“Fine brew, as always,” Sam offered.
Mr. Brewster nodded, but absently. “Thank you.” A frown gathered between graying brows. “You wouldn’t have heard aught of the Highwayman, would you?”
“Ah no,” Jed said easily. “Swallowed up by other news on this trip up the Great Road, seems like. Everyone’s full of talk about the delegates meeting in Philadelphia for the Continental Congress—”
“Good, good.” The frown deepened. “If you hear aught, would you kindly let me know?”
The man’s manner was too distracted to escape Sam’s notice, even with him watching for Sally. “Is there some trouble, sir?”
Mr. Brewster sighed, his gaze on the table. “I hesitate to share tales, but you are good lads. And praying men, if I recall.”
Both Sam and Jed nodded, slowly.
“One of the last incidents surrounded the son of our chief justice. Apparently there was another last night, also involving my Sally, and the chief justice is threatening to have her arrested for slander.”
Sam was half out of his chair before he realized it.
Mr. Brewster’s sharp gaze twinkled. “I do not blame your outrage, son. But there’s little you can do. Only—pray.”
Sam sank back into his chair. “Aye, sir,” he managed, after a moment.
Oh, Sally…
The older man’s gaze held his in something between a frown and a smile. “And I warn you, if you think well of my daughter at all, you’ll find a way to soon speak your mind. Before another claims her affections.”
In all, it had been a perfectly wretched day. Sally pushed the wisps of hair back from her face and shifted, one foot to another, but the aching there would not cease. The tenderness across shoulders and arms would be worse tomorrow, after she’d slept—and, oh, how she needed to sleep.
Deepest was the dread and ache of her heart. It had been all day, with one task after another, in between visits from the sheriff and two of his deputies, and the chief justice himself, then a deluge of travelers that arrived just an hour ago.
The sheriff at least, at Papa’s pleading, was unwilling to haul her immediately to the gaol. The magistrate fussed and foamed before Papa’s calm insistence that, aye, Willie had indeed accosted his daughter, in her own home, and he’d not stand for her being so accused.
Slander, indeed. And no one had seen hide nor hair of Willie since. That was what chilled her most.
“What are you to the Highwayman?”
And then from Papa, gently, but much harder to resist, “Why would he ask you such a thing?”
She’d no idea if they’d been seen. They laughed a little too hard together at moments, likely talked too loudly as well. If Willie was looking for opportunity…
And so, still reeling from Willie’s attack, to the shock of both Papa and Mama, she’d admitted the truth.
“I am in love with the Highwayman, Papa. And he says he is with me…. Aye, I know I was foolish to go out with him to the orchard, but he behaved with honor, he did….”
Her eyes burned every time she thought of it.
A step warned her that someone approached, and she looked up to see Papa. He’d lingered close today, but then, he hadn’t let Mama far out of his sight, either.
“The Wheeler boys are here,” he said, very softly. “Tired and hungry, both of them, by the looks of it. Take them the usual.”
Ah, not Sam. Not tonight.
“Aye, Papa.” She reached for a tray but stopped at his hand on her forearm. “Go gently with young Sam. They had no news of the Highwayman, but when I mentioned the day’s trouble, Sam took it especially ill.” He drew a deep breath. “I—I realize he may not be your first choice, sweet daughter, but do not rule him out. Just yet.”
She swallowed past the fist-sized lump in her throat. “Aye.”
It was stew again, midsummer fare full of squash and cabbage and other vegetables, with bread left over from morning. Her hands arranged the two meals as they always did, without thought, though her heart was leaden. With a deep breath, she lifted her aching shoulders and carried the tray out into the great room.
For a moment, the hum of voices overwhelmed her. There, against the opposite wall. And of course, the moment she’d come into view, Sam’s head lifted, his gaze searching hers.
His expression remained still, but a telltale flush crept across his face. By the heat of her cheeks, hers matched in color, she was sure. She held herself steady, weaving through the tables and flashing the occasional apologetic smile to those she brushed past.
