The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Yes,” Faris said. “He…Master Lochlan is with Lady Rockrimmon.”

  Graybeau chuckled, and Faris fancied the sound of it warmed her. “Oh, milady must be a whirlwind of delight. She has missed him painfully.”

  Faris felt her eyes narrow as she studied Bainbridge Graybeau. Yes, he seemed to be as tall as the Highwayman. He was a good horseman—there could be no doubt of that, else Lord Rockrimmon would not hold Graybeau in such high regard. Again, Faris wondered at Graybeau’s being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Yet, if it were so, would he not give some sign to her? Some signal he was the man she had met on three occasions—the man she had kissed on three occasions?

  “Do you ride, Miss Faris?” he asked then.

  “R-ride?” Faris stammered. “Me?”

  “Yes,” Graybeau said. “It would not be difficult for you to learn, and if you are to learn, then I am the rider to teach you.”

  “But—but I have no mount,” she stammered. It was odd he should offer to teach a chambermaid to ride.

  “Aye, but I have,” he said.

  Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. It was there—she was certain of it—just the faintest hint of accent.

  “I have my own mount and would gladly tutor you in riding. All ladies should know how.”

  Was he setting bait for her? Was Graybeau indeed the Highwayman of Tanglewood and attempting to draw her to him before their planned rendezvous six nights hence?

  “I…I believe I would enjoy learning to ride,” Faris said.

  “Good,” Graybeau said. “If you would meet me at the stables this evening after you have supped, then we can begin.”

  “Very well,” Faris said.

  Graybeau smiled, and Faris was suddenly breathless. In that moment, she had become conscious of something quite astonishing concerning Bainbridge Graybeau’s appearance. “Yet might I inquire something of you, Mr. Graybeau?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said, the dark of his eyes fixed upon her own.

  “When did you rid yourself of your whiskers?” she asked. It was true! It was only in those moments, when her suspicion was at its ripest, that Faris noticed Bainbridge Graybeau had shaven his mustache and goatee. Yes! Before that very moment, Faris had failed to realize Graybeau had always worn a mustache and goatee—and in the same manner as the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

  “Just this morning, Miss Faris,” he said, his smile broadening. He ran a large, callused hand over his chin. “Yet I will admit, I feel a might exposed somehow without it.”

  Faris felt her own eyebrows arch with doubt. How could such a man—a man who brazenly walked the grounds at Loch Loland Castle with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging open—feel exposed in ridding himself of a mustache and goatee? Furthermore, it came to her then—the memory of the Highwayman favoring his left leg the night before. As Graybeau’s hand rested on his left thigh, as he seemed to rub the spot as if it were sore, she remembered—the Highwayman had done the same!

  “And your injury?” Faris asked. “You said yesterday you were thrown?”

  “Aye,” Graybeau said, still smiling. “But I am much beyond any discomfort today. Thank you.”

  Faris smiled. Oh, it could not possibly be so! Bainbridge Graybeau was no more the Highwayman of Tanglewood than Old Joseph was.

  “This evening then?” Graybeau asked.

  “Yes,” Faris said. “I will meet you at the stables after the evening meal.”

  “I look forward to it,” Graybeau said. “Good afternoon, Miss Faris.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. She watched him go—watched him walk away, favoring his left leg as he led Jovan.

  It could not be he! Bainbridge Graybeau was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. And yet the thought intrigued her. Graybeau was a handsome man. Something within her thrilled at the thought it might indeed be Bainbridge Graybeau she had met and kissed in the meadow one year earlier. Something in her thrilled at the thought it may have been Bainbridge Graybeau who told her the story of the Rockrimmon ancestors who slept beneath the entwined willows.

  Quickly, Faris turned on her heel and headed toward the house. There was much to do before her rendezvous with Graybeau that evening. She must mend Lochlan Rockrimmon’s draperies for the first of it. Still she could not believe he had returned to his chambers for the first time in two years to find her dangling from his draperies! Even at that moment, she felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks. How thankful she was not to have been sent away.

