The Highwayman of Tanglewood (6 page)

Faris was nearly overcome to fainting with the euphoric sensation of his hands cradling her face. She was breathless and overly warmed somehow—even for the cool of the evening breeze. Still, she knew no other dream at that moment than to meet the Highwayman again, and so she nodded. The Highwayman of Tanglewood smiled and drew her face near to his.

“Tomorrow night—near the old ruin where the heather runs forever. Do ya know of where I speak?” he asked.

“I do,” Faris assured him. She had been to the old ruins only twice before. They were the ruins of an old castle, and it was true the heather seemed to stretch forever there. “They are near to the old cemetery.”

“Aye,” he said, smiling. “The old cemetery. There’s a legend there—a legend of lovers buried beneath two willow trees entwined. Have ya heard it?”

Faris shook her head, distracted by his placing a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“Perhaps I should relate it to ya one day,” he said.

“Yes,” Faris managed to breathe. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her quickened breathing. His touch held some sort of bewitchment, an enchanting spell, and she desired nothing ever in the world but to revel in it forever.

“Tomorrow night, then, lass,” he said as his hands slid from her face, coming to rest on her shoulders. “At twilight—when the purple shades of night meet the purple heather. There I’ll meet ye—and perhaps steal yar heart away.”

Faris gasped, trembled as he leaned forward, kissing her neck. His breath was warm and tickled her ear. She felt his strong hands move to her head, his fingers slipping into the softness of her hair. In the next moment, Faris was swept away to bliss by the sense of his mustache on her neck. He was toying with her—allowing his lips to hover a mere breath from her flesh.

“A rogue I may be,” he began, “but me promise is sure, and I will have me kiss this night.”

His lips gently pressed to hers. The kiss was soft, measured, yet it filled Faris’s bosom with such breathless rapture, she sensed her limbs going numb.

“Still, a rogue I am, fair Faris,” he whispered as his lips lingered a breath from her own. “And no gentleman’s kiss ever satisfied any rogue.”

Faris gasped as the Highwayman of Tanglewood gathered her into his arms and against the strength of his powerful body. Instantly his mouth captured hers, his arms binding her securely to him as he administered a kiss of such driven demand as to nearly render her unconscious. Faris heard herself sigh, felt her body surrender and weaken against his as he kissed her. Never had she known such euphoria! To be held by such a man, kissed by the same—it was magnificent! Yet, in the next moment, he ended their kiss all too abruptly, and she gasped for breath.

The Highwayman released her, drawing away quickly and pulling his hood over his head. Faris watched, entirely bemused, as he mounted his steed. Her body still trembled from his touch—her lips still sensed his kiss.

“I must away,” he said. His black steed was anxious. No doubt the animal was unfamiliar with any sort of lingering. “’Til twilight tomorrow, fair Faris,” he called. “Where the heather runs forever. I will meet ye there that our adventure together may continue!”

He was gone then—galloping into the forest astride his mount, cape rippling in the breeze as he rode.

Faris let her fingertips trace her neck where the Highwayman had kissed her—pressed them to her lips where his had lingered. It was astonishing! All of it! Not just a chance second meeting with the Highwayman of Tanglewood but the touch of bare hands, a second kiss, and a planned secret rendezvous in the purple-heathered hills.

Faris experienced a momentary wave of guilt. He was, after all, a villain of sorts. Yet her heart cared not, for his crusade was a righteous one. The Highwayman of Tanglewood was the pure stuff of poetic fiction. The purest ingredient of delicious dreams!

She thought of Lillias—wondered if her friend would be angry in knowing Faris had met the Highwayman. Yet Lillias loved Lord Kendrick, no matter her intrigue with the Highwayman of Tanglewood. No—Lillias would be happy in knowing Faris had touched the legendary rogue. Lillias could never know, naturally. Still, Faris took comfort in her own assurance Lillias would be delighted if she could know.

