Part Four

Moz Havisham was worried: since his last meeting with Neal, the young highwayman had disappeared, and he was missing from all his regular haunts. The story of a dead highwayman had sent him to the house of Doctor Miller, a known anatomist, only for Moz to leave relieved that the body being autopsied wasn't him. Neal was still missing but at least hadn't suffered that fate.

But still Moz kept on looking. He had first met Neal when the younger man had been sent to Newgate for forging a painting; Neal had done the impossible and escaped from that hellhole, but had been badly injured on the spiked walls. Neal had crawled into the rat trap that Moz had been calling home at the time, and collapsed. He could have ignored him or handed him over for the reward but he had done neither; instead he had nursed him back to health. In the handsome, intelligent younger man he had found a true friend. So he would find Neal, even if was just to bury him.

Moz kept looking. He methodically criss-crossed the countryside. It was then he got his first break: there was rich gossip about the wife of Major Burke, how she had been out with her servant when she had been attacked by a highwayman. The two women had been rescued by a mystery man who had killed their attacker. Given that he knew of Neal's almost-fatal attraction to Peter Burke, it didn't take much for him to put a name to the mystery man, Neal Caffrey. So what had happened then?

Ruling out all other possibilities, only one solution remained, that Neal was being kept prisoner at Major Burke's own house, but why? Surely it would be in the interest of the Major to have Neal hanged. Which drew him back to Mrs. Burke, and perhaps a debt that was being repaid; he had heard of the liberty Neal had taken.

Moz waited until Sunday; when he saw the Burkes setting off to church, carefully he crept up near the house and into the stable. In one of the stalls was Neal's horse, which meant that Neal was in the house; now he just had to figure a way of getting him out.

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St Catherine's Church

Peter, with Elizabeth on his arm, led her into the church and to one of the front pews as befitting his social standing in the community. Across from them they saw Sir Garrett Fowler, and on his arm the beautiful young woman he had taken as his mistress. He took great joy in flaunting her, her long dark hair laying across her shoulders, her dress a rich blue, with a pastel shawl. If he saw the way that the decent men and women turned away from her, he didn't care.

Since he had started to hunt Neal, Peter had begun to put together everything that he knew of the younger man, hoping that it would give him the clues to catch him. He had learned about Neal and Kate, a tragic love story that rivalled Elizabeth's favourite Shakespearean play, Romeo and Juliet. This was the woman that Neal cried out for in his fits of fever, that Elizabeth had to pretend to be to calm him, so that he could rest peacefully. She had taken up with the very man who had sent Neal to Newgate Prison in the first place, and indirectly started him on the road to being a highwayman.

When they returned from church, Peter had been furious to find Neal gone, while Elizabeth had clutched at his arm, trying to get him to calm down. Reaching up a hand, she had touched his face, drawing it down to her. "We will find him, Peter; and we will make him understand how important he has become to us."

Her words, said quietly but with such emotion, quieted his anger. Taking a steadying breath, Peter said, "He couldn't have gone far; I vow we will find him."

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While Neal healed, Moz kept his ear to the ground. The Major was tearing up the countryside looking for him, and he was catching a lot of the smaller criminals in the net that he was casting for Neal. Twice Moz had had to move Neal ahead of a raid by the militia. But he refused to leave the young highwayman behind. But all the same he knew that they were closing in on them. So for Moz it was no surprise when he returned to find Neal saddling his horse; he was breathless when he finished, but determined, as he pulled himself up into the saddle. Moz reached up and covered Neal's hand. "Watch out for yourself, Neal, Burke is like a rabid dog on your tail."

"He has to catch me first, Moz." The two men shared a silence that spoke volumes, and then Neal was gone.

What money Moz had given Neal was soon exhausted. The people that usually helped him were charging double their usual rate; others refused outright, reluctant to bring the fury of Peter Burke down on them, so Neal had to take to the road again. The moment that he started to work the High Toby again, Neal's fate was sealed.

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Peter arrived home, came through the door and swept Elizabeth off her feet, swinging her round as he kissed her, much to the amusement of Diana who was standing in the hallway. "He attacked the London-bound coach yesterday. I will have him soon. Your father swore enough to turn the air blue, but has said that if I can catch him and put an end to Neal's robberies, he will sign the paper."

