The Highwayman and The Lady (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  "Don't kill my father!" the little boy cried, racing from closed door to closed door only to fling them open to find the rooms empty. "Don't kill him!"

  The screams seemed to be coming from the four walls around young James. It made no sense. This was his home and yet it wasn't. Where were the servants? Why weren't the candles in the wall sconces lit? Where was Mother?

  Of course Mother was dead. Gone to hell, his father told him.

  "Father!" James reached the last door and pulled it open, heavy for a boy of only six or seven.

  The screams were coming from inside.

  James tripped over the hem of his nightgown and fell inside the bedchamber door. As his hands hit the floor they slipped in something warm and wet . . .

  James looked up slowly, his hair over his face, obscuring his view. Then he saw the body.

  His father was sprawled on the bedchamber floor, his club foot twisted unnaturally, his arms spread. And the blood . . . It was everywhere. His father's clothes were covered in the dark, slimy blood, but so was the floor, the bedcurtains, even the walls. Blood was seeping through the walls.

  "No!" James screamed. "No!" He struggled to rise, but he kept slipping in the blood that now puddled in the room, rising high as he fought to get to his feet.

  Slowly the blood surged over his father's dead body, covering the open, unseeing eyes.

  James was drowning, drowning in his father's blood . . .

  "Noooooooo!" the boy cried.

  "Nooooo," Kincaid screamed.

  "Kincaid." Meg grasped his shoulders, shaking him. "Kincaid, wake up!" She patted his cheek. He was bathed in sweat, his entire body trembling. "Kincaid, it's just a bad dream, wake up!"

  Kincaid came awake with a start, still tasting the metallic fear on his tongue.

  "It's just a dream," he heard Meg's soft voice in his ear. She was holding his trembling hand, stroking it.

  He sat up, brushing the hair out of his face. He felt like an ass. What grown man still had nightmares?

  "Kincaid," came Meg's voice through the fog of his fear, still lingering in the corners of his mind. "You all right?"

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her. "I'm all right, sweet." He took a deep breath. "I . . . I was dreaming about my father. I have to go to Rutledge Castle."

  "Why?" She clung to him, looking into his eyes.

  "I don't know. I just do. It's been years and years since I've been there." He kissed her temple. "Just a feeling I have. A need." He looked into her green eyes that had mesmerized him since that first night he had gazed into them on the highway to London. "Will you go?"

  She looked away. "I can't."

  "Why not? I could use you at my side. Your strength."

  In the darkness, he could see her fiddling with the hem of the counterpane. Waning moonlight shown through the window. "I just can't. Your family, they were so mean to you. I . . . couldn't bear to look into your uncle's eyes."

  "Meg—"

  "I can't," she repeated sharply. "I just can't."

  Kincaid still looked into her face, tenderly brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "All right. You don't have to. I can go alone. Or Monti can keep me company. I'll go after we return to London."

  She nodded and then, after looking into his eyes a moment longer, she pressed her mouth to his. "Let me chase away your nightmares," she whispered. As she rose on her knees to kiss him, the coverlet fell away, the moonlight dancing off the curves of her breasts, her hips . . .

  And as their lips met, the memory of the dream faded from Kincaid's mind. As long as he had Meg, he knew he would never be alone again. And as long as he had his Meg, he would know his father, the bastard, had been wrong.

  Someone could love him . . .

  Twenty-three

  "You certain you won't go with me?" Kincaid stood on the street, his mount's reins tucked in his hand. It was early morning and there were only a few people on the street at Charing Cross. Only a handful of venders could be seen rolling their carts, bound for one market or another.

  Meg tried to smile. It was so early that she'd not yet dressed, but instead come down to say farewell with a cloak thrown over her dressing gown. She woke at dawn with Kincaid, made love with him, and then cooked a farewell morning meal in the kitchen in her bare feet, just like a wife would have done. "No. I won't go with you. And I wish you wouldn't go, either." Meg twisted her hands in the folds of her cloak. "I don't know why you want to dredge up more bad memories. You ought to let them lie."

