The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  ❦

  Faris stood at the kitchen servants’ door. The sun lingered low on the horizon. Already the violets and pinks of day’s end cast brilliant across the heavens.

  Conversing, confessing nearly all to Lillias had lightened Faris’s heart somewhat—renewed her hope in receiving the Highwayman’s forgiveness. Still, she was apprehensive, fearful that this purple-curtained meeting with the Highwayman of Tanglewood would indeed be her last. She would wait—wait until the sun had nearly set in its entirety before starting out. Her heart pounded as brutal as a hammer on an anvil as she waited and watched—watched the sun’s amethyst setting.

  “You are in wait of him, are you not?”

  Faris swallowed the lump in her throat—rubbed at the goose bumps racing over her arms at the sound of his voice. She was fearful to turn and face him—to lay eyes on his handsome countenance and form. Yet she did turn, gasping at the sight of him—the pure magnificence of Lochlan Rockrimmon.

  The kitchen fires had been put out for the night, leaving only the light of the setting sun through the open door as illumination. Lochlan appeared rather disheveled—as if he had only just risen from slumber. His shirt hung open and untucked from his breeches, his hair boyishly tousled. Faris swallowed a second lump in her throat—for he was ever more attractive as such than in the perfect finery of a gentleman.

  “Answer me!” he demanded. “You mean to meet your lover this night.”

  “I-I cannot tell—” Faris stammered.

  “You are going to him,” Lochlan growled, taking her shoulders none too gently between his powerful hands. “Tell me the truth of it.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. She allowed her gaze to linger on his mouth—allowed her mind to linger on the taste and sense of his kiss.

  “And will you return to Loch Loland?” he asked.

  Faris was surprised by his question. Why would she not return?

  “Or does he intend to strip you from me—from us?” he added.

  Faris forced herself to calm breathing. She had not thought of never returning. The only circumstance that could keep her from returning to Loch Loland would be the ability of the Highwayman to spirit her away. Being so uncertain as to whether or not the Highwayman of Tanglewood would even keep her after her betrayal, how could she hope to be spirited by him?

  “I am fearful he will cast me off,” she whispered, “when I have told him of my weakness and my betrayal. He may ride from me as fast as his mount can carry him.”

  “He will never ride from you,” Lochlan said. His voice was low, his emerald eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “He will not give you up simply because I have forced my own intentions upon you.”

  “As you said, sire,” Faris began, “yesterday—after—after you championed me yet again: it was shared, the exchange between us. It was shared, and this I must confess to him.”

  “Hmmph,” he breathed. “It was not shared, and well you know it. I asked you for one kiss—fairly ordered you to kiss me. That is not a shared kiss, Faris. That is only my desperation playing upon your guilted feelings of indebtedness.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “It was shared between us. It was!”

  All of a sudden, she wanted him to know of her gratitude. Even she wanted him to know she cared for him, desired his company and his kiss. She wanted him to understand that were it not for the Highwayman, he might well have owned her entirely—that in some regard he already did.

  “You are kind to encourage me, Faris,” he said, a slight smile spreading across his face. “Yet I think I must accept—what man am I compared with him? What reason would you or any other woman have to consider me over such as him?”

  “The kiss was shared, sire,” Faris said.

  “Then I will endeavor to believe it,” he said. “Unless—unless you wish to truly share a kiss with me, not simply allow me to kiss you as the payment you deem necessary for my defense of you. At that I might know you were not false in it.”

  “I have once already betrayed my heart’s desire in offer of gratitude to you, sire,” she said. “And yet you would ask me to—”

  “I would ask you to offer me the chance to win you, Faris,” Lochlan said.

  “What?” Faris gasped. What did he imply?

  “Grant me one last taste of your lips,” he whispered. “In that, I will win you, and you will not run away to meet your Highwayman. Or I will lose you, and in losing you…I will leave Loch Loland instead.”

  Faris shook her head. “You are in jest, sire. In jest or have lost your wits in some manner.”

  “I will leave you, Faris,” he said. “If that is what you wish. Kiss me. Kiss me, and if I do not evoke such passion and feeling in you as the Highwayman of Tanglewood does—then I will leave.”