Elizabeth put a finger to his lips to quiet him, "Bring Neal home to us, beloved," and kissed him.

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Old Goat Tavern

Neal had just entered the courtyard, turned into the stable and dismounted when one of the pot boys ran out; breathlessly he just managed to yell one sentence. "Soldiers are in the tavern."

Neal swore and turned towards his horse, only to have his way blocked by Peter, sword in hand.

"You're not going anywhere, Caffrey."

Neal grabbed for his pistol tucked in his belt, only to pause as Peter's other hand brought up his own pistol.

"Take it out and throw it to the ground, Caffrey."

Neal did as he was told, then faced Peter. "You bastard, you.…"

Peter holstered his pistol. "If you can get by me, Caffrey, you can escape." He knew he was taking a risk: Caffrey was a master swordsman, but then so was he. But he had the advantage: Neal Caffrey was still weakened by his wound; even so it was going to make this interesting, Peter mused.

Peter faced Neal down; their blades touched in an almost-sensual kiss of metal on metal. Neal lunged forward, stamping his foot down, crushing the straw in the barn under his weight, but Peter stepped back before launching his own counterattack.

Neal threw himself to one side, avoiding the blade as Peter aimed for his sword arm, trying to wound him, to make him lose his hold on his sword and end the fight quickly. But he was too fast, and instead of pulling back stepped closer, trying to hit Peter across the forehead with the hilt of his sword, in his heart knowing that he didn't want to hurt Peter more than necessary to escape. But Peter was faster and he managed to knock aside the hilt, at the same time using his larger bulk to push Neal away. Peter saw the younger man stumble and took the opening; he lunged forward, aiming again for his sword arm, trying to gain the advantage to prevent him from running. Peter didn't want to kill him, just take his options away.

Behind his adversary Peter saw his men enter and he smiled in satisfaction. Neal would be his. Then Peter cursed as he realised that Jones wasn't with them; he would be in the tavern, waiting to spring the trap. Neal stood a chance of being badly hurt; his men had no love of highwaymen.

Caffrey's head snapped round. With a snarl he slashed at Peter as the older man closed on him, causing him to step back. Neal turned on his heels; catching hold of a heavy wooden bucket he swung it round and released it, it hit one of the soldiers in the stomach, winding him and sending him cannoning into the one behind him, bringing them both down in a mass of arms and legs. Neal used everything at hand to try to force them to keep their distance from him, including a rather-indignant hen, but in the end the result was never in doubt, One of the soldiers on the ground, clutching his groin where a turnip had nearly unmanned him, caught Neal's ankle as the slender highwayman tried to run past and pulled his leg from under him, sending him staggering forward.

Peter threw himself forward, not wanting to risk Neal being hurt, knowing his men would want revenge for their injuries. He ploughed into the highwayman from behind, sending him flying into the side of one of the stalls. The sword flew from Neal's hand and the men were onto him. Neal fought savagely, but was soon finally overpowered.

Peter moved in quickly, grabbing the rope from one of the men's hands and lashing Neal's hands together, just as Captain Ruiz and his men arrived.

Ruiz smiled an oily smile at Peter. "Your plan worked, Major. Don't worry, sir, you'll get your credit for his capture. Men, take the prisoner."

"He is my prisoner, Captain," Peter said, moving in front of Neal, almost protectively.

"This tavern is in Sir Garrett Fowler's district, therefore Caffrey is my prisoner, Major," he said as he thrust the creased paper into Peter's hand.

Opening it quickly, Peter read through, his face hardening, as he was forced to stand by and watch Neal pushed up onto the back of an old plough nag, and led away.

Peter watched them ride away; mind made up, he grabbed his horse from the pot boy and pulled himself into the saddle, throwing some coins to Jones. "Buy the men some drink to celebrate our success, and tell Mrs. Burke that I will be home soon." Turning his horse round he kicked it into a canter to follow Ruiz. He couldn't get over the feeling that there was something very wrong about Ruiz and his timely arrival at the tavern with that document. He pulled his horse up as he saw that instead of taking Neal to town, he was being taken down the road leading to the house of the Squire, Sir Garrett Fowler; puzzled, Peter followed them.

