The Highwayman of Tanglewood

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Yet why would our Highwayman concern himself with Lord Brookings?” Lochlan mumbled, pondering aloud to himself. “And why so long after the murder of Lady Brookings? Has Brookings overtaxed his tenants once more?”

  “This I already know,” Lillias said. “For Gawain told me only this morning that Lord Brookings did not inherit his wife’s fortune immediately upon her death!”

  “Oh yes!” Lochlan exclaimed in a whisper. “I remember it—Lord Brookings had gambled away the fortune left him by his father. It was Lady Brookings’s family wealth on which he existed.”

  “Yet he did not inherit the whole of it immediately upon her death,” Lillias continued. “Gawain tells me her will stipulated that, in the event of her untimely death, a waiting period of two years should pass before the entirety of her wealth descended to him.”

  “The Highwayman does not want a man to profit from murder,” Faris said. She blushed as Lochlan looked to her and grinned with approval.

  “Indeed,” Lochlan said. “Yet I have never heard of the Highwayman of Tanglewood besting anyone as great a distance away as Saxton.”

  “Well, it is the murder of an innocent woman,” Lillias said.

  “Perhaps the Highwayman champions her as she reportedly did her husband’s tenants,” Faris offered.

  “Perhaps,” Lochlan said.

  “Bainbridge Graybeau is born of Saxton! Is he not, Loch?” Lillias asked with renewed excitement.

  “He is, indeed,” Lochlan confirmed. “I believe he lived there the whole of his life until he came to Loch Loland Castle.”

  Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle with excitement. Graybeau was from Saxton? Of course the Highwayman would consider the affairs of the township to which he was born!

  “Let us ask him, then,” Lillias said, her eyes brilliant with anticipation. “For would he not know further the details of Lady Brookings’s death and why our own Highwayman would take such an interest in it?”

  “That he might,” Lochlan said. His gaze settled on Faris then—a grin of mischief across his most handsome face. “Why don’t you inquire of him, Faris?”

  “M-me, sire?” Faris stammered.

  “Of course,” Lochlan Rockrimmon said. His emerald eyes flashed with rascality. “Is he not providing you with a riding lesson this very evening?”

  “Y-yes, sire,” Faris breathed. She feared she might faint, so shallow was her breath from her surprise at his knowledge of her planned meeting with Graybeau.

  “Oh, Faris!” Lillias exclaimed, taking hold of Faris’s shoulders. “What a wonderful idea! You will enjoy learning to ride. Riding lends itself to a certain freedom I cannot begin to explain.”

  “I-I am certain you are right,” Faris said. And she was certain—for she had felt the midnight breeze her in hair, the sense of liberation given from riding; she had felt such winsome freedom the night she had ridden with the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Still, she was quite unsettled Lochlan Rockrimmon should know of her planned meeting with Bainbridge Graybeau.

  “Then we will leave it to you, Faris,” Lochlan said. “You will inquire of Graybeau as to why our own Highwayman of Tanglewood might take such an interest in Lord Brookings of Saxton.”

  “If—if you truly wish that I do so, sire,” Faris stammered.

  “I do,” Lochlan said. “And you may deliver the information he gives you to me at first sunlight when you come to my chambers to mend my draperies.”

  “But, sire,” Faris began, “I have mended your draperies already.”

  “Indeed?” Lochlan asked. “Then you may deliver the information to me at first sunlight when you come to my chambers to ensure I have not overslept.”

  “You never oversleep, Loch,” Lillias said. “You are ever awake and rambling long before the cock crows.” Lillias giggled and took one of Faris’s hands in her own. “He only endeavors to force you to tell him what Graybeau tells you as soon as he can make you.”

  “I only endeavor to find your pretty Faris in my chambers once more,” Lochlan Rockrimmon said.

  Faris swallowed the astonished lump in her throat. What a teasing rascal Loch Loland’s young heir was!

  “Oh quit, Loch!” Lillias scolded her brother. “Faris is not as familiar with your pestering ways as the rest of us. She will think you entirely in earnest!”

  “I am in earnest,” Lochlan said.

