Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “An' what if I wanted you, luv?”

  Flustered, she turned reluctantly, revealing distaste on her features. “I didn't mean—you did not stop this coach for me.”

  “You want me to be killin' the earl, then?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Are ye in love with 'im?”

  “Of course not!”

  “That's good,” he responded, in that same, mild light tone. “Then it won't break your lovely 'eart when I put a bullet in 'is, ay?”

  She looked at him fully. “Wouldn't you prefer to just—rob him? Isn't that what highwaymen—what you—do?”

  “'E's got naught on 'im to tempt me, luv. And I really think I must rid the earth o' the likes o' 'im.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Allisandra reached around her neck, pulling forth a purse that hung on a gold chain from beneath her cloak and dress.

  “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Take it all. I daresay there's something in it will tempt you, and enough, I trust, to move upon you to spare the earl's life.” She couldn’t keep the annoyance from her voice. He gave a little smile and took it gingerly, feeling its weight.

  “This is a generous offer,” he said, “an' you'd be willin' to give it all, eh, luv?”

  “Certainly. I care nothing for money,” she replied, disdainfully.

  Again the small smile. “That's only because you've got it, luv, ay?”

  That was a startling thought. Perhaps it was even true. Before she could say another word, to her surprise, he took the purse and placed it back in her hands.

  “It's not your purse I be wantin', luv.” He patted his lap. “Come an' sit on Johnny's lap, then.” She gave a small gasp--and ignored him. He patted his lap again, invitingly. “Don' be frightened, luv, I won't hurt you.”

  “I am not frightened,” she replied, but her voice wavered just a little. “I shan't sit on your lap!”

  “Now, what are ye thinkin'?” he asked, in a reproving tone. “I'm only wantin' a little kiss from ye, luv; P'raps I'm wonderin' if the 'ice princess,' (so he knew about that, too!) is not made of warmer stuff, after all.”

  When she still ignored him, he added, in a stronger tone, “We'll make it a trade, then. A kiss for a man's life; 'tis more than fair.” She seemed unconvinced.

  “An' what could be troublin' you about a kiss, eh? You surely don't believe it will mar your mighty virtue.” There was a hint of resentment in his words, and she eyed him curiously. “Does a kiss mar the virtue of a good woman? I put the question to you,” he said, in his light but compelling tone. When she was silent, he added, “Can you really think it so?”

  “Yes!” She had to defend her stance. “Yes if—if--”

  “No! It does not, it cannot.” Suddenly there was a great deal more feeling in his voice. He continued, “And therefore I give it to you, that you are bound by duty and honour to fulfill my simple request, as I give you a man's life in return!”

  She looked at him doubtfully, and made no move to comply.

  “Indeed.” He went to the door and opened it enough to shout, “Kill the earl!”

  “Wait! No! I beg you!” She was shocked, thinking he had only been in jest. When he looked back at her expectantly, she added, “I will …comply…with your request.”

  He cried, out the door, “Change that! Don't kill anyone!” He came and sat beside her once again. “Is it a trade, then?”

  She eyed him narrowly. “Do you like to kiss so well that you must hazard a man's life to do it?”

  “No, luv;” He gave her a lopsided, boyish smile. “I hazard a man's life so you will do it. Now, if you please,” and he again patted his lap. Allisandra glanced at the spot, knowing she could never in a thousand lifetimes bring herself to sit there. So she did the only thing she could bring herself to do, moving her head infinitesimally towards his, turning herself, eyes closed, to face him. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears—she’d never been kissed in her life!

  He smiled at the sight, and then seized the opportunity, though gently enough not to alarm her over much, and, after slowly touching his lips to hers, moved her himself upon his lap. She had feared some kind of brutality, and, though she was frightened when he took hold of her, found that she’d been mistaken. Indeed, he took every effort of displaying gentleness, and Allisandra found herself feeling almost disarmed.

  Almost.

  He stopped and looked into her eyes. “I asked for a kiss.”

  She blinked, speechless for a moment. “And is this….not…a kiss?” She felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “Nay, ‘tisn’t.” He paused, and her heart pounded in her chest. He was holding her in his arms, she was still upon his lap, and there was something downright cozy about it. How disconcerting! But what did he mean?

