“Excuse me, Faris—Graybeau.”
It was Old Joseph. Bainbridge released her at once, startled by Old Joseph’s sudden appearance.
“Milady Stringham is requesting your presence in her chambers, Faris,” Old Joseph said.
He seemed not in the least surprised or unsettled at having found Faris bound in Bainbridge’s arms. Faris, however, was quite unsettled. She felt the crimson of a heated blush rising to her cheeks.
“Thank you, Joseph,” Faris said.
Old Joseph nodded, turned, and walked away, leaving Faris alone in Bainbridge’s company once again.
In an instant, Faris reflected. Bainbridge had not yet aloud confessed to being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Further, his kiss had not affected her in the like manner the Highwayman’s kiss did. In truth, she did not desire to kiss him again.
Turning to face him, she asked, “You are not he then?”
“I cannot speak to whether I am or whether I am not, lass,” Bainbridge said. “Not without placing the Highwayman of Tanglewood and all his good deeds in peril.”
Faris paused. Would her lover and true Highwayman of Tanglewood keep the truth from her even now—even after her begging for truth? Would he keep the truth and his true kiss from her under such circumstances? Surely her true lover would not. Surely her true lover’s kiss would have fanned passion in her in the instant. Graybeau’s kiss had not.
She felt the fool and inwardly scolded herself for ridiculous folly. Yet he had lied! Graybeau had lied about exercising Jovan.
“But you were not exercising Jovan when the Highwayman rode to Loch Loland in the broad light of day as you claimed,” she said.
“No. I was not,” Graybeau said.
“Are—are you he, Bainbridge? I must know,” Faris pleaded in a whisper.
“I-I cannot answer, Faris,” he stammered. His brow puckered in a frown; he was in battlement with himself, it was obvious. He could neither confirm nor deny the truth to her. But for what reason, she could not fathom.
“Lady Stringham is waiting, lass,” he said.
“I pray you are not he,” Faris said. “For if you are, you have broken your word to me, and I have wasted a kiss.”
“No kiss from you would ever be wasted, Faris,” Bainbridge said. “At least not to him who is in receipt of it.”
Faris frowned. Bainbridge indeed appeared tormented. Faris was tormented as well. She had come to the stables, sought out Bainbridge Graybeau in search of truth and comfort. What she had found only further confused her.
“I…I must go,” Faris said. Lifting her skirt, she hurried toward the house.
She would tend to Lady Stringham—even at such a ridiculous hour—and then she would retire. Perhaps sleep would help her to sort it all out. Perhaps rest would clear her mind and order her feelings and thoughts. She was in doubt—in doubt of Graybeau’s being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. She was near to convinced he was not the same as her twilight lover. Yet she could not think on it. If her Highwayman was not so nearby as the stables at Loch Loland Castle, how then would she keep her mind and heart on the straight path? How could she combat her secreted attraction to Lochlan Rockrimmon without the regularity of assurance from the Highwayman of her true value to him?
“Had ya held her to ya one minute more, I would have run ya through far certain, Bainbridge Graybeau,” the Highwayman of Tanglewood said as he stepped from the darkness.
Bainbridge chuckled. “It was well I knew you were there, laddie,” Bainbridge said, smiling at his masked friend. “She has the lips and kiss of an angel, she does.”
“Of this I am well aware, my friend,” the Highwayman said.
“So it would seem,” Bainbridge said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the Highwayman, and the Highwayman knew well his friend’s thoughts. “Yet you will break her heart and her spirit if you do not confess to her soon.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood nodded. He was sick of deceit and fearful of Faris’s reaction when the truth was told.
“I must tell her soon,” the Highwayman said. “No matter the consequence.”
“Yes,” Bainbridge said.
“And—and I must tell Lillias as well,” the Highwayman added. “For she suspects me I am certain. To keep them both in darkness—to be so deceptive to the women I love—I am hard-pressed to endure it longer.”
“It does no good for a man to lie to a woman—especially to those he may love,” Graybeau said. “Truth is freedom, lad. Tell your Lillias the truth—and tell Faris.”
“But in the telling of the truth I may well lose the love of the woman I cannot live without, Bainbridge,” the Highwayman said. “I may lose Faris in the telling of the truth.”
