The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  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.

  “Here,” the Highwayman, said pointing to the two weathered tombstones beneath the willows. “Here is where they rest—a young lass and a young knight who once fell into a forbidden love.”

  “Why forbidden?” Faris asked.

  “He was knighted, and she was common,” the Highwayman explained.

  “I see,” Faris said. Of a sudden, she felt saddened—for she was common, and her dashing Highwayman was most certainly uncommon.

  “Still, the knight truly loved the lass, and he carried her away, secreting her here, at this place,” he began. “The ruins ya see now behind ye was then Castle Alexendria, and the knight hid his lover here with his friend, the young king of the castle. When he could, between battles and tournaments, the knight would away to Castle Alexendria to his fair lassie—whom he loved with great desperation. Yet Alexendria’s young king began to take notice of the knight’s beloved lass, and the king also fell in love with the fair maiden and grew jealous of the knight.” The Highwayman paused, looking down at the tombstones. “Look here,” he said. “Though engravin’ fades, ya can still make it out, ya can.”

  Faris knelt on the soft grass before the stones. The crescent moon above offered just enough light for her to read the weathered stones before her. “Rockrimmon,” she whispered. “I can’t make out the rest in this darkness—still I see Rockrimmon here.”

  “’Tis true,” the Highwayman continued. “The knight and his lassie wed in secret. Yet it was not long before the king received word of the union. The king was enraged, he was. He challenged the knight, and they fought. Indeed, the knight prevailed, and on his deathbed the king’s wits were about him once more. He did not condemn the knight for havin’ mortally wounded him. Rather, as the king lay dyin’, repentant for his covetous manner toward the knight’s lady, he bestowed his castles—for he owned two, Castle Alexendria and Loch Loland Castle—bestowed both castles and all his lands on the head of the knight and his beloved lady. The lassie was Fenella, and the great warrior knight who fought for her was Kenner Rockrimmon…ancestor of your own Lord Derrick Rockrimmon.”

  Faris smiled, delighted with the tale of the source of the Rockrimmon wealth and title. She looked to the tombstones, to the trees, utterly enchanted by the story of it all. “But…but if the knight and his lady became lord and lady…why are they buried here instead of in the great tombs of Loch Loland?” she asked.

  “They were aged when the great battles raged over this country. Castle Alexendria was destroyed, and although the Rockrimmon line survived, there were few with them at the end—or so the legend is told. It is said an old servant man put them to rest,” the Highwayman explained. “The old man buried them, and the legend goes the willows sprung up unassisted. Though methinks whoever buried them planted the trees, they did.”

  Faris sighed and smiled. “It is a terribly romantic story, is it not?”

  The Highwayman smiled and said, “I thought ya might enjoy it.”

  “It’s comforting to think the family is still near—at Loch Loland,” Faris said.

  “And how do ya like the family Rockrimmon, fair Faris?” he asked.

  “Very well,” she said. “They’re kind and good people.”

  “That they are,” the Highwayman agreed. “They give me no cause to interfere. In fact, Lord Rockrimmon and his son work toward the same goal as I, they do. Only in a more legal manner.”

  “I have become fast friends with Lillias,” Faris said.

  “Friends, is it? With the missy of the castle?” the Highwayman asked.

  “Oh, I could never tell another living soul, of course,” Faris said. “Only you—for you are a keeper of secrets.”

  “That I am,” the Highwayman agreed. “As are you, fair Faris of Loch Loland.” Faris smiled, and the Highwayman took her hand, leading her away from the tombstones and entwined willows.

  The sun was gone in completion, and the moon and stars shined from the heavens, casting silver and diamonds upon the heather. The Highwayman quickly glanced about, and Faris sensed he was growing uneasy. It was dangerous for him to linger in such an open space for so long.

  “Night has fallen, fair Faris,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. “I am a wanderer of the night, I am.”

  “It is not safe for you to linger,” she said.

  He smiled, raised his fingers to his mouth, and whistled. Faris smiled when she saw his great black steed exit the castle ruin and canter toward them.

  “Aye,” the Highwayman confirmed. “But I will linger a wee bit longer—if there’s a kiss at the end of it.”
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  Faris blushed, her heart racing with anticipation. And yet…

  “Why…why would you choose to pass your time with me? A common chambermaid?” Faris could not help but ask.