  “You are not! And cease in pestering my darling friend,” Lillias said.

  “You will inquire of Graybeau for us—will you not, Faris?” Lochlan asked.

  Faris was rather breathless. What woman could ever deny Lochlan Rockrimmon anything he asked of her?

  “Yes, sire,” she managed to answer.

  “Good!” he said. “Then Lillias and I will not bar your way to the stables any longer.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Faris said, dropping a slight curtsy to the young master.

  “Still, I would beg of you, Faris,” he added, “please do not let our mother know what a terrible gossip Lillias has become. It would greatly disturb milady to be made aware of such a thing.”

  Faris giggled as Lillias then drove one delicate fist into her brother’s midsection.

  “You are the one speaking of corrupted magistrates and the cutting of throats, Lochlan Rockrimmon!” Lillias exclaimed.

  “Off with you now, Faris,” Lochlan said, chuckling as his sister continued to pelt him with her dainty fists. “Before I am further humiliated in your presence by my sister’s brutal pummeling.”

  “Yes, sire,” Faris said, smiling with amusement. “Good evening Miss Lillias, Master Lochlan,” she said.

  “You may as well endeavor to flog me with a feather as with such tiny fists, Lilly,” she heard Lochlan tease as she left them to seek out the stables and Bainbridge Graybeau.

  ❦

  The evening air was warm, fragrant with trees, grasses, and the night-blooming flowers of the Loch Loland Castle gardens. As Faris made her way to the stables, she smiled. Why would the Highwayman of Tanglewood take such an interest in the goings-on in Saxton? There could be only one answer: the Highwayman of Tanglewood had some connection to the place. Bainbridge Graybeau had been born in Saxton. There he had lived until finding himself at Loch Loland Castle. Bainbridge Graybeau had reason to care for the goings-on in Saxton. Faris smiled. With each passing moment, her suspicion of Bainbridge Graybeau riding out as the Highwayman of Tanglewood grew.

  “There you are, Miss Faris,” Graybeau greeted as Faris approached. “I was only just saddling Lady Violet, I was.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. She could not help but smile at him—could not stop the increasing rhythm of her heart. It was he! Surely it was! She noted how handsome Bainbridge Graybeau was—made even more handsome for having shaved his mustache and goatee.

  “Lady Violet will do very well for your learning to ride, she will,” Graybeau said. “She’s a bit older than the other mounts in the stables. When I told him I meant to teach you to ride, Master Lochlan suggested Lady Violet himself. She is even-tempered and patient.”

  “You are very kind in offering to teach me to ride, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris began. “Especially when I will never have any need to—”

  “You may well have need in knowing how to ride one day—in feeling comfortable on horseback,” he interrupted.

  Faris smiled. Was he thinking of the night she had ridden with the Highwayman toward Loch Loland Castle?

  “Very well,” she said. “Then I am ready to learn.”

  “Good,” Graybeau said. “And you must address me as, Bainbridge, Miss Faris,” he added.

  “If you like,” Faris said.

  “Sidesaddle is the manner of riding preferred by most women,” Bainbridge began, “though I plan to teach you to ride astride as well.”

  “For what reason?” Faris asked. She had ridden astride the night she had ridden with the Highwayman. Still, why did Bainbridge desire to teach her both methods? Most women did ride sidesadd
le—those who did not often found themselves the subject of many a raised eyebrow.

  “For reasons of being a thorough teacher,” Bainbridge said. “Now then,” he began, “step here—on my leg. In this, I am giving you a leg up to mount.”

  “Step on your leg?” Faris asked. She had seen Bainbridge help Lady Rockrimmon and Lillias to mount this way. Still, she was suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Of course,” he said. “Here now,” he added, taking her hand, “mount up.”

  Faris did as instructed and was soon awkwardly sitting in the saddle.

  “Good,” Bainbridge said. “Now, left foot in the stirrup, right knee round the pommel—there.”

  Faris felt entirely self-conscious mounted upon the back of one of the Rockrimmon horses. She was not a grand lady! Whatever was she thinking in allowing Bainbridge Graybeau to teach her to ride? She was thinking Bainbridge might well be the Highwayman of Tanglewood—that was what she had been thinking when she had agreed to it all.

