The Highwayman of Tanglewood (20 page)

So distracted was Faris by her mirthful ponderings of Lochlan Rockrimmon’s boyish habits she did not hear the subject of her thoughts enter his bedchamber.

“I-I was simply returning your things to their proper place, sire,” Faris stammered. Oh, how he unsettled her! How terribly, terribly, terribly he unsettled her!

“And in going over my things, do you then feel you know me more intimately?” he asked, still smiling and striding toward her.

Faris felt her eyes widened, and her body begin to tremble as he approached. “I-I do not suppose to trespass on your privacy, sire,” she told him.

His smile broadened as he said, “If it were privacy I wanted, I would have bolted the door, Faris.”

“Yes, sire,” Faris said, lowering her gaze. It was far too difficult to gaze into the emerald flash of his eyes—far too difficult not to blush under the gaze of one so handsome as he.

“Wouldn’t you like to know me more intimately, Faris?” he asked.

“Pardon me?” Faris squeaked. He was such a terrible tease—always winning a blush from Faris’s cheeks. How she wished he did not affect her so.

“What
do
you know of me, then?” he asked, standing directly before her. “Come—tell me. What do you know of me?”

Faris swallowed hard and stammered, “Um…uh…” She glanced past him to the open door, wishing she could bolt straight through it.

Having seen her look to the door, Lochlan said, “Oh, of course.” He turned and strode to the door, closing and bolting it. Faris was aghast! What did he mean to do? What would the other servants think? Her heart was pounding with mad ferocity! Surely Lochlan Rockrimmon did not mean to seduce her. Surely not!

“Now—privacy assured—what do you know of me, Faris?” he asked, reaching out and pushing her chin up to close her astonish-gaped mouth. “Come now, Faris,” he said, taking her arm and directing her to sit on the side of his bed. “Tell me what you know of me?”

“I-I…” Faris stammered, too stunned by what was happening to react. Should she cry out for help? Surely not! Lochlan Rockrimmon was not of the same evil froth as Kade Tremeshton. Lochlan Rockrimmon simply liked to tease—this she had been told many, many times since his return to Loch Loland Castle. Surely he was only teasing her—making her uncomfortable because he derived amusement from her discomfort.

Faris pinched herself to make certain she was actually awake and not caught up in some wild dream. She began nervously wringing her hands as she tried to tear her gaze from the muscles of his chest and arms. He reached into his wardrobe and withdrew a different shirt—one she had picked up from the nearby chair and returned to the wardrobe only moments before.

“You came to us from Tremeshton Manor—a vile household with a vile lord over it.” He threaded one arm through one sleeve of the shirt, then the other, leaving the front gaping open, still revealing the muscles of his chest and stomach. “Yet you were fortunate enough to escape Tremeshton without falling victim to Kade’s treachery,” he said, nodding with approval. “It is said, by others who labor here, that you hail from Heathmoor, originally,” he continued, “a quaint little village. I am exceedingly fond of it. I’ve been there many, many times.” Lochlan Rockrimmon began fastening the buttons of his shirt as he continued. “You are of a proper age to marry, yet you have declared no intended,” he said. Faris smiled as she heard a button hit the floor. “Damn it all!” he exclaimed, stripping the new shirt from his body and tossing to Faris. “I’ve lost a button. Would you mind mending it for me? Mother taught me to mend my own, and she’ll have my head if she catches me giving it to you—but to see me with a needle…it’s a painful thing to witness.”

Faris smiled. For all the impropriety of the situation, she had begun to realize she was in no danger of being compromised. Lochlan Rockrimmon was of a different mettle than Kade Tremeshton. Furthermore, what interest would such a man ever find in a simple chambermaid?

Gathering the shirt, Faris said, “Of course, sire.” She rose from the bed, taking hold of her opportunity to escape—for he yet unnerved her greatly.

“Oh, not now, Faris,” he said, pushing her shoulder and causing her to sit on the bed once more. “Afterward—I’ve plenty enough shirts to last the day. If you would only mend it for me later, we can continue.”