  The Highwayman reached up, patting his mount on the neck to calm it. “Why did a knight and a king battle here—here where the heather runs forever? Why did two great men battle over one the same as you, lass?” he asked in reply.

  Faris watched as he removed his gloves, pressing them into the pockets of his breeches. She closed her eyes, overcome with pleasure as he took her face in his hands.

  “Strength, virtue, beauty—all are blended together in yar eyes, they are,” he said, letting his lips brush hers lightly.

  Faris’s arms erupted with goose bumps, her heart raced, and her breath abandoned her at his kiss.

  “And a kiss tastin’ of the sweetest confection a man can savor,” he whispered. “I want yar mouth to mine, fair Faris,” he said. His voice was deep, resonating seduction. “I mean to have it, I do.”

  “Then—then have it, Highwayman,” Faris breathed.

  Instantly, his mouth indeed captured her own in a fiery, driven kiss so burning with passion Faris thought she must surely be rapt in a dream! His arms were around her at once, pulling her tight against his strong body, and she returned his embrace, marveling at the solid form of the muscles in his arms and back.

  His mouth was moist, hot as he tutored her in a kiss, which was no less than an artist’s rendering. The rough whiskers of his mustache and goatee scratched the tender flesh around her mouth, but she cared not—she only wanted to stay locked in his arms, the taste of his kiss the only nourishment she needed.

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood held Faris in utter euphoric bliss—kissing her, embracing her, weaving a spell of enchantment about her until she thought she might die of rapture borne of his affections. Faris melted against him, allowed herself to return his kiss with as much driven passion as his own dominant affection would allow. Never had she known such sensation—such wonder! A rogue he was, with a rogue’s manner and abandon of propriety. Yet who was there to see? Who was there to witness their exchange and thereby deem it banished of propriety? No one—only those whose ghosts may have lingered near the ruined castle or cemetery. Certainly the souls of the long-past Lord and Lady Rockrimmon—the knight and his common lover lass who slept beneath the willow—would not be disapproving. And so Faris reveled in the feel of being wrapped in the Highwayman’s powerful arms, savored the warm flavor of his kiss, and cared not for anything else in the whole of the world.

  When the Highwayman did, at last, break the seal of their lips, Faris wondered how she would ever muster the ambition left to find her way home. As he continued to hold her—smiling down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead—how she wished she could see the color of his eyes, press her palm to his cheek now covered by his black mask.

  “I must go, Faris,” he said all too soon. “I…I put us both in the path of danger in lingerin’, I do.” Releasing her, he retrieved his gloves, quickly pulling them onto his hands before mounting his horse. He held out his hand to her. “Come, fair Faris. I will see ya safely closer to yar home at Loch Loland Castle, I will.”

  Faris’s heart soared as she took his hand, put her foot in the stirrup, and mounted behind him.

  “Put yar arms ’round me, then—for he runs like the wind, he does.”

  In the next moment, the horse broke into a mad gallop, and Faris leaned forward against the Highwayman’s back. Wrapping her arms tightly about him, she sighed. He smelled of the heather and grasses, of wind and leather, of legends and heroes.

  He said nothing as they rode toward Loch Loland Castle, but Faris was not disappointed. To be with him was too wonderful…too wonderful to wish for more. The feel of the wind on her cheeks, the sound of the saddle and girth leather as they rode, the rhythm of the steed’s gallop—it was a dream—it must be a dream!

  Too soon the warm-lighted windows of Loch Loland Castle glowed in the darkness, and the Highwayman reined his steed to a halt. Taking Faris’s arm, he let her down from the horse easily, quickly looking about. He was in danger, too close to people to be safe, but her heart began to ache at the realization he must leave her at last.

  The black horse that had carried them to safety stomped one front hoof—impatient with its master for lingering.

  “Six days hence,” the Highwayman of Tanglewood began as his mount whinnied with anxiety, “I will meet ye if ya are willin’.”

  “Where?” Faris asked in a whisper.

  “The meadow is too far far ye and the ruin too familiar to others,” he said. “But do ya know the abandoned cottage at the far edge of the Tanglewood Forest?”

  “Yes. Of course,” Faris assured him.

  “Very well. At twilight, the sixth night from this,” he said. He smiled a smile of pure mischief as he reached out, pulling the ribbon from Faris’s hair. Drawing it to his mouth, he kissed it before caching it in his shirt. “A thief I was, and a thief I be, fair Faris—and the ribbon from yar hair is mine now!”

