The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

  “Good heavens, boy, the mouth on you.”

  “You have no idea.” Elias slammed the empty flask on the table. “Tavern keeper’s son, remember? I can drink like a sailor.”

  “Are you sure? You seem a bit drunk to me.” Was that amusement in Mr. Sweeton’s voice? Perhaps Elias had sloshed ale down his front.

  “I started at eight this morning,” Elias lied, patting his cravat. It was dry.

  “Christ.”

  “I could drink him and all his disciples under the table too.”

  “I had no idea you were such a lush.”

  “This is a new development.”

  “Why?”

  “Bess!” Elias called, raising his arm. She arrived promptly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I finished Mr. Sweeton’s ale by accident. Care to get him another?”

  “Not if you’re going to drink that one too. I think you’ve had enough for one evening.”

  “Really? I feel fine.”

  “You’ve had the equivalent of a bottle and a half of claret to yourself and now the better part of a flask of ale. You don’t look fine to me.”

  “Good thing I can’t tell.”

  “No more for you.” She departed, and Elias put his forehead to the bar.

  “Sisters,” he said ruefully. “Do you have one, Mr. Sweeton?”

  “I can’t say that I do. I’ve brothers by the bucketful, though. I’m the eldest.”

  “That’s good for you, since I would never give a younger son the time of day.”

  Mr. Sweeton made a snuffling sound as though he was stifling laughter. “Perhaps you had better get to bed. Miss Burgess was right. You look ill.”

  “Yes, you’d love to have me in bed, wouldn’t you?” Elias had not meant to say it. Perhaps he was drunk after all.

  “Is that a proposition?”

  “No.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  “You’ll survive.” Elias stood, and Mr. Sweeton hugged him. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  “You fell. I caught you. You’re three sheets to the wind.”

  “Damn your eyes, let me go! I’ll manage.”

  “If I let you go, you’ll split your pretty lip on the bar edge.”

  “Ugh, must you be so flirtatious?”

  “At least let me walk you to your room.”

  And then Bess had wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That’s quite all right, Mr. Sweeton, I’ve got him.”

  “Bess!” Elias exclaimed, surprised. “Do you mean to say you haven’t retired to someone else’s bed already?”

  “I’m working double tonight, you smarmy shit,” she hissed, dragging him away from Mr. Sweeton. “Now shut up, you’re making a spectacle.”

  “Perhaps that’s my problem, I just need spectacles.”

  “Good God, you’re even worse when you’re drunk.”

  “Sissy, I can manage. Just tell me where we are and I can get myself to bed.”

  “Nope. I’m seeing you into your bed and locking you in our room, lest Mr. Sweeton or Father intercept you along the way.”

  “Oh dear,” Elias murmured. “Is Father home?”

  “Let’s hope Emily is keeping him busy. Now step up, you goddamn foozler, we’re at the stairs.”

  Elias let her drag him up the stairs. They encountered their father at the top.

  “Was that you making all that noise downstairs, Elias?” he demanded.

  “I think that was mostly the claret talking.” Elias heard his head hit the wall before he felt it. He laughed.

  “Father!” Bess cried, furious.

  “What have I told you about this sort of behavior?”

  “Well, to be fair, I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “You’re costing me customers, boy!”

  “Father,” Bess said urgently, “go back to bed. I’ll tuck him in and—”

  Elias slid down the wall, his cheek aching. Had his father hit him again? Now that he had started laughing, he could not stop.

  “Enough! Stop it! Father!”

  “Get your hands off me, girl.”

  Everyone fell silent.

  “If you raise your hand to him again, I’ll blow your brains out.” Augustus. His voice, though quiet, was different, as Elias had never heard it. He was not flippant. He was furious.

  “He says that a lot, but he’s yet to blow anyone’s brains out,” Elias said.

  “Shut your mouth, you idiot.” Someone grabbed Elias by his collar and hauled him up. “You’re sleeping with me in the spare room tonight, and before you go mad, Bess, I don’t mean like that. Good night, Mr. Burgess, and know that I am a man of my word. I respect you inasmuch as you never lift a finger against your son—your flesh and blood, your wife’s flesh and blood—again. I cannot tolerate such abuse.”

  No one said anything as Augustus dragged Elias down the hallway, searched Elias’s pocket for a key, and pushed him into a room, a heavy hand still on his collar. Augustus lit a single candle and set it screaming in the corner. Elias closed his eyes to the noise. After the quiet of the hallway, the candle was unbearable.

  Augustus laid a hand on Elias’s shoulder again, as though to hold him up. “When I left, you were half-sprung. What turned you into a raging drunk?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe when you left with no explanation and didn’t return? I had to deal with Mr. Sweeton on my own for hours. I drank to pass the time.”

  “What’s wrong with you? You told me you hate drunks.”

  “I was bored.”

  “You’ve never been bored before?”

