Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Summary: Robbers murder a Duchess and her husband. Hours later, the Duchess reawakens and comes back to life but what could cause such a thing?
Disclaimer: The Doctor Who universe belongs to the BBC, and the various hard-working writers, actors and crews who created it. I don't make any profit from using it. The Duchess and Edwald are my own creations.

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The Duchess leant her head against her husband's shoulder. The smooth rocking of the carriage and the soft jingling of the harness was sending her to sleep. She was close enough to feel the vibrations of her husband's chest as he chuckled indulgently at her. Her own mouth curved into a grin but she was too sleepy to rebuke him aloud.

"Driver?" whispered her husband. "If would please me greatly if you were to ride a little slower and to avoid the rocks. My wife is asleep and I would not have her wakened."
The Duchess did not bother to open her eyes and correct her husband.
"Of course, your Grace," replied the driver reluctantly.

It was many hours travel back to the estate through the woods and the driver always wished to return home as soon as possible. However, the driver had been a loyal servant of the Duke's family for generations and she soon felt the carriage slowing slightly as the horses responded to his commands.

They were half a mile from leaving the dirt track to return to the main road when disaster struck. She felt her husband tense against her before she heard the pounding of hooves and shouting voices. Her husband pushed her from his side and reached forward to find the pistol concealed beneath the seat.

The Duchess crouched lower in the seat, trying to will herself to be small and out of sight. She cursed herself silently for wearing a white dress that must show up so clearly in the darkness, like a beacon to their attackers.

As she tried to get her eyes to adjust to the dim light, a musket was fired. The driver toppled from his perch on the front of the carriage and the horses' pace became disorderly. The Duke pushed her down from the seat to hide her. Then he took cover behind the front carriage seat and took aim with the pistol. The shot rang out loud, the cloud of smoke quickly wafting away in a light breeze. A horse squealed in pain and somebody swore.

A second musket shot rang out, striking the place where she had been sitting a minute before. The fabric was ripped and mutilated in a long, ugly gouge. A third musket shot exploded the lantern that swung from the rear of the carriage. The sound of strange hooves came closer. The Duke raised his head, looking to both the left and the right of the carriage. Then he turned to look to the front of the carriage.

He threw aside the useless pistol. He knew that even if he had the spare powder and bullet to hand, he would not be able to load it again in time. Instead he reached for his sword. He had always carried it as a sign of his rank though he had never used it. He drew it from his scabbard and spared a glance for his wife. Then he turned and stood. In a single movement, he had lunged out of the carriage with the sword in the direction of the attacking horses. A squeal from a horse and the gurgling, rasping croak of a man testified to his success.

The next moment, another musket shot rang out. The Duke's body went limp, sagging against the edge of the carriage. His hand swung drunkenly back into the carriage, dropping the bloodied sword at her feet. He turned briefly, his eyes meeting hers.

She started forward, reaching out to him but his eyes rolled back into his head and his unconscious body tipped over the edge of the carriage and was gone. There was an instant rumble of voices and a general cheer of triumph. The Duchess stared at the place where her husband had been. Only a bloody smear marked it now.

She closed her eyes, pressing herself against the side of the carriage. She could feel tears running down her face though she could not tell when she had begun to cry. Then she heard the thud as somebody landed on the carriage.
"Whoa, there," said a gruff voice.
The horses began to slow and then stopped.
"Fine horses they have here," came the gruff voice again.

"Forget the horses," cackled a new voice. "Let's see what they've got in the carriage."
Several silhouetted heads appeared over the side of the carriage. A man scrambled up the side, not bothering with the carriage door, and stood on the seat. It was then that he spotted the Duchess huddled on the carriage floor.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" he asked.
Even in the darkness, she could tell that he was leering at her.
"No wonder the bastard fought so hard," he added, chuckling to himself. "A lady worth fighting for here, lads."

The man looked back to his comrades, who joined in the laughter. That was why he didn't notice when she took up her husband's sword and lunged upwards. The only thought that filled her head was that her husband was gone and this man had killed him. The sword stabbed into the man's chest, grinding against bone and squirting bloods everywhere.

There was another musket shot and the Duchess gasped in pain. She fell down to the floor of the carriage again, the sword falling down with her.
"Holy mother of God!" shouted the gruff voice. "There was no need to shoot a lady!"
"She killed Harold," argued one of the other voices. "She bloody well deserved it."
"It was his own stupid fault, any way...," said the gruff voice, unappeased.

The Duchess found it difficult to listen, the voices slowly fading away and the pain in her side flaring and swelling until she was aware of nothing else. She heard the men moving about on the carriage and forced herself to open her eyes one last time.

Above her, the branches swayed and rustled and a large bird perched high above. It gazed down at her, puzzled at the strange scene of murder and mayhem. It was the last thing the Duchess saw before she stopped breathing.

TO BE CONTINUED

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