The Last Rebel of Somerset

Eliza Thorne’s heart hammered in her chest as she darted through the dense underbrush. The sharp thud of hooves grew louder with every step she took. The woods of Somerset were no sanctuary, not tonight. Cold wind stung her face, her breath quick and shallow, but she couldn’t slow down not yet. The branches scratched her arms, her boots splashing in the mud as the dark forest closed in around her.

Behind her, the shouts of soldiers echoed through the trees. “Thorne! You won’t escape the law!”

She didn’t dare look back. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run faster, her thoughts only on survival. The only way forward was deeper into the wilderness.

The crunch of leaves beneath heavy boots was growing louder. Her fingers fumbled at the scarf around her neck. She yanked it up to cover her face, her pulse racing in her ears. Her breath fogged up in the chilly air as she moved faster. She could hear them closing in. They were getting closer. The escape was slipping away.

A sharp rustling behind her made her freeze. Was it them? Or just the wind?

She pushed the thought from her mind and moved again, her boots sinking deeper into the wet earth. But then another shout. “Thorne! You can’t run forever!”

The sound echoed like a drumbeat in the night. Eliza pushed harder, her body aching, the woods seeming to stretch endlessly ahead. She couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after what she had learned.

Setup & Character Introduction

Eliza had always known the weight of the Thorne name. The family estate sprawled across Somerset, grand and imposing with its stone walls and vineyards. The manor was a symbol of wealth, power, and tradition. Her childhood had been filled with fine gowns, lavish feasts, and music that played long into the night. It was a life wrapped in luxury, but it was a life Eliza had never fully belonged to.

Her father, Sir Alistair Thorne, was a staunch royalist. His loyalty to the crown was unwavering, and that loyalty had been passed down to Eliza from the day she could walk. They spoke often of the Crown’s supremacy, how it was the heart of all that was right in the world. To challenge the monarchy was unthinkable.

But Eliza had always been different. While the Thorne estate pulsed with the quiet hum of high society, she had listened to whispers in the town below. The cries for justice, the calls for rebellion. The idea of standing with the common people the very people her father considered beneath them began to stir something inside her. Something she could no longer ignore.

Her father, however, would never understand. His world was made of duty and pride, not ideals.

Inciting Incident

It happened late one evening, just before the dinner bell rang. Eliza had planned to retreat to the library her sanctuary of dust-laden books and quiet thoughts when she overheard voices in the hall. Her father’s voice, cold and authoritative, and a deeper, gravelly one, barely audible.

“…we can’t afford to lose Somerset,” Sir Alistair was saying, his voice sharp with tension. “Not when the rebellion is gaining ground.”

Eliza stopped just short of the corner, leaning in. Her curiosity got the better of her. She peered around the corner, but all she could see was her father’s back, his shoulders rigid.

“Of course,” the other man replied. “But the girl… she may be the key. She can lure them in. If we use her as bait…”

Eliza’s blood turned cold. She could barely breathe as she pressed her back against the wall, the words gnawing at her. Her father wasn’t just indifferent to the rebellion. He was actively working against it. Worse still, he was using her his daughter as leverage to destroy the cause she had come to believe in.

The feeling hit her like a ton of bricks, an icy weight settling in her stomach. All these years, she had looked up to him. She had trusted him. But now, he had betrayed her, betrayed everything she stood for.

She backed away slowly, her hands shaking as she made her way to her room. Her father’s actions, his twisted machinations, couldn’t stand. She couldn’t stay.

Rising Tension & First Turning Point

By the time the moon rose high, Eliza was packed and ready. She had gathered only the essentials a change of clothes, a small purse of coins, and a letter to her father. She wasn’t sure where she would go. Perhaps the village. The rebellion was always rumored to meet near the old mill, a place that had once felt like home to Eliza. She could find them. She would find them. She had to.

But when she opened the door, she saw a figure blocking the hallway her father, his voice low and ominous. “Eliza.”

She froze, her breath caught in her throat. She stepped back slowly, but her father’s eyes locked onto her with an intensity that left no room for doubt. He had known. He always knew.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his tone cold.

She couldn’t go back. Not now. Not after everything. The choice was made. She couldn’t stay in the house of a man who would use her as a pawn.

But before he could take another step, she bolted.

Her feet barely touched the floor as she sprinted for the back door. The sound of her father’s voice calling her name echoed through the corridors, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Midpoint Twist

Eliza didn’t stop until the sun started to rise. The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the barn where she had taken refuge, the smell of hay and wood filling her senses. She lay on the cold, hard ground, still trembling from her escape, unsure of what to do next.

Her escape had been difficult, but the hardest part had yet to come. She needed to find the rebels, to prove she wasn’t just a noblewoman running from her responsibilities. She had to prove herself.

And then, just as the world began to stir, a figure appeared in the doorway. Tall, rugged, his face shadowed with a weariness born of conflict. His eyes scrutinized her for a moment, as if trying to discern her true nature.

“You lost, lass?” His voice was wary, testing.

Eliza stood up, wiping the dirt from her palms. “I’m here to join the rebels,” she said, lifting her chin with the kind of defiance she had never shown before. “I want to fight. I’m not one of them. I’m not like him.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not the first noble to come claiming they want to fight for the people. But most of them turn tail when the blood starts to spill. Are you ready for that?”

She nodded, her resolve hardening. “I’m ready.”

Escalation & Personal Stakes

The days that followed were grueling. Eliza had to prove herself, over and over again. She trained with the rebels, learning how to wield a sword, how to fight for a cause she didn’t fully understand. The men in the camp were skeptical. Some saw her as nothing more than a pampered noblewoman playing at being a soldier. But she pressed on.

She earned their respect, piece by piece. She fought beside them, helped when it was needed, and found herself slowly becoming a part of something greater than herself.

But with each victory, the stakes grew higher. One night, after a fierce skirmish with the royalists, Eliza found herself caught in a deadly crossfire. Thomas, the rebel who had grown close to her, was badly wounded.

The choice was agonizing. She could follow the orders they had been given, to move forward and seize their advantage, or she could save Thomas, the one man who had come to trust her. The moment stretched into eternity.

Climax

The battle was drawing to a close when Eliza saw her father’s troops in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat. He was here. Leading the charge against the very people she now stood beside.

“Father!” she called, her voice breaking the chaos around her. “Stop!”

Her father’s gaze locked with hers, a mixture of fury and disbelief in his eyes. “You’re lost, Eliza,” he shouted over the battlefield. “Come back. You don’t belong here.”

“I do belong here!” she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. “I belong with the people. Not with you.”

He hesitated, just for a moment. Then, with a final, cold gesture, he ordered his men forward. Eliza didn’t wait for him to strike. She raised her sword and fought, not for glory, but for what she believed in.

The final blow was swift. The battlefield went quiet, save for the wind rustling through the trees. Eliza stood over her father’s fallen form, her sword bloodied but steady.

Falling Action & Resolution

The war wasn’t over, but Eliza had made her choice. She had turned her back on the life she knew, the family she had once trusted. In the chaos of battle, she had found something stronger than blood ties: freedom.

As the sun set, casting a golden hue over the ruined battlefield, Thomas approached her. His eyes were filled with a quiet pride.

“What now, Eliza?” he asked, his voice soft.

Eliza turned her gaze to the horizon, her eyes fixed on the future.

“We fight,” she said, her voice unwavering. “For everyone.”