“Yes,” she admitted. “It is time.”
“I will see ya close to the house, I will,” the Highwayman said, rising to his feet and assisting Faris to stand as well. “I would not want another such as I to find ye in the night.”
“There is no other the like of you, sire,” Faris said, smiling at him.
“Sire?” the Highwayman repeated, chuckling.
Faris laughed and shook her head. “Forgive me—it is habit.”
The Highwayman took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed the back of it tenderly.
“Habit I hope it is—and not some secret desire ya own toward Lord Kendrick or yar young master,” he said, his dazzling smile breaking through the darkness.
“No, no, no,” Faris assured him. “Just habit. That and the lack of knowing what to name you when I speak to you.”
“Handsome rogue or lover—my darling or the like—any endearment will do,” he said, leading her from the cottage and into the night. “Anythin’ but sire.”
“Agreed, Highwayman,” Faris said. The Highwayman whistled, and his black beast of a horse appeared from behind a large tree.
“Come now, lass,” he said, effortlessly lifting her onto his mount before mounting behind her. “The night air is magic, and we will share it again soon.”
“Promise?” Faris asked, loath to leave him.
“I do,” the Highwayman said.
As they rode through the night toward Loch Loland, a certain discomfort began to overcome Faris. She did not want to return. She wanted only to linger with the Highwayman of Tanglewood forever. Yet she knew it was impossible to do so. He was driven in his cause, and a rogue wanted for thievery. He would not put her in harm’s way.
And so she rode with him—the night breeze whispering through her hair, kissing her cheeks. She was, all of a sudden, very glad Bainbridge Graybeau was teaching her to ride. She wondered again if Bainbridge and the Highwayman of Tanglewood were one and the same. Still, shaking her head to dispel the thought, she leaned against him and closed her eyes, hoping never to awaken from the loveliest of dreams.
“When will we next meet?” Faris asked once the Highwayman had helped her down from his horse. “Shall we still meet as we before planned? Here? Two nights hence?”
“We will meet here but perhaps not in two nights hence—for I must be wary. I will send word to ya about our next meetin’, I will,” he said. “And it will be soon. This I promise.”
“But how will you send word?” Faris asked. How could he possibly send word to her without risking discovery?
The Highwayman laughed, his smile radiant in the moonlight.
“I will send word. Fear not, fair Faris of Loch Loland!” And with that, he rode into the darkness, his black cape flaring out behind him.
Faris watched him until the horse and rider blended with the dark of night and she could see him no longer. He was gone. Her Highwayman was gone once more, and she knew not when she would see him again.
The windows of Loch Loland were dark, except for those of the kitchen and Old Joseph’s chamber. No doubt Old Joseph was prowling about, and Faris did not feel ready to return to life as she knew it. Therefore, she lingered—lingered near the outer wall of the east gardens—savoring the taste of the Highwayman’s kiss still fresh upon her lips, the feel of his hands in her hair.
Still, the air had cooled, and she was chilled. It would do her no good thing to find a chill and be sent to bed ill and unable to receive a message from the Highwayman when he did send one. And so, with resignation and regret, Faris returned to Loch Loland and all there who knew nothing of her secret love.
“And what are you about at such a late hour as this, Miss Destroyer of Draperies?”
Faris gasped as Lochlan Rockrimmon stepped from the shadows near the kitchen servants’ entry door.
“I-I…” she stammered, distracted for a moment by the fork and plate of pie in his hands. The green of his eyes flashed emerald in the moonlight, his unusual height strangely intimidating. Oh, but what woman would not be startled by such a handsome man?
“Oh, keep your secrets,” Lochlan said, grinning with mischief. “You’ve caught me creeping about pilfering pie—therefore, I suppose you’re entitled to your secrets as well.”
“Th-thank you, sire,” Faris said making to move past him and into the house.
“Still,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of her arm.
Faris shivered at his touch, and it was not an unpleasant shiver.
“You’ve rather the look of a maiden recently seduced. Disheveled hair, crimson cheeks, lips a bit swollen perhaps. What have you been about, Miss Faris? Or shall I say—whom have you been about?”