  “I am kissing you, luv, ‘tis true. But you aren’t kissing me.”

  She let out a breath of exasperation. And was instantly tongue-tied. “Does that---I mean, what’s the difference?”

  “There is a great deal of difference,” he said, still looking deeply into her eyes.

  Allisandra opened her mouth to protest. She was out of her element and couldn’t possibly kiss a stranger, but truth be told, she was more embarrassed than harassed. But no sooner did she open her mouth enough to protest, than he lowered his again upon it. He was in no hurry, as if he wanted to savor every second. Allisandra tried not to squirm but couldn’t stay this way! Just when she went to push away from him, he withdrew his mouth after closing the kiss with a lingering pressure.

  “You're an angel!” he uttered, and she marveled at the words. He seemed to mean them. Did all men really get elated after a kiss? It amused her and she smiled, which was a mistake, for he pulled her close again, moving his lips from her mouth to her cheek, to her forehead. She froze, but there wasn’t a touch from his mouth that did not seem to say, ‘thank you!’ as it brushed her skin. He kissed her again—for no more than a minute perhaps, but it was the most intriguing minute of Allisandra’s life. It had to stop!

  Once more she pulled away, but somehow he kept at her, placing little light kisses on her face again and again. He trailed to her neck and she stiffened, and he returned instantly to her mouth, kissing her yet once more. She shoved away from him and moved over on the seat. She was trembling, and her heart raced.

  “There now, you have had your kiss, and more than one!”

  “I hadn’t quite done,” he said, sounding disappointed, almost child-like.

  “We had an agreement!” She glanced towards the window, and his eyes followed. He stood up and snuffed the interior lamp with his fingers, which looked painful. “No one is watching us, luv, if that is your fear,” he said.

  “That is not my fear!” He sat right up against her and began dragging her to himself. Despite only a weak shaft of moonlight filtering in through the trees, she could make out his eyes behind the slits, and they fell to the region of her lips.

  “I insist you keep your word! A kiss for a man’s life.”

  He paused. His brow rose. “Very well,” and he lowered his head, but she stopped him again.

  “You’ve had your kiss!”

  “I want another.” He said it as though it should be obvious and understandable.

  “You can’t have it!”

  He paused again, his head hanging over hers as he considered his next move.

  He spoke slowly. “Then I must steal it. Will you force me to do so?”

  “Can I prevent you?”

  “No.”

  A lump rose in her throat and her eyes glistened for a moment with an unshed tear. But he kissed them away. And it felt affectionate, not at all like a highwayman’s kiss ought to feel. But then, how could she judge what it should feel like? All she knew was he was gentle, if persistent, and that his manner made her feel…appreciated. Wondrous strange.

  She felt certain she did not know this man, and so how could he, a stranger, care for her? And yet/, he had recognized her/. That must be the reason
for his tenderness. He was probably a lowly courtier who augmented his income through this dark trade! He had seen Allisandra from afar, perhaps, but had not braved an introduction. This was the best explanation she could devise while she lost her senses to his warm embraces. But no matter how warmly he kissed her, or however much he would allay her fears, she would never give her heart to such a man.

  He continued his soft caresses to her face whenever he gave up her lips, and now he just took her to himself and held her against him. Allisandra, in a sort of daze, suffered him to do so. She was fighting a mixture of emotions. A part of her was repulsed—or should have been. He was a ruffian, a highwayman! Another part was astonished. Even his smell, she had to acknowledge, was of clean linen and, more faintly, a man’s perfume. But nothing that reeked of a low life—yet he had held up their coach and was even now threatening a man's life. It was befuddling!

  She had witnessed the King dallying with one of his mistresses in full view of the court, and had been ashamed for him. Now she felt ashamed of herself. The man who held her in his arms was whispering compliments in her ear, and she felt little desire to stop him. Horrified at herself, she pulled away and scrambled from his lap.

  Just then, from outside the coach, they heard, “Melord! 's lordship's mightily concerned, by the look o' 'is eyes, at what's 'appening in this 'ere coach, melord, beggin' your lordship's pardon!”

