The Rogue Returns.smashwords

by Leigh LaValle

  She nestled into him. “It was all anyone talked about. How could I forget?”

  Indeed, he was afraid of this. That no one would forget. At least Helen did not seem upset. She was surprisingly calm, truth be told. But his heart still listed sideways, waiting for her to yell or cry or simply pull away. He tightened his arms around her, as if he wouldn’t let her go.

  “Zeus, is he the same horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. He is very large.” She traced his collarbone. “Will the Midnight Rider ride once more? There are many who hope—”

  “No.”

  “Because you do not wish to face the law?”

  “Yes. And because that part of my life is over. I don’t wish to go back.”

  “Why not?”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to convince him to take up his illegal activities once again. “I was a thief, Helen. A highwayman.”

  She pushed away from his chest and looked up at him. “Many considered you a hero. People still tell tales of your deeds. Fighting the landlords who abused their tenants—”

  “I’d wager half those stories are not true.” He dropped his arms to his knees. “I’m no hero.”

  She took her time, considering this. Her gaze wandered over his face, and he wondered what she saw there. “Then what parts are true?” she asked quietly.

  “The part where I stole things.”

  She stiffened. “This stolen money… is any of it in the gold we are seeking?”

  “No. None of it. All the money I stole, I gave away.”

  “Like Robin Hood.”

  He took a deep breath, let it out. He wanted her to know the truth, all of it. Not some romantic story that was passed through the drawing rooms of London. “Some liken me to the man, but I don’t deserve the comparison. My motives were not pure; I was not fighting for truth or fairness. Those things were there, conveniently enough, and I may have thought I was a force of good. But, in the end, that was not my motivation. I was…I was muddled, and drunk off the adventure. It is only by luck no one got shot.”

  “Did you…” Her voice quieted. “Did you take anyone’s life?”

  “No. Never that. Just their money and their pride. I targeted a group of noblemen who had swindled my father. I was after revenge and I made them pay.”

  “But underneath it all, you did care about the people you helped.” She stroked his chest like he was a big cat. Like she could make him purr. “You didn’t keep the money; you gave it away.”

  He caught her hand, trapped it in his own. He wasn’t a big cat; he didn’t need placating, not right now. “The noblemen had hurt more than just my father, and I sought to help those who could not help themselves. But don’t try to make me into something I am not, Helen. In the end, I will choose myself.”

  “I don’t believe you. You have not tried to take undo advantage of me. You have helped me when it was at cost to you. And you would not let me give away Mittens. You are my hero, Roane.”

  He eyed her, exquisitely uncomfortable with the praise. “I should have tried harder to seduce you early on. Now you have this overinflated opinion of me.”

  “It’s hardly that inflated.” She smiled up at him and, he couldn’t help it, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And, no matter what you say, I still think you are a good man.”

  “No one is good for a simple reason.”

  “I never said your reasons were simple.” She was quiet a long moment. “I thought you were not close with your father. Why did you seek revenge for him?”

  Roane took a deep breath. This was a question he’d asked himself many times. “He was my father, whatever else was between us. I thought perhaps this would make amends in my heart. I didn’t know what else to do. He was dead, and I still…wanted something.”

  “Did it help?”

  “No. Death is death. It has no place for anger.” He watched the candle for a long moment, the old feelings burning inside him. “I can’t explain the burden of being rejected by your own father, as if your life means nothing. As if you have less worth than his hounds. It takes a toll on a man. I think—and I’ve had much time to think on this, crossing the world and back—I think I just wanted to be a better man than him. To prove to myself I had worth, even if he never acknowledged it. You know, when I wanted to join the cavalry, he said I ‘lacked fortitude.’ Those were his very words, ‘lacked fortitude.’ ” Roane was quiet a moment, hearing the echo of his father’s voice, an echo he’d never been able to silence. “As if he knew me. The man knew nothing about me. Nothing.”

  He glanced down at Helen in his lap. She was still, barely breathing, as if she feared he’d stop talking if she so much as exhaled. Little did she know he needed to tell her this. He needed her to see him for the man that he was.

  “In the end, my father was the weak one. No,” Roane interrupted himself, “I don’t need to judge him. He was simply human, and he was fooled by a group of men selling falsified investments in a land scheme. He was ruined. Absolutely ruined, and died soon after. Somehow, I had the idea if I exacted revenge for him, if I righted the wrongs done by these men, I would be absolved of my worthlessness. I’d take my place as his real son. I had a grand adventure as the Midnight Rider at first. The power and danger were intoxicating. But, in the end, my plan didn’t work. I will always be a bastard, unwanted and unclaimed. I cannot change the truth, I can simply learn to accept it.”

  “Roane.” Helen placed her hand on his heart. He could hear the sadness in her voice, the same sadness that plagued him still, would always plague him. But he no longer fought it.

  He pressed her hand against his chest. “My sister, Mazie, was being held as an accomplice to the Midnight Rider, and I was captured trying to free her. I was given a lenient sentence, being I offered insurmountable evidence against the men I robbed, and she was released.”

  “A lenient sentence?”