Faris was indeed trembling. He knew! How it frightened her! What if he had been out, away from the house, near where she and the Highwayman had parted? What if he’d seen them? Yet he seemed calm. He did not have the look of a man who had only just witnessed his chambermaid consorting with a rogue. He did, however, have the look of a man who could easily seduce his chambermaid himself, and this unexpected thought unsettled greatly Faris.
“Sire…I…I…” Faris began, but the mirth in his eyes diverted her.
“Each of us with whiskers has kissed each of you without, Faris. It is of no consequence,” he said. “Pilfering pie, however, can find one in the worst trouble. Therefore, I would appreciate your silence in the matter.”
Faris smiled, secretly delighted at his hiding outside behind the servants’ entrance eating pilfered pie. “Of course, sire,” she said.
“Lochlan, Faris, if you please,” he said, winking at her.
Faris felt her eyes widened.
“Lochlan. Yes?” he asked.
“Yes, Master Lochlan,” Faris said, quickly slipping into the kitchen by way of the servants’ entrance.
Once inside, she leaned against the door for a moment, placing her hand over her racing heart. How thoroughly he’d startled her! This was the reason for the mad pace of her heartbeat—this and the memory of the Highwayman’s kiss. She closed her eyes, remembering the warmth of the Highwayman’s hands on her face, the pleasure of his kiss. How long must she wait to meet him again? Even an instant seemed an eternity.
Faris started toward her room, smiling to herself. How silly it was—the young master of the house feeling it necessary to hide while eating his pie. He was, indeed, a surprise—in more ways than one.
Faris marveled for a moment. How was it so many such fascinating men would chance to enter her life? She thought of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s green eyes—thought of the Highwayman’s dazzling smile and roguish manner. She thought of Lord Kendrick’s tenderly expressed love of Lillias—of Bainbridge Graybeau’s efforts to raise a chambermaid’s worth by instructing her to ride as a lady. She wondered how any woman could resist any one of them.
In pondering each gallant man, Faris thanked the heavens she had met the Highwayman—that her heart had been stolen by him before knowing Lord Kendrick, before Bainbridge Graybeau had taken an inexplicable interest in her, and certainly before Lochlan Rockrimmon had returned to Loch Loland Castle. The Highwayman of Tanglewood had championed her in so many ways—not the least of which was having saved her from falling in love with a “lord of the manor,” so to speak. Faris thought of the many girls she had known—the many, many girls she had labored beside in her years of servitude. So many young maidens had found their hearts or lives broken by rapscallion sons of titled men or by dominating male servants. And though a young master had never before tempted her own heart, she could much imagine that if one could, it would be the handsome and dashing Lochlan Rockrimmon. Yes—how thankful she was that the Highwayman of Tanglewood had come upon her first. It had been a narrow escape indeed, for none but the Highwayman could have saved her from such eventual heartbreak, she was certain. Lochlan Rockrimmon overly unsettled her as it was. She could well imagine the fatality her heart might have experienced at his unknowing hands had it not already been captured.
Turning on her side and tucking her hands beneath her head, Faris closed her eyes, at last ready for blessed sleep. However, she was disturbed by the instantaneous vision of the pie-pilfering Lochlan Rockrimmon that fairly burst into her mind. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she vanquished the vision. Tenderly drifting to sleep, Faris thought of her own handsome rogue and lover—of their meeting at the cottage in twilight. She sensed the night wind in her hair and the scent of leather and wind in her nostrils—dreamt of riding astride the blackest of black hero’s steed with the Highwayman of Tanglewood.
The Stripe of a Rascal
The next morning found Loch Loland Castle a whirlwind of excitement. Lady May Stringham had again moved forward the date of her planned visit. Lady Rockrimmon, though obviously disenchanted with the expected arrival, desired Loch Loland to be in prime condition. Faris thought it a very arrogant plan—inviting oneself to visit much, much earlier than already settled upon.
