The dark was almost absolute. Still as a statue she waited. For in this clear air, the coach would be heard well before it would be seen under the moon's pale glow. Her heart pounded in her ears and the breath caught in her throat. Madness to be here, garbed in Will's clothes and about to endanger all she held dear.

Only a few hours earlier, her life had been so simple.

Meg remembered the scene well. Her brother and his friends were completely foxed and their boots dirtied her Mama's good rugs. Lolling about in front of the fire they called for drink. As Meg fetched the mugs, she cast a sharp glance at the dark stranger among them. He wasn't a part of Will's normal crowd. There was a look about him. He was older, and from the cut of his cloth, she was certain he was far better heeled than they. Meg and her brother were of good blood, but, unhappily, their late father's penchant for gambling had destroyed any chance of a good marriage for her or any secure future for Will. That left them vulnerable to the winds of fortune. And Will was far to easily embroiled in one harebrained scheme after another. With half filled mug she paused upon catching the strangers's soft words. "I'll wager fifty gold sovereigns you haven't the timber." Will's slurred response was lost in the scraping of boots and tossed chairs. A scuffle ensued and the stranger departed. Will's cronies clapped him on the back. Heads close together, they hatched the plan. Meg listened in horror. They would waylay the Lord Minister's coach at Fair Oaks Crossing. The time was set and off they went to carouse till moon rise. Under the influence of his wild friends, Will would never listen to reason. So Meg took matters into her own hands and determined to thwart the scheme.

In jacket, breeches and black hat pulled low over her eyes, she fingered her father's short sword. Chosen in lieu of the unfamiliar pistol, it was some comfort. Thanks to Wills' reluctant tutelage, she was quite handy with a blade. An owl screeched and Meg's nerve almost deserted her when the rattle of harness and rut jarred wheel spokes creaked along the road. As it drew abreast, Meg, sword in hand, hurled herself before the coach horses and startled driver. As she reached for the door handle, the razored point of a blade pressed against her nape. "I think not, my lad." The deadly soft voice turned her blood cold. The blade pressed deeper and Meg's nerveless fingers lost their grip on both sword and door. As she slumped onto the road, her hat slipped and long curls tumbled around her face. Her foe was struck dumb at the sight. Both seemed incapable of speech. He reached down and dragged her to her feet. Then, both found voice in the same instant. "What the devil?" he shouted as he shook her. Meg, in turn, shoved his sword arm aside. "Unhand me! And put that silly thing away. Haven't you done enough?" She drew her hand across her neck and stared at the crimson smeared fingers. Her soft "Oh!" was lost in the uproar, as men tumbled from the coach and a horse skidded to a stop before them. The breathless rider exclaimed, "They were just ahead, your Lordship. But with all the commotion," he glared at Meg, "the vermin almost escaped!" Meg forgot her wound and whispered, "My brother? Was he hurt?" A soft chuckle from the tall nobleman sent Meg into a rage. She lunged at him. His amusement disappeared at her expression. He gently touched her wounded neck, "Now my brave little one. If you will allow me?" Meg bit her tongue. As he led her toward her horse, he explained, "Will was aiding us. He came to me when he discovered what his companions were into. You have reason to be very proud of your brother. And now let me attend your wound" Meg pulled away, "Tis only a scratch, Milord." She climbed into the saddle, and upon seeing his expression, quipped, "Yes, your Lordship. I also ride astride." At his slow grin, she reached down and gently retrieved her sword. "I believe this belongs to me." Then she was gone.

There, under the moonlight, soft as a sigh, he said, "Till we meet again. Meg, me darlin."

The "Cavalier" Costume - camel breeches, snug at the hip and full at the knee, tucked into her high black boots. The white lawn shirt has vintage cotton lace at the cuffs and the full sleeves are tied at each upper arm with silk ribbons. Her corset of burgundy, camel and "French Blue" is laced front and back. The corset, shirt and breeches are not designed to be removed. The removable jacket of "French Blue" cotton velvet has slashed sleeves, custom designed corded gold trim, gold hook and loop front closures, silk ribbon ties at wrists and a "falling band" collar of lace trimmed lawn. The jacket is fully lined. The fully lined, removable moss velvet skirt has a burgundy and gold scroll patterned insert and black silk ties at the back waist. It has been designed to fit over the breeches, under her corset.

The Accessories - her custom designed, black boots began as Kingstate short black boots. Natural black leather uppers, carefully chosen to match the grain of the boots, are completely laced over insets and are cuffed to create the perfect high boots for Meg. They are not removable. Her "suede" sash is lined, embossed in golden scrolls and has a hook and eye closure in back. A "suede" sheath for her short sword is attached to the sash with tiny gold chains. The "Beaver" hat is filly lined, has a colorful ribbon band and two white plumes. Meg wears golden hoop earrings and a golden crest charm on a black silk cord with gold hook clasp. A small natural suede drawstring pouch contains Meg's "gold sovereigns".

Her elbows and knees are jointed and she is easily posed. The costume and boots are completely hand sewn.

Meg has been completely re-painted. She now has blue eyes with soft sable shadows and dark feathered brows. Her delicately shadowed lips are a soft rose. Paint has been sealed. Her hair has been permed into long ringlets. She has a natural manicure and applied human hair lashes.

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