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The Estate of Sir Garrett Fowler

Peter left his horse tethered in a small outcrop of trees that bordered the edge of the estate and made his way on foot. Word was Sir Garrett was too mean to employ many servants; even so, Peter kept a weather eye open as he crept to one of the windows. Looking through, he could see Neal with Ruiz and his guards waiting in front of an ornate staircase. Reaching up, he carefully pressed against the windowpane, and sent a little prayer of thanks up as it opened enough for him to hear the men talking.

Coming down the stairs was Sir Garrett Fowler. He was in his late forties, a tall man; he had spent most of his life in politics, but with enough sense to ride the tides of whoever was in power.

Sir Garrett was gloating as he smiled. "A long time, Caffrey, but as you can see, it is I who will get the last laugh. And that, my boy, will be when you do the Tyburn Jig." He looked Neal up and down as if he were a prize stallion to be brought or sold. "You're fit and healthy and should dance the jig for 10 minutes before you die, and we'll be there to see you." He leaned in. "Your doxy Kate will be there; she won't want to miss your crowning moment, Caffrey."

Sir Garrett's face crumbled into a mask of agony when Neal's knee came up fast and thudded into his groin as Neal snarled his threat to geld the man, even as he was clubbed to the floor by a musket butt between the shoulder blades and the guards laid into him with feet and fists. At the window Peter watched, knowing there was nothing he could do to help Neal; for the moment it was out of his hands.

Clutching himself tightly, Sir Garrett, breathing hard, slowly straightened up, and spat, "Don't kill him, you fools, or you'll replace him on the noose."

Sir Garrett's mouth was a tight line. "In the meantime, make this cockroach regret that he was ever sired. Understand me, Captain?"

Peter swore under his breath and slid down the side of the wall to sit, a hand across his face; he had to get Neal out of there, but how? Then he remembered the small weaselly man who had been in the tavern with Neal: he was a starting point.

Newgate Prison

A stream of water hit Neal in the face. He woke and tried to pull away from it as the stream hit his chest; the movement sent pain knifing through his stomach, chest, and head. He rolled onto his side, coughed and spat blood into the filthy straw, and tried to bring his knees up to block the pain. It was only then his dazed mind registered the manacles that held him chained to the wall.

"So the pretty boy awakes," a gruff voice announced.

Neal managed to turn his head, hissing against the pain, and focused on the doorway to the cell. A big mountain of a man, cock in hand, stood there, as he shook off the last few drop of his piss before doing up his pants. The man laughed, showing broken and rotten teeth. "Did you think we would waste good water on your kind, cur?"

The big man came in with another man. He was holding a cudgel in his hand, which he tapped up and down against the side of his leg. This man was smaller than the man-mountain but with a big belly that spilled over his belt; his smile was chilling as he strode in. Neal tried to pull himself backward away from the men, now looming over him, only to be pulled up by the chain tethered to the wall.

The man-mountain brought a big foot down, pinning Neal to the straw by a foot to the chest, crushing the breath from his lungs; leaning forward, the man used the cudgel to press Neal's chin backward, forcing his head back so that he was looking up into their faces.

"With the compliments of Sir Garrett," the man snarled, then the cudgel swung down and all Neal knew was pain as he worked his body with skill. When respite came it only heralded more horrors as rough hands clawed at him, and then all Neal could do was scream.

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Two days later, Jailer Avery pocketed the money from the woman and tried to hide his smirk as this genteel woman her face hidden by the hood of her cloak, and by the dainty lace mask she wore made her way down the mildewed steps to the cells below. This was not the first fine lady to give him a few shillings for the privilege of seeing a highwayman, an adventure that she would tell to the other ladies in her sewing group.

Avery let his anger show; a bitch like that spent more money on a dainty wipe for her nose than he did buying food for his family. He jiggled the money in his hand, but if the stupid bitch wanted to see Caffrey then she would pay through the nose; he chuckled a little at his pun.

