The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

  “That’s bullocks. They’ve arrested Bess. She’s supposed to be the highwayman-murderer’s sweetheart, after all.”

  “Bess?”

  “Yes. Excuse me.” Elias resumed his walk, wishing he could do so in a more dignified manner. Now that he knew what it was to walk upright independently with a cane, he was self-conscious of his halting lope.

  “Wait!” Augustus cried. He rode at Elias’s side. “Where are you going?”

  “To Mr. Sweeton’s,” Elias muttered above the tlot-tlot of hooves.

  “Why?”

  “To pleasure him at last in hopes he’ll let my sister go for her apparent collusion with a notorious highwayman and murderer.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Elias stopped and stamped his foot in fury; Augustus’s horse shifted in agitation. “What would you have me do, you fucking imbecile? Allow my sister to be taunted and harassed by a hoard of rabid militiamen until God knows when? Possibly imprisoned? Raped? Executed?” When Augustus did not respond, Elias gave a snort of disgust. “I knew you’d be useless. Now go save your skin and fuck off across the ocean, or by God I’ll make you rue the day you first stripped me naked.”

  He walked half a mile alone before he heard Augustus’s horse close behind him again.

  “Wait,” Augustus called. His horse stopped, and Elias heard his boots hit the frozen ground. Augustus jogged to catch up to him, horse in tow, for Elias kept walking. “Wait. You can’t do it alone.”

  “What, bed Mr. Sweeton? I’m sure I can. But maybe a second man will be to his liking. You’re supposed to be pretty, after all. He likes pretty-boys.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You don’t need to let him exploit you to save your sister.”

  “Really? Because I think that’s all I have in my favor at the moment.”

  “Eli!” Augustus grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “You’re not listening to me!” He gasped. Then, softer, “What did they do to you?” He must not have noticed Elias’s wounds in the dark before they were so close. Elias turned his face from him.

  “They beat me with my cane because I tried to stop them dragging Bess away.”

  “They beat a blind man?” Augustus sounded crushed.

  “Yes, and you robbed one. Thrice. Don’t you act all high and mighty.”

  “I thought you liked that I treated you as I would anyone else.”

  It was true. Elias had liked it. But this was obviously different. He yanked his arms free. “Good day, Mr. Westwood.”

  “Mr. Westwood,” Augustus echoed under his breath. Then, louder, “I’ll help you free Bess. This is all my fault. It’s the least I can do.”

  Elias stood where he was, conflicted. He had no desire to bed Mr. Sweeton, and he did not know whether that would be enough to have Bess liberated, anyway. But he did not want to feel as though he owed Augustus.

  “What do you propose?”

  “Well, where is she?”

  “At the inn. I can only assume they’ve tied up or killed our father and done God knows what to Bess upstairs.”

  “We need some sort of distraction. Something to get the redcoats out of the inn so we can get to Bess.”

  “There’s a lifetime supply of ale in there. I can’t see them leaving it willingly.”

  “We’ll have to make a distraction. A riot, a fire, something.”

  “I keep telling everyone, Kitwick doesn’t have enough people for a riot, you fatwit.”

  “We could wait until they’ve all passed out drunk, I suppose?”

  “So you mean after they’ve raped my sister?”

  “Oh.”

  “And we’ll need to get Mr. Sweeton out of the picture still,” Elias added.

  “Any ideas?”

  “I can get him to put his guard down. I won’t be able to fight him, but if you came in when I gave the signal, then you could probably take care of him. Tie him up or something. He’s big, but you’d have the element of surprise and weapons, presumably.”

  “I don’t think I like that idea.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part where you do something to distract him.”

  “Tough.”

  “Eli.” Augustus sounded like he was in pain.

  “Shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Augustus sighed. “It’s just…it’s dangerous. What if he figures out what you’re up to?”

  “Listen, you cowardly little shit,” Elias said, vibrating with rage. “My twin is under house arrest. I have no idea how much time she has before half a dozen drunken redcoats do something stupid to her, if they haven’t already. I would bed all the men in Kitwick if I thought it would get her out unscathed.”