“In keeping yourself from her, you surely will,” Bainbridge began, “and well I suspect you may lose her to the young master of Loch Loland—for Old Joseph has seen them together, and Master Lochlan plucks at her heart strings with great effect.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood drew a deep breath. His hands yet trembled—residual angst throbbing through him at having witnessed Faris’s kiss to Bainbridge. Yet he reminded himself the fault of it was none but his. He had not confessed his true identity to her. Further, he had himself suggested she kiss the man she guessed might be he. Therefore, what right had he to be vexed in any regard?
He was close to losing her—he sensed it. Either to frustration and lack of hope or to another man with more to offer. He must tell her—he must confess. Thus, he determined on the morrow, when he met her at the appointed place and time, there he would reveal himself. She may spurn him, it was true. His own deceit and lying might find his Highwayman’s heart as broken as if it had been run through with his own rapier. Yet he must risk her knowing the truth—for he loved her with all desperation and purity.
“In endeavoring to win her, I must risk the losing of her,” the Highwayman said. “I will tell Faris when next we meet. I will speak to Lillias even before that—for she certainly deserves no less than to know my secret and where my heart truly lies.”
“Yes, lad,” Bainbridge said. “Though I’d be willing to let your pretty Faris think a bit longer that I am the Highwayman of Tanglewood—if such kisses are the like the Highwayman enjoys.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood whistled, signaling his midnight steed. The horse appeared from behind a nearby tree, and the Highwayman mounted. “Keep yar lips and yar thoughts from me own fair Faris, Bainbridge Graybeau,” the Highwayman called. “For now—now I am off to best Lord Gettings. He rides from Saxton this very night, and what think ye he might find in the Tanglewood as he passes?”
“Fear and besting,” Bainbridge chuckled. “Fear and besting to be sure, lad.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood rode out then—out into the cloak of darkness. Yet it was not Lord Gettings’s ill deeds that plagued his mind. Rather it was his own deception—his fear he may never hold Faris Shayhan as his entirely own.
Brushing tears from her cheeks, she hurried—hurried into Loch Loland and up the grand staircase to Lady Stringham’s chamber. Bainbridge Graybeau was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Although her mind fought the truth of it, her heart affirmed the same truth. Fear, anxiety, and insecurity welled within Faris as she knocked on the large oak door of Lady Stringham’s chamber.
“Come,” Lady Stringham said from within.
Faris opened the door and stepped into the chamber. There sat Lady Stringham at one vanity, Tannis in a chair next to her.
“Did someone neglect to inform you of our need to have our hair brushed before retiring, girl?” Lady Stringham asked.
Her nose was so pointed and raised Faris mused it resembled an arrow aimed at the ceiling.
“Forgive me, milady,” Faris said. “Indeed, I was not informed.”
“Well, in the least of it we know she is not in the habit of tending to Lochlan at such a late hour,” Tannis said. Spite glowed hot in the girl’s eyes, and Faris tried to ignore it.
“At once, girl,” Lady S
tringham demanded. She held a brush in her hand and gestured Faris should take it. “Two hundred strokes at least,” the woman said. “And I remind you this should be a comfortable experience for me—nothing uncomfortable about it.”
“Yes, milady,” Faris said. Her mind still occupied with her meeting with Bainbridge, Faris knew her trembling hands would need to be steady in order to avoid reprimand. She hoped steadiness was possible—hoped she could retrench, find hope, and happiness again. Oh, where was he? Where was her beloved Highwayman? How desperately she longed for him now!
❦
It was afternoon—a lovely enough afternoon for anyone who was not anxious in awaiting nightfall. All at Loch Loland Castle were fairly buzzing with delight in the new day or delight in speculation as to whether or not their young master intended to ask for Tannis Stringham’s hand in marriage. All save one—Faris.
Sleep had not come easily to her the night before as she had hoped. Even though Lady Stringham and Tannis had kept her awake long into the night with demands and trivial tasks, she did not rest easy when at last she did retire.