  “I’ll lead you around a bit, now,” Bainbridge said, taking hold of Lady Violet’s bit. “Just until you’re comfortable holding the reins yourself.”

  “Very well,” Faris said. “Though I will admit to being quite unsettled.”

  Bainbridge Graybeau chuckled, and Faris tried to discern whether or not the sound of it sounded as the Highwayman’s did. She was uncertain, however, and sighed with frustration.

  Misinterpreting Faris’s sigh, Bainbridge said, “Don’t worry, lass—I’ll give the reins over to you soon enough.”

  “Oh, I am not so impatient as that, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. He had called her lass! The fact caused her heart to race with delight at another characteristic of her Highwayman.

  “I...I hear you were born in Saxton, Mr. Graybeau,” she began then.

  “Bainbridge, if you please, Faris,” Bainbridge said. “And yes, I was born there—lived there ’til I was hired by his lordship to come here.”

  “And…and do you still receive news of Saxton?” Faris ventured.

  “Indeed,” he said. “My mother and two brothers still live there. I often hear from them.”

  “There is some talk concerning our own Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Faris ventured. “It is said he plans to best a certain Lord Brookings of Saxton.”

  “Yes,” Bainbridge said. “I am in receipt of a letter from my mother only just this very day. She wrote of the rumors in Saxton concerning the Highwayman of Tanglewood.”

  “But why would our Highwayman take interest in something amiss in a township so far from us?” Faris asked. She noted she was feeling more comfortable in the saddle. She smiled as Bainbridge turned to look at her, still leading Lady Violet.

  “Perhaps the very origin of our Highwayman of Tanglewood is Saxton,” he said, smiling at her. She fancied his smile revealed more mischief than he perhaps intended. “Perhaps he was born and grew there as I did.”

  Faris smiled at Bainbridge. “Perhaps you are acquainted with him and—and simply are not aware of the fact.”

  “Perhaps,” Bainbridge said, his smile broadening. “Still, the Highwayman’s interest in Saxton might merely be at having heard of Lord Brookings’s murderous nature. Perhaps he simply endeavors to best an evil man.”

  “Do you think this Lord Brookings murdered his lady?” Faris asked.

  “I know he did,” Bainbridge said.

  “How can you be so certain?” Faris asked.

  “My mother was housekeeper for Lord and Lady Brookings,” Bainbridge said. “It was my mother who found Lady Brookings’s body—throat slit ear to ear, Lord Brookings’s dagger still clasped in her hand.”

  “Surely you are only trying to astonish me,” Faris breathed.

  “No,” Bainbridge said. “My mother heard Lord and Lady Brookings arguing the night before milady’s death. Lord Brookings had raised his tenants’ taxes. Further, he had sent Lady Brookings’s lady’s maid away. His reasons for the second are not known; his reasons for the first of it were simple greed. Lady Brookings argued with him over both matters, and the whole of the manor house heard it. The next morning, my mother found Lady Brookings dead in her chambers. Lord Brookings questioned my mother for near to an hour before the magistrate was called—demanding she repeat her story of finding the body over and over. My mother was certain he was assuring himself he had left nothing else amiss, nothing my mother might have seen upon finding the body. Eventually, Lord Brookings was satisfied and called the magistrate—a purchased man himself, I am certain. The magistrate ruled the incident a suicide. Lord Brookings dismissed my mother that very hour, however. She is certain he killed Lady Brookings. Therefore, it is her certainty that makes mine whole.”

  “It is an astonishing tale,” Faris said.

  “It is indeed,” Bainbridge said.

  It seemed to Faris the Highwayman of Tanglewood would need to own a sure knowledge of Lord Brookings’s villainy in order that he might ride out to Saxton. Bainbridge owned a certain knowledge of his own. Furthermore, his mother had been ill-treated. It would be enough to provoke the Highwayman of Tanglewood into riding to Saxton. It certainly would be enough.