  And she truly felt that way. Of course she was also afraid Kincaid would find some clue to lead him to her, though what that might be, she didn't know. A portrait was never painted of her. Philip had always talked of commissioning one, but never done so. And who could tell Kincaid about her if he asked the staff? No one in the household had ever befriended her for fear of Philip's wrath. Meg knew there was very little evidence in the castle that she'd ever existed at all, but still she was afraid.

  Kincaid stared at the ground made muddy by the late spring rains. "I can't explain this to you, except to say that I need to go at least once before you and I set sail. I'd like to look through my father's possessions. There's a portrait of my mother, if the bastard didn't burn it."

  Meg nodded because she did understand. "I'll miss you," she said, fearing she would break down and cry. She didn't just mean she would miss him while he was in Rutledge, she meant she would miss him the rest of her life. When he returned, she decided she'd no longer be here. If she had to, she would find a place to hide until she could manage passage on a ship.

  Kincaid took her hand in his gloved one and brought it to his lips. "I'll be gone two or three days at most. I promise."

  Tears stung Meg's eyes. She'd been so emotional this last week since they'd returned from the inn on the river. She was so emotional that she knew she had to be pregnant. Nothing else could cause such a strange mixture of feelings in a woman's body but pregnancy. Which was yet another reason why it was time she went.

  "Take care of yourself."

  "I will." This time he kissed her lips. "Meg, are you all right?" He tilted her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

  A lump rose in her throat. "I'm all right," she whispered.

  "Do you want me to put this off another week?"

  "No." She bit down on her lower lip. She had to go, and it would be easier if he was gone when she took leave. "I'm just tired, that's all." She gave him a quick kiss. "Now be careful with that leg and remember to change your dressing."

  "I will." He swung up into the saddle and raised the reins to go. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'll go to the castle and chase the demons from my mind for good."

  She smiled a bittersweet smile. "I'll try not to worry."

  He turned the horse to go and then looked back. "Meg, I was thinking. Why don't you see what can be done about making a wedding gown while I'm gone? It will take a seamstress a few weeks, and by then we'll be packing for America. I want to wed on English soil before we go."

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. Then, with a lame wave of her hand, Kincaid was gone. Gone down the street, gone from her life.

  "Just a few things and I'll be ready to go." Meg walked at Monti's side. He was carrying a box of trinkets she'd purchased from various booths at the Royal Exchange. She was cloaked in dark green with a vizard covering her face.

  Here was the place where wealthy men and women came to purchase items, but also to hear the latest gossip, to meet with lovers, to ruin reputations. Meg had come to buy the things she thought she would need to take with her on her journey to the colonies. She needed a few more things purchased with the coin she'd won at cards in the various taverns and ladies' and gentlemen's hall.

  "Goodness," Monti stopped at a stall crowded with chattering women. "Did you see this fine lace, Meg? 'Twould look excellent on a wedding gown." He lifted a piece to the cuff of his coat. "Or on a new shirt for me."

  Meg smiled
. "I don't need the lace. You buy it for yourself."

  "Meg, look at this. See the fine detailing? It would be a steal at twice the cost."

  She glanced over his shoulder, lowering her mask to get a better look at the exquisite cloth. "It is fine, Monti, but I truly don't—" As she glanced away she made eye contact with a man on the far side of the room at a Chinese import stall.

  Rutledge.

  "Sweet God, save me," she prayed under her breath, jerking the mask over her face. "Monti, let's go."

  Rutledge was already coming toward her. He wasn't running. It wasn't his style now that he had her trapped as she was. His gaze never left hers as he pushed his way through the crowded hall.

  Monti set down the lace. "What is it, sweet?"

  Meg was already pushing away from the table. "Him."

  "Him?" Monti swore under his breath. "All right, I'll get you out of this one," he grabbed her hand, leaving her purchases behind, "but I swear by all that's holy, when you're safe, you owe me an explanation."

  "Anything." Meg lowered her head, following him, trusting him because she had no one else to trust.

