The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter (14 page)

The wind continued rapping at the shutters. Mindful of her sleeping aunt, Elizabeth eased up in bed and cocked her head. The rhythmic
tap-tap-tap
repeated, and she was almost certain she heard someone whistle. Rand? It couldn't possibly be Rand. He was reckless, impetuous, but he wasn't stupid. Gliding from the bed, she raised the window and pushed the shutters open.

Bathed in a pool of shadows, Rand waited.

“Are you mad?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I'd come for you in my own time.”

“But 'tis far too dangerous. The roads are swarming with patrols. You must be gone before Lord Stafford catches you.”

Rising in his stirrups, Rand caught a strand of her hair and brought it to his lips. “Ride with me, Bess,” he urged. “Out under the moon.”

She hesitated. Although her recent animosity had disappeared at the sight of Rand, a tryst was much too rash, fraught with known—and perhaps unknown—hazards. She turned her face toward Lilith, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

“You can't risk it, love.” The wind tore her words away. In a few days, she might be on the road to London. In a few days, he might be caught and on the road to the gallows.

“Hurry, Bess, we haven't much time,” he pressed, while his mount pawed the ground impatiently.

The sight of the stallion's restlessness made up Elizabeth's mind for her. The slap of her bare feet followed her out the front door. She raced toward Rand, who swooped her up behind him, then swiveled in his saddle. Beneath the luminescent moon, his eyes danced. “Are you ready, my bonny Bess?”

“Where are you taking me?”

Laughing, Rand dug his heels into his stallion.

***

As they raced across the moors, the moon sped after them. Ragged strips of clouds played hide and seek with the stars. The wind tore through Elizabeth's shift, lashed Rand's hair against her eyes, and iced her fingers. The horse seemed to skim the rugged terrain, an extension of the wind and night. Burying her face against Rand's back, Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed herself to be swept along. She blanked her mind to the possibility that Walter would uncover them, that even now Lilith was alerting Dorothea. If this moment was madness, and it most assuredly was, she would deal with the consequences later.

Rand reined in his stallion. The jagged walls of the peel tower loomed before them. Clouds closed over the moon like a fist, plunging them into darkness. Rand dismounted and she felt his hands pulling her down to him. She burrowed against him, suddenly afraid, but he gently pried her face loose from the linen of his shirt. His kiss was filled with tenderness—and something else. Exaltation? No. His slow exploration of her lips conveyed a yearning for the years they had not spent together, a surrender to the years, or months, or even weeks they might yet spend together. It was the sweetest, most profound kiss she had ever experienced.

When the moon broke free, Rand led her into the depths of the peel tower, and she responded to the pressure of his knee between her thighs by sinking to the ground. His hands cradled her back as he followed her descent, his knee still in place.

He kissed her palm and sucked her fingers. If the suck of his fingers had once fueled her desire, the suck of hers caused a throb that was almost unbearable. Sensing her need, he guided her wet fingers beneath her shift and placed them on the very core of her womanhood. His hand applied pressure to her fingers as he stroked back and forth. With a moan, she wrenched her hand free, pushed his face toward her breasts, and silently implored him to taste her nipples. He tightened the white cotton of her shift. Then he filled his mouth, shift and all, with her breast, until she cried out, wanting more, needing more.

She felt chagrin at the sound, but Rand said, “Cry, scream, howl, my love. We are alone and the moon does not care if you express your pleasure. Neither do I.”

He rose to his feet, and she experienced a vulnerability that had nothing to do with her state of undress: a forlorn isolation that made her breath catch in her throat. Before she could express her grief, she felt the weight of his body settle upon hers. He was nude, gloriously nude, and this time more than a knee wedged itself between her thighs.

She felt his mouth claim hers, hot and demanding, so that when she screamed and howled, he swallowed her cries and they became a part of him. Her body raged with need. Thrashing wildly beneath him, she sobbed his name over and over.

He halted her frantic writhing with his hands, tender yet firm, and an uncontrollable shudder rippled through her frame at his pervasive penetration. For the first time in her life she craved complete male dominance, and her lusty cries of pleasure, along with her violent quivers, gave credence to her restive desire. At long last, when she had nothing left but whimpers, Rand grasped her buttocks, and his thrusts were rough, without gentleness of any kind, just as she wanted them to be.