  “You left,” Elias said, shrugging Augustus’s hand away. He felt cold. He normally ran hot, but now he was frigid. “Do you even know what that’s like for me? I can’t see where you’re going. I have no idea what’s happening. You didn’t even say anything. Bess told me you’d left, just up and left me, midconversation! You’ve never been so thoughtless before!” It was true. Augustus, while far from perfect, seemed to intuit many things Elias usually had to explain to people. Augustus knew not to touch him without warning, to use his name when he addressed him in front of others, to take his elbow if he was leading, to warn him of things in his path. How could he think just leaving without warning was acceptable?

  There was a long silence, during which Elias heard the rain pelt against the glass outside.

  “You’re right. That was terribly rude of me. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Elias muttered. “I’m used to it.”

  “No, I don’t want to treat you like everyone else does. I didn’t explain because I didn’t think I had time. I recognized the man who came to sit with you.”

  “Mr. Sweeton?”

  “Yes. He’s the Mitton militiaman, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “He knows my face.”

  “I thought no one knew you were a highwayman?”

  “He knows enough.”

  “Oh.” It all made sense. Of course Augustus had fled when he saw a redcoat; he was a lawbreaker. “God, I feel so stupid.”

  “It’s fine. We’ve both been stupid tonight.”

  “Sorry.”

  Augustus touched his elbow. “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “You apologized.”

  “I promise it’ll never happen again.”

  Augustus turned him on the spot. “I like it when you’re humble,” he murmured.

  “Ugh.”

  “But I like it when you’re sassy better.”

  “Good.” Elias put his hand over Augustus’s. “I’m feeling very amorous right now, just so you know. I could give you the kiss I owe you.”

  “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual. You smell like a Frenchman.”

  “It’s the claret,” Elias said into a shirtfront. Then, “Are you hugging me, Mr. Westwood?”

  “You were falling over, stupid, and I caught you.”

  “Guess I’m just head over heels for you.”

  “You’re
sweeter when you’re drunk.”

  “Thanks.”

  Augustus laid Elias on the bed and removed his boots for him, then threw the blanket over him.

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” Elias asked.

  There was a sigh. “Fine. But we’re not doing anything when you’re in this state. I promised your sister.”

  “What if I wanted to cuddle?”

  “Cuddle?” Augustus sounded like he was choking. Or perhaps smothering laughter. “I suppose we could do that.” There was the thud of his boots on the floor. The bed creaked as he lay beside Elias.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” Elias muttered.

  “What?”

  “I want your arms around me. You’re just lying next to me.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Elias Burgess?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Augustus draped an arm over Elias and wriggled closer to him, so his front was pressed the length of Elias’s side.

  “That’s better.”

  “It is.”

  Elias fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning, Elias had a raging headache and a growling stomach.

  “I should’ve shot your father,” Augustus muttered as he inspected Elias’s face and head. “He’s given you a cut on your cheek and a lump on your scalp.”

  “You’d be more of an outlaw if you did that,” Elias replied, wincing as Augustus wiped his cheek with a wet handkerchief. “And I’m sure most of this headache is the alcohol.”

  “All the same…”

  “Don’t shoot my father. Though, I have to say”—he touched Augustus’s wrist and turned his cheek into Augustus’s palm—“you sounded so gallant when you were defending me.”

  Elias heard Augustus swallow. “I’d kiss you if your breath didn’t smell like sour milk.”

  Elias became aware of the acrid taste on his tongue. “Ugh, I taste terrible.”

  “I’d see what Bess has downstairs for breakfast, but I don’t know if she’s talking to me yet.”

  “It’s fine, I’ll go.”

  “Will you bring me something? I’m starving.”

  “Sure.”

  Elias was halfway out the door, still in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, when Augustus spoke.

  “Cunt,” he said, as though he were commenting on the weather.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Neither of us had sworn yet this morning. It was strange.”

  Elias laughed, then winced in pain. “Understood. Be back soon, nasty fucking pederast.”

  “Only nasty for you, sweetheart.”

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Bess banged a few pots and pans before she acknowledged Elias’s presence.

  “Did he fuck you?” she snapped.

  “No.”

  “A man of his word indeed.”

  “So far.” Elias leaned on the kitchen table. “Do you still hate him?” he asked.

  “He endeared himself to me a bit when he pulled a pistol on Father,” Bess admitted, “but it doesn’t atone for his past crimes.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And he took his beating well enough, I’ll give him that. Didn’t even try to block when I came in swinging. I think he thought he deserved it.”

  “He did.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So are you talking to him or not?” Elias pressed.

  “I suppose I could say more than a few choice words the next time I see him.”

  “That’s awfully big of you.”

  “I know.”

  Bess pulled out Elias’s hand and deposited a plate in it.

  “Don’t drop this. It’s breakfast for two.”

  “You trust me with this?”

  “I’m busy. Go slowly, the chocolate’s hot.”

  “Thank you.” Elias paused, fighting with himself. The better half won. “I was awful last night.”

  “You were.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “Good. I can only handle one Burgess drunkard.”

  Consumed with guilt, Elias drew a deep breath, but Bess cut him off.

  “Good God, don’t fucking apologize, just don’t do it again.”

  “Fine. Fine.”