  “Fine. All right,” Augustus said eventually. “Do what you have to. I’ll be there. What’s the signal, and how do I get into his house?”

  “It’s his aunt’s house. She sleeps in the room next to Mr. Sweeton’s, so whatever we do, we’ll need to be quiet.” Thank goodness he had gone there for tea a few times so he knew the layout well. “That is, if she’s not out visiting a friend. She’s a terrible gossip so it’s a possibility. The rooms are above the shop. My signal will be opening the bedroom window. If I drop my hair ribbon, it means his aunt’s away. When you see a top floor window open, it means come in as quickly as possible.”

  He thought he heard Augustus swallow.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  They continued walking in silence until Augustus took a deep breath.

  “You know, it’s only by chance I heard about what was happening here. I passed an old man and woman and they were talking about a raid in Kitwick. Thought it was romantic, the idiots. I almost fell off my horse I grew so faint.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I just think you ought to know, I care very deeply about you and the idea of any harm coming to you—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Can you stop being a bitchy prat for half a second and—”

  “No.”

  “The only reason you’re upset is because you care too. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t have hurt for me to leave.”

  “Obviously.”

  “So, I’m back.”

  “Only because you thought an innocent was going to suffer for your sins. At least you’re not completely amoral.”

  “I didn’t kill the Joneses!”

  “But you still left in the first place, you nasal-voiced rake.”

  “Because I was going to be killed if they found me!”

  Elias said nothing.

  “Oh,” Augustus said, sounding deflated. “It’s because I didn’t take you with me.”

  “You’re so clever.”

  “You wouldn’t do well living a fugitive life.”

  “You could just as easily say you didn’t want me with you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Actions speak louder than words.”

  Augustus produced a sound that was halfway between a snarl and a sob. It alarmed Elias, but he tried his best not to react.

  “You’re driving me mad!” Augustus yelled.

  “Likewise!” Elias spat.

  “I’m sorry! All right? I’m sorry! It was a mistake!”

  “Stow it, Westwood. You’re giving me a headache.”

  Augustus did not accompany Elias to the garden gate, which he traversed alone while Augustus circled around the back of the house. Elias stumbled up the steps of Mrs. John Rowan’s, licked his lips nervously, and knocked.

  An agonizing minute later, Mr. Sweeton opened the door.

  “Mr. Burgess,” he said softly. “I was wondering if I would see you tonight. What’s happened to your beautiful face?”

  “Your men beat me,” Elias said, aiming his face at Mr. Sweeton’s candle. He felt tears of pain well in his eyes. Good. He needed to look pathetic now, as he knew Mr. Sweeton would like. “It was terrible.”

  “Good God, the brutes. I told them not to harm you. Come inside
.” Elias let Mr. Sweeton pull him over the threshold and into Mrs. John Rowan’s shop, then close the door behind them. He was in the belly of the beast.

  “Come to the kitchen,” Mr. Sweeton said, leading Elias through the shop. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Mr. Sweeton deposited Elias in a chair in the middle of the kitchen where he poured the still-warm water from his tea kettle onto a cloth which he used to wipe at Elias’s face.

  “It doesn’t look broken,” Mr. Sweeton murmured as he pressed along the length of Elias’s nose. “Though it was bloodied. And you’ve a nasty cut and bruise over your eye.” He pressed the cloth to Elias’s wound, and Elias hissed in pain. “You should heal beautiful as ever,” Mr. Sweeton said, sounding guilty.

  Elias knew the sooner they were upstairs, the better. He took hold of Mr. Sweeton’s hand at his brow, then pulled his fingers to his mouth and kissed them.

  “Mr. Burgess—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sweeton,” Elias whispered, and kissed his fingertips again. He fought the urge to gag. “You have been so kind to one who has been so unfair to you.”

  Mr. Sweeton cleared his throat. “Oh no, you haven’t.”

  “You were nothing but noble, and I was so beastly, humiliating you and casting aside your affection as though it was meaningless, when I knew, I always knew, the admiration of a man such as you is a very rare thing indeed.”

