Read The Highwayman of Tanglewood Online
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
“You are he, are you not?” she asked, taking hold of his arm. To touch him unmasked at last—it was enchanting! “I will not betray your secret, Bainbridge—our secret. Surely you know I am trustworthy in that. Please confess to me now—you are the Highwayman of Tanglewood.”
Faris watched him, studied his expression as he straightened, inhaling a deep breath.
“Faris,” he began, “You must understand that I—”
“I will know without your words,” she interrupted. Her heart raced wild and frantic in her bosom. “For you once gifted me permission to kiss the man I guessed you were by day—and I have guessed at it now, Bainbridge. Have I not?”
“Faris—I-I…” he stammered.
Yet Faris saw the struggle in the alluring darkness of his eyes. He feared confession, but why? Did he think she would not still love him once it was proven he was a stablemaster and not some great and wealthy lord?
“I will love you no matter the circumstance, my Highwayman,” Faris whispered, smiling at him.
“In truth?” Bainbridge asked, a mischievous rogue’s grin spreading across his handsome face. “No matter the circumstance, you will pledge yourself, lass—to the Highwayman of Tanglewood? I have your word on it?”
Faris smiled. Unable to keep herself from him a moment longer, she threw her arms around his broad shoulders, drawing her slight body against his powerful one. “My word, my heart, and everything else that is me,” she said, tears streaming over her cheeks. “Oh, and kiss me now, my love! Do not press me to wait for that which is so blissful between us!”
“As you wish,” Bainbridge said.
Faris thrilled as she felt him take her face between his strong hands. Gazing up into the dark of his eyes, she sighed.
“Still, I must tell you the truth,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I must speak the words to you in that you may know the truth from my own lips.”
Faris’s heart beat so brutally within her she feared it might quite break free of her bosom. “Then speak the words, Highwayman,” she whispered, her mouth watering for want of his lips pressed to hers.
“Faris,” he whispered. “I am Bainbridge Graybeau, stablemaster at Loch Loland Castle, defender of any weaker than I—and though I am fearful to speak the words to you for fear of your knowing the truth of me, I will tell you now that I am—”
She could not wait to hear his words! She could not wait to know his confession! Before the words fell from his lips, Faris raised herself on her toes, pressing her soft, warm mouth to his.
His lips were soft and warm, and she was touched by his tenderness. No doubt he was as yet uncertain as to her acceptance of him. In a moment, however, his arms banded around her, pulling her against him as his kiss pressed firm to hers. He would set his passion free in an instant. She could feel the desire surging through him, and in another instant his full, free, and fervent kiss—the kiss of the Highwayman of Tanglewood—would own her.
“Excuse me, Faris—Graybeau.”
It was Old Joseph. Bainbridge released her at once, startled by Old Joseph’s sudden appearance.
“Milady Stringham is requesting your presence in her chambers, Faris,” Old Joseph said.
He seemed not in the least surprised or unsettled at having found Faris bound in Bainbridge’s arms. Faris, however, was quite unsettled. She felt the crimson of a heated blush rising to her cheeks.
“Thank you, Joseph,” Faris said.
Old Joseph nodded, turned, and walked away, leaving Faris alone in Bainbridge’s company once again.
In an instant, Faris reflected. Bainbridge had not yet aloud confessed to being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Further, his kiss had not affected her in the like manner the Highwayman’s kiss did. In truth, she did not desire to kiss him again.
Turning to face him, she asked, “You are not he then?”
“I cannot speak to whether I am or whether I am not, lass,” Bainbridge said. “Not without placing the Highwayman of Tanglewood and all his good deeds in peril.”
Faris paused. Would her lover and true Highwayman of Tanglewood keep the truth from her even now—even after her begging for truth? Would he keep the truth and his true kiss from her under such circumstances? Surely her true lover would not. Surely her true lover’s kiss would have fanned passion in her in the instant. Graybeau’s kiss had not.
She felt the fool and inwardly scolded herself for ridiculous folly. Yet he had lied! Graybeau had lied about exercising Jovan.
“But you were not exercising Jovan when the Highwayman rode to Loch Loland in the broad light of day as you claimed,” she said.
