again and maneuvered herself under one of the blankets. At least she was warm.

Christophe would have been much more sympathetic to the Marquis' plight had she not prodded Danielle into her ill-conceived attempt at freedom with her incessant nagging. She had been forced to cancel the Hunt and turned noble guests away at the door, including Danielle's very eligible fiancé to be. As it was, Christophe was quite content to sit back with a glass of wine and watch the nervous, rabbit-eared servants scuttle after his mother as she stormed around the main hall, shouting at pale-faced guardsmen.

It was really quite amusing.

His mother's usually immaculate blonde hair had come undone from her intricate up do and now hung around her beat-red face. Every few minutes she would lose what little cool she had and whap one of the servants around the head with whatever she happened to be holding.

"Really, mother? Hysterical over a postponed party?" Christophe drawled, sipping his wine. He turned the page of the book he was pretending to read for effect. His mother turned on him.

"How dare you! You ungrateful little rat! The whole Hunt had been postponed!"

"We are hardly ruined, Mother." Christophe sighed, turning another page, "Our reputation was destroyed years ago…there were no high expectations for us."

Her hand moved too quickly for him to block it. Christophe jerked back in his chair and stared up at his mother, rubbing his bruised cheek as he did so.

"Resorting to physical violence now, Mother?" Christophe snorted, "How common."

And, book in hand, the Heir of Serault swept from the hall and up to his room with as much grace as could be expected.

"The Raven, I presume?" the deep Free Marches baritone woke Danielle with a start. At first, she was confused by her surroundings, but, as she glanced around the still campsite in the misty light of early morning, the details of her current predicament came rushing back to her.

She struggled a moment with her bound hands, but managed to prop herself up enough to see over the crates. A tall man with tanned skin that hinted at his northern origin stood in front of her kidnapper, dressed in noble finery. He was flanked by two of his guardsmen who looked even more weary then the noble man, if possible. The Raven seemed relaxed, though not one of her dozen men were in sight.

"You received my message then, Lord Trevelyan?" the Raven asked, sauntering up to the noble man with entirely too much confidence for a criminal.

"I did." The man replied, his forehead creasing as her studied the woman before him, "I must say, such a message was most unusual."

"Yes, well, I do like to keep things interesting." The Raven winked. She glanced over to where Danielle was peering over the crates, "Ah, I see our pretty little captive has awoken. Never fear, love," she patted Danielle on the head, "Your rescue has arrived."

The nobleman frowned, "What is the meaning of this?"

The Raven tossed her head, "Every once in a while I get it in my head to send a message to my dear Marquis. The girl here isn't of a bad sort, but you'll find she's quite missed up at the Chateau."

"Of that I have no doubt." The nobleman said, "But what is to stop me from arresting you now for kidnapping, on the authority of the Noble House of Serault?"

The trees seemed to whistle ominously at that. The Raven smiled, "Oh my dear Marquis," the Raven said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Thankfully, the man was not Orlesian.