Carefully, Faris made her way across the darkened meadow and back to Loch Loland Castle. How inviting Loch Loland seemed rising in the distance, warm-lighted windows as beckoning as paradise itself. Faris thanked the heavens for Lady Rockrimmon’s benevolence, for the good people who otherwise labored under the castle roof, for the soft lace of the pillowcase on which she laid her head later that night—a soft pillow on which to dream of the Tanglewood Highwayman. How charming he was! How strong! How brave and how thoroughly intoxicating!

As Faris drifted into sleep that night, she thought of nothing but the Highwayman—of nothing save him and his rogue’s stolen kiss. Nothing—not her duties, not the impending marriage of Lillias to Lord Kendrick, and not the return of Loch Loland’s young master. To Faris, there was only soft lace, purple evening, and the vision of the Highwayman of Tanglewood riding over the midnighted meadow.

❦

“Faris!” Lillias exclaimed as she entered the chamber with the grace of a swan.

Lord Kendrick was forever showering his betrothed with gifts. Yet for all her sweetness, Lillias Rockrimmon was as ever intrigued and excited about each new gift as she was the last.

“Yes! Indeed, I do know he spoils me so,” Lillias said, pausing, a look of guilt puckering her lovely brow for a moment. Her smile returned nearly instantly, however, as she added, “I do admit I adore it!”

“What treasure has he found this day to intrigue you?” Faris asked, anxious to see what token of affection Lord Kendrick had discovered in order to coax Lillias’s smile this day.

“Oh, Faris,” Lillias said, looking at the bed Faris has been straightening. “Lochlan will not arrive until the very last moment. I do not understand why Mother insists his room be attended to every day. It is two years now he is gone and yet two months until his return.”

“She is a mother who misses her son,” Faris said. “She has perpetual hope in his sudden and unexpected return.” She smiled at Lillias and took her hand as she spoke with intent. “One day you will have a son, and he will grow into a fine man like his father. I daresay you will be stricken with all manner of weeping and heartache when he rides from your nest.”

“I shall have a son,” Lillias said smiling. “More than one, of course—and I will never let them leave their home!”

“Then they will be silly, frightened boys who will no more be able to find a beautiful woman the like of their mother to take to wife than they will be to properly wield a blade,” Faris teased.

Lillias frowned. “A blade is a blade. Yet the rapier is a gentleman’s weapon, antiquated though it may be, and I loathe a man who cannot well wield a rapier.” She giggled then as did Faris. “Yet, look, Faris! Look what Gawain has given me!”

Faris gasped as Lillias opened her hand to reveal a lovely brooch. Set in gold, the brooch held a piece of amber-colored glass set to protect a lock of dark hair.

“Is it not the most wonderful ornament?” Lillias exclaimed. “How I adore it! A tender lock of Gawain’s own hair—to have with me always! Can you imagine he would ever be so romantic?”

Faris giggled, delighted with Lillias excitement. Hair jewelry in the form of brooches, lockets, or rings was not entirely too rare. Still, Faris knew what a romantic nature Lillias possessed—as romantic as her own. Faris doubted Lord Kendrick even knew how perfectly his gift had touched Lillias’s heart.

“How splendid, Lillias!” Faris exclaimed. “No treasure on earth can compare to this.”

“It’s exactly as I feel,” Lillias said, sighing with delight. “How will I ever force myself to wear another brooch when I have this to cherish?”

Faris smiled as well. “Yes,” she answered. “Your mother asked that I freshen the flowers in your brother’s room every three days.”

“She is far too—” Lillias began. She paused, however, shaking her head with sudden understanding. “She has missed him so terribly. I wonder that Father has kept him away from her so long.”

“In order that he may learn to properly wield a blade and find a wife as beautiful as his mother?” Faris offered.

Lillias laughed, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “Oh, what mirth and delight you gift me, Faris,” she said. “Yet Lochlan is well acquainted with any blade, and he will have no difficulty finding a wife when he decides it is time. You have seen his portrait in the west wing, have you not?”

