Copyright © 2011
The Highwayman of Tanglewood by Marcia Lynn McClure
www.marcialynnmcclure.com
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the contents of this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any part or by any means without the prior written consent of the author and/or publisher.
Published by Distractions Ink
P.O. Box 15971
Rio Rancho, NM 87174
©Copyright 20011 by M. Meyers
A.K.A. Marcia Lynn McClure
Cover Photography by ©Viktoria Makarova/Dreamstime.com
and ©Mccool/Dreamstime.com
Cover Design by Sheri L. Brady
All character names and personalities in this work of fiction are entirely fictional,
created solely in the imagination of the author.
Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
McClure, Marcia Lynn, 1965—
To Amanda Heath,
My sweet, young friend…
You are a beautiful angel, a damsel,
a princess, a romance heroine!
You inspire me!
All My Love,
Marcia Lynn McClure
Prologue
Lady Maranda Rockrimmon watched with guarded interest as the pretty young woman went about her duties. A maid in the manor house of Lord and Lady Tremeshton, the young woman set the sweets-laden silver serving tray on the table, forced a friendly smile, dipped a respectful curtsy, and went to stand near the doorway.
During her recent visits to see Lady Tremeshton, Lady Rockrimmon had often observed this young maid, noting an uncommon elegance about the girl, a somewhat ethereal beauty in her features. Lady Rockrimmon had also silently noted the girl’s nervous state—the flicker of fear ever present in her dark eyes. It seemed the girl was continuously on her guard against something—and Lady Maranda Rockrimmon knew plainly what. The young masters of great households knew well of the ill and shameless behavior that more often than not haunted a pretty young serving girl. When a manor house in which she labored harbored an arrogant young master, a young woman of no means could be made quite miserable—or even ruined. Furthermore, Lady Rockrimmon knew that if there were an arrogant young master to be suspicious of, it was most certainly and none other than Kade Tremeshton.
Kade Tremeshton was not only handsome and wealthy; he was egotistical and corrupt. Perhaps it seemed a harsh description, but it was true. Hardly a single serving girl over the age of fifteen had passed through the halls of Tremeshton Manor without being accosted in one way or another by Kade. Lady Rockrimmon kept a concerned and caring ear to the conversations of those who labored under her husband’s employ. She knew Kade Tremeshton was a scoundrel of the lowest sort. Even the roguish Highwayman of Tanglewood, who had been impishly robbing the wealthy for nigh unto a year, was known as a gentleman, never to have sullied any woman in any way—and the Highwayman of Tanglewood was a thief! A well-intentioned thief, perhaps—the likes of Robin Hood of old and with the same motivations—but a thief all the same. Still, even the local Highwayman seemed to respect womanhood, for stories had been told of his gallant and chivalrous deeds where women were concerned. Kade Tremeshton, however, was just as well known for his disrespect of women. Everyone was aware of Kade’s lowly character—everyone save his mother and father.
It was not an uncommon thing—parents ignorant of their progeny’s preposterous behavior. Whether for pure ignorance or simple denial and a lack of ambition to see their children to admirable adulthood, it seemed the children of the noble and wealthy were often of the worst character to be found. Kade Tremeshton was one of these—spoiled, arrogant, and without a shred of moral fiber to atone. As she watched the Tremeshton Manor maid stand anxious and fearful at the doorway waiting for Lady Tremeshton to return and dismiss her, Lady Rockrimmon knew—the girl was fearful of Kade.
Maranda cleared her throat. She pressed a graceful, lace-gloved hand to her lips and glanced about before saying, “Young woman—would you come to me for just a moment, please?”
The young woman startled at the sound of Maranda’s voice, nodded, smoothed her dark hair, and dutifully came to stand before the grand lady—a guest in her mistress’s home.
“Yes, milady?” the young woman asked.
Maranda smiled, pleased the girl’s voice carried the softness and lilt of a songbird. “What is your name, dearest?” Maranda inquired.
