Moonstruck Masness

by Laurie McBain

  "Would our other fine gentleman care to join us?" Bon­nie Charlie asked, feeling a need to hurry.

  Lord Wrainton climbed slowly from the coach, the col­lar of his greatcoat turned up to protect him against the light drizzle that fell and his cocked hat shadowing his features as he stood nervously beside the Duke.

  "Now, what will we be donating to the cause today? A few golden guineas would not come amiss. After all, no gentleman of means travels without a full purse. Hand it over," Bonnie Charlie demanded, hardly glancing at the man who stood beside the tall Duke.

  Lucien reached into his coat, his hand disappearing beneath the thick material.

  "Carefully, lad. I'd hate to ruin your finery," the high­wayman cautioned as he watched Lucien remove his purse and toss it over to him. "And your friend?"

  The Marquis handed over his purse with ill grace, curs­ing under his breath as he did so.

  "Now, if we might have a look at the ladies and see if they would care to share their wealth with those not as fortunate?"

  Bonnie Charlie waved Lucien aside, staying out of the aim of Will's pistol, which was trained on the two gentle­men, and glanced inside the coach.

  The Contessa was fanning Maria frantically, trying to revive her, when she looked up into the face of the masked bandit.

  "Din!" she whispered, beginning to fan herself instead.

  "You're not English," Bonnie Charlie commented re­gretfully as he eyed the milky pearls around her neck, "so I'll leave you your lovely pearls and take only your ear­rings. As the other lady is insensible and obviously una­dorned, I shan't trouble her."

  The highwayman bowed, a grin on his lips as the Con­tessa stared in bemused silence at this gentleman of the road. "Arrivederci."

  Backing from the opened door of the coach, Bonnie Charlie turned to confront the Duke, whose coat was damp­ened from the misty rain that was beginning to fall more heavily.

  "My apologies for keeping you standing in the rain," Bonnie Charlie mocked, his own clothes covered by a black greatcoat that enveloped his figure warmly. "You may both get aboard, and I trust I haven't inconvenienced you too greatly, although it is a pity that you must look the fool in front of so lovely a lady. Better that, however, than a foolish attempt to fight me and find oneself dead. Yes, far wiser to play the fine gentlemen and return to the lady in one piece."

  The Duke grinned, the scar on his cheek whitening as he said deliberately, "So brave, my small foe, with your giants behind you. I've yet to see you prove your worth. You do a lot of fine talking, but I'll wager you're no more than a bluffing puppy giving himself airs." Lucien laughed scornfully, adding softly, "You swine, you're not fit to lick the boots of a guttersnipe."

  Bonnie Charlie's violet eyes blazed with anger at the Duke's sneering contempt, and losing control at his bait­ing, lifted a hand and struck the Duke full across the face.

  Lord Wrainton gave a gasp of astonishment and re­mained deadly still. Lucien grinned malevolently. "Not much strength for a renowned and supposedly vicious highwayman, but as much as I'd expected from a brag­gart."

  "Get back in the coach if you value your mongrel skin," Bonnie Charlie ordered hoarsely, his gloved hand shaking as he leveled his pistol even with Lucien's heart.

  "My pleasure. I begin to grow chilled," Lucien acqui­esced in a condescending tone and followed the Marquis into the coach.

  Bonnie Charlie backed up to his horse and agilely mounted, and for just a second glanced away from the coach as he grasped the reins. In that instant the Duke withdrew a pistol from his coat and fired it at the giant guarding his coachmen from the back of his horse. John grunted in pain and momentarily dropped his guard, but before the astonished coachmen could react Will had fired a shot into the ground before them, halting any movement they might have made, and Bonnie Charlie had fired his pistol into the door of the coach causing the Contessa to scream in alarm and Lucien to draw back for protection.

  Signaling to Will and John, Bonnie Charlie urged his mount through the prisoners, scattering them in alarm, and disappeared into the trees, Will and John doing like­wise, but in different directions.

  The footmen ran to their weapons, but by the time they'd reached them and turned to aim, the highwaymen had disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

  Lucien stared grimly after them, his lips thinned in an­ger, then climbed from the coach to confront his coach­men who were standing sheepishly in the road.