Past and present melded together. Elizabeth saw the face from Fountains Abbey; the face of the man who haunted her. His hair curled long, blacker than black. His beard was as dark as the night. His mouth was sensual and cruel, his nose straight, aristocratic. His eyes were more than compelling. Mesmerizing.

A part of herself slipped free. She was Bess, but she joined with someone else. In the depths of her mind, she knew his name. She could almost call it out. The man she loved and hated. The man she had betrayed.

Just as she hovered on the truth, Rand exploded inside her. Then he slumped on top of her. She felt his heart gradually slow against her chest, felt the sweat from both their bodies, felt the cold biting earth assault her buttocks. Beneath her shift, Rand's hands cradled her back.

“'Tis over, then?” she murmured.

“Nay, sweet Bess, 'tis just beginning.”

Before she could question the ambiguity of his statement, he led her from the tower and covered her with his cloak. Then he swung up onto his stallion and settled her behind him.

“What if they are waiting for us?” she asked, as Rand's horse once again galloped across the rugged terrain.

“They won't be.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. My fate is not to be shot down in some damnfool courtyard, where a white hart passively guards the front door. I prefer to run like a hart. If I am shot down, it must be on the highway, or in the forest.”

She wanted to ask what
her
fate was, but she bit her lower lip, maintaining a silence that was permeated with fear.

He sensed the fear, if not the reason. “They won't be waiting,” he assured her.

He was correct. The courtyard was deserted. While passing the stables, Elizabeth fancied she glimpsed Tim's pale face, but she dismissed it as a trick of the dawn's light.

Riding toward the inn's entrance, Rand felt Elizabeth's warm breath in his ear. During their weeks of separation, he had reached an incessant conclusion. She held the key that would unlock the secrets of his past, a past that had occurred five hundred years ago. He had meant what he said about running with the hart, but he now knew that Bess must run by his side. He had known it from the moment they met. He had fought it, but the battle had been lost before it had truly begun.

He helped her slide from his horse, then leaned sideways to kiss her. “I'll be back for you tonight,” he said. “Together, we shall leave for the south. I'll deal with Stafford another time.”

As Elizabeth handed Rand his cloak, she heard her heart pound. “'Twould be madness,” she countered, aware that her inner joy belied her words.

“I won't go anywhere without you.” Rand tilted her chin. “You and me, Bess. After tonight we're linked together once again.”

“What do you mean?”

“We both have things to uncover, things that will inevitably be revealed to us if we stay together. You've felt it from the very start. So have I,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

Elizabeth caught his hand and brought it to her lips. “I don't understand why this is happening.”

“Neither do I. But I do know that I love you. Come with me, wherever that might lead. I won't let the past hurt you, I promise.”

For the first time he sounded unsure, but she merely said, “Life without you holds no promise, Rand. I shall follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“Cornwall should be far enough.”

She released his hand, but clung to his boot and stirrup. “I don't want you to leave me. I have a premonition—”

“Hush.
I'm
the one with premonitions.”

“Why can't we leave now, Rand? Why?”

“You are clothed in nothing more than an insubstantial nightshift. I may be a rogue, Bess, but I would never steal a half naked woman.”

“Give me but a few minutes to change my clothes,” she pleaded, ignoring his tease.

“No. 'Tis almost dawn, and daylight's far too dangerous, even if I were on my own.”

“We can hide in Fountains Abbey.”

“Would they not search for you there? Everywhere?”

“Yes. Of course they would. My father found me at Fountains Abbey when I was ten. I had ridden there on my pony. I was skirling, screaming, frightened out of my wits. I cannot remember why, though I'm fairly certain it had something to do with my nightmares.”

“I wish I had been there to hold you, comfort you.”

“So do I, but I think we were not meant to meet until now. And please don't call me logical. 'Tis just a feeling.”

“A feeling we must explore together. I'll be back tonight, Bess.” His lips brushed hers. “I love you.”

She watched him ride away, then opened the inn's front door. Furtively entering, she groped her way toward her bedroom. Her feet felt like blocks of ice and her hands were numb. Perhaps the sudden chill was caused by Rand's departure, or perhaps her elusive childhood memory, but she couldn't stop shivering.

