The Village-Part
Three: The Baroness
by David Crerand
Lisle had just turned thirty-years-old when her husband
had been killed. A team of inept bandits had tried to rob
the tavern and inn that they ran together. Her husband was
a big man, and the first ball from the flintlock pistol had
barely slowed him, as he charged his assailant. He crashed
into the first intruder, huge fists flying, easily overpowering
the smaller man. With a bright flash and a tremendous
report, the second thief discharged his pistol. The shot
struck her husband, shearing away a large portion of his
handsome face. The blood spurted from the wound and
she cried out to him as he fell.
“Tomas,” she screamed and tried to reach his side. The
third robber grabbed her by the arm and spun her, flinging
her against the bar where she struck her head and fell to
the floor, stunned by the blow. Her husband, seeing her
injured, struggled to lift himself from the floor.
“Lisle,” he sputtered, coming at last to his feet, bloody
froth bubbling from his open mouth. He looked to the
wife, who he had been unable to defend, and she saw the
pain in his eyes. From behind him came the killing blow. A
sword pierced his ribcage, passed through his heart, and
she was alone with them.
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