  "Lotie," Monti pushed his way around the stall to whisper in the lace girl's ear.

  The bright-eyed teenager nodded her head excitedly and parted a curtain at the side of the stall that kept customers out.

  "This way," Monti whispered in Meg's ear. "A shortcut."

  "Margaret!" came the Earl of Rutledge's voice as they darted through the opening in the curtain. "Margaret, come back here. You won't get away this time!"

  Monti and Meg bolted through the back of the booth, following the lace girl. "This way." She motioned.

  Through another part in the multicolored curtains, they found themselves in a corridor, obviously used for the vendors to cart their wares in and out of the 'Change. The girl pointed to the right. "The door is there."

  Monti, ever the gallant, pressed a quick kiss to Lotie's cheek as he brushed past her. "If an ugly fellow passes here looking for us, send him the other way, will you?"

  Meg lifted up her skirts with both hands, running down the hall with Monti. "Please God," she prayed with each step. "Don't let him catch me. Don't let him win."

  They burst through the door, which sure enough, led them to an alley behind the 'Change.

  "This way," Monti shouted without hesitation. Rather than taking the twisting flight of steps, he leaped over the railing onto the ground and raised his arms to catch Meg.

  She didn't have time to argue. Raising her skirts, Meg threw herself over the wooden rail and Monti broke her fall. She landed on her feet, her knees bent.

  "Come on!" Monti grabbed her hand.

  They ran along the building, its alley piled high with discarded crates and wooden boxes. At the edge of the alley they met with a busy street. The first hell-cart Monti spotted, he waved down.

  Meg heard the earl's voice echoing in the alley behind her as she and Monti leapt into the hired coach. Monti gave him directions as they rolled off, the horse in a canter.

  Meg fell back into the seat of the open carriage, barely believing that she'd escaped again, knowing her luck had to be running out.

  Monti collapsed on the narrow seat at her side clutching his chest, breathless. "Blast it! I've lost the heel of my slipper." He raised his foot to show her where part of the shoe had broken off. With a frown he lowered his foot to the carriage floor. "We'll go to the Crook and Crown and take a private room. We can hide a few hours and then, as long as it's safe, we'll return to the apartment after dark." He took a breath, his gaze narrowing. For once there was no gaiety in his tone of voice. "Now start explaining, Meg."

  Monti sat at the tavern table in the private room above the public room, cracking a walnut. Meg paced the floor.

  "Sweet blood of the virgin," Monti muttered, shaking his head as he popped a bit of the nut's meat between his teeth. "No one would believe such a coincidence. It was fate, Meg, pure and unpretentious."

  Meg exhaled, dropping her hands to her sides. "I don't have time for your house of the rising moon nonsense right now, Monti. I need your help. I need you to tell me what to do."

  "The Earl of Rutledge." He made a clicking sound between his teeth. "He really is an ugly bastard. Kincaid never mentioned the harelip."

  She stared into the flames of the small fire. A servant had lit it in the hearth to chase away the early evening chill. The sweet smell of applewood filled the room. "All the Randall men had a deformity. Philip's was a club foot."

  "All the men but our Captain Scarlet, it seems."

  She turned to him, her eyes begging. "Monti, please. Help me. Am I doing the right thing in leaving Kincaid before he discovers the truth? Saity thought I should just tell him. She thought I should take the chance that he would love me enough not to care."

  He reached for a tankard of ale and tipped it back. "You never should have let it get this far."

  She fought the emotions that immobilized her. "I didn't know."

  "You didn't recognize him, even though you knew him as a child? Not on the road to London that night? Not in Newgate? Not when he slept in your bed? You didn't suspect?"

  "I didn't recognize him because I was a child when he was living at Rutledge Castle. I was kept so far from the rest of the household that I probably caught only a glimpse of him half a dozen times in those years. And after we met here, we were both so secretive about our pasts that neither of us ever had a clue."

  "It seems so implausible."

  She laughed without mirth. "What is truly hard to believe is that when my grandmother passed my care onto Philip, she thought I was to marry Philip's son when I was of age." She ran her finger along the worn rail of a chair, made smooth by the years. "I should have wed Kincaid . . . hell, James. Not his father."

