“My lady.” He brought her hand to his lips, lingering over the soft skin. He’d have liked nothing more than to taste those sweet, full lips of hers. But he would not do so under such circumstances. The tension in her body eased slightly and with a final squeeze of her hand, he released her.
She remained where she was for a moment, looking at him with her forehead creased in confusion.
“Sir?” Philip said, his voice level though John knew him well enough to detect a note of caution and concern. They’d already tarried far too long.
“The rope,” John said.
Will dismounted and grasped Lord Harding, binding his hands behind his rather ample back. The driver was similarly trussed. Will glanced at the women but John shook his head. They were no threat to him. Well, Elizabet would shove a dagger down his gullet if given half the chance, he was sure. But he had yet to leave a lady tied and helpless in the middle of the road and he had no intention of starting with her.
He removed one of the sacks of gold from Philip’s saddlebag and handed it to Elizabet.
She frowned. “But you’ve received no kiss, sir.”
“Be quiet, you insolent little fool!” her father shouted.
She blanched and at a nod from John, Philip shoved a handkerchief into the man’s mouth and bundled him back into the carriage. Lady Harding followed, taking the sack from Elizabet and casting concerned glances back and forth between her husband and daughter before climbing into the carriage.
John turned back to Elizabet and drew a finger down her cheek. “A kiss from such a lady as you would be worth more money than I have to give. And I am not such a blackguard as to force myself on an unwilling woman. I would be honored to kiss you. In fact, it is taking considerable restraint to refrain from tasting these sweet lips.”
She sucked in a startled breath as his thumb caressed her bottom lip.
He let his hand fall away, cursing his good intentions. “But I’ll not kiss you until you ask me to.”
She gaped at him, her eyes appearing nearly silver in the light of the moon. He half hoped she’d ask him right then. Instead, she took a step back. He was not surprised. But he was strangely disappointed.
“Sir,” Philip prompted again.
John nodded and mounted his horse. “You may release the men once we are out of sight,” he said to Elizabet. “Until we meet again, my lady,” he said, tipping his hat to her.
He had no idea why he’d said such a thing to her. He’d certainly never see her again. Not under the same circumstances in any case. But for the first time in ages, he wished differently.
Elizabet reached for the door of the carriage, but she lingered, pausing to look back at him. Something caught her gaze and she turned. Her dagger lay near a small bush, gleaming in the moonlight. She bent to retrieve it, straightening with it in her hand.
“Blade!” Will yelled, drawing his pistol.
John and Philip shouted, but Will’s finger had already tightened on the trigger. A shot rang out.
And Elizabet fell.
* * *
The coach horses reared and bolted, taking with them the carriage containing her parents. They were out of sight within moments. Elizabet lay motionless on the ground. She must have lost consciousness for a moment because the next thing she was aware of was shouting. One of the men shouting at the one who’d shot her, jerking his gun from his hand. The bastard didn’t put up a fight. Good. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting shot again. He just stared at her mumbling, “She had a blade,” over and over.
The Highland Highwayman ignored him and rushed to her. She wished she knew his actual name. Saying the Highland Highwayman was a bit of a mouthful. Not that she’d be saying it much. Though even thinking it was a bit much. It occurred to her she might be rambling. Her thoughts, that is. Also, she didn’t feel much pain. She’d just been shot. Shouldn’t it hurt?
The highwayman dropped to his knees by her side. He laid his fingers on the pulse at her neck. That felt nice. Soft and tender.
She was definitely rambling.
“Faint, but steady,” he said.
“I like your voice,” she murmured.
He gave her a wry smile and laid his hand on her cheek. “Just lie still, lass.”
He pulled aside layers of velvet and lace until he located the wound.
“Am I dying?” she whispered, strangely not all that curious about the answer. Shouldn’t she be? Seemed like something that should matter to her.
“No. The bullet pierced your upper arm. A clean shot, at least. All the way through.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I won’t have to dig for it, at least.”
“That’s good,” she said, her voice faint and slurred to her ears.
“That’s very good.”
“Sir,” one of the men said. The one who hadn’t shot her. “We need to be going.”
The highwayman nodded. “Aye.” He swept his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it about her. “Hold tight, love. I’ll try not to jostle you too much.”
Before she could respond, he’d scooped her into his arms. She thought the other man protested. But she kept moving so her highwayman must not agree. She didn’t remember much after he got her on the horse and climbed up behind her. He kept her tight against his chest. He was warm. Solid. She’d just been shot and was being carried off to who-knew-where by a highwayman whose mate had shot her. She should be terrified. Screaming. Calling for help.
Instead, she slumped back against him, sighed when his arm drew her closer, and drifted away. The next several hours were a blur. The occasional jarring of her shoulder would jerk her awake periodically, sending white-hot pain shooting through her arm. At some point they stopped and she felt herself being lifted from the horse. Carried inside. Someplace warm. Something soft beneath her.
She sighed and burrowed deep into pillows beneath her head. And gave into the darkness that pulled at her.