As he walked past her, he saw the way she moved her dress out of the way as if frightened that his very touch might give her the pox. He pulled the cudgel from his belt and hit it along the bars of Caffrey's cell. The woman had paid, and Caffrey, if he knew what was good for him, would perform. If he got a tip to buy gin then he would leave the highwayman alone; if he didn't then Caffrey would pay by being tonight's entertainment.

"Caffrey, move your arse; you've got a visitor," Avery gloated. turned his back, went back up the stairs to his small room and went back to his whittling; it was only two more days and his money cow would be gone, hanging from Tyburn. But his face brightened; there was always another of his kind out there and then the shillings would roll in again. Before he had taken her down he had given her his usual talk about the man being dangerous: a little spice to add to the dish, even though he knew that Caffrey had never laid a lustful hand on a woman that hadn't wanted him to.

"Neal," the woman spoke softly. There was no response from the huddled figure at the back of the cell. "Neal," she said the name louder. "NEAL," she snapped the name. This time the figure moved, slowly unfolding itself, moving more like an old man than the young man she knew he was.

A scraped hand latched onto the bars, holding the highwayman upright. The chains hung heavily on him; he appeared to have a problem focusing on her and a thin trickle of blood stained the side of his face. Even so, when his free hand moved, it was with enough speed to make her jump backwards. The chuckle from the injured man made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"What's the matter, lady, not what you thought?" He coughed, using the grubby sleeve of his shirt to cover his mouth.

Even in the flickering light, the woman noticed that there was blood on it. Elizabeth took a step forward back to the bars.

"Sorry, lady, I don't have any witty remarks for you, or maybe you want a gallows fuck," Neal snarled.

"Neal, you have to listen to me."

"Informal for gallows meat, isn't it?" Caffrey said. "Most of you gallows hags just.…" He broke off; the woman wasn't worth his anger. His head dropped forward to rest against the cold bars; the headache was back with a vengeance, and he was having trouble focusing on her. He thought he knew her voice, but in the dim light he couldn't see her clearly. The woman reached out, her hand lightly stroking his head, her fingers carding through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck; slowly he looked up: it was the gentleness of her touch that reached him. Elizabeth pushed the lace mask down so he could see her face, as he said her name.

"Elizabeth," he breathed the name, as if she was a goddess, not a mortal woman, and he was sending up praise to her. He lifted his head and reached out a blood-streaked hand; his fingertips brushed her face. "Go, please, don't do this ... your reputation ... Peter."

"He knows I am here," she said softly; when he tried to pull away she caught his hand, "You will not hang, Neal." Elizabeth started to hand him a small velvet purse of money; it was then Neal heard the footsteps of the jailer coming back and saw the man framed in the doorway. Suddenly he caught Elizabeth through the bar, pulled her close and kissed her hard; immediately she struggled. Then the jailer was pulling her away, his cudgel hammering across the bars, making Neal pull back and stagger into the dark, falling down onto the filthy straw. Once the jailer was gone he put a hand into his pocket and found the purse that Elizabeth had slipped him when he had grabbed her. The money would go a long way to improve his conditions at the prison.

From the direction of the stairs he could hear the jailer's voice floating down. "Animal, Madam, like I said. An animal."

Avery escorted her back up the steps; he would see to Caffrey later. Doing something like that could put the ladies off; they wanted a gentleman of the road even if he was gallows bait in the morning, not a rutting animal in heat. He saw her to the door and watched her climb into a carriage; the crest on the side was covered. The Jailer's hand fingered the shillings in his pocket; pity he hadn't known that earlier, otherwise he would have charged more.

The carriage stopped half a mile up the road and a man got in. The driver whipped up his horses as Peter Burke settled himself back in the seat. "Good evening, my lady. And.…"

"I saw him, Peter." Elizabeth's face turned to one of sorrow. "I am sorry; Peter, but they have beaten him." She reached for her husband's hand and squeezed it. "We have to get him out of there, Peter."

"We will, El; he will not die." Peter kissed the back of her hand and pulled her into his arms.

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The Bailey

The court case had been quick and simple and to the point; in one day, Neal Caffrey was tried, convicted and sentenced to death.

