The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Then I am glad to hear it,” Faris said, also smiling. “Still, this is a terrible wound.” Faris was trembling with exceeding concern for her master’s well-being. She did not like to see him bleeding—to see his handsome features so marred. Though she fancied in her next thought that a scar to his forehead borne of fighting Kade Tremeshton only served to make him all the more fatally attractive.

  “A scratch on the head bleeds worse than a scratch elsewhere, ’tis all,” he told her. All of a sudden, he was quite unexpectedly enraged. “He infuriates me! Kade Tremeshton! He pushes me to such anger with his arrogance, greed, belligerence, and tales of conquests.” The wound at Lochlan’s head was still bleeding, and Faris snatched a piece of cloth from the mending basket and pressed it to his head. “His mother has had to send another girl away for her confinement, and yet calmly sat Kade this night bragging, as if the ruination of a young innocent were the best conquest in the world to be proud of.”

  Faris’s stomach churned with nausea at the thought of her narrow escape.

  “And your name was mentioned as well,” he added.

  “What do you mean, sire?” Faris asked, sickened with disgust and trepidation.

  “You’ve bested him in your own right, Faris, and he is furious because of it,” he explained. “Further is he incensed because you are here—in my father’s house. ‘Lay a finger on her before I do, Rockrimmon,’ he said, ‘and I’ll cut your heart out!’”

  Faris felt fearful tears well in her eyes, felt the hand which covered her mouth begin to tremble. Could it be Kade Tremeshton still held designs toward her? After such time had passed—after Lochlan and Lord Rockrimmon himself had championed her? Surely he had abandoned her by now! Yet she knew his prideful arrogance. No doubt Kade Tremeshton saw her as the fox slipping away during the hunt—which only served to cause determination to rise, waxing strong in the hunter.

  “I should have told him I’ve had you already,” Lochlan growled. “At that his fury would be directed toward me and not toward you.” As Faris struggled to retain tears of fear, she was simultaneously moved by Lochlan’s thoughts of chivalry on behalf of a simple chambermaid—misguided though they might be.

  “Surely, sire—surely he will think no more on me—a simple chambermaid,” Faris said.

  “You are a beautiful young woman—a lovely prize slipped through his fingers,” Lochlan said. “And Kade Tremeshton will not forget it. At least, not until someone else has…” Faris swallowed hard, began to tremble as Lochlan’s eyes narrowed. He studied her for a moment and then quickly reached out, taking hold her chin in one hand. Faris gasped a moment before Lochlan Rockrimmon’s mouth took hers—driven with such a ravenous kiss as to render her breathless. Hot and moist, his kiss drenched her with such astonishment—with such molten pleasure—she feared she would indeed swoon!

  “Lochlan!” Lady Rockrimmon scolded upon reentering the room to find her son accosting Faris. “Release that poor girl this moment! This moment, Lochlan!”

  The man did as his mother commanded, and Faris stumbled backward. Bumping into a chair, Faris sat down, her mind whirling, her body still warmed by the sensation of his masterful kiss. She wiped tears from her cheeks—tears of residual fear—not tears at having been set upon by Lochlan Rockrimmon.

  “What is the matter with you, Loch?” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed. “I am so sorry, Faris,” Lady Rockrimmon began, placing a warm palm to Faris’s blushing cheek. “I am sorry—he’s just not himself, I suppose.”

  Faris nodded, still trembling from Lochlan’s touch—from his powerful kiss.

  “Forgive me, Mother. And, Faris, I…please accept my apology,” he said to her as he collapsed into a nearby chair. “I am only angry—frustrated—so tired of Tremeshton soiling everything he touches.”

  “So you decided to soil Faris first?” Lady Rockrimmon asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from Faris’s forehead.

  “No. No. I just—I just…” he stammered. “If I tell him I have tasted her first, then his anger will transfer from her to me, Mother. He may abandon his vile intentions toward her.”

  “Or he might tell every man and woman in the country that you have become a like loathsome creature as he!” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed. “Such behavior, Lochlan! Such ill-mannered treatment of poor Faris. I brought her here to keep her from such things. And now—now you’ve heaped it upon her in what was to be her safe place!”

