The Highwayman of Tanglewood (16 page)

“She is, no doubt, somewhere lingering in Gawain’s arms, I’d wager,” Lady Rockrimmon said. “But you are here and can give your opinion without her.”

“Yes, milady,” Faris said. She felt warmed in Lady Rockrimmon’s presence. She was such a kind woman and possessed of such an entertaining character. Faris was grateful to be at Loch Loland Castle. She hoped to never have cause of finding a new position elsewhere. It would fairly break her heart to leave—unless, of course, she left for the cause of forever being with the Highwayman of Tanglewood. For true love, Faris would leave Loch Loland Castle—but only for the sake of true love.

❦

Lord Rockrimmon and Lochlan spent near to three days wending their way over the Rockrimmon properties, visiting tenants and seeing to things of business. Each morning, Faris had entered Lochlan Rockrimmon’s room to find his bed nicely spread up and his clothing strewn hither and yon about the room. Each morning, the sight caused her to smile and giggle with thinking the heir to the Rockrimmon fortune and title was no more than a little lad—too busy about his business to take care in his wardrobe.

Riding from before sunup to long after sun’s set, they often rode out before any in the household were awake and returned when only Old Joseph was on his midnight wanderings. Faris had hoped to thank Lord Rockrimmon and his son for their gallant championing of her where the matter of Kade Tremeshton’s assault was concerned—yet it was ever they were absent from Loch Loland in the days following the incident. She had even risen very early one morning intent on seeking them out—but it was only Lord Rockrimmon she found in his study moments before he intended to ride out with Lochlan. She could sense he was in a hurry even then and did not have the courage to approach him, even in thanks.

When at last the Rockrimmon men did finish their property rounds, they returned with frustration at having found such poverty and despair on the newly acquired properties. The properties Kade Tremeshton had sold to Lord Rockrimmon were in a sad state of affairs it seemed, and they attempted to help and encourage their new tenants, promising their lots would improve with Lord Rockrimmon as their lord.

Faris then was unable and unwilling to endeavor to thank either man again for having come to her aid. Lillias had assured her both her father and her brother would react as Lord Kendrick did—begging she offer them no more words of thanksgiving. Therefore, Faris did not—even for her great desire to do so—for their minds were much occupied with other matters. She was certain they had both forgotten the incident entirely and reconciled herself to never being able to thank them properly.

Then, as if the heavens knew Faris needed comfort and hope, a tale of the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s appearance in Saxton had reached the ears of all at Loch Loland Castle. It was Lord Kendrick who first heard of the news, and it was Lord Kendrick who first arrived at Loch Loland with the story in tow.

As Faris sat with Mary, Old Joseph, and Sarah in the kitchen the night of Lord Rockrimmon and Lochlan’s return, her heart felt near to bursting with excitement as the tale was told.

“Two nights past, it was,” Old Joseph said. “I heard Lord Kendrick tell Miss Lillias with my own ears just an hour ago.”

“Well, tell us, Joseph! Do not endeavor to try our patience!” Mary demanded.

“Then I’ll tell you as I heard it,” Old Joseph began, “which was as this—our own Highwayman of Tanglewood rode into Saxton at the stroke of midnight. Mounted on his mighty black steed, he rode up to Brookings’s manor house and called him out.”

“How?” Sarah asked.

“He shouted,” Old Joseph said. “Rapier drawn, he rode back and forth ’cross the lawns of Brookings’s manor, calling for Brookings to come out and face him. ‘I know what ye did!’ he called. ‘And I’ll not let a murdering thief sit rich and well-fed while his wife lies dead in the dirt because of him!’ said he.”

Faris felt a smile spread across her face. The Highwayman had ridden once more—ridden the long journey to Saxton in order that he might call out a villain. She was proud of his courage—proud of his cause.

“What then?” Sarah asked.

“It seems the local magistrate was nearby,” Old Joseph continued. “No doubt he’d heard the gossip of the Highwayman’s intended visit and was staying by at Brookings’s manor. So it was the traitorous magistrate who first met the Highwayman of Tanglewood under Saxton’s moon.”

“Oh, get on with it, Joseph!” Mary exclaimed. “Have a pity and tell us the tale quickly!”

Faris giggled. She understood Mary’s impatience all too well—for she too wanted to hear the whole of it told.