  Mr. Sweeton drew a deep, wavering breath. “Am I to believe, Mr. Burgess, you do not feel the way you once professed to feel? Or rather, you know what you feel now?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Sweeton, I feel such admiration it makes my heart swell and the breath…the breath catch in my throat. I have been sleepless some time now, thinking of you, of how kind and strong and good you are.” Elias bowed his head and turned it to the light of the flame again, shedding tears anew. “I was a stupid child.”

  Elias felt fingers at the back of his neck drawing his head up and forward. “Mr. Burgess, may I kiss you?”

  “Yes, please, yes.”

  They kissed, and Elias invited Mr. Sweeton’s hot tongue into his mouth and drew Mr. Sweeton’s eager hands to his waist.

  “God, boy, where did you learn to kiss like that?” Mr. Sweeton asked before drawing them together in another kiss, his grip on Elias’s waist tightening.

  “I imagined you,” Elias said, taking Mr. Sweeton’s thick hair in his hands as he thought of Augustus. “Oh, Mr. Sweeton…Mr. Sweeton, I am so embarrassed.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I…” Elias dropped his hands and turned his face away.

  “What, Mr. Burgess?”

  Elias let the candle’s flame do its work. “I want you, Mr. Sweeton, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in this life.”

  “Christ,” Mr. Sweeton moaned, and kissed a tear from Elias’s cheek. “I could never deny you anything you wanted. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

  Elias reached and touched Mr. Sweeton’s abdomen, then trailed a finger down to the front of his trousers. He felt a hard bulge there and froze. While Elias was putting on a performance, Mr. Sweeton was not acting. This was very real to him. “I want that,” Elias whispered. He did not need to feign the hoarseness. He was terrified. What if Augustus did not come fast enough?

  “It’s yours,” Mr. Sweeton repeated. By the sound of it, he had sunk to his knees before Elias. “Wherever you want it, it’s yours.”

  Elias swallowed hard. “Anywhere?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “I think you know where I want it. Where a man like me would want it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then would you please give it to me?”

  “For the love of God, yes.”

  Mr. Sweeton made to undo Elias’s trousers.

  “Do you think we could go upstairs?” Elias asked, staying Mr. Sweeton’s hands.

  “Upstairs?”

  “To your room?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s our first time together. I’d like it better if…if we did it right.”

  Mr. Sweeton thought about this a few seconds. “My room’s messy. I’ve not properly unpacked yet.”

  “I won’t be able to see it.”

  “You might trip over things.”

  “Guide me.” Elias stroked the front of Mr. Sweeton’s jacket.

  “You’re different than you were before,” Mr. Sweeton said abruptly.

  Elias tried not to flinch. The suspicion in Mr. Sweeton’s voice had been strong.

  “How so?”

  “You’re not a virgin anymore, are you?”

  “I don’t even know what that word means,” Elias said, laughing nervously. “Isn’t it enough I confess I want you now?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Sweeton agreed. “That’s more than enough.”

  “So, take me to your bedroom.”

  Mr. Sweeton took Elias by the hand and led him out the kitchen, through the parlor, and up the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Upstairs, Mr. Sweeton pulled Elias into his bedroom and kissed him again, massaging Elias’s ass. Elias tried to remember to kiss him back as he panicked.

  “Mr. Sweeton, I—”

  “Say you adore me, boy, say it,” Mr. Sweeton murmured, biting Elias’s earlobe.

  “I adore you.”

  “Come now, like you mean it.” There was a sharpness to his tone.

  “But I do mean it,” Elias countered, irritated.

  Mr. Sweeton gave a bark of laughter. “You thought I didn’t know it was a ruse?” he demanded, shoving Elias hard against the wall. Elias, still panicking, tried to feign togetherness.

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Don’t lie to me. Westwood wasn’t courting Bess. He was courting you. And, by the look of things, he had you. Didn’t he?” Mr. Sweeton shook him. Elias felt dizzy. “Didn’t he?”

