The Highwayman of Tanglewood (21 page)

“Oh, I did not mean—” Faris began.

“No, Faris, you are right to keep me from being so foolish,” Lillias said. “Still, I did think it intriguing to imagine Gawain attired in black and astride a black steed calling out Lord Brookings—his rapier at Lord Brookings’s throat.”

“Oh, would not it be simply perfect?” Lillias giggled. “And if Graybeau happened to be the Highwayman—well, he has taken an interest in you, has he not? It may well be you are in line to be the sweetheart of the Highwayman of Tanglewood, Faris! Is that not too delicious for words?”

“Far too delicious for words,” Faris giggled. How she wished she could confide in Lillias! How she wished she could! Yet she could not. She could not endanger the Highwayman, or his cause, in any manner.

And so, Faris simply sat in delightful speculation and conversation with Lillias for some time. Such happy times Faris could not remember—for other than the Highwayman of Tanglewood, there was no better companion in her heart or her mind.

❦

“And how fares your mother, Mr. Bainbridge?” Faris asked as Bainbridge Graybeau assisted her in dismounting Lady Violet. The low light of dusk lent a certain warmth and peace to the earth as she smoothed the back of her dress and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear.

“She is well,” Bainbridge said. “She has her garden and entire flock of cats to keep her company, she does.” He chuckled, and Faris smiled at the jolly sound.

Bainbridge was yet clean-shaven, and Faris quickly studied the square angle of his jaw—endeavoring in vain to find some resemblance to that of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. In that moment, she was reminded of how truly vague the Highwayman’s features were to her. Having only seen the Highwayman in the least of moonlight, it was nearly impossible to discern whether or not his jaw owned the same angle and square manner as Bainbridge’s.

For a moment, she thought,
I’ll kiss him! I’ll certainly know then!
After all, had not the Highwayman granted her permission to kiss the man she had guessed was he? Still, she was uncertain.

“Still, my sister is not so far away,” Bainbridge added, drawing Faris’s attention from her musings and to their conversation once more. “She is married and lives in Heathmoor. Perhaps you know her husband—he is William Terry, and he was born in Heathmoor the same as you.”

Faris’s heartbeat increased in its rhythm. Frantically, she tried to recall whether or not she had ever mentioned to Bainbridge Graybeau that she was born in Heathmoor. Had she? Indeed, she had mentioned it to the Highwayman of Tanglewood, and Lillias knew the truth of it. But had she ever told Bainbridge the fact of it? Had the Highwayman of Tanglewood only just revealed the smallest trace to his true identity? Why could she not find the courage to simply ask him? She had asked the Highwayman himself—asked if he were Bainbridge Graybeau. Then why could she not now ask Bainbridge Graybeau if he were the Highwayman of Tanglewood?

Ask him! Ask him! Ask him!
her heart pounded. But she could not find the courage.

“Then…then I will leave you to your business,” Faris said. Yet she lingered. Would he hand her a letter? Would he whisper the secret of their next meeting to her? Was Bainbridge Graybeau her Highwayman lover?

“Good night, then,” he said. Then with another smile in her direction, he led Lady Violet back to the stables.

Faris nearly burst into tears, so frustrated was she. She wanted her Highwayman—wanted him near to her every moment! It was painful to be so separated from him—frightening in not knowing when next they would meet.

Feeling the threat of defeat lingering at her heels, Faris returned to the house. There was not to do but wait.

❦

“Keep your voice, Lochlan!” Faris heard Lady Rockrimmon whisper. The hour was late. Faris had determined to mend Lochlan’s shirt before retiring, in the small chance he should inquire about it on the morrow. Now, sitting in the sewing room, mending by candlelight, she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway—heard Lady Rockrimmon’s worried whisper.

Curiosity led her to leave her chair and linger in the doorway. She gasped when, in the next moment, Lady Rockrimmon and a very battered and bloodied Lochlan stumbled into the sewing room.

“Cards,” Lady Rockrimmon said, irritated. “A silly, boyish game. Loch’s final hand beat Kade Tremeshton’s, and this is the result.”

“He’s a coward—drew a dagger when I bested him at the game. He very nearly took my eye in the process,” Lochlan explained. He removed the hand he had been holding to his forehead to reveal a devilish laceration just above his right brow.

Faris gasped, her hands covering her mouth in astonishment.

“He won’t see a physician, Faris. He insists I can mend it far better,” Lady Rockrimmon explained.

“You are perfectly capable, Mother. You or Faris,” he growled, snatching the needle and thread Faris had been holding from her hand.

Lady Rockrimmon shook her head and said, “Stay with him, Faris. Keep him calm if you can. I’ll bring some warm water.”

“B-b-but, milady,” Faris stammered.

“He’s a filthy bast—” Lochlan began. “He’s a filthy blackguard!” he corrected himself. Faris almost smiled, amused by his being careful of his verbiage in her presence. “I bested him in the game!”

“Oh, much,” he said, still smiling. “Much worse. His repulsive broken nose is now joined by much bruising and swelling and all manner of damage done by fisticuffs.”

“Then I am glad to hear it,” Faris said, also smiling. “Still, this is a terrible wound.” Faris was trembling with exceeding concern for her master’s well-being. She did not like to see him bleeding—to see his handsome features so marred. Though she fancied in her next thought that a scar to his forehead borne of fighting Kade Tremeshton only served to make him all the more fatally attractive.

