The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Faris reached up, pulling the pins from her hair and running her fingers through her long, dark tresses. Drawing a ribbon from the tiny pocket in her skirt, she tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, feeling somehow free and refreshed. The fragrant breeze caressed her cheeks, cooling the blush caused from her brisk walk.

  Purple seemed to rinse the sky, and the sun was nearly set when Faris fancied she heard the rhythm of a horse’s gallop in the distance. She narrowed her eyes, straining to see through the darkness of the settling night, glad she brought a lantern with her. Still, she could see nothing but the outline of the Tanglewood Forest against the violet of falling night.

  Faris closed her eyes and listened. Yes! She was sure she heard the drumming of horse hooves in the distance. Her heart began to hammer within her bosom; yet she knew the rider could be one of a million upon the earth with a thousand intended directions—a hundred different purposes. After all, chances were the rider Faris heard on approach was simply a messenger sent from one manor house to another. Or the constable on the hunt for any highwayman he might come upon.

  But as the resonance of the drumming hooves grew nearer, louder, so did the mad pounding of Faris’s heart. And then, of a sudden, a rider astride his mount broke the tree line. Galloping into the meadow came a rider in black—black hood, black cape, black boots—and a stallion as black as obsidian. Faris knew at once fate had granted her wish—for reining to a mount-rearing halt before her was none other than the Highwayman of Tanglewood!

  In Meeting the Highwayman

  “Careful, lass!” the raspy voice of the Highwayman of Tanglewood warned. “I nearly run ya over, I did!”

  “Forgive me,” Faris said. Her palms were moist, her heart causing pain within her so violently did it hammer. He was before her! In the heavy purple of evening, he mumbled to his mount to calm the beast, all the while his attention fixed on Faris. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins, feared her heart might beat itself to quitting. As the breeze caught his cape, ruffling it, blowing it back over one shoulder, Faris silently bit her tongue a bit to assure herself she was indeed awake and not rapt in some wonderful dream.

  “Aye, but wait,” the Highwayman said, dismounting in one swift movement. Throwing back his hood to reveal his black mask, mustache, and goatee, he strode toward her. “Me and thee have met before, we have.”

  Faris’s heart raced as he approached. She feared her knees might give way beneath her. “Y-yes,” Faris managed, swallowing hard. The rogue of her dreams stood directly before her, his smile piercing the night with its dazzling brilliance—far more brilliant than the stars dotting the amethyst sky above.

  “Ah, yes! I could never farget a rendezvous such as the one we shared, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle,” he chuckled.

  Faris gasped, astounded! He remembered her! Remembered even her very name! Did he remember more of her? Had his memory clung to her the way her memory had clung to him? With his next utterance, her questions were answered.

  “’Twas in this very meadow here that I stole a kiss from ye last summer, I did.”

  “Yes, sire,” Faris said, unable to keep a smile of delight from spreading across her face.

  “‘Sire’ she calls me?” he chuckled again. “But I be no sire, Faris of Loch Loland. I be a far simpler man than that, far sure and far certain.”

  “You are no simple man,” Faris told him, and he laughed, the silver moonlight catching his smile once more.

  “No. No, I suppose I be anythin’ but simple,” he said. He cocked his head to one side, asking, “But what finds ya out in the meadow at night once more, lass? Have ya quit Loch Loland?”

  “Oh, no!” Faris assured him. “I am happier there than ever I have been. I-I only came at the chance to…to see you again.”

  The Highwayman glanced about quickly, seeming suddenly unsettled as he mumbled, “Have ya now?”

  “Oh! Not to entrap you, sire!” Faris explained, realizing the reason for his sudden suspicion. The Highwayman of Tanglewood would not have survived so long had he not been wary, suspicious of impending entrapment. Still, it sickened Faris to think he might suspect her of luring him into a snare. Quickly she explained, “I simply wished to—to meet you once more.”

  His eyes narrowed a moment. He seemed uncertain as to whether trusting her were a wise decision.

  “I’ve told no one about meeting you last summer. Not a living soul. I swear it.”

