The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “And you know Willeen well enough to think better than to believe everything she says, Sarah,” Mary added.

  “Still, I think Master Lochlan favors his chambermaid,” Sarah said. She giggled and patted the back of Faris’s hand in the manner of friendship. “I’m only teasing you as well, Faris. I am most certain Maser Lochlan had good reason for—”

  “Mary!” All three women startled, gasping as Lochlan entered the kitchen fairly shouting Mary’s name. “Mary! I need pie,” he growled.

  Faris winced at the sight of the wound on his forehead. Indeed, Lady Rockrimmon had done a fair job of sewing, but it still stood bruised and painful in appearance.

  “Of course, sire,” Mary said, rising from her chair and going to the counter to retrieve a pie.

  “A plate is not necessary, Mary,” Lochlan said, sitting down hard in a chair at the table next to Faris. “Just bring me a pie and some sort of utensil to devour it with.”

  Faris sat perfectly still, uncertain as to whether or not to flee. Sarah seemed paralyzed with uncertainty as well, for she did not move even a breath.

  “Have you had a taxing day then, Master Lochlan?” Mary said, placing a pie and fork on the table before him.

  “I have,” he grumbled. “Lord Gettings has taken Robert Gorham’s crop! Taken his crop as punishment for unpaid tenant taxes—taxes that are criminal, in point!”

  “No!” Mary gasped. “Robert is such a kind and good man. A hard worker too.”

  Lochlan shook his head and plunged the fork into the middle of the pie. “That he is. And not deserving of such treatment or loss. I have offered him a cottage near Loch Loland, and he has accepted. Still, he is too proud to accept any else. I fear we will be bringing many a food basket to the Gorham tenant this winter.”

  “If you will excuse me then, sire,” Sarah said, finding her voice at last.

  “Of course,” Lochlan mumbled, waving his fork in her direction in a gesture she was free to leave. “Mary, another fork if you would—Faris is wanting to share my pie.”

  “Oh, no, no, no, sire,” Faris began. “I am not in the least hungry.”

  “Hunger has nothing whatsoever to do with it, girl,” he grumbled. “Another fork, if you would, Mary.”

  “Of course, Master Lochlan,” Mary said, winking at Faris. Her amusement was thinly masked. No doubt she had witnessed the young master in such a state of upheaval before. No doubt it was the reason Mary seemed to have a perpetual supply of fresh pies since his return. “And then, if you don’t mind, sire, I’ll be about planning tomorrow’s meals.”

  “Yes, yes, Mary. Whatever you need to do,” Lochlan said, his mouth full of pie.

  Faris shook her head as Mary handed her a fork.

  “Enjoy the pie, Faris. It’s berry—and my best,” Mary said, as she left the room, leaving Faris with their irate master and an assaulted berry pie.

  “Just here, Faris,” Lochlan said, pointing to one side of the pie. “Pie always makes one feel better.”

  “But, sire…I-I feel fine,” she stammered.

  “Nonsense, girl!” he exclaimed. “Injustice is plaguing the countryside! And I think pie may be the only answer. Have a bite.”

  Tentatively, Faris did as she was told. The pie was delicious and did indeed give her a momentary lift.

  “Were that I were that rogue Highwayman of Tanglewood and could plunge my knife into Lord Gettings’s greedy breast,” he mumbled, stuffing another large bite of pie into his mouth.

  “Oh, but the Highwayman would not murder Lord Gettings.” The utterance was out of her mouth almost before Faris realized it.

  Instantly, Lochlan Rockrimmon paused in devouring the pastry before him. His brow puckered in a curious frown. “You speak as if you are acquainted with the Highwayman himself—not just the tales of his activities,” he said.

  “I-I simply hear the same stories you do, sire. And the Highwayman of Tanglewood has never killed anyone. Robbed those deserving of being robbed, humiliated those in need of humbling, perhaps—but never has he killed. Has he?” Quickly, Faris took another bite of pie, meeting his suspicious stare in an attempt to appear innocent.

  Still, she was certain Lochlan was disbelieving of her, for he paused in his attack on the pie, sat back in his chair, and studied her for a long moment.