  “I am sorry. Truly,” he said, burying his face in his hands.

  Faris worried at the blood trickling from the wound at his forehead—the blood trickling over his hands—between his fingers.

  “I am simply so sickened by it all, Mother—all of the greedy arrogance accompanying Kade Tremeshton and those like him.”

  “Then you do what you have always done—debate—that you may unseat these men. Champion politically so Kade Tremeshton and those like him lose their power whether through force or their own foolishness. Leave the fighting and the accosting of young women to others. Let the Highwayman of Tanglewood bloody Kade up if you like, but you stay true to who you were born to be!”

  “Yes, Mother,” Lochlan mumbled half-heartedly. Releasing a heavy sigh, he turned to look at Faris. “I am…I am very sorry, Faris,” he said. “I beg of you, forgive me. It is not my standard behavior.”

  Faris’s heart was yet hammering with mad confusion. She was astonished, yet fearful and confused by one other emotion—pure elation!

  “It is nothing to worry over, sire,” she said. “I-I am most humbled and very grateful for your heroic ideals on my behalf—misguided though they may have been.”

  “Thank you, Faris,” Lochlan said.

  “Faris, dear,” Lady Rockrimmon began, “obviously you have been about your duties far too long today, and with this in addition—please retire for the night. I am more than able here.”

  “But, milady, he is quite wounded,” Faris began.

  “He is fine, Faris. Just a scratch. Leave the brute to me,” she said, slapping the top of her son’s head as penance for his behavior.

  “Yes, milady,” Faris said.

  On weakened knees, she rose from her chair and offered a quick curtsy to Lady Rockrimmon. “Milady,” she said. She turned then to Lochlan, who sat in his chair with the countenance of a defeated puppy.

  Yet as she moved past the young master of Loch Loland Castle, she was both astonished and oddly delighted when he said, “I know the wrong in it, Faris. Still, I am glad I endeavored to have you before Kade Tremeshton was able to—”

  His words were cut short as his mother slapped him on the head again.

  “Your lips are as sweet as sun-warmed berries.”

  Again Lady Rockrimmon slapped him on the head, and Faris returned the smile he bestowed upon her.

  “Thank you, sire,” she said. Quickly, she fled from the room, hastening to her own chamber.

  Once inside, she closed her chamber door. Leaning back against the door, she placed a hand over her bosom where her heart pounded, frantic. Tears filled her eyes, and she allowed them to escape into tiny rivulets over her cheeks.

  She placed her hand over her tender lips, still trembling with the blissful sensation of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s kiss. In truth, the kiss had been so fierce it had nearly been uncomfortable in its application—far different than the passionate kiss of the Highwayman, yet wholly passionate in its own right.

  Faris sobbed as frustration, self-scolding, and all manner of confusion overtook her. What manner of an appalling, disloyal, dishonest woman allowed such a kiss from her master when her heart already held another man close? Yet she had not allowed it; it had been forced. Had it not? What wickedness was overtaking her that she could experience such pleasure in Lochlan Rockrimmon’s kiss when her very soul belonged to the Highwayman?

  Perhaps it was the knowledge—the fear—of knowing the Highwayman was so wholly unobtainable. Perhaps, Faris mused, that for the sake of knowing deep in her heart that the Highwayman could never freel
y belong to her, perhaps her heart had been momentarily tempted by another. But another who could no more belong to her than the Highwayman? There was no sense in it.

  She should run—run to Bainbridge—beg him to tell her the truth. Was Bainbridge the Highwayman of Tanglewood? Oh, how she longed for him to confide in her. If she could wake, sleep, and breathe knowing her beloved Highwayman was a breath away—knowing he was there—in the stables at Loch Loland—perhaps it would soothe her confusion and fears.

  “Faris?”

  It was Sarah. Her quiet knock sounded on the door.

  “I-I’m not well, Sarah,” Faris said. “May we talk in the morning when I am feeling better?”

  “I heard you,” Sarah said. “I did not know you were still about. I heard you up and wanted to give you this.”

