The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Yet what do you know, Faris?” he asked. “Be truthful—for I will know if you are answering false to your true feelings.”

  Faris inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking a bite of the pie when he gestured she should do so. “I-I do not care for her mother. I will confess it, sire,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked. “Having only just met her this very day, what brings you to such a final conclusion?”

  Faris looked to Lochlan. There was something in his countenance. She suspected he held the same feelings toward Lady Stringham. But why?

  “She—she seems arrogant and unkind, I think—spiteful and easily envious. She envies your mother, it is clear. It is why she questioned her about my assignment to your chambers,” she told him.

  “Did she? When did she question it?” he asked, a frown puckering his brow.

  “When first they arrived—Lady Stringham and Miss Tannis,” Faris told him. “We…all of the servants…were gathered in the great hall. It must’ve been while you were—were seeing to your business duties with Lord Tremeshton.”

  “You may refer to him as ‘the rodent,’ Faris,” he instructed, “for he deserves no other title.”

  Faris smiled, amused by his wit. She thought of Lillias’s title for Lord Tremeshton—Kade the Heinous. She was delighted to see another similarity between her dear friend and her young master. Further, it seemed his mind had entirely shifted its venue. She was certain he had all but forgotten about the Highwayman of Tanglewood and his connection to a chambermaid at Loch Loland Castle.

  “Go on, Faris,” he urged, eating more pie. “Tell me more of this.”

  “We were gathered in the great hall to greet Lady Stringham and her daughter, and she—she asked your mother if it was wise to…to…” Faris stammered, unable to speak to him of what had transpired. It would seem somehow vain to repeat it herself.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “She questioned your mother, asking was it wise for you to have a chambermaid who…who…”

  “A beauty of a chambermaid who might drive me to distraction? To immoral acts the like committed by Kade Tremeshton?” he finished for her.

  “Something the like of it, yes, sire,” Faris admitted.

  “Hmmm. Interesting,” he said smiling. “And what was my mother’s response to the implication?”

  “Your mother reassured her, of course. We all know you are not capable of such behavior.” Faris took another bite of pie.

  “Do we?” he chuckled.

  “Yes, we do,” she said, returning his smile.

  “I am glad to hear you have such unwavering faith in me, Faris,” he said. “Still, I am awaiting your opinion on Miss Tannis.”

  Faris paused. She did not like Tannis Stringham. Yet her feelings were not sorted even in herself. She could not fathom whether she disliked the girl simply because she was not likeable—or whether she disliked Tannis Stringham because it was assumed Lochlan meant to take her to wife.

  “I think her a younger version of her mother—in face, figure, and character,” Faris admitted at last.

  “You think she wants to marry me for my wealth and title?” he offered.

  “In truth, sire—mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “I am certain she finds you an attractive choice all around, sire,” Faris told him.

  “Flattery. I like it,” he chuckled. “But would you like to know a secret, Faris?” he asked her, lowering his voice.

  “It depends, sire,” she answered.

  “On what does it depend, Faris?” he asked, amused.

  “On the nature of the secret, sire,” she told him.

  “Meaning—if I am to tell you I intend to take Miss Tannis to wife—”

  “Then I do not wish to know it, sire,” she blurted out.

  “I see,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Still, what if my secret were this: that the only reason Lady Stringham and her daughter are here is because Tannis pestered me near to madness until I offered an invitation.”

  Faris was startled by the leap of her heart, the light feeling in her veins, and the smile spread across her face. “Truly, sire?” she could not keep from asking.

  “Truly, Faris,” he said, smiling at her. “I could no more take Tannis Stringham to wife than I could her giddy aunt!”

  Faris bit her lip to keep her delighted smile from bursting into delighted giggles.

  “You have no understanding of how it eases my mind, sire,” she admitted. “We would all be loath to see her as the young mistress, Master Lochlan.”