“No. I was not,” Graybeau said.
“Are—are you he, Bainbridge? I must know,” Faris pleaded in a whisper.
“I-I cannot answer, Faris,” he stammered. His brow puckered in a frown; he was in battlement with himself, it was obvious. He could neither confirm nor deny the truth to her. But for what reason, she could not fathom.
“Lady Stringham is waiting, lass,” he said.
“I pray you are not he,” Faris said. “For if you are, you have broken your word to me, and I have wasted a kiss.”
“No kiss from you would ever be wasted, Faris,” Bainbridge said. “At least not to him who is in receipt of it.”
Faris frowned. Bainbridge indeed appeared tormented. Faris was tormented as well. She had come to the stables, sought out Bainbridge Graybeau in search of truth and comfort. What she had found only further confused her.
“I…I must go,” Faris said. Lifting her skirt, she hurried toward the house.
She would tend to Lady Stringham—even at such a ridiculous hour—and then she would retire. Perhaps sleep would help her to sort it all out. Perhaps rest would clear her mind and order her feelings and thoughts. She was in doubt—in doubt of Graybeau’s being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. She was near to convinced he was not the same as her twilight lover. Yet she could not think on it. If her Highwayman was not so nearby as the stables at Loch Loland Castle, how then would she keep her mind and heart on the straight path? How could she combat her secreted attraction to Lochlan Rockrimmon without the regularity of assurance from the Highwayman of her true value to him?
“Had ya held her to ya one minute more, I would have run ya through far certain, Bainbridge Graybeau,” the Highwayman of Tanglewood said as he stepped from the darkness.
Bainbridge chuckled. “It was well I knew you were there, laddie,” Bainbridge said, smiling at his masked friend. “She has the lips and kiss of an angel, she does.”
“Of this I am well aware, my friend,” the Highwayman said.
“So it would seem,” Bainbridge said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the Highwayman, and the Highwayman knew well his friend’s thoughts. “Yet you will break her heart and her spirit if you do not confess to her soon.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood nodded. He was sick of deceit and fearful of Faris’s reaction when the truth was told.
“I must tell her soon,” the Highwayman said. “No matter the consequence.”
“Yes,” Bainbridge said.
“And—and I must tell Lillias as well,” the Highwayman added. “For she suspects me I am certain. To keep them both in darkness—to be so deceptive to the women I love—I am hard-pressed to endure it longer.”
“It does no good for a man to lie to a woman—especially to those he may love,” Graybeau said. “Truth is freedom, lad. Tell your Lillias the truth—and tell Faris.”
“But in the telling of the truth I may well lose the love of the woman I cannot live without, Bainbridge,” the Highwayman said. “I may lose Faris in the telling of the truth.”
“In keeping yourself from her, you surely will,” Bainbridge began, “and well I suspect you may lose her to the young master of Loch Loland—for Old Joseph has seen them together, and Master Lochlan plucks at her heart strings with great effect.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood drew a deep breath. His hands yet trembled—residual angst throbbing through him at having witnessed Faris’s kiss to Bainbridge. Yet he reminded himself the fault of it was none but his. He had not confessed his true identity to her. Further, he had himself suggested she kiss the man she guessed might be he. Therefore, what right had he to be vexed in any regard?
He was close to losing her—he sensed it. Either to frustration and lack of hope or to another man with more to offer. He must tell her—he must confess. Thus, he determined on the morrow, when he met her at the appointed place and time, there he would reveal himself. She may spurn him, it was true. His own deceit and lying might find his Highwayman’s heart as broken as if it had been run through with his own rapier. Yet he must risk her knowing the truth—for he loved her with all desperation and purity.
“In endeavoring to win her, I must risk the losing of her,” the Highwayman said. “I will tell Faris when next we meet. I will speak to Lillias even before that—for she certainly deserves no less than to know my secret and where my heart truly lies.”