  “Sarah,” Faris said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Truly, I am ill. Please—”

  “A letter was delivered for you this evening at the back kitchen door, after supper, while you were riding with Graybeau,” Sarah whispered.

  Faris’s heart leapt! The Highwayman!

  Opening the door just a crack, Faris looked to Sarah.

  “Are you well, Faris? Should I fetch Mary?” Sarah asked.

  “No,” Faris said. “I-I only need rest. It is a pain in my head. It will pass.”

  Sarah smiled, still frowning with worry. “Well, here is your letter, Faris. I hope it is good news.”

  “Thank you, Sarah,” Faris said. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Faris.”

  Bolting her door to ensure she would not be interrupted, Faris inhaled deeply, attempting to calm the mad pounding of her heart.

  A letter! She studied the wax seal before opening it—a symbol, perhaps—family crest? She was not certain for the low light. Quickly she lit the candle at her bedside and broke the seal. Unfolding the parchment, she saw, for the first time, the elegant hand of the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

  “What words?” she whispered to herself. What words, indeed. What words would the Highwayman of Tanglewood pen in a secret letter? Allowing her fingertips to caress the first few words on the parchment, she read:

  Fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle…’tis I…the twilight-lover you own…

  The Fruit of Provocation

  The Highwayman’s first words found her tears abundant. He had written to her! He had dared to deliver, or have delivered, a letter to her! How her heart soared with the knowledge he had penned the message himself. What hope it gave her—what respite from her confusion of feelings over Lochlan Rockrimmon’s kiss! This was the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s own written word. He cared for her. He did! She knew he did, and it warmed her—soothed her fevered mind.

  She read the first words of the letter once more.

  Fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle…’tis I…the twilight-lover you own…

  Sighing with delight and an odd sort of relief, she continued to read.

  And I can no more delay thoughts of you lingering in my mind than I can delay the rising of the sun. I think only of a violet-curtained dwelling where last I met the evening beauty who holds captive my heart. You own my heart, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle. As surely as if you clasp it in your very hands, you own my heart. And in owning my heart…you own me. Believe all I tell you—you own me, and my greatest desire is to own you.

  I must hold you in my arms once more! I must taste the berry-flavor of your kiss! And yet, my determination to fight great injustice may well place you in the path of danger if I am not full cautious. Therefore, we must plan well: we must be secretive and ever wary. It is even I am anxious in writing to you and feel it necessary to plan our next rendezvous through understanding of the past, rather than in terms any eyes might interpret. Therefore, I propose this: four nights hence we shall rendezvous, yet let us meet where once we met before, where the color of sunset runs forever, where the silver of moonlight illuminates legend, where entwine the branches of true and everlasting love. You know well the place I mean, I am certain. We have met where the color of sunset runs forever. We have conversed where the silver of moonlight illuminates legend, and we have tasted sweet kisses beneath branches of true and everlasting love.

  Four nights hence, fair Faris. Meet me when the sun is nearly set. I will find you and administer to you kisses of such fiery passion as to render you breathless in my arms…helpless against my any purpose. Four nights hence, fair Faris. I will find you there.

  Your Servant, Your Secret, Your Lover.

  Faris sighed, brushing tears from her cheeks. All would be well. She would meet the Highwayman in four days’ time—in four days she would be in his arms again! The knowledge renewed her happiness; it settled her mind. After all, Lochlan Rockrimmon had meant nothing in kissing her. The young master of Loch Loland only desired to best Kade Tremeshton at another turn—and in truth, he had. Furthermore, Faris inwardly admitted to herself that if there were to be a nobleman to steal a kiss from her, far better it was the likes of the handsome Lochlan Rockrimmon than a devil the likes of Kade Tremeshton.

  Pressing the Highwayman’s letter to her lips, Faris kissed it softly. She would cherish the letter all the days of her life—hold it as her greatest treasure. Carefully, she tucked it into the small wooden box she kept, her box of cherished things. There she hid the letter from her lover—the letter from the Highwayman of Tanglewood—beneath the worn ribbons that had once belonged to her mother.