  Faris giggled, delighted he had stolen the token and in doing so loosed her hair to blow free in the night breeze.

  “Until the sixth night when I can taste of your sweet lips again…I bid farewell, fair Faris of Loch Loland Castle.” Nodding at her, he turned his mount and rode into the night. Faris watched him go, listened until she could no longer hear the rhythm of his steed’s mad gallop nor the sound of his cape beating against the breeze.

  ❦

  All at Loch Loland Castle woke early the next morning. The young master of the house would arrive within the week, and the excitement at Loch Loland was as a fever. From Lord Rockrimmon to the stable boys, all who lived and labored at Loch Loland Castle went about their business with joyous anticipation. Yet even for the excitement permeating the castle, Faris found herself nearly indifferent to the anticipated arrival of the Rockrimmon heir. Stars were still twinkling in the night sky of her mind’s eye, and the violet of sun’s setting would forever remain her favorite color.

  As Faris endeavored to go about her duties with calm, directed attention, her heart and all other innards seemed unable to keep from fluttering! The Highwayman of Tanglewood was a thief—a thief who had stolen Faris Shayhan’s heart forever—and Faris Shayhan was glad of it! She could think of nothing save his kiss, the warmth of his strong form holding her close, the scent of leather and meadow grasses that was about him. Oh, what delight it would be to spend every moment of each day in his company! How she wished it could be so! And yet, the sixth night would come! The sixth night would come, and with it her joy in the Highwayman’s company would be renewed!

  Indeed, Faris wondered how ever she would manage to exist for five full nights before the sixth came. Yet she would—she would exist! Further, she would be happy, resplendent in knowing she would see him then. How she wished she could tell Lillias of her meeting, her secreted trysts with the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Lillias would not be jealous or filled with envy the way other young women would be—for Lillias was good and kind and in love with Lord Kendrick. Still, Faris knew it must remain a secret unshared. No one could ever know the Highwayman of Tanglewood had stolen her heart and drawn nectared kisses from her lips.

  Having changed the linens and aired the heavy sapphire coverlets of the young master Rockrimmon’s long empty bed, Faris had begun the rather arduous process of dusting the bedchamber of Lochlan Rockrimmon. It needed no dusting, of course, for Faris had kept the chamber wholly immaculate for an entire year. Still, Lady Rockrimmon had begged the favor of her, and Faris would see it was done. The hearth, the wardrobe, and the shelving had all been finished, and her attention had turned to the draperies.

  The heavy sapphire velvet draperies were quite the efficient gatherers of dust. Still, Faris had learned to manage. This day, however, in her preoccupied state of daydreaming of the Highwayman, she’d forgotten to have Old Joseph bring her the ladder she had intend
ed to use.

  Breathing a heavy sigh, Faris looked up, up, and up to the top of the draperies. All unnecessary furniture had been removed from the chamber. The only object providing any sort of sturdy standing surface in order to reach the draperies was the bookcase standing next to the window. Looking from the bookcase to the draperies, Faris deduced it would serve well enough. After all, did not the shelves in the case resemble the manner of a ladder?

  Dustcloth in hand, Faris carefully scaled the bookcase. At last hoisting herself on top, she looked down, noting it stood as tall as the Highwayman of Tanglewood in the least.

  “Perfect!” she said out loud to herself, feeling only a wee bit unsettled. A twin bookcase stood at the opposite side of the window. This would allow Faris access to the other side of the draperies, provided she could stretch all the way to mid-window without toppling off.

  Warily, Faris began to dust the sapphire draperies of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s bedchamber. She smiled, thinking of her beloved Highwayman—her thoughts lingering on his charm, the warmth of his strong hands, and the tingle of his kiss. The radiant joy in Faris’s heart caused her to begin humming. The tune had been a favorite of her father’s before he had passed, and it came to her now—lightening her heart and helping her work to seem less tedious.

  “Once I a weary, bonnie lass was set upon by thieves,” she sang.

  “I smiled and asked the band of them, upon my bended knees,

  ‘Take pity, lads, upon a lass with not a cent in tow

  And save yourselves from burning with the devil down below.’”

  Taking hold of the heavy drapery pole with one hand, Faris stretched her other arm out toward the center of the window. It was precarious, her manner of dusting the draperies. Still, she had performed the task many times successfully enough, and she saw no reason she could not do it again—even without a ladder.