"I cannot leave you!"
"Run if you can. You must!"
Suddenly the door to the coach was wrenched open and a lantern thrust into the darkness. Eliza and Rebecca clung to each other, staring at the man standing outside. His horse stood behind him, snickering to itself.
"Where's Jake, you... barbarian!" Eliza said, voice shaking.
"Your wonderfully loyal manservant's just legged it."
"Legged it?"
"Run off. Scarpered. Raced away with nary a goodbye. What a brave man." The highwayman peered in and Eliza studied his face. It was hard to judge his age. He had the unlined skin of a man in his twenties but a look around his eyes that suggested he had seen much. He was clean shaven, with straight black hair and narrow angles to his face. He didn't smile in the polite way of the gentlemen in London – he grinned like a rough sort, but spoke with the vowels of a Lord.
"Now, good ladies, I must relieve you of your possessions." He tilted the lantern to shine the light all around the interior, illuminating the rich fabrics of their dresses. Eliza saw the glint reflect on the jewels around Rebecca's throat, and knew her own necklace would be equally tempting. "Fine ladies, both! My compliments to your ... husbands."
Rebecca frowned and Eliza sneered. He caught their expressions and guessed, "But only one of you is married perhaps." Rebecca looked down but Eliza kept her eyes on his. He nodded. "Don't worry. I'm here to take nothing but your money."
Rebecca threw her arm around Eliza but Eliza didn't respond. She took him at his word, and felt immediately – and irrationally – safer. "We have no money," she said, tossing her head. "Yes we have some cheap jewellery. That's all we have. Would you rob my sister of her inheritance and me of my few trinkets?"
"Ahh," he said, still grinning. "But such a fair beauty as yourself has no need of shiny pretty things. So I'd be doing you a service by relieving you of them!"
His dark eyes twinkled as he stretched out his hand. Eliza looked at him with as much fake scorn as she could muster. "I will not hand them over willingly. And I think you are too much the gentleman to try and take them from my own body with force!"
"Eliza!" Rebecca choked out. "Stop that!" Rebecca started to scrabble at own necklace with her free hand. "Give the ruffian what he wants, and we can be away."
"How? Will you drive the coach?" Eliza pulled Rebecca's hand away to stop her unlatching her jewels.
The highwayman interrupted them. "I've no doubt your man will be back with a slavering pack of villagers and pitchforks quite soon. You're probably safer with me than with them, to be frank. Now, about this money and so forth. Just the necklace from each of you. That will suffice. Have you not heard of St Audrey?"
"Who?"
Rebecca dug Eliza in the ribs to warn her from talking but Eliza was curious. All fear had gone.
"St Audrey," the man explained. "Some tiresome nun who developed a massive canker of some sort on her neck. Apparently it was a punishment from god for her habit of wearing necklaces in her youth. So you see, it's yet another service I do for you!"
"It must be fun, being a highwayman," Eliza blurted. She hadn't even thought she was going to speak until the words dropped from her mouth. Rebecca drew in her breath sharply. Even the robber looked somewhat startled.
"Well, it beats working on a ship or toadying at court."
"You've done those things?" Eliza was intrigued. Here was a man who'd travelled. Who'd lived. He was interesting.
When he met her eyes this time, he held her gaze, and a shiver ran down her spine. He was looking at her as a person for the first time. She grinned at him as widely as he had been smiling. "If I'd been born a man, I'd be a highwayman too," she said with conviction and Rebecca shook her arm hard. "Eliza, now stop it!"
The highwayman took a step backwards, and bowed with a low flourish. "Madame and Miss, it has been a pleasure conversing with you. Alas our time draws to an end. I will leave you with your jewels. You've amused me. Good night."
He melted backwards with the lantern, throwing his cloak over it once he was mounted on his horse. The night swallowed him.
Rebecca continued to hang onto Eliza's arm, speechless. As the highwayman trotted away in one direction, hooves from a posse of horses approached from another. They heard Jake call out to them.
