“Ah, and there’s the man I met the other day.”
“So you like being insulted, you abuse-loving fop?”
“I wouldn’t say I enjoy abuse.”
“Keep me out any longer, and I’ll have my doubts. Bess will be worried by now.”
Mr. Sweeton squeezed his forearm, and Elias’s stomach fluttered again. “I like a boy with a quick tongue, that’s all,” Mr. Sweeton said.
Elias shivered, but could not tell why.
“Mr. Sweeton!” It was Bess, and she sounded furious. Elias heard her thunder down the tavern steps and stomp into the street. “You had my brother out for a full hour! What did I tell you?”
“My apologies, Miss Burgess. Our conversation was just so stimulating.”
“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t send our father out after you! He’s turned greater brutes than you black and blue!”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.” Bess seized Elias’s elbow and wrenched him away from Mr. Sweeton. Elias staggered for the strength of her pull.
“I’ll think twice before I let you take him out again!”
“Let—” Elias began, annoyed.
“Sincerely, I apologize for causing you undue concern. I’m sure Mr. Burgess will tell you he enjoyed himself.”
There was a long silence. “Yes, yes, I enjoyed myself,” he said.
“Perhaps I will see you again, Mr. Burgess?”
“Perhaps you will. Tell me if you do.”
“Yes. Of course. Good day, Mr. Burgess, Miss Burgess.”
“Good day,” Bess huffed, and dragged Elias into the Peach and Pear. When the door was closed behind him, she clutched him by the arms. “Well?” she demanded. “How was it?”
“I don’t know,” Elias said, pulling away. “Slow. Strange.”
“How so?”
“He asked me if I wanted children and if I was a virgin. And he kissed me on the cheek. Is that normal for the first stroll?”
“He asked what?”
“I thought not.”
“The nerve!”
“I asked him if he was a virgin too,” Elias admitted.
“Who asked whom first?”
“He asked me.”
“Fucking sod!” Bess swore.
“Who?”
“Him!”
“Not me?”
“Both of you!” she wailed. “I can’t handle this, my baby brother, kissing an older man and speaking of virginity!”
“Relax, you’re going to injure yourself. And he kissed me.”
“I’ve half a mind to chase him down and geld him!”
“I thought you approved?”
“The uniform fooled me. I thought he was honorable, but he’s ordinary bachelor fare.”
“Oh, come now. He’s at least unusual bachelor fare.” Elias did not know why he was defending Mr. Sweeton; they hardly knew each other.
“I’ll have to keep my eye on him.”
“Thanks, sister dear.” Elias blew a kiss in her general direction. He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and knew his father was in the tavern. It was going to open in half an hour, and he had come down to prepare.
“Are you going with that redcoat now, or what?” his father asked as he tramped to the bar.
“‘Going’ would be liberal,” Elias said. “We took a stroll down the lane together.”
“Just don’t be causing any talk,” his father muttered.
“Heavens, no, we couldn’t have that.” Elias sighed.
“Good. Does he have regular pay?”
“I don’t know, Father. Wages didn’t come up!” Any time his father showed an interest in his life, Elias grew defensive; he was not accustomed to paternal concern. “Are you going to whore me out now?”
“Elias!” Bess warned him, but it was too late.
Their father’s voice was dangerous when he spoke next. “Watch your tone, boy.”
“Can’t watch anything, or did you poison away that memory too?” He heard his father stomp forward and Bess jump in front of him.
“Father, the patrons will be arriving shortly. Here, I’ll help you get things ready. Come, come. Elias was just headed to our room.”
“I was?”
“Yes!” Bess barked. Knowing it was for the best, Elias made his way to the inn stairs at the back of the tavern, feeling along the tabletops and keeping his lips shut tight as he went.
Chapter Six
“Bess, what’s sodomy?” Elias asked later that night, adjusting his pillow. The tavern was bustling below, but he was used to the din and could sleep through a hurricane. Lord Nelson dozed at his side, warm as a tiny furnace.
