The Highwayman and The Lady (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  "Monti, tell me, damn you! Is Kincaid in trouble?"

  "I . . . I had no choice." Tears brimmed in his eyes. "I couldn't stall any longer. Nothing was working out as I planned. They . . . they were onto me."

  "Monti! What are you talking about?"

  The glass fell as he lifted his beefy hands to cover his face. "What have I done?" he cried. "Merciful Father, what have I done?"

  Meg pulled his hands away angrily. Suddenly it was all clear. Too clear. The information leak. The close calls. Kincaid had insisted it was coincidence, a hazard of the trade. Bad luck even. But it had been Monti! Monti all along.

  "Please tell me he's safe," she whispered on the verge of hysteria. "Make me believe you."

  "I . . . never meant for him to be harmed." Monti started to cry. "I thought I could stay ahead of them."

  "Ahead of whom?"

  "The Lord Justice's men." He stumbled to a straight-backed chair and crumpled into it, his head hung, his arms lifeless at his sides.

  Meg followed him. "You sent the Lord Justice's men after Kincaid?"

  "No. Yes." He shook his head, seeming confused himself. "I did, but I never meant for him to get caught. I only meant for the Lord Justice to almost catch him. It was just a game, a cat and mouse game."

  Meg grabbed Monti by the shoulders and shook him. "You betrayed Kincaid, one of the only friends you have? You were like brothers! Why? Why, damn you?"

  When she let go of his shoulders, he slumped forward again. "Why does any man betray another?" he muttered. "Coin."

  "Money!" Meg raged. "You betrayed the best man that walks this earth for futtering money!"

  He began to blubber. "Kincaid . . . he . . . he had it all. A handsome face, a title coming to him, then he had you. I wanted something for myself. Something he didn't have to give me. I never thought they would actually catch him. I got him the pardon that first time. There was no trouble after that. I never thought he'd get hurt."

  Meg crossed her arms over her chest. "You sorry son of a bitch! You never thought he'd get hurt sending the Lord Justice's henchmen after him?"

  "I always checked the charts . . ." He looked up at her, his nose running, his cheeks wet from his own tears. "I went to the astrologer each time. I made sure they were lucky days for you both. I knew you were safe, then."

  "You relied on the stars to keep us safe?" Meg couldn't believe Monti's words. How could he be so stupid?

  Then Meg thought of Kincaid, out on some road about to be ambushed. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe there was still time. She looked over at the case clock on the mantel. "Is there still time?"

  "I don't know."

  She grabbed Monti by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him down the hallway toward her bedchamber. She had to get dressed and get a horse. There still might be time to save him!

  "Tell me where he his," she demanded, yanking clothing out of her clothes press. She began to dress immediately, not caring how Monti saw her. Modesty seemed unimportant with Kincaid's life at stake.

  "Tell me where he is and why this time will be different."

  "Whitechapel Road, toward Mile end."

  "You think he'll be caught. Why?"

  Monti leaned against the doorjamb. "The Lord Justice lost his patience with me. Said he'd throw me in Newgate for obstructing the king's law if I didn't provide accurate information this time."

  She stepped into a riding skirt and hooked the buttons. "And Kincaid's luck?" Her tone was sarcastic.

  Monti shook his pathetic head. "Run out. The stars are bad and the Lord Justice has ordered that Captain Scarlet be killed on sight. He's gotten too much pressure from the men we robbed. There's to be no trial. The men just want him dead to spare themselves any further embarrassment."

  Meg shrugged into her riding coat, grabbing up her stockings and boots. "Go downstairs and have the coachman saddle me a horse. Are you listening to me, Monti?"

  "Listening."

  "I want a horse out front in five minutes and then I want you gone from this place. I want you gone forever," she shouted in his face. "Do you understand me?"

  "I . . . I can go with you. I can help."

  "And what?" She stared him in the eyes. "Betray us again? I think not."

  His head lulled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It got out of hand. I wanted to be like him. Rich. I wanted a woman like you to love me. I wanted you to love me."

  Meg turned her back to Monti, so angry she feared she might strike him. "Go," she ordered. At the bedside, she pulled a loaded pistol from the table drawer.