“Faris, milady,” the girl answered. “Faris Shayhan.”
“Faris,” Maranda repeated. “Oh, I love it!”
The girl smiled, obviously pleased for the moment. “Thank you, milady,” she said. High cheekbones and long eyelashes gave the girl more the look of a princess or fairy sprite than that of an overburdened serving maid.
“Now, Faris,” Maranda continued, lowering her voice and motioning the girl closer, “how do you find your position here at Tremeshton Manor?”
The girl’s dark eyes widened, fear and anxiety all too apparent. Maranda realized at once the carelessness in her manner of posing the question. The girl could not answer truthfully, for if her mistress were to hear of an unenthusiastic response, no doubt she would be sent on her way in an instant.
“I mean to ask…would you—would you consider coming to Loch Loland Castle? I’ve need of a careful young woman such as yourself, and I’ve noticed you for some time. You’re careful in your duties—very attentive and polite.” Maranda saw the girl’s eyes widen and sparkle with hope. This encouraged her, and she continued, “I know you’re probably more than happy here, dear,” she said, retrieving a small piece of parchment and a quill from the nearby desk. “Still, I would like to have you over to Loch Loland, if you ever find…that you desire an alteration of venue.”
Maranda wrote several sentences on the parchment, elegantly penned her name, and handed it to Faris. “There now—if you should feel a change is in your own best interest, simply come to Loch Loland. Won’t you?” Maranda asked.
“Milady…I…I…” the young woman stammered, tears filling her eyes.
Maranda reached out, taking Faris’s trembling hands in her own. “I’ve a kind and good family, Faris,” she whispered. “A gallant husband and a son who understands the importance of…of virtue.”
“So I have heard, milady,” Faris admitted. “Though there are those who wish the young master wasn’t so—” The girl gasped and clamped one hand over her mouth, horrified at what she had begun to say.
Maranda smiled and laughed. She understood far too well and said, “There are those young ladies who wish…who wish the handsome devil of my son…was a bit more of a devil, eh?”
The young woman smiled and nodded, obviously relieved at Maranda’s understanding.
“Well,” Maranda said, still holding Faris’s hands. “I’m sure there’s a woman out there somewhere who can bring out the imp in him, at least—if not the devil.”
Faris smiled.
“But for now, come to Loch Loland Castle, Faris. It is a safe haven. I promise.”
“Do you—do you make such offers on a regular basis, milady?” Faris asked.
Maranda laughed and shook her head. “No, I do not,” she said. “But somehow I feel I want you at Loch Loland, dear—if you ever find your way.”
“Oh, I will find my way, milady,” Faris said, smiling. Hope had returned to her lovely countenance—her eyes flashed with excitement. “I will find my way.”
“Faris!” Lady Tremeshton exclaimed, entering the room just at that moment. “Haven’t you finished serving yet?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Faris said,
smiling as Maranda winked at her.
“Then go about your business, girl. Lingering is simply idle,” Lady Tremeshton grumbled, waving Faris aside as she curtsied.
Lady Maranda Rockrimmon settled back in her chair. She breathed a heavy sigh of contentment. She may not be able to save every young woman from the dastardly grip of Kade Tremeshton, but perhaps she could save one. She closed her eyes for a moment, silently thanking God for a good son who did not heap shame upon others, and praying Faris Shayhan would find the venue to leave Tremeshton Manor before any harm came to her.
“Now, Maranda, do tell me about the new tapestries in the grand hallway at Loch Loland,” Lady Tremeshton began. “Are they bright and full of color?”
“They are, Christina. They are, indeed.”
❦
Faris hastened to the kitchens. Finding a corner void of prying eyes, she withdrew Lady Rockrimmon’s note from her pocket. She read it over and over, smiling as she did so. She could not believe her good fortune!