Still, she labored diligently to prepare the spare chambers for the lady and her daughter. In truth, she did not mind so much, for it gave her ample time to allow her thoughts to linger on the previous night’s meeting with the Highwayman. How dashing he was! How romantic and attentive! The Highwayman of Tanglewood was as a dream, and often Faris feared she had only dreamed of him. What heartbreak indeed—to awaken one morning only to find it had all been a dazzling, beautiful dream. Yet it was not a dream, and Faris was anxious to meet him again. She wondered at how he would send word to her. Secretly, she hoped he would write his word—send her a letter in his own hand telling her when and where they were to meet. Still, it would be a dangerous action for him to take—writing a letter to a chambermaid at Loch Loland. But even chambermaids received post, did they not?
Faris shook her head, scattering her thoughts from musings of the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Carefully, she finished arranging the fresh flowers in the large porcelain vase in the chambers meant now for Lady Stringham and her daughter. As she studied the lovely spray of flowers and greenery, she frowned as her thoughts moved from the Highwayman to the young heir of Loch Loland.
There circulated much talk among the servants—talk suggesting the young master of Loch Loland was considering taking Tannis Stringham to wife. This talk troubled Faris, and yet she knew not why. Certainly there was the fact no one at Loch Loland seemed to have any fondness for Lady Stringham’s daughter. No one save Lochlan Rockrimmon himself perhaps—for it had been he who had extended the invitation, had it not? Yet to hear the other servants speak of her, Tannis Stringham was a very proud and haughty young woman. It was said she was much prone to vanity, conceit, and unkindness. Thus, Faris found herself fretful, worried for her young master’s happiness. In the days since his return to the castle, Faris had come to view him as a good man endowed with much strength of character and compassion for others no matter their situation. He laughed often, especially with his mother. The two of them always appeared as if they held some secret delight of which no one else knew. Yet, like his father, he could be firm yet kind in his expectations. Furthermore, he ever offered a good word to anyone happening to cross his path.
Still, Faris had found herself becoming more and more unsettled in his presence, and she knew not why. It seemed he grew more handsome with every sunrise, more alluring with every sunset. Yet, Faris wondered why she should remain so unsettled about him. Everyone else who labored at Loch Loland Castle was quite comfortable in Lochlan Rockrimmon’s presence. Again the thought entered Faris’s mind that had it not been for her trysting with the Highwayman, she might truly have need to be fearful of her heart’s capture by Lochlan Rockrimmon. He was indeed a man above men in every regard. Still, the Highwayman of Tanglewood owned Faris’s heart; he ever would, and she scolded herself for such musings.
As she closed the door to the chambers she had prepared for Loch Loland’s pending guests, she thought how thoroughly she loved lying on her pillow at night, closing her eyes, and imagining the Highwayman astride his black beast—riding through the purple heather under the amethyst sky. She enjoyed imagining him besting the arrogant, cruel nobles he so often came upon. Faris loved to envision him besting Kade Tremeshton most of all. She thought of the first tale she had been told—of the first time the Highwayman of Tanglewood had bested Kade Tremeshton—thoroughly robbing him and leaving him standing in the middle of the road in nothing but his under-breeches. How she reveled in the idea of Kade Tremeshton being so utterly humiliated and at the very hands of her own Highwayman. How many days more before she would be with him again? Faris fairly ached with the anticipation of seeing him—being held in his strong arms, hearing his mirthful chuckle.
With a heavy sigh of both delight and regret, Faris crossed the grand hallway to Lochlan’s room. Oh, she well knew what she would find there—a bed so perfectly spread as to have the appearance of never having been slept in. In opposition, breeches, shirts, and vests would be strewn from one end of the grand chamber to the other. Indeed, she giggled aloud when she entered his chamber to find just such a scene before her. She wondered at how a man could be so particular about the condition of his bedding yet so careless of his attire. She remembered the story of Lochlan’s finding a spider in his bed—thus becoming obsessive about spreading his own bed to guard against any future eight-legged beasts finding their way there. Yet could not a spider more easily find its way into a pair of discarded breeches tossed to the floor? Faris always found several pair of breeches strewn about in Lochlan’s chambers. Lillias had explained that her brother detested clothing on the whole and often found choosing attire a difficult and frustrating task. Therefore, most mornings Lochlan Rockrimmon would search through his wardrobe, discarding several pair of breeches before finally settling on which pair to wear. Faris found the habit entirely endearing, however, and set herself to the task of returning the scattered clothing to the wardrobe so that the process could begin again on the morrow.
