The Highwayman of Tanglewood (17 page)
Read The Highwayman of Tanglewood Online
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
“But to Saxton you rode,” she said. “Why?”
“Ya know well of Lord Brookings it seems,” he said.
“I-I do,” Faris stammered.
“Then ya know why I rode—why I rode to see him put into the hands of honest men,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “But why so far? Why so far away from the Tanglewood? Why so far away from me?”
“It’s weary I am of the tale, fair Faris, and I’m weary of not holdin’ ye in me arms,” the Highwayman said. “I am weary beyond belief this night, and it’s why ya find me here—for I rode here in hopin’ ye would be wanderin’ nearby, that I might find ya and hold ya and taste the very nectar of yar kiss.”
Faris stiffened for a moment. She pulled away from him slightly, gazing up into the black mask covering his face—the black mask covering his entire head save his mouth and chin, save his mustache and goatee.
Nectar? Hadn’t Gawain referred to Lillias’s kiss as
nectar kisses
?
“You have promised that you are not Lord Kendrick,” Faris said. “And yet…”
“I am not Lord Kendrick, Faris,” he said. “This I have confessed before. Do ya not trust me?”
“I do,” Faris said, collapsing against him. “It is only I wish I could be with you more often—in truth I wish…I wish…”
“To be with me every moment as I wish to be with ye, lass?” he interrupted.
“Yes!” she breathed, allowing her arms to go around his waist in returning his embrace.
“Well, it is we are together in this moment, we are,” he said. “So we will forget Saxton and Lord Brookings the murderer. We are together in the moonlight at last.”
Faris smiled, nuzzled against him, and breathed a sigh. It was true—he was with her now. She would not worry about the danger he had been in previously. He was with her now.
“You are so quiet in your approach,” she told him.
“Far I want not to find me neck in a noose,” he chuckled.
Faris gently pushed herself from his embrace, suddenly shy at having been so willing to be in his arms.
“Far these past days I’ve thought of nothin’ but ye, lass,” he said. She felt such elation as to send her heart into fluttering.
“That’s not true,” Faris told him, delighted by his touch, his confessions of thinking of her. “You’ve been a busy highwayman, and that takes forethought enough.”
He smiled, his teeth dazzling in the darkness. “And each time I bested a rich man, I thought of ye. ‘She’s me prize,’ I’d be thinkin’, and next wantin’ to taste of yar mouth again,” he said.
“Do…do you think less of me because I’ve fallen so easily into your grasp?” she asked him. She had found herself pondering the matter quite often over the past few days. For it was true—what effort had the Highwayman of Tanglewood exerted in winning her? None!
He slowly shook his head and whispered, “No. We were meant to be, we were. ’Twas heaven led me to ya that night in the meadow, it was, and now thrice since. ’Twas heaven led me to ya…like a moth to a flame.”
“And you promise there are no other flames you are drawn to, Highwayman?” Faris asked, as yet uncertain. “Still, it is difficult for me to…to believe such a man as you would choose me when surely any woman on earth would gladly be owned by you.” And it was true. Faris knew the Highwayman of Tanglewood could choose any woman for himself. Why then had he chosen a simple chambermaid?
“No other flame burns as bright and as lovely as ye, lass,” he said. “What cause would there be to fan another?” He smiled at her, caressing her lips with his gloved thumb. Dropping his hands from her face, he said, “Come with me now, fair Faris. ’Tis time ya understood completely that me heart is in yar hands.”
The Cottage in Twilight
Cupping his hands to his mouth, the Highwayman of Tanglewood made a sound like that of a dove. Instantly, his black steed appeared from the edge of the forest. Taking Faris’s hand, he began leading her toward the cottage, the loyal steed following silently behind them.
The cottage stood just outside the tree line of the Tanglewood Forest, and as they approached, Faris fancied it appeared warm and inviting, even for the darkened windows. Twilight had descended, and the old cottage door creaked as the Highwayman gently pushed it open. As Faris followed the Highwayman into the cottage, she noticed the thick dust on the windows. Very little moonlight penetrated such old accumulation. The darkness of the cottage, the perfect privacy, was ideal for a lovers’ tryst. Faris felt certain the Highwayman would not linger within the cottage did he not feel safety was with him.