  Meg rode down The Strand, east on Fleet Street, through the city as fast as she could. But the London streets were crowded and it seemed to take forever to weave through the throngs of pedestrians and the caravans of assorted vehicles.

  Please, she prayed as she held tightly to the pommel, riding as fast as she dared. Please, God, let me get there in time.

  Meg urged her horse faster as she reached the open road of Whitechapel. "Not much farther," she told the horse, trying to remember which was the bend in the road where Monti thought the ambush would take place.

  What if it was too late? What if Kincaid was already dead?

  Up and over a hill, Meg spotted more than a dozen soldiers on horseback following a coach and four. She pulled back hard on the reins, hoping they hadn't heard her approach. Please let that be Gilbert, she prayed.

  But it had to be. The soldiers were following far enough behind that Kincaid might not see or hear them until it was too late.

  Meg swung into the woods line to pass the soldiers unseen. Luckily they were moving slow enough to stay well behind the coach, so she could outride them. Once within the cover of the forest, far enough off the road not to be detected, she road hell-bent for the next turn in the road.

  When Meg entered a thicket, she realized it had to be the one Monti had indicated Kincaid would be waiting in. What if Monti had lied?

  Meg lowered her head to ride under a low-hanging branch, pulling her piebald to a halt. She stared in the forest. She could see the road. This had to be the place. But where was Kincaid?

  Then she heard the click of the musket trigger behind her.

  "Kincaid?"

  "Meg?"

  She looked over her shoulder, sawing on the reins to turn her horse around. There he was, Captain Scarlet, the highwayman, looking much the same way he had that night when he'd found her on the road from Kent.

  "Oh, thank God I found you," she breathed as he lowered the pistol.

  "What are you doing here?" Kincaid's voice was gruff and inpatient.

  "It's a trap!" Behind her, down the road, she could hear the pounding of the horses' hooves and the roll of the carriage wheels. "You have to get out of here. They're coming for you. Soldiers. You've been betrayed!"

  Kincaid yanked down the red swath of material that was his trademark. She could see his face fully.

  "Betrayed how? By whom, Meg?"

  She thought about her answer for a long second. "I don't know who's responsible," she insisted. "The tip was anonymous." She swung out of the saddle, grabbing his reins. "Now trade horses with me and get the hell out of here. Disappear into the forest while we still have a chance."

  "Trade horses?"

  "So if they follow you, they'll be following me." She grabbed his arm, practically hauling him out of the saddle. She took his hat from his head, trading it for her own. "Give me your cloak, too."

  "Meg—"

  "Blast it!" she said through gritted teeth, pushing his hands aside to untie his black cloak herself. "Don't you see this might save your life? I can hear them coming!"

  "And what if they catch you? If they stop you." He lifted her into his saddle. They could both hear the approaching vehicle now.

  "If they stop me, what am I but a crazy woman taking a wild ride! Go now. Take a separate path. Go to one of the taverns and lose yourself for the day. I'll meet you at home tonight."

  Kincaid mounted, her green cloak, too small for him, thrown o
ver his shoulders, her plumed green wool riding cap perched on his head. She would have laughed at how ridiculous he looked if the situation hadn't been so dire.

  The coach was nearly parallel with them on the road. Through the cover of the trees Meg saw the soldiers riding in behind it. Kincaid would have been caught. Once he'd ridden out onto the highway to rob Gilbert, it would have been too late by the time he'd spotted the horsemen.

  Suddenly there was the sound of musketfire.

  Meg whirled her horse around to see a figure cloaked in black, swathed in red, riding straight up behind the soldiers. From a distance it looked like Kincaid, but of course it wasn't.

  Kincaid stared in disbelief. "Who the hell—"

  "Ride," Meg insisted. "This is it. Your last chance. Your luck's run out, my love."

  Just as the words came from her mouth, the soldiers fired on the man in black and he flew backward off his horse.

  Meg squeezed her eyes shut as they fired again and again. "No," she whispered, hearing the body hit the dirt and gravel road.

  "It's Monti! It's got to be. We've got to help him!"

  Meg reached out to grab Kincaid's reins. "No. It's too late. You know it's too late."

