The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  It was why his bed was ever made, Faris realized. Not because Lochlan was so caring about his bedding but because he was often never abed when it was supposed that he was!

  “You promised, Faris!” Lochlan shouted, drawing her to full consciousness once more.

  Faris reached up, stripping the mask from the face of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Emerald eyes no longer shaded by a black mask flashed brilliant in the full light of the moon. Lochlan then tore the false mustache and goatee from the flesh surrounding his mouth. “You promised…no matter what was revealed!” he growled.

  “Calm yourself, Master Loch,” Old Joseph said, “lest you want this to be a mortal wound, which now inflicts you.”

  “Bring her to me, Joe!” Lochlan shouted. “Make her come to me!”

  Yet Faris was stiff with fear, heartbreak, and disbelieving, and she could not move.

  “Joseph! Now! Bring her to me!” Lochlan continued to shout.

  “You must calm yourself, Master,” Joe began, “else you’ll harm yourself further or draw attention this way.”

  “Make her come to me, Joe! Now!” Lochlan shouted, as tears appeared at the outer corners of his eyes—traveled over his temples.

  Old Joseph turned to Faris. “Faris,” he said, his voice kind and soothing. “He’ll—he’ll bleed out where he sits if I do not tend to this wound at once. Please…I understand you’re astonished. But, for his life, I ask you…”

  Trembling, Faris pressed hands to the cool ground on which her knees already lingered. Mustering what little strength was left to her, she began to crawl to her wounded rogue. As she drew near, he reached for her, one blood-soaked hand taking her arm and pulling her full against him.

  “You are mine,” he growled. “I have won you! As Highwayman, as gentleman, and as your champion…I claim you.” His body was wracked with coughing; still he wrapped his bloodied hand in Faris’s hair, pressing her cheek to his chest.

  “It goes bad for you, sire,” Old Joseph whispered. “You need a physician.”

  “Collect my mother, Joe. Collect the coach…but no coachmen. Only you and Mother. We will stop for Physician Standard in the village. You must away with me, Joseph. You, Mother, Faris, and the doctor—or if Lochlan Rockrimmon is to be found so wounded after Kade Tremeshton’s death at the hand of the Highwayman of Tanglewood…I surely am done for.” Lochlan coughed again before adding, “Tell the tale as such—Lady Rockrimmon’s Aunt Agatha…has…has taken ill, and I have accompanied my mother for the visit. We—we took Faris as companion to mother…and…and did not want to bother the others at such an hour.” Lochlan pushed at Joseph’s shoulder and breathed, “Go, now, Joseph…before my blood is indeed spent. And Joseph…tell Father the Rockrimmon rapier is beneath Alexendria’s willow. He must retrieve it.”

  “I go, sire,” Joseph said. “Do not let him move, Faris. Not one inch.”

  Faris watched Joseph disappear into the darkness—her body still trembling, her mind yet unable to completely accept.

  “You love me still, Faris,” Lochlan breathed.

  It was a command, and she knew he doubted the truth of it. “I—I love the Highwayman,” Faris whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she raised her head to look at him.

  “I am the Highwayman, Faris,” he reminded her.

  Her anger, her rage, and her heartbreak at being so deceived caused her to feel as if the very hairs on her head were aflame then. “You are Lochlan Rockrimmon! Heir to title and Loch Loland Castle!” she cried. “I—I love the Highwayman of Tanglewood!”

  “And you love Lochlan Rockrimmon!” he shouted. “Do not deny it, for I have tasted of your kiss, held you in my arms, felt your heart beating madly—as I was and am both!”

  “You are a wicked pretender!” she sobbed. “You—you but deceived me…made me believe…I—I thought you…I thought you truly loved me.”

  “I do love you!” he said, and she saw the tears anew at his temples. “I love you, Faris. I…I…”

  “You lied to me…tried to…tried to trick me into betraying the man I loved…” she stammered.

  “And you did!” he reminded her. “Willingly and wholeheartedly because you knew he was one in the same! You must have known it to be true!”

  “I did not!” she cried.

