The Highwayman of Tanglewood (7 page)

Her heart was settling somewhat. Still, as Bainbridge Graybeau’s dark eyes met hers for a moment, she held her breath. There was something in his countenance—something unsettling. Was something amiss? Did he know the true reason Lord and Lady Rockrimmon had summoned Lillias? Was it grave news? No, it was something else. Faris trembled as an unfathomable thought entered her mind—did Graybeau know? Did Bainbridge Graybeau know of her rendezvous with the Highwayman of Tanglewood the night before?

Lillias took her leave of her brother’s room, yet Graybeau remained in the doorway. His gaze lingered on Faris with a strange intensity.

“Is…is there something you wish of me, Mr. Graybeau?” Faris asked. She could no longer endure his staring at her.

“Not at the moment, miss,” Graybeau said.

He was a handsome man! And so tall! Faris wondered why such a man as he did not have a wife and children. To be stablemaster at Loch Loland Castle—it was an impressive lot. Surely any woman for one hundred miles would think the dark-haired, brooding, and wildly handsome Bainbridge Graybeau, stablemaster of Loch Loland, a healthy catch indeed.

“Good day,” Graybeau said. He turned and started walking down the hall. Quickly, Faris went to the doorway. Looking after him, she felt her mouth gape open. He was limping! Bainbridge Graybeau was favoring his left leg with a rather pronounced limp.

Faris watched Graybeau walk away—counted the measure of his limp. Twilight would tell the tale. Had Bainbridge Graybeau simply been thrown from a horse at Loch Loland Castle’s stables? Or had the Highwayman been injured as Kade Tremeshton claimed?

❦

“He’s comin’ home, he is!” Mary said as Faris entered the kitchen for the evening servants’ meal. “I heard his lordship tell milady just this afternoon!”

“Master Lochlan?” Old Joseph asked. “Well, it’s at last a relieving thing. It’s not good for a young man to be away from his kith and kin so long.”

Mary was mistress cook at Loch Loland Castle. Faris knew little about her life before she had come to Loch Loland. Yet she was a kind, nurturing woman, and Faris adored her round rosy face, wiry gray hair, and smiling eyes.

Old Joseph had been at Loch Loland Castle since Lord Rockrimmon’s father was a young man. Weathered in his looks and slowed in his ways, still there was a certain dignity in his carriage and manner. Of all the staff at Loch Loland, Mary and Old Joseph were Faris’s favorites. She had begun to look on them as one might look affectionately upon an aged uncle and merry-faced aunt.

“When will he arrive?” Sarah asked. “Have you word of when Master Lochlan will attend us?”

Faris watched as Sarah’s eyes lit up like fire on a nocturnal lake. It was quite obvious Sarah was overly excited at the prospect of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s return. Faris wondered for a moment if the young master of the castle had stolen the hearts of the young maids at Loch Loland before his departure to do his father’s bidding. By the look of excitement on Sarah’s face, she guessed he had.

Sarah had been somewhat put off when Faris had joined the staff at Loch Loland Castle. Upon Faris’s arrival, Sarah had been moved from her post as chambermaid to Lillias and Lochlan Rockrimmon to that of chambermaid to Lady Rockrimmon. Even though the change in post was an honorable one, Sarah had been quite unfriendly to Faris at first. Still, as Lady Rockrimmon began to rain compliments upon her, Sarah’s frustration had vanished, and she was now quite friendly to Faris.

“Within the week,” Mary answered. “And there was a whisper I caught too,” Mary added, lowering her voice. Everyone at the table leaned forward as Mary’s voice dropped. “A name,” she said.

“Oh, but Joseph—Tannis Stringham?” Sarah repeated in a whisper. “Why ever would her name be mentioned in conversation among the family?”

“Why ever, indeed?” Mary said, sitting back in her chair, an irritated purse upon her wrinkled old lips.

“Surely you do not mean to suggest Master Lochlan has…intentions toward Tannis Stringham, Mary?” Old Joseph rather chuckled. “Master Lochlan is far too wise a man to give attention in such a direction as that.”

“Then why is there to be a visit from Tannis and Lady Stringham next month?” Mary added.

“No!” Sarah gasped.

Faris smiled, entirely entertained by the tittle-tattle of the servants concerning their young master. How she adored to sit in the kitchen in the evenings and converse with Mary, Old Joseph, and the others. It was quite like being part of a family, and Faris savored it more than the sweetest confection.

“Yes!” Mary said. “I heard it with me own ears. Lady Stringham and her daughter, Tannis, are to visit here for a holiday next month.”

“Am I to understand this Tannis Stringham is an unfavorable young woman?” Faris ventured.

Old Joseph, Mary, Sarah, and the others at the table exchanged glances. In the end, each disbelieving expression settled on Faris. It was obvious the staff of Loch Loland did not think Tannis Stringham, whoever she was, worthy of their young master.

“Suffice it to say Lord Stringham has frequently received, shall we say, attention from the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Old Joseph said.

At the mere mention of the Highwayman, Faris could not keep the butterflies from rising within her! The sun was low in the sky, and soon she would see him again! Furthermore, she understood why each person at the table disapproved of the young woman who was to visit Loch Loland Castle for a holiday. If her father was the sort to need the reprimand of the Highwayman of Tanglewood, then it did not serve that his daughter should be deserving of having Lord and Lady Rockrimmon as father- and mother-in-law.

