The Highwayman of Tanglewood (2 page)

Faris turned, intent on leaving the kitchen to write her note and gather her things to ready for her impending escape. She gasped as she found Kade Tremeshton standing before her. In the low lighting of the kitchens, his dark hair and light-blue eyes appeared unearthly in their wicked essence. Faris imagined this was how the devil appeared—handsome, alluring, the favored appearance of deception.

“My pretty—very pretty Faris,” he said, his voice lowered, his hands instantly at her waist. “What are you about in the kitchens this afternoon?” He leaned forward, nuzzling his face in the dark brown of her hair.

“Your mother’s requirements,” she said, struggling out of his grip and moving past him.

“Ah, but I have requirements of you as well,” he whispered, catching hold of her wrist. He moistened his lips as he looked at her, and a wicked grin spread across his face.

“But—but I shall be missed in another moment, Master Kade. It would go badly for me,” Faris told him as she began to tremble. She knew she could attempt a struggle—perhaps run from him. Yet she further knew any attempt at escape would be in vain. He would overtake her in a moment. It was best to try and ease out of his clutches. This she had learned in the most difficult way, having been caught and brutally struck by the back of his hand for trying to run from him on her first afternoon at Tremeshton Manor.

“Perhaps it would,” he mumbled. “But I will be Lord of Tremeshton one day, Faris—so who should you labor most to please? My mother? Or me?” He moved his head toward hers, moistening his lips. His mouth was open as he attempted to kiss her.

“Your mother,” Faris said, pulling away from him. “For it is she who bore you, and I know you would see her well served and happy.”

Kade straightened. Glaring down at her he said, “Very well. But I am growing impatient with waiting for you to warm to me, Faris. You would be wise to consider surrender. It may go easy, and you will be safe—or it may go quite the opposite. The choice is yours.”

“I must see to your mother, Master Kade,” she said, twisting her wrist from his grip and hurrying from the room. She listened for any sound he meant to follow her, but there was none. It had been a narrow escape. She knew there would be no escape when next he chose to waylay her. She must flee. She must flee when night fell.

Once inside the chamber where she slept, Faris closed the door behind her, buried her face in her hands, and wept for a moment. Kade Tremeshton was a monster, and she could not wait to be out of his reach. Settling her wits, Faris brushed the tears from her pretty cheeks, careful not to rub her eyes too much. Faris never rubbed her eyes too harshly, for if she did, she found one or two of her unusually long, dark lashes would invariably turn under, painfully scratching her eyes. She remembered the way her mother would scold her for rubbing her eyes when she cried as a child, frustrated with the tantrums Faris would then embark upon because of the pain due to the turned-under lashes. Faris fancied what a strange reminiscence it was to linger on. She was near the brink of escape, and neither tears nor turned-under lashes were of any importance when liberation was waiting a breath away.

Quickly, Faris gathered the few items she possessed, stuffing them rather carelessly into the worn satchel once belonging to her mother. Wages were due Faris. A full week’s worth, but she would not wait to collect them. A week’s worth of wages wasn’t worth a moment more in Kade Tremeshton’s company. The sun would be setting soon—the perfect time to embark. Loch Loland Castle was more than five miles from Tremeshton Manor, but Faris cared not. She would walk all night if she had to. She would not spend another sunset under Kade Tremeshton’s roof. She would bide her time until twilight and write a note—a note that left not a clue as to where she was about. Indeed, she would not endanger Lady Rockrimmon’s reputation by labeling her a thief of servants. In her note, she would simply state she had left in search of another position. Three hours until dusk descended, and Faris would wait. She would avoid Kade Tremeshton and wait.

❦

Bright pink and warm lavender on a canvas of night blue was the painted sky of sunset as Faris Shayhan walked through the Tanglewood Forest. She was glad for the glimpse of a meadow ahead—a break in the trees that would allow her to look heavenward into the beauty of nature’s twilight painting above.

The moment she had left Tremeshton Manor, her heart had begun to swell with renewed hope and joy. Her lungs even seemed better able to draw breath. Faris felt lighter, freer, and happier than she had in months. As she stepped out of the forest and into the Tanglewood Meadow, she marveled at the beauty of the evening. Soon the pinks and lavenders of sunset would turn to great curtains of purple, folding over the world as night gathered. Already the hum of the crickets’ song soothed her senses; the scent of wildflowers and lilacs in the meadow caressed her tattered nerves with their comforting perfume.