Yet Faris felt disappointed somehow all the same—for the deepened darkness of safety meant the Highwayman’s features were even less visible than before. Furthermore, the Highwayman yet wore whiskers; the dark mustache and goatee about his mouth and chin implied the Highwayman of Tanglewood was not Bainbridge Graybeau. Still, could not a mustache be falsified? A goatee as well?
“Have ya met the returned young master of Loch Loland yet, then, lass?” the Highwayman asked as he closed the cottage door behind them.
“Yes,” Faris said. “It was an odd meeting—the first time we met. I was quite afraid I might be dismissed and find myself residing here in this abandoned cottage.”
“Why would his bein’ odd find ya dismissed?” the Highwayman asked.
“Oh, he is not odd,” Faris began to explain. “Our meeting was odd.”
“And how was yar meetin’ with the young master odd, fair Faris?” the Highwayman asked, taking one of her hands in his.
“I was seeing to his chambers and…and he entered his bedchamber to find me fairly dangling from the draperies.”
“What?” the Highwayman chuckled. His smile was dazzling even for the dark of the room.
“I…I was dusting, you see—and thinking I was too busy to call for a ladder, I suppose. Therefore, I scaled the bookcase in his bedchamber as I often have before and was dusting the draperies. Yet when he entered so unexpectedly, it startled me so that I…I lost my footing.” She sighed and added, “I thought certain he would set me outside on Loch Loland’s grand steps and tell me to be gone.”
“Aye, but he did not, I see,” the Highwayman said.
“No. He did not,” Faris confirmed. “But let’s not speak of it. It was, after all, so horridly humiliating.”
The Highwayman laughed low in his throat. “What better thing I could not imagine than findin’ ye in my bedchamber,” he said.
Faris blushed, delighted with his flattery. Even for the scent of dust in the cottage, Faris could sense the aroma of leather and wind of him. She was warm—warmer than she had been since last they had met. She felt safe and happy in his company.
“Did ya find him handsome then?” the Highwayman asked next.
“Master Lochlan?” she said.
“Yes,” the Highwayman said, smiling. “I already know ya think Lord Kendrick is handsome, I do—lest ya wouldn’t be wishin’ so hard he was me.”
“I’ve never wished you were Lord Kendrick!” Faris exclaimed. “I only thought you might be he because…because…”
“Because he is a handsome devil, and ya’re hopin’ I am as well,” the Highwayman chuckled.
Faris felt her cheeks blush crimson. Of course she wondered if he were handsome! Every woman for a hundred miles wondered at the same of it.
“In truth,” she began, “I had a notion you might be Bainbridge Graybeau in disguise.” There! She had confessed it, and now she would listen well—try to discern if he was unnerved in the least—if he truly were Bainbridge Graybeau.
His easy laughter—his instant and obvious amusement—discouraged her, however. “Graybeau?” he asked, still chuckling. “So I’ve gone from being lord of the manor to the best stableman in the country, I have. Methinks I like that idea.”
“Are you Graybeau?” she asked. “Graybeau hails from Saxton, you realize.”
“I do realize it. I’ve heard great things concernin’ yar Bainbridge Graybeau, I have—and, in truth, I am flattered ye would think of me in his light,” the Highwayman said.
“But you are not he?” Faris asked.
“I did not say I was not he,” the Highwayman said. “I only said I am flattered you would think I was such a man.”
“But you were not so flattered in my thinking you are Lord Kendrick?” Faris asked. Why would a man be flattered at being recognized as a stableman but not a titled one?
“Aye, I was very flattered! Lord Gawain Kendrick is the finest of men,” the Highwayman said.
“Lillias wishes you were Lord Kendrick,” Faris said. “Or rather that Lord Kendrick were you.”
“Lillias Rockrimmon wishes her betrothed was the Highwayman of Tanglewood?” the Highwayman said, his smile broadening.
Faris gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. “I have betrayed Lillias!” she said. “I have said too much!”
“Do not worry yarself so, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle,” the Highwayman said. “Her secret is safe with ya still—for it is safe in me.”
“Still, I should not have said it aloud,” Faris said, feeling tears springing to her eyes. Her dearest friend was Lillias. How could she have betrayed her secret? “Every woman has her own idea…her own dream of who the Highwayman of Tanglewood is in the light of day and—”
“Then do ya have yar own idea?” he asked. “Do ya wish I was Bainbridge Graybeau? Have ya feelin’s for the man?”