  "Well, how did this happen? I had assumed you were all armed for the likes of these highwaymen?" Lucien de­manded, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

  "Was a tree, Your Grace, fallen across the road and causin' us to stop. In this weather we never thought 'twas highwaymen. And then from nowheres these giants ap­pears and aims them pistols at us before we could even draw ours. Would've laid us low if we had," the head coachman explained ruefully, seeking confirmation from the other abashed faces around him. "Got to move the damned tree besides," he added, looking balefully at the fallen tree across the road that had caused all their trouble and was now still blocking their way.

  "I trust this will never happen again? I only allow one mistake of this nature while you're in my service, so don't disappoint me again," the Duke replied coldly. "Now get this cleared as quick as you can," he directed. "We've been delayed long enough as it is." Turning, he walked back to the carriage, his broad back looking uncompromis­ing and stern to the chastened servants.

  "Well, don't just stand there gawking. Get to it. You're not in a funeral procession yet," the head coachman yelled, giving the closest boy a cuff on the ear that sent him scurrying.

  "We shall be on our way presently," the Duke informed Lord Wrainton, who was leaning weakly against the soft cushions of the seat. "Are you quite all right, Contessa?"

  "Si," she replied faintly, her fingers nervously clasping and unclasping her pearls.

  Lucien settled himself in the coach and stared silently out of the window. The scar on his cheek still throbbed with anger.

  "Why the hell did you do it?" Lord Wrainton finally found the courage to ask the Duke's aloof profile.

  Lucien glanced over at him coldly. "Do what?" he asked haughtily.

  "Risk all of our lives by baiting that highwayman? I could scarce believe my ears when I heard you insult him." Lord Wrainton took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "He might have shot me as I stood there next to you."

  Lucien shrugged unrepentantly. "You were in little dan­ger. I merely was curious how far I could push the fellow, and now I know his weaknesses."

  The Duke's eyes were narrowed in thought and gradu­ally a cruel smile curved his lips and he suddenly laughed, a satisfied expression settling on his features as he slapped his leather gloves carelessly against the palm of his hand.

  "And so you put us all into danger for that?" Lord Wrainton demanded incredulously, feeling a shiver of ap­prehension as he saw the Duke's expression.

  "Per favore," the Contessa broke in before the Duke could make his scathing remark. "We are safe, si? There is no cause for further alarm? So, we will forget the incident. Of course I must admit it was quite exciting," she added mischievously.

  "Luciana!" Lord Wrainton said in exasperation.

  "It was the first time I have been held at pistol point," she excused herself. "Si, I was most excited, and this bandito, he was quite the gentleman, too," she murmured, touching her pearls reassuringly.

  "I personally found him to be impertinent," the Duke answered softly, "and in need of being taught a lesson."

  "Well, I found the whole thing distasteful," Lord Wrain­ton said irritably. "Why, we came close to being mur­dered, and you two think it was exciting. Lud, but I must be the one half-crazed." He held his handkerchief to his lips, dabbing at the beads of perspiration.

  The Contessa stared at him, then said in a puzzled voice, "You know, this bandito, there is something odd about him, something not quite right." She shook her head in self-derision. "Ah, I am silly. It is not
hing really, and quite ridiculous."

  "What is ridiculous?" Lucien asked curiously.

  "No, we will not discuss this notion of mine. I will look the complete fool then," the Contessa laughed and snuggled down into the fur of her pelisse, then issued an abrupt "Silenzio!" to the sniveling Maria.

  They arrived at the King's Carriage Inn early in the evening, the Duke dining with Lord and Lady Wrainton, and then bidding them farewell as he planned to make an early start the following morning. But he did not go to bed immediately. He sat in the darkness of his bedchamber for over an hour, his miad preoccupied with a certain scheme he'd been devising all evening, until, finally satisfied, he slipped between the sheets of his bed and slept content­edly.

  "Here, give me the bandage," Sabrina told Will as she held a piece of cloth against the wound in John's shoulder.

  "And give me the bottle," John said between clenched teeth as he grimaced at Sabrina's ministrations. "Don't worry, Charlie, Mam'll see to it," he said confidently.

