<strong>Outskirts of Ashburne</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/Lady%201.jpg)<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Abigail Meghan<br/>O'Hourihane<br/>aka Meg Haney</strong></span></div></div><div class="floatleft">(http://)</div>From the moment that word had reached them of her father's murder, Abigail's future had hung by little more than a spider's web.  Strong though the sticky silk might be, each movement toward freedom risked bringing her closer to the spider's maw, whether as hoisted up for an immediate, still kicking snack or simply to be so hopelessly entangled that she could do nothing but await the spider's hunger.<br/><br/>Funny, then, that it was, perhaps, the ill-trained dog that she had to thank for providing the breeze of fortune that won her a momentary stay of execution.<br/><br/>Yet gratitude was not in her mind as the handler's leash snapped, and she had but a moment to react.  She did not shriek nor scream, and nor did she run.  There was little use in any -- the chase had run her to the ground, and what defiance and hope she could muster would be spent in one place as she drew herself up and braced for the impact, the fleeting hope that the hound's teeth would be quick ... but her legs had not the strength of her heart, and they folded under her,<br/><br/>Instead, there was only the thud of a distant impact, and then a more immediate one as the animal's impetus brought it forward, a few feet further before it fell, the arrow that had been loosed killing instantly, silently.  The animal's mouth still opened in a snarl, the light of defiance still in the dark open eyes, teeth bared.  It had had, she thought, wildly, not even realized it was dead before it was gone, and it had not so much as whimpered.<br/><em><br/>"That is how I would go,"</em>she whispered, closing her eyes briefly and tightly before turning her head to the direction from whence the arrow had must been loosed, communicating her gratitude in her gaze as best she could, though she did not speak.  Her position was precarious, and more words might well cost her whatever sympathy she had gained, and for all that it galled her to be branded a thief, or worse, living so that she might see her family's murders done in kind was of far more import than pride.<br/><br/>Her attention divided between the man who strode forward to intercept the dog's furious handler, and the man upon horseback, servant and master, though it was, to her, obvious that the positions they occupied were founded upon respect, and without the servility of duty alone in the former's words as he demanded respect due to his lord.  It was not merciful of her, but there was no mercy left in her for her pursuers, and with all her heart she wished that anger would overtake common sense, and any battle would be short, with those who had come after her enriching the swampy ground with their blood.<br/><br/>And then the lord slid down from his horse ... Ellery, he had given his name, but it was not one that her exhausted mind could recognize at the moment ... and moved toward her, offering his hand.  She did not hesitate to take it, for her fate with the others was certain not to be at all to her liking, and the men who had found themselves embroiled in the mess at least offered the uncertainty of hope.  His glove was the worse for the offer, for her her slog through the swamps had left her muddy, and little of her was clean now, save somewhat for her face, for she had taken a few moments to drink and to wash away the worst of the spattered mud and slime ... perhaps allowing them to come upon her, though men upon horses with dogs to scent her trail made it only a matter of time.<br/><br/>She nodded at his question, not daring further voice, and moved ... before he could change his mind.  The basket in one hand, the mud, her soaked skirts, though lightened by the removal of the underskirts -- decency, she noted, mattered little when slogging through river or mire, made mounting more difficult than it might otherwise have been, but she managed by sheer force of will, determined not to ask for more help than she must.  To be weak ... to display her weakness in the hope of garnering sympathy ... was not her way, and she had had little time to accustom herself to the idea that much of her way might well have to go to the wayside, like her underclothes.<br/><br/>The effort distracted her enough that she was surprised, almost, to see the leader of her pursuers give way, though with poor grace.  Yet he was leaving, and that was all that mattered, for the moment.  Abigail's head slumped, a long breath exhaled that she regretted the moment it had gone, for much of her strength seemed to leave with it, leaving her aching, exhausted, filthy ... and no true plan for what she must say to the questions that would be asked.  They had had so little time to prepare for disaster, but that was, she supposed, the way of things.<br/><em><br/>"My name is Meg, my lord.  Captain Bray.  I owe you <strong>both</strong> my life, for had you not intervened ... " </em>She gave him her middle name almost without thought, though it cost her a pang in the doing, since none had called her that save for one, now gone.  Yet to bandy about her history ... who know who might hear, and even if she could trust her rescuers with the full truth, the fewer who knew the more chance of safety she had.<br/><em><br/>"I am sorry, my lord, for trespassing upon your lands.  I had hoped to elude them with help of the river, while they pursued my ... the coach."  </em>Her voice broke slightly upon the utterance, but she paused, gathered herself, and forced the words out, though determination flattened them into a dry recitation that the sheen in her eyes did not support.<em>"But I fear that I did not count upon their dogs.  My parents are dead, murdered by whoever employed those men, and had they succeeded in taking me as well, they would be free to tell whatever story they wished."</em><br/><br/>It was, she knew, not enough to satisfy, unless Lord Ellery, his rescuing knight sensibilities overtaken by practicalities, simply wished to extricate himself from the situation as painlessly as possible.  Yet, perhaps it would do for now.<br/><br/>She was ... so very, very tired, and the grief that she had had little time to feel weighed heavily behind the iron doors of her will.<br/><br/>