The Highwayman of Tanglewood (13 page)

“Off with you now, Faris,” Lochlan said, chuckling as his sister continued to pelt him with her dainty fists. “Before I am further humiliated in your presence by my sister’s brutal pummeling.”

“Yes, sire,” Faris said, smiling with amusement. “Good evening Miss Lillias, Master Lochlan,” she said.

“You may as well endeavor to flog me with a feather as with such tiny fists, Lilly,” she heard Lochlan tease as she left them to seek out the stables and Bainbridge Graybeau.

❦

The evening air was warm, fragrant with trees, grasses, and the night-blooming flowers of the Loch Loland Castle gardens. As Faris made her way to the stables, she smiled. Why would the Highwayman of Tanglewood take such an interest in the goings-on in Saxton? There could be only one answer: the Highwayman of Tanglewood had some connection to the place. Bainbridge Graybeau had been born in Saxton. There he had lived until finding himself at Loch Loland Castle. Bainbridge Graybeau had reason to care for the goings-on in Saxton. Faris smiled. With each passing moment, her suspicion of Bainbridge Graybeau riding out as the Highwayman of Tanglewood grew.

“There you are, Miss Faris,” Graybeau greeted as Faris approached. “I was only just saddling Lady Violet, I was.”

“Good evening, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. She could not help but smile at him—could not stop the increasing rhythm of her heart. It was he! Surely it was! She noted how handsome Bainbridge Graybeau was—made even more handsome for having shaved his mustache and goatee.

“Lady Violet will do very well for your learning to ride, she will,” Graybeau said. “She’s a bit older than the other mounts in the stables. When I told him I meant to teach you to ride, Master Lochlan suggested Lady Violet himself. She is even-tempered and patient.”

“Sidesaddle is the manner of riding preferred by most women,” Bainbridge began, “though I plan to teach you to ride astride as well.”

“For what reason?” Faris asked. She had ridden astride the night she had ridden with the Highwayman. Still, why did Bainbridge desire to teach her both methods? Most women did ride sidesaddle—those who did not often found themselves the subject of many a raised eyebrow.

“For reasons of being a thorough teacher,” Bainbridge said. “Now then,” he began, “step here—on my leg. In this, I am giving you a leg up to mount.”

“Step on your leg?” Faris asked. She had seen Bainbridge help Lady Rockrimmon and Lillias to mount this way. Still, she was suddenly uncomfortable.

Faris felt entirely self-conscious mounted upon the back of one of the Rockrimmon horses. She was not a grand lady! Whatever was she thinking in allowing Bainbridge Graybeau to teach her to ride? She was thinking Bainbridge might well be the Highwayman of Tanglewood—that was what she had been thinking when she had agreed to it all.

“I’ll lead you around a bit, now,” Bainbridge said, taking hold of Lady Violet’s bit. “Just until you’re comfortable holding the reins yourself.”

“Very well,” Faris said. “Though I will admit to being quite unsettled.”

Bainbridge Graybeau chuckled, and Faris tried to discern whether or not the sound of it sounded as the Highwayman’s did. She was uncertain, however, and sighed with frustration.

Misinterpreting Faris’s sigh, Bainbridge said, “Don’t worry, lass—I’ll give the reins over to you soon enough.”

“Oh, I am not so impatient as that, Mr. Graybeau,” Faris said. He had called her lass! The fact caused her heart to race with delight at another characteristic of her Highwayman.

“I...I hear you were born in Saxton, Mr. Graybeau,” she began then.

“Bainbridge, if you please, Faris,” Bainbridge said. “And yes, I was born there—lived there ’til I was hired by his lordship to come here.”

“And…and do you still receive news of Saxton?” Faris ventured.

“Indeed,” he said. “My mother and two brothers still live there. I often hear from them.”

“There is some talk concerning our own Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Faris ventured. “It is said he plans to best a certain Lord Brookings of Saxton.”