“Yes,” Faris said.

“And is he not the handsomest devil you have ever laid eyes upon?” Lillias asked.

Faris quickly reflected on the one opportunity she had had to view the Rockrimmon ancestry by way of the paintings in the portrait hall. Inwardly, she admitted to having been very impressed by the painting of Lochlan Rockrimmon. The painting portrayed him in a most becoming light—eyes as green as emeralds, hair a warm and inviting brown. A square jaw and straight nose befriending no hint of smile in the painting gave him the look of a man already titled—a great nobleman. Yet Faris thought his blue breeches, red coat, and white cravat rather boorish. Undeniably handsome he was, yes—still, rather boorish in some manner. Of course, what young man, titled or not, could contend with the vision of the Highwayman of Tanglewood astride his magnificent steed, galloping over the meadow in the moonlight? None of Faris’s acquaintance.

Still, she did not wish to hurt Lillias’s sensitive nature, and so she admitted, “Handsome, yes—but I hope there is no true devil in him.” She paused, astonished by her own next thought. In all her wondering if the Highwayman of Tanglewood were, indeed, handsome rather than plain or unattractive beneath his mask, it was only then she realized there was a bit of a devil in him. For what man could find himself a Highwayman if not for the influence of, in the least, a grain of impish character?

“Oh, no! There is no devil at all in Lochlan. My brother is a good man, an honorable son, and a loving sibling.” Lillias explained. “And in business he is perhaps the best I have ever heard of. Father certainly thinks it, and it is why Father has given so much responsibility to him.”

“What?” Faris gasped. She felt as if her heart had leapt into her throat. Yet she had seen the Highwayman with her own eyes the night before. He had held her in his arms, kissed her. He had not appeared wounded in the least. She released an anxious breath at the realization. “But…but he was not injured. Graybeau did not mention his being injured yesterday morning when—”

“Oh, no! But it was not then!” Lillias said. “Gawain was told just this very morning that Kade the Heinous set a trap for the Highwayman this night past! He claims to have matched blades with him once more and further claims he wounded the Highwayman in the left leg.”

“I believe it is so,” Lillias said. “For Gawain has also told me that the Highwayman bested Lord Barnes only this morning just before sunrise. Lord Barnes was returning from his sister’s estate in the south when he was set upon by the Highwayman of Tanglewood.”

“But what are we to believe?” Faris asked. She felt ill, sickened by the possibility of the Highwayman’s having been injured. Further, a sort of panic was rising in her. What if Kade Tremeshton’s story were true? And the worst of it—in meeting the Highwayman, had Faris put him in danger? What if Kade Tremeshton had managed to ambush the Highwayman of Tanglewood because of his dalliance in the meadow with Faris? She might, indeed, be responsible for his being injured! The thought frightened her to near trembling.

“We are to believe Gawain,” Lillias said. “For he is honest and above all reproach—while Lord Tremeshton is the worst of men. And is it not the worst of men who weave lies in attempting to elevate themselves in gossip circles?”

“Yes,” Faris said, placing a hand to her bosom in an attempt to calm the mad hammering of her heart. “Yes. I am certain Lord Tremeshton is false in his claims.”

“Darling!” Lillias exclaimed, taking hold of Faris’s arm. “You’ve gone pale as the moon! Do not worry so over our beloved Highwayman. He can never be bested. I am sure of it.”

“I am certain of it as well,” Faris said. “I should not allow myself to be so unsettled.”

“I was unsettled, also, at first,” Lillias said. “But Gawain assures me the Highwayman is well. And I believe Gawain in all things.”

Suspicion traveled across Faris’s mind a moment. Why should Lord Kendrick be of such certainty where the Highwayman’s well-being was concerned? No. She would not think it a moment longer. The Highwayman had assured her he was not Lord Gawain Kendrick in masked form—and she would believe him.