The door to her chamber remained open, just as she'd left it. She stepped inside, only to see Lilith and Dorothea seated on the bed, waiting for her.

Elizabeth felt completely detached from the two women, as if they were fictitious characters resurrected from one of her early novels. Her emotions remained firmly centered on her encounter with Rand. He was her reality.
I'll be back tonight, Bess. I love you.

“So…” A multitude of sentiments, ranging from contempt to fury, was conveyed by Dorothea's one word. She stood, her motion tremulous rather than fluid. “Close the door, you slut!”

As if she were sleepwalking, Elizabeth obeyed. Lilith remained on the bed, twisting folds into her nightshift. Her aunt had betrayed her, Elizabeth thought, but what other choice did she have?

“Do you realize what you've done?” Dorothea's delicate features contorted with anger.

Elizabeth didn't care about anything save riding south with Rand. A part of her warned that she should try to brazen her way out of this predicament, but her mind remained as numb as her extremities. “I have done nothing wrong,” she finally managed.

Dorothea made a disgusted sound. “You have run off on some midnight tryst, which could ruin everything. Lord Stafford will pay off our mortgages and complete the renovations on Wyndham Manor.” She advanced toward Elizabeth. “But you must sign the marriage contract first.”

Elizabeth's bare feet were beginning to ache. She wondered how her feet could feel numb and ache at the same time.

“Who is he?” Dorothea asked.

Elizabeth shook her head.

Dorothea slapped her.

“Sister, please!” Lilith half rose from the bed. “There is no need—”

“I asked her a question which she had best answer.”

Elizabeth pressed her hand against her cheek. Dorothea had never struck her before. The fact that her stepmother was upset enough to lose control jolted Elizabeth from her inertia. “He is no one you'd know,” she said.

Dorothea inclined her head toward her sister. “When you rode off, Lilith had a clear view of him from the window. She said he looked like a man she saw at Zak Turnbull's execution, the surgeon who cut him down. I'll find out sooner or later, so why not make it easy on both of us? Tell me now.”

“No. Never. I'm sorry to spoil your plans, but I will not marry Walter Stafford.”

“Where did you meet your lover? How long have you been sneaking off to rut with him? Do you realize what you've done? If word of your promiscuity leaks out…” Dorothea wrung her hands.

“I don't care about any man except… him.”

“How quaint. You're starting to believe your own novels. Real women don't forsake their futures for love, Elizabeth. If they do, they invariably regret it. Once you consider what I've said, you'll realize I'm right and we shall leave for London as if nothing has happened.” In a tone several degrees colder than Elizabeth's hands and feet, Dorothea added, “Because nothing
has.
Do you understand?”

“Yes. But if you force me, I shall tell Lord Stafford the truth. I'll tell him that I'm in love with another man, that I've lain with somebody else.”

“Frankly, I don't believe that would deter him. Anyone can see that he's bedeviled by you.”

Terror stabbed through Elizabeth. She had long suspected that Walter's dogged pursuit of her was fueled by her constant refusals and obvious disdain. If she had only played the flutter-fanned coquette, the empty-headed damsel, if she had only portrayed one of her book heroines, his interest might have dried up years ago. Walter wasn't bedeviled. He was possessed.

“You'll do as I say, you pigwidgeon,” Dorothea continued. “I'll not sacrifice my future for your whims, nor your romantic fancies. I'll not allow you to indulge yourself as you please, and neither will your father. We leave for London on the morrow.”

Elizabeth felt all the color drain from her face. A pigwidgeon was a simpleton. Dorothea could not have uttered a more demeaning epithet. Elizabeth had striven her whole life to avoid such an appellation, and she had succeeded brilliantly. “You bitch!” she cried. “I won't bed Walter, I won't marry him, and I won't travel to London with him. And should I tell him the truth, he'd spurn me forever.”

“What truth is that?”

Goaded beyond endurance, beyond caution, Elizabeth blurted, “My lover is a highwayman.
The
highwayman!”

Lilith gasped. Dorothea stiffened.