  “You cannot leave Loch Loland for my sake,” Faris said. “Surely you are only playing at dramatics, sire.”

  “One last kiss,” he whispered, “before you flee into the night and into the arms of that damnable rogue!” He gathered her into his arms, and the feel of his warm breath hovering over her mouth caused her to weaken.

  “I will go to him,” Faris breathed. “I will. I cannot give him up. I cannot allow you to…I cannot allow myself to—”

  “You can,” he whispered, and Faris’s mouth burst hot and moist for want of his.

  “I-I cannot! I cannot!” she breathed, a moment before his mouth captured her own. Driven with passion, moist with desire, Lochlan’s kiss demanded response, and Faris’s mouth answered. She could not keep her hands from seeking out the broad expanse of his shoulders—she could not deny her fingers the privilege of weaving through the warm brown of his hair. His arms held her with such ferocious intent she thought he might indeed crush her. His mouth worked such a passion of bliss and pleasure against her own she thought she might faint for the wonder of his kiss.

  “Do not go to him, Faris,” he breathed. “Am I not as good a man as he?”

  Faris felt the tears on her cheeks, cursed the mad pounding of her heart within her bosom.

  “Perhaps a better man,” she said, pushing herself from his arms. “And I am unworthy of either!”

  Faris broke from him completely, ran through the kitchen door and into the fading sunset. She prayed he would not follow her, and her prayer was answered.

  Some way from the house, as the moon rose silver and full, Faris paused. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she sobbed as fresh tears rinsed her face anew. She yet trembled with desire for Lochlan’s kiss—her heart torn in two with her inward admitted love for him.

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood would not forgive her! How could he forgive her such betrayal—such deep and emotive betrayal—betrayal reaching far deeper than the simple act of a kiss. She loved Lochlan Rockrimmon—as she loved the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Yet, she had loved the Highwayman first, and in this he owned her heart, deserved her devotion.

  There was not to do but wait—wait and confess—confess and have consequence delivered.

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood stepped quiet and unseen in the darkness as he followed Faris from Loch Loland to the forever-running heather. Lochlan Rockrimmon had not won the Highwayman’s lover away from him! Still, he loathed the heir of Loch Loland Castle for endeavoring to do so. If it were conceivable—if there were any venue to beating and besting him, indeed the Highwayman would have beaten and bested him. Yet, it was an impossibility.

  Thus, the Highwayman of Tanglewood determined to free his fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle—free her from torment, from the self-loathing and thoughts of betrayal she must certainly own. Yes, he would reveal himself! Let truth best him however it would, for his soul was of little worth when weighed with hers. He would free her and allow her to choose—choose to keep him or to abandon him. Her frustration, her weeping as she made her way toward the old ruins of Castle Alexendria, her pain was his doing. A greater understanding he owned of it: her misery was of his own making, none but his. In his soul, he knew it had been wrong to keep himself f
rom her—to keep the truth from her. He had driven her to Bainbridge Graybeau, he had driven her into the arms of Lochlan Rockrimmon, and he could place the blame for it nowhere but on his own shoulders.

  As certainly as she bore the heavy guilt of betrayal, the Highwayman bore the guilt of deceit. He had deceived her at each rendezvous. By not revealing the truth, by keeping his whole heart and self from her, he had driven her to another. He would free her—this very night. And if she chose to keep him, he would gather her into his arms, drink the sweet nectar of her kiss, and keep her forever to him. If she chose instead to loathe him for his deceit, then he would free her heart and body. If she chose to loathe him, then such would be his painful, eternal penance for having harmed her.

  Quietly, the Highwayman of Tanglewood followed his love—followed her through the heather to the old ruin. There he paused, watching as she knelt before the headstones of the Rockrimmon knight and his lady—watching as a summer’s breeze rained willow leaves upon her lovely form.