  “Three years in Australia. I served them. Now, I am free.”

  And he felt free, having told Helen the truth. Free and sad at once. He didn’t like to think of this part of his past, but sharing it with her helped. More than he’d anticipated.

  “The drawings in your journal, they are of Australia.”

  “Yes, mostly.” He kissed the top of her head. “Some are of you.”

  “And the scars on your back.”

  He let out a deep breath. “My first months there, I was ill from the ocean crossing and very weak. I couldn’t make sense of my loss of freedom—it was like there were chains inside my chest, keeping me from breathing. An older gentleman befriended me and taught me the way of things, like how to wrap my head so I could sleep with the constant commotion of fifty men, and how to sneak extra food and water. One night, the guards found gin in our barracks. I knew it was his, but I claimed it was mine, feeling I owed him a debt. I was strapped to a board and given a brutal lashing, more brutal than I’d thought possible. I wasn’t certain I’d survive it.”

  “The older man never spoke up?”

  “Why would he, when I was foolish enough to take his place?”

  “My God.” She hugged him close. “Did he even thank you?”

  “He avoided me after that, most likely out of guilt. And I learned to keep my mouth closed. I just wanted to endure and get home. Eventually, I was moved to a private estate and lived in the stables. That situation was much more comfortable.”

  She pushed away from him so she could study his face. He didn’t try to hide whatever was written there. With a soft hand, she traced his jaw. “I am so sorry, Roane. It all sounds just awful.”

  “I did learn some valuable lessons, like patience, and how to control my anger. In the end, I cannot change my past. If I always fight against my father’s rejeciton, I am still a prisoner. I try to focus on my future. I don’t think I ever really cared about it before. Now, its all I have.” My future and you. He pulled her back aga
inst him. “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you closer.”

  “Are you trying to change the topic?”

  “Perhaps.” He ran his finger down her side. “Is it working?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He buried his head in her hair. She was everything bright and shining and promising. Everything lovely and soft and strong. Everything he longed for. He wanted to hold her forever. But, as different as their lives were, he knew that was not possible. She was waiting for an extraordinary man, and he was just an outlaw. He was simply lucky she’d not run away yet.

  “Promise me one thing, Helen.” He traced the shell of her ear. “Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  She curled into him, rested her head against his heart. “I promise.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Helen followed Roane out of the field barn early in the morning as mist was still rising over the sea of grass. She drank in the earthy scene, a strong feeling in her heart that all was right with the world.

  Roane trusted her. Had confided his deepest secrets to her.

  They were close to the gold.

  And she was alive. Gloriously, wonderfully alive.

  Leaning forward in her saddle, she breathed in the smell of living things. Is this what had drawn Roane to the mountains, those years ago? This feeling of being part of something larger, something beyond the scope of mere man? He’d been a boy without a father, a youth without a home…she could see where the hills welcomed him, judged him only for the truth of his actions and the courage in his heart, not his last name.

  The sunrise crested the trees and hit the mist, casting a hazy light in every direction. If she stilled herself enough, she was certain she could hear the grass breathe. The sky sing. The pulse of the world was in the meadow.

  It was all so achingly beautiful, but why? For what purpose was the world made so lovely? Why was the lilting birdsong so elegant, the sunlight on the mist so peaceful? What if no one had happened upon this valley to appreciate it?

  She lifted her gaze to the sky, streaked in orange and pink. The world around her was…resplendent. And for seemingly no purpose. It just was.

  Beauty for the sake of beauty.

  What a revelation.

  To her, beauty had always been an effort, a talent. Refinement was a skill learned by artists and taught to women by their mothers and dressmakers. It was something to be coveted, and it certainly wasn’t without cost and sacrifice.

  But here, looking out at the waving grasses, feeling the birdsong falling over her like a blessing, there was no effort. No cost. The mist did not try. The grasses did not push. The sky did not learn.

  A laugh, small and sharp, burst out of her.

  Perhaps it was the deeper way of things, when left to their own pure state, to be beautiful. Perhaps grace was within everything, everything, everything.

  Perhaps the world was always this free, if she only had eyes to see it.

  She glanced at Roane, her heart full. She wanted to see him in a new light. She would not take what he had told her about his past and jump to conclusions. Just because he’d been a highwayman did not mean he was prone to trouble, like her brothers. There was a depth and a pain within him that she could not overlook. He was more, much more, than a mere charming rogue. She would let him be free, let him prove himself.

  Ahead of her, he squinted at something in the distance and touched the pistol secured at his side. Helen caught her breath and rode up closer to him. This was no time to be lost in daydreams and whims of fancy.

  “Did you see something?” she murmured.

  “Just a tree.” Roane glanced at her, a quick snap of his eyes and tilt of his lips, then returned his attention to the morning. He was a hawk, his every sense keen.

  He was golden and strong and beautiful as the morning around them. He belonged here, amongst the majestic wild things.

  She belonged in London.

  Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.

  Suddenly, the morning took on a bittersweet tinge.

