Kat, Incorrigible (25 page)

“You’ll want to turn your horse around,” the highwayman said, “and come back away from the road, so we can be more comfortable.”

“I—I don’t think I do want that, actually,” Mr. Collingwood said. His voice sounded rather higher-pitched than normal.

“I think you do,” said the highwayman. “And so does the young lady. Don’t you,
Miss Katherine
?”

“How—?” I started. Then I realized. “You were
listening to us! Eavesdropping on our conversation! That’s outrageous!”

“As outrageous as playing a highwayman to try to steal your fine friends’ jewels? That’s a hanging offense, that is.”

“Well, you can hardly be offended by that,” I said. “I mean, you of all people—”

“You think not?” The highwayman’s voice hardened. “Get back under the trees, miss. Now. Before I show you both just how offended I can be.”

I began, “Well, really—”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Collingwood said hastily. “We will.” In my ear, as he lowered his hands to the reins of his horse, he hissed, “Please, Miss Katherine. Be quiet!”

I closed my lips and pressed them together to hold back the rest of my remarks. We were all silent as Mr. Collingwood’s horse stepped slowly into the darkness. The woods wrapped around us like a blanket, cutting us off from the moonlit road, and from safety.

Through the darkness, I could hear the highwayman breathing. His breaths sounded quick and strained with nerves … or with excitement. I swallowed hard and told myself that I was not afraid.

I had wanted to be held up by a highwayman for ages. This ought to be the most thrilling moment of my entire life.

“Off the horse,” the highwayman ordered. “Now.”

“Sir,” Mr. Collingwood said. “I’d be happy to get off
the horse myself, for your convenience, but couldn’t my companion please keep her place? You can see she’s very young, and—”

“I said, off the horse!”

Mr. Collingwood slid off. When I started to follow him, though, he put one hand up to stop me. The highwayman’s pistol shifted to aim at him. “Please,” said Mr. Collingwood. “If you would only consider—”

The highwayman’s pistol shifted again. “She can get off the horse now on her own,” he said, “or I can put a bullet through its head and let it fall down underneath her.”

I scrambled off the horse. I wasn’t used to having to get off a horse without a sidesaddle; I couldn’t just slide easily down the way I usually would. I swung one leg over and slipped. I would have fallen straight onto my backside on the forest floor if Mr. Collingwood hadn’t caught me in his arms. Mr. Collingwood’s horse whickered and danced backward, out of reach. I couldn’t blame him.

“There now,” the highwayman said, and eased his horse closer to us through the dark. I could hear him breathing hard above me. He held the pistol less than a foot away from my head, now. “Isn’t this more comfortable?”

I let go of Mr. Collingwood as I found my feet on the forest floor. He squared his shoulders and patted my back comfortingly. “All will be well, Miss Katherine,” he whispered. “I promise.”

I could hear the shiver in his voice. It might have been enough to really frighten me if I had been the kind of
simpering female who actually needed comforting.

The highwayman was a dark shadow looming over us in the blackness. I cursed myself for leaving Mr. Collingwood’s pistol behind on the ground outside the assembly hall, where it could be of no use to anyone. If only Elissa had thrown it straight to us, instead of out the window, we could have reloaded it. If only …

“Purses first,” the highwayman said. “Now.”

“I don’t—,” Mr. Collingwood began.

The pistol slammed into the side of my head, so hard I staggered. Tears of pain started in my eyes. I choked back the cry that wanted to come out.

“
Now,
” said the highwayman.

“Look!” Mr. Collingwood stripped off his cloak and opened his jacket. He turned the pockets inside out. “You see?” he said. “They’re empty. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I don’t have a purse on me. I didn’t bring any money.”

“Don’t try to play me for a fool,” the highwayman snarled. “You just robbed a whole ballroom. I heard the girl.”

“I tried to rob a ballroom,” Mr. Collingwood said. “It didn’t work.”

“Oh, so you just gave up and rode away empty-handed? I don’t think so. Anyway, I can hear your accent, and I know what it means. You’ve got money, whether it’s enough for you or not. So hand it over!”

“He’s telling you the truth,” I said. I straightened carefully.
My head throbbed with every movement, but I lifted my chin and glared up at him through the darkness. “If you were less of a fool, you’d listen to him and realize—”

The muzzle of the pistol was suddenly pressing directly against my head. My breath stopped in my throat. The cold of the metal radiated through my hair and across my skin, freezing me in place.

“That’s better,” the highwayman said. “Now, you listen to me,
Miss
Katherine. Interesting thing about highway robbery you ought to know. It’s a hanging offense.” He paused. The pistol shifted infinitesimally against my scalp. “I
said,
it’s a hanging offense,” he repeated. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. I breathed in and out as lightly as I could, straining not to move an inch. Every nerve in my body was focused on the circle of cold metal.

“Good,” he said. “Then you understand. I can do anything I like to you now. What’s the worst that could happen to me? I might be hanged. Well, that’ll happen anyway. So what’s to stop me murdering you right now, where you stand?”

Another pause.

Mr. Collingwood spoke, his voice stifled. “Please, sir—I beg of you, don’t—”

“Quiet!” said the highwayman. “I was speaking to the young lady. I want to hear her answer. So? What’s to stop me from shooting you in the head right this moment, Miss Katherine?”