“Fucked if I know,” she replied from where she lay in her bed across the room.
“Come now, you can read, you talk to the likes of Kitty Moreton—”
Bess cackled. “For some reason, I think I have less motivation for finding out more about this topic than you. Just because I can read doesn’t mean I seek out every book on criminal activities in Britain and the Commonwealth.”
“Have you sought out any book?”
“Christ, Elias, no.”
“Would you?”
“There’s something in the Bible about it. You know, Sodom and Gomorrah and all that. You’re not supposed to do it, lest you be smote by hellfire and brimstone raining from the sky.”
“I thought the hellfire was more about abusing angels and selling daughters.”
“I don’t know, Elias!” Bess snapped. “Go to sleep, would you?”
Elias laid out his secret weapon. “Mr. Sweeton said he wanted to sodomize me.”
Bess gave a cry of horror and, by the sound of it, sat up straight in bed. She had known of kisses and talk of virginity, but she sounded devastated by talk of sodomy. “Oh, Elias, you didn’t say yes, did you?”
“No. Why would I agree to something when I don’t know what it is? Do you take me for a complete idiot?”
“At least you’ve a scrap of common sense in your vapid pederast head.” It sounded like she had flopped flat again.
Elias scoffed. “I’m too old to make Mr. Sweeton a pederast.”
“Barely,” Bess snarled. “I preferred it when you were selective. I’m supposed to be the hussy, not you.”
“I’m still selective! I haven’t decided if I like Mr. Sweeton.”
“Good,” Bess grumbled, tossing in her bed.
“Although he makes my stomach dance. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Dear God.”
“I thought so. I wasn’t sure about a few moments we were together…I felt uneasy, but that’s all part of it, isn’t?”
“Christ, I don’t know how your mind works.”
“Well, what do you feel when you like someone?”
“Hot. Thrilled. Nauseous. Excited. Sleepless. Giddy.”
“Hm. I don’t think I’m there yet.”
“So you can still sleep? Good. Go the fuck to sleep.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy for me, but you’re acting like a jealous old bitch.”
“Elias, I’m being dead serious when I say I am not jealous of Mr. Sweeton’s affection for you.”
“Affection!” Elias scoffed.
“If you could see how he looks at you…”
“I can’t. That’s your job.”
“He looks at you like you’re a cream-filled puff pastry.”
“A puff pastry?”
“Like he wants to devour you.”
Elias snorted. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Go to sleep, you horny dandiprat!”
Long after Bess had stopped tossing and her breath started to come low and even, Elias lay awake in bed and thought about his stroll with Mr. Sweeton. He thought back to the day they met, which made him remember the highwayman. The highwayman who reciprocated his verbal sparring with more aplomb than Mr. Sweeton, not that a sharp tongue was a prerequisite for s
ecuring Elias’s attention. But, as he thought about how Mr. Sweeton had kissed his cheek, he began to wonder what the highwayman’s lips were like. Were they smooth? Bristly? Firm? Soft?
What had the highwayman thought about when he saw Elias naked? Did he think anything of it at all?
Chapter Seven
Elias had the chance to ask the highwayman what he thought of him a few weeks later, even if he did not take it. It was early August, and the days were long and warm. Sometimes, if he was certain no one but Lord Nelson was on the road with him, Elias would remove his coat, hook the collar over his finger, and let it trail down his back as he walked from Kitwick to Mitton and back.
He had already stopped in Mitton, had a light conversation with the local postmaster (whom Elias learned had a lady friend though he did not object to a genteel chat laden with flirtatious observations) and collected the Kitwick-bound post. It did not matter so much the Mitton postmaster was unavailable; Mr. Sweeton was still in Kitwick, and he had taken Elias on two more strolls and had him over for tea at his aunt’s without Bess. Mrs. John Rowan’s deafness meant Elias could make all sorts of outrageous comments over tea and his and Mr. Sweeton’s developing relationship went undetected.