  No part of her wanted to say goodbye to Roane. But, their journey was nearing its end, and she would leave perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Their parting was inevitable. They were from different worlds, had different futures ahead of them. He wanted to build a life for himself in the hills, to breed and train horses and ride carefree across the sunlit meadows. And, while she had a newfound appreciate for the countryside, her home was in London. She loved fashion, and theater, and museums. She wouldn’t last more than a few months on a quiet horse farm. And who would take care of Harry?

  It was better they parted ways now, while there were only good feelings between them.

  “Have you considered that James might not have buried the gold after all?” Roane cut into her thoughts with yet more worries. “It wouldn’t be out of his character to have spent the money. As you said, he wasn’t of the best mind.”

  Helen frowned, feeling suddenly cold and empty inside. “Yes, of course I have considered the possibility. But why would he have left the map?”

  Roane shrugged, his eyes serious beneath unusually heavy brows. “Who can answer for anything James chose to do?”

  If they didn’t find the gold, could she convince Roane to ride to London with her? “What will you do, if we find this Goredale Scar and the map ends with nothing else? Can you borrow funds from your sister? She is a countess now.”

  “No.” Roane shook his head, hard. “I am not…her husband sent me to Australia. I am not asking them for anything.”

  “Then, if we don’t find the gold, you have…”

  “Nothing but my wits.” He smiled at her over his shoulder, but the corners of his eyes did not crinkle, his dimple did not appear. “I’ve relied on them so far. And what of you?”

  “My only true option would be to marry someone ridiculously wealthy.” She shrugged, as if that weren’t her worst nightmare. To tie herself to a man for life, to forfeit her freedom to a man she did not love, perhaps did not respect, simply for financial gain…Her soul shuddered at the thought. She would die inside, day by day.

  Roane frowned at her. He was silent, his face a hard mask. She could not help but compare him to the rogue he’d been that first day they’d met, unwilling to take anything seriously.

  The journey had changed both of them, it seemed.

  “We’ll find the gold,” he insisted.

  “I hope so.”

  “I don’t like that look on your face, buttercup. We’ll find the gold, I promise. You’ll be returned to London before you know it, and back to your usual comforts and entertainments.”

  Could she return to London, to her old life, as if none of this had ever happened? As if she’d not been the subject of cutting gossip and wandering, lecherous hands. As if she’d not learned to wear breeches. And fish.

  And kiss.

  And…feel.

  She would return to her life without Roane. She would never see him again.

  They continued on in silence. The morning mist burned off, but the sun was hidden behind a grey canopy of clouds as they crossed miles of open fields. Hills rolled away in the distance, the tops dotted with white rocks against green grass. They came to a murmuring stream and rode along beside it for a time.

  “We are close, are we not?” Helen broke the silence, trying to recall the map.

  “We are close. Less than a mile.”

  Helen urged her mount on faster. She would focus on the gold. They would find it today, they must. And she would be happy.

  The stream wended its way into a steep, narrow valley. They turned a hard corner and slowed to a stop. A huge limestone ravine yawned opened before them, the sharp walls towering higher than a London cathedral. The jagged cliffs were beautiful, if unforgiving, and seemed to blot out the sun.

  Gordale Scar was enormous.

  What lace could cover something this elemen
tal and massive?

  Helen twisted in her saddle to see Roane’s expression, but he had stopped some ten feet behind her, studying a wooden sign staked into the earth. Two arrows pointed in opposite directions.

  “James was many things, humorous being one of them.” He looked at her, a wry smile on his lips. “We go downstream, to Janet’s Foss.”

  “How can you be so certain?” She rode back to his side and studied the wooden sign for some clue. “Jeanette. Janet.”

  “Exactly.” Roane urged Zeus down the narrow lane toward Janet’s Foss.

  “Did this Jeanette prefer lace?” Helen asked behind him.

  “Pardon?”

  “In James’s riddle.

  Where there is a scar, there is a cover.

  A lace, a veil, sometimes a lover.”

  “Er—”

  “It couldn’t be as simple as lace on her sleeves. James would never notice that.”

  “I cannot recall—”

  “Lace on her corset? Her garters, perhaps?” My, she was feeling snippy all of a sudden.

  Roane coughed. “Helen—”

  “A lace peignoir with nothing beneath? Now that sounds French.”

  He turned in his saddle and pinned her with a wry smile. “My, my, you do sound jealous, Helen.”

  She avoided his gaze. “Of course I’m not jealous. I’m merely a touch irritated by this woman who has caused me such trouble.”

  Helen stared off into the green forest. Did Roane ever think of Jeanette? Had he drawn the Frenchwoman as well? Her heart flipped uncomfortably.

  Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.

  Had Roane made that plea to Jeanette as well? Did it break the other woman’s heart, as it did her own?

  How long would he wait, to kiss someone else?

  Roane turned forward, ducking just in time to avoid a low hanging branch. A rumble filled the air and grew louder as they approached.

  A waterfall.

  The trees opened to reveal a woodland pool. Water cascaded down a waterfall in frothy lines that almost resembled—

  “Lace,” she exclaimed.

  Helen did not want to consider the twist in her heart as she thought of this Jeanette woman who did or did not prefer lace. But it did seem to her this was the next clue.