  He laughed and enjoyed a bite of pie. His eyes lingered on her, seeming to consider her. “Speaking of mistresses,” he said, lowering his voice, “I am sorry Tremeshton has had such designs on you—that he stalks you—causes you to be fearful and unhappy.”

  Faris frowned, unsettled and suddenly miserable at the mention of Kade’s name.

  “He would be brazen indeed to appear anywhere near Loch Loland again, sire.”

  “Indeed,” Lochlan said. “Still, I would beg you to be wary. Especially if you have occasion to be away from the house—alone.”

  “You need not worry, sire,” she told him. “For if I am away from the house—”

  “You are with your Highwayman and not alone,” he finished for her.

  “Yes, sire,” she said, wishing her Highwayman would walk through the door at that moment and spirit her away.

  “How I envy him,” Lochlan said.

  Faris looked at him, startled. Surely he could not mean he envied the Highwayman because of his liaison with her? But his next words both relieved and disappointed.

  “Riding across the countryside, besting the boastful, cruel, and greedy. Bringing joy to those so in need of it. How free he must feel.”

  “I am not certain freedom is his full feeling,” Faris said.

  “Is it yours?” he asked.

  “No and yes,” she said. “He is not free to be with me, which fact makes me a prisoner. And he is not free to wander unmasked, which fact makes him a prisoner. Still, your mother bringing me here—it did free me in many ways. So I am both free and not free.”

  “He has your heart completely, doesn’t he?” he asked unexpectedly. “And why not!” he said when she did not respond. “He is a legend—a living hero in the flesh.”

  Faris smiled, thinking of Lochlan’s championing her—lingering thoughts of the possessive kiss he had forced on her the night in the sewing room. Had not such protective deeds, such a rogue’s kiss, been rather that of a hero in its own fashion? Had not his besting Kade Tremeshton twice at Loch Loland Castle shown him to be brave, chivalrous, and a champion in his own right?

  “He is a hero, sire—as are you,” she told him.

  “Flattery!” he said, plunging his fork into the pie once more. “I like it.”

  Faris smiled and ate from the pie. She could trust in him—this she knew with every shred of her being. Lochlan Rockrimmon would not betray her, nor would he betray the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

  “Do you know, Faris,” he began, “this is the most delicious pie Mary has ever placed before me.”

  “It is delicious, sire,” she agreed.

  “Yes,” he said. “I imagine your kiss to be the same—your freely given kiss, that is—the like kiss you bless the Highwayman with, not the kiss I stole from you for vengeance and desire’s sake in the sewing room some nights past.”

  “I beg your pardon, sire?” Faris whispered, coughing as she attempted to keep from choking on her pie. Could she have heard him correctly? Surely not.

  He smiled and chuckled. “The first bite of this pie—you remember it, do you not? The very moment the sweetened berries touched your tongue, the manner in which moisture flooded your mouth and all you could think of was tasting that sweet flavor again. That is what I imagine the effect of your kiss to be, Faris. For my mouth warms and waters each time I imagine your own blending warm and moist against mine.”

  Faris sat awe
d, stunned into silence by his implication—rather his pure assertion.

  “Sire,” she whispered. “You only endeavor to tease me.”

  His smile broadened. “But what is it about rogues? Women beg to belong to them. Yet take a simple man—a man such as myself—and they find nothing worthy of belonging to.”

  Faris relaxed then. He was teasing. “You are no simple man, sire. And you are teasing me,” Faris said. She smiled as he did. He was a terrible tease—a jester in his own right.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “For, in truth, I am glad you have your Highwayman of Tanglewood.” He stood then, tossing his fork into the half-eaten pie and striding around the table until he stood near to her. He leaned toward her and spoke quietly into her ear then, “Yet there is something you should know, Faris.”

  “And what is that, sire?” she asked. She tried to ignore the goose bumps rippling over her flesh—tried to ignore the mad hammering of her heart.