“And Tannis Stringham is as haughty as any spoiled she-cat with sharp-ended claws,” Mary added.

“Then why,” Faris ventured, “if Master Lochlan is as wonderful as you paint his portrait to be—why would he invite her and her mother for a holiday?”

“Mary! Joseph! In fact, everyone!” Lady Rockrimmon exclaimed as she entered the room. Her cheeks were pure pink with excitement. “I’ve the most wonderful news!”

“Now, Faris,” Lady Rockrimmon said. “First thing tomorrow—do not trouble yourself tonight, of course—however, first thing would you please see to Lochlan’s chamber and give it a thorough going-over for dust—especially the draperies?”

“Of course, milady,” Faris said, full catching the contagious smile resplendent on Lady Rockrimmon’s lovely face!

“Thank you, dear,” Lady Rockrimmon said. “I’m—I’m just overwhelmed with delight!” All the servants smiled as their mistress left the room in a whirl of satin and excitement.

“How she’s missed him,” Mary sighed.

“How we all have,” Sarah added.

Faris relaxed in her chair, her stomach satisfied by an abundance of Mary’s lamb stew and warm bread. Lochlan Rockrimmon. What would he be? Solemn and boorish, as his portrait? Surely not, else what would be the cause for all the excitement at his return?

Faris thought of the Highwayman besting this Lord Stringham, whose daughter Lochlan Rockrimmon seemed to have interest in. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the purple light of the evening meadow, the scent of lilacs and green meadow grass. To see him again—it was her greatest wish—a wish which would be granted in less than an hour’s time. In meeting the Highwayman, her joy would be at its pinnacle.

“What are you smilin’ at, Joe?” Mary asked, drawing Faris’s attention from her own thoughts and back to the conversation at hand.

“I’m thinking of Lord Stringham,” Old Joe answered. “How I would have liked to have seen his face when the Highwayman of Tanglewood was upon him!”

“As would I,” Sarah said as the others at the table turned to their own conversation. “Lord Stringham is far too arrogant for anyone’s good.”

“I would give anything to see the Highwayman best any one of the corrupt nobles,” Mary mumbled, slathering a large helping of butter onto her bread.

“Oh, thanks be to heaven for the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Old Joseph sighed. “I don’t know what poor folks in this country would do without him for their champion.”

Faris found herself nodding in unison with Mary and Sarah.

“’Til there be another way to keep those that prey on the weak and poor in hand, thanks be to heaven for him that does—whatever his methods,” Joseph said.

Faris smiled. What a heroic tale the Highwayman of Tanglewood would be to tell one day. Those who had lived in his time would repeat the tales of his adventures, of his heroics, for years and years to come.

Faris glanced out the window. Lavender light was descending; twilight would settle soon. “I fancy an evening walk in the sunset,” Faris said, pushing her chair back from the table and standing. “Thank you for the delicious meal, Mary.”

“You’re welcome, love,” Mary said.

“A twilight walk, is it?” Old Joseph asked. “Pray keep an open eye. We wouldn’t want to hear of that rascal rogue the Highwayman of Tanglewood kidnapping our pretty Faris, now would we?”

As she stepped from the kitchen and into the lavender light of early dusk, Faris inhaled the sweet smell of evening grass. The sky was beautiful! Lavender and pinks, blues of royal hues—all swept across the sky as an artist’s brush stroke.

“’Tis a beautiful evening, this,” Graybeau said as he appeared, leading Jovan by the bit. Again his eyes were intent upon her for several moments. Faris fancied she liked the way his dark hair fell across his forehead—windblown and tousled.

“Yes,” Faris said. As he passed, Faris noticed he yet limped just as he had earlier in the day. “Have a good evening, Mr. Graybeau.”

“And you, miss,” he said as he led the horse toward the stables.

The night birds were calling to one another, and Faris could smell the rich scent of the evening fires burning in the hearths of Loch Loland. Glad she had remembered to bring a shawl, Faris started out—started out toward the old ruins near the cemetery and a secret rendezvous with the Highwayman of Tanglewood. The night birds called, the grass lent its fragrance to the air as Faris’s feet trod upon it, and lavender light drifted into a shimmering amethyst sunset.

Where the Heather Runs Forever

The silver crescent moon was rising as Faris made her way along the path toward the ruins and cemetery where the heather ran forever. The purple heather grew thick and far-reaching on either side of the small path she trod. Faris wondered if the parent plants of the same heather had been witness to the destruction of the great edifice now lingering in ruin and rubble before her. What battles had been fought on this path? What lives had been born and taken by death during the time before the ruins and rubble of the old castle? Faris imagined gallant knights laden in heavy chain mail, riding heavy horses toward the old castle, banners and colors billowing in the evening breeze as they rode. Perhaps a noble lady had once stood at the towering turrets watching such an advance, hoping for a beloved knight to return with her silken colors adorning his arm. Indeed, as Faris approached the ruins, her mind’s eye could almost envision such a scene—almost imagine the outline of a once-grand castle against the amethyst of evening sky.

As she reached the crest of the last small hill and descended toward the ruins, her heart began to hammer. Would the Highwayman of Tanglewood be waiting there for her? Would he come riding through the heather toward her, his dazzling smile flashing in the purple twilight of sun’s set?