  “You must have known,” he whispered, coughing. “At the least, please tell me you wanted it to be true. For I only wished you to love me—I only wished to own your heart as Lochlan Rockrimmon. A dashing rogue the like of the Highwayman is he of whom every woman dreams. I knew you could love the rogue—but I hoped you loved me—thought you might love me…best.”

  Her hurt became so painful in its depths to have vanquished her tears. “I did not know,” she said. Still, she wondered at her own words, for she fancied in that moment she had known.

  “And you would love the thief…but not the gentleman?” he asked. He was growing weak.

  Faris’s fear returned, intensified and beat down her anger and humiliation. “The thief belonged to me,” she whispered, “whereas the gentleman never could.”

  “You won them both,” he coughed. “The thief, the gentleman, the rogue, and the heir. You promised—no matter what was spent this night—you promised to…to love me…thief or…or…”

  Unconsciousness claimed him. Faris marveled at how much pain and crimson loss the powerful man had endured before giving in to the need for reprieve from such exertion and great injury. His fist in her hair relaxed, his arms slackened, dropping from her body, and she pulled herself into a sitting position beside him. She placed her hand to his chest. It yet rose and fell with the breath of life, and her own breath was returned to her.

  Slowly her gaze traveled the length of him—over his soft brown hair to the set of his jaw to the blood-soaked boots he wore. The rise and fall of his chest again reassured her he yet lived, but there was no other reassurance to be given her. Her beloved Highwayman, the rogue Highwayman of Tanglewood, was lost to her forever—and yet, there was Lochlan Rockrimmon, her champion and hero. The battle that had raged inside her, the confusion of her heart, was vanquished at the knowledge she had not been untrue to her lover. In fact, what better dream made real could there be? The two valiant men she so desperately loved—the two magnificent men her heart and mind had struggled to understand, struggled to choose between—these two were one. It should have been her comfort—her joy. It should well have been the most wonderful knowledge of her life long. Yet there could be no owning Lochlan Rockrimmon. The Highwayman of Tanglewood may have been anyone—peasant, smithy, or stablemaster. The Highwayman of Tanglewood may have married with a young chambermaid, but Lochlan Rockrimmon was born of greatness, to greatness, and to great expectation. If not Tannis Stringham, he would marry the like of her—beautiful, graceful, wealthy, and with a vast dowry and lineage.

  Faris brushed the tears from her cheeks. Still, it was a vain attempt, for more tears followed in their wake. Reaching forth, she dared run her fingers through the soft brown hair of Lochlan Rockrimmon. The sensation was a dream made truth, for she had never seen her Highwayman without the mask covering his head and face. Trailing her fingers over his cheek, his jawline, his lips—she took his limp, lifeless hand in hers, lacing their fingers and placing a tender kiss to the its back

  Faris leaned forward, pressing her lips to his—surprised when his feverish voice mumbled, “Faris…my fair Faris…you promised.”

  “I promised to love you,” she whispered, “not to endure being unable to own you.”

  She grimaced, tears stinging her eyes as she released his hand. Retrieving the discarded mask he had worn only a short time before, she stood—yet gazing down at him in the moonlight. Faris Shayhan knew not where she would go or how she would arrive there. Still, she knew she would go, for her lover was lost to her. In being assured of the Highwayman’s true identity, she had lost the hope of his promised love. When she had seen him safe, knew he was well and cared for—she would flee.

  �
�Faris!” Lady Rockrimmon cried.

  Faris gasped when she saw Lady Rockrimmon rushing toward her. The great lady wore only her nightdress. Her hair hung freely about her shoulders.

  “Darling!” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed, reaching out and taking Faris’s hands in her own. “Tell me he will live, Faris! Promise me he will live!” Lady Rockrimmon released only one of Faris’s hands as she dropped to her knees beside her son.

  “Oh, my darling!” she cried. “My darling Loch!”

  “She means to leave me, Mother,” Loch growled. His eyes opened for only a moment as he commanded in a weak voice, “Do not lose sight of Faris, Mother. Have Joseph bind her if he must—but…but do not lose sight of her.”

  Pulling her hand from Lady Rockrimmon’s grasp, Faris was certain she was about to swoon. Her breathing was labored, too rapid. The world seemed about a mad spin.