  “Who holds your heart captive, Faris?” he asked.

  His question was leading, and Faris knew she must be wary. “What do you mean to ask me, sire?” she stammered.

  “Those who work in this house, they discuss matters with me, and it seems there is ever a question as to who interests you.” He lowered his voice and continued, “Though it is said Bainbridge Graybeau has captured your attention in some fashion.”

  Faris was silent—simply raised another fork-full of pie to her mouth as she looked at him.

  “Of recent you came upon me of an evening just outside this kitchen’s door. I was eating pie, and you had the look of a woman ravished. Secretive you were about it, unsettled, anxious I should not press you further about your activities. I ask you now—are you and Bainbridge enjoying one another’s company often in the evening?”

  Faris swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a moment. She was in peril! The Highwayman was in peril! If Lochlan Rockrimmon were to guess it was truly the Highwayman of Tanglewood she had been meeting in secret—oh surely, it would mean danger and ruination for her lover. Yet his thoughts, his assumptions seemed to be that Faris was Bainbridge Graybeau’s lover. What different danger did this then pose to her beloved? Even if Lochlan was accepting, it could mean ruin—for if Bainbridge Graybeau were the Highwayman of Tanglewood as Faris oft suspected, then still she could lead him to danger.

  “I will not send you away or some such nonsense if you have chosen to place your affections in Graybeau’s direction, Faris,” Lochlan said. “There is no other man more deserving of a fine young woman.”

  Faris made her decision in an instant. Better to have the powerful Lochlan Rockrimmon believing Bainbridge Graybeau owned her heart than to have him suspect the Highwayman of Tanglewood did—even if it were true they were one in the same.

  “Are you in earnest, sire?” Faris asked. She must deter his thoughts from the Highwayman. “Dependant upon my answer—are you in earnest? May I remain at Loch Loland Castle?”

  “No wonder my teasing manner has no effect on you!” he laughed then. “Compared with Bainbridge Graybeau, I must seem as dull as a pudding spoon!”

  “Please, sire,” Faris begged in a whisper, reaching out and placing her hand over one of his resting on the table. “Please…he does not know that I favor him.”

  “But he favors you in the least of it, else he would not be spending the time in teaching you to ride,” Lochlan said. His dazzling smile dazed Faris for a moment. “Bainbridge Graybeau labors with more care and effort than any man I have ever known. If he is spending his precious time in spare with you, then he has a deeper purpose at heart. And you have no need to fear, Faris,” Lochlan said, placing a strong hand over hers, which yet lay on his own. “I would ever recommend Bainbridge Graybeau to any woman. Would that I were as hardy and as strong as he. I daresay that were our places the reverse, Bainbridge Graybeau would never have taken the beating I did at Kade Tremeshton’s hand. And the Highwayman certainly proves himself Tremeshton’s superior. You must think me a weakling fool in standing next to one such as Graybeau and our local rogue.”

  Faris smiled. He seemed to have swallowed her false implication of being attached to Graybeau. “I think you as brave and as valiant as ever Bainbridge Graybeau is. For that matter, as ever the Highwayman of Tanglewood is,” she said. It was not entirely true, a bit too flattering, but she did admire him. “You are at least as strong and as capable as Bainbridge. Further, your wealth and position enable you to help the same people the Highwayman does—simply through different venues.”

  Lochlan smiled and said, “Ah, but a woman loves a man more who can best his enemy with his fists or a sw
ord. A man who bests another with his wit, wisdom, tongue, and money—oh, he is not the one for whom the women swoon.”

  Faris frowned, somewhat puzzled. Had not Lochlan Rockrimmon beaten Kade Tremeshton in fisticuffs as well as cards? And had he not easily disarmed him the day he had assaulted Faris in the grand entryway of Loch Loland? Surely he did not think these tasks were futile or simple.

  “All women swoon in your presence, sire,” Faris told him in an effort to encourage his self-esteem.

  “You are a flatterer of the worst sort, Faris,” he chuckled, plunging his fork into the pie once more. This time when he lifted it, however, he held it out toward her.

  Faris paused. Could he possibly be offering his fork to her? To eat from the same fork as one’s master—it simply wasn’t done.