* * *
Warm sunlight filtered over Elizabet’s face and she carefully cracked open an eye. Her whole body ached. She closed her eyes and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. The jolt of pain burning through her shoulder had her instantly awake and gasping.
“Lie still,” a deep voice said.
She turned her head, her eyes watering. “Where am I?” Her voice rasped and a man came into view and handed her a cup.
“Water,” he said. “Drink.”
She frowned at him, recognizing her highwayman from the previous night. She could hardly help but recognize him. He still wore his mask.
She took a deep drink and handed the cup back to him. “Wear that everywhere, do you?” she asked.
He grinned and reached for a pitcher on the table beside the bed to refill her cup. “Usually, no.”
She accepted the cup gratefully. “Don’t be shy on my account.”
“I wear the mask for your protection.”
She drank and handed the cup back to him. “Don’t you mean for yours?”
“No.” He placed the cup on the table and grabbed a folded rag. “If you were to know my true identity, I’m afraid I’d have to…make sure the information went no further.”
Elizabet didn’t think he was jesting. She also didn’t think he referred to a stern talking to. He sat beside her and reached for her chemise. She drew away from him and he frowned.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I need to check the bandage on your shoulder,” he said his forehead creasing, as though he were somehow offended that she might think him a threat.
“Well, you did just threaten to kill me if I saw your face. Not to mention it was your man who shot me. You can understand my caution.”
His lips quirked up. “Indeed. It is always wise to be cautious.”
He tended to her shoulder with surprising gentleness, cleaning the wound and re-bandaging it with skill and speed.
“Bandage many gunshot wounds, do you?” she asked.
“A few.”
He responded without an oun
ce of humor in his voice and Elizabet was reminded what this man did for a living.
“Not that I’m not grateful, but why am I here?” she asked.
An eyebrow peeked up above the edge of the mask. “The horses bolted, taking your carriage and your parents off into the night, leaving you quite alone. You’d rather I left you in the dust to die?”
“No.” She shivered and reached for the blanket but the movement sent another bolt of fire down her arm and she drew her breath in with a hiss. He stood up long enough to pull the thick quilt up to her neck and then sat back beside her.
“Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “No. I’m glad you didn’t leave me to die. I suppose I just don’t understand why you didn’t. Bringing me to your home seems a dangerous thing to do. What if I were to escape? Unless you don’t plan on letting me live long enough to try.”
Those full lips of his pulled into a smile again. “First of all, this isn’t my home. It’s…a place to go when needed. More importantly, I doubt you could even get out of this bed right now, let alone try to escape. But I haven’t kidnapped you for any wicked purpose. I simply couldn’t leave a woman alone on a dangerous country road bleeding her life’s blood into the dirt. Especially since I am responsible. I do have some morals. When you are well, you’ll have no need of escape. I’ll return you to your home. If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t bother healing you.”
“Oh,” she said, relaxing a little. She hadn’t thought he’d meant her harm, not when he took pains to care for her so carefully. But it helped to hear him say it.
“Besides,” he continued, “you were unconscious the entire trip here and you’ve yet to see my face. So even if you were to escape, it would do you little good and me little harm.”
He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her face. She stared into his eyes, so dark a brown they were almost black, wishing she could see more of his face. His hair flowed uncovered to his shoulders. Brown, though not completely. The strands reminded her of a mahogany table that once sat in her grandmother’s parlor. Unremarkable until the sun hit it, highlighting the deep red tones of the wood.
Most of his face was covered. The mask left only the lower half of his face bare and what she could see was covered in rough stubble. She had the sudden urge to reach up and run her fingers along his jaw line, his full lips. Feel the difference in texture. See if those lips were as soft as they looked. She clenched her hand in a fist and dropped her gaze.
His smug grin left little doubt he knew exactly what path her thoughts had taken. “Your best chance for a quick recovery is to lie back and get some rest.”
She grimaced at him but settled back into the pillows. He stared at her for a moment, as if there were something else he wanted to say.
A loud sound, like a barn door slamming against a wall, followed by an angry shout made her jump from the bed. Or nearly, in any case. His hand on her good shoulder kept her put. She grunted in pain.
“Rest,” he said again. He frowned and glanced out the window before turning back to her. Whatever he’d seen didn’t seem to make him happy, but not particularly concerned. “Rest. I promise you no harm will come to you under my care.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “You will protect me?”
He stared at her a moment before quietly saying, “I will. You have my word.”
Again she wished she could see more of his face. The mask did more than just hide his features. It hid his emotions as well.
“Why?” she asked. “I am your enemy. Aren’t I?”
He smiled at her again. “No, my lady. You were never my enemy. And even if you were, it would make no difference. I’m not in the habit of harming, or abandoning, defenseless women.”
“I’m not defenseless.”
His eyes roamed over her bruised and prostrate body and she grimaced. “Usually, I’m not so defenseless.”
His lips twitched. “That you are not. Speaking of which…”
He pulled open the drawer of the table near the bed and retrieved her dagger. “I thought you might like this back. With the agreement,” he said, pulling it back from her grasp at the last moment, “that you try to refrain from plunging it into my heart. I’m just trying to help you.”