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood

  Faris let her fingers trace the worn engravings on the tombstone before her. Had the ancient Lady Rockrimmon—who so long lay at rest in the soil and in heaven—had she been weakened by the king’s attention? When her knight was away defending the kingdom and the Alexendria’s young king had become smitten with her, had she weakened toward him? Rising to her feet, Faris wondered—had this ancient Lady Rockrimmon melted in the king’s embrace, kissed him with such a passion as Faris had kissed Lochlan? Had she betrayed her beloved knight as Faris had betrayed the Highwayman? Faris winced as guilt, shame, and pain gripped her heart. She was certain this great lady had not known confusion and betrayal. She was certain the grand Lady Rockrimmon of the past had stood ever faithful and true—her heart unwavering—her love consistent and strong.

  “Surrender yar virtue, milady,” came the Highwayman’s raspy voice.

  Faris could not help but breathe relief as his hands encircled her throat from behind. Yet tears filled her eyes as she turned to face him. Her heart leapt at the sight of him—his black attire from head to boot, the mask covering his head and face, the goatee and mustache he wore. Yes—he wore the goatee and mustache—she was near certain they were false. Had not she felt his clean-shaven face against her own last they had met—on the night he had pulled her from the kitchen doorway at Loch Loland and kissed her in the black of night? He brushed a tear from her cheek, and her body warmed at his simple touch, her heart leaping with hope.

  “It’s glad ya are to see me then, lass?” he asked, brushing a tear from her chin.

  “I-I am,” she stammered, more tears escaping her eyes. These would be their last moments together, she well knew it.

  “But what be the matter, fair Faris?” he asked. “Yar lookin’ at me as if yar never to see me again, ya are.”

  “I-I have something to tell you,” she began, “And…and when the tale is told, you may never want to see me again.”

  The Highwayman’s dazzling smile faded. “Then tell me the tale, lass, and let me make me own endin’,” he said.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “You know that is true, do you not?”

  “Aye,” he said. “I believe it when ya say it to me now.”

  “I love you. I never imagined I could love someone…someone…”

  “Someone ya may never see—may never know?” he finished for her.

  Faris nodded. Mustering her courage she continued, “But…but there is something evil in me,” she told him, tears streaming over her cheeks. “An evil I cannot purge.”

  “What manner of evil could possibly find host in ye, lass?” the Highwayman whispered, removing his glove and caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

  She must confess! She must risk losing the Highwayman of Tanglewood, for it was she did not deserve him. “Master Lochlan,” she whispered. “He—he has been so kind to me…championed me on more than one occasion.”

  “He is an able man. I do not deny it,” the Highwayman said.

  Faris could hear the trepidation in his voice. Had he already guessed at her transgression?

  “He is a good man, and I…I hold a…a deep fondness for him,” Faris explained.

  “A deep fondness?” the Highwayman asked. She saw him stiffen—did not miss the near growling tone in his voice. Yet she must continue. She must confess all.

  “Yesterday,” she began, “Yesterday he again defended me—my reputation, my person—he defended me. He demanded Lady Stringham and her daughter quit Loch Loland Castle on my account…and then when…when he asked a simply boon of me in return…in fact it was not so simple…and I…I gave him willingly that which he asked.”

  “And what be the boon he asked of ye, lass?” the Highwayman asked. His voice was cold, solemn, angry already.

  “A…a kiss,” she breathed. “A shared kiss.” Faris squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tears heavy over her cheeks.

  The Highwayman was silent. She knew he was angry, hurt, disgusted with her. She had lost him in telling the truth, yet she could not have lived her life with such a secret.

  “And so yar tellin’ me, the great Lochlan Rockrimmon, well-known for his ability to resist beautiful women such as yarself—the lord of the manor, so to speak—comes to yar rescue and begs a kiss as his reward…and ya gave it to him…willingly?” he asked.

  “I-I did,” Faris breathed, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Her heart was breaking! Still, she looked to him when she heard the low chuckle begin in his throat.

  He donned his dazzling smile and said, “Were ya thinkin’ I would turn ya out, lass? What chambermaid ever was there who did not dream of kissin’ her handsome young master? What woman ever was there who should have withheld such a blessing as a thankful kiss from her rescuer?” His smile faded, and he took her in his arms as he gazed down into her face. “And what Highwayman has the right to claim a woman he has met only on five nights in twilight? A woman he has promised no future to? A woman deservin’ of all life’s joys?”

