Chapter Text
Portugal, 1808
Miss Hera Syndulla was jolted from her thoughts as her carriage came to a sudden halt.
The braying of startled horses was not enough to cover a shouted threat.
“Stand and deliver!”
Highwaymen!
Having spent the last several years in the war-torn country under threat from both Napoleon’s expanding Empire and various brigands, Hera’s money was kept well hidden. With luck, she would lose no more than the simple gold chain at her neck and a few coins kept in her small reticule.
The carriage door was pulled open roughly, revealing a man with a dark cloth tied over the lower half of his face and eyes that shone like the sky over the sea.
Hera belatedly realized she should focus first on the pistol in his hand, but fortunately he seemed even more distracted than she had been.
The weapon dropped away in a slack grip as he stared at her in awe.
Never one to cower even in the face of a weapon, Hera calmly raised an eyebrow. “I'm sure you're more experienced in carriage robbery than I, but I believe this is the part where you demand my purse?”
He blinked, uttering a soft, “What?”
Hera couldn't help but be amused by the man. While his physical presence was admittedly impressive, the slim dark coat showing off his lean, well-muscled build, there was a gentleness in the expression on his face that kept any actual fear for her safety at bay. “This is a robbery, yes?” she asked, her lips turning up into a wry smile.
His eyes opened wide. “No!” At her questioning look towards the weapon, the man finally seemed to regain conscious thought. He swept back his overcoat to slip the pistol into a leather belt on his hip, then gave her as elegant a bow as could be expected from a man standing in a carriage doorway. “Forgive the confusion, my lady,” he said, the rather sweet bewilderment that had been in his tone shifting to an attempt at rakish humor. “At the sight of your eyes, what man would not be rendered speechless?”
His Portuguese was well spoken, but a faint accent of somewhere else made Hera wonder where he had first called home.
Before she could reply to the exaggerated compliment, the voice of a young woman interrupted their meeting. “What’s taking so long?”
A girl with dark eyes and hair, wearing a garishly bright gentleman's coat, pushed the highwayman aside to look into the carriage. She frowned at Hera. “You're not the magistrate’s son!”
“I never claimed to be,” Hera replied, unable to stop herself from laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Ezra, you picked the wrong carriage!” the girl yelled over her shoulder.
“It was a black carriage with dark horses, Sabine, how many could there be?” A young boy with dark hair stuck his head in the open window across from the carriage door. “And remember, we're supposed to use the code names!”
The highwayman let out a sigh and shook his head, the cloth over his face slipping to reveal full lips and a small patch of hair on the tip of his strong chin.
“First time holding up a carriage?” Hera asked.
“I promise we're usually more competent than this,” he replied. The exasperated expression on his admittedly handsome face somehow was more endearing than his attempted flirtation.
“Wait!” the young boy cried.
Three confused faces turned to look at him.
“I hear it, another carriage is coming. That has to be the right one!”
Sure enough, the faint sounds of hoof beats on gravel could be heard coming from behind.
“Come on you two, let's try to not do everything wrong this time,” the aspiring highwayman ordered. He turned back to Hera. “My deepest apologies, my lady,” he said softly, his voice rich and sweet as wine. He stole her hand from her lap and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, fire in his blue eyes and a smile that made her suddenly understand the popularity of misunderstood highwaymen in ladies’ novels.
In a breath he was gone, snapping an order to her driver to leave immediately.
With another jolt, her carriage was once more on its way, rolling steadily along the rutted road.
The voice that had so sweetly begged her pardon echoed faintly in her ears with the same warning that had pulled her from her thoughts as the peculiar collection of vagabonds sprung their trap once again.
Hopefully on their intended target this time.
It was a fortunate thing Hera’s maid had refused to accompany her when she had been summoned back to England. The girl would have been in hysterics.
To be fair, most reasonable people would be at least somewhat distraught over having a pistol pulled on them. But the three’s actions and words had held no hint of cruelty or malice. There had been an air of joviality and warmth about them that had swept away any fear Hera might have had for her safety.
