“Yes, you do, Mary,” Sabrina replied. “Remember when you warned us of the dragoons waiting on the hillside to ambush us? And the time Richard was lost and you knew exactly where to find him? Oh, Mary, you’ve been right so many times, don’t despair now, just because you can’t tell me everything.”
“But why do I see this scar-faced man? Who is he? And why is he important to us? He’s always there, Sabrina. I hadn’t told you earlier, but I’ve seen him before—in other dreams,” Mary confessed. “But it doesn’t make sense. Is he an enemy, or not?”
“Of course he is. What else could he be?” Sabrina demanded. “But he won’t be troubling us further after tonight.”
Mary clasped her hands together tightly. “I hate it. I hate having the gift,” she said tearfully. “I’m cursed. I want to be normal, Rina. I don’t want to be different,” Mary sobbed. “I think sometimes I’m a witch. Why do you love me? Why do you care about me? I only see evil.”
“Don’t, Mary. You’re not evil. What you have is God-given. It has to be,” Sabrina said persuasively, putting her arm around Mary’s shaking shoulders.
“Don’t you remember the English ship you warned us of? The French captain still must say prayers to you for saving his skin. And remember the night you warned Will and John and me not to go on the highroad, and the next day two highwaymen who’d been caught by a patrol of dragoons that night were seen hanging from the gibbet. Your gift is good, Mary,” Sabrina coaxed. “Now dry your tears and give me a smile. I’m tired of long faces about me. What with Will’s woebegone faces, I’m out of all patience with the lot of you.”
Mary gave her a watery smile and got to her feet, smoothing down her skirts. “You’re right, Rina. I’ve been acting like a wretch these past few days, but everything will be all right. It has to be.”
Sabrina smiled in satisfaction. “I know it will. Have I failed yet? We’ve many more profitable years yet to come, you wait and see.”
***
Sabrina shook off her uneasiness as she and Will left their familiar countryside of valleys and woodlands, and through the dark of night under a full, yellow moon riding high in the sky they traveled across a desolate expanse of wild heath, then a forest of dense, black fir trees. Gradually the whole atmosphere of the land began to change into a nightmarish quality. The stone villages surrounded by their high, thick, medieval walls had a fortressed look to them. The fields and lanes were a mazework of stone walls and fences that would impede a quick and facile escape. In the distance they could see dim silhouettes of the massive chimneys of isolated houses and groves of twisted elder and crab trees, blown grotesquely out of shape by the winds, dotting the hillsides.
“I don’t like it at all,” Will spoke softly, his voice sounding like a clap of thunder in Sabrina’s ears.
She looked at his big bulk in the dark, its familiarity comforting her nervousness as her horse shied at a scuffling noise from the hidden underbrush.
“It’s too late now,” Sabrina answered as she saw the triple chimneys of the house ahead. The gossiping servant had mentioned its unique appearance and the avenue of sycamores lining the drive when he’d been drinking in the tavern.
“It seems too quiet.” Will frowned as he tried to see into the darkness enveloping the grounds.
“It appears normal to me. See, there are lights coming from those windows, and anyway it’s not a full household. It’s just a small party, and they’re still in the process of moving in,” Sabrina reasoned aloud. “It’s in our favor, Will. He and his friends, and a couple of servants. Mere child’s play, eh, Will?”
They made their way closer to the house, moving silently into the shadows, and, tethering their horses, crept close. Sabrina examined the house before whispering to Will, “You go to the window and stand ready to step in when I call. I’ll slip around the side. I saw a window above, partially open, and I’ll climb up the trellis and come down from upstairs. This way we’ll have them between us. This window is locked, so you’ll have to break it.”
“I don’t like it. We shouldn’t separate. I’ll come up with you. We don’t know the plans of the house, Charlie, or who’s upstairs. No, I’ll come with you,” Will said adamantly.
Sabrina shook her head. “And have the whole lot of them alerted as you crash down from the side of the house? You don’t think that flimsy trellis will carry your weight? I’m light as a feather, but you’re as big as an ox, Will, and about as noisy as one. No, this is our best plan. From the stairs I’ll get an idea of the situation and be able to act.”