"And may the Lord have mercy on your soul," the judge intoned as he finished delivering the death sentence.

Turning as he was led away, for the first time Neal showed emotion as he saw his lover Kate seated in the gallery. Next to her was Sir Garrett. Knowing that Neal was watching, Sir Garrett raised her hand and kissed her fingers before getting to his feet and escorting his lady from the courtroom, ignoring the chatter of the society ladies who packed the gallery to see the infamous Neal Caffrey; but the topic on their lips, though, was Sir Garrett with his whore, a scandal a juicy one to be enjoyed. But for his money and position, he would have been ostracised, but it didn't stop them talking.

Neal was pulled roughly away; he snarled and pulled hard on the chain, nearly bringing the jailer to his knees. Then, instead of trying to escape, he held his head up and walked forward; if he was going to the gallows, he was going as a man. He would show Sir Garrett that he knew how to die.

His last night on earth, Neal was visited late in the evening by a woman. He ignored her; he wanted to find his own peace, not play the games they wanted.

Jailer Avery used the club to bang the bars. "Come here, you cur, the lady wants to see you."

The woman was in her mid-twenties, a beauty. She pushed the jailor's hand down. "Neal," she called his name softly.

The highwayman closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath to steady his emotions, then slowly limped to the bars. He looked her up and down, then his eyes flicked to Avery.

The woman turned and pressed an additional coin into his hand and the jailer turned away. With a muttered, "Ten minutes, my lady," he was gone.

"Neal, darling." She reached for his hand, but he pulled back before she could touch him.

"I saw you with him in the courtroom; you didn't look like a prisoner, Kate," he spat.

"Sir Garrett is a good man," Kate said, her tone imploring Neal to believe her.

Neal laughed in her face. "I broke out of Newgate to be with you, Kate, but by the time I had gotten free, you were gone; you didn't wait for me. I love you ... I loved you." Neal corrected himself.

She shook her head. "He was there to help me when you got caught forging that painting for the Duke. I could have been convicted as well; he put a word in for me, Neal. But, no, Neal, you had to cause trouble, you had to escape and take to the high roads, and come looking for me. Don't you understand, I don't need you, now this …" Her voice became angry, "... is what you have come to, a common thief ending your life at the end of a rope."

She paused; Sir Garrett and the beatings had been the stick, now here she was to offer the sweet carrot to get him to do what they wanted. "But there is a way to escape the rope even at this late stage. Sir Garrett can get you out of here if you give him the inlaid wooden box that you stole from Lady Catherine Meadows."

"The box, why does he want that?"

"A whim, a fancy, Neal, nothing more. Tell me where it is and you can get out of here now."

It was then that Neal laughed, bitter and harsh.

"What's so funny, Neal? You have to tell me."

"I didn't steal it, Kate; I don't have it."

Kate shook her head. "Do not joke with me, Neal; everyone knows that you broke into her house and stole it. It's the kind of trinket that you like."

"I never touched it, Kate; I was robbing a coach on the Great North Road when it was taken."

"You never denied it."

"It added to my reputation," Neal said.

"Then may the Lord have mercy on you, Neal, because the hangman will not." She pulled back from the bars. "I will pray for your soul." With that she turned and walked away, leaving Neal to sink down into the straw; for the first time tears rolled slowly down his face. Neal rolled his head back to rest it against the cold wet wall of the cell and closed his eyes, as he felt the weight of Kate's betrayal settle on him.

The Blue Boar Inn

Hangman Boon, a tall man with lank dark hair who'd been the hangman since old man Mallory got so drunk he nearly hanged the priest by mistake two years ago, was visited by a livery-clad servant. A man sat down at his table, and slapped a guinea onto the table top. "I have a message from Sir.…"

Boon hissed at the man, "No names." The risk was too great; if he was caught, he would lose his livelihood. Another gold guinea was pressed to his hand; he pushed them into his pocket as he listened to what the man was telling him, and nodded his agreement. If a gentleman of quality wanted to make sure that Caffrey danced the Tyburn Jig long and hard, then who was he to protest? A good show and the public would be queuing up for their inch of Caffrey's execution rope; at a penny a length, he could make good money off the dead man's back.

