"Has he murdered anyone?"
"Wouldn't be surprised to hear he had, although I couldn't say for certain," Lord Malton answered grudgingly.
The Duke straightened the lace of his cuff, then automatically reached for his snuffbox only to remember it had been taken. Shrugging off his irritation he said, "I would advise we join the ladies. They must be wondering by now what is amiss."
"The ladies! Good God, forgotten all about them," Malton gasped, rapidly rising to his feet. "Shouldn't tell them, but don't know how I'll keep it from my wife. Knows everything, that woman, yes she does. Come along, mustn't keep them waiting, eh?"
The Duke watched as they filed out. still talking amongst themselves in exciting undertones. Then, walking over to the table, he removed the knife from the center. He examined the hilt, touching his finger gingerly on the sharp tip, and with a reluctant smile dropped it back on the table and followed his host from the room.
"Lud, but did you see ol' Malton's plump face when we interrupted his party?" Bonnie Charlie chuckled in amusement. "And Lord Newley's look when I relieved him of his watch. What is it, the third or fourth one now that
we've taken?"
"Third, I think, Charlie," one of the big men answered seriously.
"Yes, well, I'll have a sixth and a seventh from him before I'm through, eh, John?"
"That's the truth, Charlie. Really showed them gentlemen tonight. Thought Will was going to have to shoot the fat one."
"No shooting, remember," Bonnie Charlie warned. "We'll not have murder charged against us as well. Once we've killed, especially a gentleman, this whole country will be swarming with militia. It's bad enough as it is."
They urged their horses along the hillside, avoiding the road below where there were sure to be patrols. The scent of sweet, wild strawberries and honeysuckle was strong in the night air as they traveled through the woodlands and pushed their way through the bramble bushes and thick shrubs. Suddenly the horses shied nervously, frightened by the shadowy figure seen dimly ahead. Bonnie Charlie narrowed his eyes, the mask he wore obstructing his view. The figure seemed to be coming nearer, and yet it remained where it was.
"What is it?" Will whispered nervously, holding tight to the reins of his reluctant mount.
An owl hooted softly as they approached cautiously and viewed the suspended object.
"Lord, but it's Nate Fisher," John said, recognizing the figure that hung from a gnarled branch of an oak, a rope drawn tight about his neck.
"Dead."
"He was poaching again, but this time they caught him," Bonnie Charlie murmured softly as he saw the rabbit tied to the dead man's neck.
"What else was he to do? His family's starving. Five little ones to feed and a sick wife." Will spoke angrily.
"That be true, and this once being the common land until Lord Newley and Lord Malton took it over and closed it off. What's a fellow to do? Watch his family starve?"
"I know, Will, it's unjust. There they sat stuffing their faces while poor Nate swung here in the night, just because he was trying to feed his family. I wish now I'd taken everything from them instead of leaving them with their pockets still half-full. I swear I'll make up for it next time," Bonnie Charlie promised. "Cut him down. He'll not be a carcass for the crows to pick clean. You know the Fishers well, John, take him home. Half of our profit tonight goes to them," he added, then urged his horse ahead and slowly disappeared into the trees, leaving John to see to the body.
Bonnie Charlie and Will cautiously threaded their way down into a small, wooded valley, hearing the murmur of several creeks, the bubbling sound of the water cascading through the trees muffling the noise of their horses. Crossing into the soft bottom of one of the creek beds they hurried their horses, the muddied water from the horses' hooves quickly clearing as fresh water fed into it. The horses splashed through the water as the highwaymen followed the stream for a short distance, past several bends and overhanging banks until it widened, becoming sedentary and stagnant, overflowing into an expanse of inaccessible marshland.
In the center of the marsh was a firm rise of ground where a small stone hut stood sheltered under the camouflaging limbs of a large willow. Tying their horses to the dangling branches they entered the hut, standing still in the darkness until Will, fumbling with his tinderbox, managed to strike a spark with a piece of flint against steel and as the tinder flamed, lit the short candle that he'd drawn from his pocket.