I've bested you now,
Elizabeth thought triumphantly.
You and Father will disown me, but I'll be rid of Walter Stafford forever. More importantly, I'll be free to leave with Rand.

Silence charged the room. From the kitchen came the first sounds of the servants. Dorothea bent her head and tapped her teeth with her forefinger, a signal that she was calculating events and molding them to her favor.

Uneasy, Elizabeth edged backward until her buttocks pressed against the door. Her father, always the military expert, would have said she had made a tactical blunder.

Dorothea finally smiled her cat-smile. “Leave it to you to conjoin with a thief and a murderer—”

“He has murdered no one!”

“—though I do thank you for the information. Ultimately, it will make my task so much easier.” She motioned toward the corner washstand. “Make yourself presentable. We're to meet with Lord Stafford after breakfast.”

“I will not marry him,” Elizabeth insisted. “I shall tell him so, and you cannot stop me.”

“I can stop you.” Dorothea opened the door. “I suggest it would be mutually beneficial for all concerned if you refrain from mentioning anything about a lover. Such an admission will lead to questions regarding his identity. Lord Stafford may not be many things, but he is a dedicated justice of the peace. If he knew you had rutted with the highwayman, he would only intensify his efforts at bringing the scoundrel to justice. Such an admission, far from solving your problems, would seal your lover's death warrant. Make no mistake about that!”

“Lord Stafford's a bumbler. We have nothing to fear from him.”

“I believe Zak Turnbull challenged Lord Stafford's competence. True?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, albeit reluctantly. A fist knotted in her stomach.

“Would it not be easier to go to London with Stafford?” Dorothea's cat-smile never wavered. “Your compliance would remove his presence from the Dales and your highwayman could slink away to freedom. Unless you do as I say, your lover is headed straight for the gallows.”

The fist grew and widened, drawing Elizabeth's breath from her lungs.

Dorothea's smile widened as well. “Wash your face and bathe your lover's scent from your body. Lilith, don't let her out of your sight!”

***

Eyes downcast, Elizabeth entered the parlor and groped for a chair. Clasping its upholstered sides, she sank down onto its padded cushion and stared at the red, blue, and green rug. With one foot, she inched the tasseled edges apart.

When she finally raised her lashes, she saw Walter and her parents grouped at the opposite end of the mahogany-paneled room, near the tiled fireplace. A sheaf of papers rested upon a writing desk, while a silver service perched atop a table draped with white linen. The pleasant aroma of coffee permeated the room.

“Did you sleep well, Bess?”

Her father's tone accused her of heinous offenses against God and nature. Dorothea had told him about the highwayman.

“I asked you a question, Bess.”

“I slept very well, Father,” she fibbed.

“Well, I didn't. I spent the night freezing my arse off, chasing some bastard across the moors. Some bastard who—”

“Hush, dear.” Dorothea cast him a warning look. “We can discuss that later. For now, we have other matters to address.” She removed a silver cup from the tray and nodded sharply at Elizabeth. “Coffee, daughter?”

I'm not your daughter!
“Yes, please.”

Elizabeth gazed over her stepmother's head, toward a painting of Lake Windermere. The passivity of the painting only increased her anxiety. Accepting the coffee cup, she curved her hands around its warmth. Even after a hot, almost scalding wash, her extremities still felt chilled.

“The papers have been drawn up,” Dorothea said.

Elizabeth squeezed the silver cup until her fingers burned. “And what exactly is in those papers?”

“It is a standard agreement.” Walter's gaze shifted back and forth between Elizabeth and her parents. His nose twitched as if he could smell the tension, thick as pea soup. Or perhaps he had simply shoved a few pinches of snuff up his nostrils.

Dorothea casually rearranged the spoons on the tray, but her gaze remained fixed on Elizabeth, willing her to obey. Father also glared at her. Walter extended a quill pen.

Rising from the chair, Elizabeth placed her cup on the hearth, then accepted the quill. Her movements were slow and deliberate, along with her thoughts. It made no difference what she signed because she had no intention of going through with the marriage. Rand had said he would come for her tonight.
He
had employed logic this time, but she understood his motive. He had left her at cock's crow, and daylight was one of their enemies. Tonight, cloaked by darkness, familiar with the terrain, they would avoid the patrols. On the morrow, when Stafford arrived, she would be gone. She could sign her name in blood for all it mattered.