And his gaze remained on her, even when she reached the table and set the tray down. “Jed. Sam. Good evening to you both.”
“Evening, Sally,” Jed answered, reaching for his bowl.
With the ghost of a smile, Sam dipped a nod. “Thank you most kindly,” he murmured.
She ventured a smile in return then hurried back to the kitchen.
There. She’d at least been civil. But tomorrow was the Sabbath, and as travel constituted breaking such, the boys would likely stay the extra day. What would she do then?
Chapter 10
The two of them retired to the barn as soon as they’d finished supper. Jed brushed out Nero, while Sam tended Brutus.
He’d never seen Sally struggle so visibly to put on a brave face. What had happened to douse all that light and joy?
A pair of pert faces appeared above the stall door. “Hey, Sam. Can we help?”
“Another forkful of hay would not be amiss.”
The boys ran off, bickering over who would fetch it. “Both of you bring some,” Jed called.
That settled it. Jacky took his armful to Jed, while Johnny brought his to Sam.
“So what was the big kerfuffle with Willie Brown and the sheriff today?” Sam asked.
“Oh, well, it was the strangest thing. Willie nearly broke down the door this morn at dawn. We heard him shouting at Sally, but Papa sent him packing at the end of his musket.”
Redness seeped in at the edges of Sam’s vision. Willie had been to the inn? And accosted Sally?
“Good for your papa,” he said.
“Aye!” Johnny laughed, caught up in his tale. “Well, not two hours later, the justice and the sheriff came. The justice swears Sally is guilty of slander and demands the sheriff clap her in irons. Papa, however, said it was no slander when he’d witnessed Willie treating Sally roughly, in her own house.”
Sam braced one hand on Brutus’s broad back and stared across at Jed. His cousin looked every bit as stricken as he felt.
“What I want to know”—Johnny scratched his head—“is why all this talk of the Highwayman got mixed up in it. How could Sally know him?”
“Did you hear what Willie said to her this morning?” Sam asked.
“No, just he was shouting something about the Highwayman. Like he blames Sally for the trouble he’s in now. Papa sent us upstairs when Sally said she needed to talk to him and Mama alone. We tried to listen, but they went to the other side of the house so we couldn’t.”
He gave a halfhearted grin, which Sam could not bring himself to answer.
“La, Sam. You ain’t angry, are you?”
He unclenched his hand from the brush and forced a stiff smile. “Not at you, lad. Not at you.”
This was his own fault, exposing her to retaliation from that cur.
He exchanged a long look with his cousin then turned back to the boys. “Thank you for your help. Run along back to your papa, before he has cause to worry.”
They nodded, looking confused, but did as they were told. Sam waited until the door shut. “This happened because of me.”
“Nonsense, Sam—”
“It did, and you know it.” He turned, and with rare temper, slung the brush across the barn. Catching a little of his ire, Brutus sidestepped, and Sam shoved him back then left the stall and latched it after himself. “I want to kill him, Jed. I won’t, but—” He let out a hard breath. “If he thinks somehow that she’s responsible
for my visit to his father last night, he won’t let it lie. I know the type, and so do you.”
Jed nodded slowly.
Sam raked both hands through his hair and turned a circle, staring around the barn without seeing. “I can’t leave her to this. I can’t.”
“I know.”
He swung back toward his cousin. “You do?”
Jed gave a short laugh. “You have it so bad, cousin. But aye.” He stepped closer. “We’re here until day after tomorrow. We’ll figure something out between now and then.”
Sabbaths were naturally grave, austere days. Sally understood that. Yet she’d never endured one so unrelentingly awful.
First, of all the folk that lingered at the inn because of the Sabbath and attended meeting with them, it was Sam she had to wind up sitting next to. As if there were an attachment between them, truly. And Papa and Mama encouraged it because, as they said, it might discourage Willie Brown if he thought Sam was courting her.
