The Masked Avenger
by Chris Mulder
(Author's note: This story was inspired by, but is not meant to be a part of, the L&C episode, "Soul Mates." While I admire Tempus as a villain, what I mainly took away from that episode was the idea that Lois and Clark's souls were destined to find each other again and again throughout time. That's a lovely thought, isn't it? In a way it kind of explains why some people seem to fall in love "at first sight". It's because they've known each other before, known that they have been in love before, and they recognize--even if they can't remember--their soul mate. So there are no curses to worry about here. Just a fun romance with a bit of mystery, all wrapped up in a Regency package. Hope you enjoy it.
Because this is a Regency story, you'll see a few terms that may be unfamiliar to you, unless you are also fans of Georgette Heyer. She invented the genre at the beginning of the 20th century and spent years researching that era. Her work has been borrowed from as well as pirated ever since, but you owe to yourself to read the original. For example, the word "lover" did not mean then what it means now. You'll also see it used in a similar way in the works by Jane Austen. Back then it meant something like, "the guy I'm in love with and who loves me", not the "guy I'm sleeping with".
Thanks to Dotty for encouraging me to pick this one up and work on it again. It's been in a drawer for 15 years! :-)
***
Walter clutched the blunderbuss tightly in his chilled fingers as he tried to peer through wisps of fog to the road ahead. New as he was to the Earl's service, he had already heard tales enough to know that he was not a forgiving employer. Hoping that nothing would happen to further hamper their arrival, he spared a quick glance to his right; Henry Coachman was also nervous. They had orders to deliver their passengers this very night and they'd already been delayed by the fog.
A thick canopy of trees along this stretch hindered what little moonlight there was, making it difficult to see the road, but Walter didn't complain when the coachman urged his team to an even quicker pace. The sooner they were in the open again, the better Walter would like it.
They had nearly made it through the forest when the first shot rang out. Walter cursed and swung his weapon around, trying to pinpoint the location of the shooter. Three more shots, accompanied by shouts of "Stand and deliver", the pounding of who knew how many hooves, and the jangle of bridles and spurs, caused the coach team to shy suddenly. They would have plunged off the roadway, but found themselves hemmed in and forced to stop by other horses that were not riderless.
Finding a courage he hadn't hitherto known he possessed, Walter wrested the slack reins from Henry's nervous fingers and attempted to whip the team forward again. His efforts abruptly ended when another shot sent a ball into his left arm. The force of the impact propelled him against Henry who was already off balance, and the pair of them tumbled off the box and into the hedge. Frightened, dazed, and bleeding Walter could only listen with dismay as the robbers began to menace his passengers and loot their luggage.
The Earl wasn't going to like this one little bit, and Walter found himself wishing the bullet had hit a more vital spot.
One of the robbers was indeed rifling through the luggage of the coach's two passengers, but had so far uncovered nothing of particular value. A second one was keeping the coachman and Walter covered with his pistol, while the third one, who seemed to be the leader, had forced the passengers out of the carriage and was ordering them to hand over their valuables. And that was as far as he'd gotten because, instead of the frightened and cowed travellers he was used to dealing with, he was faced with a petite, brunette termagant who cursed at him in both French and English, and seemed perfectly willing to challenge him to a duel, right on the spot!
"Come on, now, missy! Hand over any sparklers you got, ors I might jes haf ta rough up the old gent 'ere," he ordered her in gruff tones, while waving his pistol in a threatening manner.
The lady wasn't impressed. "Cowards! Canaille!" she cried, her chin up and her eyes sparkling with anger, "to prey on women and old men. You should be ashamed!"
The robber was stunned by this outburst, and the admonishing finger which accompanied it, and blinked. This was seen by the lady as an opportunity and she took it. Turning on her heel and stalking towards the rear of the coach, she began to upbraid the man who was pawing through her portmanteau, pounding on his head and shoulders with her small fists. Too surprised to do anything but defend himself, he yelled for help from his companions, and was finally rescued.