  “Once I a weary, bonnie lass was set upon by thieves,” Faris began to sing. She smiled, thinking of her first walk through the midnight meadow—of her first meeting with the Highwayman—of being set upon by the rogue Highwayman of Tanglewood. She thought of his kiss on that night—and on the two nights so recent. Splendor! Pure wonderment! In those moments, Faris could not believe the good fortune of her heart! The Highwayman of Tanglewood? What resplendent joy rinsed over her at the thought of him!

  As she hurried to return to her duties within Loch Loland, she began her song once more—this time mixing up the words to please her own thoughts.

  “Once I a weary, bonnie lass was set upon by he,” she began,

  “He smiled and asked oh if he dared to steal a thing from me.

  I told him that I never would attempt to tell him no,

  And he then kissed me blissfully in Tanglewood’s Meadow.”

  Faris giggled as she entered Loch Loland through the servants’ entrance. She was pleased with her clever writing of lyrics. She was no longer afraid of losing her position—Lady Rockrimmon had simply scolded her son for endeavoring to tease his chambermaid. She was no longer suspicious that Lord Gawain Kendrick might be the true masquerader—he was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood, she was certain. And what disappointment could there possibly be if Bainbridge Graybeau were the Highwayman? Handsome, strong, and with quite the chiseled form, Faris could be quite happy knowing Graybeau rode out at midnight to best the likes of Kade Tremeshton. In addition, the Rockrimmon family was complete! Lochlan Rockrimmon had returned, Lillias would be married, and Lord and Lady Rockrimmon’s joy would be complete! Furthermore, the day was fast waning. Faris scolded herself for wishing the days to wane more quickly. Yet what woman would not, if a meeting with the Highwayman of Tanglewood were at the end of five days waned?

  Faris giggled to herself, pure in her delight as she hurried up the staircase toward Lochlan Rockrimmon’s room. She would mend his draperies! Further, as she had done when she had endeavored to dust them, she would sing to herself for company.

  And so she began anew,

  “Once I a weary, bonnie lass was set upon by he.

  He smiled and asked oh if he dared to steal a thing from me.

  I told him that I never would attempt to tell him no,

  And he then kissed me blissfully in Tanglewood’s Meadow.”

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood smiled as he stepped from his concealment in the lush east gardens of Loch Loland Castle. He had been witness to Lillias Rockrimmon’s tryst with her lover Lord Kendrick, and he had been witness to Faris’s arrival in the gardens to summon the Rockrimmon daughter to her mother. Further, with his own ears, he had heard Faris’s song. He knew the song well—a favorite from his childhood. Moreover, he had heard Faris’s changing of the lyric, and it encouraged him. Perhaps she did care for him. Perhaps it was not just the adventure of his having come upon her in the meadow one year previous.

  “Fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle,” he mumbled. “’Tis rapt you have me with yar charmin’ ways, ye do.” Slipping through a large break in the otherwise impenetrable stone wall of Loch Loland’s east gardens, the Highwayman of Tanglewood chuckled to himself as he began to sing,

  “Once she a weary, bonnie lass was set upon by me.

  I smiled and asked her if I dared to steal a thing from she.

  She told me that she never would attempt to tell me no,

  And we then kissed most blissfully in Tanglewood’s Me
adow.”

  A Question of Saxton

  “Graybeau tells me he is to teach you to ride,” Old Joseph said.

  “Yes,” Faris said, retuning the old man’s smile. “He seems to think I should learn to ride well—though only providence knows why I should ever need to know how.”

  “It’s a good thing, learning to ride well,” Mary added with one strong nod. “And if you’re going to learn, Faris, then Bainbridge Graybeau is the one to teach you.”

  “I think Mr. Graybeau is nearly as handsome as Master Lochlan himself,” Sarah sighed.

  “Fffp!” Mary breathed. “Always going on about what man is handsome and what man is not. There’s more to living than a handsome face, miss.”

  Sarah ignored Mary, however. She smiled at Faris and asked, “Do you think Graybeau is taken with you, Faris?”

  Faris felt blushed warmth rising to her cheeks. Yet shaking her head, she answered, “Oh, indeed, not.”