The sparse, shabby furnishings of the hut were thrown into shadowy light by the flickering flame. Dark hangings of shag hung over the open windows, shielding the revealing light from any prying eyes in the night.
"Quite a booty, Charlie," Will chuckled as he emptied the bag of jewelry onto the rough, wooden table. His smile thinned, however, as his thick fingers came in contact with the emerald stock buckle of the Duke of Camareigh. "Wish you'd not baited the scar-faced gent. Don't like the looks of him. He's no lily-livered fool, that one. Didn't recognize him either," Will puzzled, rubbing a hand over his rough, stubbled chin.
"Some fancy coxcomb from town, out for a little country air, no doubt," Bonnie Charlie dismissed him with a contemptuous shrug.
"I don't know, Charlie. I didn't like his eyes, nor that mean grin on his face." Will shook his massive shoulders. "Mark my words—he means trouble."
"A carpet-knight, no more than that, Will. What can one of those town toffs do to me?" the highwayman laughed derisively. "Slap my face with a scented hankie and call me out? No, I think not. They hold no threat to us. After all, what have those fine gentlemen accomplished these last years? I still roam freely, no shackles or hangman's noose for me."
He bent suddenly and scooped up the emerald buckle in his gloved hand. Tossing it in the air, he thoughtfully said, "It's a beauty and will fetch us a fair price. I must admit the previous owner did indeed have good taste."
"Maybe, but I still don't like it," Will said stubbornly.
"Oh come now, Will. You're not superstitious about this little, shiny thing?" he teased.
Will remained silent, a brooding look on his usually cheerful features. "It bodes no good for us, I say."
"I'll remember your dire predictions when I pocket the handsome profit, and you needn't take your share of it if you're still superstitious about it." Bonnie Charlie laughed as he watched the sudden change on the big man's face.
"Well now, I didn't say I was that worried about it, Charlie. I'm not letting some city swell cost me my fair share," he rallied, stiffening his spine as he stretched to his full six-foot-five frame.
"That's the spirit, Will. Now you know what to do. Take these to London and our Mr. Biggs. He'll sell them and get a good price, and I think we might manage a little higher price than last time, eh, Will? Biggs isn't above trying to hoodwink us," he warned.
"He won't try anything on me and John. He knows better. Values his serpent skin too much to double-cross us."
"Good, and let me know if you hear any other news. You know what I'm waiting to hear about."
"Sure, Charlie, I'll let you know."
"All right then; a good night's work, I'd say. Let's be off."
Charlie bundled up the jewelry, stuffed the bag into an old sack, then handed it over to Will, who wedged it behind a loose stone in the wall. Snuffing out the flame between a large thumb and forefinger, Will followed Bonnie Charlie from the hut, his premonitions of disaster left behind with the loot. They traced their way back through the marshy ground with difficulty, and then up into the trees and away from the wooded valley, riding fast through the countryside.
Silently they entered an apple and cherry orchard, coming quickly to the walled end, beyond which lay a garden. The sweet fragrance of climbing roses hung heavy in the still night air and invaded Bonnie Charlie's senses as he climbed from his mount's back to the top of the stone wall. He waved, waiting as Will led the horses off, then jumped down on the garden side with a slight thud. He made his way easil
y through the rows of daffodils and roses to a large rhododendron hedge hugging the house. Slipping past it he moved behind to a recessed area beside the brick chimney. Sliding back a false, half-timbered section of brick he entered the house unobtrusively. Making his way through a short, dark passage well-swept of dust and cobwebs, he came to a panel and locating the latch slid it open and entered a large, dimly-lit room. The embers of a fire glowed faintly from the large fireplace and did little to lessen the chill that rose from the parquet-tiled floor. He slid the panel securely back into place. The false wall of the fireplace looked undisturbed before the massive oak table that sat squarely in the middle of the hall. Climbing swiftly up the oak staircase, he silently made his way through a small gallery and then quietly entered a sleeping chamber, closing the doors behind him. A fire burning in the grate lighted the room, revealing a large, carved oak bedstead with dark blue velvet curtains partly drawn to keep out the draughts.
