The Highwayman's Bite

by Brooklyn Ann

  The barkeep regarded him with a look of irritation, for strangers who arrived at such a late hour were often looking for trouble. Rhys ordered the cheapest ale available with hunched shoulders and a lowered tone to put the man at ease. And once he took his cup and slunk away quietly to a table in the far corner, the barkeep relaxed and turned his attention back to the men playing cards near the fireplace.

  Rhys sipped the ale, surprisingly good for the price and rough location, and withdrew the leather sack that Blackpool had left on the grave.

  Something didn’t feel right about the bag. When he opened the sack, he immediately saw why. Rather than two hundred pounds of coins, Blackpool had stuffed the bag with chunks of coal. Rhys blinked in astonishment. Did the Viscount of Thornton truly not give a whit for his own blood? He hadn’t anticipated that. What would he do with Vivian and Madame Renarde in that case?

  The bag crinkled in his clenched fist. Rhys sneezed from the coal dust as he reached inside and drew out an envelope, sealed with a blot of wax bearing the Thornton crest. He tore it open and found a folded letter written on vellum, far sturdier than the foolscap Rhys used.

  The letter however, was quite a bit briefer than the one Rhys had penned.

  It read:

  “You have chosen to extort the wrong man. I will find you, and I will kill you.”

  Rhys stared at the angry, slanted words in stunned silence. What was he to do now? He couldn’t call Blackpool’s bluff and kill the women. The very idea filled him with revulsion. But was he supposed to keep them prisoner forever? That wouldn’t do either.

  Perhaps Rhys had been too jovial in the ransom letter and not given the impression that he was serious about this business. He would have to get another message to Lord Thornton. One that would convince the vampire that Rhys was not to be trifled with.

  But what would he say? Rhys took another deep drink of ale and left the pub. He needed to walk, to think. Then he realized that if he would be holding his captives longer, they could use a hot meal. He went back inside and ordered two meat pies, which he wrapped in handkerchiefs and tucked in the pockets of his greatcoat.

  He also fed on the barkeep before departing. He really didn’t care to take the blood of those who provided a service to him, as such was considered bad manners in vampire society, but Rhys didn’t have time to hunt, and he certainly did not want to feed on Madame Renarde again. Aside from the taboo of feeding from guests, Rhys couldn’t banish the memory of the blazing accusation in Vivian’s eyes when she’d suddenly sat up in her bunk and caught him drinking her companion’s blood.

  He’d willed Vivian to fall back asleep, but from the suspicious looks she’d cast in his direction this afternoon, Rhys suspected some part of her retained the memory. That wouldn’t be so much of a concern if he was returning her to Blackpool before dawn as originally planned, but now that her stay was being extended, the risk of Vivian or Madame Renarde discovering Rhys’s secret had multiplied ten-fold.

  An idea flickered in the back of his mind, as teasing as it was daring. But no, Rhys would save that option for a last resort.

  When he reached his cave in the no-man’s land, Vivian and Madame Renarde rose from their seats on Vivian’s bunk, bent heads snapping up guiltily.

  Rhys bit back a smirk. He wondered what they had been plotting in his absence. Though keeping a pair of women prisoner was an inconvenience, it did certainly abate the prospect of boredom.

  “I’ve brought luncheon,” he told them with a broad smile and withdrew the meat pies.

  Vivian turned her nose up and opened her mouth to issue what would doubtless be an imperious refusal, but then her stomach growled loudly, echoing in the cave.

  She took the proffered bundle with a mutinous frown.

  Rhys waited for his prisoners to finish their meal before delivering the unfortunate news. “I’ve received a reply from Lord Thornton.”

  Vivian gasped and Madame Renarde fixed a suspicious stare at Rhys, already mistrusting his tone.

  “Did he give you the money?” Vivian asked.

  Rhys shook his head and handed her Blackpool’s note. Her shoulders slumped as she read the curt message and passed it to her companion. Madame Renarde’s scowl was fearsome to behold. “This is his writing. Bloody foolish male pride.”