“Yes, lad,” Bainbridge said. “Though I’d be willing to let your pretty Faris think a bit longer that I am the Highwayman of Tanglewood—if such kisses are the like the Highwayman enjoys.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood whistled, signaling his midnight steed. The horse appeared from behind a nearby tree, and the Highwayman mounted. “Keep yar lips and yar thoughts from me own fair Faris, Bainbridge Graybeau,” the Highwayman called. “For now—now I am off to best Lord Gettings. He rides from Saxton this very night, and what think ye he might find in the Tanglewood as he passes?”
“Fear and besting,” Bainbridge chuckled. “Fear and besting to be sure, lad.”
The Highwayman of Tanglewood rode out then—out into the cloak of darkness. Yet it was not Lord Gettings’s ill deeds that plagued his mind. Rather it was his own deception—his fear he may never hold Faris Shayhan as his entirely own.
Brushing tears from her cheeks, she hurried—hurried into Loch Loland and up the grand staircase to Lady Stringham’s chamber. Bainbridge Graybeau was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Although her mind fought the truth of it, her heart affirmed the same truth. Fear, anxiety, and insecurity welled within Faris as she knocked on the large oak door of Lady Stringham’s chamber.
“Come,” Lady Stringham said from within.
Faris opened the door and stepped into the chamber. There sat Lady Stringham at one vanity, Tannis in a chair next to her.
“Did someone neglect to inform you of our need to have our hair brushed before retiring, girl?” Lady Stringham asked.
Her nose was so pointed and raised Faris mused it resembled an arrow aimed at the ceiling.
“Forgive me, milady,” Faris said. “Indeed, I was not informed.”
“Well, in the least of it we know she is not in the habit of tending to Lochlan at such a late hour,” Tannis said. Spite glowed hot in the girl’s eyes, and Faris tried to ignore it.
“At once, girl,” Lady Stringham demanded. She held a brush in her hand and gestured Faris should take it. “Two hundred strokes at least,” the woman said. “And I remind you this should be a comfortable experience for me—nothing uncomfortable about it.”
“Yes, milady,” Faris said. Her mind still occupied with her meeting with Bainbridge, Faris knew her trembling hands would need to be steady in order to avoid reprimand. She hoped steadiness was possible—hoped she could retrench, find hope, and happiness again. Oh, where was he? Where was her beloved Highwayman? How desperately she longed for him now!
❦
It was afternoon—a lovely enough afternoon for anyone who was not anxious in awaiting nightfall. All at Loch Loland Castle were fairly buzzing with delight in the new day or delight in speculation as to whether or not their young master intended to ask for Tannis Stringham’s hand in marriage. All save one—Faris.
Sleep had not come easily to her the night before as she had hoped. Even though Lady Stringham and Tannis had kept her awake long into the night with demands and trivial tasks, she did not rest easy when at last she did retire.
How could she have been so foolish? Running to Bainbridge Graybeau! Throwing herself into his arms and begging his confession! Kissing him as some brazen tart might have! It was far beyond humiliating: it was defeating. Bainbridge was not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. She had accepted the fact of it. Yet the thoughts whispering to her soul now disturbed her nearly beyond endurance. She did not know him! She did not know who rode as the Highwayman, who kissed her with such passion, who promised her his heart. In not knowing for certain, she was adrift in emotion and fear. As if in a boat set upon the sea without oars—she was adrift.
There was one other, of course. One other her mind had long ago whispered of being the Highwayman of Tanglewood. Still, Faris would not believe it—for it if it were true, then true heartache would be hers unmeasured. Yet he had promised! The Highwayman had promised he had no other love, no other attachment.
It was while Faris was caught up in her own thoughts, as she sat in miserable contemplation and heartache, that heartache seemed predisposed to find her.
Faris startled as Lillias suddenly came rushing into the kitchen. Tears stained her face, her eyes appearing red and swollen with the effort of sobbing.
“Lillias?” Faris asked. “Is all well?”
Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as Lillias paused, looking at her, an expression of great fear, hurt, or near panic on her lovely face. She did not speak, and Faris was further disconcerted. “Are you well? Is Lord Kendrick well?”
At the mention of Lord Kendrick’s name, Lillias fairly burst into more sobbing.
“H-have you quarreled with one another?” Faris asked. Never had she seen Lillias so overwrought. “I am certain all will be well, Lillias,” Faris soothed.