Ok, this is my first songfic, so enjoy! I don't own anything.

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees

The only sound that night was the gentle song of the wind as it tore through the tall trees that lined the road.

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas

It was a full moon that night, shining brighter than usual. Clouds obscured the silver orb that was the moon, mere wisps that would have blurred the stars, had any been shining that night.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor

The road shone pure and white in the moonlight. It twisted and turned through the rolling hills of the moor like an iridescent serpent gleaming brightly in contrast to the violet flowers that dotted the grass.

And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding,

A gentleman could be seen riding a noble bay horse down the road. He gazed eagerly at the horizon, as if he could already see his destination.

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

The highwayman spurred his horse onward as an inn came into view. It was not a large inn, but his adoring Bess lived there.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

The feather of his hat was whipped about by the silent wind, as was the lace cravat at his neck. They spoke of his noble status, but he cared not for them that night.

A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;

His deep red velvet coat and doe skin breeches kept the wind away from him. In his exhilaration, they had become splattered with dust from the road.

They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!

His deer-skin breeches were always smooth and soft, with never a wrinkle or crease in them. His mud-splattered boots came up above his knees; perfect for riding!

And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,

His eyes shone brightly in the glow of the moon. No one knew his name, except his beloved Bess.

His pistol butts a-twinkle,

The pistol at his hip shone like new. It was unloaded. He had never needed it before on this journey, so why would he need it then?

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

The long, curved sword at his other side gleamed brighter than the moon. Whenever he needed it, it never failed him.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard,

He entered the cobbled inn yard. His horse’s hooves clattered noisily on the scarred stones. No light shone from the inn, save for the dim gleam of a single candle coming from a second-story window. The hand of a young girl reached out and closed the shutters. She had not seen him.

And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;

As quietly as he could muster, he rode up to the window. Reaching up, he rapped on the shutters with his whip. There was no answer.

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

He turned his eyes to the other windows to find them dark and empty. No one had heard his approach. Gazing back upward, he whistled to the window above his head. All was silent for a few moments. Just when he had almost given up, the shutters opened revealing a young teenage girl.

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

She was the landlord’s daughter. Her large, black eyes twinkled with happiness when she saw his face. Her beloved had returned to her once again.

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

She was Bess. Her father was the innkeeper there, and he had no idea that his own daughter was secretly meeting with a wanted thief.

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Her long black hair had a ruby strip of velvet, torn from the highwayman’s own coat, braided into it. It told of her love for him. Within seconds, she disappeared from the window, only to appear by his side moments later. He pulled her up into the saddle and embraced her.

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,

“It has been so long,” she whispered to him. “I have missed you.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But I cannot stay long.” She was silent with sadness. Bess did not want him to go so soon. He kissed her lovingly on the mouth before putting his lips to her ear.

“Do not despair, my dearest,” he told her. “I go after a prize tonight. You need not fear.”

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

“I will be back before morning,” he continued. “And I will come with enough gold that I can take you away from here. Then we can be together forever.”

“But what if they catch you?” she asked fervently. “You know the King’s men are after you. What if they take you away? I may never see you again.” She was crying.

Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

“They won’t catch me. My horse is swifter than any of theirs. They will have to shoot me to capture me.” Bess shut her eyes. She was still fearful, despite his comforting words.

Then look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight,

“No matter what happens, look for me when the moon is bright.” Bess gazed into his eyes.

I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way.

“I’ll come to you in the moonlight, no matter what bars my way.” Bess nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

“I have to get back before my father finds out you’re here.” She slid back down to the ground and hurried back inside. She leaned back out of her window when she reached it.

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand

He stood upright in the saddle, one hand grasping the reins, the other reached up toward Bess’s face. She was beyond his reach.

But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand

Bess loosened her hair and let it fall over the window ledge. His face glowed with love.

As the black cascade of the perfume came tumbling over his breast;

The long strands of black hair tumbled down to him. He brushed the silky locks with his gloved hand.

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

He kissed her wavy hair, admiring how it shone in the pure, sweet light of the full moon.

(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)

It seemed as though the moon made everything seem even more beautiful than it was, as if that was even possible.

He tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Sitting back down in the saddle, he gazed one last time into the face of his beloved and waved his farewells. He dug his spurs into the sides of his horse, and galloped away toward the western horizon.

He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon,

Bess waited the rest of the night without sleep and all through the next day, but her highwayman did not return. She sat by her window, watching fervently, but he did not come.

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,

She sat there until the sunset, but she was soon convinced that he would not come as he had said. As the moon rose, she turned from the window.

When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,

As the sun set, the road shone like a colorful ribbon, curling around the purple hills of the moor.

A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching

In the distance, a host of men could be seen marching towards the inn. They wore identical red coats, marking them as soldiers.