  “Here,” he urged. “The middle is still warm.” Slowly Faris opened her mouth, accepting the bite of warm pie. He smiled as he withdrew the fork, and her eyes widened when he promptly turned the fork over, licking it with his tongue. The man was far too skilled in the art of winning a woman’s admiration and desire. Faris could well imagine how impossible it would be for a woman to resist him were he to decisively put his mind to truly seducing her.

  “Will you tell Graybeau of my admiration for him?” Lochlan asked. “Will you convey my gratitude to him when next you attend a riding lesson?”

  “I will tell him,” Faris said.

  “Thank you,” he said, his emerald eyes flashing. “And do not worry—your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Faris said. “If you will excuse me, sire—I truly should be about my duties.”

  Lochlan nodded as he continued to devour the pie before him. “Yes, yes. I understand.” He smiled at her and added, “All the more pie for me then, eh?”

  Faris giggled. “Yes, sire.”

  Faris’s smile did not retreat from her countenance once she was gone from Lochlan’s presence. Rather it lingered, along with the thought of his boyish manner in devouring an entire pie when being so vexed. Even as uneasiness whispered to her heart—uneasiness at having allowed Lochlan Rockrimmon to believe her heart was captured by the dashing Bainbridge Graybeau—even then her smile lingered at the thought of her young master and his passion for pastry.

  ❦

  His kiss was that fashioned of passion administered by perfect, masculine means. His powerful arms held her tightly against the strength of his warm body. In her dreams, Faris could not draw breath, for his kiss was so entirely unassailable as to nearly suffocate her. But what a joyous suffocation it was! Her mouth watered, unable to quench its thirst for him, unable to satisfy the want of his kiss.

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood owned her—mind, heart, body, and soul he owned her. The warm moisture of his mouth was ambrosia to her senses, the sheer power of him magnificent!

  All of a sudden, however, he began to transform. His mustache and goatee vanished. Still, she kissed him, reveled in the feel of his mouth on her throat, of his hands at her waist. She placed her hands at the back of his neck, let her fingers travel through his hair until she felt the knot of his mask at the back of his head.

  “Go on, lass,” the Highwayman whispered. “Strip me of the mask that hides me from ye. Look upon me with fresh eyes, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle,” he coaxed, his warm lips hovering a breath from her own.

  Apprehension overwhelmed her. She began to tremble even as she grasped the knot of the mask in one hand.

  “Who do ya wish to find beneath me mask, fair Faris?” the Highwayman asked. “Who do ya wish was holdin’ ya now? Who do ya wish yar lover to be? Stablemaster, farmer, or lord of the manor?” Faris shook her head, began trembling. Inhaling a long, deep breath, she stripped the mask from the Highwayman’s head.

  Her breathing stopped, and her heart nearly stopped as well, as she beheld the unmasked face of the Highwayman of Tanglewood to be…

  “No!” she cried out, sitting up in her bed. Her face was awash with perspiration, her heart hammering, uncomfortably pent up in her chest. “No!” she repeated in a whisper.

  She threw her bedding aside and fairly leapt from her bed and to her washbasin. Splashing cold water on her face, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to recall the moment before her dream had ended. Nearly her dreams had revealed her deepest desire to her—the true identity of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Yet something had intruded, halted her mind from revealing her heart’s deepest desire to her. Something in her feared the knowledge; something in her protected her from the truth. But why?

  “What is the matter with me?” she cried in a whisper.

  “Faris! Faris!” came Sarah’s voice as she knocked the bedchamber door.

  Shaking her head to dispel her frustration and disappointment, Faris opened the door and Sarah stepped in.

  “Faris! Are you well? You have overslept, and the hour is late of morning. Master Lochlan has requested you attend him at once! Lady Stringham and her daughter are to arrive this very afternoon, and no doubt he has special instructions for you. You must ready yourself quickly, for he wants to see you in the east library at once,” the girl babbled.

  “This afternoon?” Faris asked. “Were we not to have near a week before—”

  “Milady is very upset and put off,” Sarah interrupted. “She received word only an hour ago of Lady Stringham’s intended arrival. A great lacking of decorum, if you ask me. Yet we none of us have ever favored her. Therefore, we expect nothing less than the least of her.”

