Ally had never met the queen, but from all she had seen and heard, she couldn’t believe that the woman who had brought such progress to her empire and still mourned a husband lost decades ago could be guilty of such horror.
But for all her knowledge of history and politics, she realized, she still had no idea why the carriage was racing so terrifyingly fast.
Suddenly, with a jerk, the carriage began to slow.
Surely, she thought, this could have nothing to do with the furor going on because two men, two politicians and writers who had viciously slandered the queen, had been found dead, their throats slit. Or with the distraught people in the streets, bearing their signs to protest the queen and Prince Edward. No, the cause of this had to be quite different, and if so…
If so, she knew the answer.
They moved slower, the horses walking now, not galloping. She heard the sound of a gunshot, and froze. There was shouting from nearby; then she heard Shelby calling hoarsely in return, but she couldn’t understand his words.
“Stop the carriage!” a deep, authoritative voice thundered.
Tense, knowing that they were nowhere near the castle, Ally leaned toward the window, pulled back the drapery and looked out.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and it was then that icy rivulets of fear at last snaked through her system.
She had been right.
There was a rider right by her side, a man seated upon a great black stallion, clad in a black coat, hat and mask. Other riders shifted restlessly behind him.
The highwayman!
She had never dreamed that such a thing could happen in her humdrum life. As a devotee to several newspapers, she’d read about this man and his accomplices. In an age when more and more automobiles were finding their way onto the roads, they were being threatened by a highwayman on horseback.
He hadn’t killed anyone, she reminded herself. In fact, some were comparing him to Robin Hood. No one seemed quite able to say just which poor people he was giving to, although shortly after the Earl of Warren had been held up, churches in the East End had suddenly been offered large sums to feed and clothe their flocks.
The highwayman had been stopping carriages for the past several months, and had stolen several things here and there, items of sentimental value, that had mysteriously made their way back to their owners. A thief, but not a murderer….
In fact, he had begun his depredations just after the first murder had taken place. As if the country had not had enough to worry about.
The wheels ground to a halt; she heard the whinnying protest of the horses, drawn up so short. And then she heard the coachman’s words.
“My man, you’ll not be harming the lass. You’ll be shooting me first.”
Dear Shelby. Her bulky champion and guardian for as long as she could remember. He would protect her to his dying breath.
And because of Shelby, she found courage.
She threw open the carriage door and called out to him. “Shelby, we’ll risk no lives for the likes of this thief and his brigands. Whatever the fellow wants, we will give it to him and be on our way.”
The highwayman reined in his great black steed and dismounted in an agile leap. His accomplices remained seated upon their horses.
“Who else is in that carriage?” he demanded.
“No one,” she said.
He clearly didn’t believe her. Striding to the open door, he reached in, seeking no permission. His hands landed upon her waist, and she was lifted unceremoniously from the elegant carriage and set upon the ground. The man apparently believed there must be some hidden compartment within, for he disappeared into the carriage, then jumped out to stand beside her.
“Who are you, and what are you doing, traveling alone on the road?” he demanded. His face was hidden by a black satin eye mask, but he had dark hair, pulled back in a queue at his nape. He wore a wool cape, and his riding boots reached his knees.
At first she was shaking, but she was not going to be cowed. If he meant to change his methods and kill her, he would do so one way or the other. Therefore, she would go down fighting. She would not grovel. He was a thief, a brigand, a wretched excuse for a human being.
“You are nothing but riffraff,” she informed him, “and I don’t see why my travel arrangements should be any of your business.”
“Miss!” Shelby protested, afraid for her.
The highwayman nodded toward one of his men—also masked and dressed in black, a color that meant camouflage in the night—who approached Shelby as the coachman tried to ease a hand toward his pistol.
“Don’t do it,” the first man warned softly. “No harm will come to you—or the lass.”
Ally wondered if it was the word “lass,” coming from a man who had no idea of her accomplishments, that both irritated her and gave her such great courage. She was always dismissed as “the lass.” Everyone was always doing what they considered best for her. Her accomplishments were applauded, yet her future seemed to belong to everyone but her. Thanks to her privileged upbringing, she knew Latin, French and Italian, geography, history and literature. She could play the piano much more than competently, sing due to the tutelage of Madame D’Arpe, dance because of Monsieur Lonville, and ride as well as any woman living, she was certain, despite an effort to remain humble. She was also very aware that women were beginning to take their places in many previously forbidden arenas; helping to form society and, indeed, the world. She was going to make her mark on the world. Somehow.
She was also the most guarded orphan in the empire, she was quite sure.
“You’ll not touch that girl—” Shelby began angrily. But he did not finish. The highwayman had cracked the whip he carried, a long and lethal-looking thing that snapped through the air with the sharpness of a shot. The pistol Shelby had reached for went flying through the air as he cried out, not so much in pain as in surprise.