  “You should understand well my implication—that were it not for trepidation of provoking the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” he began, “I would have already taken your mouth to mine—blending the two in such a rich, moist, and heated kiss as to have stripped the memory of any man from your mind forever—even that of your dashing and heroic rogue lover.”

  Faris swallowed the excess moisture flooding her mouth—silently demanding her body to cease in trembling with residual delight. What was amiss in her? She loved the Highwayman—truly and wholeheartedly she loved him! Why then could Lochlan Rockrimmon evoke such stirring emotions, such blatant desires in her?

  “However, I have no desire to be strapped naked to my horse and sent galloping for home,” Lochlan said. “Therefore, I will concede—for now. Good night, Faris. My regards to Bainbridge—if you please.”

  Faris sat trembling, fork in hand. Every part of her body trembled, every inch of the surface of her flesh tingling with goose bumps. And yet disappointment flooded her as well—disappointment in sure knowledge she had only just gained concerning herself. Had she not already been in love with the Highwayman of Tanglewood, she would have most assuredly been in love with Lochlan Rockrimmon. She was not stronger than any other chambermaid ever to have walked the earth. In fact, she suspected she was weaker than some.

  Self-loathing the like she could never have imagined overtook her. With one such as the Highwayman in her soul, how could she allow Lochlan Rockrimmon to so affect her? She was weak, disloyal, with a traitorous heart! To think of Lochlan when she had already pledged her heart to the Highwayman of Tanglewood—how could it be?

  It was his championing of her. This is what she determined. Her soul did not threaten to love Lochlan as it did the Highwayman—only it endeavored to feel indebted to him for his chivalry in championing her against Kade Tremeshton. That was it. Of assurance it was! She felt nothing more than gratitude toward Lochlan Rockrimmon—indebtedness. She loved the Highwayman! Yet, as she looked at the abandoned pie before her—as her mouth began to moisten at the thought of Lochlan’s kiss in the sewing room—she began to weep. She felt it then—the tearing of her heart—the confusion of her mind.

  Pushing her chair from the table, she dashed to the kitchen door—dashed out through it and into the night. Perhaps Bainbridge was yet awake. Perhaps he would reveal himself as the Highwayman—if she begged him to, appealed to his sense of desire and passion, perhaps he would reveal. And if he did, then Faris knew she could be saved. To have a face to put with her lover—to know he was near to her—it would save her heart, mend it into one piece again. She knew it would!

  An Uncertain Heart

  The night was warm and fragrant. As Faris approached the stables, she silently prayed for Graybeau’s waking presence there. She must know! This very night she must know whether or not Bainbridge Graybeau was, indeed, the Highwayman of Tanglewood. If it were true—if Bainbridge were he whom she loved in the amethyst of sunsets—then all would be well. If Bainbridge were the Highwayman of Tanglewood, she could rest and find easement of mind in knowing he was ever near to her.

  However, if Bainbridge were not the Highwayman—what then? This thought frightened Faris, for there was another her consciousness yet suspected. In the deepest corners of her mind, Faris yet wondered if Lord Gawain Kendrick rode out as the Highwayman of Tanglewood. It was uncanny—his absence ever coinciding with the appearances of the Highwayman. Yet the Highwayman had assured her he was not meant for another—that he was not one to toy with Faris one moment and play Lillias’s lover the next.

  Certainly there was every possibility the Highwayman of Tanglewood was a man entirely unknown to anyone at Loch Loland Castle, including Faris. Perhaps he was the son of an ill-treated tenant farmer or a simple merchant from the village. Yet Faris’s heart whispered differently: she knew him in daylight as she did in the amethyst of sunset.

  She would seek him in the stables first. Everyone at Loch Loland knew Bainbridge Graybeau often lingered far into the night in caring for the horses at the castle stables. Perhaps she would have no need of endeavoring to raise him from his quarters.

  Quietly, Faris entered the stables. Lady Violet whinnied at the sight of her, and Faris patted the animal’s velvet nose as she passed. Her heart leapt as she saw him then, just outside Jovan’s stall. Graybeau was there—and alone.