  “Yes, pride.” Rhys latched onto the explanation. “I do hope that was his reasoning rather than cold disregard for your safety. Either way, it appears that I have made a grave error in my approach to this situation.”

  Vivian’s dark hair rippled over her shoulders with her vigorous nod. “Indeed, you have. You may rectify it by releasing us at once.”

  Rhys chuckled at her boldness and allowed his gaze to rove over her luxurious hair. Her tresses weren’t the usual dun-color that was prominent with many English women, but rather a rich, dark shade, that reminded him of coffee from the Americas.

  “No, my error was that I mistakenly gave your uncle the impression that I am a jovial man and far too soft to contemplate harming a gently born maiden. And indeed, I shall rectify that immediately.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew his hunting knife.

  Vivian gasped as he lunged at her.

  Chapter Eleven

  A scream built in Vivian’s throat as Rhys came at her with the knife. But before she was able to let it out, he already withdrew. Her gaze lit on the blade, its sharp steel surface reflecting the light of the lanterns.

  No blood.

  Still, she tentatively reached up to touch her neck and feel for the cut she’d anticipated.

  Rhys held up a lock of her hair. “I will include this in my next missive.”

  Madame Renarde snorted in derision. “Now you prove that you are so ruthless that you will damage her coiffure. So terrifying! What shall you do then? Tell His Lordship that next time it will be a finger?”

  Vivian turned to her companion in horror. “Jeanette! Do not give him ideas!”

  Rhys laughed. “I think your wise companion was calling my bluff and pointing out that I lack the stomach for such brutality. Jeanette, is it? A lovely name.”

  “You will address me as Madame Renarde.” Her companion’s stern gaze swept between Vivian and Rhys. “Both of you.”

  Vivian bowed her head in contrition. Madame Renarde may be her dearest friend, but she was old-fashioned and a stickler for formality. Then the implications of her companion’s exchange with their captor sank in. Though she was greatly relieved that he didn’t wish to inflict any violence upon them, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of fool would admit to his own hostages that he lacked the nerve to pose a threat? He must be a poor kidnapper indeed.

  But she kept that sentiment to herself. “And when will you deliver this letter to my uncle?”

  “I will send it with tomorrow’s post, which will unfortunately take a few days to reach your uncle, so that means that you will be enjoying my hospitality longer than I anticipated.” Rhys shrugged as if in apology.

  Madame Renarde sniffed in disgust. “Hospitality is not at all the word I’d use to describe the dreadful conditions you are subjecting us to.” Her righteous indignation was ruined with an indelicate sneeze.

  “Bless you,” Rhys and Vivian echoed in tandem.

  Vivian found that she did not share her companion’s outrage at this awkward state of affairs. Instead, she’d somehow come to regard her time in this cave as a sort of adventure, though she’d never dare admit to something that had to be morally wrong. To atone for her traitorous thoughts, she forced a defiant tone. “And what will you do if my uncle still refuses to pay the ransom?”

  Rhys leaned forward and curled his long fingers around her shoulders. “You had better pray that he sees reason. Just because I do not wish to sever your finger does not mean that I am incapable of doing other things that would horrify your uncle and that you would doubtless find unpleasant.”

  Vivian shivered under his piercing gaze. And yet, not out of fear. He wouldn’t hurt her. He’d already made
that clear.

  Madame Renarde coughed. “And I suppose you’ll start by driving us mad from boredom.”

  Rhys laughed. “Actually, I intended to keep you occupied. For example, I will permit one of you at a time to ride one of the horses along the beach, so you may have fresh air and exercise.”

  “That could be dangerous in the dark,” Madame Renarde said. “What if the horse turns an ankle?”

  “That is a risk you may choose to take or decline,” Rhys admitted. “But that is your only option, for you cannot go out during the day.”

  “Why not?” Vivian asked.

  “I don’t want you to be seen.” Rhys avoided her gaze, as if there was more to it that he didn’t wish to divulge. “You are hostages, after all. I do not think you could refrain from calling for help, and then I would be forced to dispatch some poor, hapless fisherman as a result.”

  Vivian sighed. She couldn’t picture him killing anyone, much less a fisherman, but thought it wise not to point that out. “Very well. I would like to ride now.”

