Danger by Moonlight
Chapter 1
The estate had been taken from the hands of William Cartwright and given to an upstart who had toadied to the King's vanity. The servants stood there, hating the new arrivals when they came. With them stood Will. He was dressed in old work clothes, pretending to be a stable hand. The new owner believed his falsehood. After all, why would the old owner be there to welcome him?
He was tall, was Will, with dark, good looks and a strong body. His dark blue eyes always sparkled with the strength and love of life. His short, black hair was a riot of tight, sassy curls. They gave him a jaunty air. Even in those rough, worn clothes, he looked like a man of the world, but it was his eyes that told the world of his gentleness, that contradicted the air of worldliness he exuded.
Abner Barclays, on the other hand, gave no one the impression of being cosmopolitan. Yes, he wore expensive clothing, but they looked out of place on him. He was tall and thin with mean, blue eyes. The daughter had been a shy fifteen year old the day they moved in, a lovely, thin girl with chestnut curls and large, sad, green eyes. Her attire was always dark of color, never black, but dark blues and greens and browns. It became evident from the start that she was a gentle soul, always thinking of others first. It hadn't taken her long to gain friendship from anyone who met her. Her father on the other hand...
There were always bruises on the girl. One time, her lip had been split. Birdie, the housekeeper told Will it was the father who hit the girl. The daughter never said anything to anyone.
He remembered the day he came across her behind the barn, two months after their arrival. She was sitting on the ground, holding a dead kitten, sobbing, its stiff, tiny body held tightly in thin arms. Her dress was dirty from the soil. "Miss Sadie?" She flinched and rose stiffly. Sadie stood there, looking down at her shoes, clutching the dead animal. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her bloody fingers smeared crimson streaks on her face.
He asked gently, "Is that your cat?"
She hesitated and then murmured, "Yes."
"Shall I help you bury it?"
Sadie nodded. She stood there while he went to get a shovel. She was silent while he dug the grave, placed the cat inside and threw the dirt back over it. Aye, she stood there, but tears streamed down her white cheeks. "What happened to it?" She broke down again, her hands covering her face. She sobbed as though her heart would break. Without thinking, he took her in his arms to comfort her. They stood together while she sobbed into his work clothes. He patted her back, crooned small words to comfort her. He finally murmured, "Miss Sadie, you'll make yourself ill." She broke lose then, turned and ran from him. He learned later, from the housekeeper, that the old man had killed it from spite and the meanness that dwelled in his rotten soul.
Two days later, she came hesitantly to Will as he worked in the barn, to talk, to be with him. She came the first time waiting to be rebuffed. He saw that on her face, saw the loneliness in her eyes, and swore to himself he would never turn her away. She needed a friend and if she chose him, well, he'd be her friend come hell or high water. "Have you come to keep a lonely man company?" he asked her gently.
"Yes." Her tone was low, unsure.
"I am grateful. Horses can't talk. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyes twinkling happily. She nodded and almost smiled. He talked about the horses in the stable, telling her about their personalities. He asked her questions. When she wasn't rejected, when she saw the honest interest on his face as he listened to her, she began to relax. She began to talk then, speaking about many things, but never about the beatings, and Will, not wanting to disturb their growing friendship, never asked.
One day, she asked, "Who's the Night Hawk?"
Will stood still, the brush he was using on the horse in front of him frozen. He turned slowly to face her. "Now, where would you be hearing about the Night Hawk?"
"Landowners came over last night to speak to father. I overheard them speaking about him. They don't like him. Who is he?"
"He's a thief."
She was shocked. "A thief?"
"Aye?" He saw the puzzlement. "What?" When she hesitated, when he saw the mild misgiving in her eyes, he stated firmly, "I thought we were friends, Miss Sadie."
Blushing, she looked down at her shoes. "We are." But she didn't sound too sure right then.
"You're allowed to disagree with me. Friends do you know." But he thought, "Ah, lass, you poor creature, you probably don't. Have you ever had a friend?"
"I heard Birdie talking to the man who brought the new bolts of cloth . . . " Again she hesitated.
"Well? Has the cat got your tongue then?"
Pain drifted quickly over her face and he silently chastised himself for the slip about the kitten. "No, Will."
He nudged, "Then . . .?"
"She said he helps the poor people and it would be a bad day for us all if he's ever caught."
"Did she now?" He turned back to the horse.
"He sounds like a good man to me," she whispered.
He heard the tremble in her voice. "Does he?" he asked gently.
"Yes. Will, those men last night said he murders people."
"He doesn't. He never has. He finds other ways to get what he wants." He could tell she wanted to say more. Will turned back to her. "I can see the words on your face. Speak them, girl before they choke you."
"I'd like to meet him one day."
Startled, he asked a bit more sharply than he had ever done with her, "Why?" Sadie paled. "Now what would a fine, young girl like you be doing with a common thief like him?"
She blurted out, "He sounds like a good man to me." She turned and ran from him.
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