  “Mr. Bainbridge?” she ventured. She fancied her softened voice sounded louder than she would have preferred in the quiet of the night-cloaked stables.

  Bainbridge seemed startled as he quickly looked at her—as if he had been found going about something he did not wish to be found going about. How handsome he was! His dark hair seemed akin to the night, his dark eyes complemented by the light of the stars.

  “Miss Faris,” he greeted then. “What brings you to the stables at such an hour?”

  Swallowing the anxious lump in her throat, Faris walked toward him. Would he tell her the truth? Indeed, would he? Had he only just returned from meeting her outside the kitchen door? Had he only just finished changing from the black attire of the Highwayman of Tanglewood and into that of Bainbridge the stablemaster?

  “I must know the truth, Bainbridge,” she said as she approached.

  “The truth?” he asked.

  Yet she thought his expression was rather that of apprehension.

  “Yes,” Faris said upon reaching the place where he stood. “I can no longer bear not knowing! I must know whether you are he whom I love or whether you are not.”

  “He whom you—whom you love, miss?” Bainbridge stammered.

  Faris smiled. He was indeed undone. She was certain of the truth of it then—Bainbridge Graybeau was the Highwayman of Tanglewood!

  “You are he, are you not?” she asked, taking hold of his arm. To touch him unmasked at last—it was enchanting! “I will not betray your secret, Bainbridge—our secret. Surely you know I am trustworthy in that. Please confess to me now—you are the Highwayman of Tanglewood.”

  Faris watched him, studied his expression as he straightened, inhaling a deep breath.

  “Faris,” he began, “You must understand that I—”

  “I will know without your words,” she interrupted. Her heart raced wild and frantic in her bosom. “For you once gifted me permission to kiss the man I guessed you were by day—and I have guessed at it now, Bainbridge. Have I not?”

  “Faris—I-I…” he stammered.

  Yet Faris saw the struggle in the alluring darkness of his eyes. He feared confession, but why? Did he think she would not still love him once it was proven he was a stablemaster and not some great and wealthy lord?

  “I will love you no matter the circumstance, my Highwayman,” Faris whispered, smiling at him.

  “In truth?” Bainbridge asked, a mischievous rogue’s grin spreading across his handsome face. “No matter the circumstance, you will pledge yourself, lass—to the Highwayman of Tanglewood? I have your word on it?”

  Faris smiled. Unable to keep herself from him a moment longer, she threw her arms ar
ound his broad shoulders, drawing her slight body against his powerful one. “My word, my heart, and everything else that is me,” she said, tears streaming over her cheeks. “Oh, and kiss me now, my love! Do not press me to wait for that which is so blissful between us!”

  “As you wish,” Bainbridge said.

  Faris thrilled as she felt him take her face between his strong hands. Gazing up into the dark of his eyes, she sighed.

  “Still, I must tell you the truth,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I must speak the words to you in that you may know the truth from my own lips.”

  Faris’s heart beat so brutally within her she feared it might quite break free of her bosom. “Then speak the words, Highwayman,” she whispered, her mouth watering for want of his lips pressed to hers.

  “Faris,” he whispered. “I am Bainbridge Graybeau, stablemaster at Loch Loland Castle, defender of any weaker than I—and though I am fearful to speak the words to you for fear of your knowing the truth of me, I will tell you now that I am—”

  She could not wait to hear his words! She could not wait to know his confession! Before the words fell from his lips, Faris raised herself on her toes, pressing her soft, warm mouth to his.

  His lips were soft and warm, and she was touched by his tenderness. No doubt he was as yet uncertain as to her acceptance of him. In a moment, however, his arms banded around her, pulling her against him as his kiss pressed firm to hers. He would set his passion free in an instant. She could feel the desire surging through him, and in another instant his full, free, and fervent kiss—the kiss of the Highwayman of Tanglewood—would own her.