  Rhys grinned and replaced his slouch hat on his head and extended his arm to escort her. He locked Madame Renarde inside the cave when the companion tried to follow.

  “That wasn’t very kind of you,” Vivian admonished him. “Surely Madame Renarde could at least walk along the beach while we ride.”

  “And risk her wandering off to the nearest village?” Rhys shook his head as he led her up a narrow trail that seemed to be carved into the cliff face. “I think not. She is as eccentric as she is wily. Was her birth name Jean?”

  Vivian nodded, taken aback by the abrupt inquiry. “Yes, but don’t you dare address her by that name. When she became Jeanette, her peers mocked her by insisting on calling her Jean, and they lived to regret it. She is one of the finest fencers I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ah, so she taught you swordplay?” Rhys took her hand to help her up a particularly steep incline.

  “Yes.” They reached the top of the cliff and saw the horses, both of which were tied to a squat pine tree and cropping the grass. Vivian was pleased that they were positioned in the lee of the stone face, so they weren’t battered by the wind.

  Then a surprising realization struck her. Rhys didn’t have a horse of his own.

  And if he didn’t have a horse, that meant that he robbed carriages afoot. Vivian thought back to the night they’d met. He had indeed been on foot when he’d robbed her carriage. Reflecting on it, that seemed very strange to her. How was he able to get away so fast? Furthermore, how did he travel the countryside and return to his home so swiftly?

  It was yet another mystery about this infuriating man.

  Her thoughts broke off as Rhys’s hands encircled her waist and he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. She sucked in a surprised breath, momentarily wondering if he’d lured her outside to ravage her. But then he set her on the horse. The heat of his palms remained even after he released her.

  It took an endless moment for her to recover from his touch. Only then did she realize that he seemed remarkably unaffected for one who’d been shot in the arm.

  With no sidesaddle, Vivian had to adjust her skirts and throw her leg on the other side of the horse. Rhys regarded her with a nod of approval. “Did Madame Renarde teach you to ride astride?”

  Vivian nodded. “It is of her opinion that all ladies should learn, and that riding side saddle is foolish and dangerous.”

  “I quite agree,” Rhys said as he mounted the other horse. “I wonder what possessed society to require women to ride in such a silly manner in the first place.”

  “I suspect that it is to make it more difficult for us to best a man in a race,” Vivian said. “But Madame Renarde told me the reason is even more ludicrous.”

  “And what reason is that?” he inquired as they cantered along.

  Vivian blushed. She’d nearly blurted something so indecent it was unthinkable. What magic did he weave that made her so comfortable talking to him? “I... ah, shouldn’t speak of such things.”

  Rhys drew his horse closer to hers and regarded her with a smile that was sin incarnate. “I wager I can guess. Some people believe that the rocking of the horse against your cunny will make you aroused.”

  Flames seemed to engulf her face as that dreadfully naughty word repeated itself in her mind. Worst of all, even though she’d never experienced any sort of carnal sensations on horseback, she certainly had felt something in that place when Rhys had kissed her. Vivian lifted her chin, fighting for composure. “You really shouldn’t speak in such a crude manner in a lady’s presence.”

  “Pish-tosh.” Rhys used the mocking inflection of an aristocrat. “Madame Renarde taught you to fence and how to ride astride. You cannot tell me she didn’t teach you vulgar words.”

  Vivian huffed in outrage. “She most certainly did not!”

  “Then I shall be happy to be of service in that regard.” Rhys favored her with a rakish smile. “I have accumulated quite a salty vocabulary from my many travels.”

  “And who is to say I have any wish to learn how to curse?” Vivian retorted, though in truth, she could not help but be curious.

  Rhys shrugged. “You’ll never know when it could come in handy. Besides, at the least, it could alleviate your boredom since I lack embroidery hoops and thread.”

  “I dislike needlework anyway,” Vivian admitted, drawing her horse to a trot.

  For the rest of the ride, Rhys taught her countless new words for various parts of human anatomy, making her blush deepen with each one.

