The Highwayman of Tanglewood (8 page)

Her heart fell a moment when she stopped on the hill’s crest and looked below to the forever-running heather, the cemetery, and the old castle ruin. The ancient, crumbling castle walls, the worn tombstones, and entwined willows—they stood alone. There was no Highwayman amid them, waiting as a grand and heroic knight of old. With a disappointed sigh, Faris made her way down the hillside, meandering through the heather toward the old castle. How different this was—far different than Loch Loland Castle with its strength, warmth, and inviting appearance. Loch Loland rose like a beacon, while the old ruin before her now lay as the slumbering dead—as those in the graves surrounding it. Though nearly as old as the ruins before her, Loch Loland had weathered the attacks that had destroyed the old castle nearly two hundred years before—so Faris had been told. She felt sad for the old ruin as if it were an aged man—once a strong and capable soldier, now wounded and infirm, waiting to draw final breath.

Faris gasped as a gloved hand suddenly covered her mouth from behind—a strong arm slipping about her waist to hold her fast. A man’s low and raspy voice, breath warm on her neck, whispered in her ear, “Be still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns ya now.”

Faris smiled beneath the man’s hand and tried to push it from her mouth that she might turn and look at him. But the Highwayman tightened his grip, coaxing her to lean back against his strong body as he whispered, “Do not struggle. I’ll not harm ya, lass. I simply intend…to have ya.”

Faris’s heart beat madly! His breath on the flesh of her neck was titillating, and she wanted nothing more than to stay thus in his hold. She felt the Highwayman’s arm tighten at her waist, and he bent, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment before nuzzling into her neck playfully.

“Come away with me, sweet Faris,” the Highwayman whispered. “What say ye?” he added, letting his hand slide from her mouth, caressing her neck, and finally letting it rest at the hollow there.

“I say, who are you, Highwayman?” Faris breathed, unable to believe the euphoric spell he was weaving over her. All romantic thoughts of knights riding to win the fair lady were driven from her mind. A rogue’s manner was vastly more delightful!

“Aye! But that ye should know, sweet Faris,” the Highwayman whispered. For a moment, Faris searched her shallow knowledge of him, searching for some shred of evidence. Did she indeed know him? Was the Highwayman of Tanglewood Bainbridge Graybeau? Did the Highwayman approach her from behind in order she would not see his familiar limp?

“I know you not, sir,” Faris said in a whisper. “Surely I would remember such a shape of a man.” He was playful, toying with her, and she was delighted. She would continue as a player in his act.

“Indeed, would ya, lass?” he asked.

“I would, sir,” she answered.

“And the taste of his kiss, me sweet lass?” the Highwayman whispered. “Would ya surely remember such a taste of a kiss?” Faris shivered with delight as the Highwayman placed a moist kiss on her neck. “’Tis well ya know who I am, fair Faris,” he whispered, kissing her neck again. “I am the Highwayman of Tanglewood—come to compromise ya here in the heather.”

Gasping with delight at his playful manner, Faris turned to face him. Indeed, he wore his black, including his mask. He smiled at her, his white teeth flashing in the evening light of violet.

“But—but how came you here?” Faris asked. “I heard nothing of your approach.”

The Highwayman clicked his tongue twice, and Faris saw his black steed appear from behind the old ruin beyond. “It’s me way, it is,” he said. “Quiet, unseen.” He smiled and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips and kissing the back of it. “Come with me now, lass. ’Tis dangerous out in the open heather,” he said.

Faris followed the Highwayman as he led her through the heather and toward the old castle ruin. Her heart was beating so fiercely she was most certain she would faint. Yet she did not—even for his touch—for the glove on his hand kept flesh from meeting flesh.

He led her through the crumbling walls of the old ruins to a corner, dark and secluded. Removing his hooded cloak and spreading it on the ground, he motioned her to sit upon it. He joined her, propping one arm on one leg, his head tipping to one side as he seemed to consider her.

“Now, fair Faris,” he began, “tell me yar story.”

Faris smiled and shook her head, uncertain as to his meaning. “My…my story?” she asked.