“‘This is Faris Shayhan, and she will be joining us at Loch Loland Castle. Please bring her to me at once upon her arrival. With Sincerity, Lady Maranda Rockrimmon,’” Faris read in a whisper.
Clutching the note to her bosom, she let several tears trickle down her cheeks. How she had dreamt of and prayed for something to happen—something, anything to help her escape Tremeshton Manor and its vile young master.
Since the moment she had arrived, Kade Tremeshton’s eyes had followed Faris. Every step, every movement in his presence was unsettling. The entire staff of Tremeshton Manor knew the young master was ever aware of Faris. Certainly every serving member of the household felt sorry for her. Yet, with the next breath, the other serving women at Tremeshton were glad his attentions were not on them. It was nightmarish for Faris, living under the same roof as Kade Tremeshton. What had begun as vile insinuations from him were quickly billowing to intention, and Faris knew it. Only the day before, the young master of Tremeshton Manor had detained her in the great hall, attempting to force a kiss upon her. He seemed to enjoy the game of cat and mouse—his startling her with a sudden appearance, her attempting to escape him without losing her position on the staff. In the end, he had let her go without so much as a grip to her wrist. This would not forever be the case, however. Faris knew it, and she feared for her own well-being.
The tales abounding at Tremeshton Manor of the young master’s “conquests” were appalling. Many girls had been victims of his lecherous behavior. Several unfortunate victims had been sent away—reputations and innocence altered for life. Furthermore, it seemed very few of the ruined girls had been willingly ruined. In her very soul, Faris knew for certain—she was his next intended prey. Everyone at Tremeshton knew it. Everyone save Lord and Lady Tremeshton.
It was apparent the Lord and Lady Tremeshton worried nothing over the abominable behavior of their son. Indulged and spoiled at every turn, Kade Tremeshton knew nothing of hard work—nothing of character, chivalry, compassion, courtesy. Kade Tremeshton had been raised to think himself above any other person simply because of his name and would-be title and therefore deserving of anything he desired, without payment or consequence. Why should he assume anything other than this? He had been given everything he demanded without exerting any sort of effort, other than voicing the demand itself. He treated others as if they were pestilence, as if every other human being were indentured to him simply because he existed—simply because his father was Lord Tremeshton. Kade Tremeshton had never been told he could not have—that he could not conquer. Simply, he had never been told no, and now his wanting had turned to Faris.
Yet fate or heaven had intervened. Faris felt deliverance close at hand. Carefully, she folded the note and returned it to her apron pocket. There was not time to waste! She would leave that very night. She would not even speak to Lady Tremeshton about the matter—simply write a note of leaving and have the house mistress deliver it. All those who labored under Kade Tremeshton’s arrogance would understand. Most of all, Kade Tremeshton would understand. Faris smiled, delighted at the thought of his fury at having been foiled.
Faris turned, intent on leaving the kitchen to write her note and gather her things to ready for her impending escape. She gasped as she found Kade Tremeshton standing before her. In the low lighting of the kitchens, his dark hair and light-blue eyes appeared unearthly in their wicked essence. Faris imagined this was how the devil appeared—handsome, alluring, the favored appearance of deception.
“My pretty—very pretty Faris,” he said, his voice lowered, his hands instantly at her waist. “What are you about in the kitchens this afternoon?” He leaned forward, nuzzling his face in the dark brown of her hair.
“Your mother’s requirements,” she said, struggling out of his grip and moving past him.
“Ah, but I have requirements of you as well,” he whispered, catching hold of her wrist. He moistened his lips as he looked at her, and a wicked grin spread across his face.
“But—but I shall be missed in another moment, Master Kade. It would go badly for me,” Faris told him as she began to tremble. She knew she could attempt a struggle—perhaps run from him. Yet she further knew any attempt at escape would be in vain. He would overtake her in a moment. It was best to try and ease out of his clutches. This she had learned in the most difficult way, having been caught and brutally struck by the back of his hand for trying to run from him on her first afternoon at Tremeshton Manor.