  By the time they returned to the cliffside and tied up the horses, Vivian realized she’d been too engaged in the lessons to take note of her surroundings. Perhaps that was his intent all along.

  Yet Rhys didn’t possess the smug look of a man who’d outwitted a helpless woman. Instead, his eyes glittered with boyish humor. “Go on, say it.”

  Vivian was overcome with helpless giggles. “I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can. Imagine you’re saying it to one of those stuff-shirt nobs who seem to think the world should lick their boots.” Rhys dismounted from his horse and tied it to the tree before helping Vivian down.

  Vivian remembered Lord Summerly’s lecherous stare and the feel of his fat fingers pinching her bodice. Because she’d dared to challenge him and defend her honor, she was ruined, while he was free to corner other innocent young women and compromise them. That old fury boiled in her heart as she snarled, “Go fuck yourself in the arse with your own pizzle.”

  “Very good.” Rhys beamed at her with pride. “We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”

  When they returned to the cave, Madame Renarde cast Vivian an anxious look that was easily read. Did Rhys try to force himself on her? Vivian answered with a minute shake of her head and raised her arms slightly to demonstrate that she was still in one piece.

  Rhys addressed Madame Renarde. “Would you care to ride for a spell?”

  The companion nodded primly and turned to Vivian. “I found a shelf of books and magazines and newspapers over in that part of the cave.” She pointed.

  Vivian’s heart lifted. Until now she hadn’t realized how much she’d dreaded being cooped up in the cave with nothing to do. Reading a good story would transport her from the prison. Then she grasped the significance of something Madame Renarde had said. Newspapers. That meant that she may be able to discern where they were.

  The scheme quickly came to nothing, as she realized that the papers were from various places that were too far from each other to indicate a locale, along with others she’d never heard of. Where in heaven’s name was Much Hoole?

  Reading through the paper didn’t give any clues, aside from the fact that Much Hoole was a small village and likely isolated from any large towns. Most of the news consisted of dull topics such as the weather and state of local farmers’ crops, but she found a serial story that was quite eccentric and entertaining.

  The main character was a chipper constable trying to solve a
murder in a secluded village called “Two Hills.” Constable Cooper Daleson took his tea “black as a smugglers moon” and stopped into Norman’s Inn for a cherry tart every morning. The denizens of the Two Hills were equally queer. An old woman who carried a tree limb everywhere and claimed it spoke to her, and another woman who constantly disguised herself and made mischief quickly became Vivian’s favorites.

  By the time Rhys and Madame Renarde returned, she’d found every issue of the Much-Hoole papers and sorted them in order so she could read the story from the beginning.

  “Ah,” Rhys said. “You’ve found the ‘Two Hills’ serial. I am still flummoxed as to where the tale is going, but I cannot stop reading it.”

  Vivian nodded. “It’s utterly bizarre, yet completely fascinating.”

  Madame Renarde covered a cough with her handkerchief. “Although I am intrigued, perhaps we should have something to eat.”

  Rhys obliged them with cheese, bread, and fruit. “I have some errands to complete. I apologize, but I must leave you locked inside.” He took the envelope containing the lock of Vivian’s hair and his reply to her uncle and left the cave.

  The moment he departed, Madame Renarde blew her nose and fixed Vivian with a probing stare. “He didn’t do anything inappropriate while you were alone with him, did he?”

  Vivian shook her head. “The only time he touched me was to help me on and off the horse.”

  “He helped me as well,” Madame Renarde said. “Very gentlemanly of him. Also, he’s incredibly strong. I am not a slender woman, yet he didn’t even strain.”

  At first Vivian was only surprised that Rhys had assisted Madame Renarde. At both her father’s townhouse and her uncle’s estate, the footmen usually hesitated to offer her assistance in mounting a horse or even a hand to a carriage, and Madame Renarde simply ignored their reluctance and went without. Such was common for ladies’ maids and companions who were on the stout side, and Madame Renarde had the double inconvenience of being...different. Though her secret remained intact, Vivian wondered if they could sense that Madame Renarde was not an average woman. For Rhys to know and be so gallant was unbearably touching.