They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast! She heard the doomed man say—. Watch for me by moonlight;. She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
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They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years. The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it.
The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter
She strove no more for the rest. Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast. She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,. The red coats looked to their priming!
Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter by rapunzell on DeviantArt
She stood up, straight and still. Tlot-tlot , in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot , in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
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Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,. Her musket shattered the moonlight,. Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death. He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood. Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear. Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,. With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. Thanks for the comment! I love that poem! I'm amazed that I did. Oil takes forever. Prev Next. The Porch Steps "Lovely, dear, your legs are skinny, watch what goes between those lips. View Gallery. Random Fandom by LogicallyVulcan.
Devious Collection 67 by chivalryss. View More. More from DeviantArt. How old are you? James: Nice easy question to start off with. Good start. Sirius: Yeh, my little baby. Remus: My eighteenth birthday is coming up soon. Your parents? Roxi: unenthusiastically A microwave. Sirius: Yeh yeh! A wicked thing!!
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Upload Files. Rand gazed north, where the straight highway took an abrupt turn. For the past three hours nothing had passed their way except for a handful of dilapidated coaches and shabbily-dressed travelers. While Zak wasn''t particular about whom he robbed, Rand agreed with Robin Hood: proper criminals should take from the rich.
The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter
And then you''re caught. Ye know as well as I that a gagger, though he be rich as King George himself, will dress poor just t'' trick us. If a proper gagger don''t come along soon, I''ll be millin'' meself a flat. Rand mentally translated Zak''s cant into something resembling the King''s English.
Basically, Zak meant you could seldom tell a man''s wealth from his attire and he planned to rob the next traveler, no matter what the size of his purse. In truth, London''s press had proven to be a far more formidable opponent than the city''s decrepit watchmen and underpaid constables.
After every robbery, editors of the Gazeteer and the Monitor and the other daily papers howled for the apprehension of the "Gentleman Giant and his Quiet Companion. On the contrary, it had turned them into local heroes. He covered his face with his wide-brimmed hat, then clasped his hands across his prodigious belly. Almost immediately Zak''s rhythmic snores blended with the buzzing flies and the distant bleats of sheep. Rand tried to ignore his now throbbing leg and his own wig, which was bloody uncomfortable. Generally he wore his thick black hair long and natural, for that was the way the ladies liked it.
But disguise was a necessary part of his profession. Today he was dressed as a gentleman.
Doeskin riding breeches hugged his thighs and his feet were clad in knee-high, glossy brown boots. His loose-fitting shirt couldn''t completely hide his rugged chest, which tapered to a narrow waist, lean hips and a flat belly. In an age where gentlemen prided themselves on their girth, Rand figured his slenderness was the only part of his disguise some observant magistrate might question. He had experienced the same uneasiness before the Battle of Guilford Court House. The night preceding that colonial battle, he had dreamed of war.
But the war in his dream belonged to another age, an age of broadsword and chain mail and mace, of armored men clashing on the summit of an emerald green hill. This dream, which had troubled him since childhood, always ended the same way, with the delicate mournful face of a flaxen-haired woman.