  "I just want to stop the bleeding or you'll never make it to her," Sabrina answered shortly, nervous perspiration threading down from her temples.

  "He'll be all right, Charlie, John's as strong as an ox. Take more'n a bullet to kill him off."

  "Yeah," John agreed, taking a deep swallow from the bottle of rum Will had handed him. "More like a cannon-ball, eh, Will?"

  "More'n one," Will chuckled.

  "I wish you'd stop joking," Sabrina spoke worriedly. "Like I said, Charlie. Mam'll take care of him, all we got to worry about is spending these guineas."

  Sabrina wasn't listening. "This is the first time anyone has dared to shoot back at us. John could've been killed!" she cried.

  Will rubbed his big thumb against the side of his nose. "Told you I didn't like that scar-faced gent. Would be his carriage we'd have to hold up. Looking daggers at us, he was."

  "Gave me the shivers," John contributed thickly, the rum he'd drunk beginning to take effect.

  "Revenge is what he's gonna want, Charlie. And once you're at his mercy, he'll want blood for blood," Will warned. "You shouldn't of hit him."

  "Speaking of accounts to be settled," Sabrina promised, looking at John's shoulder wound, 'Tve one to settle with our scar-faced friend."

  "Go easy, Charlie," Will entreated her. "He's different. If he ever gets his hands on us, well, I'm a big man but that look of his sent a chill up my spine."

  "Do you think I'm frightened of that town fop?" Sa­brina demanded incredulously.

  "You should be, Charlie," Will told her quietly.

  Sabrina's lower lip jutted out, and with her hands on her hips and the light of battle still in her violet eyes she vowed rashly, "I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but he'll soon wish he'd never set eyes upon me, and I'll give him time to lament the fact before I send him to his grave."

  Will gazed at this little firebrand who was the brains be­hind their misadventures and shook his head sadly. They'd come to love her these past years, admiring her courage; but she was a tough, determined little lady who would have her own way, and he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that it would lead to ruin. He felt like they were sitting on a barrel of gunpowder with Charlie going around striking sparks off everything, fearing nothing and no one. He shook his mop of corn-colored hair in resigna­tion. They'd end up on the gallows yet.

  It is a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.

  Jean de La Fontaine

  Chapter 4

  SABRINA climbed down daintily from the horse-drawn gig. To any observers she was playing Lady Bountiful to her less fortunate neighbors, bearing a basket of homemade goods, perhaps bread and soup, to the ailing Taylor son who'd hurt his shoulder chopping wood.

  Sabrina knocked once, then twice rapidly and waited, the scent of lavender and herbs heavy in the warm after­noon air. Sad-faced pansies stared back at her from the flower beds and the loud notes of a storm thrush called from a chestnut tree.

  "Ah, Lady Sabrina, come along in," Mrs. Taylor wel­comed as she escorted Sabrina inside the cottage. "You don't mind going into the kitchen? I've bread in the oven and it's likely to burn if I'm not there to watch it."

  "Of course not. You know I like that room above all; it's always so warm and smells so good in there."

  Mrs. Taylor smiled. "You and the boys'll never grow up. Hoping for a piece of freshly buttered bread, are you?" She chuckled happily as she pulled out a cane chair for Sa­brina to sit on.

  The large farm kitchen was full of the aroma of baking bread from the brick oven built into the fireplace, where a great kettle hung over the open fire.

  "How is John?" Sabrina asked.

  "Well, a bit feverish, but that's to be expected. I'm not worried, though, I've applied a salve and he's gettin' plenty of rest. Be himself in no time," Mrs. Taylor answered as­suredly. "Now, how about a cup of coffee? I've just brewed some over the fire."

  "I was hoping you'd ask me to have some," Sabrina ad­mitted. "I've been tantalized by it since I came in, and with the coffee mill still fragrant, it must be freshly ground."

  "Not much misses your eye, Lady Sabrina," Mrs. Taylor beamed. "Just finished grinding it shortly before you knocked."

  Mrs. Taylor took down two pewter mugs and placed them on the table, then removed two loaves of crisp, golden bread from the oven. Holding one of the loaves with the edge of her voluminous apron, she placed it on the table in front of Sabrina. Going back to the fire with the mugs, she tipped a small kettle from its adjustable hang­er and filled the two mugs with the steaming brew.