“My dear fellow,” the highwayman said. “We’ve no wish to harm you or the girl. You’ll step down, please.”
Stiff, angry, wary, Shelby did so. Ally heard a soft expulsion of breath, and when she looked, he was no longer standing. He had sunk easily to the ground, as if he had simply been so tired he had gone to sleep standing.
She started to run toward him, crying out in alarm.
She did not reach him. The highwayman caught her by the shoulders. When she kicked and fought and tried to bite him, he swore softly.
“What is the matter with you, girl? You are playing with your life here.”
“What have you done to him?”
“He will awake soon enough, none the worse for wear,” he assured her.
“What did you do to him? You’ve killed him!”
“He isn’t dead, I assure you.”
She tried again to bite the hand that held her. “This is ridiculous,” he hissed, and before she knew it, she was thrown over his shoulder and he was striding quickly off the open road and along a forest trail.
What had she done?
A trickle of fear slipped along her spine, despite her resolve.
“If you think you’re going to slit my throat in the woods, you’ll be truly sorry,” she warned him. “They’ll come after you. You are already wanted for your crimes. They’ll revive public executions—indeed, they’ll bring back drawing and quartering. I’m warning you—”
“You should start begging me,” he warned.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “You don’t even know who I am!”
They had apparently reached his destination. She was quickly and unceremoniously set down on a tree stump next to a small stream through the woods. Oddly, the water bubbled melodiously. The sun was almost gone for the day, just disappearing into the horizon, so they were surrounded by pale glimmers through the canopy of the trees and the coming shadows of the night. He set a foot on the log and leaned close to her. “Seriously, lass, I don’t know who you are. Had you answered that question for me at the start, you might well be on your
way again already.”
“Don’t call me ‘lass.’”
“I should be calling you an idiot.”
“I? An idiot? Because I protest a wretched criminal who will surely end his days at the end of a rope?”
“If I’m to hang, anyway, what would it matter if I were to add your body to the list of my trespasses?” he demanded.
“You will hang,” she said icily.
“Perhaps, but not today. Today, you will answer to me.”
She fell silent, staring at him, once again forcing down any sense of fear. She would not go easily.
She stared at him, eyes burning, head high. “You are young and able-bodied. You might have found legitimate work easily enough. Instead, you have chosen a life of crime.”
He laughed softly, truly amused now. “Indeed, lass, of all the young women I have encountered, you are definitely the most brazen. Or the most stupid. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I told you not to call me ‘lass.’”
“You are a lass.”
“Then you are nothing but a boy, playing at being a man.”
He seemed to take no offense; indeed, he smiled slightly.
“Have you a title, then?” he inquired.
She stared at him coldly. “You may call me Miss.”
“Miss. So who are you and where are—were—you going?”
“Are you an idiot, that you don’t recognize a carriage belonging to the Earl of Carlyle?”
She couldn’t tell whether he had recognized the carriage or not, for his next question was not an answer.
“What are you doing in his carriage?”
“I haven’t stolen it,” she retorted.
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
He leaned closer. “But it is not the answer I am seeking.”
“I’m ever so sorry.”
“Pray, don’t be sorry—yet. Simply provide me with the information I seek.”
“You are a bully and a thief. I owe you nothing.”
“I am a highwayman. And your life and safekeeping are in my hands.”
“Shoot me, then.”
He shook his head, irritated. She lifted her chin. She was afraid, true, but she was oddly excited, as well. The blood was rushing through her veins. Ridiculous as it might seem, she felt up to the challenge.
Strangely, she didn’t believe he would really harm her. There was something too…decent?…about his manner.
Perhaps this was simply what she had wanted: something had finally happened in her life. She felt as if she were really living, perhaps for the first time. How sad if it were all about to end.
He laughed aloud and the sound was easy and pleasant. “Let me start over. Dear mademoiselle, pray, please, tell me what you’re doing in the earl’s carriage?”
“Obviously I am going to see the earl.”
“Ah. You’re good friends, then?”
“He is something of a godfather to me,” she explained.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, so you had best take care, lest you truly offend me.”
“I’m afraid it matters not at all to me whom I offend.”
“The earl will see you skewered through.”
“The earl will have to catch me for that, don’t you think?”
“Don’t underestimate him.”
“I never would.”
“Pray, tell, exactly what do you want from me? I’m afraid I’m not carrying any riches.”
He was still smiling, and his foot continued to rest on the log as he leaned close. She found herself wondering how such a man, well spoken, well dressed, smelling clean but with a hint of musk and leather, could have come to such a pass in life.
“Riches may be attained in any number of ways. If you’re beloved of the earl, you’re worth a pretty penny.”
“I’m not that well loved,” she said sharply.
His smile deepened. She wished she could see more of his face.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he commanded.
She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“I asked first.”
“But you already know more about me than I know about you,” she reminded him primly.
“Ah, but I am the highwayman, and you are the victim,” he said.