Sam was a strapping boy, to be sure, but… so very quiet.
And she could feel him watching her, all day, except possibly when they were sitting in meeting together. Even then she was aware of him in a way every bit as unnerving as when those blue eyes were actually on her.
After a simple lunch, some went back to meeting, but she and Papa stayed home to tend things that simply couldn’t be left undone even on the Sabbath. But the quiet, and the waiting, pressed in on her, and she found herself walking out to the stable yard, where Sam was busy at some task involving a wheel fitting on his wagon. His company was better than none, and at least she might be reasonably safe if Willie came to call again.
He looked up from beneath his flat-brimmed hat. His hands stilled for a moment before he nodded and went back to his task.
“What are you doing?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.
He was quiet so long, she nearly gave up and went back to the house. “Axle’s cracking. Just trying to reinforce it.”
His voice sounded strange, pinched. Was it because of her? Did she somehow make him afraid to speak?
“You didn’t have to stay this afternoon.”
Another glance upward. “Your father said there’d been trouble.”
“Aye.” The admission was out before she could stop it. What was wrong with her lately? Maybe it was just that she’d known Sam for so long, he was comfortable to talk to.
She found a seat on a nearby barrel.
He’d stopped to watch her again. “Must you do that?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Look at me.”
His head went down, his hands busied themselves again, but… was that a blush creeping up his neck, beneath the blond queue?
“You are very nice to look at,” he said at last.
Sally felt her mouth fall open, and she could not breathe—could not speak. Her heartbeat was suddenly painful.
She snapped her eyes shut then her mouth. Oh, Highwayman! Where are you?
Oh, Lord, help me.
It seemed to be all she could pray of late.
“Have I said aught to upset you?”
“I—nay—”
Sam straightened. “Is there someone who already claims your affections?”
Oh, she could not breathe—
“Aye. There is.” She slid down from the barrel. “Forgive me.”
Still gazing at her, he gave her a slow, sweet smile.
It was too much. Clutching her skirts in both hands, she fled for the house.
Chapter 11
The close of another fine day in the lower valley. Orange and pink dusted the western mountains, above the inn and orchard. Sam chewed the end of a grass blade and could not rid himself of the sense of foreboding.
“I don’t like it, by half,” he said to Jed. “I expect Willie stayed hid for the Sabbath, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try something tonight. Or tomorrow, once he knows another bunch of travelers have moved on.”
Jed cracked open one eye from where he lay stretched in the grass, arms above his head. “I’ve been thinking, I could take the wagon, finish the run home. You could stay… except, how would you explain it to Mr. Brewster, let alone Sally, if you aren’t willing to tell her yet?”
Sam shook his head. “I want to. I just… don’t feel it’s time yet.”
She’d nearly rent his heart, the way she’d tried to be kind to him, as himself, but then avowed her affections to be with another, not knowing—it was him.
Lord, forgive me for deceiving her.
It would be so easy to tell her. Unpack the coat, take it to her… Sally love, I am the Highwayman.
Too easy. And it would solve nothing, because he still had nothing to offer her.
“I could leave with you tomorrow morning,” he went on. “Hire a horse at the next ordinary, ride back. But…”
“But that would be leaving them alone for part of the day.” Jed sat up, his expression grave.
“Precisely.” Sam threw the stalk of grass away.
“Maybe it’s time to let someone else in on the secret.”
Sam stared at his cousin.
Jed laughed. “You want to really be in her father’s good graces? Take him into your confidence. Mr. Brewster is a sensible man, and he’d be a good ally. And… I believe he would appreciate knowing he has one as well.”
Sam pulled a fresh grass stalk and chewed the end. This, now, seemed… right.
“Aye. Let’s do that, then.”
Mr. Brewster lifted a brow to their request to speak with him but made no comment as he followed them outside the inn and to the barn. Gut churning, Sam likewise said nothing but went straight to the wagon, pulled the small chest from under the seat, and turned to the older man. “Where might we have privacy, sir?”