Especially from the man with eyes like the sky. If she was prone to fancy, she could almost think the place he had kissed her hand still held a flash of the warmth of his touch.
If she must return home, to be stuck forever in York, at least she’d had one last brush with adventure along the way.
Thinking up stories featuring a handsome highwayman would be a far more pleasant way to spend the rest of the journey than on somber thoughts of her destined future.
It was remarkable what salacious tales even a respectably raised young woman could come up with during three hours in a carriage with nothing to engage her mind save the empty countryside. This was no doubt why her father had decried her interest in novels.
One of the more risqué scenes she had imagined made Hera’s cheeks flush when she suddenly spied her highwayman, in the flesh and merely twenty paces away.
She had returned to her traveling carriage after taking luncheon at the village inn and was currently waiting for the new coachman to hook up the fresh horses for the next leg of the journey. From her seat next to the open window, the highwayman was easily seen across the road. While it was too far to catch the color of his eyes, there was no mistaking the way the sun shone over his tall frame and the rich chestnut tones of his long hair, tied at the nape of his neck. He was standing with the girl the young boy had called Sabine, both speaking to an older woman clothed in the harsh black layers of full mourning dress.
The highwayman handed the woman a piece of paper, the contents of which made her begin to cry as she latched onto Sabine’s arm, wailing something about God blessing them both.
“Incoming!” a familiar boy’s voice cried.
Suddenly, the highwayman and the girl bolted in opposite directions as the sound of pounding hooves on cobblestones echoed through the courtyard.
A short flash of dark hair dashed her way and then dove under her carriage and out of Hera’s view, just as a group of soldiers flooded the street, looking all about.
Her father would have called her reckless and foolhardy for how easily she had decided she liked this band of criminals. But Hera had never listened to his advice when he had lived, why should she do so now? She slowly reached over to open the door facing away from the soldiers, whispering, “You’ll be safer in here.”
The young boy seemed to have come to a similar decision about Hera’s trustworthiness, and quickly snuck into the darkened interior with a whispered, “Thanks!”
“Did you get the right carriage the second time?” Hera asked, keeping her voice low to avoid attracting the soldiers’ attention through the open window.
“Yep! Got the old widow’s deed back from the awful magistrate’s son and everything!” he answered excitedly. “But someone with a horse must have found him sooner than we thought. We were supposed to be half a day away before he got back here and found friends.”
Hera watched the group of soldiers on horseback circling up and down the main street of the small village. “How did the three of you get involved in all this?”
The boy gave her a shrug. “It's just what we do. Sabine overheard the old lady and her daughter crying in the tavern that that man had conned them out of the deed to her home, but no one could do anything because his father is the magistrate.”
Of course, her highwayman and his collection of miscreant children were trying to save a widow's home.
“So you decided to steal it back by pretending to be highwaymen?”
The boy’s forehead crinkled as he pondered the question. “I stole his purse and Sabine took his ring while Kanan got the deed. I think that means we're actually highwaymen, not just pretending. But I’m also pretty sure it's not stealing if it's from a thief.”
She had to cover her mouth to muffle her laughter at his words.
And now she had the name of her mysterious highwayman.
“How did a sweet boy like you meet this Kanan,” she asked, her mouth turning over the name. It fit him, a unique name for a unique man.
“The usual way,” he said. “I tried to pick his pocket.”
Before Hera could ask for more specifics of that particular story, he dropped to the floor of the carriage and dove under the blanket laid over her lap and feet.
One of the soldiers rode up to her carriage and Hera leaned out the open window to encourage the man to keep his distance.
“Yes?” she asked, putting on a haughty expression.
“We have reports of a band of thieves in the area. Have you seen anything?” the man asked.
If she was going to be involved in one final adventure she might as well play her role properly. “Thieves? Goodness,” she exclaimed. “There was a group riding hard to the east as I came in. Three of them, one wearing a dark mask, almost spooked my horses.” She looked thoughtfully at the man on horseback. “Could that be them?”
The soldier immediately shouted to his compatriots and they set off at a gallop away from the village.
