A Highwayman's Honor: (A Highland Highwayman Novella #1) (3 page)

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Ah,” he said, breaking into a smile again, “if I told you that, I would have to kill you.”

She sighed. “If I’m going to be here awhile, I can’t keep calling you the highwayman.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “You can call me Jack.”

“Is that your name?”

He hesitated before answering. “No. But I’ll answer to it.”

She frowned, knowing she probably looked like she was pouting. But she didn’t argue it with him. Frankly, she was surprised he’d given her any name at all. “All right, then. Jack.”

He jerked slightly when the name left her lips. Interesting. It might not be his true name, but she’d be willing to bet her new velvet cloak that it meant something personal to him. A sibling’s name maybe? Or a nickname? That would narrow down the possibilities of his real name a bit. Jackson, perhaps. John? Jacob? James? Jason? She’d known men with all those names who preferred to be known as Jack. She’d even had a cousin named Claudius everyone called Jack so it might come from nothing at all. Perhaps a name he just pulled from the air. Certainly not something she should be obsessing over, for goodness sake.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said. After making sure she was still snuggly covered, he grabbed the sword that had been propped against a chair near the bed and hurried out of the cottage.

Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hand. She had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. Or how she’d get out of it. Or what kind of fool she was for trusting a highwayman who’d stolen from her father, gotten her shot, and then kidnapped her in order to heal her. At least she hoped that was the only reason. What kind of highwayman brought his victims back to his hideout to patch them up? The Highland Highwayman was notorious for his charm and manners, certainly. But this went above and beyond even for his tales.

She yawned, sleep pulling at her again. This so called highwayman baffled her. His speech and mannerisms suggested a gentleman. Not English, certainly, but a gentleman nonetheless. Yet he traveled the roads robbing coaches in the middle of the night. What sort of gentleman did that? He was incredibly well-informed. He’d known her father had carried around a ridiculous fortune. Even her mother hadn’t known that, judging by the look on her face when the sacks had been pulled from beneath the bench. And it had been apparent that the robbery had been no circumstance of chance. The highwayman and his band had lain in wait for them specifically. Why?

Too many questions with no answers floated through her head. Her chances of having any of them answered were probably slim.

The rumble of male voices outside the window soon faded into the background as her eyes grew heavy and finally closed. She drifted away to sleep, the vision of dark, soulful eyes filling her thoughts until she knew no more.

Chapter Three

“Are you mad?” Phillip said, jamming his fingers through his hair.

“I couldn’t leave her there,” John said. He leaned against the wall of the small barn near the cottage, watching his friend pace.

“She’ll discover who you are. You’ll be finished.”

“I keep the mask on whenever I’m near her. She hasn’t seen my face. I exaggerate my accent. If we were to run into one another at court, she’d have no idea who I am.” John ran a hand over his face, relishing the slight breeze that blew across his skin.

“I still say you are mad,” Phillip insisted.

“What was I supposed to do?” John asked, his patience wearing thin. “Just leave her to bleed into the dust?”

Phillip’s frown was nearly a pout. He sighed. “Someone would have come along eventually.”

John’s brow quirked up and Phillip reluctantly smiled. “Fine,” Phillip said. “But you can’t keep her here.”

“I know,” he said. “A few days at the most.”

“John…”

“I just stitched up her arm, Phillip. Give her a few days to gain back a little strength.”

“You going to keep that mask on the whole time?”

John frowned but nodded. Phillip snorted. “That’ll be comfortable.”

John ignored that. “Where’s Will?”

Phillip grinned. “Don’t worry about him. I’ve set him to enough chores it’ll be months before he has any energy or desire to go on a job again. And I’m holding onto his pistol until he’s a little less heavy on the trigger.”

“Good thinking.”

Phillip slapped his hat against his leg and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

John gave him a wry smile. “Not really. But I’ll be careful.”

“I hope so. She is the daughter of Lord Harding after all.”

John’s smile changed to a scowl. “She’s nothing like him.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

“Yes,” John said quietly. Lord Harding hadn’t been the only one John had been keeping an eye on. It had been impossible to follow Harding’s movements without also watching his family. His daughter. Who, from what he’d seen, was kind, intelligent, and so beautiful it made his chest hurt just looking at her.

He looked up to find Phillip staring at him, either in concern or bemusement, John couldn’t tell. John straightened away from the wall.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be gone as soon as I think she can travel. You just keep an eye on Will. We’ll meet at the ruins a week from tonight.”

Phillip mounted his horse and nodded. “Take care.”

John just smiled and slapped the horse’s rump. His smile faded, though, as his friend rode out of sight. Phillip was probably right to be worried. Truth be told, Elizabet could leave the next morning. Or that night. Her wound had been superficial. He’d put in two small, neat stitches but it had been a clean shot. He’d cleansed it well and there was no reason it wouldn’t heal perfectly. She was still tired and sore, but it wasn’t as though he’d have her walk home.

Still, a carriage or horse ride would jostle the arm. No need to cause her unnecessary pain. She could stay with him for a few days, regain some strength, and then he’d get her back home. Her presence at his hideaway was a danger to him. Of course, he wanted her gone as soon as possible.

He kept repeating that to himself as he walked back to the cottage. Maybe by the time he entered and came face to face with her again he’d believe it.

* * *

Elizabet watched her highwayman carefully rewrap her arm. Though still tender and bruised, it was well on its way to healing. There was no reason she couldn’t travel. Yet still the man made no mention of taking her home. Far from finding this disturbing, Elizabet found herself enjoying her little adventure.