  “Why not?” he asked plainly. “’Tis many a folk would be willin’ to tell the authorities in the least, they would.”

  “Not me,” Faris said. “I have no desire to see any harm come to you.”

  “Yar far me cause then?” he asked.

  “As…as much as someone of my station is able,” she answered. Of a sudden she felt ashamed—ashamed of being only a chambermaid, ashamed of being one of those for whom the Highwayman of Tanglewood rode out.

  “Someone in yar station?” he asked. “What is it ya do out there at Loch Loland Castle?” He strode toward her, and his sudden advance unsettled Faris so that she stumbled, losing her footing. She did not fall, however, for the Highwayman’s powerful grip on her arm steadied her.

  Inhaling deeply and mustering a bit of courage, Faris raised her eyes to him once more and answered, “I am chambermaid for the Rockrimmon children.”

  The Highwayman nodded and released her arm. He grinned as he said, “’Tis a fine position—to be entrusted with the care of the intimate chambers of such a family. ’Tis not a thing to hang yar head about.”

  Faris smiled, warmed by his tenderness.

  “And I hear Loch Loland Castle will lose its daughter to Lord Kendrick.”

  Faris’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Indeed. In two months’ time, Lillias will wed his lordship. Are—are you well acquainted with Lord Kendrick? Is this how you know of their betrothal?” Faris tried to study the size and stance of the Highwayman. Could he, indeed, be Lord Gawain Kendrick in disguise? It was impossible to discern. Her heart hammered with anxiety—fear that the Highwayman of Tanglewood was, in fact, Lillias’s betrothed, fear that her own dreams would be instantly destroyed at gaining a sure knowledge of the fact.

  The Highwayman chuckled. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair from Faris’s cheek, causing goose bumps to ripple over her body. His touch, even for the glove covering his hand, was entirely invigorating!

  “Oh, I come by much information and in many ways, lass,” he said. “’Tis me duty to keep an eye on the good families in this blessed country, as well as the bad. And yar young miss and her betrothed young lord—they are both of fine character. Lord Kendrick is honorable. Though I will not tell ye how well acquainted with him I am or how well I am not. Still, he is one to help the good folk ’round here in a much more legal manner than I be able.”

  “Then…then you are not he?” Faris ventured. “Indeed, you are not Lord Gawain Kendrick hidden in masked form?” Faris’s heart was beating with such a brutal force it caused her voice to tremble.

  “I?” the Highwayman asked. “I? Lord Gawain Kendrick?” He laughed then. Laughed so wholeheartedly and with such volume that Faris felt the need to hush him, to quiet him for his own safety.

  “Sire! You must take care,” Faris said, glancing around into the darkness of the meadow. Bainbridge Graybeau had happened upon the Highwayman once already that day. Faris feared others may be wandering near the meadow at night, and she did not want the Highwayman to be found out.

  “Oh, lass! Ya do me heart sooch good,” he said. “I could no more endeavor to be the mighty Lord Gawain Kendrick than he could endeavor to be the thief I am.”

  Even though Faris experienced a slight relief, still she wondered at the truthfulness of his answer. “Would you tell me if you were Lord Kendrick?” she asked. “Or would you endeavor to distract me into thinking you are not he?”

  “Ya own a rare wisdom, fair Faris,” the Highwayman said, smiling at her. “And ye use it well to suspect me. St
ill, if it’s proof ya need, then I’ll offer proof to ye.”

  “What proof can you give me without revealing your true identity?” Faris asked. For it was true. How could the Highwayman of Tanglewood possibly prove himself to be someone other than Lord Gawain Kendrick without unmasking and risking discovery?

  “It is well you know Lord Kendrick,” he said.

  “As well as a chambermaid to his betrothed may know him,” Faris said.

  “Then it is well ya know his heart belongs to yar young miss. Is that so?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Faris said. Lord Kendrick adored Lillias Rockrimmon. All who witnessed his honorable treatment of her, all who saw the resplendent light of his countenance when she was in his company, knew it.

  “Then it is well ya likewise know I am a thief and a rogue,” he continued, “and Lord Kendrick, bein’ so besotted by yar young miss—would Lord Kendrick steal a kiss from a lassie in a meadow when his heart is so true to the young Miss Rockrimmon?”

