<strong>Safe -- for now</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><br/>The assurance of her safety was not one that Abigail ... Meg ... Meg ... best get used to it now and forget that the other name ever existed.  There would be a surname required, and her own should not be bandied about.  Her mother's name, then.  Though it was a noble name itself, the area where it would be readily recognized as such was distant enough that it seemed as close to safety as she might get.   She met Lord Ellery's keen look with one as steady as the tremble of her flesh would allow, but he did not voice his doubts and she did not offer.  Whatever else he might be, he was wise enough to understand that this was not the time to make bare his knowledge of her half-truths.<br/><br/>She was grateful for the other man's practical suggestion, for all the stoniness of his face as he addressed his lord.  It was not, she thought, for the benefit of the man whom he addressed, nor even at the inconvenience she had caused, but because he was a man of action who wasted little time on the details when assimilating the big picture.  To such men she had always been drawn, so far as seeking their acquaintance and counsel, and to such a man she had once hoped to bond her future.  Yet this was not the time for such thoughts, either, and she cursed the weakness that made her eyes burn hotly and her throat to swell.<br/><br/>She had best follow the good example, and she did not bother her rescuers with idle conversation.  Nor did she even think on the story that she must weave when the inevitable questions that would be asked were.  She was simply too weary, body and soul alike, for the moment.  The feel of the man behind her was warm, though again the state of her dress was surely not kind to his traveling clothes, and steady, and the motion of the horse and the movement of his chest and hers lulled her into a sort of miserable stupor that she entered without protest.  The aches of her body, the aches in her heart, were steady now that she no longer had to focus every thought and movement into keeping moving.  She clutched at the basket she carried, and though she did not sleep, her faculties retreated, letting body, mind and heart begin the exhaustive process of healing.<br/><br/>She roused as the horses slowed, though her body was stiff beneath the mud-laden day-dress, and if it were not for the assistance of the lord in dismounting and walking, she was well aware that even the pretense of dignity would have been stripped from her, but at least she would arrive upon her own two feet.  Her stamina would see her through that, and, oddly, the butler's obvious disapproval of her presence strengthened her spine and even had her swallowing to keep a laugh, wild as it would have been, from breaking free from her throat as he looked down his nose at her.<br/><br/>The lord's estate was rather the size and keeping of the one that had been her father's after his circumstances were reduced.  Meg could barely remember the grander home they had occupied when he had favor at court, save for bits and pieces, though she had learned that she had no liking for the grand homes that were milling with servants.  Even a few were enough for her to sometimes feel like a an animal in some zoological garden, pacing behind bars with every move under observation, though she had certainly found ways around that.<br/><br/>As things were put in order, Meg forced herself to walk as if she were making her entrance to some grand ball she had not wanted to attend, though the state of her shoes made her gait uneven, and she dared not refuse Lord Ellery's arm for fear of stumbling, even had she wanted to.  All the same, they were all that much closer to the accounting, and one that she would not seek to put off, however much she might have wanted.  Simple gratitude demanded as much courtesy as was hers to give.<br/><em><br/>"It seemed long indeed, and judging by the light, much of the day.  I found places to rest, before I heard the dogs, and the river ... and the mud, too, I suppose, helped.  My mother ... and the carriage ... went on, hoping they would follow and that I could escape.  It worked for a time ..." </em>Meg's voice was monotone, and she looked straight ahead as she spoke, her eyes locked upon the furnishing and decor to avoid any sense of sympathy that might release a floodgate of tears ... as well as any overt show of doubt or disbelief that might prompt anger.  Losing her head might bring some surcease from sorrow, but it was a luxury that she could ill afford.<br/><br/><em>"After they caught up with the carriage, they were able to backtrack.  Had not the men with dogs arrived, it might have worked.  My mother ... and our retainer, and coachman ... were killed.  They bragged of it on the chase, hoping, I suppose, that I would think escape a lost cause, and certain enough not to care if they were heard ... though I expect that they thought their only witnesses were birds, squirrels, and an army of mosquitoes."</em><br/><br/>Meg smiled a little at that, a bitter little expression, and her head lifted, baring a mud and insect-bite splattered throat, her expression mulish ... though her mother would have deemed it 'stubborn' instead, rejecting the common and possibly more truthful adjective.<em>"I would not have surrendered, even so."</em><br/><br/>It was that same stubbornness that kept her moving, and at least now she had the certainty of the promise of a bath to motivate rather than the determination that she would be no easier quarry than she could help.<br/><br/>And, as if realizing that her show of grief was insufficient for the words she had just uttered, she stopped, and turned to look first at Lord Ellery, and then his man striding behind.<em>"My mother's lungs were not strong, my lord.  The doctor in the village had offered little hope that she would survive another winter, or indeed that she would see the coming of autumn.   I hope ..."  </em>Meg's mouth opened and closed in silence a few times as she struggled to force out the rest of the words, but they refused the demand of her mind, leaving her to press her lips closed and shake her head, her eyes imploring that they did not press her on that hope, at least not until it rested easier in her mind.