  “You—you will not abandon me?” she whispered, unable to believe he was forgiving her. Far more than forgiving her—he seemed nearly to be condoning her behavior.

  “Never,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “He has done more than ever I have in rescuin’ ya from a ruined reputation and indeed twice from the likes of Kade Tremeshton. Yar pretty young master took him to task on both occasions, he did—before ever I heaped humiliation on him after.” The Highwayman paused to press a tender kiss to Faris’s forehead. He chuckled and said, “Lochlan Rockrimmon has never been so furious over a woman, it is said in the village, as he was the day at Loch Loland Castle when Kade Tremeshton laid hands on pretty Faris Shayhan.”

  Faris laid her head on the Highwayman’s strong chest, feeling blessed in his understanding forgiveness. Yet as she closed her eyes, it was Lochlan’s likeness that grew in her mind. She frowned trying to dispel the vision of his handsome face, the brilliance of his emerald eyes, and the moist passion of his kiss.

  “And now, ’tis me own turn, lass,” the Highwayman whispered. “One kiss from yar sweet lips—and then I have me own secrets to reveal to ye.”

  Faris’s heart leapt. Could it be? Did he mean to reveal his identity to her? She sensed he did, and as his head descended toward hers, she inwardly vowed to surrender to him—to stay with him—to follow him to the ends of the earth. Lochlan Rockrimmon could never be hers, never. But the Highwayman of Tanglewood, with all his strength and forgiving nature—perhaps he could.

  He paused in kissing her, however, a smile of pure mischief spreading across his face.

  “I do find it a bit disturbin’, however,” he began.

  “Which part of it?” she asked. Was he only just realizing the weight of it—the weight of the manner of kiss she had shared with Lochlan? Her heart seemed to miss several beats, and she was breathless with renewed anxiety.

  “The part of it concernin’ Bainbridge Graybeau,” he said.
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  Faris gasped as fear anew washed over her.

  “Bainbridge,” she whispered. She had quite forgotten her moments with Graybeau—her begging of him to confess to her—the kiss she initiated with him. Her mind had been so taken with the fever set upon it by Lochlan Rockrimmon, she had quite forgotten she had once thought Bainbridge to be the Highwayman of Tanglewood.

  “I did think he was you,” she began, frantic to explain. Had she won his forgiveness only to lose it in the next moment? “I thought so sure he was you that I endeavored to coax his confession.”

  “I well know it,” the Highwayman said. “For I was there when ye did.”

  “What?” Faris breathed.

  “It was I witnessed yar endeavors to Bainbridge Graybeau, and indeed, I am flattered ye would think I be sooch a man as he,” the Highwayman said.

  Faris frowned. Confusion pricked at her mind. “Then you…you are not angry in it?” she asked.

  His smile faded, yet his embrace tightened. “What right have I to be angry with ye far any of it, fair Faris?” he said. “’Tis ye who owns that right, and after I’ve had me taste of yar kiss—after I strip this mask from me shameful face—it may be me who loses his lover this night.”

  “Never!” Faris whispered as his lips hovered a mere breath above her own.

  “Promise it, Faris,” he whispered. “Promise to me that whomever ye find behind this wretched mask…promise ye will love me still.”

  “I promise,” Faris sighed as his lips pressed to her own.

  The first touch of his lips was tender, gentle, and almost timid. He seemed tentative—as if he thought she might refuse him her kiss. Oh, but she never would! Never! As he kissed her upper lip lingeringly, she sighed. As he kissed her lower lip in the same fashion, she was breathless. He had never before kissed her in so careful a manner. Lochlan’s image intruded in her thoughts. She fancied this had been his manner of beginning their first shared kiss. Faris knew it was Lochlan’s residual presence in her heart that found the similarity, and she tried to banish him from her mind. As the Highwayman’s mouth coaxed hers into a deeper, more passionate exchange, she tried to dispel the memory of Lochlan’s similar manner in even this. Yet even as desire rose in her, even as her hands caressed the broad expanse of the Highwayman’s shoulders, she could not push Lochlan’s image from her soul. Would she ever purge his presence from her being? Yet she must! She must abandon all thoughts of him—for here was her heart’s desire, here was the Highwayman of Tanglewood, her rogue champion and lover.