“Father,” she finally said, interrupting yet another tirade. “I know Mr. Ramsay is wealthy and that his money could help the family. But we don’t even know where his wealth comes from. We know nothing about him, really. Shouldn’t we find out before…”
“That is none of your concern, young lady!” Her father threw up his hands and sat back against his seat, glancing at her mother for validation. “Honestly, listen to the cheek of the girl. Pretending to know anything of the situation. Acting as though she knows best.”
“But Father, he could be a criminal, or…”
He turned his attention back to Elizabet. “Judging by what happened today, you can hardly complain about that! You seem to have no trouble with criminals. I do not care where his wealth comes from. I care only that he’s willing to spend it to get himself a wife. Your only dowry is some run-down estates from your grandmother. All you have is that pretty face and a good family name to entice a husband. We are not going to turn down the one man who is willing to take you with little incentive and is willing to pay for the honor. We must pray he still wants to do so after this incident.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Father. Except nearly get myself killed in the storm.”
“I’ll not discuss it any further!”
“But don’t you find it odd that the man was born in Scotland but speaks without a hint of an accent? Or that no one knows why he was sent from home in disgrace, or if he even was, for that matter? That is my point exactly. No one seems to know anything about him. At all. You don’t find that concerning?”
“I don’t care what occurred in his past or what youthful indiscretions got him sent away from Scotland. Godforsaken place, anyway. Why anyone would choose to live there, I can’t imagine. I care only that he does not change his mind about the future. You very nearly ruined us all!”
He turned back to her mother. “Imagine the insolence, riding out against our wishes. Getting caught in that storm. Being found in the arms of some outlaw in the middle of the woods.”
Elizabet started to argue that point again but realized that, strictly speaking, it was true. Still… “Father, I’ve told you, nothing happened. He rescued me, found shelter, tried to keep us warm. That is it. When you say it like that, it sounds so much worse than what actually occurred.”
“Yes, that is the problem. It doesn’t matter what really happened, only what people will say happened. Mr. Ramsay was certainly too much of a gentleman to mention it, but servants talk, Elizabet. Don’t ever forget that. I bet half the county knows of your little tête-à-tête by now. We can only hope the gossip doesn’t ruin everything!”
Elizabet turned to look out the window and choked back the lump in her throat. Her father would never see reason. How could he auction off his only child to the highest bidder? She’d never understand. Nor would she ever do such a thing to her own children, should she have any. With Fergus. Though handsome enough, his cold demeanor overshadowed his pleasing features. He never acted overtly cruel, but something about him unsettled her. The thought of being married to him sent a cold shiver up her spine. She, however, had no say in the matter, even though she would never love him.
She repressed a shudder.
“Do stop pouting, dear,” her mother said. “You’ll get frown lines.”
Elizabet bit her lip and kept her gaze firmly out the window, though she couldn’t see much in the night. The moonlight illuminated some of the landscape, but not a great deal. The lanterns swinging from the carriage cast ominous shadows on their surroundings. Or maybe that only reflected her mood.
The exhaustion of being the Earl of Dawsey’s daughter always pulled at her. Always aware that she must live up to the reputation her father had worked so hard to cultivate. That of a prosperous lord in great favor with the king. A pretense, in point of fact, but one that must be maintained at all times. Her father lived in deathly fear of his peers discovering how precarious his position was, both at court and with his creditors.
As a lord who’d supported the former Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Dawsey had navigated an almost impressive road back to favor, or tolerance more like, once King Charles II had regained his throne. Elizabet was fairly certain the only reason her father hadn’t ended up swinging from a rope at Tyburn was because the king simply didn’t have the time or resources to exact retribution from all the traitorous subjects who had deserved it. The most prominent ones had been punished, naturally. Her father had never been prominent, though, no matter who ran the kingdom. A fact which beleaguered him, but had probably saved his neck.
And now, furthering his ambitions claimed all his attention. As his only child, an attractive daughter of marriageable age, Elizabet’s value as his most prized possession lay in what she could bring him through her marriage.
She tried to put everything out of her mind. Everything but the charismatic man who’d rescued her in the forest. She would think of him for the rest of her days, regretting only that they hadn’t had more time together. She’d have liked to have had a kiss to remember through the cold, lonely years married to a man like Fergus Ramsay.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
Chapter Three
John kept a tight rein on his anxious horse, wishing it were as easy to keep a rein on anxious men. The sudden change in plans didn’t sit well with his crew, though they were well enough trained, for the most part, to adapt quickly. Luckily, Philip had thought to leave a scout at the manor to keep an eye on things, or they’d have met at the rendezvous point at dawn to discover their prey had escaped in the night.
Will, the newest member of the Highland Highwayman’s crew, fidgeted at John’s side, his hand edging toward his pistol. John frowned, his gaze flicking toward Philip, who nodded and eased his horse closer to Will.
“Keep yer hand off yer weapon unless ye intend to use it, Will. We dinna want any mistakes tonight. No one is to be harmed.”
“Oh, yes sir, I know. My apologies.”