Buying a bottle of gin, he took a deep pull on it as he walked out of the tavern, only to have his way blocked by a horseman; the rider was a man of quality. Boon touched his hat, muttering his apologies; more than likely, a quality cove wanting some memento of Caffrey for his lady. There was always some lady in the gentry that would be a spirited ride for her buck after a hanging; the doctors always said a hanging got a woman's juices flowing and it would be guaranteed if he had some trinket of Caffrey's to give her, but he was in a hurry and the man would have to wait his turn.

The horseman blocked him again; this time he paid attention as he heard the jingle of coins on coins. Looking up, he saw the purse held just above his head. The rider leaned down; his voice was hard and uncompromising, his eyes blazing with almost a religious fever of intensity. When he had finished speaking, all Boon could do was nod in agreement; whatever the mystery gentleman had wanted was forgotten; there was something about this man that scared him down to his very core. The grim man let the gold coins rain down into his hand, five times what the mystery gentleman had given him: a reward given and a threat promised all in one breath if he didn't do what the man said, and then he was gone, leaving the hangman shaking in his boots.

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Newgate Prison

Neal Caffrey smoothed down the white shirt and tugged at its cuffs; he had paid the last of his money to the jailer's wife who had washed and pressed his clothes for his last ride. If he was going, he was going out in style.

Neal, his hands bound in front of him, was loaded into the cart and the prison gate opened. The cart was surrounded by guards. He was taken out into the streets; looking straight ahead, Neal didn't acknowledge the crowds until the women hanging out of the windows began to yell for his attention. Neal grinned up at them, a smile that had won his way into many a bedroom and a ladies' pantaloons on his face, as he blew them a kiss.

The cart made its first stop on the slow way to Tyburn, and a mug of ale was passed up to him. To the cheers of the crowd, the highwayman downed it in one long drink then threw the mug back to the owner, who turned it upside down for all the crowd to see, and the cheers increased. They always liked a good show, and Caffrey was going to give them that as he returned their greetings with ones of his own. His bawdy replies caused more laughter; each stop, each drink, brought him that bit nearer to his own death.

Finally the cart turned onto the long road that led to the three-legged stool structure that dominated the skyline; the poor were gathered round it, the rich sat in specially-constructed benches.

A street bard was calling out his poem, waving it above the heads of the crowd, taking their pennies as the people bought it as a souvenir of Caffrey's hanging.

Here soon liese Caffrey: Reder, if male thou art,

Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.

Much havoc has he made of both; for all

Men he made to stand, and women he made to fall

Knights to his arm did yield, and ladies to his face.

Old Tyburn's glory; England's illustrious Thief,

Caffrey, the ladies' joy; Caffrey, the ladies' grief

Hangman Boon stood waiting with the priest. He was nervous; if this went wrong he knew that the grim man would kill him.

Neal Caffrey's cart came to a halt and he looked up at the instrument of his death: the three-legged gallows of Tyburn.

The guard laughed harshly as he helped Neal down from the back of the cart as he said, "Don't want you to break your neck, Caffrey, before we get a chance to stretch it."

Neal was pulled to a halt, a guard on each arm. The hangman pushed them out of the way; he touched Neal's wrist and felt the highwayman tense, and then saw a flicker of surprise on his face as the hangman pressed the knife into his hand as he manhandled him forward towards the noose.

The priest came forward, speaking in a low voice as he recited the prayers. Neal ignored him; he had made his peace with his God, and looked round at the men, women and children that pressed forward. When he looked at the stand with its rows of benches he saw all the fops and quality that sat there, all having paid their silver to see the show. Centre of the group was Sir Garrett, his arm round Kate, her face pale and pinched and her hand clutching that of the older man, but her head lifted as she looked him straight in the eyes. Her expression lacked any compassion for him as she accepted a glass of wine from her lover, and with a smile raised the glass to him.

