"Monti said it will work. You even said last night that the idea was brilliant."
"That doesn't make it safe. That doesn't mean I want you to do it!"
Meg backed up to the tree, Monti's dagger in her hand. "I think I hear a coach. Could you help me?"
"Meg." His balled hands fell to his sides in exasperation.
"Kincaid, my mind is made up. I want to be a part of this. For you. But for personal reasons, too."
"Ah, that wicked past of yours."
"Don't make fun of me." She grabbed a hank of her thick, honey-brown hair and raised it high over her head.
Kincaid exhaled slowly in rankled indecision.
"I could use some help," she repeated softly.
After a moment's hesitation, he took the dagger from her hand. "If you need me, all you have to do is call. I'll be directly behind you in the woods. I'll be aiming for the bastard Auger's gut."
She leaned forward giving him a peck on the lips. "Hurry and do it. Can't you hear the coach?"
Holding the handful of her silky hair, Kincaid sank the dagger into the tree bark above her head, pinning her hair.
"Perfect. Now the rope. Tie my hands behind me 'round the back of the tree." She tucked her hands behind her.
Kincaid walked behind the tree, tying her hands. "I think I'd prefer this in our bed," he mumbled.
She laughed huskily. "So perhaps we'll try it one night. Now hurry."
"Done." He came back around the tree to face her.
"Go." She lifted her chin. "Go with you, and take my clothes into the woods." She looked for Monti in the dying light. "Monti, are you ready?"
"Ready."
Meg blew Kincaid a kiss as he walked around the tree, disappearing behind her.
Meg let her breath out steadily. She could hear the coach approaching. She was hopeful it was the right man. This morning Monti had been able to coax a wench from Auger's daughter's kitchen into admitting they were expecting Auger this evening. Monti was excellent at innocently obtaining information. He even managed to bring back a few freshly baked apple tarts.
Meg took another deep breath. Overhead, the skeletal tree limbs swayed, the scent of their new leaf buds filling her nostrils. She could hear the hum of insect song along the roadside. The dry grass of the previous summer tickled her legs. It was strange, but she wasn't a bit afraid of the events that were about to unfold.
"Approaching," came Monti's voice in a shout.
The moment the coach appeared around the bend in the road, Meg threw her head back. "Help me! Please help me!" she cried dramatically. "Pleeease, help me."
Behind her in the woods she heard Kincaid's dry chuckle. "I'm going to put you on the stage," he said softly.
"Hush!" she whispered. Then she pretended to struggle against her bindings, directing her pleas to the approaching coach. "Sir! Kind sir, won't you help me?"
The driver pulled back hard on the reins, halting the covered coach.
"What is it?" called a grumpy voice from inside. "Why do you stop, Albert? Don't you know there are thieves about these woods. Marauders?"
The white-haired driver, a man who surely had to be older than Moses, tapped on the roof of the coach with a short leather quirt. "Look, see for yourself, sir. It's a woman with 'er 'air pinned to a tree."
"A woman? Hair pinned to a tree? What the blast are you talking about, Albert?"
"Please help me," Meg begged the driver. "I've been robbed and left for dead."
The man inside the coach threw open the door. He matched the Widow Small's description right down to the hairy wart on his clipped chin. "What is this?" he demanded, stepping onto the road. "What is this about?"
Setting the brake, the driver slowly eased his ancient bones over the bench and down onto the ground. "A . . . a woman, Mr. Auger," the driver stammered. "See." He pointed.
Mr. Auger jerked his head back as if he didn't believe his own eyes. He was a short, portly man dressed in sober clothing, but even at a distance Meg could see the glimmer of gold rings on his pudgy fingers. "God's bowels, madame! What has happened to you?"
"I've been robbed, sir," she moaned. "My horse stolen, my servants run off."
"Thieves?" Auger glanced nervously into the dark woods. The sun was just setting in a blaze of orange light in the western sky. "Are they still about?"
"Oh, no," she tried to reassure him without him becoming suspicious. "Long gone. I've been here for hours." She even managed to squeeze out a tear. "Could you help me, kind sir?"