Now her lips twitched. “Agreed.”
He handed her the dagger and she slipped it beneath her pillow. Her heart ceased its frantic hammering and she settled back. She knew it was probably the height of folly to trust this man. Yet, she did.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Ah,” he said, breaking into a smile again, “if I told you that, I would have to kill you.”
She sighed. “If I’m going to be here awhile, I can’t keep calling you the highwayman.”
He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “You can call me Jack.”
“Is that your name?”
He hesitated before answering. “No. But I’ll answer to it.”
She frowned, knowing she probably looked like she was pouting. But she didn’t argue it with him. Frankly, she was surprised he’d given her any name at all. “All right, then. Jack.”
He jerked slightly when the name left her lips. Interesting. It might not be his true name, but she’d be willing to bet her new velvet cloak that it meant something personal to him. A sibling’s name maybe? Or a nickname? That would narrow down the possibilities of his real name a bit. Jackson, perhaps. John? Jacob? James? Jason? She’d known men with all those names who preferred to be known as Jack. She’d even had a cousin named Claudius everyone called Jack so it might come from nothing at all. Perhaps a name he just pulled from the air. Certainly not something she should be obsessing over, for goodness sake.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said. After making sure she was still snuggly covered, he grabbed the sword that had been propped against a chair near the bed and hurried out of the cottage.
Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hand. She had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. Or how she’d get out of it. Or what kind of fool she was for trusting a highwayman who’d stolen from her father, gotten her shot, and then kidnapped her in order to heal her. At least she hoped that was the only reason. What kind of highwayman brought his victims back to his hideout to patch them up? The Highland Highwayman was notorious for his charm and manners, certainly. But this went above and beyond even for his tales.
She yawned, sleep pulling at her again. This so called highwayman baffled her. His speech and mannerisms suggested a gentleman. Not English, certainly, but a gentleman nonetheless. Yet he traveled the roads robbing coaches in the middle of the night. What sort of gentleman did that? He was incredibly well-informed. He’d known her father had carried around a ridiculous fortune. Even her mother hadn’t known that, judging by the look on her face when the sacks had been pulled from beneath the bench. And it had been apparent that the robbery had been no circumstance of chance. The highwayman and his band had lain in wait for them specifically. Why?
Too many questions with no answers floated through her head. Her chances of having any of them answered were probably slim.
The rumble of male voices outside the window soon faded into the background as her eyes grew heavy and finally closed. She drifted away to sleep, the vision of dark, soulful eyes filling her thoughts until she knew no more.
Chapter Three
“Are you mad?” Phillip said, jamming his fingers through his hair.
“I couldn’t leave her there,” John said. He leaned against the wall of the small barn near the cottage, watching his friend pace.
“She’ll discover who you are. You’ll be finished.”
“I keep the mask on whenever I’m near her. She hasn’t seen my face. I exaggerate my accent. If we were to run into one another at court, she’d have no idea who I am.” John ran a hand over his face, relishing the slight breeze that blew across his skin.
“I still say you are mad,” Phillip insisted.
“What was I supposed to do?” J
ohn asked, his patience wearing thin. “Just leave her to bleed into the dust?”
Phillip’s frown was nearly a pout. He sighed. “Someone would have come along eventually.”
John’s brow quirked up and Phillip reluctantly smiled. “Fine,” Phillip said. “But you can’t keep her here.”
“I know,” he said. “A few days at the most.”
“John…”
“I just stitched up her arm, Phillip. Give her a few days to gain back a little strength.”
“You going to keep that mask on the whole time?”
John frowned but nodded. Phillip snorted. “That’ll be comfortable.”
John ignored that. “Where’s Will?”
Phillip grinned. “Don’t worry about him. I’ve set him to enough chores it’ll be months before he has any energy or desire to go on a job again. And I’m holding onto his pistol until he’s a little less heavy on the trigger.”
“Good thinking.”
Phillip slapped his hat against his leg and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
John gave him a wry smile. “Not really. But I’ll be careful.”
“I hope so. She is the daughter of Lord Harding after all.”
John’s smile changed to a scowl. “She’s nothing like him.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”
“Yes,” John said quietly. Lord Harding hadn’t been the only one John had been keeping an eye on. It had been impossible to follow Harding’s movements without also watching his family. His daughter. Who, from what he’d seen, was kind, intelligent, and so beautiful it made his chest hurt just looking at her.
He looked up to find Phillip staring at him, either in concern or bemusement, John couldn’t tell. John straightened away from the wall.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be gone as soon as I think she can travel. You just keep an eye on Will. We’ll meet at the ruins a week from tonight.”
Phillip mounted his horse and nodded. “Take care.”
John just smiled and slapped the horse’s rump. His smile faded, though, as his friend rode out of sight. Phillip was probably right to be worried. Truth be told, Elizabet could leave the next morning. Or that night. Her wound had been superficial. He’d put in two small, neat stitches but it had been a clean shot. He’d cleansed it well and there was no reason it wouldn’t heal perfectly. She was still tired and sore, but it wasn’t as though he’d have her walk home.
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