  “A pox upon 'im!” cried the man with Allisandra, softly. “Step outside, if ye would be so good, luv, and let the old bellows see that you ain't been ravished.”

  Allisandra did so, replacing the hood over her head for the cold. She felt an excitement at being out of the coach, and went in the earl's direction. Her legs felt light and it took a moment for her to realize that her head felt light also. But when she saw the earl, his eyes angry but holding a question, she assured him, “I am well, my lord. This highwayman appears to be something of a gentleman.” Her face was flushed, but that might have been due to the alarm and excitement which must needs accompany such an event as being set upon by a highwayman, and the earl grew calmer. Her eyes looked compassionately at him, for he appeared to be very uncomfortable indeed, with his hands bound behind him, his mouth gagged, and he, upon his knees on the cold ground.

  She, it was evident, had not been attacked, and showed no distress other than her high colour. She appeared in charge of herself. Certainly, she was not showing any sign of having suffered the abuses which the earl feared. She was escorted back to the coach by one of the servants, to the man who had waited behind, watching from the open door.

  When she sat down again, she just looked at him in curiosity. She was feeling mightily dazed from her first experience in a man's arms. She was no longer terrified, however, and had indeed almost forgot to be angry at all.

  He studied her, saying, “You ought not to be called an 'ice princess,' madam, and hereafter shall never be thought of as such by me.” He spoke these words in perfect accents, like any well-bred person, but Allisandra was too far removed from her usual composure to notice. Again she just looked at him. He had literally bereft her of speech. He tilted his head, realizing he had made an impression on her, and he stopped, startled into a smile. He was so pleased, in fact, that he came towards her to take her again into his arms, which brought a gasp of surprised protest from Allisandra. Her heart was beating strongly again, but he stared down at her face with no mirth in his eyes, and when he kissed her, she, for some reason, did not fight.

  He might just as well have cast a spell upon her, for she was enchanted. Feeling that she must know this man, that something had to account for his tender manner towards her, she took her hands and felt the contours of his face and nose beneath the mask—but it much impeded her from recognizing him. He was smiling gently, allowing her to touch him as one tolerates a child’s curiosity. She moved her hands to his hair, and—my goodness, it felt clean and soft; he truly was a nobleman, not a highwayman, he had to be! She had a thought and suddenly freed his hair from the bit of black ribbon holding it, and put her head back to see the effect. Men at court wore their hair down, and perhaps it would help her to recognize him.

  He chuckled at what she did, but then grew serious and attempted to undo the fastening of her cloak, but Allisandra cried, “No!” sharply, and he froze. She placed her hands upon his, which were still beneath her neck, and removed them. He was studying her face, as she was, his. Each saw the other only in moonlight. There was a look of something in his eyes, a look that hadn’t been there when he first entered the coach, but Allisandra could not read it.

  “I want to see your face,” she said, reaching for his mask, but he immediately prevented her, taking her arms firmly but gently and directing them back down.

  “Sorry, luv,” he said, “I can' allow that.” She sat back, disappointed, but said, “Will you tell me who you are? If I see you at court?” He was silent a moment.

  “I do not think it likely.”

  “Not likely that we shall meet at Whitehall? Or not likely that you’ll reveal your identity to me?”

  For answer he paused and then replied, “Both, perhaps.”

  “Melord! 'Tis mighty cold out 'ere, sir!”

  He hesitated. “An’ would you /want /to see me at court?”

  Allisandra could not bring herself to reply. Perhaps he read the answer in her eyes.

  Watching her closely, he said, “I leave thee unharmed and with thy purse intact. Further, I leave thee with thy honour and virtue to adorn thee as ever. Last, I leave the earl alive, and his servants, as well.” He paused. “How am I to be thanked, I wonder?”