Neal turned away from them to the crowd, his voice strong and forceful as he said his piece as was expected of him; he made no attempt to beg for forgiveness, or express sorrow for his crimes. His final sallies made the crowd laugh and a quick glance at Sir Garrett saw the man's face had turned as red as a beetroot as his insults had cut the man deep to the core.

A hand to his arm and he walked the few steps to the rope. Neal looked up, following the rope's path up across the beam and then down to the horses that would drag his twisting, writhing body up into the air until the rope cut off his air and suffocated him as the crowd watched him twist and turn and soil himself as he died.

The hangman put the rope round Neal's neck and in the next instant Neal was pulled up into the air, his legs kicking as the rope closed on his throat. He struggled, fighting against the darkness that threatened to engulf him and the panic that ate at his insides; fighting to push it back, he made himself concentrate on the knife in his hand. Somehow he managed to slash the rope and he dropped. Neal fell the fifteen feet to the ground, pitching forward into the dirt. He struggled to regain his feet, trying to draw in breath through his abused throat as the guards started forward. Dimly, he could hear the crowd yelling and screaming, as smoke pots exploded round him. It was as if everything had slowed down. There was the sound of horse's hooves, a strong masculine voice shouting orders, and the sound of gunfire.

A hand grasped him and pure primal strength pulled him up; he lost his fight to keep his grip on consciousness as he was thrown across the neck of the powerful stallion.

His rescuer dug his heels into the horse's sides and it took off at the gallop, bursting through the people; the onlookers opened a way for him, cheering as one person escaped the Tyburn Jig

Tomorrow a new legend would start about Neal Caffrey and the man in black; Neal had looked death in the eye at Tyburn and lived.

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Once well clear of Tyburn, Peter Burke slowed his horse. Placing a hand on Neal's back, he could feel his heart beat. He dug his heels harder into his horse, encouraging it to run harder; he couldn't stop to remove the noose until they were far enough away.

"Not far now." Peter allowed himself the luxury of petting the man that he hoped would be his lover, no, their lover, and turned his horse to the north. He looked over to Elizabeth, scandalously dressed in men's clothes, a brace of pistols tucked in her belt, a mask hiding her face; she pulled it down, the smile wide on her face. Kicking the horses forward they headed for the cart and Moz Havisham, the man that had masterminded the riot that had allowed them to escape.

As soon as he saw them Moz jumped down from the cart. "Hold the horse," Peter ordered Moz as the small man reached up for Neal. Dismounting quickly, Peter reached for Neal, pulling him off the horse and into his arms; he carried the highwayman to the cart and laid him down. Quickly he pulled the cursed rope from Neal's neck and threw it away with disgust. Elizabeth handed Peter a small bottle that Moz had given her and he uncorked it under the younger man's nose. For a moment, Neal didn't move; then there was a slight movement and he took a shaking gasp. Peter caught his hands as he tried to tear at his throat; Neal struggled violently, then gasped for breath, and Neal's eyes flew open as he panicked.

Peter increased his hold on his hands. "Easy, easy, lad; try to take slow breaths." Neal lay there, his eyes fixed on Peter's face as if he was a rock he could cling to. Neal's breathing began to slow, and only when he was sure that he was all right did Peter let go of his hands and lean back. Neal's hand snaked out and caught his wrist, his eyes pleading for him to stay close, as with his other hand Neal raised a hand to his throat, his fingers feeling the rough abrasions from the rope on his skin.

Elizabeth reached out and gently brushed the side of Neal's face with the back of her fingers, turning his attention to her; she held a bottle, and sliding a hand under his head raised it as she coaxed him to drink from it. "You need to drink this, Neal; it will help your throat."

Neal didn't hesitate; he sipped the drink. A few minutes later his drugged eyes closed and his body went limp, and Peter helped pull the blankets up and around him.

Peter's mind went back to that morning: he had been ready to risk his life riding to Neal's rescue only to find Elizabeth dressed up and waiting for him, a brace of pistols tucked in her belt and another brace strapped to her saddle. At that moment he had loved her more than she could ever have known. Words were not needed because she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him and then kissed him hard on the mouth, which turned into a sweet kiss; as she pulled back she had said, "Now let's get our Neal." In that moment they had made the silent vow to rescue Neal or die trying.