  "Now, some butter." She reached for a large wooden bowl with freshly churned butter that hadn't yet been patted into shape and a small pot of honey.

  "This should do us," she sighed, dropping down in a chair at the table. "I've been on my feet all day, about worn them off."

  Sabrina took a dab of fluffy butter and spread it across the piece of warm bread, licking her fingertip as the melt­ing butter dripped over the edge. "No wonder John and Will grew so big, with this good food inside of them."

  "Well, no one can say I didn't feed 'em proper," Mrs. Taylor agreed proudly, spreading honey liberally across her slice of bread.

  Sabrina sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "I can't tell you how awful I feel about John. It's my fault. I sometimes re­gret ever having started this charade," she spoke pas­sionately, deeply troubled by the incident.

  Mrs. Taylor patted Sabrina's hand comfortingly. "It's not you I blame. The boys were poaching long before they met you, and could've come to grief by that, sure enough."

  "Poaching is not highway robbery," Sabrina said de­spondently.

  "No, but it would've led to it soon. Things are bad here­abouts, people out of work, starving and nothing to be done for it. Not until you came, at least. Now you've leased your land cheap to them, and given food, money and jobs to those that can't farm. You've saved half the village. What did them other fancy gentlemen care? None, that's what," she spoke angrily.

  "You make me sound like another Robin Hood, and I'm not. I can't claim that I began this so charitably, or from a divinely guided altruism. I did it selfishly and out of hate and revenge. I was motivated by self-interest," she contradicted Mrs. Taylor stubbornly.

  Mrs. Taylor shook her head, not to be swayed from her opinion. "You might have started it for the reasons you say, although it be for your family more than yourself, I say. But you don't now, do you? Why do you help us and the villagers if you hate them? No, you're an angel, Lady Sabrina, and I'll hear no different even from your own lips." She closed her lips firmly together, refusing to hear any more on the subject.

  "I don't suppose we'll know the truth of that until the fi­nal accounting, but I don't think I'll need my cloak," Sa­brina teased. "Where is Will?"

  "Gone into the village for a spot of ale at the tavern, and to pick up on the latest gossip. More coffee, Lady Sa­brina? And you've hardly touched your bread."

  "Yes, I have. You're just used to the
giant-sized helpings of John and Will. This is plenty," Sabrina reassured her, taking a bite to placate her motherly instincts.

  Sabrina glanced around the room, feeling relaxed. It was such a peaceful cottage. Sitting here eating bread and butter, sipping coffee like any other well-bred lady of the neighborhood paying a duty call. But at the back of her mind there was always that constant fear. That niggling doubt that plagued her conscience. She was a highway­man, a thief and a liar. And yet, was she so very bad? She helped people less fortunate, and only stole what was needed. She wasn't greedy, she hadn't really hurt anyone, although her temper had driven her closer than ever be­fore to wanting to kill someone. She still intended to even the score with the scar-faced gentleman at some future date.

  Sabrina suddenly felt something strike her foot and giv­ing a startled cry looked down to see a small, furry face peeping up at her from the folds of her gown. Laughing, Sabrina leaned down and scooped up the playful kitten in her hands, rolling it into her lap in a fluffy ball.

  "Where did you come from?" she asked the kitten softly as it licked her fingers with a rough, pink tongue. "You like butter, don't you?"

  Tickling the little gray and white cat's tummy she watched Mrs. Taylor, who was busy gathering ingredients from her shelves. "I thought you were tired? What are you making now?" she asked in puzzlement as Mrs. Taylor placed a large pot on the table and a pile of dried flowers beside it.

  "Mead. Ill mix honey and ginger and a couple of hand-fuls of elder flowers in this pot of water and let it boil for an hour. Then after it's cooled and been skimmed, I'll pour it into a tub and let it cool off so I can add the yeast. Then I'll let it sit overnight so it get's that good mellow taste and then into the barrel over there. Best thing around on a warm afternoon when you're bone weary and parched with thirst," she chuckled. "Put away my fair share, that I do." She patted her thickening middle regret­fully.