Old Joseph smiled and laughed. “I will tell it to you as well as I can, Mary,” he said. “And this is what comes next—the traitorous magistrate left the safety of Brookings’s manor house and met the Highwayman on the dew-drenched grass. There they dueled with all of Brookings’s servants and stablemen looking on. The Highwayman’s rapier flashed brilliant in the moonlight, and it was not but few strokes he took to render the traitor magistrate helpless.”

“Did he merely lop off the man’s head?” Sarah asked.

“No—simply bested him quickly, leaving him with a wound to his sword arm he won’t soon forget,” Old Joseph answered.

Faris’s heart was racing! She could see it—in her mind’s eye, she could see the Highwayman of Tanglewood fighting the corrupt magistrate under a dark sky lit only by the silver light of the moon and stars. She was breathless with both excitement for his heroic deeds and fear of his well-being.

“What next?” Mary asked. “For pity’s sake, Joseph!”

“Lord Brookings then discovered how ill-favored he was in the eyes of his servants then—for they gave him up. His own first man opened the front doors of the manor house and let the Highwayman enter,” Joseph continued. “It was there the confrontation was met—there in the entryway of the grand house that had once belonged to Lord Brookings’s sweet wife. ‘Confess!’ the Highwayman shouted. ‘You slit your wife’s throat, and now you will confess!’ But Lord Brookings stood firm and drew his sword on our Highwayman of Tanglewood.”

Faris tried to calm her rapid breath, tried to keep her hands from trembling. “The Highwayman,” she began, “he did prevail. Did he not?” She was nearly frightened of hearing Old Joseph’s answer

Yet she sighed with great relief when Old Joseph said, “Is there any doubt?”

“Did he kill Brookings?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Old Joseph said. “Such a coward as Lord Brookings did not deserve to die by the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s rapier point. No—the Highwayman crossed blades with Brookings—but it was quickly he defeated him and held Brookings’s throat at the tip of his blade. It was then the two constables—good honest men, they were—arrived in time to hear the coward Lord Brookings confess his sins to the Highwayman of Tanglewood. He had killed his wife—murdered her as she slept. In a fit of rage over her having argued with him in front of the housekeeper of the manor, he had slit her throat with his dagger and paid the magistrate to provide him an alibi.”

“The devil was in him,” Mary mumbled.

“It is told that the Highwayman was tempted to slit him—open his gullet with his own rapier’s blade—for Brookings had done no less to poor Lady Brookings two years past,” Old Joseph said.

“But he did not harm him?” Faris asked.

“He did not harm him in what he deserved,” Old Joseph said. “But the tale is told that the Highwayman of Tanglewood drug the tip of his rapier across Lord Brookings’s throat, cutting the skin just enough to cause him to bleed and saying, ‘This be where the rope will chafe you—where the knot will tighten and break your neck, you murdering thief.’ That is what Lord Kendrick told Miss Lillias only an hour ago. The Highwayman of Tanglewood indeed rode to Saxton, drew out, and bested Lord Brookings the murderer. They will hang Brookings, it is sure. Perhaps the magistrate too.”

Sarah sighed and smiled. “It is easier than they deserve. Poor Lady Brookings—throat slashed with a dagger.”

“Bainbridge will be glad to hear it, I daresay,” Mary said. “No doubt he knew of the murder—having been born in Saxton—his mother still there yet.”

“We will ask him when he returns,” Old Joseph said.

“When he returns?” Faris asked.

“Yes,” Old Joseph said. “He rode out to Saxton two days past to confirm his mother is well. It seems he had heard she was ill and was anxious about her well-being.”

“You don’t suspect Bainbridge Graybeau of being the Highwayman of Tanglewood do you, Faris?” Sarah asked. She laughed when Faris could only shake her head in unconvincing assurance. “It is sheer coincidence!” Sarah laughed. “Bainbridge is often in Saxton, and the Highwayman of Tanglewood has never ridden there before.” Sarah leaned forward and lowering her voice said, “I, for one, suspect Lord Kendrick.”

“What?” Mary exclaimed, laughing as she did so. “Why ever would you suspect Lord Kendrick, Sarah? It’s a preposterous notion!”