  "Meg? What the hell's going on? Why would Monti—"

  Her eyes flew open. "This is our chance," she said, knowing it was a chance Monti had given them. "Ride!" She slapped the horse he rode hard on the rump with her quirt and the horse shot between two trees, headed in the direction of London.

  "We'll separate farther down the road," she said, catching up with him. "I can meet you at home, later."

  "Like hell!" He rode beside her at a gallop. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're safe and I've got a futtering explanation!"

  Meg cringed at the harshness of his words. Now what was she going to do? How was she going to get away? And worse, what was she going to tell him of Monti?

  Twenty-six

  "I cannot believe Monti could have done something that reckless," Kincaid repeated. He stood in their bedchamber leaning against the mantel, staring into the flames of the fire he'd built. It had begun to rain on the ride into London and both of them had gotten soaked and chilled. Upon their safe arrival home to Charing Cross they'd bathed and changed into dry clothes. Kincaid wore a plain pair of breeches and a loose shirt. Meg wore her flannel and lace dressing gown.

  "I don't know what to say." She chose her words carefully. "I told him not to come. That I would warn you myself."

  "He had to have been drunk." He shook his head in obvious grief. "Otherwise he'd not have done something that stupid. What else were the soldiers going to do, but fire on him?"

  Meg walked up behind Kincaid and placed her hand on his back, rubbing it. "I guess we'll never know why. The only thing we do know is that he did it to save you. He did it because he loved you. You'd have done the same for him."

  Meg had decided on the ride home that there was no reason to tell Kincaid the truth. What would be the point? Monti was dead and there was no bringing him back. Captain Scarlet's days were over. As far as the Lord Justice knew, the thief had been caught. What good would it do anyone to tell Kincaid his friend had betrayed him and then made the ultimate sacrifice to redeem himself?

  "Aye, I would have done the same to save him." Kincaid sighed. "We have to claim his body. I would think the soldiers brought him back to London."

  Meg walked to the table where she'd set out a light supper. "Have one of his friends claim his body. Then you can take care of the burial as you see fit. It'll be safer." She rested her hand on the back of a chair at the table. "Now, come. The cook shop delivered lamb stew with leeks and fresh bread. You need to eat."

  Kincaid came to the table and sat down across from her. He took her hand and said a blessing over the meal and then began to eat. Meg knew he ate only out of habit, not because he was hungry.

  She watched him eat the stew, just pushing her own around her plate. She wasn't hungry, either. Her concern now was how to get away. When they were bathing, she'd asked him to tell her more about his trip to Rutledge Castle, but he'd been strangely evasive and that concerned her. Had he seen or heard something to make him suspect the awful truth?

  Meg knew she had to leave. Tonight. Once Kincaid was asleep, she'd just slip away. She knew he'd go to Saity's looking for her, but that wouldn't really matter anyway, because she'd not be at Saity's long. She'd thought long and hard on this today. Before she took that ship to the colonies, she had one more place to go. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had known all along she couldn't leave England without making the pilgrimage. Like Kincaid, she too had to return to Rutledge Castle.

  Later that night, when Kincaid slept on his back, his arms askew, Meg slipped out of their bed. Without making a sound, she dressed and retrieved the small bag she'd hidden in her clothes press. Fearful she would wake him if she touched him, she blew him a kiss from beside the bed, silent tears running down her cheeks. Then, on impulse, she walked to the writing desk, picked up his quill, and scrawled a simple note across a piece of parchment.

  I love you. I'll love you forever.

  I'm sorry I couldn't stay.

  No explanation. No lies. It was better this way, she decided. Then, in the cover of darkness, she took her bag and slipped out of the bedchamber, out of the apartment and into the dark city.

  "Are you stark raving mad? Should I call a cart from Bedlam for ye?" Saity ranted.

  It was barely dawn. Meg had slept a few fitful hours in the attic in the house connected to Saity's shop, and now she was having a biscuit and tea before she set off on her journey.

  "I'm not crazy. I'm a mother."

  "It's not safe. What if the ugly earl is there?"

  "Kincaid was just at Rutledge. He said nothing of seeing his uncle. The earl is still here in London."

  "And if he ain't?"