  “Then why teach you to ride?” Sarah asked. There was no envy or malice in her voice or upon her countenance—simply curiosity. “Why not teach any other chambermaid to ride? Bethany, Willeen, or even me?” Sarah smiled. “No…no, I think Mr. Bainbridge Graybeau may be taken with you.”

  Faris tried to force the red upon her cheeks to cool. Yet in her own heart, she’d wondered the same all day. Why had Graybeau offered to teach her to ride? There could be only one answer: Bainbridge Graybeau was the Highwayman of Tanglewood!

  Certainly, Bainbridge Graybeau had always been polite toward Faris. He was polite toward everyone! Yet to suddenly offer to teach her to ride—after a year’s long acquaintance with no seeming interest in her before—it was odd. Further, there was the matter of his limp—his favoring his left leg in the same manner as the Highwayman. Further still was the matter of his accent in speech. Although hard to discern, Faris did not doubt he could call up the full brogue the like of the Highwayman if the desire so struck him.

  Therefore, after having pondered all the day long on the matter, Faris was quite suspicious that Graybeau’s sudden interest in teaching her to ride was because he may well be the Highwayman of Tanglewood. It quite enchanted her to think her Highwayman could not wait for their planned rendezvous—that Graybeau had found a way to meet with her beforehand.

  “I’m certain Mr. Graybeau would be happy to teach you to ride as well, Sarah,” Faris said, forcing her thoughts to her companions. Oh, it was a half-hearted suggestion—for if Graybeau was the Highwayman of Tanglewood, Faris had no desire that he should teach Sarah anything!

  “That may be,” Sarah said. “Yet I would have to ask to be taught. He would make no offer the same to me, I am sure.”

  “For pity’s sake!” Faris exclaimed. “It is only an offer of learning to ride.”

  “And it’s a good thing, learning to ride well,” Mary said once more.

  “That it is,” Old Joseph said.

  “Faris?”

  It was Lillias’s voice.

  Faris glanced behind her to see Lillias standing just inside the kitchen. What a look of mischief was about her! Her face was a lovely pink, bright with excitement.

  “Faris, may I have a moment?” Lillias asked.

  “Of course, miss,” Faris said. Smiling at the others seated at the kitchen table, Faris pushed her chair back as she stood. “Thank you for super, Mary. It was delicious—as always.”

  Mary smiled, pleased with the compliment.

  Faris giggled when Lillias took her hand and pulled her from the kitchen and into the hallway leading to the grand dining hall.

  “What is it?” Faris asked in a whisper. “You are fairly blooming with excitement. Has Lord Kendrick gifted another wonderful treasure?”

  “No,” Lillias said, eyes illuminated with delight. “I’ve news of our friend.”

  “The Highwayman?” Faris whispered.

  “Indeed, yes!” Lillias whispered.

  When she had been sent to summon Lillias earlier in the day, Faris had been certain Lillias held news of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Her arms spread over in goose bumps with wondrous anticipation. Five days stretched out endlessly before her—five days more until she would meet the Highwayman at the old cottage near the Tanglewood Forest. That is, unless her suspicions were founded and Bainbridge Graybeau was, in fact, the Highwayman of Tanglewood—in which case, she was mere moments from meeting with him again! Still, Faris was certain any news of the Highwayman provided by Lillias would be wondrous.

  “Then you must tell me, Lillias,” Faris whispered. “Oh, do tell me, at once!”

  “It seems there is some talk,” Lillias whispered.

  “Talk?” Faris asked.

  “Yes. Among the townspeople in Saxton,” Lillias said. “It is said the Highwayman of Tanglewood will ride to Saxton to best Lord Brookings.”

  “Lord Brookings?” Faris asked. “It is whispered that he—”

  “Murdered his wife!” Lillias interrupted. “And it is true! I believe he did murder her. The circumstances were so terrible and so very odd and—”

  “You know how Mother feels about rumor and hearsay, Lilly.”

  Faris gasped as Lochlan Rockrimmon stepped from the shadows. The deep green of his eyes flashed in the low lighting, his face and form as perfect as any hero of legend.