How could she have been so foolish? Running to Bainbridge Graybeau! Throwing herself into his arms and begging his confession! Kissing him as some brazen tart might have! It was far beyond humiliating: it was defeating. Bainbridge was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. She had accepted the fact of it. Yet the thoughts whispering to her soul now disturbed her nearly beyond endurance. She did not know him! She did not know who rode as the Highwayman, who kissed her with such passion, who promised her his heart. In not knowing for certain, she was adrift in emotion and fear. As if in a boat set upon the sea without oars—she was adrift.
There was one other, of course. One other her mind had long ago whispered of being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Still, Faris would not believe it—for it if it were true, then true heartache would be hers unmeasured. Yet he had promised! The Highwayman had promised he had no other love, no other attachment.
It was while Faris was caught up in her own thoughts, as she sat in miserable contemplation and heartache, that heartache seemed predisposed to find her.
Faris startled as Lillias suddenly came rushing into the kitchen. Tears stained her face, her eyes appearing red and swollen with the effort of sobbing.
“Lillias?” Faris asked. “Is all well?”
Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as Lillias paused, looking at her, an expression of great fear, hurt, or near panic on her lovely face. She did not speak, and Faris was further disconcerted. “Are you well? Is Lord Kendrick well?”
At the mention of Lord Kendrick’s name, Lillias fairly burst into more sobbing.
“H-have you quarreled with one another?” Faris asked. Never had she seen Lillias so overwrought. “I am certain all will be well, Lillias,” Faris soothed.
“I cannot speak of it now, Faris,” Lillias sobbed. “I must—I must gather myself. I cannot speak of it now—especially to you!”
With such an outburst of emotion as Faris had never before witnessed in her dear friend, Lillias dashed out the kitchen servants’ door and into the gardens.
Faris stood astonished into silence, paralyzed with not understanding. And yet, it was then her own thoughts of a moment before returned to her—mingled with the realization of what could upset Lillias Rockrimmon so thoroughly.
“No,” Faris whispered. Yet it came to her then—Lord Gawain Kendrick. He had not been present the day before, when the Highwayman of Tanglewood had ridden to Loch Loland Castle. He had not been present when the Highwayman of Tanglewood had been besting Lord Brookings in Saxton. And even still, it was ever Lord Kendrick who appeared at Loch Loland with tales of the Highwayman’s antics.
Could this be the reason for Lillias’s emotional distress? Had Lord Kendrick confessed to being the Highwayman of Tanglewood? And if he had, what then did it mean for Faris? Certainly Lillias would not have appeared so overwrought with panic emotion had Lord Kendrick simply confessed and not mentioned his connection to Faris. Had he then—had Lord Kendrick broken with Lillias in favor of Faris?
“Quickly, Faris,” Mary said upon entering the kitchen. “Milady Stringham and her daughter are demanding tea and cakes.”
“Wh-where is Willeen then?” Faris asked, pulling herself from her thoughts and to the present moment at hand. “Do you wish that I should bring her to you?”
But Mary shook her head as she began hastily preparing a service. “No, no, no. Willeen is taken ill. You will have to serve milady and Miss Tannis,” Mary said.
“Me?” Faris gasped. In the mere space of one day—most of which she had been told to take rest at Lady Rockrimmon’s word—in the mere space of a day, Faris was certain she did not wish to be near the Stringham ladies more than was absolutely necessary to keep her position. “I-I cannot possibly serve their refreshment, Mary! I have not the steady wits about me this day. Cannot Sarah tend to them?”
Mary rolled her eyes and breathed an exasperated sigh. “Sarah? Posh and piddle posh! She has taken the day to visit her sister in town. No. I am afraid you must tend them. They are your lot, after all.” Holding the silver tray and service, Mary turned and handed it to Faris. “If they have one complaint about my service or cakes, I do not wish to hear it. Oh, I cannot wait until they have taken their leave. How long will Master Lochlan cause us to endure before he asks for Miss Tannis’s hand?” Mary grumbled. She straightened one cup and saucer and said, “There now, Faris. On your way now. We don’t want them complaining to Lady Rockrimmon about anything they haven’t already.”
“Very well,” Faris said. “If I must.”
Yet Faris felt weak, unhinged somehow—as if the emotion of the previous day and night’s goings-on had drained her very life’s blood from her. She thought of Lillias sobbing in the gardens. Surely the Highwayman had not so thoroughly lied to her as to keep Lillias his lover by day and Faris his lover by twilight? Surely he loved Faris better than that?