  * * * *

  “Here, use this for your lips,” Augustus said after breakfast, pressing a handkerchief into Elias’s hand. They were seated on the floor of the spare bedroom, the now empty platter between them.

  “Much obliged,” Elias said, and wiped his face.

  “I suppose it’s hard to stay tidy when you’re blind.”

  “You’ve no idea. People think they’re being polite if they don’t mention the crumbs in my cravat or the sauce on my waistcoat, but really, it just means I look stupid and disheveled for longer. Bess always tells me when I’ve made a mess.”

  “Well, you can count on me to tell you too,” Augustus replied, sounding pleased with himself.

  “Thanks, Cynthia.”

  Augustus kissed Elias’s cheek. “You’re welcome. You don’t smell like sour milk anymore by the way.”

  Elias sat up straighter. “What do I smell like now?”

  “Hot chocolate and preserves. You smell delicious, in fact.”

  “Bet I taste pretty good too.”

  “Yes, you probably do,” Augustus agreed. Elias could feel him drawing closer.

  “I never did find out why you smelled of bread when I first met you,” Elias murmured.

  “Rented an attic room from a baker,” Augustus said. “I baked in the mornings to earn my keep. He gave me free trimmings too.”

  “You mean to tell me you did honest work?”

  Augustus cupped Elias’s chin. “Only man I ever held up was you, gorgeous.”

  “You speak in jest, I presume.”

  “No.”

  Elias jerked his head away. “Then you’re lying, you shit, because you told me you were after a prize that time you disappeared for four days.”

  Augustus sighed. “I was being poetic.”

  “You?” Elias scoffed.

  “Fine, deliberately cryptic.”

  “Are you going to explain yourself?”

  “Not yet, but I will. Eventually. Just know I would never, ever, hold up anyone but you.”

  “I’m flattered.” Elias was strangely satisfied by the idea. Augustus was Elias’s highwayman, and his alone. He reached for him.

  “Eli, I…” Augustus took Elias’s hand and kissed his knuckles, breathing deeply.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Elias smiled. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

  Augustus laughed. “Do you need to ask?”

  “What about that kiss I ‘owe’ you?”

  Augustus dropped Elias’s hand. “You don’t have to,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I was being flirtatious.”

  “What if I wanted to?”

  There was a very long silence. “I wouldn’t object.”

  Elias felt along the floor until he touched the empty platter, then shoved it out of the way. He got on all fours and made a tentative move toward Augustus.

  “You’re going to have to help me find the right place,” Elias said.

  “Oh my God,” Augustus murmured. “Is this real?”

  “Get your cock out so I can kiss it, you fucking fop,” Elias snapped.

  “Jesus Christ on a cross, it is real.”

  There was a rustling, as though Augustus was unbuttoning his trousers, and then Augustus wove a hand through Elias’s hair.

  “Here,” Augustus said, drawing Elias’s head forward and down. “It’s… You’re almost…there.”

  Elias’s lips grazed something warm and smooth. Augustus’s cock.

  “Hm, that wasn’t much of a kiss now, was it?” Elias asked. “Let me try again.” He propped up Augustus’s cock, which was not as firm as he had ever felt it, but getting there, and kissed the tip after a few misses. “How’s that?”


  Augustus cleared his throat. “I have an idea,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Actually, it was Lulu’s idea,” Augustus said, naming Emily’s best friend, who was also a whore. “She mentioned it when I asked her about kissing.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “What if I put my cock in your mouth?”

  “What, inside?” Elias demanded. What an idea.

  “Er, never mind. It’s a stupid thought.”

  Elias parted his lips and slid Augustus’s cock into his mouth until it bumped the back of his throat. Augustus gasped and seized Elias by the hair.

  “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Augustus yelled.

  Elias gagged, spilling drool everywhere. He pulled away, wiping his mouth. “Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

  “I think so,” Augustus said, breathless. “But I think you’re supposed to do it slower, and just kind of slide along and back…well, that’s what Lulu said, anyway. She explained how I’d do it to you.”

  “All in due course,” Elias muttered. “But am I supposed to get you off this way?”

  “Yes. I think you use your mouth the way you used your hand, before. You know?”

  “I’m starting to understand.”

  Augustus touched Elias’s chin, beckoning him forward. “Care to try again?”

  “Fucking sod,” Elias said, but he took Augustus’s cock in his mouth and tried again.

  Elias did not manage to get Augustus off that morning before his jaw started to ache, but he did get them both hard and hot. It was a good start.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later, Augustus said he needed to go to the post office.

  “Who’s writing you?” Elias asked, sitting up. He could not imagine who might know Augustus had relocated to Kitwick. Elias had thought Augustus had no one.

  “A barrister in London.”

  “A barrister! What on earth for? How could you possibly afford a barrister?”

  “You’re a bit disheveled,” Augustus said, ignoring Elias’s question. “Here, let me do your cravat.”

  “I can do my own cravat,” Elias snapped automatically. If Augustus had meant to distract him, he had succeeded.

  “Stop being a princess. I’m offering to do your cravat not because I don’t think you can, but because I want to do it. My mother used to tie my father’s cravat for him. It’s a sign of affection.”