“A scratch on the head bleeds worse than a scratch elsewhere, ’tis all,” he told her. All of a sudden, he was quite unexpectedly enraged. “He infuriates me! Kade Tremeshton! He pushes me to such anger with his arrogance, greed, belligerence, and tales of conquests.” The wound at Lochlan’s head was still bleeding, and Faris snatched a piece of cloth from the mending basket and pressed it to his head. “His mother has had to send another girl away for her confinement, and yet calmly sat Kade this night bragging, as if the ruination of a young innocent were the best conquest in the world to be proud of.”

“You’ve bested him in your own right, Faris, and he is furious because of it,” he explained. “Further is he incensed because you are here—in my father’s house. ‘Lay a finger on her before I do, Rockrimmon,’ he said, ‘and I’ll cut your heart out!’”

Faris felt fearful tears well in her eyes, felt the hand which covered her mouth begin to tremble. Could it be Kade Tremeshton still held designs toward her? After such time had passed—after Lochlan and Lord Rockrimmon himself had championed her? Surely he had abandoned her by now! Yet she knew his prideful arrogance. No doubt Kade Tremeshton saw her as the fox slipping away during the hunt—which only served to cause determination to rise, waxing strong in the hunter.

“I should have told him I’ve had you already,” Lochlan growled. “At that his fury would be directed toward me and not toward you.” As Faris struggled to retain tears of fear, she was simultaneously moved by Lochlan’s thoughts of chivalry on behalf of a simple chambermaid—misguided though they might be.

“Surely, sire—surely he will think no more on me—a simple chambermaid,” Faris said.

“You are a beautiful young woman—a lovely prize slipped through his fingers,” Lochlan said. “And Kade Tremeshton will not forget it. At least, not until someone else has…” Faris swallowed hard, began to tremble as Lochlan’s eyes narrowed. He studied her for a moment and then quickly reached out, taking hold her chin in one hand. Faris gasped a moment before Lochlan Rockrimmon’s mouth took hers—driven with such a ravenous kiss as to render her breathless. Hot and moist, his kiss drenched her with such astonishment—with such molten pleasure—she feared she would indeed swoon!

“Lochlan!” Lady Rockrimmon scolded upon reentering the room to find her son accosting Faris. “Release that poor girl this moment! This moment, Lochlan!”

The man did as his mother commanded, and Faris stumbled backward. Bumping into a chair, Faris sat down, her mind whirling, her body still warmed by the sensation of his masterful kiss. She wiped tears from her cheeks—tears of residual fear—not tears at having been set upon by Lochlan Rockrimmon.

“What is the matter with you, Loch?” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed. “I am so sorry, Faris,” Lady Rockrimmon began, placing a warm palm to Faris’s blushing cheek. “I am sorry—he’s just not himself, I suppose.”

Faris nodded, still trembling from Lochlan’s touch—from his powerful kiss.

“Forgive me, Mother. And, Faris, I…please accept my apology,” he said to her as he collapsed into a nearby chair. “I am only angry—frustrated—so tired of Tremeshton soiling everything he touches.”

“So you decided to soil Faris first?” Lady Rockrimmon asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from Faris’s forehead.

“No. No. I just—I just…” he stammered. “If I tell him I have tasted her first, then his anger will transfer from her to me, Mother. He may abandon his vile intentions toward her.”

“Or he might tell every man and woman in the country that you have become a like loathsome creature as he!” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed. “Such behavior, Lochlan! Such ill-mannered treatment of poor Faris. I brought her here to keep her from such things. And now—now you’ve heaped it upon her in what was to be her safe place!”

“Then you do what you have always done—debate—that you may unseat these men. Champion politically so Kade Tremeshton and those like him lose their power whether through force or their own foolishness. Leave the fighting and the accosting of young women to others. Let the Highwayman of Tanglewood bloody Kade up if you like, but you stay true to who you were born to be!”

“Yes, Mother,” Lochlan mumbled half-heartedly. Releasing a heavy sigh, he turned to look at Faris. “I am…I am very sorry, Faris,” he said. “I beg of you, forgive me. It is not my standard behavior.”

Faris’s heart was yet hammering with mad confusion. She was astonished, yet fearful and confused by one other emotion—pure elation!

“It is nothing to worry over, sire,” she said. “I-I am most humbled and very grateful for your heroic ideals on my behalf—misguided though they may have been.”

“Thank you, Faris,” Lochlan said.

“Faris, dear,” Lady Rockrimmon began, “obviously you have been about your duties far too long today, and with this in addition—please retire for the night. I am more than able here.”

“But, milady, he is quite wounded,” Faris began.

“He is fine, Faris. Just a scratch. Leave the brute to me,” she said, slapping the top of her son’s head as penance for his behavior.

“Yes, milady,” Faris said.

On weakened knees, she rose from her chair and offered a quick curtsy to Lady Rockrimmon. “Milady,” she said. She turned then to Lochlan, who sat in his chair with the countenance of a defeated puppy.

Yet as she moved past the young master of Loch Loland Castle, she was both astonished and oddly delighted when he said, “I know the wrong in it, Faris. Still, I am glad I endeavored to have you before Kade Tremeshton was able to—”