The small cottage where she was being kept was a far cry from her family’s estates or the marbled halls of the palace rooms in which they stayed when at court. But strangely, she didn’t miss the comforts of home all that much. In fact, it was a relief to get away from the relentless pressure to always behave a certain way. After all, a slovenly, unattractive girl will never catch herself a wealthy husband. According to her mother, that was her sole purpose in life. Therefore, most of her waking moments were put to obtaining the best match possible.

But with Jack, she could be herself. The man was insanely difficult to coax into speech. He’d listen to her chatter away about whatever nonsense entered her head but he didn’t reciprocate much. Not that she expected him to. He still wore his mask when he was near her. He naturally wouldn’t spill all his secrets. But despite that, she still felt she could say what she wanted without worrying about being too forward or bold. After all, a highwayman wasn’t likely to be horrified if she told him church services bored her to tears or that she thought the king’s mistress, the Countess of Castlemaine, was actually quite lovely and entertaining to be around. Elizabet’s mother played nice when at court but did nothing but spew judgment and condemnation in private.

Personally, Elizabet applauded the countess. She was wealthy, powerful, and she and the king seemed quite happy together—when he wasn’t with his wife or another mistress. Still, she had the run of court, acted in any way she pleased, and had the king himself showering her with whatever she wished. There were worse ways to live.

Had she said those things to her mother, she’d have been slapped and sent to her room without supper. At best. But Jack merely laughed and agreed with her.

And then there were the moments when he’d tend to her wound. She’d worn nothing but a chemise around him in the days she’d been there. He’d informed her that her gown was in the armoire, but as she mostly stayed in bed or sat in a chair by the window, she’d seen no need to do more than wrap a quilt about her for modesty. Though he’d already seen more than the quilt would cover anyway.

Elizabet knew the time drew near when she’d have to leave. She probably should have already returned home. She didn’t ask to leave though. She was dangerously close to wanting to stay forever.

She came to look forward to the hour when he’d redress her shoulder. She’d never known anyone so large to be so gentle. From the way his fingers skimmed across her skin to how he carefully wrapped the linen around her arm. Each brush of his hand sending a riot of sensations rushing through her body. She wasn’t sure if only she was affected by those moments. But she swore he lingered far longer than necessary. And she knew she was more than well enough to travel. He should have taken her home days before. She did worry about her parents. Surely even they were concerned for her. But she would be going home soon enough.

She’d been with him a week when he announced that he would be leaving for a few hours and wouldn’t be returning until well after dark. The first twinge of unease flickered through her. Odd that she felt safer with an outlaw than on her own.

“You will be perfectly safe here,” he assured her for the fifth time. “There is no one near and the cottage is well hidden in the woods. Just in case, I’ll leave you with this.” He handed her a pistol and quickly demonstrated how to use it.

“You can bar the door after I leave and if anyone tries to enter while I’m gone, you shoot first and ask questions later.”

Elizabet nodded numbly, handling the weapon carefully. She still had her knife under the pillow on the bed. And again it struck her how strange it was that Jack trusted her enough to hand her a loaded weapon.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll use this on you?” she asked him, casually pointing it in his direction.

He frowned and calmly grasped her hand, pointing the gun at the wall. “Never point it at someone unless you intend to shoot. It’s far too easy to accidentally fire.”

She lowered her eyes, her cheeks burning at the rebuke. He was right. It was not a plaything and she shouldn’t treat it like one. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He took her chin between his fingers and lifted her face back to his. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her eyes widened and he grinned at her before spinning to hurry out the door. A moment later, he rolled in a huge wooden tub and situated it near the fireplace. “I thought you might like to bathe since you’ll be alone for the evening.”

Elizabet clasped her hands together. “Oh, Jack! That would be heavenly. Where did you get this?”

“The village cooper. He made a similar tub for making beer. So I had him make one for me.”

“To bathe in?”

“You sound surprised.”

She shrugged. “Not something many would do.”

“Well, I pride myself in not being one of the many,” he said with a grin. “There’s a rain barrel just outside this window,” he said, showing her. The barrel sat just outside, close enough she could scoop bucketfuls of water through the window just by leaning out.

“I’ll help you get the tub filled before I go. I already have some water going on the fire.”

She’d wondered why he’d put a cauldron full of water to boil earlier. He carefully removed it and emptied it into the tub, then refilled it and set it to boil. By the time the second cauldron of water was ready, the first had cooled a bit. Several buckets of cold water from the rain barrel and the water was perfect. Hot enough to turn her skin a delightful pink without scalding her.

He set a third cauldron on the fire. “So you can heat yourself back up when the water cools,” he said with a wink.

Elizabet’s face flamed hot again and she turned away. Jack chuckled. “Come, my lady. Bar the door behind me. Do not open for anyone but me, understand?”

She nodded and followed him. Her stomach tightened with anxiety when he stepped outside into the night.

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, lingering much longer than courtesy demanded. Long enough that the lazy circles he drew against her skin with his thumb sent tingles running through her. Long enough she began to want his lips on parts other than her hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.

“I’ll be waiting.” The words left her mouth before she’d fully decided to say them.

Her cheeks burned and the eyes behind his mask widened a bit but he said nothing. Merely smiled that half smile that was beginning to make her stomach tighten for entirely different reasons and turned to fetch his horse from the shed.

She closed the door and dropped the bar across it.