Leaving Will stationed at the lighted window, Sabrina crept silently to the side and climbed swiftly and noiselessly up the clinging trellis. Entering the darkened room through the open window she cast a quick glance about her, taking in her surroundings. It was an unused bedchamber. She could make out the cumbersome shape of a four-poster and chest of drawers. Moving across the room where a small ribbon of light seeped beneath the closed door, Sabrina opened it and carefully peered out into the wide gallery that was lighted by several wall sconces.
Walking down its length, her footsteps echoing faintly, Sabrina suddenly shivered. It was so quiet. Like a tomb. Certainly too quiet for a rollicking midnight card party. But then gambling was the only thing these dandies and fops took seriously—and indeed, showed any competence at, Sabrina thought scornfully, unless it was in their own elaborate appearances; prancing peacocks, the whole lot of them.
Sabrina grinned beneath the concealment of her mask as she thought of her own finely cut velvet breeches and coat and the strip of bright tartan. She had a part to play, a reputation to live up to, and these popinjays would be sorely disappointed if her appearance fell short of their rather fanciful expectations of what the infamous Bonnie Charlie, the impudent, gentlemanly Scots highwayman, should look like.
Sabrina felt the hilt of her sword riding comfortably at her hip—a necessary tool of the trade. She drew her pistol, primed and ready to answer, just in case one of the gentlemen had a sudden urge to play the hero.
Most of the furnishings of the upstairs were still shrouded in protective dust covers. That army of servants Will had spoken of hadn’t been too busy, Sabrina thought as she swiped at a cobweb in front of her face.
The large hall below was quiet and shadowy, the light from a few candelabras barely lighting it as Sabrina quietly made her way down the staircase, pausing cautiously as she heard scuffling and voices from the servants’ door beneath the staircase. Descending the last few steps quickly, she pushed an oak chair in front of the door and tipped it so the back was wedged beneath the doorknob. That would detain the servants, should they become curious. From beyond a closed door Sabrina suddenly heard laughter and the clink of glasses.
Smiling in anticipation, Sabrina moved forward, her gloved hand reaching out for the doorknob. Turning it slowly with her left hand, her right firmly holding her pistol, she opened the door suddenly and rushed in to take her victims by surprise—only the room was empty!
“Looking for someone?” a satisfied voice asked.
Sabrina turned quickly, her heart beating in her throat as the scar-faced man stepped from behind an oak screen, a pistol held casually in each hand and pointed at her head, a mocking smile on his face.
“You seem surprised, Bonnie Charlie,” he laughed. “Did you get the wrong information? One of your spies must’ve heard wrongly if you thought there was to be a card party here this evening—for there is only I,” he informed her with a widening grin. “And you, of course.”
Sabrina’s fingers tightened on the trigger as her hand shook imperceptibly and she looked over at the curtained window expectantly.
“Oh, if you’re hoping to see your large friend, you’ll wait in vain, for I fear he has met with a slight accident,” the Duke of Camareigh explained carelessly, a gleam in his sherry-brown eyes.
“A trap,” Sabrina said beneath her breath, h
er eyes darkened by fear.
“Yes, a trap. But I should introduce myself to you. A captive should have the pleasure of knowing who entrapped him. I am the Duke of Camareigh. You may address me as ‘your grace’.”
Sabrina felt suffocated. She had to keep a clear head. This was no time to panic, and drawing on some deep reserve of courage, she found her voice.
“You seem to have overlooked the fact, your grace, that I also have a pistol pointed at your head.”
“I had noticed,” the duke replied evenly. “But I seem to remember you threatening me with your sword point.” He glanced at Bonnie Charlie insultingly. “Of course you were surrounded by your armed friends at the time. By the way, did I kill your big friend the other night? I’m afraid I aimed hastily and might have been a bit off the mark.”