“That be it,” he said, smiling. “If I’m to be meetin’ ya in the purple of evenin’, if I’m to be stealin’ yar kiss the like I have, it’s wantin’ to know yar story, I am.”

Faris smiled, pausing still. He was magnificent! So grand, so dark! In his attire of midnight black, it seemed he was nearly one with the evening. It was difficult to make out any specific feature of him. In those moments, it seemed he was no more than a ghostly voice drifting with the other spirits lingering in the old ruined castle. Still, Faris could feel the warmth of his body, hear his movements as he shifted.

Faris nodded. “Ah, yes,” she said smiling as she began, “My name is Faris, and I was born in a cottage some hundred miles from here in Heathmoor. Do you know of it?”

The Highwayman nodded. “I do. ’Tis well I know it.”

Faris smiled, pleased he was familiar with the place of her birth.

“I was born at Heathmoor and lived there until the death of my parents when I was twelve,” she explained. “Soon after they died, I was placed in service at the home of a grand lord and lady there, Lord and Lady Middleton.”

The Highwayman nodded, seeming to recognize the names.

“They also were lost,” he said.

Faris smiled again, further amazed at his range of acquaintance. “Some years later, yes. It was after Lord and Lady Middleton’s passing that I found myself at Tremeshton Manor,” she explained.

“Near in the evil clutches of Kade Tremeshton,” the Highwayman offered.

“Thanks to the heavens and Milady Rockrimmon—for I never found myself fully in his clutches,” Faris explained. “Though I knew…I knew…”

“
He
planned to find ya there?” he said.

Faris felt humiliation wash over her like a heated rain as she nodded and said, “Yes. Had it not been for Lady Rockrimmon…I-I shrink to think what might have become of me.”

“Aye. From the clutches of Kade Tremeshton to the clutches of the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” he chuckled. “Was it a wise trade do ya think?”

“The very wisest,” Faris said. His voice, though masked low and rasping, was of such a comfort as Faris had never known. She smiled, wondering at the odd paradox—for she felt more safe in the presence of a thieving rogue than ever she had in the presence of any other man.

“I bested that blackguard Tremeshton, ya know,” the Highwayman said.

“Yes! Twice, and I was glad to hear of it,” Faris admitted.

“Not a fortnight ago, I bested him at sabers and then fists and sent him home beaten and bloodied and without the gold he’d stolen from his tenants,” the Highwayman said. Faris noted the somewhat of a growl that had entered the intonation of his voice as he spoke of Kade Tremeshton. “And I thought of ya too, lass, in the doin’ of it. I beat him worse because of ye.” He rose to his feet and began angrily pacing back and forth. “Of the many men who do wrong by the people in this country, Kade Tremeshton is bound to breed into one of the worst, he is. And to think of his coward’s manner day before here—demanding two wee stablemen draw swords against me.”

“And he surrendered his purse as a coward too,” Faris said.

“Aye,” the Highwayman said. “I hope to heaven to rein in me temper when next I cross him—for I’ve never yet murdered a man, even any deserving of it.”

“It was the last you saw him? Yesterday—when you bested him in the broad sunshine?” Faris asked.

The Highwayman paused. He seemed to study her for a moment, and she noticed the way his left hand rested for a moment on his left thigh.

“Yes,” the Highwayman said. “Yes…yesterday when I bested him and his poor stable hands. I wish it were the last I ever saw of him.”

Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as the Highwayman took his seat on the ground before her once more. She did not imagine the way he seemed to favor his left leg as he did so—the way his hand lingered on his thigh as if he were rubbing at an uncomfortable wound.

“I can well envision it—your besting him,” Faris said. She did not wish for him to know of her suspicions. If he had not met Kade Tremeshton the night before, then why did he favor his left leg? Yet if he had met Kade Tremeshton, why did he keep the truth from her?

She did not want to know. Faris did not care. The Highwayman of Tanglewood had rested his eyes upon her, and she would not drive him from her simply because his rogue’s ways meant he must keep some secrets.

“Every day I am thankful for Lady Rockrimmon’s benevolence,” she said, attempting to draw any suspicion toward her from him. “Every day I am grateful for my timely escape.”

