A Highwayman's Honor: (A Highland Highwayman Novella #1) (2 page)

“He wouldn’t,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry to inform you, lass, he has. This money does not belong to him.”

She glared at him. “Neither does it belong to you. You, it seems, are no better than he.”

“On the contrary, my lady. I’m a great deal better.”

He left it at that. Yes, he kept a decent portion for himself and his men. His family had suffered terribly under Cromwell and he had no qualms about exacting a little retribution from those he knew had made his family’s lot worse. But he shared the majority of the wealth he stole. Whether it was anonymously settling accounts or leaving a few coins in the chicken coop, he did what he could to ease the way of those villagers and merchants who’d suffered before the king regained his throne.

But he had no desire to explain that to his young captive. He was out of time. And explaining who he was and why he did what he did to his enemy’s daughter didn’t seem the wisest course of action.

The bags clinked when he passed them to Philip who stored them quickly in his saddle bags. Lord Harding shouted incoherently, his mottled cheeks purple with rage.

“You…you bastard! Brigand! You’ll steal my entire fortune and leave me destitute in the street?”

John kept a tight rein on the fury that rushed through him. He stepped closer to the blustering fool, looming over him. “Come now, my lord. You did worse to a great many who trusted you. And I’m quite certain you’ve at least one more carriage like this one, full of your stolen gains. I doubt you’ll even feel the loss. In fact, I quite hope we meet again one dark night. I’d be happy to relieve you of more of your worldly goods.”

His eyes rested on the girl once again, roaming from bejeweled head to slippered foot and back again. Her beauty rivaled the moon itself. She sucked in an outraged breath, though whether her anger stemmed from his implication of her status as part of her father’s worldly goods or his frank perusal of her, he didn’t know. Either way, she returned his gaze boldly, drawing herself up to her full stature as if preparing herself for battle.

He grinned, speaking while the idea still formed itself in his mind. He addressed the cursing Lord Harding again, though he kept his gaze on the girl. “In the spirit of fairness, to show you what a generous man I can be, I’ll return one of these bags to you.”

“Just one? What of the others? You can’t just—”

John held up his hand. “I can, and I shall, and if you insist on being rude I’ll leave now with all four bags firmly in my possession.”

Lord Harding subsided with a huff; his cheeks growing so dark John feared he might expire on the spot. Better hurry this along.

“As I was saying, I will return one bag to you. In exchange for your name,” he said to the bewildered girl who watched him with those glacial eyes. “And a kiss.”

Her jaw dropped. Her mother resumed her wailing. And her father didn’t even hesitate. “Done.”

Chapter Two

Lord Harding shoved the girl at John before she could utter a protest. He caught her easily and held her stiff form in his arms. Anger on her behalf filled him to the brim. Yes, he’d asked for the kiss. But he’d done so on a whim, almost as a jest. To torment the apoplectic old toad. He’d never expected the man to turn over his own daughter so quickly for so little. For all he’d known, John had meant to snatch her and carry her away.

She held herself aloof, unresisting, but the rage permeating her easily eclipsed his own.

“Your name?” he asked softly.

She looked into his eyes, unwavering, unafraid. “Elizabet,” she answered with steel in her voice.

“My lady.” He brought her hand to his lips, lingering over the soft skin. He’d have liked nothing more than to taste those sweet, full lips of hers. But he would not do so under such circumstances. The tension in her body eased slightly and with a final squeeze of her hand, he released her.

She remained where she was for a moment, looking at him with her forehead creased in confusion.

“Sir?” Philip said, his voice level though John knew him well enough to detect a note of caution and concern. They’d already tarried far too long.

“The rope,” John said.

Will dismounted and grasped Lord Harding, binding his hands behind his rather ample back. The driver was similarly trussed. Will glanced at the women but John shook his head. They were no threat to him. Well, Elizabet would shove a dagger down his gullet if given half the chance, he was sure. But he had yet to leave a lady tied and helpless in the middle of the road and he had no intention of starting with her.

He removed one of the sacks of gold from Philip’s saddlebag and handed it to Elizabet.

She frowned. “But you’ve received no kiss, sir.”

“Be quiet, you insolent little fool!” her father shouted.

She blanched and at a nod from John, Philip shoved a handkerchief into the man’s mouth and bundled him back into the carriage. Lady Harding followed, taking the sack from Elizabet and casting concerned glances back and forth between her husband and daughter before climbing into the carriage.