Charlie glanced longingly at the embroidered silk quilt that covered the bed and the plump pillows covered in matching embroidered silk. He ignored the invitingly turned down bedclothes and went to stand before a small mirror hanging on the wall.
"You're later than usual." A soft voice spoke from the bed, and then two slimly arched feet appeared, followed by a white, nightclad figure.
Bonnie Charlie turned with a smile on his face. "Late, but we had a very profitable evening."
The woman slid from the warmth of the bed and hurried over to the fireplace, where several kettles were steaming. "Even in summer these floors pick up a chill." She removed a large kettle and poured the steaming water into a tub, adding another, followed by a can of cold water. She placed a warm towel close to the tub, then sat down on a tapestried chair, curling her legs beneath her as she stifled a sleepy yawn.
"I wish you wouldn't wait up for me," Bonnie Charlie told her as he began to pull his black, chamois gloves from his hands, tossing them carelessly into an oak chest. He carefully placed his weapons on the floor of the chest, and with amusement flickering in his eyes he removed the concealing mask from his face.
"You know I can't sleep until you've returned safely," the woman replied.
"I thought you'd know that without having to see me," the highwayman answered with a laugh, his eyes, no longer shadowed by the mask but lightened now to their true violet-blue color.
The black cocked hat followed the gloves and mask into the chest. With slender fingers the highwayman carefully removed the powdered wig he had worn beneath his hat and placed it into the chest. Straightening up he shook his head, loosening the thick mass of blue-black hair that curled down below the fitted waist of the full-skirted coat.
The mirror on the wall reflected the creamy smoothness of the highwayman's face. The delicately moulded features; the nose short and slightly tip-tilted above curved lips and a dimpled cheek.
Shrugging from the loose-fitting frock coat and waistcoat, he folded them into the chest and stretched indolently, the fine, white lawn shirt tautening over the smooth outline of firm, rounded breasts.
Where before a masked highwayman had stood, the mirror now reflected an incredibly beautiful woman standing before it. Her cheeks were flushed rosily and her lips parted in remembrance of the night's excitement as she turned to face the nightgowned figure.
"You constantly amaze me, Sabrina," Mary said from her curled-up position on the chair. Her red hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder and her gray eyes were bright with mischief. "I sometimes have the sneaking suspicion that you really enjoy masquerading as Bonnie Charlie."
Sabrina laughed gaily. "Not always, especially when I have to pull off these heavy boots." She sat down tiredly on a chair and struggled to free one of her legs.
Mary jumped up and helped her pull, laughing as she fell backwards carrying the boot with her. After the other boot had finally been removed, Sabrina rolled down the thickly knitted, worsted stockings that protected her soft skin from the hard, chafing leather, revealing slim legs and small feet. She quickly removed the tight black breeches and full-sleeved shirt, then twisted her thick black hair into two braids and pinned them on top of her head.
Closing the carved lid of the chest, Mary glanced about the room, reassuring herself that nothing remained of the highwayman, Bonnie Charlie.
Sabrina gratefully slipped into the warm water of the tub and relaxed, letting the sweet-scented bath oil Mary had added soak into her body. With her hair pinned up she looked like a small child as she yawned widely.
"I'm glad we don't have to do this every night, or I'd be swooning over the breakfast table," Mary said, curling back up in her chair as she waited for Sabrina to bathe.
"You know, I do really appreciate your waiting up for me. It's good to know that you're here and I can talk to you."
"Have you ever thought what an odd life we're leading?" Mary asked. "I do wish sometimes that we could just live normally like everyone else."
"Because of our odd life, Mary, we are able to live normally," Sabrina contradicted. "We live very simply compared to others, and even that takes money."
"Oh, I know, Rina, and I'm not complaining, truly I'm not," Mary reassured her. "It's just this gnawing fear and worry that you'll be shot or captured. I suppose it's my own guilty conscience, but I'm constantly in fear of letting something slip."
"I know how you feel. I'm tired too," Sabrina confessed. "But what can we do? This is our only means of support. Do you imagine I'd do it otherwise?"