He laughed again and added, “And I am no Kade Tremeshton. Were I to want you, I
would
win you—make no mistake—but I would not go about it in any manner akin to his.”

It was further affirmation of his noble character. Yet Faris was somewhat miffed at his implying he did not want her. She comforted herself by reminding herself she secreted a liaison with the Highwayman of Tanglewood, and even the dashing Lochlan Rockrimmon could not compete for a woman’s affections with such as the Highwayman for a rival.

Yet so miffed did Faris find herself that she in fact found her mouth speaking seemingly without her conscious permission. “And in what manner
would
you go about it?” she asked. Quickly she added, “Sire?”

“Oh, a tender nerve has been plucked,” he said, smiling as he pulled another shirt from his wardrobe, threading his arms into the sleeves. “But you mistake me, pretty girl,” he added. “I did not mean I flatly did not want you—I meant I did not want to…to harm you.”

He leaned forward then, placing a hand on either side of her where she sat on the bed. He tilted his head to one side as he studied her, his face mere inches from her own. Faris tried not to look at the bareness of his chest and stomach, but his shirt hung freely open, and it was difficult to ignore.

“I mean to say—lovely girl with soft, berry lips—I would like nothing more than to corrupt you…but I won’t,” he whispered. He lingered before her for a moment, his lips a breath from her own. Then smiling, he stood once more and said, “Still, I’ve wandered from the subject of our conversation. Now you know my knowledge of you. What is yours of me?”

Faris swallowed hard, still undone by what had just passed. Goose bumps fairly consumed her body! She did not approve of her physical reaction to Lochlan Rockrimmon. She would indeed scold herself thoroughly once he had left her to her own tasks once more.

“Come now,” he urged as he began buttoning the new shirt. “Surely you know something. If you know nothing, then tell me what you’ve heard of me. Still, I would value your own thoughts far more.”

Faris did not know how to begin. Could he truly have any care for what her thoughts of him were?

“I-I think you are good,” she said, softly. “A bit of a tease, the stripe of a rascal running the length of your back, perhaps—but good at the core.” He laughed, and Faris could not help but smile.

“Better a rascal’s stripe than a coward’s, Faris,” he said, smiling at her as he finished the task of buttoning his shirt.

“Yes, sire,” she said, smiling. She wondered for a moment why he did not have a valet, and she spoke the thought aloud. “Why do you not employ a valet, Master Lochlan?”

He smiled and asked, “Why do you think I do not? Let us see if you know me that well.”

Faris smiled, dazzled by his charm, his attractiveness, his pure masculinity. “I think…I think it is because you find…that you believe…” she stammered, afraid to speak her thoughts.

“Go on, Faris,” he said. “You’ll not offend me.”

Faris inhaled a deep breath of courage and said, “Perhaps you find it weak—a man who must have another to assist him with simple and personal tasks, such as dressing for the day.”

“Well done, Faris! Bravo!” he said, smiling and clapping his hands three times. “I find it…disturbing—any able-bodied man having another dress him, having another perching about like a sick crow.” His brow puckered for a moment, and he said, “But will you still mend the shirt for me?”

Faris giggled, completely delighted by his sudden boyish manner. “Yes, of course, sire,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “And with that…we’ll have to suspend our conversation for now. I’ll be late for my appointment.” He leaned forward again and whispered, “I’m off to clean Kade Tremeshton’s pockets in a game of cards.”

Faris smiled. How could she refuse a smile?

“Naturally,” Lochlan continued, “He does not know that Lord Montegue has asked me to join the game, and I hope I am able to keep my temper and avoid breaking his nose a second time.” He smiled the smile of a rapscallion and added, “Yet if father will not allow me to defend a woman’s honor with my fists, then I suppose my wits will have to do.”

“I-I do thank you for your help, sire,” Faris said, humbly remembering his championing her where Kade Tremeshton was concerned.

“It is I who should thank you, Faris,” Lochlan said. “I’ve wanted to put a fist to Kade Tremeshton’s face for as long as ever I can remember. I should thank you for providing the venue.”

“Yet in truth, I thank you, sire,” Faris said.