  “Hold her fast, Joseph!” Lady Rockrimmon cried. Instantly, Faris found herself held fast in the surprisingly strong arms of Old Joseph. “Hold her!”

  “Let me go, Joseph. Please. I will not leave until his fate is known,” Faris sobbed. She felt weak—knew she had no strength left in her.

  “He will surely die if you leave him, Faris,” Joseph said. His voice was calm, yet determined.

  Faris’s fevered mind could resist no longer, and as she slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness, she thought, Oh, let him live. Please let him live.

  ❦

  “His lordship Lord Rockrimmon will ride, milady. Graybeau is already too suspect.” It was Old Joseph’s voice breaking the silence of Faris’s unconscious state. “Milord will ride…make certain he is seen as the Highwayman.”

  “Will he be careful, Joseph?” Lady Rockrimmon asked.

  “He will, milady. He sends assurance his riding as the Highwayman of Tanglewood will divert suspicion from Master Lochlan.”

  Faris opened her eyes to see a man she did not recognize enter the small cottage room where she lay.

  “I have cleaned the injury, milady,” the man began, “Though I do feel searing it is necessary.”

  “After all he has already endured, Mr. Standard? Can he…can he endure your smoldering the wound?” Lady Rockrimmon said. Her fearful voice was nearly a whisper.

  “I must cauterize it now, milady, lest infection sets in directly,” the man said. The man looked then to Faris, speaking yet to Lady Rockrimmon. “He is feverish and fitful, milady…worrisome over the girl, in want of her company. I see she is awake. Might she be persuaded to—”

  “Of course! Faris—you must go with Mr. Standard. Lochlan must have you. He has been in such a state ever since he regained consciousness! Such a state, Faris!” Lady Rockrimmon brushed a strand of hair from Faris’s forehead, caressing the place lovingly with the back of her hand. “He loves you, Faris. It is long I have known Lochlan Rockrimmon loves you—not so long I have known his Highwayman loves you too.”

  “He—he cannot love me, milady,” Faris said, tears filling her eyes. “For I—I am but a chambermaid.”

  “As was I, Faris—a chambermaid in the very house you are chambermaid in now. But that was before the young master of Loch Loland Castle fell in love with me—before he made me his bride,” Lady Rockrimmon whispered.

  Faris squeezed her eyes tightly shut, afraid to believe the woman’s assurance. Young masters did not marry chambermaids. They did not. Ill-treated them, as Kade Tremeshton had, teased them perhaps—but never did they take them to wife.

  “Quickly, miss. He is in a bad way yet,” the physician said.

  “Go to him, Faris,” Lady Rockrimmon said. “The rest can be sorted out once he is well enough.” Faris nodded. Mr. Standard and Old Joseph assisted her in rising from the bed. Her arms and legs were heavy, as was her spirit—her heart.

  Lochlan was pallid—as pale as death where he lay in a bed in an adjoining room. Yet his emerald eyes flashed when first he caught sight of her. Faris wondered how she had not recognized the flash of his green eyes when she met him as the Highwayman. Still, their meetings had ever been under the cover of twilight and darkness. Coupled with the mask he ever wore, the two small slits made for his sight—all of it had endeavored to hide the brilliant emerald of his eyes.

  “Faris!” his breath called to her. “Come to me at once!” he demanded. “At once!”

  Faris went to him. He took hold of her wrist, pulling her against his body. “Oh, Faris—Faris!” he breathed into her hair. “I—I thought you had quit me already…not waiting even to see if I lived. And I shall surely die if you leave me.”

  “Hush,” she whispered, laying her head against the strength of his chest. “You must endure…and rest.”

  “Put the branch in his mouth, Joseph,” Mr. Standard said. “You must remain as still as possible, sire. Do you understand?”

  “Do not take Faris from me, Standard. Do you understand?” Lochlan growled.

  “I do,” the physician said. “Hold his leg…there at the ankle, Joseph,” he added.

  Tears fell from Faris’s eyes as she watched the physician retrieve a red-hot knife from the coals of the hearth fire.

  “You may lose perception, sire,” the doctor said. “But do not give up. Your body must continue to fight.”