Sabrina’s temper flared at his offhand and callous inquiry. He was a swine, and she’d like to knock that mocking smile off his face. “No, you only winged him, your grace,” she answered smoothly. “Which leads me to wonder how good a shot you are if you can’t hit as big a target as my friend,” Sabrina taunted in return.
The duke laughed in genuine amusement. “You are a cool one, Bonnie Charlie. So how do you prefer to die? I’ll let you choose. I could put a hole in you now, but I think I prefer to play with you a bit before I run you through and send you to your grave.”
A deafening roar cut through the silence, and Sabrina took an involuntary step backwards as she gasped and saw the eagle’s feather from her hat float to the floor and land in front of her boots. Behind her mask, her face paled and cold perspiration broke out on her forehead. Carefully she placed her pistol on the floor as he directed with the barrel of his other pistol.
“I yield to your superior treachery, your grace,” she spoke softly, a blaze of fury beginning to glow in her eyes. Very well, if she was to die at his hands then she would, but only after she’d done an injury to this meddlesome duke, she thought in anticipation of drawing his blood.
He smiled coldly and moving forward kicked the surrendered pistol from out of Bonnie Charlie’s reach and placed his own on the mantel shelf.
“I do dislike fighting in an obviously unequal match,” he commented as he drew his sword from his hip, “but you have asked for it.” He shrugged his shoulders regretfully. “No one slaps me and goes unpunished. You may not be much to look at, but you’re a vicious little fellow and I think it’s about time that you learned a few lessons in manners.”
Sabrina drew her sword, raising her chin arrogantly. “As I promised once before, I shall give your grace a matching scar for his other cheek.”
The duke stood facing her, his buckskin breeches molded to his muscular thighs and his fine lawn shirt and stock covering a wide expanse of chest and shoulder. His blond head gleamed like newly minted gold under the flickering candlelight as he pushed back a chair with the heel of his boot, sending it sliding across the floor.
“On guard, my soon-to-be-dead friend,” he challenged with a laugh.
Sabrina sidestepped agilely, her smallness to her advantage as she thrust at the duke’s chest with her sword. He parried it effortlessly and lunged, pushing Sabrina back as she struggled to parry the driving force of his thrust. The clashing of steel against steel rang in her ears as she danced about the larger man.
Sabrina began to gain confidence as she kept the duke busy defending himself, until she saw the wide smile on his face and knew that he was merely amusing himself while he played with her. He knew he had her outmatched and was only prolonging the moment until he would cut through her guard and pierce her heart with the point of his sword. A black rage rose in Sabrina and in a fit of uncontrollable passion, lending her renewed strength, she lunged suddenly and caught the Duke off guard, pricking his shoulder slightly before he ducked out of reach and turned on her fiercely, the amused light gone from his eyes as he viciously attacked, his sword seeming to flash fire as she fought him off. In her frightened eyes he looked like a madman with his scarred face and blazing eyes. Sabrina couldn’t hold him off any longer. Her arm ached from the effort and felt like lead as she struggled to keep up her guard and protect herself from each mighty thrust of his sword.
With a suddenness of movement the duke twisted adroitly and slipped his sword point in beneath Sabrina’s wavering sword, driving his point deep into her shoulder. Sabrina felt a searing pain like red-hot coals and giving a muffled cry dropped her sword as she staggered against a chair for support, momentarily stunned. She felt a wave of blackness engulf her as she fell to her knees, feeling an ache not of the body, but of the soul as she realized she was near death and in her mind’s eye saw her family for the last time.
The duke stared down at the fallen highwayman, a disgusted look on his face. “Not much of a fight in you, eh?” He flicked the tartan sash contemptuously, cutting it in two and drawing a small spurt of blood. A dark patch was beginning to stain the highwayman’s coat as his blood from the wounded shoulder seeped through the velvet.
“Let’s have a look at that roguish face of yours, Bonnie Charlie. It’s about time we unveiled the mysterious highwayman, and I’m curious about who I’m delivering to the soldiers to be hanged,” the duke said with a tigerish smile curving his lips as he carelessly slashed the highwayman’s hand that had been reaching for a knife at his waist, leaving a long red scratch across the back of his gloved hand.