Stepping into Lady Rockrimmon’s parlor, she nodded as Lady Stringham and Tannis looked up from their reading and needlework. Glancing about quickly, Faris was quite unsettled to see that Lady Rockrimmon was not present.
“Maranda has left us here with none whatsoever to entertain us,” Lady Stringham said.
“There seems to be some squabble between Lillias and her betrothed, and Lady Stringham is in search of Lord Rockrimmon to soothe it,” Tannis added. “Or so I would gather from the recent goings-on and Lillias’s childish outburst of emotion.”
Faris was loath to serve such arrogant and unfeeling gossips as sat before her now. Yet she admired Lady Rockrimmon, loved her as nearly her own mother. Lady and Tannis Stringham were guests at Loch Loland Castle: welcome or not, she would serve them.
“I have brought your refreshment, milady,” Faris said. “Do wish me to serve it?” She prayed they would serve themselves, for she feared her trembling hands might betray her own tender emotions.
Tannis quirked one eyebrow as she studied Faris from head to slipper. Faris straightened her posture. She did not like being appraised by the haughty young woman. How she hoped Lochlan had spoken the truth to her when he had said he did not intend to take Tannis to wife. Still, considering Lord Kendrick’s deceit and the apparent deceit of the Highwayman, Faris was no longer certain any man wore truth as his emblem of honor.
“You dawdled so, girl,” Lady Stringham said. “I hope the cakes are still warm. I cannot fathom why Lochlan favors you as his chambermaid. If that is even the case.”
“Oh, surely not, mother,” Tannis said. “I think Lady Rockrimmon only meant to tease you when she said as much.”
Faris fought the frown begging to pucker her brow, fought the tears pleading for release.
“The service, miss. Now would not be soon enough,” Lady Stringham said. “You may serve yourself first, Tannis dearest.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Tannis said rising and walking to Faris.
“Miss,” Faris said, holding the tray
out to the young woman. She gasped as Tannis swiftly slapped the tray, causing the cakes and tea to spill out down the front of Faris’s dress. Dropping the tray, Faris quickly tore open the fabric of her bodice, for the hot tea scalded her tender flesh. She looked up only when she heard Tannis and Lady Stringham giggle.
“Such a clumsy girl,” Tannis said. “Perhaps you should keep to the bedchambers—not to serving tea and cakes to important guests.”
“This was intentional,” Faris accused, blowing into the opening of her bodice in an effort to cool her scalded flesh. Stooping, she retrieved a napkin from the heap of cakes, broken china, silver tea spoons, and linens at her feet and began dabbing at the moisture on her bosom.
She was rendered breathless in the next moment by the hot sting of a strong slap to her right cheek. Mouth agape in awe, she pressed a hand to the painful flesh a moment before Tannis dealt a second slap to her opposing cheek.
“Impudent wench!” Lady Stringham exclaimed. “Lady Rockrimmon will be very displeased when we tell her of the manner in which you have treated us, girl!”
“Y-you accuse me of mistreatment?” Faris stammered. She could not comprehend it—such treatment of others.
She gasped as the back of Lady Stringham’s hand delivered a violent slap to her already offended face. Stunned and unable to order rational thought, Faris turned and fled from the room in a mist of tears.
She could not believe what had just transpired! Tannis Stringham had intentionally knocked the tray from her hand. The tea had scalded Faris’s flesh terribly, yet the girl had accused Faris of dropping the tray deliberately. Although she knew Lady Rockrimmon to be wise and understanding, still she feared for her position. What if Lady Rockrimmon believed the Stringhams and she were truly sent away this time? She would never see Lochlan again! Her Highwayman would not know where to find her! She paused in her flight to close her eyes, silently reprimanding herself for thinking of Lochlan in the same moment as the Highwayman. Whatever was the matter with her? Had she lost her wits? In being so entangled in her desire to know the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s true identity, had she lost balanced thought? In knowing now that Bainbridge Graybeau was not the Highwayman, that Lord Gawain Kendrick may well be he, had she succumbed to the insanity of a breaking heart?
The Highwayman of Tanglewood Page 23