They were not beaux, at least not yet, but Mr. Sweeton had kissed him on the cheek again and said he would miss Elias something terrible when he was back in Mitton, so Elias would need to stop by the barrack after he collected the post every second day. Elias liked the idea of visiting with Mr. Sweeton in Mitton, where Bess would not be counting the seconds until Mr. Sweeton dropped him off at the Peach and Pear.
Elias was lost in thought as he daydreamed about Mr. Sweeton’s soft touch and truffle-rich voice. They had never discussed Kenneth Davies, for whom Elias had never forgotten Mr. Sweeton was known to have a certain fondness, but Elias assumed that particular liaison had ended. Mr. Sweeton seemed so invested in their excursions it was unreasonable to think he should be continuing with Kenneth Davies. Besides, Kenneth Davies was boring and stupid.
“It isn’t good form for a man to be seen out without his coat,” a voice called from the woods to his left, interrupting Elias’s thoughts. The speaker sounded congested, but Elias recognized the voice.
Lord Nelson hissed. “Easy, boy,” Elias whispered to him. Then, louder, “You’ve seen me naked, so I really don’t care if you see me without my coat.” He did not break stride.
“It just makes it that much easier to steal your clothes, then.”
“Are you in earnest, you fatwit?” Elias threw his coat to the ground. If the highwayman was going to have it, he would not have it clean. Elias then closed his eyes, took off his hat, and threw it toward the forest to his right.
“Did you do that to spite me?” the highwayman demanded, relieving Elias of his satchel.
“Yes.”
There was a snuffling sound, as though the highwayman was trying to stifle laughter.
“Oh, fuck it.” Elias heaved a haughty sigh and began undoing his cravat. “Here, just take it all. I don’t give a damn anymore.” He dropped his cravat and started at his waistcoat buttons. “The faster I get undressed, the faster I can get back to Kitwick. If you keep me long, you’re going to make me late for my pianoforte lessons.”
“How can one such as you play pianoforte?”
Elias held up his hands. “I have hands, don’t I? And working ears? What more does one need?”
The highwayman accepted this news with contemplative silence. Elias finished with his waistcoat and started on his collar buttons.
“But the sheet music?” the highwayman asked.
“I learn everything by ear.”
“My goodness. I play violin, myself, but I can’t imagine learning everything by ear. Is it true blind people hear better than people who can see?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’ve never been able to see.”
“Good point. Can you hear that?”
“What, your breathing? You fiddling with some sort of fabric? The swallow singing in the tree about twelve paces to my left? Lord Nelson’s hissing? What? What are you asking me if I can hear?”
“Good God, is there anything you can’t do?” the highwayman asked. If Elias did not know better, he would have thought his tone was admiring. Elias chucked his balled-up shirt into the void in front of him. It sounded like the highwayman caught it in the chest.
“See.”
“See what?”
“I can’t see, you utter bounder.”
Silence.
“And now you appear to have gone mute to boot,” Elias ranted, kicking off his boots. “Here, keep these too. Take whatever the fuck you want. Just leave me alone, already!” He unbuttoned his trousers. These were not as easy to shed as most of his trousers since they were the ones Mr. Sweeton and Bess had chosen for him. He twisted, wriggled, and peeled, hopping in what he supposed must be an undignified fashion as he struggled with his clothes.
“What sort of highwayman plays violin, anyway?” Elias snapped once he had gotten one foot free. “I’d expect a highwayman to play fiddle, if anything.”
“I’m pretentious. Here, let me—”
“Effortlessly so. Unintentionally so.” Elias swatted him away and continued to wrestle with his trousers. “You’re not as you seem.”
“Come now, you’re going to—”
Elias fell, his elbows colliding with the gritty road. “Damn it all to hell!” he swore, bucking.
“What, me too?” the highwayman asked.
“Especially you,” Elias snarled.
Elias extricated his feet from his tangled trousers and kicked them away. Lord Nelson gave an indignant mew.
“Eat his heart out, Lord Nelson,” Elias said, disgruntled. “Attack.”