  She studied him, taking in the mask, the fine features, the noble nose and fine mouth. It was an exceedingly fine mouth, which, because he was well and closely shaven, was more the evident. He started to pull her towards him but she exclaimed, “You forget, sir, that these are things not to be wondered at; but one should wonder were you to leave us otherwise, what the reason might be. You have stopped a gentleman and a lady at point of pistol; you have robbed the earl of his purse and a paper.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She continued, “And you have put his lordship to great distress and discomfort, as well as myself.” He tilted his head. “Are you, then, at great distress and discomfort? I had not thought so.” A little smile lit his face.

  “I am in distress. You have robbed me—of something of myself. I cannot say what, precisely, but it is something, I know it!”

  “Would it please you better,” he asked, with that little smile, “if I robbed you of your purse and left the earl for dead?”

  “No. I meant--”

  “I know what you meant, luv,” he said, bending his head down towards hers.

  “The penalty for murder is hanging,” she cried hastily, “and so I have done you a service, if, in some way, I kept you from that horrid deed.”

  “Ah, but the penalty for treason be hangin' also, milaidy, an' I'm wonderin' just what you are about bein' in the company of a traitor.”

  “A traitor! Methinks you are mistaken! Lord Weldon is no traitor. You are the outlaw here.” He paused, and pulled from his waistcoat pocket the paper which she had earlier seen him receive, which had come from the earl's waistcoat.

  “This,” he said, in a low tone, “is part of a plan against the King. Your noble friend,” he added, with a peremptory nod in the earl's direction, “is involved in a plot to remove our monarch from his throne—indeed from the earth.”

  Allisandra gasped, dumbstruck. Until she recalled that she had only this man's word upon it. The word of a highwayman.

  “Do you doubt me?” he asked, as though reading her thoughts.

  “I have only your word on it,” she responded, “unless you would like to show me the paper.”

  “You're safer not seeing it,” he answered. “And my word is that of a gentleman. You may rest upon it, what I tell you is the truth.”

  She heard and recognized the accents of perfectly normal aristocra
tic speech, this time. “Why do you speak as a highwayman—indeed, as a seaman or pirate, when one thinks upon it—when you are capable of speaking the King's English as well as any other well bred man?”

  Instead of answering her, he responded by saying, “I 'av to go, luv. Say goodbye to me, then.”

  She hesitated, not wishing to grant his request. But he had done nothing beyond kissing her—embarrassing enough to be sure, but not treacherous.

  “Goodbye.” Her eyes were serious. “Go with God!” She was surprisingly sincere in the wish.

  “To do that, you must introduce us,” he quickly responded, and then, pulling her towards him, added, 'I ain't well acquainted with that gallant, though I know you are a devotee. Keep me in your prayers, milaidy.”

  To her dismay, he kissed her again, this time going about it with more passion than he had displayed, earlier. She was well taken aback by this change of approach and merely eyed him with a dull surprise, afterwards, which, (since she hadn't attempted to escape him) he took as tacit permission to repeat the action.

  But Allisandra remembered herself enough to push away from him, saying, “You tarry too long, and the earl must think the worst of my conduct in allowing it.”

  “Then I'll shoot 'im,” he responded.

  “No! No. Is that the only means you can devise to solve your problems?”

  “Nay; but it's the least troublesome. In addition to which, he is a filthy traitor.”

  “Good night, my lord highwayman,” she said, trying to sound firm.

  “Good night, my lady,” he returned, with a smile for both of them.

  “Who are you?” she asked, hardly above a whisper.

  “I am an 'ighwayman, luv.”

  “Methinks you are not. You strike me as a courtier, sir. A mysterious courtier.”

  “I am an 'ighwayman, tonight.”

  “A mystery, more like.”

  “An' do ye wish to be my unraveling?” He smiled, then stood and bowed politely, removing his hat in a sweeping gesture.

  “Until we meet again, my lady.” He swept out of the coach and into the dark night.

  Allisandra wondered if she would be left alone there or what was to happen to her. Just then she heard the sounds of a man climbing onto the driver's perch. The horses had long been stamping their feet and snorting in impatience, but now were finally to be allowed to pull the coach. Then the door opened, and it was him. His hair was still down, and it waved in well-cared for glossy locks about his face, reminding Allisandra strongly of the King's appearance. But then, many men had such hair and in that style, for it was simply the fashion.