Mr. Brewster considered the chest, then Jed, then Sam. “Follow me.”
He led them to a storage shed at the rear of the inn. Inside, Sam set down the chest, crouched beside it, and laid both hands flat across the top. He blew out a breath, but it did not ease the iron band around his chest. “So you’ll know,” he said to Mr. Brewster, “that I do not willingly play false with anyone.”
Slowly, he swung open the lid then lifted out the hat and set it aside. The black silk handkerchief came next, then the coat, its buttons and embroidery glinting in the dying light. Lastly were the boots. Draping the black silk over his shoulder, Sam rose and faced Mr. Brewster, the coat in one hand, the boots in the other.
The older man gazed at the ensemble for a long moment, folded his arms, and rubbed one hand across his mouth before a grin broke across his features. “Well. Great glory above. You are the Highwayman.”
He began to chuckle, and the tightness around Sam’s chest loosened. He and Jed exchanged a wild grin.
“It is Sam, and not you, aye?” The older man asked, turning to Jed.
Jed laughed. “Aye. All him.”
“Not quite, you rascal,” Sam said. “You egged me on.”
“What of the whip?” Mr. Brewster asked.
Sam returned boots and coat to the chest before reaching down inside his shirt for the coiled whip. “I’ve been carrying it since last night.”
Mr. Brewster’s eyes gleamed. He glanced again at Jed. “Is he as good with that thing as they say?”
“Better,” Jed said, straightening.
“Well, well. Won’t Sally have the shock of her life?” He sobered, fastening Sam with a stern look. “What is your intention where she’s concerned?”
“To somehow become worthy of her, sir.”
A fine, misting rain blew across the mountains overnight, and Sally woke with a dull ache lingering in her breast. The inn’s morning routine was oddly comforting as she poured griddle cakes and cooked sausages for the travelers before they ventured out into the wet.
Though foolish of her to expect it, she’d risen during the night to sit at her window, listening and waiting in case the Highwayman came. Surely, if he cared, he’d hear of Willie Bro
wn’s visit and call on her again. Unless he was already too far away.
Regardless, she’d not sit up night after night for him. No matter how sweet his kisses and his laughter, or how pretty his compliments. She’d work to do, after all, and if he intended to return, it would not be any sooner for her pining.
Her eyes burned, and she rubbed her forearm across them.
As she turned from the fire, a movement at the kitchen door caught her eye. It was Sam. Watching her, of course.
“Aye?” she choked.
“Jed and I be leaving. Just wanted to offer our thanks and bid you good day.”
Again, that strange pinch to his voice. Although he cut a neater figure than customary, with high boots tied over the knee—were those his usual ones?—and a black cloth around his neck, beneath the checked linen shirt and plain brown waistcoat.
Fine dress, for a drover headed out into the rain.
“And to you,” she managed.
With a nod, he turned and disappeared from sight.
She went back to work, but her throat ached. She’d been so unkind to him yesterday. She should at least offer an apology—
When she dashed to the hallway, he was gone.
Three days of waiting and watching, through drizzle and wind and hot sun. Sam had a beautiful view of the inn and orchard, not to mention spectacular sunrises and sunsets, but it was enough to stretch anyone’s patience. He could have made the drive home to Charlotte Towne and back before Willie would show again… but then, he’d no way of knowing that, for sure.
A tramping through the laurels alerted him to someone’s approach. Likely Mr. Brewster, bringing him dinner.
An ally indeed, the man had been. Faithfully fetching him food or other needed items, making the walk himself since he didn’t trust the boys not to talk. And Sally—it pained Sam to keep her uninformed, but because she’d asked to not know, they’d judged it best to keep the Highwayman’s secret at least until after Willie was found.
Sam rose to greet the man he hoped to gain as a father-in-law when all this was over. “Has Sally noticed the missing provisions yet?”
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 25