“Precisely. Victims are not required by any social standard to be cooperative,” she informed him.
He leaned closer. “Victims are supposed to be frightened.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“Pray, tell me.”
“You are not at all dangerous.”
“Really?”
“It appears to me that you have at least a modicum of intelligence, and that someone raised you properly. And that, if you chose, you could certainly do well enough without resorting to highway robbery and accosting random victims.”
“I’m afraid,” he murmured, “that you weren’t a random victim.”
She was startled, and a trickle of fear began to ice her blood.
“I have nothing. Why would you choose me?”
“You were in the earl’s coach.”
“Again, I tell you, I have nothing worth stealing,” she assured him, more determined now than ever that he believe her.
“You might be quite valuable as a hostage,” he informed her.
“Oh!” she cried in frustration. “You are a fool. What is the matter with you? There are grave things going on in the world. We may well find ourselves in a state of anarchy. Men have been murdered. People are in an uproar. And you are worried about nothing but yourself.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? That’s all you have to say?” she demanded.
“Are you going to challenge all the evil in the world?” he asked her softly.
“Are you willing to do nothing about all the evil in the world?” she countered.
He shrugged. “Let’s see…can I change the world at this moment? Probably not. Can I change my own situation? I think so. Because I have you, whoever you are, a passenger in the Earl of Carlyle’s carriage.”
“Please, I have already informed you, I am not worth anything.”
“Come, come. You cannot be that naïve. Not a woman of your obvious…worldliness.”
She flushed, looking away. She felt as if fire were rushing through her. How could she be so ridiculous as to feel such a tide of emotion because of a highwayman? Good God, how pathetic. She would not allow it.
“I’m telling you, whatever you may wish to think, there is no threat you can make that will change me into a rich swan. I live in the company of several widows, gentle and kind and sheltered. They have little. I seldom leave the woods.”
“But when you do, it seems, you leave in style.”
“I am lucky to have landed friends who took interest in me as a child.”
“Do you work for the earl?”
“No.”
“Do you…?” He looked her up and down meaningfully.
“What are you implying?” she demanded indignantly, so angry that she rose, pushing him aside. “The lord’s lady is one of the kindest and most beautiful women I have ever met, and I do assure you, he feels the same. How dare you…? Ah, you are but a highwayman, and anything of gentility I’ve sensed in you is nothing but a mask, far more concealing than the one upon your face. I believe I’ve quite finished with this ridiculous tête-à-tête, and I would sincerely appreciate it if you would return me to the carriage now.”
At first she was afraid he would respond with violence—she had shoved him hard enough to send him reeling backward. For a moment she stood still, very still, regretting her action and wondering, as well, if she dared to run. She was unfamiliar with her surroundings, but running anywhere would have to be preferable to being his prisoner.
But he didn’t respond with violence; he didn’t even touch her. Laughing, he took a seat upon the fallen log himself.
“Bravo!�
�
“Bravo?”
“The earl is a lucky man to have such a staunch defender.”
“The earl is known for his strength, ethics and honesty, something you would know and appreciate—if you weren’t a rogue.”
“Ah, that I were only such a man.”
“Any man might strive to initiate his attributes.”
“Might any man have such a castle?” he asked with amusement.
“A castle does not make a man,” she told him primly.
“Nor riches?” he inquired.
She wasn’t sure what it was in his tone—a certain bitterness perhaps—but it suddenly made her realize that she might well be in serious peril after all.
She had managed to put some distance between them when she had pushed by him, and now that he was seated, cocky, comfortable, quite certain he was the one in charge, it seemed like the right time to run.
There were many advantages to growing up in a cottage in the woods. She had spent endless days exploring the trails close to her house, playing with imaginary friends, running from place to place. She had often played with the children of the woodsman down the lane, and there had been a time when she was young when the son thought she was quite a hellion. So she was strong, fit and fleet. She thought that she could leave him in the dust.
At first, she did.
Heedless of the water, she bounded across the little rivulet and tore down one of the forest trails. There was a moment when she dared to take pleasure in the sound of his startled oath as she disappeared.
Then she realized not only that she was being followed but followed swiftly.
She tore under a canopy of trees, dexterously flying over roots, rocks and fallen branches in her way. She kept running and running, following what appeared to be a path, then turning to crash through thicker foliage, hoping to lose her pursuer.
As she ran, the sound of pursuit diminished. Or perhaps it was the thundering of her heart that made all else silent in comparison.
Eventually, she had to stop. Her lungs were burning, her heart pounding in revolt, and her calves cramping. Her delicate boots were far from the perfect footwear for running through the forest.
She gripped a tree, inhaling, exhaling, trying to ease the pain in her chest and limbs. Her hair had come loose, and a wayward strand now teased her nose. She puffed at it, then drew it back, thinking she must look an incredible mess, and yet, at the same time, realizing with pride that she had done it.
Beguiled Page 2