  Great fatigue overtook Faris suddenly. Wearily she nestled into her warm bed. Four days—a simple time to pass. She would see the Highwayman once more, and in seeing him, her fears would be soothed once more.

  Closing her eyes, Faris tried to envision the Highwayman astride his black steed—tried to imagine him riding through the purple heather near the ruins of Castle Alexendria. She tried to imagine him reining in at Loch Loland Castle’s stables, stripping himself of his black attire to don the clothing he wore by day—the clothing of Lord Rockrimmon’s master stableman, Bainbridge Graybeau. She thought of Lillias’s desire that Lord Gawain Kendrick be, in secret, the Highwayman of Tanglewood. She thought of Lochlan Rockrimmon then—wondered if Lady Rockrimmon had managed to efficiently tend to the wound at his forehead. Her next thought was of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s rakish kiss. She inwardly scolded herself when the thought of his kiss brought a tingle to her lips and caused goose bumps to ripple over her flesh. She wondered if Lochlan truly planned to wed Tannis Stringham. The thought disturbed her somehow, and she returned her musings to the Highwayman of Tanglewood. His letter was tucked safely away, and the knowledge soothed Faris as she drifted into slumbering.

  ❦

  “He’s only being polite,” Sarah said. “That’s the truth of it.”

  “He’s planning to ask for her hand, I tell you,” Mary insisted.

  Faris tried to ignore the conversation between Mary and Sarah, tried to concentrate on finishing her own supper. Yet the speculation as to the reason for Lady Stringham and her daughter’s impending visit was running fierce and free at Loch Loland Castle. Most of those who labored therein supposed their young master Lochlan was planning to propose marriage to Tannis Stringham, while the others supposed he was only being polite—extending a coerced invitation.

  Whatever the reason—and Faris preferred to believe the second—she felt unsettled, anxious for her young master’s happiness. Still, Faris had her own concerns. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall—sighed at the slow pace of the pendulum. Four days and three nights until dusk would find her out in search of her lover. Yet after four days and three nights, she would know reassurance as to the affections and adoration of the Highwayman.

  How did lovers endure being parted? She often wondered at it. Since meeting the Highwayman one year previous—after his stealing a kiss from her in the meadow—since that night Faris had not known serenity. Since that night, although she had owned a joy beyond measure, she had not a moment of feeling free from care.

  Furthermore, it seemed to her no
w that her moments of peace had lessened all the more since Lochlan Rockrimmon had returned to his ancestral home. The talk of his possible marriage to Tannis Stringham caused everyone to feel unsettled.

  “Master Lochlan would never marry with the likes of Tannis Stringham. Of that I am certain,” Sarah said. “Although, she is very beautiful,” she added, a scowl puckering her brow.

  “Beautiful like a perfumed poison,” Mary mumbled.

  “What do you think, Faris?” Sarah asked.

  Faris shrugged her shoulders and answered, “I-I am not as well acquainted with Master Lochlan as are you.” She felt the heat rising to her cheeks—for although she did not know the fact of it, she suspected Lochlan Rockrimmon had never stolen a kiss from Sarah. The thought caused Faris to realize she was indeed better acquainted with Lochlan Rockrimmon than was Sarah. “And—and I have no acquaintance with this Tannis Stringham.”

  “Yet I hear you may know Master Lochlan far better than you have led us all to believe,” Sarah said, smiling. Her eyes twinkled with friendship and mischief—twinkled with a secret cached.

  “What?” Faris exclaimed, feeling flushed and uncomfortable. Had Sarah witnessed the event of the night before? Had Sarah seen Lochlan Rockrimmon kiss her?

  “Willeen tells us she was walking by Master Lochlan’s chambers only yesterday morning when she saw him bolt his chamber door—bolt you in with him,” Sarah said. She arched one eyebrow, smiling at Faris.

  “He—he is a terrible tease. Certainly, you know him well enough to know it is true,” Faris said. Still, she felt overly warm and uneasy. She knew well the dislike that befell a favored servant. Further, she did not like the manner in which her stomach fluttered at the memory.