Auger started up the slight embankment, aiding himself with his silver-tipped rosewood cane. "They stole your clothing, too, madame?"
Meg quickly feigned modesty, hanging her head. "I fear so, sir. I'm so ashamed." She looked up at him, lowering her bottom lip in a slight pout. "Couldn't you help me? I'm so cold. So afraid."
The moment Auger stepped into the grass, Monti appeared at the coach door, a blunderbuss in each hand. "Stand where you are, sir, else you'll have a bit of lead in your gullet."
Auger whirled around, throwing his arms high in the air in surprise. His cane fell into the grass.
"Heavens, they're back!"
"Old man." Monti pointed one pistol at the driver. "Go to your master and take his purse."
"Don't shoot," the driver begged, moving rather quickly for a man his age. "Just don't shoot." In a moment's time, he had Auger's fat purse and was coming down the bank to the road again.
"Thank you." Tucking one of the pistols beneath his arm, Monti checked inside. "Excellent." He looked up, smiling. "And now, if you would be so kind as to step inside the coach." He waved his pistol at Auger. "You too, sir, and do hurry. I've a schedule to keep like everyone else."
A smile twitched on Meg's face as she watched Auger climb into the coach behind his driver. The old crony hadn't even attempted to free her. All he cared about was saving his own leathery skin!
"Now," Monti instructed, looking into the coach. "I want you to cover the windows. Good, good. Next I'm going to close the door. It must remain closed for the following ten minutes. Have you a clock?"
"Y . . . yes," came Auger's frightened voice.
"Excellent. Now, if you should open the door in the next ten minutes, I fear I shall have to blow your nuts off. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly."
"Excellent. Now of course I shall have to let your horses go. But I don't believe it's a long walk to the next home. Enjoy your evening, sir."
Monti bowed gracefully and then slammed the coach door shut with his knee.
The moment the door was closed, Meg heard Kincaid come out of the woods behind her. "I cannot believe this flimsy scheme worked," he muttered, untying her hands.
"I told you it would," she gloated. With her hands free, she reached above her head and pulled the knife from the tree trunk, releasing her hair.
Kincaid came around the tree, pushing her cloak into her arms. "I'll get the horses. Monti?"
On the road, Monti was just slapping the backside of the second of Auger's horses. It bolted down the road after the first.
In a minute's time all three were astride their mounts, barreling down the road toward London.
"Good job, Monti." Meg grinned, pleased the robbery had gone so smoothly. "Now, haven't we a poor widow to visit?"
"I don't see him yet." Meg peeked from behind a curtain, watching the road below. She and Kincaid had taken a second-story room in the Widow Small's inn. Here they would stay until the matter of Mr. Auger was settled and his name could be struck from Kincaid's list.
"Come away from the window, Meg. You want him to see you?"
She let the curtain fall. "I don't understand why you're so grumpy."
"I am not grumpy. I'm concerned." He kept his eyes on the pages of the book in his lap, though she knew full well he wasn't really reading. "This is dangerous business and you treat it as a lark."
She walked slowly toward him. She was dressed only in her shift and petticoats with a flannel dres
sing robe thrown over her shoulders and matching mules on her feet. Tonight they would sup here in their cozy room, avoiding the public room where they assumed Auger would dine if he was truly the creature of habit the widow said he was.
"Kincaid, I understand that it's not a game," she said softly, coming to stand before him. "But you must also understand that I have led a very sheltered life. In a way, everything is a lark to me. Just being alive is a lark."
He set his book down and pulled her into his lap. "Tell me about the child," he said softly. "I can't stop thinking about it."
Meg looked away, tears immediately welling in her eyes. She tried not to think about her baby. She tried not to worry whether or not the midwife had found a place for him in the churchyard.
She smiled bittersweetly. "A boy. A male child, what every man should want." A tear ran down her cheek.
"His father did not?"
Meg bit down on her lower lip. She considered telling Kincaid the truth, or part of it, but she stopped herself. What was the point? There was no reason to drag him into her shame. Besides, she still feared he might hate her for it, even turn her in. Men were like that, the way they always took up for each other. "Let me say he was not as pleased as I would have hoped."