An adorable mess of dark hair peaked out from under the blanket. “Thank you, miss. We should be able to lose them now.” Despite the smile on his face, there was something in his eyes that told Hera his choice to have trusted her was not naïveté. There was a depth there that said he knew the cruelty of the world well enough, but had refused to let it harden him. “You're a nice lady.”
“And you are a nice highwayman,” she replied, returning his smile.
“The horses are ready, Miss Syndulla,” the new coachman called from his perch in front of the carriage.
She looked out the window to call to the man, “One moment!”
Hera would need to see the young boy returned safely to his friends before she continued her own journey.
It was the responsible thing to do; one could not send a child out on his own. That it would mean meeting her highwayman again had not influenced her thoughts in the slightest.
But the other door was already closing, her visitor having snuck out as quickly as he had arrived.
Hera tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment as she ordered the driver on.
After all, she had sent the soldiers off in the opposite direction of where she was headed.
Perhaps she might run into the three again.
“Miss, as I said already, this is a respectable establishment. We do not have any rooms available for you.”
The tone made it clear exactly what sort of woman the innkeeper assumed an expensively dressed lady with no servants or husband was.
No show of her coin or her uncle’s calling card was enough to persuade the man, and there were no other inns in the small town they had stopped at for the night.
Perhaps she could pay a fresh coachman to continue to the next town? But the sun had fully set and it would be dangerous and slow going to traverse unfamiliar roads in the dark, with no promise that the next inn would be any more welcoming.
Hera had known her lack of an escort or servants would look peculiar, but she hadn't thought it would be reason enough to refuse her a room.
“Forgive me, my lady,” a young woman's voice cut in, “The groom has nearly finished unloading the carriage, where should I have them take your trunk?”
The lady with her highwayman, Sabine!
“We may need to continue on,” Hera improvised. “They apparently do not allow English women to stay here.”
Sabine, now in a woman's traveling dress, put on a look of shock and indignation. “What? But my lady, Lord Wren was quite insistent that we not travel in the dark! If something were to happen to you before the wedding he would have our heads!”
Perhaps encouraging the lady highwayman’s storytelling was not the most sensible choice.
Though the innkeeper was certainly looking much more intrigued now. “I thought you said you only needed one room,” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, the groom and guard will bed down in the stables with my lady's horses,” Sabine said curtly, with all the self-importance of a lady's maid to a Countess. She took Hera’s hand beneath the counter separating them both from the innkeeper and slipped a ring into her palm.
“But there are no rooms,” Hera interjected, placing her left hand now bearing an ornate ring on the wooden counter in view of the man, “so we must make do.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, I just remembered we may have one or two rooms left after all,” the innkeeper offered, looking between the gold ring, the simple but good quality wool traveling dress worn by Sabine, and glancing out into the courtyard as if to catch sight of the mystery grooms.
Her pockets were sufficiently full to cover the cost of the larger party, and it was well worth it to no longer have to worry where she would sleep tonight. “Two rooms would be ideal, a hot bath in each, and supper in a private parlor.”
The man looked much more enthused now. “Let me check with my wife, I'm certain we can arrange something now that I think of it. One moment, Miss,” he said before ducking back into the kitchen behind him.
Sabine watched him leave and gave Hera a conspiratorial wink. “Always carry a signet ring. It gets you out of any number of scrapes.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Hera said, still adjusting to the peculiar nature of these people. “And thank you for the assistance.”
The girl waved a hand in casual disregard. “Ezra told us how you hid him and sent the men searching for us away. When I saw that oaf making a fuss I thought I would return the favor.” She grinned. “We don't need a room though, servants are allowed to sleep free in the stables, and it will throw off anyone asking about us. It works out for everyone!”
“My lady,” came a reverent voice from the doorway.
The soft light of the inn’s lanterns highlighted the rugged lines of his face. Her highwayman didn't have the delicate features and mincing steps considered attractive by English society; he looked like a scoundrel, in the best possible way.