  Faris smiled, for she was witty herself. “Yet Lord Kendrick and Lillias Rockrimmon were not betrothed summer last. When last you and I met, you would not be honor-bound to her as you are now—if you are Lord Kendrick.”

  “’Tis true enough,” he admitted. “But I would honor-bound be this night in the meadow were I Lord Kendrick in truth. And by this tell me—would the Highwayman of Tanglewood steal another kiss from the fair Faris this night if he truly be Lord Kendrick, betrothed of Lillias Rockrimmon?”

  Faris was certain every summer butterfly in the land was holed up in her stomach! Would he steal another kiss as her dreams had foretold? Surely it was his implication. She felt her arms and hands begin to tremble with delighted anticipation. “I would daresay Lord Kendrick is far too honorable for such behavior now he is betrothed—even if he were the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Faris answered.

  “In that ya have yar answer, ya do,” he chuckled. “For I will not leave this meadow this night without havin’ stolen me second kiss from ye, lass. That I promise. And though I be a rogue, me promise holds true. There is yar proof of it then—I am not Lord Gawain Kendrick masked and riding the Tanglewood at night.”

  Faris released a heavy breath, relieved. She was certain he was telling the truth—for if he meant to kiss her, if he did kiss her, it was well she knew Lord Kendrick would never be so disloyal to Lillias—even to protect the true identity of the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

  “So there it is. I am not Lord Kendrick,” he said. “I am only a thief. A thief of gold, of silver—”

  “And of kisses?” Faris ventured. She blushed at her own boldness but was pleased when he chuckled.

  “Aye,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps a thief of hearts, as well.”

  Faris glanced away—shy at his implication. Oh, it was far too true. The dashing Highwayman of Tanglewood had no way of knowing how completely he had already stolen her heart.

  “And yar bein’ shy with me now, Faris?” he asked, reaching out and lifting her chin as to make her look at him. “Here now,” he said, tugging at the fingers of his glove. Faris watched as he removed his gloves, stuffing them rather awkwardly into a pocket within his cape. “Will ya give me yar hand a moment, fair Faris of Tanglewood Meadow?” he asked.

  Faris felt as if a river of delight flowed through her being as she nodded and tentatively let him take her hand between his. His hands were warm, a bit calloused, and powerful, and she trembled at his touch.

  “I’ve the desire to know ya better, I have,” he told her as his thumb caressed the back of her hand. “I’ve had the desire in me far this entire year past—for it has been yar face I see in my dreams every sleepin’ moment since last we met here in the meadow.”

  Faris was breathless! Could he possibly be in earnest? Surely not! He was a rogue, after all, and rogues were never in earnest. Rogues were known for their flowery speech and wily ways.

  “You but tease me, sire,” she said. “For that cannot be. No man such as you can be captured in any regard—especially by a chambermaid in a meadow.”

  “Then there in that thinkin’ ya show yar true innocence, fair Faris. For though I am as cunnin’ as a fox and as intangible as the night, yet me heart is held in yar sweet hand,” he said. Raising her hand to his lips, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of it.

  “That—that cannot be,” Faris said, pulling her hand from his. Her body trembled with the blissful effect of his touch as well as with distrust of his rogue’s manner. He could not possibly have held her in his heart and mind the way she had held him in hers.

  “Why do ye doubt it?” he asked, reaching out and placing a warm palm against her cool cheek.

  “Because—because behind the mask, you are another,” she said. “Another who lives the day as someone other than the Tanglewood rogue—another who keeps a home, perhaps a family, a lover, a betrothed, or—”

  “I have no betrothed,” he said. “No hidden wife I disrespect by stealin’ kisses from ye here in the meadow. It would be foolish of me to ride as the Highwayman, to risk me life and limbs when a wee family or a sweet lass of a wife was waitin’ for me elsewhere.” He smiled as she smiled at him.