Philip and John shared another look, Philip giving him a slight shrug. Will was a good man, generally handy to have around, but young and much too highly strung for John’s liking. The last thing they needed was a dead body to deal with. It was the first job they’d allowed him to ride. Hopefully, with a bit more experience he’d calm.
John might be a highwayman during his nocturnal hours, but he still had some principles. He and his men swept in, took whatever easily disposable goodies the corrupt and traitorous noblemen had handy, and rode on. They might leave their prey angry and slightly less wealthy, but they always left them alive and, whenever possible, uninjured. John wanted to keep it that way. The price on his head, well, on the Highland Highwayman’s head, would go a whole lot higher if he accumulated a body count. He desired to right the wrongs committed under Oliver Cromwell. Not commit more atrocities.
The eerie call of an owl sounded from the direction of the woods. His lookout’s signal.
“Get into position,” John said, sending Will and Philip into the tree line.
A few more minutes…
The distant rumble of wheels echoed through the night, and John jerked his head toward the road dimly lit in the moonlight below him. The carriage ambled along at a slow, steady pace, heading straight for the narrow, wooded passage where his men waited.
A thrill shot through John. He didn’t necessarily enjoy this pastime of his—or at least not all aspects of it—but he couldn’t deny that it did liven things up a bit. And he did enjoy knocking a few corrupt nobles from their ivory perches. They might be his peers by birth, but most certainly not by honor. They didn’t know the meaning of the word. John relished enlightening them.
The carriage entered the passage, and John spurred his horse into action, thundering down the embankment and drawing even with the coach as his men burst from the trees. The carriage’s team reared in surprise. Feminine shrieks emanated from inside, along with a stream of profanity from a more mas
culine throat.
John frowned. There shouldn’t be any women in the carriage. It belonged to Thomas Harding, the Earl of Dawsey, an arrogant blowhard who liked to overtax his starving tenants and whose dealings under Cromwell, and in recent years, should rightly have the man swinging from a rope. John also highly suspected it was Dawsey who was behind the smuggling ring that had gotten his brother killed, but he hadn’t been able to gather enough evidence. Fergus’s reappearance at the same country house where Dawsey had been staying served only to strengthen John’s suspicions that Fergus was also involved. John wouldn’t rest until the smuggling operation had been taken down, and the men in charge, in chains. And if one of those men happened to be Fergus, that would make it all the sweeter.
In the meantime, he would make Dawsey’s life as miserable as possible. Like a cat toying with his prey. Dawsey’s actions had caused the misery of many, and most likely the death of Angus. He deserved every ounce of retribution John could lay at his feet.
John looked at Philip who shrugged. Lord Dawsey should be traveling back to court while his wife and daughter remained behind at the Barrington’s. Apparently, they’d changed their minds. Which made that night’s work more delicate than John would have liked. Women had a tendency to ruin even the best-laid plans. No help for it, though.
Will kept his gun trained on the driver while Philip’s gun joined John’s, pointing at the carriage door and the agitated occupants inside. John yanked open the door to reveal a middle-aged couple squawking with indignation. And a young woman, most likely their daughter. A connection he cursed himself for not making sooner.
Elizabet sat staring at him with an intense mixture of curiosity and excitement. In the dark of night he knew she couldn’t be sure he was the same highwayman who’d rescued her earlier that day. Though surely the coincidence would be hard to ignore. However, even if she recognized him, he wasn’t flirting with her in the firelight, but robbing her coach at gunpoint. So she should be afraid. Yet, if she felt fear, she didn’t let it show. How refreshing. Would that her mother could follow suit. His ears would be ringing for a week.
He let a smile touch his lips and held out his hand to Elizabet. “My apologies, lass. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask ye to step down.”
She didn’t hesitate, but slid her hand into his. Her quickness made him pause…did she know him, after all? Then she lurched out of the carriage, throwing herself on him with a shout. He caught the glint of metal in the moonlight in time to twist out of the line of danger. She stumbled over her skirts and he lunged to catch her, though he took care to stay out of reach of her dagger.
He twisted her arm behind her, wrenching the blade from her hand. The tip easily pierced his thumb when tested. It was sharp. And she knew how to use it.
“Impressive,” he said.
She brushed her hands down her skirts, setting everything to rights. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “Now if you don’t mind.” She held out her hand.
He laughed and tucked it into his belt. “Nay, lass. I think I’ll hold onto this for now.”
She glared at him and crossed her arms. “You have no right to hold us here. And most certainly no right to steal our property. You have no shame, sir! Rest assured, the king himself will hear of this!”
“Och, of that I have nay doubt, my lady. However, by the time His Majesty has heard the tale of my wickedness, I’ll be long gone and nothing but a pleasant dream.”
“Nightmare is more like it. You are a scoundrel, sir.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been called worse, my lady. Far worse.”
“But I doubt you’ve been called better.”
He merely grinned. “And by ladies far less beautiful than you.”