King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They were the king’s own men, searching for the highwayman. They marched up to the door to the inn, and their leader banged on the door with the butt of his musket.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,

Bess’s father, the landlord, opened the door, and the soldiers pushed inside. Not a word was said. The landlord poured them ale when they demanded a drink, and soon they were overcome by alcohol.

But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;

When the landlord was in the kitchen, two of the soldiers took hold of Bess.

“Let me go!” she shrieked as loud as she could. They just laughed and gagged her. She struggled and screamed as they dragged her up the stairs to her room. They forced her onto her bed and tied her down.

Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!

Two other soldiers went over to the window to watch for the highwayman, their muskets held ready at their sides.

There was death at every window, hell at one dark window;

Bess could see what would become of her beloved should he return. This was the hell he had spoken of before he left.

For Bess could see, through the casement

From where she lay, she could see the road through the window.

The road that he would ride.

She would be able to see when he returned.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;

One of the soldiers pulled her upright, laughing drunkenly with his fellows all the while.

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!

A musket was tied to her side, its barrel digging into her ribcage.

"now keep good watch!" And they kissed her.

“Ye let us know when yer sweetheart comes fer ye,” one man hissed in her ear. She grimaced when she smelled his foul breath.

She heard the dead man say

Bess looked out the window again, and she remembered what her highwayman had told her:

"Look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight

“No matter what happens, look for me when the moon is bright…”

I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way!"

“I’ll come to you in the moonlight, no matter what bars my way.” Bess shut her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her face. She had to do something should he return.

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!

She knew what to do. She twisted her wrists, trying to loosen the rope enough, but the knots held. She would be able to get free.

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!

The ropes cut into her wrists, and blood mixed with sweat as her hands writhed.

They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!

She struggled against her bonds for hours. The moon rose high above the hills.

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, cold, on the stroke of midnight,

When the clock struck twelve, the moon was fully overhead, not quite full, but not yet waning.

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

At the final stroke of twelve, the tip of her longest finger touched the trigger of the musket.

Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse’s hoofs ring clear

Just as she did so, the thumping clatter of a horse’s hooves could be clearly heard. Had the red-coats heard it?

Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?

The hoof beats came nearer and louder. How can they not hear it?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill

Bess looked out in time to see a figure come over the rise, merely a silhouette in the moonlight.

The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!

It was her highwayman, coming for her, just as he said he would!

The red-coats looked to their priming!

The British soldiers heard him now, and they raised their muskets, ready to shoot.

She stood up straight and still!

Bess stood up straight and did not move at all.

Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!

The only sounds were the hoof beats of the horse and the gentle hiss of the silent wind. Every thump on the road echoed in the night.

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!

Her face lit up as he came nearer, not with happiness and joy, but with anguish.

Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,

“I love you, Michael,” she whispered to her beloved, praying that somehow he would hear her. Tears rolled down her face as she took one last deep breath.

Then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight,

She pulled the soaked trigger, and the load crack of the musket shattered the silence.

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

The bullet drive through muscle and bone until it buried itself in her heart. Hopefully the sound of her death would warn Michael too stay away.

He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood

The highwayman reined his horse to a stop as a shot rang out in the night. Little did he know that his dear Bess stood dead in her room.

Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!

He didn’t know that she stood with her head bowed, and the musket she held was drenched with her blood.

Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear

He turned and ran for hours on end, until the first fingers of light reached across the sky. It wasn’t until then that he realized what had happened.

How Bess, the landlord's daughter, the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

He finally realized that the shot was for his Bess.

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

That she had waited for him to return, and had killed herself to protect him from some unknown danger.

And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky

Madness tore through his mind as he wheeled his horse around and raced back to the east, cursing to the moon.

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high

The road snaked behind him like a winding silver tail. He raised his rapier high as the inn came into view.

Blood-red were the spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,

The golden sun gleamed on his spurs, and his coat was as deep a red as Bess’s blood.

when they shot him down on the highway, down like a dog on the highway,

The King’s men saw him, and raised their muskets ready to shoot. Michael still rode on, and he had barely reached the inn yard when one of the muskets cracked loudly. He fell from his horse like a stone.

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

He lay there in a pool of his own blood. The lace cravat he wore was stained red as it soaked up some of the red liquid. The rest was drawn into the earth.

Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

Even now they say that on a winter’s night when the only sound is a silent wind…

When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,

When the moon shines like a newly minted silver coin surrounded with mist…

When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor

When the roan gleams like an iridescent serpent among the purple hills of the moor…

A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding,

They say a highwayman can be seen riding a noble bay horse…

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

That he rides to the place where the inn once stood, to claim his sweetheart and take her away so they could be together…

Forever…

Yay! It's finished! I wrote this while listening to the song over and over. I love it! Please review!!