  Faris could not halt the sigh escaping her lungs at the knowledge he was not wed or even promised to another. For a moment, something pinched at her heart: if the Highwayman could have no betrothed or wife, then he could never belong to her either. Faris pushed the thought from her head, however. He was there—standing before her, touching her, and promising to steal a kiss. She would drink in the moment. She would not let doubt poison the beauty of the night and the joy at being in his company.

  “And now that ye know I am not bound to another,” he began, “now that ye know I am not kissin’ yar Miss Rockrimmon in the light of day and kissin’ ye in the purple of night—now will ya believe me when I tell ye ’tis you I’ve been seein’ in me dreams for this past entire of the year?”

  “I should not,” Faris said, her smile broadening as his thumb rested at the corner of her mouth. “For you are a rogue.”

  “Aye,” he chuckled. “A rogue I am. I am yar rogue, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle.”

  A soft breeze whispered through Faris’s hair, breathing of trust—trust in the rogue who stood before her, the rogue who fought for the weak and afflicted. “I have seen you in my dreams too,” she admitted in a whisper. “For with our meeting, it seems my life changed, and every other thing became more beautiful. For in stealing a kiss, you freed my soul.”

  He smiled and took her face between his strong, warm hands. “Will ya meet me again?” he asked. “Not by chance but by design, lass?”

  Faris was nearly overcome to fainting with the euphoric sensation of his hands cradling her face. She was breathless and overly warmed somehow—even for the cool of the evening breeze. Still, she knew no other dream at that moment than to meet the Highwayman again, and so she nodded. The Highwayman of Tanglewood smiled and drew her face near to his.

  “Tomorrow night—near the old ruin where the heather runs forever. Do ya know of where I speak?” he asked.

  “I do,” Faris assured him. She had been to the old ruins only twice before. They were the ruins of an old castle, and it was true the heather seemed to stretch forever there. “They are near to the old cemetery.”

  “Aye,” he said, smiling. “The old cemetery. There’s a legend there—a legend of lovers buried beneath two willow trees entwined. Have ya heard it?”

  Faris shook her head, distracted by his placing a lingering kiss on her forehead.

  “Perhaps I should relate it to ya one day,” he said.

  “Yes,” Faris managed to breathe. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her quickened breathing. His touch held some sort of bewitchment, an enchanting spell, and she desired nothing ever in the world but to revel in it forever.

  “Tomorrow night, then, lass,” he said as his hands slid from her face, coming to rest on her shoulders. “At twilight—when the purple shades of night meet the purple heathe
r. There I’ll meet ye—and perhaps steal yar heart away.”

  Faris gasped, trembled as he leaned forward, kissing her neck. His breath was warm and tickled her ear. She felt his strong hands move to her head, his fingers slipping into the softness of her hair. In the next moment, Faris was swept away to bliss by the sense of his mustache on her neck. He was toying with her—allowing his lips to hover a mere breath from her flesh.

  “A rogue I may be,” he began, “but me promise is sure, and I will have me kiss this night.”

  His lips gently pressed to hers. The kiss was soft, measured, yet it filled Faris’s bosom with such breathless rapture, she sensed her limbs going numb.

  “Still, a rogue I am, fair Faris,” he whispered as his lips lingered a breath from her own. “And no gentleman’s kiss ever satisfied any rogue.”

  Faris gasped as the Highwayman of Tanglewood gathered her into his arms and against the strength of his powerful body. Instantly his mouth captured hers, his arms binding her securely to him as he administered a kiss of such driven demand as to nearly render her unconscious. Faris heard herself sigh, felt her body surrender and weaken against his as he kissed her. Never had she known such euphoria! To be held by such a man, kissed by the same—it was magnificent! Yet, in the next moment, he ended their kiss all too abruptly, and she gasped for breath.

  The Highwayman released her, drawing away quickly and pulling his hood over his head. Faris watched, entirely bemused, as he mounted his steed. Her body still trembled from his touch—her lips still sensed his kiss.

  “I must away,” he said. His black steed was anxious. No doubt the animal was unfamiliar with any sort of lingering. “’Til twilight tomorrow, fair Faris,” he called. “Where the heather runs forever. I will meet ye there that our adventure together may continue!”