"We're here!" Eliza shouted in reply. Torches and lanterns became visible. Soon Jake's crumpled face was thrust into the coach.
"Misses, misses, are you unharmed?" Jake had been in the family's service for a long time. He was ancient, and to him, both Rebecca and Eliza would be forever small girls.
"Oh, we're fine," Eliza answered breezily. "He's gone. He didn't touch us, and he didn't take anything."
There was a murmur of surprise around the armed men who'd come to their aid. It took some explaining, and Eliza felt that they still didn't quite understand. Eventually their journey was underway again. Rebecca was silent for a while.
Finally, she spoke. "You know what, Eliza? They all think of just one reason why that man did not take our jewels."
"What reason?"
"That he took ... from us instead."
"How do you mean?"
Rebecca sighed and spoke quickly. "Your maidenhead. And my duty that I owe only to my husband. That's what they all think. We bartered with something only a woman can barter with."
"Oh."
Far from being shocked and appalled, Eliza sank into thought. She'd accepted her femininity as a curse until now. She'd never thought of herself as possessing attributes worth enough they could be objects of trade. How interesting.
The Lady Jacqueline was indeed indolent and fleshy. She and Rebecca settled down together and began interminably long, dull conversations about housemaids and poultices and what Mr so-and-so said to the Reverend blah-di-blah, and Eliza felt herself going insane with boredom before the first day was over.
She knew, from the sideways looks Rebecca shot at her, from below a furrowed brow, that she was acting ungrateful. She'd never asked to come here, though; she'd never wanted to leave London. She couldn't remember a time when her own wishes were ever taken into account. She was a daughter and she went where she was told. Until she was wed. When it seemed she would continue to be bossed about, this time by a stranger.
She seized the chance that evening to go for a walk. Dark was falling early but the autumn air was warm and she had a clear hour before they dined. She dressed well, with stout boots and her cloak, and headed into the rolling countryside.
The house was set in parkland which was edged on two sides by farms and fields. Eliza took the other way, out onto the heaths. The scrubby hills were grazed by skinny sheep and dotted with twisted trees, where the poorer sorts would scrabble for firewood and hunt rabbits if they dared.
She followed a path which came out onto a lonely road that wound an erratic path towards a town some twenty miles distant. She turned and could still see the lights of the house behind her, and that made her feel safe. Above, the moon was nearly full and she could follow the light stone of the road quite well, so she pressed on.
It was so freeing to be away from the house and the people with their tight laced corsets and carefully laced smiles. She took long, unladylike strides and let her arms swing freely. Still she felt an invisible thread tied to her back, connecting her to the house and family, and it made her shoulder blades itch with resentment.
The road curled upwards, disappearing behind a stand of trees and she resolved to reach the summit, then turn around and head back for home. The hill was suddenly steep and she powered up, head down, lifting her skirts clear of her kicking feet. So it was that she didn’t notice the waiting horseman until she was ten feet away from him. She stopped abruptly, breathing hard with effort, and wondering why he wasn't moving. He seemed to be watching her.
The horse was a hunter type, with broad black chest and a solid, patient way of standing with no flighty tipping from one hoof to another. The man on his back sat with equal calmness.
She could make out shapes in the gloom; a wide brimmed hat, a cloak, square shoulders.
"Good evening, sir," she said boldly. She had no idea of his social class but he could afford a decent horse, and there was no harm in being polite to everyone.
"Good evening, mistress," he called back, pressing his heels to the horse and urging it forwards a few steps.
As he drew level, he peered down at Eliza. She saw his face more clearly, and they both smiled in recognition of each other at almost the same moment.
"The robber!" she said and he laughed.
"Gentleman thief, if you would. Highwayman will do. Robber sounds so…base."
"Mr Highwayman then…do you have a name?"
"I do apologise. May I present…Christopher Fletcher, at your service. Kit, to my friends. And the dreadful broadsheets. Sometimes, I am the Notorious Kit Fletcher."