  Lochlan nodded as Joseph placed the small branch of a tree between his teeth.

  “Now…hold, Joseph!” the physician shouted, driving the hot blade into the wound.

  Lochlan shouted. Faris sobbed as she watched the perspiration and pain overtake his handsome face, the sickening smell of seared flesh filling her nostrils. Lochlan’s entire body began to tremble. Yet he did not lose consciousness, and Joseph removed the branch from Lochlan’s mouth.

  “How weak you must think me, Faris,” Lochlan breathed, his expression still that of enduring unendurable pain.

  “How—how could I ever think you weak?” she sobbed, burying her face against his shirt.

  “You must rest, Master Loch,” Old Joseph said.

  “Yes, sire. A great deal of rest is needed if you are to regain your strength,” Mr. Standard confirmed. “Miss Faris needs her rest as well. You may see her after you have—”

  “She will rest with me!” Lochlan growled.

  “But, sire…that is not proper,” Old Joseph began.

  “I care not for propriety, Joseph!” Lochlan shouted. “She will leave me otherwise.”

  “I—I will not leave you,” Faris told him. She caressed his whiskered cheek with the palm of her hand, reveling in the blessed sensation of his flesh beneath her touch.

  “Not now…perhaps,” Lochlan said. “Still, I see the fear in your eyes. You will try to leave me if I do not keep you here.”

  “Lochlan, darling!” Lady Rockrimmon cried, entering the room. “Oh, my darling!”

  “I am well, Mother,” he told her as she threw herself across him. “I am well.”

  “Will he…will he…” the grand lady began.

  “He will survive and heal,” Mr. Standard said. “If he will rest…and he refuses to rest unless the girl is with him. But I cannot possibly allow—”

  “You will allow it!” Lady Rockrimmon demanded. “You will allow anything he asks!”

  “Move me to one side of this bed,” Lochlan said. “She will sleep just here.”

  “This is most inappropriate, milady,” Joseph muttered.

  “What is he in any condition to do, Joseph?” Lady Rockrimmon scolded, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  Joseph shrugged. Mr. Standard and Joseph then moved Lochlan to one side of the bed.

  “Shall I—shall I lash her to your arm, sire?” Joseph asked, retrieving a piece of twine from a nearby tabletop.

  “Yes,” Lochlan began, “Yes, Joseph…you must…”

  “No, Joseph,” Faris whispered to Joseph. “I…I will not leave him now.”

  ❦

  In the latest hours of the night, Faris lay still awake—still staring at the handsome face of her beloved Lochlan—the handsome and unmasked fac
e of her adored Highwayman of Tanglewood. She placed her hand to his cheek. It was cooled yet warm—a fine indication he would be well.

  “Who did you love best?”

  “What?” she gasped—startled at the sound of Lochlan’s voice. “Shhhhh. You must rest, sire,” she whispered, caressing his brow with her fingertips.

  “Tell me, Faris,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her. “I must know. Did you love the Highwayman best—or did you best love me?”

  Faris smiled. She could see the torment in his eyes, the guilt in him at having lied to her. Further, she saw love—in the emerald flash of his eyes. He loved her. It was evident and certain he did. Whether he would break and defy propriety to marry her or whether she would have to give him up to the demands of his station, still, she knew he loved her.

  “I have been lying just here thinking on it,” she whispered.

  “And have you come to determination?” he asked. His eyes were tired—yet warm and alive. Their gaze gave cause to goose bumps rising on her arms.

  “I loved the Highwayman first,” she told him, “for I met him first, kissed him first, loved him first. But—but from the moment I first saw you…I began to wish he were you. I wished for it so deeply that I kept my wish to myself—a secret to my own soul. Yet, I—I think I knew it from the moment we met…or at least hoped it was so from the moment we met. Therefore, my answer can only be that I love you—the Highwayman of Tanglewood—that I love him, and you are him. I love Lochlan Rockrimmon, and whatever may happen, wherever I may find myself, I will ever love him…I will ever love you. It is why I felt such the betrayer,” she said. “For I loved him first, and in that I clung to my heart’s first loyalty…while in truth…I loved you best.” She had spoken the truth—the truth that had nearly destroyed her in the battle for it.