Even so it had been too close; so many things could have gone wrong. If they had been late Caffrey might have been a corpse instead of the warm breathing body that he now held cradled against him inside the cart as they made their way to Hughes's estate.

Peter ran his hands over the younger man, checking for further injuries; Peter looked up into the face of his wife. "He's safe now, he's with us." Elizabeth nodded, leaned forward and kissed Peter; he hugged her tightly over Neal's sleeping body, and then when their kiss was broken she gently kissed the highwayman's lips in an almost chaste kiss.

When they arrived at the house, Neal had been carried from the wagon into the house and laid on the bed in the guest room. He looked so pale and so fragile lying there, they hadn't wanted to leave him alone until he had finally woke, choking, his hands clawing at this throat.

Peter caught his hands as his fingers tore at this throat, leaving bloody grooves in his flesh, and pulled them away. "Neal, you're safe." He felt the younger man shudder against him. "You have to breathe for me, Neal, slowly, in and out, copy me, in and out."

Gradually Neal, his eyes never leaving Peter's face, began to copy him, and his breathing slowed as the panic began to ease out of him. When Peter tried to ease back, Neal's arms closed round him and he refused to let him go, burying his face against Peter's shoulder, giving a soft sigh as he felt the older man's arms close round him and bring him into a close hug.

Elizabeth watched them, tears in her eyes, as Peter waved her over. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her arms round both men, her hand lightly rubbing Neal's back until he finally went almost boneless in her husband's arms, emotionally and physically drained.

For a long time they stayed locked in each other's arms, knowing that once they let go it was going to get complicated, and not sure now how to start the conversation they knew they were going to have. Peter was relieved when Elizabeth took control and drew Neal closer to her. Elizabeth coaxed Neal's head against her shoulder and stroked the back of his neck and shoulders, in a loving, intimate caress that seemed to reassure him as she spoke softly to him.

Neal listened as Elizabeth told him that everything he wanted, he could have, that he just had to ask, that they both loved him and their love had no limit; they would never tire of him. This time there was no dancing around their emotions, what they said to each other in that embrace was the truth: there were no falsehoods. Peter saw the startled look that Neal shot at him as Elizabeth whispered in his ear, and the older man understood. Outside of the Molly houses of London, in the shires, for someone—even more shockingly, the wife of another man—to suggest that her husband wanted to have a relationship with him was startling when it was said outright with no varnishing of the truth.

Peter knew what had to be said. "Neal, if you would come to me as my lover ..." He smiled at Elizabeth and corrected it to "... our lover, you have to know and understand that the deal with Sir Reese has nothing to do with this. If you say no—and I know that the risk you take by saying yes is great then I still want to work with you, and we would invite you into our house as our friend, and expect nothing more from you. You, Neal, have the power here." Peter paused and felt Elizabeth cling to his hand tightly, as they waited for his answer. Slowly Neal leaned forward. The kiss was chaste, a light brush of lips, and then he did the same with Elizabeth. Two had now become three.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sir Reese Hughes had been furious when he heard what had happened at the hanging. He had ranted and raved at his son-in-law and his daughter, glaring at the pale- faced young man with the bandages round his throat who had stood with them.

Hughes stalked round the oak desk, to stand right in front of Caffrey, Sir Reese's eyes boring into Neal's. "You had better be worth this, young man; Major Burke has put his career at risk for you, and he in turn my daughter's happiness."

Only when he had seen Caffrey nod did he walk back and take up his pen, then with a flourish he signed his name on the document in front of him, and then offered the pen to Neal Caffrey, watching as the highwayman set his name to the legal papers set out in front of him on the desk. Sir Reese leaned back in his chair and told Neal in plain language what he had done.

He has signed away his life. He would belong to Major Peter Burke for the next 10 years, during which time he would help him hunt down the lawless men of the county and bring them to trial. If he tried to run he would be thrown back into prison; if he went back to working the High Toby he would be hanged. They were setting a thief to catch a thief.

Sir Reese Hughes looked forward to seeing the two men working together; he suspected that with Peter at the helm, this unusual partnership was going to work.

The End.