"How very exciting! To be notorious…"
"Alas, it's not so pleasant for a lady to be labelled notorious," he said with a shake of his head. Eliza wasn't entirely sure what he meant but she could understand the general implication.
"Ahh." She accepted his proffered hand. "Eliza Du Marron."
"Oh! Du Marron's daughter? Well, had I known, I could have had my fill of money from you last night, and barely made a dent in that old goat's coffers. How lucky you are."
Eliza wondered if that were true. The way her papa was with money, it seemed as if he had none at all, so frightened was he of spending it.
Though maybe that's why he had so much.
"I am glad you took nothing," she said. "I would hate to have had to defend myself."
"You'd have fought me?" he laughed with delight. "With what hope of winning?"
"That's not the point. I would perchance die, but die knowing I did all I could for my honour and name. Like a man."
The highwayman roared with laughter then, tipping his head back and slapping his thigh with his gloved hand, and Eliza felt a red heat of anger flush her face. She hated to be mocked. She knotted her hands into fists and turned around to leave.
"Wait – wait. I am sorry. And to be fair, I have witnessed women fighting and it's not very pretty. They can be vicious. I've seen men bested. Though generally alcohol is involved."
Eliza turned back to face him. "Women fighting? Where?"
"Taverns, and low places, generally. Not gentlewomen. Or at least, some may have been...once."
Eliza felt a thrill shoot along her spine. "I have never been in a tavern."
"Of course you haven't. Why should you?"
"To meet people. Interesting people. Interesting men."
"Men?" Kit leaned down towards her. "We men are a strange lot, and not to be trusted."
"I've heard that said of women."
"True, true. So, Miss Eliza, what's on the horizon for you? Marriage planned? Some dreadful, bloated old landowner perhaps? Is that why you're running wild on the hills, seeking out... interesting men... to gain experience, maybe? Before you encounter an old whig's bed?"
Eliza's mouth dropped open as the fury was swept away by sheer indignation. "Sir!" she blurted. "You misunderstand me entirely. It is not so much the maleness of the men I am interested in... as their... it's not... I mean. Oh. It's just not that, you see!"
"Not their maleness? What do you want?" His flirting tone had been replaced by genuine interest.
"Adventure."
"Oh well then... I may be merely a man, but adventure I can certainly provide! Shall we ride?"
"Ride...?"
Kit shifted backwards on his saddle. "You would fit up here." He reached out his arms to her, and Eliza reacted without thinking.
"Yes."
He hauled her up, her legs scrabbling in a slightly undignified manner as he dragged her up onto the pommel. She tried to hitch her leg up around as if she were riding side saddle, but there wasn't enough purchase and she slid around.
"You'll have to go legs akimbo," Kit said with apology. "Still. It's an adventure, yes?"
Eliza knew she couldn't refuse anything now, for fear of looking daft. So she hitched up her skirts and let her legs dangle either side of the horse. It felt extremely transgressional to have bare legs. Bare legs pressed against the leather of Kit's boots. Something shifted in her belly, and a strange warmth bloomed. There was most certainly something sinful in all this, but she wasn't sure what. And if she couldn't put a name to it, she couldn't really be blamed, could she?
Kit wrapped one strong arm around her waist and took up the reins with the other hand. She felt his legs flex as he urged the horse forwards.
No man that was not of her family had ever touched her.
No man had ever touched her like this.
The arm around her was unlike the hug of a female friend or the rough and tumble of the childhood play with her cousins. This was a man's arm, strong and sure. This, perhaps, was part of the secret of maleness. She quivered, and pushed the thoughts aside.
"Are you ready?" Kit breathed in her ear, and that was another new sensation that sent her belly roiling.
"Ready for what?"
"This." And they leapt forward, the hunter breaking through a rough trot and quickly into a smooth and rolling canter as they hurtled alongside the road, taking the smoother way of the cropped green grass. Eliza squeaked and grabbed the pommel with both hands, but there was no danger of falling while she was held by Kit, and she found she had to relax and curve her body back along his to maintain her balance.