There was a renewed hissing, and the highwayman gave a shout of pain. “What the fuck is wrong with your cat?” he cried, his voice strangled. He gave a girlish scream, and the ground crunched underfoot as he tried to escape Lord Nelson’s tearing claws. “Why the fuck does it obey commands like a dog?”
“Lord Nelson is aptly named. He’s a tactical genius. Surrender now, lest you lose your manhood to war with the furry fanged beast.”
“Ow!” the highwayman roared. His voice and footsteps were getting farther away.
“Too late, perhaps?” Elias called, trying to sound hopeful.
“No.”
“Damn.”
“Bet you’d like it if he brought you my cock!” the highwayman yelled.
“I’d delight in it.”
“Of course you would!”
Elias gave a snort of laughter. Then, for reasons he could never explain, he called Lord Nelson back to him. Maybe it was the highwayman’s pitiful shrieks of pain, maybe it was because he feared Lord Nelson would be shot once he had exhausted the highwayman’s patience.
“Lord Nelson, give the wretched thief a break. Come.” A moment later, Lord Nelson, breathing heavily, came to stand next to Elias where he sat on the ground, naked. Lord Nelson butted his velvety head against Elias’s bare ribs, a purr rattling in his throat. Elias scratched Lord Nelson’s back and tugged the length of his tail the way he liked. “Good boy.”
The highwayman approached with tentative footsteps. “That thing is not normal.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”
“No, never.”
Elias snorted again. “Wonder why that is.”
He could hear the highwayman gathering his clothes from the road.
“Just going to go trotting off again, are you?” Elias continued to stroke Lord Nelson, his irritation mounting.
“Your damn cat shredded my trousers, I’ll have you know. I can’t be out like this. They were a lovely brown doeskin, and his claws went right through them.”
“Doeskin? Doeskin trousers? What sort of sodding dandy are you?” Elias had thought the highwayman’s coat was made of velvet the last time they had met, but to think he wore a velvet coat and doeskin trousers…
“Just because I happen to appreciate fashion—”
“God, you’re worse than me.”
“Is that possible?”
“I’m my sister’s life-size doll, you prissy bitch. How the fuck do I know what I look like? I’ve no say in how I dress.”
“Surely you could feel how tight your trousers were?”
“Fuck off, molly.”
“Oh, as if that bothers you.”
Something nudged Elias’s shoulder, and Lord Nelson emitted a low growl.
“What?” Elias demanded.
“May I give you a hand up?”
Elias grabbed the highwayman’s hand resting on his shoulder. He yanked it with savage force. The highwayman, who was not much heavier than him, thumped to the ground next to him. Lord Nelson yowled and darted from Elias’s side. Before he knew what he was doing, Elias had clambered on top of the highwayman, straddled his waist, and struck him in the chest. His buttons—they must be brass—dug into Elias’s knuckles. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.
Elias had never physically fought someone. His father beat him on occasion, but he did not fight back. He was a talker, not a hitter; it was not in his nature, and he had no idea what to do. Now, he drew inspiration from his father and, after a frantic scrabbling, seized the highwayman by his collar.
“Oh my God,” the highwayman murmured. It sounded like he was struggling to hold back laughter. “Are you fighting me?”
“I’m trying, anyway,” Elias muttered, squeezing the highwayman’s collar.
“You’re doing it wrong,” the highwayman said. He did not sound like he was in pain, nor as though he had difficulty breathing beyond his seasonal snuffling.
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“Here.” The highwayman placed his hands over each of Elias’s and repositioned them at his collar. His skin was warm and smooth. Elias felt at once flushed and flustered. Why was he doing this again? “That’s better. Now you pull up, then in.”
Elias did as the highwayman instructed and was awarded a strangled cough.
“All right, that’s—” the highwayman choked out.
“Oh, this is grand.” Elias pulled harder.
“Can’t breathe—” The highwayman grabbed Elias’s wrists.
“I could get used to this.”
The Highwayman Came Riding Page 5