  “It is not hearsay, Lochlan,” Lillias said. She seemed completely unaffected by her brother’s sudden appearance. “He murdered his wife, and you well know it.”

  “Still, it unnerves Mother—the story of Lady Brookings’s untimely demise,” he said, his eyes lingering on Faris. “So you best not let Mother hear you speaking of it.”

  “Why then, dearest brother, do you think Faris and I are lingering here—in privacy—rather than right under Mother’s nose?” Lillias asked.

  Faris was suddenly panic-stricken! Caught gossiping with the young miss of the household? Certainly she would be blamed for attempting to corrupt Lillias with such trivial tittle-tattle.

  “And I see you have my drapery bauble in tow,” Lochlan said.

  Faris felt herself breathless, utterly trembling in his handsome presence—under his mesmerizing gaze.

  “Good evening, Faris,” he said.

  Faris felt her mouth open—attempted to return the greeting. Yet her voice was lost as well as her wits, and all she could utter was, “Yes, sire.”

  “I see Lilly is corrupting you with her wicked gossiping,” he said. He reached out, playfully tweaking his sister’s nose.

  “I am not corrupting Faris,” Lillias said. “We were only speaking of the Highwayman.”

  Lochlan Rockrimmon’s eyebrows arched, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Ah,” he said, his gaze lingering on Faris. “Then am I to understand that you are among the giddy girls swooning over the tales of our local rogue?”

  Faris was grateful when Lillias spoke next, saving Faris from having to answer.

  “We were speaking of the gossip in Saxton,” Lillias said, lowering her voice once more.

  “What gossip is that?” Lochlan Rockrimmon asked.

  “They are saying the Highwayman of Tanglewood will ride out to best Lord Brookings,” Lillias answered.

  “To best Brookings?” Lochlan asked.

  “Yes!” Lillias exclaimed.

  Faris bit her lip, attempting in vain to conceal her amusement. The dashing, handsome heir to Loch Loland Castle appeared quite thoroughly intrigued—as taken by Lillias’s news of adventure as Faris had been.

  “He’s a devil, that one,” Lochlan said, lowering his voice.

  “I think he did murder is wife,” Lillias said, “no matter what the magistrate in Saxton says.”

  “Indeed he murdered her,” Lochlan agreed. “The magistrate in Saxton is as corrupt as Brookings himself. No doubt Brookings paid the traitor to cover it for him.”

  Faris felt goose bumps erupt over her arms as Lochlan Rockrimmon placed one strong hand on his sister’s shoulder and the other on Faris’s.

  Bending tow
ard them, he said, “And besides…if a woman were going to kill herself…I very much doubt she would slit her own throat from ear to ear with her husband’s dagger.”

  Faris and Lillias simultaneously gasped in horror at the tale. Lochlan straightened to his full height, nodding his assurance of the truthfulness of his information.

  “Oh, surely you are simply trying to astonish us, Lochlan,” Lillias said. “You’ll give us nightmares with such tales!”

  “I assure I am telling the truth,” Lochlan said. “Father and I were witness to the body when it was delivered to the undertaker.”

  “What?” Faris gasped.

  “It is true,” Lochlan Rockrimmon said. His eyes fixed upon her caused an odd delighted sensation to travel down Faris’s spine. “Father and I were in Saxton two years past when Lady Brookings died. It was rumored Lady Brookings had argued with her husband about his raising their tenants’ taxes. Nearly all the servants at the Brookings’s manor house heard the argument. The next morning, Lady Brookings was found dead in her chambers, her throat slit ear to ear, her husband’s jeweled dagger in her hand.”

  “But why ever would you and Father be witness at the undertaker’s?” Lillias asked.

  “A constable suspected Lady Brookings did not slit her own throat,” Lochlan explained. “He asked us to witness the body and sign our own statements as to its condition.”

  Faris looked from Lillias to Lochlan and back, her smile broadening. What a pair the two siblings must have made as infants and children. It was pure plain as sunshine they each had a flare for adventure and dramatics.