The wind in her eyes made them water and she gasped with the exhilaration. In the half-light, they felt as if they were travelling twice as fast as they were. Kit's body was hard and muscular, and fitted around her like a protective carapace. The rocking motion was doing odd things to her secret place, the place between her legs that no-one had ever given her a word for. She felt damp, and she wondered if she should worry, except everything felt just so wonderful.
Impulsively, Eliza let go of the pommel with her right hand, and clamped it around the hand that Kit had on her waist. As soon as she had done so, she regretted her boldness, but she could hardly change her mind now. So she left it there, holding onto his gloved wrist. She'd made a move – touched a man – and the world hadn't ended.
Her confidence rose.
They thundered through the night, up over the lonely heath, and a yell of delight bubbled up through Eliza and she shouted out loud.
"Enjoying this?" Kit hollered in her ear.
"I love it!" she whooped back.
"How about another new adventure?" he shouted. "Are you thirsty? Would you like to go to a tavern?"
A vision of the Lady Jacqueline and her husband waiting at the dinner table flashed through Eliza's mind. She crushed it. She'd explain she had been ill.
"Yes!"
They left the sweating horse in the stables under the care of a slight boy. Outside the inn, Kit stripped off his gloves and took Eliza's small hands in his large, warm ones. At the touch of his skin she felt a blush over her cheeks, and she looked down.
"No, look up," he ordered. "Walk in here with me with confidence. Act what you don't feel, and the feeling will come anyway. Trust me. Walk as if you own it. Well, your father probably does own it."
At the mention of papa, Eliza threw back her head, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder with a shake. Kit was right. She'd walk in with the arrogance she was born to. "Lead on."
"Ahh no," Kit said with a glint, "after you, my lady."
She flashed him a dark look and accepted his challenge. Her heart was hammering but she sashayed past the highwayman and through the low door into a scene of noise, colour and strange bitter smells.
Some heads turned but many did not. People were wrapped up in their own little dramas. She paused, looking about, wondering where she was supposed to go now. Kit came up behind her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It should have been an imposition, but she let it rest there. "We'll find a booth," he whispered in her ear, and walked her forwards to the
bar where a tall, thin, red-faced man with no hair at all was serving ale.
The barman nodded at Kit and then waved him to the far end of the crowded room. Kit raised a hand in acknowledgement and steered Eliza through the bodies. "Josiah's a good man. I come here frequently."
"With many ladies?"
"Oh, women yes. Not so many ladies such as yourself, though. In fact, you're probably the first."
"Probably?" Eliza wondered what the sharp nudge in her stomach was. Surely not jealousy – she didn't know this man. And who would be interested in a man who hadn't had experience of women? Women weren't allowed to have experience. So the man had to have. Or else wedding nights would be... well, Eliza thought she roughly understood the mechanics, and she felt sure at least one of the parties would have to know what they were doing.
Kit ignored her barbed comment. They found a table in a booth that was enclosed on three sides, and close to the wide inglenook fireplace. It was hot from the flames and Eliza soon slid out of her cloak, and Kit took his coat off. He was dressed in a white linen shirt and simple dark blue sleeveless jerkin, like a common labourer. He smiled at her horror.
"You've just ridden over the moors with a known... robber... and allowed him to bring you into a drinking den, and you're shocked that I'm improperly dressed? You'd be happier if I were in a decent doublet?"
Eliza grinned at her own snobbery, and shook her head ruefully. "Ahh yes, the look of the thing... this is all very strange, but the further I stray, the easier it gets."
A woman brought two leather jacks of ale to the table. She, too, was not dressed for polite society – her breasts were positively straining to escape from her inadequate bodice. Eliza tried not to stare as she leaned far over the table, quite deliberately giving them both an eyeful of creamy flesh.
Kit slapped the doxy's rump and sent her away with a coin.
"Shameless, isn't she?" he said, loud enough for her to hear and wiggle her ample behind in response.
Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales Page 16