“Perhaps it would,” he mumbled. “But I will be Lord of Tremeshton one day, Faris—so who should you labor most to please? My mother? Or me?” He moved his head toward hers, moistening his lips. His mouth was open as he attempted to kiss her.
“Your mother,” Faris said, pulling away from him. “For it is she who bore you, and I know you would see her well served and happy.”
Kade straightened. Glaring down at her he said, “Very well. But I am growing impatient with waiting for you to warm to me, Faris. You would be wise to consider surrender. It may go easy, and you will be safe—or it may go quite the opposite. The choice is yours.”
“I must see to your mother, Master Kade,” she said, twisting her wrist from his grip and hurrying from the room. She listened for any sound he meant to follow her, but there was none. It had been a narrow escape. She knew there would be no escape when next he chose to waylay her. She must flee. She must flee when night fell.
Once inside the chamber where she slept, Faris closed the door behind her, buried her face in her hands, and wept for a moment. Kade Tremeshton was a monster, and she could not wait to be out of his reach. Settling her wits, Faris brushed the tears from her pretty cheeks, careful not to rub her eyes too much. Faris never rubbed her eyes too harshly, for if she did, she found one or two of her unusually long, dark lashes would invariably turn under, painfully scratching her eyes. She remembered the way her mother would scold her for rubbing her eyes when she cried as a child, frustrated with the tantrums Faris would then embark upon because of the pain due to the turned-under lashes. Faris fancied what a strange reminiscence it was to linger on. She was near the brink of escape, and neither tears nor turned-under lashes were of any importance when liberation was waiting a breath away.
Quickly, Faris gathered the few items she possessed, stuffing them rather carelessly into the worn satchel once belonging to her mother. Wages were due Faris. A full week’s worth, but she would not wait to collect them. A week’s worth of wages wasn’t worth a moment more in Kade Tremeshton’s company. The sun would be setting soon—the perfect time to embark. Loch Loland Castle was more than five miles from Tremeshton Manor, but Faris cared not. She would walk all night if she had to. She would not spend another sunset under Kade Tremeshton’s roof. She would bide her time until twilight and write a note—a note that left not a clue as to where she was about. Indeed, she would not endanger Lady Rockrimmon’s reputation by labeling her a thief of servants. In her note, she would simply state she had left in search of another position
. Three hours until dusk descended, and Faris would wait. She would avoid Kade Tremeshton and wait.
❦
Bright pink and warm lavender on a canvas of night blue was the painted sky of sunset as Faris Shayhan walked through the Tanglewood Forest. She was glad for the glimpse of a meadow ahead—a break in the trees that would allow her to look heavenward into the beauty of nature’s twilight painting above.
The moment she had left Tremeshton Manor, her heart had begun to swell with renewed hope and joy. Her lungs even seemed better able to draw breath. Faris felt lighter, freer, and happier than she had in months. As she stepped out of the forest and into the Tanglewood Meadow, she marveled at the beauty of the evening. Soon the pinks and lavenders of sunset would turn to great curtains of purple, folding over the world as night gathered. Already the hum of the crickets’ song soothed her senses; the scent of wildflowers and lilacs in the meadow caressed her tattered nerves with their comforting perfume.
She paused in awe of the colors of the meadow, soft greens of grass, sweet yellow buttercups, lavender of lilacs, creamy sprigs of pussy willow. All of it, the color, the freshness of the air, the melody of the crickets—all of it served to calm Faris, to gladden her heart.
Yet as she set her satchel down, closing her eyes to revel in the beauty of the evening, the soft breezes brought something else to her—a rhythm—a horse carrying a rider. At first it seemed far off, and Faris remained calm, but fear leapt to her bosom at the thought of Kade Tremeshton! Perhaps the house mistress had delivered her note to Lady Tremeshton too early! Perhaps Kade Tremeshton had been provoked to fury and now rode after her!
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