John turned back to Elizabet and drew a finger down her cheek. “A kiss from such a lady as you would be worth more money than I have to give. And I am not such a blackguard as to force myself on an unwilling woman. I would be honored to kiss you. In fact, it is taking considerable restraint to refrain from tasting these sweet lips.”

She sucked in a startled breath as his thumb caressed her bottom lip.

He let his hand fall away, cursing his good intentions. “But I’ll not kiss you until you ask me to.”

She gaped at him, her eyes appearing nearly silver in the light of the moon. He half hoped she’d ask him right then. Instead, she took a step back. He was not surprised. But he was strangely disappointed.

“Sir,” Philip prompted again.

John nodded and mounted his horse. “You may release the men once we are out of sight,” he said to Elizabet. “Until we meet again, my lady,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

He had no idea why he’d said such a thing to her. He’d certainly never see her again. Not under the same circumstances in any case. But for the first time in ages, he wished differently.

Elizabet reached for the door of the carriage, but she lingered, pausing to look back at him. Something caught her gaze and she turned. Her dagger lay near a small bush, gleaming in the moonlight. She bent to retrieve it, straightening with it in her hand.

“Blade!” Will yelled, drawing his pistol.

John and Philip shouted, but Will’s finger had already tightened on the trigger. A shot rang out.

And Elizabet fell.

* * *

The coach horses reared and bolted, taking with them the carriage containing her parents. They were out of sight within moments. Elizabet lay motionless on the ground. She must have lost consciousness for a moment because the next thing she was aware of was shouting. One of the men shouting at the one who’d shot her, jerking his gun from his hand. The bastard didn’t put up a fight. Good. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting shot again. He just stared at her mumbling, “She had a blade,” over and over.

The Highland Highwayman ignored him and rushed to her. She wished she knew his actual name. Saying the Highland Highwayman was a bit of a mouthful. Not that she’d be saying it much. Though even thinking it was a bit much. It occurred to her she might be rambling. Her thoughts, that is. Also, she didn’t feel much pain. She’d just been shot. Shouldn’t it hurt?

The highwayman dropped to his knees by her side. He laid his fingers on the pulse at her neck. That felt nice. Soft and tender.

She was definitely rambling.

“Faint, but steady,” he said.

“I like your voice,” she murmured.

He gave her a wry smile and laid his hand on her cheek. “Just lie still, lass.”

He pulled aside layers of velvet and lace until he located the wound.

“Am I dying?” she whispered, strangely not all that curious about the answer. Shouldn’t she be? Seemed like something that should matter to her.

“No. The bullet pierced your upper arm. A clean shot, at least. All the way through.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I won’t have to dig for it, at least.”

“That’s good,” she said, her voice faint and slurred to her ears.

“That’s very good.”

“Sir,” one of the men said. The one who hadn’t shot her. “We need to be going.”

The highwayman nodded. “Aye.” He swept his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it about her. “Hold tight, love. I’ll try not to jostle you too much.”

Before she could respond, he’d scooped her into his arms. She thought the other man protested. But she kept moving so her highwayman must not agree. She didn’t remember much after he got her on the horse and climbed up behind her. He kept her tight against his chest. He was warm. Solid. She’d just been shot and was being carried off to who-knew-where by a highwayman whose mate had shot her. She should be terrified. Screaming. Calling for help.

Instead, she slumped back against him, sighed when his arm drew her closer, and drifted away. The next several hours were a blur. The occasional jarring of her shoulder would jerk her awake periodically, sending white-hot pain shooting through her arm. At some point they stopped and she felt herself being lifted from the horse. Carried inside. Someplace warm. Something soft beneath her.

She sighed and burrowed deep into pillows beneath her head. And gave into the darkness that pulled at her.

* * *

Warm sunlight filtered over Elizabet’s face and she carefully cracked open an eye. Her whole body ached. She closed her eyes and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. The jolt of pain burning through her shoulder had her instantly awake and gasping.

“Lie still,” a deep voice said.

She turned her head, her eyes watering. “Where am I?” Her voice rasped and a man came into view and handed her a cup.

“Water,” he said. “Drink.”

She frowned at him, recognizing her highwayman from the previous night. She could hardly help but recognize him. He still wore his mask.

She took a deep drink and handed the cup back to him. “Wear that everywhere, do you?” she asked.

He grinned and reached for a pitcher on the table beside the bed to refill her cup. “Usually, no.”

She accepted the cup gratefully. “Don’t be shy on my account.”

“I wear the mask for your protection.”

She drank and handed the cup back to him. “Don’t you mean for yours?”