  Faris’s heart was still racing from her dream. “I cannot possibly appear before him so quickly!” she told Sarah. “I-I have only just awakened, and I—”

  “You most certainly can possibly!” Sarah exclaimed. “Quickly! I will help you.”

  Faris closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself, trying to order her thoughts.

  “Quickly, Faris!” Sarah said. “Master Lochlan is in a terrible temper! Surely none of us know why—yet he is, and that is that.”

  “Very well,” Faris said, grateful for Sarah’s help.

  She was trembling yet. The anxiety washing over her because of the dream was near to overwhelming. Further, the Highwayman’s words, the question he had posed in her dream, kept ringing in her ears.

  Who do ya wish to find beneath me mask, fair Faris? he had asked of her. Who do ya wish was holdin’ ya now? Who do ya wish yar lover to be? Stablemaster, farmer, or lord of the manor?

  Who did she wish him to be? Her heart and mind were fevered with the question. Yet chances were he was no one of acquaintance to her. Chances were he was not Bainbridge Graybeau, Lord Gawain Kendrick, or any other man she owned a knowledge of. Still, something in her soul whispered she did know him—her very blood ran hot with affirmation.

  “Quick as a mouse, Faris!” Sarah said. “Master Lochlan is waiting.”

  ❦

  “Lady Stringham and her daughter are to arrive this afternoon, Faris,” Lochlan Rockrimmon said as Faris entered the library. He did not look up, only continued to furiously write on a piece of parchment on the desk near the window in his father’s study. Faris’s heart was pounding so brutally she could hear it in her own ears. She wondered—did it hammer so wildly due to fear of being found oversleeping or from the exhilaration of being in Lochlan Rockrimmon’s presence?

  “As I understand, sire,” Faris said, hoping her face was bright and void of signs of only just awakening.

  “My mother has told you that you will be assisting them with their needs while they are here, has she not?” he asked, still writing.

  “Yes, sire,” Faris admitted. She did not wish to assist them for some reason. Yet she would, for Lady Rockrimmon had asked her to do so.

  “I am loath to give you up from my chamber, but you are Mother’s favorite, and our guests should be the benefactresses of such.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Faris said. Suddenly, she was even more unsettled—abhorrent to think of serving the young woman who may soon fare as Lochlan�
��s choice of a bride.

  “There is more,” Lochlan said, finally looking up at her. His green eyes seemed to sear her flesh, for she felt overly warm.

  Faris’s heart began to thump with fear. Had he known of her slothfulness in oversleeping? Had he spoken with Bainbridge and discovered her deception of the night before?

  “My father is away this very day—business in a neighboring township,” he explained. “This leaves his local business to me and—and I’m afraid I am not eager about what must transpire here today.”

  “Sire?” Faris said, uncertain as to what Lochlan Rockrimmon’s business could possibly have to do with her.

  “Father has purchased more land from Tremeshton,” he said.

  Faris’s innards instantly began to churn.

  “He and I will be meeting to sign papers of transference. I have promised my father that I will not kill him nor beat him—if it can be avoided. Father wants to acquire as much land from Tremeshton as possible. The blackguard must be desperate indeed if he is willing to sell more lands to a man who had thrown him out on his ear. Yet he wrote to my father of his desire to sell, and my father cannot refuse. Good men and women tenant on those lands, and Father is anxious to see them out from under Tremeshton’s thumb.”

  “It is a good thing, to be sure, sire,” Faris said. Yet she was confused as to why Lochlan Rockrimmon would inform her of such goings-on. If Kade Tremeshton was never to enter the doors at Loch Loland again, why then did it concern her in the least?

  “You are wondering why I have chosen to tell you of such business when Father has forbade Tremeshton to enter Loch Loland,” Lochlan said.

  Faris felt her eyebrows arch, astonished by his understanding. “Y-yes, sire,” she stammered.

  “I plan to tell him I have had you,” Lochlan said. Slowly his eyes narrowed, their angered intensity glowing green and bright.