  "I'll take the risk."

  "It ain't worth it. Not a grave. Not even the Virgin Mary's is worth your life."

  Meg paced the tiny kitchen attached to the back of the laundry shop. A few sputtering tallow candles illuminated the room. "Don't you understand? It's my child's grave. My son's. The grave I never saw. I never had a chance to place flowers on it or pray over it."

  "The good Lord's got your baby wrapped in His loving arms. Same as my dead babe. There ain't nothing in that churchyard but ashes and dust. That ain't your baby, Meg."

  She reached for her mug of tea, her chin set stubbornly. "A mother should see her child's grave. I don't want him to think I've abandoned him with my going off to the colonies. It's already taken me too long to say goodbye properly."

  Saity slapped a biscuit and a crock of butter down on the table. "I think yer pregnancy's gone to your head." She lifted her palm in a solemn oath. "I swear, I do."

  Meg buttered her biscuit. Tea and bread seemed to be the only thing that calmed her stomach these days. "You're not going to change my mind, so you might as well give up." She bit into the biscuit, catching crumbs with the tip of her tongue. "All you can do now is help me."

  Saity plopped herself down in her chair and reached for the butter crock. She was already dressed for the day with her laundress's apron in place. "Help you how?"

  "What are you going to tell Kincaid when he comes? Because he'll surely come."

  "Not going to tell him nothing."

  "He's not going to accept the fact that you know absolutely nothing of my disappearance."

  "I don't care if he holds my head over a flame and singes my ears, I won't say a word. Not if he dips my bare feet in hot wax and—"

  Meg had to laugh. "All right. All right. I understand. You won't tell where I've gone." She looked down at her bodice, brushing away the crumbs of the biscuit. "But do tell him I love him." Tears welled in her eyes. "I truly do. You know that, don't you Saity? I'm leaving him because I love him too much not to."

  Saity got up from her chair and came around the table to take Meg in her arms. "There, there," she soothed, huggin
g her tightly. "I don't understand. I'm not smart like you. But I'll tell him what you said just the same."

  Sniffing, Meg lifted her head from Saity's shoulder, taking the plain-loomed handkerchief she offered. "Thank you," Meg said. "Thank you for doing this for me. Thank you for being such a good friend."

  "Nonsense." Saity opened a small cloth sack on the table and began to stuff biscuits inside. "You got me out of whorin'. I'll never be able to pay you back for that." She thrust out her hand, offering the dusty flour sack.

  Meg took the bag of biscuits. "I'll be back in a day or two. You have the coin for my passage." The money Monti had insisted she take would be enough not just to pay her passage, but to keep her a long time in the colonies. Once the baby was born she thought she might set up a business. A store maybe. Surely the English women in the colonies wanted English tea and soap. "Have your fishseller pay and make the final arrangements. I'll be back in time to catch the ship."

  "Ye can't get to Rutledge and back in one night in yer condition. Where will ye stay? The castle, mayhap? I'm sure if the earl is there, 'e'll invite you in!"

  Meg made a face. "I've got the bed roll your Clancy gave me. I'll just sleep in the woods."

  "Sleep in the woods!" Saity threw her arms up in the air. "I got half a mind to go with ye on the crazy journey. That way when yer man comes up my step spittin' and shoutin' like I know he will, I won't be here to hear it!"

  Meg took Saity's hand, giving it a squeeze. "It's kind of you to offer, but you stay here. You take care of your business and that fine man of yours. Looks to me like he's getting worked up to ask you to marry him."

  Saity blushed. "Think so?" Then she rolled her eyes. "I sure hope so, because I ain't gave 'im a piece. Not one lick and I'm dyin' to tumble with him."

  Meg laughed at Saity's bawdiness. She understood what it was like to be in love and want to make love. She was so glad Saity had found that same happiness. "I'd better go now. If Kincaid's up early, he'll be here in no time."

  Saity walked Meg to the back door where the horse Clancy had borrowed for her was waiting.

  "Take care of yerself," Saity said, lifting the hood of Meg's plain black cloak over her tumble of curls. She tied it beneath her chin. "And be careful. You get scared, or you decide you don't need to go, you come right home to Saity, you hear me?"