"The child died immediately?"
"Yes."
"And the father?"
Meg wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "I told you, he died. Shortly thereafter."
Kincaid pulled her against him and she snuggled in his arms, laying her head on his shoulder.
"There can be other children, Meg," he said softly. "Ours. Would you like that?"
She sniffed. "I don't know that that's possible. It took me many years to conceive the one son, and even then he was . . ."
"He was what, Meg?"
She closed her eyes. "I would like another child, Kincaid, if God chooses to bless me. I'd like to have your son."
He kissed her forehead. "Or daughter?"
She laughed. Unlike the men she had known, her highwayman put the same merit in female children and male children. Yet another reason to love him. "Or daughter."
"And then she would have your silky hair." He brushed her hair with his hand. "Your soft skin." He kissed her cheek. "Your intelligent mind." He tapped her head with his knuckle. "I mean any woman who could come up with a scheme like this and make it work has got to be brilliant."
She laughed, her sadness gone. "It is going to work, isn't it? The widow is going to pay the miser with his own coin." She giggled. "And then—"
"Hush, and kiss me, Meg. I tire of talking business."
Meg slipped her hand to the nape of his neck and leaned to press her mouth to his. Just as their lips met, she heard the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel below.
"He's here!" She jumped off Kincaid's lap to run to the window to take a peek. "Wouldn't you love to be a fly on his window tomorrow night?"
Kincaid sat astride his horse, impatiently watching the road from where he hid in a copse of trees very near to the place that Meg and Monti had robbed Mr. Auger only two nights before. The coach would have to slow to make the hill. It was the perfect place for a holdup.
It was late afternoon, not yet twilight. A gentle breeze blew out of the north, ruffling the mane of the gelding he rode. The horse nickered softly and Kincaid patted its arched neck. The beast seemed to be as anxious to get on with this as Kincaid was. "Easy boy, easy," he murmured. It won't be long now. The old widow was right, the man runs like a clock." He chuckled. "Even in adversity."
He glanced overhead, checking the time by the position of the sun. Sunlight still filtered through the trees that were beginning to blossom with new life. Birds sang and the grass swayed in the breeze.
Kincaid grinned despite himself. That was how he felt these days, like a new leaf, blossoming after a long winter. And he had his Meg to thank for it. The idea of a life with her in America was becoming more appealing each day. Just as soon as this life could be put aside, as soon as he could close the book on the list of men he bore his grudge against, he could open a new book. A book of hope and happiness. And Meg would be the source of his contentment.
A slight rumbling noise signaled the approach of the vehicle Kincaid waited for and his body tensed. Each time he stepped onto the highway as Captain Scarlet, he prayed there would be no violence. That wasn't his purpose. Humiliation alone was. Kincaid had seen enough death to last him a lifetime.
The coach came into view, slowing for the grade. Kincaid took a deep breath, checking to be sure that his face was covered by the red swath of his highwayman's costume. Then, lifting his primed pistol, he sank his heels into his mount and wheeled out onto the road.
"Stand and Deliver!" Kincaid boomed, riding up along the side of the coach to peer into the window. It was Auger, all right. He recognized him from the widow's excellent description. "Your coin or your life!"
"Merciful father!" Auger swayed against the seat as if he were going to faint.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God," came a feminine voice. "Father, it's thieves!"
"Driver," Kincaid commanded, lifting his pistol to take aim. "Halt."
The driver was already sawing on the reins, and the coach slid sideways to an abrupt stop.
"Step outside," Kincaid instructed. "Both of you. Driver, climb down."
Auger tumbled out of the coach, shaking from head to foot. The woman inside followed, hanging onto his coat tails, still shrieking.
Kincaid swept off his hat, nodding in greeting. The young woman, Auger's daughter, had a face like a heifer, but that was what was appealing about the highwayman Captain Scarlet. He loved all women.
Suddenly she was silent.
"So sorry to detain you, madame," Kincaid said smoothly. "I hope your trip has gone smoothly to this point."