“But what if I need protection in the night?” Hera asked Sabine, though her eyes were locked on her highwayman, “I hear there are all sorts of dangerous thieves about.”
Kanan’s eyes glinted with amusement, “That may be true, my lady, but -”
She was becoming quite adept at playing these different roles, first shocked innocent to the soldiers and now grand lady. “Fortunately, I am the mistress here and I have decided. Besides,” she added with a grin, “young Ezra could do with a bath.”
Sabine was overcome by a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter just as the innkeeper returned.
“Beggin’ your pardon miss, we have your rooms after all. I will show you right up.”
There was a definite advantage to traveling with an entourage. Kanan had made quick work of even her large trunk, carting the heavy weight from the courtyard and up the stairs as if it were no more than a hat box. The innkeeper had opened the door and given Hera the key, with a promise of supper to be set out shortly in one of the private dining rooms.
Leaving Hera suddenly alone in the room with her highwayman.
He set the trunk down with such care that it made only a soft thud as it landed. After standing, he looked almost nervously at Hera. “I promise we didn't mean to impose on you. Sabine heard your disagreement with the innkeeper and wanted to lend a hand.”
“It was not an imposition,” Hera countered with a gentle look she hoped would set him more at ease. “I was quite grateful for the help.”
He looked down, a soft smile gracing his lips. “It is the least we could do after what you did for Ezra. Most people would not take such a risk for a stranger. Especially not one you had met during a robbery.”
“It was nothing,” she replied, her eyes drifting over him. Something about the man drew her attention in the most peculiar way. “He is a sweet child, and as fast as he is I am sure he would have been fine even without my help.”
“You must let me pay for the room and dinner at least,” her highwayman insisted, pulling several coins from his pocket.
“Certainly not,” Hera said. “Had you three not helped me I would have spent far more attempting to bribe some coachman to travel on despite the danger of dark roads. Besides,” she added with a laugh, “I am in desperate need of entertainment on this trip, which you three have provided in spades.”
“A little highway robbery is good for my lady's nerves?” he asked, a teasing grin making him look even more handsome.
That way he smiled at her, his face so full of warmth and amusement and something more, made her lekku curl.
“Exactly so. And I presume dinner with you all will be vastly more enjoyable than eating alone. Consider your company my payment for the room.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave her the flirtatious grin of a scoundrel once more. “I’m thrilled to provide any company you may require.”
“You're an accomplished flirt,” she quipped back. “Are all highwaymen so forward?”
“Only the ones lucky enough to meet you.”
A raised eyebrow and a quirk of the lips were all she would give him in response to the ridiculous statement.
“May I at least know my lady's name?” he asked, dropping back to a more natural tone and walking over to the door. “Just to keep up the ruse of being your servant, of course.”
“Miss Hera Syndulla,” she said, giving him a small nod and lightly dipped curtsey.
He stood there a moment, openly staring at her. “Truly?” He seemed awestruck by her for the second time today.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Hera, queen of all the gods.” There was nothing brash or affected to his words now, only genuine admiration. “It's perfect for you.”
With those enchanting eyes one could get lost in, Kanan looked at her in gentle wonder.
“Will you not give me your name in return?” she finally asked. “I can call you ‘my highwayman’ but it may cause comment should others hear.”
“Highwayman does make me sound quite dashing, especially if I am yours,” he said, giving her another rakish grin. “But, Kanan Jarrus, at your service.”
Finally alone, Hera cleaned the dust of the day's travel from her face in the small washbasin a maid had filled. As she ran a damp cloth over her lekku, she looked at herself in the small mirror.
She had thrown her lot in with a collection of thieves and confidence tricksters.
It was admittedly not the most sensible choice, but there was something about the warmth and joy of the trio that drew Hera in. If this trip was to be her last taste of freedom before being forced back into the constricted roles of English society, why not be adventurous?
A memory of the eyes of her highwayman, sparkling with amusement as he bantered with her, made her lekku and cheeks flush.
They were a harmless diversion that would distract her from a dismal future. What could happen just from sharing dinner?