The skirmish was over in mere moments. Amara stood frozen, captivated by the enigmatic stranger as he fought with deadly grace. His sword sliced through the air, each strike executed with confidence and precision. The highwaymen, realizing they were outmatched, retreated into the trees, their shouts fading into the distance. A hush enveloped the clearing. The man turned to Amara, his sharp gray eyes scrutinizing her closely. For a heartbeat, she found herself speechless. "You're safe now," he assured her, his voice steady yet authoritative. He sheathed his sword and stepped closer, his movements careful and non-threatening. "What brings you to these woods alone, madam?" Amara's instincts urged her to concoct a believable story. "I… I got lost," she stuttered, gripping the artifact hidden behind her back. He raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his expression. "Lost, you say? Dressed like that?" His gaze swept over her jeans and boots. "I'm a traveler," she replied hastily, hoping she sounded believable enough. "I took a wrong turn and… ended up here." His eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded in understanding. "Very well. These woods are dangerous. I'll escort you to safety." Before she could voice any objections, he led her to his horse, effortlessly lifting her onto the saddle.
The journey unfolded in silence, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of hooves against the ground. Amara's thoughts raced with uncertainty. Where was she? More crucially, when was she? As they broke through the trees, a magnificent estate came into view. The manor sprawled before her, its stone exterior glowing in the flickering torchlight. It resembled a scene from a historical film, and for a fleeting moment, she questioned whether she had wandered onto a movie set. The man dismounted gracefully and extended his hand. "I'm Lord James Harrington. Welcome to Harrington Hall." Amara took his hand and replied, "Amara Blake".