The Highwayman of Tanglewood (35 page)

Reaching around the Highwayman’s massive form, Faris took the reins, digging her heels hard into the horse’s flesh. They were away at once—away toward Loch Loland Castle! She could see it in the distance—a dark silhouette against an amethyst sky. Its warm-lit windows beckoned—yet there was no physician at Loch Loland.

“He makes for Loch Loland,” Faris said. “But there is not help there!”

“He knows where to ride,” the Highwayman said.

But who at Loch Loland would help them? Faris knew surely that each soul at Loch Loland Castle was in support of the Highwayman of Tanglewood and his deeds of righting wrongs. Yet would any there risk attending him? She thought of Lochlan—of his knowledge Faris was in league with the rogue of the Tanglewood Forest. Yet would he help Faris’s lover?

All of a sudden, Faris felt the Highwayman go limp. She managed to rein in his beast of a steed only a moment before he slipped from his saddle, landing weak and nearly unconscious on the ground.

Faris slid from the saddle, assisting the Highwayman as he struggled to turn to his back.

“You must remount,” she told him. “We must find a physician or you will surely—”

“I—I will wait far ya here. I will wait here as ya go to Loch Loland far help,” he said.“Loch Loland?” Faris exclaimed. Indeed, as she looked up, Loch Loland loomed close—a near stone’s throw. Faris feared for the Highwayman’s safety—feared his being revealed to anyone in Loch Loland. Yet he would bleed out if she did not find assistance soon!

Old Joseph! Of course! The wisest of men was Old Joseph! If there was anyone nearby to help, it was indeed Old Joseph! Yet she could not leave her love in such agony to bear. Already his breeches at his right leg were completely saturated with blood—the crimson life-liquid fairly streaming down his boot.

“Yet—Faris, wait,” he said. She paused, dropping to her knees next to him, and forcing an encouraging smile of hope that all would be well. “I will be havin’ yar promise first…” he breathed.

“Anything,” she sobbed. “Anything!”

“Ye must promise me…no matter what comes to ya…what knowledge…no matter what happens to me…I must have yar promise…ya must promise ya will love me yet—no matter what ya may witness from here forward.”

Faris melted into sobs. She threw herself against his powerful chest, trembling as she felt his weakened embrace. “Nothing could keep me from loving you. Nothing!” she sobbed.

“Swear it to me, then,” he breathed, taking her face in his hands and searching her face for sincerity. “Swear to me ya will love me still—that ya will stay with me ever after—no matter what this night may hail upon us.”

“I swear it!” she sobbed.

“Then go, now…go for Old Joe of Loch Loland Castle. I am nearly done in,” he whispered.

Faris knew she could not afford to linger any longer. If her beloved Highwayman was to be saved, she must leave him. She could not bear losing him—he who had so willingly forgiven her, pledged his heart to her. If he died, she was certain her heart would break and kill her in his wake.

Frantically Faris ran to the servants’ entrance of Loch Loland’s kitchen. Old Joseph spent many a late night in the kitchen. She prayed he would be there on this dreadful one.

Yet what if it were Lochlan she found there? What if he were lingering there over a warm pie? Even he would help—she was certain. No matter his feelings toward her—whether desire or loathing—he was ever chivalrous, a champion. Still, it was Old Joseph the Highwayman wanted, and she prayed he would be there. Attempting to inhale a deep breath of calm, Faris slowly opened the servants’ entrance to the kitchen.

The room was dim, kitchen duties long finished. Faris held her breath and prayed for a miracle. As she looked to the kitchen table to see Old Joseph sitting and reading a book, her tears renewed, and she thanked heaven for its benevolence.

“Joseph!” she called in a whisper. “Joseph!”

The elderly man looked around, smiling when he saw her. “Why, Faris!” he greeted. “What has you out and about at such a late hour as this?”

“Joseph, please come to me. At once!” she cried in a whisper. Instantly the old man’s brow puckered with concern. “Quickly, Joseph! There is no time to hesitate!”

Joseph was on his feet and at the door in an instant.

Faris burst into tears as she spoke. “You must know of him, Joseph…else he would not have sent me to bring you!” she cried, covering her mouth for a moment. Her distress had caused her to speak too loudly.

“He’s been wounded, Joseph! Terribly wounded…in dueling Kade Tremeshton. These weeks…the Highwayman and I…we…we have been meeting and—”

“Take me to him,” Joseph demanded. “At once!”

Making their way through the dark without the aid of a lantern, Faris felt her heart swell with hope when she heard the Highwayman call out as they approached.

“Joseph!” he called in a whisper. “Quick, man! Ya must spirit me away! If anyone comes upon Tremeshton dead at Castle Alexendria, and I am found to be ailin’…it will throw suspicion me way,” he said.

“Master Lochlan. What have you stumbled into now?” Old Joseph said, dropping to his knees beside the Highwayman.

Faris stopped breathing. Her hands and arms went cold—numb as understanding rushed over her like a torrential rain. Her mind ached, pounded as if a drum were pent up inside her head. The pieces of the puzzle in which she was entwined began shifting together.

“Faris,” the Highwayman breathed. “I—I have your promise. You—you promised me.” Gone was the raspy Irish brogue of the Highwayman of Tanglewood—replaced by the all too familiar and beloved intonation of the commanding voice of Lochlan Rockrimmon.

Of Secrets and Wishes

Faris felt her knees give way beneath her. Kneeling before the wounded Highwayman of Tanglewood—kneeling before her wounded champion and lover—she wrapped her arms around her stomach as her body began to heave uncontrollably. She was in love with one man, not two! She was in love with Lochlan Rockrimmon!

As she sobbed, her body convulsing with emotion, Faris shook her head. “No! No! It cannot be!” she cried. Yet she knew it was true. Perhaps she had always known, always dreamt of it, wished for it—always convincing herself otherwise.

As a rush of realization and memory washed over, Faris struggled to hold to consciousness! She saw it now—all of it! Lochlan Rockrimmon—away from Loch Loland Castle in tending to his father’s business these past two years. Had it not been two years since village folk had begun to share fantastic stories of the Highwayman of Tanglewood? Since his return—since Loch Loland’s heir had returned—had not Lochlan Rockrimmon been absent each time the Highwayman was seen? Even when Lord Brookings of Saxton had been bested? For a moment, Faris’s mind lingered on the Highwayman’s appearance at Loch Loland in the broad light of day. Lochlan had been there—Lochlan himself had been watching as the Highwayman of Tanglewood pinned Kade Tremeshton’s parchments to a tree. Yet Old Joseph knew Lochlan was the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Was it not possible that others knew as well? She thought at once of Bainbridge Graybeau—of his lie. Lord Rockrimmon’s favorite and aged mount Jovan had been stabled when the Highwayman had appeared at Loch Loland. Yet Graybeau had claimed he was not. Graybeau had lied as to his whereabouts at that moment. Could it be Graybeau had ridden as the Highwayman of Tanglewood—and all for the sake of drawing suspicion from Lochlan?

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.

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.”

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!”

“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.