Mary looked at Sabrina's set face, hesitating for an instant before she replied reluctantly, "Well, maybe. You are a bit of a devil, Rina."
"Mary!" Sabrina cried with an indignant laugh, splashing water on her playfully. "Of course I must admit I do so enjoy seeing my lords Malton and Newley's faces when I have them at sword point." Her eyes darkened at the thought of them and she angrily wrung the soapy cloth free of water.
"What is it?" Mary asked in concern, seeing the look on her sister's face.
"We found Nate Fisher in the woods tonight. He'd been caught poaching, and for his punishment he was hanged by the neck."
"Oh, no," Mary breathed.
"Oh, yes," Sabrina assured her in a hard voice. "Do you remember how we hated all of these people when we first came here? They were all the same to me, and I hated the lot of them. But gradually that changed as I came to know them, and I discovered that people were pretty much the same no matter where you were. The poor and underprivileged still going hungry, and the rich that bully them still getting away with it."
"Do you know, Rina," Mary confided, "I've come to love it here. I want to stay here always. We won't go back to Scotland, will we?"
Sabrina shook her head regretfully. "There's nothing to go back to. This is our home now, Mary."
Mary smiled with relief. "I never thought I'd hear you say that. I've always loved this house, especially when Mother was alive and we were just little girls. Remember playing in the orchard and stealing apples?"
Sabrina laughed. "Yes, very well. And I haven't mended my ways, have I? I didn't want to think of those days when we first returned to Verrick House. I was so full of hate and revenge that I didn't want to remember the nice things about it. But now that I'm seventeen I can look at life differently, more objectively than when I was a little girl, and I can accept both my memories and the present."
"It's taken you a while," Mary teased.
"Ah, but then we were hardly made welcome, were we? I don't think the Marquis' solicitor could really believe his eyes when we stormed into his offices. Do you know, I think for the first time in his life he was actually speechless. The Marquis probably had neglected to inform him that he had children."
"You'll never call him Father, will you?" Mary asked curiously.
Sabrina looked at her steadily. "And why should I? He's no father to us. Why, he's never seen his only son and heir! No, he can stay in Italy with his rich Contessa as far as I'm concerned. In fact, I would
say we've been exceptionally lucky that he's been living abroad. Do you think he would've taken us in with welcoming arms? He's hardly proven himself to be paternal."
Sabrina laughed harshly. "He would have sold Verrick House by now if he had to pay the upkeep and taxes. If it weren't for my unlawful activities, we would most likely be in debtors' prison. I haven't forgotten how things were that first year we came here and tried to survive without outside help."
No, Sabrina thought to herself, she hadn't forgotten their first year in England. Five years had now passed since her grandfather had died, so long ago that she sometimes wondered if they'd ever lived in Scotland. And then she would have one of the nightmares. She would see again the blood-soaked heather and tartan, smell the death and fear on the moors, the scene haunting her nighttime dreams. She would waken, feeling that choking, horror-filled fear that left her sweating and gasping for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably.
So long ago, yet still so vivid. They had sailed away from the destruction in the Highlands. The slaughter of men, women and innocent children. The burning and sacking of their homes. Sometimes she wondered what had been the fate of the castle?
They had arrived safely in England, Aunt Margaret and Mary ghastly ill with seasickness from the turbulent crossing, Richard fretful and confused, and herself so full of hate she could scarcely conceal it from the English coachmen and innkeepers they'd dealt with on their journey to Verrick House.
The ancient family home had been uninhabited and inhospitable. The Marquis, their father, whom they had not seen in the ten years since his Scots wife had died, had long ago abandoned it for the more refined atmosphere of London life and countless other diversions.
But their hard work and determination had made a home out of the small Elizabethan manor house that had changed little over the last two hundred years. The high on a garden and orchard overgrown with weeds and fields that had lain fallow year after year. But the richly carved oak paneling and strapwork ceiling of the entrance hall still welcomed the visitor. The finely-worked tapestries that hung from the walls were still in good condition, and with a little beeswax the old oak furniture glowed into new life.
Moonstruck Masness Page 3