I licked my lips. “Nothing,” I whispered.

“That’s right,” he said. “Nothing at all. So maybe you’d better keep that in mind, and keep a civil tongue in your mouth. Because you don’t want me to go losing my temper now, do you?”

“No, sir,” I whispered.

The pistol didn’t move. My legs were trembling now with the effort of standing perfectly still against it.

“I thought not,” the highwayman said. “In that case, Miss Katherine, I’d recommend your friend here turn over his purse, and yours, before I start to get irritated. Because it’s a good deal easier to take a purse off a dead body than a live one.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. “But—”

“Here,” Mr. Collingwood said hastily. “I don’t have any money, but I have this pocket watch. It’s on a gold chain, you see? And, um … my card case! You can have my card case, it’s made of silver, and it’s—”

Even with a pistol to my head, I had to speak. “You brought your card case on a robbery? What were you planning to do, hand out your calling cards before you left, so they could return the favor at your house next week?”

“Well …” He paused. “I didn’t mean to, it just happened to be in my pocket, so—”

“Trinkets,” the highwayman said. “You’re standing unprotected in the dark while I hold a pistol to the young lady’s head, and you still want to fob me off with trinkets?”

“No!” said Mr. Collingwood. “That is, I don’t want to fob
you off with anything, sir, but these truly are all I have, and—”

“Do I need to shoot her right now to get your attention?”

“No, sir!”

“Good. Then listen carefully. I will shoot her if you don’t hand over something of real value. Something to make this godforsaken half hour worth my time.”

“I have something,” I said hastily. My teeth wanted to chatter, even though it wasn’t cold. I had to grit them together to speak. “My reticule. I have a golden mirror inside.”

“A golden what?”

“A mirror,” I said. “It was my mother’s. It’s made of gold.”

“Hand it over,” the highwayman said. “No, not you. Him. Take it out of her bag and hand it to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Collingwood fumbled with the cords around my wrist, in the darkness. There was a moment of silence, except for the sounds of the night birds in the woods around us and the highwayman’s heavy breathing. The pistol shivered against my head. His hand must be trembling. He was nervous too.

I wondered how hard it would be for the pistol to go off, if his fingers slipped. I stood still and unmoving, with my jaw clamped tight to keep my teeth from chattering and bumping the pistol. I wondered what Angeline and
Elissa would think if I didn’t come back that night. I wondered what Mama would have done in my situation. Well, she would have cast a spell, obviously, but I didn’t know any … or at least any that would be useful.

“Here,” said Mr. Collingwood, and the reticule slid off my wrist. I heard movement in the darkness, and saw the silhouette of Mr. Collingwood’s hands reaching up to the highwayman on his horse. The pistol jiggled against my head as the highwayman accepted the mirror and Mr. Collingwood’s own offerings.

I had to bite back an unexpected pang of loss. Mama’s mirror had brought me nothing but trouble, but still … I breathed in deeply. It wasn’t as if it would be gone for long. It never—

“What the devil?”

The highwayman’s curse came just as I felt a familiar, smooth metal circle appear in my left hand. The mirror had returned sooner than I’d expected. Too soon.

“Here,” I said. “It fell into my hand. You can have it back.”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” He snatched it out of my hand. The pistol was definitely trembling against my head now. “That did not fall. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”

“No!” I said. “I’m so sorry, it only—oh, the devil!”

It was back in my hand again, and glowing with warmth. I could actually see the light radiating out of it now, illuminating my hand in the darkness for both men to see.

“What’s happening?” Mr. Collingwood said. “I don’t understand.”

“Please,” I said. I thrust the mirror back up to the highwayman. “I can explain. It only—”

“Fell?” the highwayman said. His voice sounded hoarse. “I don’t think so.”

“Look,” I said. “I know this is going to be hard to believe, but—”

“Shut your mouth!” He grabbed the mirror, closing his hand tightly around it. The light glowed between his fingers. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you or else—”

“Oh, Lord,” I whispered. The mirror was back in my hand again.

The highwayman stared at his empty fingers. Then he turned to me. The mirror was glowing brightly in my hand. I couldn’t hide it.

“That’s it,” he said, and grabbed hold of my shoulder with one meaty hand as he steadied the pistol against my head. “They can’t hang me twice.”

“No!” Mr. Collingwood said. He lunged toward us.

There was only one last thing to try.

I flicked open the mirror.

The shot went off as the world turned inside out around me.

I landed on my backside on a smooth, hard floor.
When the world stopped spinning, I opened my eyes. A familiar rounded golden ceiling arched high above me. Golden walls rose to each side. My head still ached horribly, but I didn’t feel as if I’d been shot. I would be able to tell, wouldn’t I? Unless I’d gone into shock and just couldn’t feel the pain …

I patted my head and arms, just to make sure. Then I let out a sigh of sheer relief. I absolutely, definitely had not been shot. I could still feel the memory of cold on my head, where the muzzle of the pistol had rested, but that was all.

I was in the Golden Hall, and I was safe. Now, all I had to do—

A familiar voice spoke just behind me.

“Where the devil have you brought me?” the highwayman snarled.