“Timely it was,” the Highwayman said. She could feel his piercing gaze upon her, though she could not see his eyes for the darkness enveloping them.

“Even now, when he visits Loch Loland Castle, I tremble in his presence,” Faris sighed.

It was true. It was unfortunate that on several occasions Lord Rockrimmon, forced to deal in business with the man, had accepted the villain into his home. With each visit, Lord Kade Tremeshton would find a way of seeking out Faris, glaring at her with an expression of threat, intended harm. Faris smiled, thinking of Lillias and her referring to Lord Tremeshton as Kade the Heinous. It was the perfect title for him—far more fitting than the undeserved title of Lord Kade Tremeshton.

“He is welcomed into Loch Loland?” the Highwayman exclaimed of a sudden. The rage was instantly apparent in his voice. “Lord Rockrimmon is tolerant of him?”

“N-no,” Faris stammered. His outburst and sudden change of demeanor startled her. “Well, yes—only to the point of necessity in the transference of property and tenants. Lord Rockrimmon has purchased several properties from Kade Tremeshton.”

The Highwayman breathed heavy—a sigh of obvious relief. “Then ’tis only a great man’s way of turnin’ the tide, it is. Without resortin’ to thievery, your lord acquires the land and thereby the tenants. It improves their lot—much as yars was improved by the great lady’s intervention.”

Unexpectedly, the Highwayman reached down, took hold of Faris’s hand, and pulled her to stand with him. “Still, ya must be wary of Kade Tremeshton, fair Faris,” he growled. “No doubt he yet feels bested by yar leavin’ Tremeshton Manor summer past. He’s known far the ruination of women—for the pure spite of it alone.”

Faris smiled and said, “And yet, you…a highwayman, a thief of sorts…have taken no improper liberties where I am concerned.”

The Highwayman chuckled, and Faris was mesmerized by his smile. “Have I not? When first I found ya in the meadow, I stole a kiss, I did. And ya call that not takin’ liberties, lass?”

“I gave you that kiss, gallant Highwayman,” Faris said.

“Aye, ya did. It’s well I remember it,” he said, smiling at her. “As well as the one I took from ye last purple evenin’.”

Faris felt her cheeks go crimson with blushing. What a memory—the Highwayman’s kisses! There could be no better memory in time. “But what of you?” Faris asked—for she was of a sudden more curious than ever before. “Is…is there nothing you can tell me of yourself—nothing you may share that will not endanger your safety in secrecy?”

The Highwayman’s smile faded. The corners of his mouth seemed to droop as he shook his head.

“Nay. Not a word,” he said. “Yet know that I am honorable—even in what I go about in the dark. Far until the men in government can better convince the nobles away from greed and the causes of poverty and unhappiness, I must keep my silence in regard to anythin’ which might…might reveal…”

“I understand,” Faris said. And, in truth, she did. Though her disappointment was great in not knowing more of him, she did understand the danger he would be put in were she to falter and accidentally reveal any knowledge of who he might be. “And I will try not to press you.” Yet how could she help but ever wonder? Where was he from? Who was he? Was he handsome or plain beneath his highwayman’s mask?

“Thank ya, lass,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “And yet,” he began, “I did promise ya the tale of the legend of the two willows. Perhaps that can be me story for you this night.”

Faris smiled. “I will be happy to know it,” she said.

“Then come with me, fair Faris,” the Highwayman said as he gripped her hand more firmly. “The cemetery will tell the tale to ye as much as I.”

Faris allowed the Highwayman to lead her out of the ruined castle and into the cemetery. To have her hand so firmly clutched in his—it was magnificent. She thrilled at his touch, sighed at the sound of his boots along the path, admired the silhouette of his massive build against the deep purple of the evening skies. She was in the company of the greatest champion in the land—of a legend of the times—and it was wonderful! He was wonderful!

The Highwayman stopped as they reached the two entwined willows looming in the old cemetery. It was a quiet, open place. A sense of restfulness, of relief seemed to linger in the place—as if all who slumbered in the soil slept in comfortable knowledge that warring was at an end. Faris knew an odd sensation of peace as she stood beneath the willows.