  “Perhaps the Highwayman of Tanglewood will not ride to Saxton at all. It may be the townspeople in Saxton only wish it were so, for there is a great loathing of Lord Brookings in Saxton,” Bainbridge added.

  “It is understandable in the least,” Faris said. “And if the Highwayman were Saxton-born as you are, he would feel a great loyalty to it, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” Bainbridge said.

  “If you knew the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Faris began, “if you knew who he were—if he were indeed of Saxton and of your acquaintance—would you reveal his identity to anyone?” Faris’s heart was pounding with anticipation. Was Bainbridge Graybeau the Highwayman of Tanglewood? Would he reveal himself to her if it were true?

  Again Bainbridge chuckled. He stopped Lady Violet and walked to Faris, offering the reins to her. His dark eyes flashed with amusement.

  “The Highwayman has every lady for one hundred miles ’round wondering over his true identity,” he said. “Yet, if I knew him,” he said as Faris took the reins, “I would want to ride out with him for his cause—not wreak havoc upon him in revealing his true identity.”

  Faris smiled even though her heart seemed to drop into the very pit of her stomach with great disappointment. He had not revealed himself to her though the opportunity had been ripe.

  “Aye—but I am no rogue the like of the Highwayman,” Bainbridge said. “Only the stablemaster of Loch Loland Castle.”

  “Yet there is a rogue’s character about you somehow,” Faris said. Her hope was renewed of a sudden. Perhaps he had not revealed himself to her as yet, but that did not mean Bainbridge was not the Highwayman: it only meant he was not ready to reveal. Further, Faris could see wisdom in his silence on the matter. She had met the Highwayman but thrice. What true trust was there between them yet?

  Bainbridge laughed then. “A rogue’s character I own, do I?” he said. “It is a welcome compliment somehow—for are not rogues considered most attractive?”

  “Yes,” Faris admitted. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and hoped the dim light of evening hid it well enough.

  “Now,” Bainbridge began, returning his attention to Faris’s lesson, “tell her where you wish to go, Faris. Guide her around the stableyard once or twice.”

  “But how?” Faris asked.

  “Hold the reins thus—taut as such,” he said, placing the reins in her hands as he wished them to be. “If you wish to turn left, then gently tug the reins left—against the right of her neck. She will obey you, and I will walk beside.”

  “Very well,” Faris said. Inhaling a deep breath of courage, she did as Bainbridge instructed. “She will only walk with me, will she not? She will not endeavor to quicken her pace?”

  Bainbridge chuckled. “She will only walk for now,” he said. “We will ride for half the hour. When next we meet, we will have a longe
r lesson.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. “It is very kind of you to offer to teach me.”

  “Everyone should know how to ride properly,” Bainbridge said. “And you are to call me Bainbridge, Faris.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bainbridge,” Faris said.

  “You are welcome, Faris,” he chuckled.

  He had not revealed himself. Bainbridge Graybeau had not revealed himself to be the Highwayman of Tanglewood. As Faris lay upon her pillow, hands tucked behind her head, as she stared up at the great oak beams in the ceiling of her chamber, she frowned. She knew little more about Bainbridge Graybeau than she knew before. The voice whispering in her head told her that were Bainbridge in truth the Highwayman of Tanglewood, he would have at least offered some small evidence to her. He had revealed nothing, however, and Faris was no longer certain of his being the Highwayman—of his being her Highwayman.

  Breathing a heavy sigh, Faris turned on her side, closing her eyes. In her mind, she could quite see him—the Highwayman of Tanglewood, his cape billowing in the breeze, his dazzling smile illuminated by the moonlight. Five nights more, and she would be with him. She wondered then if he would be clean-shaven as Bainbridge Graybeau now was.

  As the fire burned low in the hearth, Faris imagined she heard the heavy rhythm of hooves beating the ground. No doubt it was simply Old Joseph prowling about as was his habit. Old Joseph often lingered in wakefulness long after everyone else in the castle had retired. Still, she would dream it was he—the Highwayman of Tanglewood riding toward Loch Loland Castle. Perhaps he would whisk her away to a life of adventure—a life filled with fragrant meadows, amethyst sunsets, and a rogue’s passionate kiss.