  Elias was trembling and breathing heavily.

  “It’s not terrible, that someone else had you before me,” Mr. Sweeton continued, his voice low. “I thought you looked like you ought to have been had a thousand times when I first met you, you were so beautiful. But that it should be him…”

  “Why is he worse than any other man?”

  “He’s a thieving rapscallion whose father ought to have left us something in his will when he died! His stingy, two-timing father is the reason I had to join the militia at all. He gave us nothing in life or in death. And then he inherited all his money and property, when he had already been disowned!”

  “You’ve got your knickers in a knot over him because of something his father did?” Elias felt his old spark return with his annoyance. Why would Augustus’s father owe Mr. Sweeton’s family anything to begin with?

  “I lost my rightful inheritance!”

  “Most of us don’t even have an inheritance, so forgive me if I’m not overly sympathetic.”

  “I could have wined and dined you properly instead of taking you on silly little strolls down the lane.”

  “Well, I’m going to wind up in your bed this way anyway, so I don’t know what you’re whinging about.”

  Mr. Sweeton took a deep breath. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he murmured. “You are here.”

  “Yes.”

  When he spoke next, his voice was hard and authoritative. “The bed is behind you. Sit.” So much for chivalry. Mr. Sweeton’s was apparently dependent on Elias’s sexual history.

  Elias put out a hand, felt the twisted blankets, and sat.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. Christ, you don’t need to pretend you’ve never done this.”

  Elias unbuttoned his jacket slowly. He needed to find a reason to get to the window.

  “We don’t have all evening. Much as I’d like to take that with you. My aunt will be home at any moment, and I told my men I’d be by the Peach and Pear after sundown. I’m late as it is.”

  “Oh, dear,” Elias said faintly. He had finished with his butt
ons, and was forced to shrug out of his jacket.

  “If you don’t go faster, I will rip your clothes.”

  “No, don’t do that. Neither of us could afford to replace them.”

  “Then hurry.”

  Elias pulled his shirt off over his head.

  “Is it just me, or is it warm in here?” Elias asked.

  “You are making me hot,” Mr. Sweeton murmured. He touched Elias’s naked chest, and Elias grabbed his wrist reflexively. It was bare.

  “Er—” He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he had not heard Mr. Sweeton remove his clothes. Was he at least wearing trousers still? Elias hoped so.

  “Take off your trousers, I want to taste you.”

  “I’m a bit warm. May I open the window?”

  “I’ll get it. You take those trousers off.”

  Elias heard Mr. Sweeton cross the room and open the window. There would be no hair ribbon for Augustus, so he would think Mrs. John Rowan was home. Oh, well. Elias hoped he devised an entry strategy quickly. Faster than Mr. Sweeton devised his, anyway.

  He was halfway out of his trousers when Mr. Sweeton pulled his boots off for him, then yanked them all the way down.

  “Mr. Sweeton—” he began.

  “This is ridiculous. Call me Charles.”

  “Right. Charles. The rapidity with which things are progressing is making me rather anxious, to be honest, and—”

  “Stop pretending you’re not some common whore.”

  Elias froze, nonplussed. “That was a very rude thing to say, Charles.”

  A pair of lips descended on his, and Elias sprawled backward over the bed, Mr. Sweeton’s muscular bulk on top of him. Elias could scarcely breathe, for there was a tongue halfway down his throat. He pushed up against Mr. Sweeton’s shoulders and succeeded in spitting out his tongue.

  “Charles,” he tried again. “There remains the matter of my sister. Do you think, after this, you could—”

  “What, have her released? Ask your beau about that. I’m not the highwayman who told Kitwick he was courting Bess Burgess.” So he would not have had her released anyway. And why had not Mr. Sweeton referred to Augustus as a murderer, and only a highwayman?

  Suddenly, Elias hoped Augustus would kill Mr. Sweeton. If he ever showed up.

  “Right. Fair enough.” There was something hard pressing against Elias’s thigh, and he tried not to think about what it was. Mr. Sweeton was definitely not wearing his trousers.