“What are you waiting for?” Lawrence's voice had gained several decibels. “Sign the damn papers!”

“Do you not you think I should read them first?” Elizabeth asked sweetly.

“No wonder women aren't allowed to be soldiers. They can't follow orders.”

She tried to meet his gaze defiantly, but knew that her expression revealed a yearning for the past, for the papa who had cuddled and protected her. “You plan to accompany us when we travel to London, do you not?”

He shook his head. “I'll remain here. Lord Stafford has endowed me with certain responsibilities and I must prove myself worthy of his trust.”

Rand,
thought Elizabeth. Father didn't want the highwayman captured. Father wanted him dead. That way he would never reveal her “promiscuity.”

She settled her face into a serene expression, but her mind raced.

Father was a gambler. He would always gamble. Settling her father's debts would merely lead to more erratic wagers, more devastating losses. Elizabeth felt an habitual twinge of remorse. However, she no longer wanted, nor needed, her inheritance.

Rand was her legacy now.

***

Storm clouds had gathered, hiding the stars. Elizabeth wished they would hide the moon. Wending her way toward the stables, she prayed for rain. The steady patter of raindrops might disguise the sound of hooves while a deluge would surely cover any footprints or horse tracks.

The whole day had been interminable. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and the hands on the clock seemed to inch backwards. Elizabeth had packed her traveling bag, asking Lilith's opinion on this gown and that one, thanking her profusely when she insisted Elizabeth keep the sapphire bracelet from last night.

Meals—without Walter's presence, thank goodness—were welcome respites, although Elizabeth couldn't swallow one morsel. Instead, she chatted about her forthcoming marriage. “I'll continue my writing, what Lord Stafford calls my scribbling, in between children.”

Smiling sweetly at her stepmother, Elizabeth continued. “After I confront Mr. Beresford and demand my money, I'll ask him if a torture device surrounded by snakes is too profuse. A multitude of snakes. A chamber floor carpeted with snakes. I can hear them hissing. I can see them slithering inside the iron maiden through its… eyes? Nose? Mouth? What do
you
think, Dorothea? God's teeth, you're so pale. Do you feel faint?”

“My sister can't abide snakes,” Lilith had reprimanded, but Elizabeth could see that her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Lawrence, help your wife to her room and give her an opiate. Elizabeth, let us retire as well. I am exhausted by last night's events.”

Exhaustion was an understatement,
Elizabeth now thought, placing her feet carefully on the path that led to the stables. Before they had finished even one game of backgammon, Lilith had fallen asleep, her snores punctuating the clock's rhythmic ticks.

It gave Elizabeth the perfect opportunity to saddle and bridle Rhiannon. Better yet, she would nonchalantly ask one of the stable hands to help her. Then she would pretend distress, explain that she had forgotten something in her room or that she was momentarily indisposed. When Rand rapped on her shutters, Rhiannon would already be saddled and—

“Damn it to hell! I can't help it if the bloody horses get upset, Tim. We're talking about catching a criminal here.”

Elizabeth jerked away from the open stable door.

“But with so many men crawling about, Master Wyndham, 'twill make the beasts all worked up.”

“'Tis just for tonight, Tim. As soon as the highwayman sets foot at the inn, it'll be as good as slipping a noose 'round his neck.”

Outmaneuvered again,
Elizabeth thought, hurrying back across the courtyard. Why oh why had she mentioned Rand? She should have sewed her mouth shut. Dorothea had surmised that the highwayman would return tonight. She had discussed it with Father and he was laying a trap. Lord Stafford had not been informed, of course. He might ask too many questions. For example, he might ask Dorothea where and when she had obtained the pertinent information.

I must warn Rand. But how?

Startled by a flurry of activity, Elizabeth halted. Her mind was still dazed by the scene she had witnessed inside the stable, but she could see that servants carried Lilith's trunk toward a waiting coach.

Lilith followed. Spying Elizabeth, she said, “I think it best I leave tonight. I trusted your compliance, but as soon as I shut my eyes you fled from the room, free as a bird.”