So distracted was Faris by her mirthful ponderings of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s boyish habits she did not hear the subject of her thoughts enter his bedchamber.
“Ah! Going through my pockets, I see.”
Startled by the unexpected sound of Lochlan’s voice, Faris gasped and spun around to face him.
He smiled and added, “I’ve no sweets or secret love letters to be found there, Faris.”
“I-I was simply returning your things to their proper place, sire,” Faris stammered. Oh, how he unsettled her! How terribly, terribly, terribly he unsettled her!
“And in going over my things, do you then feel you know me more intimately?” he asked, still smiling and striding toward her.
Faris felt her eyes widened, and her body begin to tremble as he approached. “I-I do not suppose to trespass on your privacy, sire,” she told him.
His smile broadened as he said, “If it were privacy I wanted, I would have bolted the door, Faris.”
“Yes, sire,” Faris said, lowering her gaze. It was far too difficult to gaze into the emerald flash of his eyes—far too difficult not to blush under the gaze of one so handsome as he.
“Wouldn’t you like to know me more intimately, Faris?” he asked.
“Pardon me?” Faris squeaked. He was such a terrible tease—always winning a blush from Faris’s cheeks. How she wished he did not affect her so.
“What do you know of me, then?” he asked, standing directly before her. “Come—tell me. What do you know of me?”
Faris swallowed hard and stammered, “Um…uh…” She glanced past him to the open door, wishing she could bolt straight through it.
Having seen her look to the door, Lochlan said, “Oh, of course.” He turned and strode to the door, closing an
d bolting it. Faris was aghast! What did he mean to do? What would the other servants think? Her heart was pounding with mad ferocity! Surely Lochlan Rockrimmon did not mean to seduce her. Surely not!
“Now—privacy assured—what do you know of me, Faris?” he asked, reaching out and pushing her chin up to close her astonish-gaped mouth. “Come now, Faris,” he said, taking her arm and directing her to sit on the side of his bed. “Tell me what you know of me?”
“I-I…” Faris stammered, too stunned by what was happening to react. Should she cry out for help? Surely not! Lochlan Rockrimmon was not of the same evil froth as Kade Tremeshton. Lochlan Rockrimmon simply liked to tease—this she had been told many, many times since his return to Loch Loland Castle. Surely he was only teasing her—making her uncomfortable because he derived amusement from her discomfort.
“Very well—I’ll go first,” he said, as he begun to unbutton his shirt.
Faris gasped again, certain she was about to be compromised, yet still unable to move.
“You are Faris Shayhan,” he began as he stripped his shirt from his body, revealing an astounding, sculptured torso.
Faris pinched herself to make certain she was actually awake and not caught up in some wild dream. She began nervously wringing her hands as she tried to tear her gaze from the muscles of his chest and arms. He reached into his wardrobe and withdrew a different shirt—one she had picked up from the nearby chair and returned to the wardrobe only moments before.
“You came to us from Tremeshton Manor—a vile household with a vile lord over it.” He threaded one arm through one sleeve of the shirt, then the other, leaving the front gaping open, still revealing the muscles of his chest and stomach. “Yet you were fortunate enough to escape Tremeshton without falling victim to Kade’s treachery,” he said, nodding with approval. “It is said, by others who labor here, that you hail from Heathmoor, originally,” he continued, “a quaint little village. I am exceedingly fond of it. I’ve been there many, many times.” Lochlan Rockrimmon began fastening the buttons of his shirt as he continued. “You are of a proper age to marry, yet you have declared no intended,” he said. Faris smiled as she heard a button hit the floor. “Damn it all!” he exclaimed, stripping the new shirt from his body and tossing to Faris. “I’ve lost a button. Would you mind mending it for me? Mother taught me to mend my own, and she’ll have my head if she catches me giving it to you—but to see me with a needle…it’s a painful thing to witness.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood Page 15