  Monti tossed an empty shell to the floor and took another black walnut. Meg watched him crack the nut and extract the meat, waiting to hear what he had to say.

  He took another nut before he spoke. "You're doing the right thing," he said softly. "You're right. The truth of what you did, who you are, would break his heart. I've known Kincaid a long time; we've been to the gates of Hades and back together" He looked at her. "I doubt he'd show you any mercy once the truth was told."

  Meg's lower lip trembled. It's what she had feared all along, but hearing someone else say it still hurt. "So I should go away now? Before he returns?"

  Monti stood, brushing the crumbs from his lace and linen shirt. He had removed his coat to get more comfortable. They had been here for hours. "You should go now, sweetheart," he said quietly walking toward her, his arms outstretched. "And let me take you where you want to go."

  Meg allowed him to take her in his arms because she ached so badly to be comforted. Monti had hugged her before. They were friends. "What did you say?" She lifted her head from his shoulder. Monti was a full head shorter than Kincaid.

  He stroked the back of her head, smoothing her hair. "I said you should let me get you out of this mess. I'll take you to the American colonies if that's where you want to go."

  Meg took a step back. Something in Monti's tone didn't seem right. "You'd escort me, you mean?" Her gaze searched his ruddy face for understanding. "You would betray Kincaid and his friendship by helping me?"

  "I'd do it because I love you," he cried passionately.

  Meg stared at him, shocked by his declaration. "What?"

  "I said I love you. I've always loved you." He put out his arms to her again, but this time she stepped away. "I'll marry you," he went on, faster than before. "If you are with child, I'll give the child my own name. No one ever need be the wiser."

  Meg could do nothing but gaze in disbelief. What was he babbling about? Marry Monti?

  "I have money saved," he continued. "We could buy land in the Virginia or Maryland Colony. We could grow tobacco, you and I." He put out his hand to her. "Oh, lovely Meg. My heart of hearts. I'd love you. I'd love you as much as Kincaid ever did. More."

  Meg w
as close to tears again. She didn't want to hurt Monti's feelings. She did love him. She loved him for his friendship. She loved him because he and Kincaid helped her when no one else would have. But she couldn't marry Monti. She didn't love him in that way. Perhaps once she could have done it. He certainly would make a better husband than Philip had. But now that Meg had experienced veritable love, she knew she would never settle for less again.

  Monti looked at her with the wild eyes of a desperate man, a man who feared his life was slipping away in whore houses and at the gaming tables, and Meg felt his pain.

  "If you would just give me a chance," he pleaded, "I can be as gallant as the captain. I know I'm not much to look at, a fat, short man with a red, bulbous nose, but—"

  "Monti, Monti," Meg interrupted. She could let it go no further than this. "Monti, listen to me." She took his hand, gazing into his dark eyes. She spoke slowly, gently. "I will forever be grateful for all you've done for me but I—"

  He sighed, his face crestfallen. "You don't love me. Not like you love him."

  "No." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Monti. I've hurt you. I've hurt you both." She looked away. "I've made such a mess of everything. I should have let Philip kill me that night."

  Monti grabbed her shoulders. There were tears in his eyes. "Don't say that." He shook her, forcing her to look at him. "Even if you don't love me, if you never could, I'd still not give up a day of the time we've spent together. I'd not give up a single smile of yours for all the riches of the world or life eternal."

  She smiled, covering his hand with hers. "Thank you."

  "Now tell me you don't believe you should have died that night."

  This time she gave him a little smile. "I don't believe it. Not even now that I've made such a muck of things. Sinful woman that I am, I still think Philip deserved to die, God save my soul. He deserved to die for what he did to my baby. He deserved to die for what he did to his son John—and to Kincaid."

  "That's my girl." He let go of her, brushing his eyes with the back of hand. "Now." He walked back to the table. "We have to see what we can do about getting you out of this city and on your way. If you won't let me go with you, at least I can ease your way. I have money."