“Yes,” Bainbridge said. “I am in receipt of a letter from my mother only just this very day. She wrote of the rumors in Saxton concerning the Highwayman of Tanglewood.”

“But why would our Highwayman take interest in something amiss in a township so far from us?” Faris asked. She noted she was feeling more comfortable in the saddle. She smiled as Bainbridge turned to look at her, still leading Lady Violet.

“Perhaps the very origin of our Highwayman of Tanglewood is Saxton,” he said, smiling at her. She fancied his smile revealed more mischief than he perhaps intended. “Perhaps he was born and grew there as I did.”

Faris smiled at Bainbridge. “Perhaps you are acquainted with him and—and simply are not aware of the fact.”

“Perhaps,” Bainbridge said, his smile broadening. “Still, the Highwayman’s interest in Saxton might merely be at having heard of Lord Brookings’s murderous nature. Perhaps he simply endeavors to best an evil man.”

“My mother was housekeeper for Lord and Lady Brookings,” Bainbridge said. “It was my mother who found Lady Brookings’s body—throat slit ear to ear, Lord Brookings’s dagger still clasped in her hand.”

“Surely you are only trying to astonish me,” Faris breathed.

“No,” Bainbridge said. “My mother heard Lord and Lady Brookings arguing the night before milady’s death. Lord Brookings had raised his tenants’ taxes. Further, he had sent Lady Brookings’s lady’s maid away. His reasons for the second are not known; his reasons for the first of it were simple greed. Lady Brookings argued with him over both matters, and the whole of the manor house heard it. The next morning, my mother found Lady Brookings dead in her chambers. Lord Brookings questioned my mother for near to an hour before the magistrate was called—demanding she repeat her story of finding the body over and over. My mother was certain he was assuring himself he had left nothing else amiss, nothing my mother might have seen upon finding the body. Eventually, Lord Brookings was satisfied and called the magistrate—a purchased man himself, I am certain. The magistrate ruled the incident a suicide. Lord Brookings dismissed my mother that very hour, however. She is certain he killed Lady Brookings. Therefore, it is her certainty that makes mine whole.”

“It is an astonishing tale,” Faris said.

“It is indeed,” Bainbridge said.

It seemed to Faris the Highwayman of Tanglewood would need to own a sure knowledge of Lord Brookings’s villainy in order that he might ride out to Saxton. Bainbridge owned a certain knowledge of his own. Furthermore, his mother had been ill-treated. It would be enough to provoke the Highwayman of Tanglewood into riding to Saxton. It certainly would be enough.

“Perhaps the Highwayman of Tanglewood will not ride to Saxton at all. It may be the townspeople in Saxton only wish it were so, for there is a great loathing of Lord Brookings in Saxton,” Bainbridge added.

“It is understandable in the least,” Faris said. “And if the Highwayman were Saxton-born as you are, he would feel a great loyalty to it, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Bainbridge said.

“If you knew the Highwayman of Tanglewood,” Faris began, “if you knew who he were—if he were indeed of Saxton and of your acquaintance—would you reveal his identity to anyone?” Faris’s heart was pounding with anticipation. Was Bainbridge Graybeau the Highwayman of Tanglewood? Would he reveal himself to her if it were true?

Again Bainbridge chuckled. He stopped Lady Violet and walked to Faris, offering the reins to her. His dark eyes flashed with amusement.

“The Highwayman has every lady for one hundred miles ’round wondering over his true identity,” he said. “Yet, if I knew him,” he said as Faris took the reins, “I would want to ride out with him for his cause—not wreak havoc upon him in revealing his true identity.”

Faris smiled even though her heart seemed to drop into the very pit of her stomach with great disappointment. He had not revealed himself to her though the opportunity had been ripe.

“Aye—but I am no rogue the like of the Highwayman,” Bainbridge said. “Only the stablemaster of Loch Loland Castle.”