She paused in awe of the colors of the meadow, soft greens of grass, sweet yellow buttercups, lavender of lilacs, creamy sprigs of pussy willow. All of it, the color, the freshness of the air, the melody of the crickets—all of it served to calm Faris, to gladden her heart.

Yet as she set her satchel down, closing her eyes to revel in the beauty of the evening, the soft breezes brought something else to her—a rhythm—a horse carrying a rider. At first it seemed far off, and Faris remained calm, but fear leapt to her bosom at the thought of Kade Tremeshton! Perhaps the house mistress had delivered her note to Lady Tremeshton too early! Perhaps Kade Tremeshton had been provoked to fury and now rode after her!

Faris knew by the sound of the mad gallop there was not time to hide. She stood vulnerable, unprotected in the midst of the evening meadow—as helpless as an injured rabbit. It was senseless to run. Through the trees she could see the shape of a horse and rider approaching in furious haste!

Faris’s eyes widened as she saw the rider’s black hood, his midnight cape billowing in the wind as he rode toward her. His mount was as black as moonless night and angrily snorted as it reared up before her. Instinctively, Faris raised her arm to cover her eyes, certain she would next be trampled by powerful hooves. Yet she was not, and she ventured a glance at the rider.

The hooded man seemed to be looking at her—his horse pacing back and forth as its companion studied her. The rider was an enormous man, covered from head to toe in black clothing—from his black hood and cloak to his blackest of breeches to black boots cuffed just under his knee. For a moment, Faris wondered if perhaps the grim reaper were upon her, come to claim her before Kade Tremeshton did. For long moments, the only sounds were the horse’s heavy breath, the strain of leather as the rider shifted in the saddle, and the whip of his cape as he flung one length of it over his broad shoulder.

Faris sensed his raspy whispered growl was intentional, a method of hiding the true intonation of his voice, but his accent was unmistakable—a man from the green isle. It was only then she realized with whom fate had matched her in that moment.

“The Highwayman!” she gasped.

The Highwayman of Tanglewood was legendary through all the land. With the will and purpose of Robin Hood, the Highwayman of Tanglewood set upon only those who were wealthy—further, only those who had come by their wealth in deceitful and hateful ways. The Highwayman of Tanglewood never murdered, and it was said he never robbed any honest person—only dishonest and arrogant persons who used the poor and less fortunate to further fleece their gold-lined pockets.

“Hush, lass!” the Highwayman ordered, dismounting and striding toward Faris.

Faris shook her head and took several steps backward, certain she had escaped Tremeshton Manor only to find her doom.

“Know ya not the trees have ears, they do,” he whispered. He stood directly before her now—tall, dark, menacing. Reaching up, he pushed his black hood from his head, revealing a black mask, dark mustache, and goatee. Faris Shayhan found herself looking into the smoldering black eyes of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. The mask he wore covered his head and perfectly concealed any feature of his face around his eyes, nose, and cheeks. The mustache and goatee completed the concealment. It would be impossible to determine the true identity of the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

“Why is it ya travel under the cover of evenin’?” the Highwayman asked.

“I-I…It was the most convenient time to leave,” she stammered.

The Highwayman growled low in his throat and began walking around her, prowling like a panther stalking his prey. He studied Faris—looking from her head to her feet and then from feet to head again. His study was thorough.

“Leave where, lass? What reason would a bonnie young lass the like of ya have to leave a place?” he asked.

“Are…are you going to harm me, sir?” Faris asked. Though she felt he meant her no damage, she was yet driven to ask.

“It is unwise to travel at night, lass,” the Highwayman said as he stopped his investigation of her and stood straight before her once again. “Rogues and criminals and wicked men of every sort roam at night, they do—even highwaymen who might steal something from a young lass sooch as yarself,” he whispered.

Faris was mesmerized by the flash in his eyes, by the sheer height of his head and breadth of his shoulders.