Her eyes locked with his, their dark depths, the color of a new fawn’s coat in the sunlight, now deepened to a dark amber in the night. They sucked him in, making him feel naked, exposed, as though she’d suddenly stripped him of the mask he wore. He resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.
“I suppose pretty speeches like that are why tales abound of your gallantry.”
He swept a bow, though he kept his gaze firmly on her. She wasn’t one to let his guard down around. For more than one reason. “I’m glad ye approve.”
She gave a most unladylike snort and shook her head. “I didn’t say I approved. Pretty enough words, but spoken by a man such as yourself, in a situation such as this, and any woman would have to be daft to think you meant anything by them. I confess, I found you much more charming when you weren’t holding my family at the end of your pistol.”
John laughed again. Oh, she was even more amusing spoiling for a fight than she was wet and bedraggled in the woods. He wished he could linger. He wouldn’t mind matching wits with her. It wasn’t often he came across someone who could surprise him. Her parents, on the other hand… While neither he nor the delightful woman by his side had paid any attention to the continued threats and exhortations from them while they’d sized each other up, her parents’ shrieks for justice grew harder to ignore. Philip would maim him for certain for leaving him to deal with the fools.
John winced at a few high-pitched screams from the now hysterical Lady Dawsey.
“Madam,” he said, raising his voice above the din. “If ye willna keep quiet, I’ll have ye gagged.”
She hiccupped to a stop, pressing one hand to her great, heaving bosom, and fanning her face with the other.
“And if ye faint, I’ll let ye lie in the road until our business is concluded.”
Her constitution instantly improved, though a few whimpers escaped every so often.
He turned back to Elizabet. “My apologies, my lady. As ye so succinctly pointed out, I prefer not to treat ladies so harshly but…”
Her gaze flicked to her mother and back to him and she turned her head so her mother could not see her face. “It’s quite all right. There are times I wish I could get away with that threat myself.”
John snorted, barely managing to contain a laugh. “Indeed,” he muttered.
He couldn’t imagine being the child of such parents, who seemed far more concerned about the safety of the jewels they were hastily trying to hide rather than the safety of their daughter as she stood in close proximity to the man who’d seized their carriage. He shook his head as Lord Dawsey’s large ruby ring disappeared into his wife’s bodice.
John held out his hand to Elizabet and, after a brief hesitation, she took it.
He looked her over, his eyes roving from her voluminous skirts to the tightly corseted torso that displayed her breasts so magnificently. “Ye wouldna be hiding any other sharp objects in there, would ye?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
“Feisty wee thing, aren’t ye? I suppose I’ll have to keep a close eye on ye.”
She shrugged, a gentle movement of her shoulders that caused the soft lace spilling from her bodice to shift slightly. He tore his gaze away from the expanse of creamy skin the dress exposed. Her cloak had come untied in their scuffle and fallen to the ground.
He bent to retrieve it and held it out. She looked at him in surprise.
“I dinna wish for ye to take a chill.”
She didn’t come to him immediately, and he waited, as he had earlier that day, until she decided he could be trusted. At least far enough to provide her some warmth. She finally blew out an irritated breath, though he wasn’t sure if the annoyance was aimed at him or herself, and turned her back so he could drape the heavy fabric across her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she muttered, obviously galled to be obliged to him.
He drew the cloak tight about her, savoring the feel of her soft, supple body in his arms before she wrenched away from him.
She tied the ribbons at her neck and wrapped herself in the material, perusing him the way he’d done to her.
“You’re the Highland Highwayman,” she said, before he had the chance to utter another word.
Her head cocked to the side as she studied him, sending the blond ringlets gathered above each ear swinging. “I thought it might be rude to mention the fact when you’d risked yourself to rescue me. As you are now the one I need to be rescued from, I have no such qualms.”
He barked out a laugh again. Oh, he’d never enjoyed himself so much on a robbery. She definitely made the job much more entertaining.
“I’ve always wondered why a Scotsman would travel so far from home to do his wicked deeds,” she said. “We are near the border, I suppose. Still, a bit out of the way for you, I’d think.”
“I have my reasons. Curious wee thing, aren’t ye?”
“No harm in that,” she said, giving him a sweet smile that had probably worked wonders in weaseling trifles and baubles from a court full of fawning men.
“On the contrary, lass, curiosity, especially about matters that dinna concern ye, can be a dangerous thing indeed.”
Her smile faded a bit around the edges, her eyes finally tinged with a speck of fear. He didn’t wish to frighten her—at least not too much—but it certainly wouldn’t do her any harm to practice a bit more caution. Especially in the dark of night when surrounded by men with guns and swords.
“I believe it very much concerns me, since you’ve decided to hold my family hostage, no doubt to reap whatever treasures you can from us.” She jutted her pert little nose in the air, daring him to contradict her.
“Point taken, lass. Perhaps I’ll tell ye my tale sometime.”
“I have no wish to hear it.”
Judging by her apparently curious nature and her fidgeting as she answered, he doubted that. But it would be rude to point it out. “As ye wish,” he said, tipping his hat to her.
How to Ensnare a Highlander Page 3