“Yet there is a rogue’s character about you somehow,” Faris said. Her hope was renewed of a sudden. Perhaps he had not revealed himself to her as yet, but that did not mean Bainbridge was not the Highwayman: it only meant he was not ready to reveal. Further, Faris could see wisdom in his silence on the matter. She had met the Highwayman but thrice. What true trust was there between them yet?

Bainbridge laughed then. “A rogue’s character I own, do I?” he said. “It is a welcome compliment somehow—for are not rogues considered most attractive?”

“Yes,” Faris admitted. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and hoped the dim light of evening hid it well enough.

“Now,” Bainbridge began, returning his attention to Faris’s lesson, “tell her where you wish to go, Faris. Guide her around the stableyard once or twice.”

“But how?” Faris asked.

“Hold the reins thus—taut as such,” he said, placing the reins in her hands as he wished them to be. “If you wish to turn left, then gently tug the reins left—against the right of her neck. She will obey you, and I will walk beside.”

“Very well,” Faris said. Inhaling a deep breath of courage, she did as Bainbridge instructed. “She will only walk with me, will she not? She will not endeavor to quicken her pace?”

Bainbridge chuckled. “She will only walk for now,” he said. “We will ride for half the hour. When next we meet, we will have a longer lesson.”

He had not revealed himself. Bainbridge Graybeau had not revealed himself to be the Highwayman of Tanglewood. As Faris lay upon her pillow, hands tucked behind her head, as she stared up at the great oak beams in the ceiling of her chamber, she frowned. She knew little more about Bainbridge Graybeau than she knew before. The voice whispering in her head told her that were Bainbridge in truth the Highwayman of Tanglewood, he would have at least offered some small evidence to her. He had revealed nothing, however, and Faris was no longer certain of his being the Highwayman—of his being
her
Highwayman.

Breathing a heavy sigh, Faris turned on her side, closing her eyes. In her mind, she could quite see him—the Highwayman of Tanglewood, his cape billowing in the breeze, his dazzling smile illuminated by the moonlight. Five nights more, and she would be with him. She wondered then if he would be clean-shaven as Bainbridge Graybeau now was.

As the fire burned low in the hearth, Faris imagined she heard the heavy rhythm of hooves beating the ground. No doubt it was simply Old Joseph prowling about as was his habit. Old Joseph often lingered in wakefulness long after everyone else in the castle had retired. Still, she would dream it was he—the Highwayman of Tanglewood riding toward Loch Loland Castle. Perhaps he would whisk her away to a life of adventure—a life filled with fragrant meadows, amethyst sunsets, and a rogue’s passionate kiss.

❦

“Master Lochlan is requesting your presence in his chamber, Faris,” Old Joseph said.

“Me?” Faris asked.

“He says you were to have awakened him first this morning—that you were gathering some information at his behest and that he wishes to receive it now.” Old Joseph smiled. “He will not scold you, Faris,” he said. “He is a mischievous lad. You will come to know him and his ways.”

“Then shall I attend him? Or is he in jest?” Faris asked.

“Oh, he is most certainly in earnest,” Old Joseph said. “And you may wish to attend him at once—for he and Lord Rockrimmon are riding out in visiting many tenants today.”

“I-I suppose I should attend him then,” Faris stammered.

“It would be wise,” Old Joseph said. “But do not go in fear, Faris. He is not angry with you—simply impatient to be told whatever it is you have to tell.”

“I fear disappointing him,” Faris said. After all, what grand information did she gain from Bainbridge? Only that he himself was certain of Lord Brookings’s murderous treachery, that the Highwayman may or may not have been born in Saxton, and that indeed rumors were abounding in Saxton of the Highwayman of Tanglewood’s potential appearance there.

“He is waiting, Faris,” Old Joseph said, gently reminding her of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s position in the household.

“Yes. Of course,” Faris said. Smiling at Old Joseph, she started toward the large staircase leading to the family’s chambers.

Her heart beat with anxious anticipation as she climbed the stairs. She feared she might faint as she approached Lochlan Rockrimmon’s chambers. His door stood ajar, and it took every thread of courage she could muster to knock upon it.