“Who is it always tells Miss Lillias the tales of the Highwayman of Tanglewood long before anyone else ever hears of them?” Sarah offered. “How comes Lord Kendrick by this information so quickly? I will tell you how—he was present! It was Lord Gawain Kendrick who bested Lord Brookings in Saxton.” Sarah smiled as everyone looked at her, scowling with wonder. “Has he not been absent these two days? Has not today been the first time he has called at Loch Loland Castle in two of those days?”

“He was about his business affairs,” Mary said. “Or so milady told me when she gave me the dinner menus these past two nights.”

“My money’s on a commoner,” Old Joseph said. “What titled man would risk life and limb in championing those who are of common status?”

“Master Lochlan debates in earnest for—” Mary began.

“
Debates
in earnest, perhaps,” Old Joseph said. “But would a titled man risk prison and even death in defense of the farmer? No.” Joseph smiled at Faris. “No. If I were a betting man, I’d put my money firm on Bainbridge Graybeau.”

There was a light in Old Joseph’s eyes, and Faris wondered—did he know something of the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s true identity?”

“Lord Kendrick it is,” Sarah said. “I’ll put my money on Lord Gawain Kendrick—for the Highwayman is a skilled swordsman, an excellent rider—”

“You’re both as silly as two summer geese,” Mary said. “The Highwayman of Tanglewood is a farmer’s son—a local farmer’s son—one sick to dying of watching the rich steal from the poor.”

“A farmer’s son?” Sarah asked. “A farmer’s son who just happens to possess the same skill with a rapier that the nobles do?”

Faris’s head was pounding. She did not want to speculate! For all she knew, Mary was right, and the Highwayman of Tanglewood was a common man who had grown tired of tyranny. Yet her own heart wondered at the mystery so hard it pained her. Speculation was rarely a pleasant pastime, and she was worn out by it.

“I-I think I’ll go for a walk in the evening air,” Faris said, pushing her chair back from the table. It was merely two nights more—two nights, and she would see him again! Yet her heart ached for him, her body longed to thrill at his touch. What harm was there in walking—in perhaps meeting him by chance before their planned rendezvous?

“It is a lovely night for walking,” Mary said. “But take care you do not linger too long, Faris. You need your rest.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Faris said. “I will not linger long.”

Anxious, Faris hurried toward the abandoned cottage at the edge of the Tanglewood Forest. No doubt her silent prayers begging for a chance meeting with her Highwayman would not be answered—still she hoped. It seemed an eternity since last she had met with him—since he had held her in his strong arms and rained passionate kisses on her tender lips.

Yet as she neared the cottage, as the moonlight shone down upon its abandoned emptiness, her hopes faded as fast as the amethyst of sunset. As darkness enveloped her, Faris knew bitter disappointment. Still, she would wait—wait a day, a night, and a day—then she would see him again. Would she not? Impatience thickened the doubt in her mind—doubt in ever seeing the Highwayman again. What if he could not meet her at the hour they had planned? Worse—what if he
would
not meet her? What if the Highwayman of Tanglewood had experienced a change of heart or mind since last they met?

Still, Faris shook her head. He cared for her, she was certain of it! Whoever he was by day—whether stableman, titled lord, or farmer’s son—Faris was certain he sincerely cared for her. He would meet her two nights hence—he would!

Faris gasped as a hand covered her mouth, a powerful arm encircling her waist from behind. Yet her startle was brief, for she recognized the scent of leather, wind, and meadow grasses.

“And why be ye out near the forest so late of night, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle?”

Such a feeling of relief and joy spread over her, Faris went limp in the Highwayman’s arms as he turned her to face him. Burying her face against the powerful contours of his chest, she began to weep.

“I feared I would never see you again!” she sobbed.

“But why?” he asked, gathering her into his arms. “We planned to meet two nights hence. Why do I find ye here now?”

She could not tell him! She could not tell him she had doubted. And yet, surely her emotions betrayed her. But to tell him of her doubts—doubting was weak, and she would endeavor to be stronger in the future. Therefore, she would not confess her weakness. How then would she explain such tears?

“I-I heard the tale of your besting Lord Brookings, of your ride to Saxton,” she said at last—and it was true. “I was fearful of your safety and—”

“Here ya find me, lass—unharmed and holdin’ ya in me arms, I am,” he said. The rasping, masked sound of his voice comforted her, and the severity of her sobbing lessened.