She pressed her hand to her heaving bosom. "Please don't hurt us. Please. Father." She prodded him. "Give the nice thief your money. Your rings, too."
"I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it," Auger groaned, fumbling in his coat. "Twice in one week! I've been robbed twice in one week, daughter. Am I cursed? What have I done to deserve this?"
When he didn't move quickly enough, the daughter reached into her father's coat and snatched the coin bag herself. "Here, here you are, sir."
"The rings, too. She's right." Kincaid smiled. "A very clever girl, your daughter."
But when the woman started to pull a ring off her own plump finger, Kincaid shook his head. "No, no. I couldn't, madame, just the gentleman's will be enough. You're a woman too pretty not to be lavished in jewels."
The girl blushed with a giggle. "Thank you, sir."
Pulling off his gold rings, Auger thrust them into Kincaid's glove.
"Excellent," Kincaid said with a satisfied nod. "Now the next matter."
"Next matter?" Auger was visibly trembling. "Are you going to kill us?"
"This is Captain Scarlet," the daughter whispered, her cheeks still pink. "He doesn't kill his victims. Do you, Captain?" She giggled, openly flirting with Kincaid. "Sometimes he even kisses them."
It was hard for Kincaid not to laugh. "The matter, sir, concerns a widow by the name of Elizabeth Small. Do you know her?" His horse shifted its weight back and forth, Kincaid knew making him an imposing figure astride.
"Small . . . Small. Let me think, let me think." He pressed his finger to his sweaty forehead. "Yes . . . yes, I recall now. I believe I do know her."
"She pays you rent for an inn you own?"
"I believe so."
"I want you to give her the inn."
"Wh . . . what?" Auger choked.
"Did I stutter?" There was a sudden edge to Kincaid's voice. "I said I want you to give the inn to the widow. Legally."
"I . . . I can't. It . . . It's very profitable."
"It will not be profitable if you are robbed on this road each and every time you pass on it. You will not profit if I begin visiting some of your other establishments. I understand you own an excellent ta
vern on the Strand, also one near Bridewell. Need I go on?"
Auger's face turned a bright red. "You . . . you can't do that. I . . . I'll call the High Sheriff. The king's soldiers will—"
"Have soldiers been able to stop me in the past?"
The daughter shook her head. "He's very good, Father. He never gets caught. There was a rumor he was in Newgate, but then later I heard it was false."
Kincaid lifted his shoulder. "So there you have it." The smile fell from his face. His tone hardened. "Now take care of the widow, or I will take care of you. I have not found it necessary to take any lives as of yet, but the possibility is always there. Do you understand?"
"I . . . I understand. But . . . but why are you doing this to me? Why do you mock me?"
"A time will come when you will know." Kincaid looked to the driver. "Sir, could you be so kind as to pull the linchpin on the coach? That way it won't be necessary that I dismount."
The driver hurried to follow Kincaid's bidding.
"Excellent." Kincaid smiled again beneath the swath of red. "And now I must go. Remember, Auger, I will check on the widow. Do as I instruct or there will be hell to pay."
Kincaid pulled his horse closer to the daughter and leaned over, pressing his mouth to hers. "Have a nice evening, madame," he said as his gaze met hers.
"Oh, oh, thank you, Captain," she hyperventilated.
Then with a wink, Kincaid was gone. Down Ratcliff Highway, headed toward London and his Meg.
Fifteen
"Marry me, Meg."
"Could you hand me the mallet?" Her voice was garbled by several nails she held in her mouth to keep her hands free. "I think I'd like the mirror here." Standing on a chair, she pointed to the bare spot on their bedchamber wall.
"Meg, you're not taking me seriously." He passed her the mallet. "I truly want to marry you. What if there was a child? I don't want my son or daughter born under a veil of illegitimacy."
She took a nail from between her lips and tapped it into the wall. Monti had finally secured their pardons after another exchange of money, so, yesterday, on the first of April, Meg, Kincaid, and Monti moved from Mother Godwin's to the apartments James and Monti kept at Charing Cross.
The Highwayman and The Lady (Hidden Identity) Page 16