“No!” Faris exclaimed. “In truth…if you are he…then I do. But if you are not he…I do not. Though he is a good man. He is teaching me to ride.”
“Is he now?” the Highwayman chuckled.
Faris felt her own eyes narrow with suspicion. Truly, she wondered if Bainbridge Graybeau stood before her now dressed in the black attire of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Why else would he find her riding lessons amusing? Should not he be jealous if he were not Graybeau? He had not claimed he was not Graybeau. In truth, he had never answered to the fact or the contrary.
“I think you are Graybeau,” she said. “I think you are only trying to trick me.”
“Tryin’ to trick ya, am I?” the Highwayman laughed.
“Perhaps,” Faris said. Her own smile broadened. What a rascal the Highwayman was! What a delightful rascal!
Faris was breathless as the Highwayman of Tanglewood unexpectedly reached out, gathering her into his arms.
“Aye, fair Faris,” he mumbled. His lips were only a breath from her own, and Faris shivered as goose bumps broke over her arms. “I may well be yar Bainbridge Graybeau,” he said. “Or I may well be the son of a farmer—or the younger son of a titled man with nothin’ but a modest livin’ to me name. But one thing is true—in all of it—I am a man captured by yar beauty and wit, enchanted by yar goodness and strength of good character. And I will kiss ya now—whether farmer, gentleman, or true rogue—I will kiss ya and have the taste of yar mouth for me own.”
“As you wish,” Faris said a moment before his mouth captured her own in a deep and driven exchange.
Instantly, all fear, all uncertainty vanished as Faris melded against the Highwayman. Wrapped in the strength of his arms, his hot moist kiss fanned through her as a fever, and she was careless of all else. He broke the seal of their lips a moment, a low chuckle emanating from deep within him. “I challenge Lord Gawain Kendrick, yar own Bainbridge Graybeau, or any other man ye might suspect of bein’ me—I challenge any man to kiss ya as well as I do—to cause yar mouth to water and yar very flesh to begin tinglin’ the way the Highwayman of Tanglewood does.”
“Admittedly, no man could,” Faris breathed, her body trembling with wanting his further kiss.
“Aye,” the Highwayman said. “Only I will own yar true kiss, lass. And by that ye shall know me. I give ye me permission to try him whom ya think I may be.”
Faris frowned, uncertain as to his meaning. “What is your implication?”
The Highwayman smiled. “If ye yet think I be Lord Gawain Kendrick, or if ya truly think I be Bainbridge Graybeau of Saxton, then I give to ya me word that I will not strike either man dead should the one or the other ever try to taste of yar sweet kiss. Each man may kiss ye once, and I will not run him through for it—but only once.”
“Then I do not think you are either man,” Faris said. She frowned then. “Either you are not them or you do not care enough for me. For I want no other woman to have your kiss. Yet you would allow another man to kiss me thus?”
“I see the doubt on yar pretty face, fair Faris,” the Highwayman said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “Even for the dark I see it. Would that I could tell ye what horse I ride by day—what name is mine in the sunlight. But I fear danger for ye were I to tell ya these things. I want no other man holdin’ ya in his arms. I want no other man tastin’ of yar sweet kiss. I fear the consequence of me own anger were I ever to witness either. Yet I understand yar curious nature, yar fear I might belong to another. Therefore, I grant ya easement in this. Until the time comes it is safe for ye to know me true self, I grant that if ya think ye can guess me, I will not run the good man through if ye mistake him.”
“But I never want to kiss another man—not in the whole of my life I do not! Only you!” Faris exclaimed in a whisper.
The Highwayman smiled. “Then bring yar mouth to mine, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle—that I might endeavor to have me fill of the sweet nectar of yar kiss.”
Faris smiled, her entire body awash with warmth and joy as the Highwayman’s mouth met her own once more. He was ambrosia to her senses! His arms were strong, and he held her firm against him. His mustache and goatee tickled the flesh about her mouth. The scent of leather, wind, and meadow grasses filled her lungs, set butterflies to swirling in her stomach as he kissed her. Faris’s mind burst with every beautiful color, every wonderful sensation, and she wished to stand in the cottage locked in the Highwayman’s arms forever!
