He lurked within the shadows of the trees and bushes just outside of the clearing's edge. The allure of the scene, the very melodramatic essence of it that he had forged demanded nothing less of him than to wait out of eyesight to see if she arrived. He ground one booted heel into the ground to keep from pacing. God's Breath, how he wanted to see her again! The girl had grown on his mind, overcoming it and swallowing the whole of his perceptions before he even noticed! His flight from the grove the other night had seen him amused at the incident, and if truth were asked he might admit to it all being a passing fancy. He would meet with her... if he had the time. Or the inclination. Yet as the days and nights slipped by, the inclination blossomed more and more into fancy, and from there to interest, and after interest... He found himself distracted from daily duties, forgetting the old thing here and there as his rebellious mind refuse to focus on tasks at hand to instead dwell upon the maiden he had come across in the wood. The feel of her waist had crept into his dreams. So, too, had the gasps and sighs that escaped those lips until he was, only half-asleep, quite sure they were in his own ears. As the night fell and he readied himself for a night's venture, the only gold he thought on was the gold that might be about her neck. Far more to the forefront was the neck itself, and everything both above and below it! And so under the moon and beneath the trees he had come early. 

Only would she come?!

Every crack of twig and wind blow rustle raised hope in his heart that she had arrived, only to have all dashed when he realized it was only fair Nature's fancy to trick him. He glanced back over his should now and again to ensure his mount remained steady down the way. The horse, too, was out of eyeshot. It's black coat blended it further in with the shadows, only just barely so due to its immense size. A powerful creature near eighteen hands and all of those hands were of strength and purpose to its master's will. Save that as he had so freely admitted the other night, his gelding was of a wandering nature despite its obedient temperament. In his nervousness, the Highwayman feared the horse might well take to his habit of gnawing through the traces and going for a random stroll through the woods to leave his master looking foolish. His worry was for nothing, at the moment. The black beast calmly stood at the water's edge, feasting upon nettles and drinking from the clear stream.

Movement from the grotto, clear and defined so as to be no trick of the mind, caught his attention. She had come! And lest his senses deceive him, she was as anxious as he! The way she looked about, hand at throat, turning this way and that - it told him much of the state of her mind. He would be doing the same himself had he not schooled his feet to discipline. He had thought to wait it out further after she first arrived, to leave her dancing among the trees to look for him and his promise; now it seemed positively villainous for him to do so. Not that his own ardor had any bearing on the matter, of course, he would tell himself. But as she had come, and come with hopes of her own, how could he not answer in kind?

"Well met, Greensleeves," he called softly from his place among the shadows. And then he ambled into the grotto, dressed all as he had been that first night of their meeting. His voice was dark velvet and thick cream, charming and polite while the rogue's chuckle remained just beneath it all. "I'm glad you've come."

He rose one fitted glove towards her in invitation. "This night is yours. There is food and wine for that which the French call a [i]pique-nique[/i], should you wish. My horse awaits below to carry us towards adventure. I fear, though, I have been somewhat negligent when it comes to music, but should you wish dancing then all the creatures of the wood may be our orchestra with the breeze as its conductor and the trees themselves for its batons."

That hand still extended, he bowed low to her much as he had that first night, a parody of high court that somehow gave all courtesy to Bess and all mockery to himself. "Speak your will, and I shall unfold it to you. And should you wish a name of me? Then call me Reynard, like the fox of old."