"Now, see 'ere! None o' that! None o' that!" the leader ordered, as he lifted her away from his accomplice. He set her down unceremoniously, next to her father, and once again tried to return to the business at hand.
The old gentleman interposed himself between his furious daughter and the equally furious robber. "Please, monsieur, we have but little--"
"Non, Papa!" she exclaimed, stepping from behind him to confront their tormentor once again, "do not give them anything!"
The frustrated thief was astonished. "Give? Ya don't give it to us, missy, we takes wot we want!" Frenchies, he thought in disgust! They don't even know how a body was supposed to act when they was bein' robbed!
He closed in on the old gentleman and began to manhandle him while going through his pockets. He might have succeeded, too, if not for the hornet in female form, who was hopping about him, hitting and kicking him. His victim was divided between pleading for mercy from the thieves and pleading for restraint from his daughter, both pleas going equally unheeded. In all the excitement, no one noticed that the man who'd been guarding the horses was no longer there.
Suddenly, the night was rent by an anguished bellow, and the head robber immediately loosened his hold on the old gentleman. Rubbing his tender backside, he turned to see the young woman, hat in one hand and brandishing a particularly evil-looking hatpin with the other. "Why you--! You--!" Words failed him. He made as if to strike her, but her father grabbed onto his arm. He easily dislodged the old man, but he knew he'd need reinforcements if he was going to tackle the feisty wench in front of him. "Jamie! Drop them things and get o'er 'ere!"
Jamie did as he was bid and, between the two of them, they disarmed her and tied her onto the leader's horse. Securing the bridle to a nearby tree, they felt it was time to return to the all important task of highway robbery. The leader was still rubbing the spot where she'd stuck him with the pin, and Jamie was unwise enough to remark upon it. He got his ears boxed for his levity and was told to search the coach and be quick about it. "We ain't got all night, ya know!"
Jamie climbed into the coach, nursing his sore ear, and muttering dire threats under his breath. So busy was he with plotting his revenge against his leader, Horace, that he failed to notice when the door on the other side of the coach slowly opened. That is, until it was too late.
Horace was congratulating himself on finally getting this situation under control. With that bothersome female out of the way, they should be able to finish up in no time. He was vaguely aware of a presence behind him, but thinking it must be Jamie he paid no attention, even when the old man's eyes widened in surprise. His first indication that the situation was in fact not in his control was when he was spun around and knocked to the ground.
Someone tall and menacing, clothed all in black, stood over him, but Horace was never one to run from a good mill. He scrambled to his feet and charged at this interloper, certain of his ability to mow him down by sheer bull strength. Instead he found himself sprawled once more upon the ground, having received a kick to a part of his anatomy still smarting from earlier, unkind attentions. He bellowed in anger and charged into the fray once more.
Horace's mount, unsettled already by having an unfamiliar weight on its back, was now being frightened by the commotion of the fight and began to shy and tug at the reins. With her arms fastened to her sides, and her hands tied to the pommel, there was little the young woman could do but try and soothe the horse with her voice, and hang on--not especially easy on the unfamiliar men's saddle. Her father, seeing what was happening, tried to go to her aid, but his sudden appearance only served to further unsettle the animal.
A few yards away, the fight came to an abrupt end. There was a flash of steel and the sharp sound of something very solid hitting something very thick, and Horace crumpled, unconscious, to the verge of the road. At that same moment, his horse finally freed itself and bounded off into the woods with its unwelcome, and unwilling, passenger. A fearful father barely had time to cry out, "Lavinia, ma chérie! Au secours! Au secours!" before the newcomer had leapt upon his own horse and was off in pursuit.
Last edited by ChrisM; 10/25/15 09:06 PM.
![[Linked Image]](http://cosgan.de/images/more/bigs/a025.gif)
Your 1998 Kerth-winning story "Meet Me in Kansas City" is one of my all time favorites.