“Are…are you going to steal something from me, sir? I…I haven’t much, but I will gladly give you all that I do have,” Faris said, certain she was about to be robbed.

“I might indeed steal something from ya, lass,” the Highwayman said, grinning a rogue’s grin. “It might be I’ll steal yar satchel there,” he said pointing to her satchel. “Or I might instead steal away yar innocence.”

Faris gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Could it be she’d only just escaped the grip of one evil man to fall carelessly into the grip of another? The Highwayman laughed, no doubt amused by her astonished expression. His smile flashed in the night like starlight—white teeth against all the blackness of his wardrobe.

“But methinks tonight,” the Highwayman began, reaching out and taking Faris’s face between his large, gloved hands. “Methinks tonight I’ll steal yar kiss instead.”

Faris’s eyes widened with surprise, and her heart hammered with fear mingled with some sort of wild exhilaration.

“Only yar kiss tonight, bonnie lass,” the Highwayman of Tanglewood whispered. “Only yar kiss.”

Faris couldn’t breathe! She felt faint—but not from fear. Somehow her breathlessness, the weak sensation in her knees, was not the product of fear but of some sort of unthinkable, unfathomable delight! She fancied she had lost her senses—gone mad. Delight—in anticipation of a thief stealing her kiss? She should struggle! She should! Yet her limbs would not obey her mind’s command, and she stood still, unmoving, frozen with a strange, enchanting sort of fear.

“Ah, pretty little lass,” the Highwayman whispered as his gloved thumb caressed her lower lip for a moment. “Close yar eyes, and let the Highwayman of Tanglewood rob ya now.”

Faris shook her head, unable to believe what was happening. But as the Highwayman’s head descended toward hers, the spell he had woven around her—the magic of the night breeze—all of it enveloped her, and she did, indeed, close her eyes.

“Ya smell of the heather, of the meadow, of lavender and rose petals,” the Highwayman whispered as his breath, hot on her neck, caused Faris’s body to tingle with unusual bliss. “Yar skin is soft and sweet,” he breathed.

Faris trembled as she felt his lips brush the bare flesh of her neck.

“And do ya taste as sweet, lassie?” he asked. Faris was breathless, sent trembling as his lips pressed to hers in a firm but tender kiss. “Do ya taste as sweet as the lavender of yar skin smells?”

Faris gasped as the Highwayman kissed her once more. His lips lingered soft against her own. Of a sudden, his hand gripped her chin, his kiss abruptly more intense, hot, and moist. This was a rogue’s kiss! Faris knew it was, for although she had never before experienced the like of it, she had seen it once—seen the milkmaid at Tremeshton kissed in like manner by a visiting coachman. In truth, Faris had always longed for a rogue’s kiss, for it seemed somehow more genuine, more passionate than the quick, properly administered kisses she had witnessed otherwise.

But this—this was a stranger! The thought shouted in Faris’s mind, and she pulled away from the Highwayman—away from his strong grasp and rogue’s kiss.

The Highwayman of Tanglewood smiled—his white teeth bright in the moonlight. “Ah, yar sweet as honey warmed in the summer sun, ya are, lass,” he whispered. Faris’s entire body was still erupting with goose bumps as he continued to look at her. “Sweet as honey,” he repeated. “And thrice as bonnie.”

Faris could only stand staring up at him in astonishment. The Highwayman of Tanglewood! He had come upon her in the meadow and—and stolen something from her! Yet Faris knew he hadn’t really stolen anything, for something that was given so freely could not be considered stolen.

“Now, off with ya to Loch Loland Castle, lass,” he said, striding from her and mounting his black steed. “But not alone,” he added, “for I’ll see ya safely there myself—though ya may not know it.” The magnificent black beast he sat reared up, neighing madly as the Highwayman of Tanglewood pulled his hood back over his head.

Breaking into a gallop, the Highwayman rode past Faris to a nearby lilac tree. Snapping off a sprig of fragrant blossoms, he then rode to her once more. His black beast of a stallion impatiently stomped the ground as its rider paused, tossing the sprig of lilacs to Faris.

“Goodbye, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle,” the Highwayman said. Faris again saw the white of his teeth flash as he smiled at her. “And I thank ya, I do—for the wares which I’ve stolen from ya this night!”