“No.” He placed the cup on the table and grabbed a folded rag. “If you were to know my true identity, I’m afraid I’d have to…make sure the information went no further.”

Elizabet didn’t think he was jesting. She also didn’t think he referred to a stern talking to. He sat beside her and reached for her chemise. She drew away from him and he frowned.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I need to check the bandage on your shoulder,” he said his forehead creasing, as though he were somehow offended that she might think him a threat.

“Well, you did just threaten to kill me if I saw your face. Not to mention it was your man who shot me. You can understand my caution.”

His lips quirked up. “Indeed. It is always wise to be cautious.”

He tended to her shoulder with surprising gentleness, cleaning the wound and re-bandaging it with skill and speed.

“Bandage many gunshot wounds, do you?” she asked.

“A few.”

He responded without an ounce of humor in his voice and Elizabet was reminded what this man did for a living.

“Not that I’m not grateful, but why am I here?” she asked.

An eyebrow peeked up above the edge of the mask. “The horses bolted, taking your carriage and your parents off into the night, leaving you quite alone. You’d rather I left you in the dust to die?”

“No.” She shivered and reached for the blanket but the movement sent another bolt of fire down her arm and she drew her breath in with a hiss. He stood up long enough to pull the thick quilt up to her neck and then sat back beside her.

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “No. I’m glad you didn’t leave me to die. I suppose I just don’t understand why you didn’t. Bringing me to your home seems a dangerous thing to do. What if I were to escape? Unless you don’t plan on letting me live long enough to try.”

Those full lips of his pulled into a smile again. “First of all, this isn’t my home. It’s…a place to go when needed. More importantly, I doubt you could even get out of this bed right now, let alone try to escape. But I haven’t kidnapped you for any wicked purpose. I simply couldn’t leave a woman alone on a dangerous country road bleeding her life’s blood into the dirt. Especially since I am responsible. I do have some morals. When you are well, you’ll have no need of escape. I’ll return you to your home. If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t bother healing you.”

“Oh,” she said, relaxing a little. She hadn’t thought he’d meant her harm, not when he took pains to care for her so carefully. But it helped to hear him say it.

“Besides,” he continued, “you were unconscious the entire trip here and you’ve yet to see my face. So even if you
were
to escape, it would do you little good and me little harm.”

He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her face. She stared into his eyes, so dark a brown they were almost black, wishing she could see more of his face. His hair flowed uncovered to his shoulders. Brown, though not completely. The strands reminded her of a mahogany table that once sat in her grandmother’s parlor. Unremarkable until the sun hit it, highlighting the deep red tones of the wood.

Most of his face was covered. The mask left only the lower half of his face bare and what she could see was covered in rough stubble. She had the sudden urge to reach up and run her fingers along his jaw line, his full lips. Feel the difference in texture. See if those lips were as soft as they looked. She clenched her hand in a fist and dropped her gaze.

His smug grin left little doubt he knew exactly what path her thoughts had taken. “Your best chance for a quick recovery is to lie back and get some rest.”

She grimaced at him but settled back into the pillows. He stared at her for a moment, as if there were something else he wanted to say.

A loud sound, like a barn door slamming against a wall, followed by an angry shout made her jump from the bed. Or nearly, in any case. His hand on her good shoulder kept her put. She grunted in pain.

“Rest,” he said again. He frowned and glanced out the window before turning back to her. Whatever he’d seen didn’t seem to make him happy, but not particularly concerned. “Rest. I promise you no harm will come to you under my care.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “You will protect me?”

He stared at her a moment before quietly saying, “I will. You have my word.”

Again she wished she could see more of his face. The mask did more than just hide his features. It hid his emotions as well.

“Why?” she asked. “I am your enemy. Aren’t I?”

He smiled at her again. “No, my lady. You were never my enemy. And even if you were, it would make no difference. I’m not in the habit of harming, or abandoning, defenseless women.”

“I’m not defenseless.”

His eyes roamed over her bruised and prostrate body and she grimaced. “Usually, I’m not so defenseless.”

His lips twitched. “That you are not. Speaking of which…”

He pulled open the drawer of the table near the bed and retrieved her dagger. “I thought you might like this back. With the agreement,” he said, pulling it back from her grasp at the last moment, “that you try to refrain from plunging it into my heart. I’m just trying to help you.”

Now her lips twitched. “Agreed.”

He handed her the dagger and she slipped it beneath her pillow. Her heart ceased its frantic hammering and she settled back. She knew it was probably the height of folly to trust this man. Yet, she did.