“And thank
you
, Faris,” he replied. “And now, I’m off to best the blackguard at cards.” He strode to the door and unbolted it, yet paused before he took his leave. “Please don’t mention the shirt mending to my mother. She gets terribly put off with me for being all too rough on things.” Faris smiled as he nodded at her and took his leave of the room.

Faris remained seated on his bed for a few more moments, trying to smooth her ruffled nerves. He was indeed dangerous, and she was disgusted with herself for letting him unsettle her so. What would her Highwayman think of her weakness?

Quickly, Faris hopped up, smoothed her skirt, and went about her remaining tasks. After tidying Lochlan’s room, she found the rogue button from his shirt and tucked it into her apron pocket. Tucking Lochlan’s shirt under her arm, she left his bedchamber and made her way to Lillias’s room. Oh, how she wished the Highwayman were near. Perhaps he was! Faris was yet suspicious of Bainbridge Graybeau being the Highwayman. At breakfast that morning, Old Joseph had mentioned that Bainbridge had returned from Saxton the night before—the same night the Highwayman of Tanglewood had come upon her near the cottage. Could it be Bainbridge Graybeau had been riding back to Loch Loland, having bested Lord Brookings as the Highwayman of Tanglewood? Could that be why the Highwayman had happened upon her the way he did? Further, Old Joseph had informed Faris of Bainbridge’s request she meet him after supper for another riding lesson. Perhaps this was the way the Highwayman would contact her! Perhaps, now that the Highwayman knew she suspected Bainbridge of being he, perhaps he meant to confess the truth to her! Even if he did not confess, she would test him once more—study him more closely. How wonderful it would be to know her beloved Highwayman was so close at hand. Yet surely she would have known him on their last meeting. Would she not?

“Faris, darling!” Lillias exclaimed as Faris entered her chamber. “Wherever have you been? I could not find you last evening to tell you of the Highwayman and his besting of Lord Brookings in Saxton!”

Certainly, Faris already knew the story of the Highwayman of Tanglewood and his ride to Saxton. Yet why not allow her friend the satisfaction of telling the tale? Furthermore, it was Faris’s experience that, in storytelling, one presenter often neglected details another might not.

And so she said, “Tell me, Lillias! You must!”

“Gawain said it was a brilliant besting! The most brilliant the Highwayman has ever performed.” Lillias began.

Faris smiled and listened until Lillias had poured out the tale with far more excitement and detail than had Old Joseph told it the night before. Still, the story was the same—more dramatic in the telling perhaps—but the same.

“Isn’t it a marvelous tale, Faris?” Lillias asked.

“Indeed it is,” Faris agreed.

Lillias sighed, smiling with delighted excitement. “Of course, I hope Gawain did not neglect any important details in the telling of it,” Lillias said. “He was ever so fatigued last evening when he told me—having ridden all the way back to Loch Loland Castle from Heathmoor yesterday.”

Faris felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “Heathmoor?” she asked. “Why—why was Lord Kendrick in Heathmoor?” Heathmoor, as Faris well knew, was on the road to Saxton.

“What?” Lillias asked, still dreaming of the adventures of the Highwayman of Tanglewood, no doubt.

“Lord Kendrick,” Faris said. “Did he have business in Heathmoor?”

“Indeed!” Lillias exclaimed. “Odd, isn’t it—that Gawain should be at Heathmoor when the Highwayman of Tanglewood was at Saxton. They are not so very far apart, I understand—though I have never been to either place. Though—you were born in Heathmoor, Faris, were you not? Did you ever have cause to be in Saxton?”

“No,” Faris said. “Never.”

Faris was suddenly quite anxious. Was it purely coincidence that Lord Kendrick was in Heathmoor—so close to Saxton—at the very same time the Highwayman of Tanglewood was riding out against Lord Brookings?

“Lord Kendrick is not the Highwayman of Tanglewood. He cannot be,” Faris mumbled to herself.

“Oh, I know it,” Lillias sighed. “Still, I like to pretend that he is. I like to imagine that my Gawain is the Highwayman of Tanglewood and riding for the livelihood of others.”