“Still have a little fight left in you?” He sneered as he reached out and ruthlessly tore the concealing mask from the highwayman’s face. “What have we here? You’re certainly a pretty little fellow, what—” He stopped abruptly.
The duke’s smile faded as he stared more closely at the highwayman’s revealed face. A look of amazement spread across his features as he took in the heart-shaped face, the large violet eyes made brilliant by tears of fear and pain, the cupid’s-bow mouth that trembled slightly and the creamy smooth skin of her cheeks.
“My God!” the duke ejaculated as he dropped his sword and reached for the crumpled figure that now fell forward in unconsciousness.
He lifted the highwayman easily in his arms and kicking open the partially closed door made his way to the staircase, noting the jammed servants’ door as he climbed the stairs with the unconscious girl high in his arms, a grim tightness about his mouth.
Entering the bedchamber that had been cleaned and aired for his use, he carefully lay the highwayman down on the big bed. He stared bemusedly down at the small face for an instant, then removed the cocked hat and tossed it across the room. He lifted the powdered wig from the highwayman’s head and revealed long black hair. It tumbled about the pillow as he uncoiled it and it sprung up softly beneath his fingers, soft as a child’s, he thought suddenly, as he smoothed a thick curl back from a vulnerable temple.
Carefully he removed the heavy coat from the highwayman, frowning as he saw the blood-stained shoulder and scratch he’d made beneath the tartan sash. Then taking the highwayman’s knife he cut the shirt from the unconscious form, his face pale as he stared down at the body before him, his worst doubts confirmed.
“A woman,” he whispered, still unable to believe the positive proof before his astonished eyes.
Small breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath his hand as he dabbed at the blood with a clean handkerchief, leaving it on the wound to stanch the flow. He pulled off her boots and, covering her, left the room. Belowstairs he sent his servants hurriedly about boiling water and making bandages, his grim face stalling any curious questions they might have had.
“Where’s the other highwayman?” the duke demanded.
“Safely locked up in the cellar and nursing quite a headache and sore jaw I should imagine,” his valet answered calmly, a smug look on his face as he thought of the surprised grunt from the giant as they’d sneaked up behind him and walloped him good before he could swing those ham fists of his—although even then he’d taken a right to the jaw befor
e finally toppling over. Sanders glanced curiously at the duke, wondering about the order for bandages. “Is there anything I can do, your grace?” he asked. “I assume you dealt with the other bandit successfully.”
The duke hesitated a moment, then drew Sanders aside as he confided, “I’m afraid we’ve a small difficulty. Our highwayman happens to be female.”
Sanders’s eyes grew enormous and he choked back an exclamation as the duke shook his head for silence.
“I want no one to know of this, do you understand?” the duke told him. “You bring the medicine and bandages when ready, I’ll be up with our guest.”
Sanders returned to the business at hand as the duke left, but half of his thoughts were following the duke upstairs.
Sabrina opened her eyes through a haze of pain. Her body felt like it was on fire and she gasped as a sharp, searing pain went through her shoulder as she tried to sit up. She lay back panting, her thoughts confused as she tried to remember what had happened. The vagueness began to sharpen in her mind and suddenly in a flash she knew. The scar-faced gentleman. He had tried to kill her, and nearly succeeded, she grimaced, as she struggled to sit up, a faint feeling spreading through her at the effort.
She glanced about the room fearfully for her attacker, but it was empty. Sabrina shivered, feeling a draught of cool air caress her bare shoulders, and pulled the coverlet closer about her.
A strained look entered her eyes as she realized the implications of that. The person who had removed her mask and wig, and bared her shoulders, must have had a surprising discovery. She put her trembling fingers to her temples and tried to think. She couldn’t seem to gather her wits and act. First, she must escape. She must get away from this scar-faced man who had caught her. What had he thought, she wondered, when he’d found out he’d dueled with a woman.
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