Secrets of the Highwayman (13 page)

Nathaniel ducked his head beneath the roof
of the tunnel and squinted ahead. He hated the between-worlds just as much as Melanie did, which was why he hadn’t told her what he was intending to do.

She would have wanted to come with him, and he preferred her to be safe and secure, inside Eddie’s cottage.

Behind him the usual assortment of scuttling creatures crept from the shadows to watch him pass. But he wasn’t concerned about them. All of a sudden he heard what he’d been listening for, the faint thud of approaching paws. Nathaniel smiled as Teth came loping out of the darkness, tongue lolling from his whiskery face. Reaching out, he clasped the hound’s big head firmly between his palms and gave him a little shake. “There you are, hellhound.” He peered intently into the hound’s liquid dark eyes. “I want you to take me home, Teth. Back to Ravenswood.”

The hound cocked his head to one side.

“Come on,” Nathaniel whispered. “I could probably do it myself, but I’d be wandering in this bloody place for days, looking for the right door. You showed me the way before, Teth.”

The hound stared back at him, and Nathaniel reined in his frustration. Teth could help him, he knew it…Maybe the hound could smell his way home? Nathaniel had changed his clothing, but not entirely. He reached up and pulled loose the black ribbon from his hair, and then held it toward Teth.

“Take me home,” he murmured. “Home, Teth!”

Teth gave the ribbon a sniff, thumped his tail vigorously, and then launched himself forth into the tunnel. Hoping they were going in the right direction, Nathaniel set off at a run behind him.

He was acting against the queen’s instructions, he knew that, and she would punish him. He was even acting against his own good sense, and the promises he’d made to himself to be less impulsive and hotheaded. But he couldn’t sit still any longer, waiting for something to happen. It was driving him crazy. How many times was he going to search Ravenswood looking for clues? How many books was he going to scour for information? And while he waited, Melanie was under threat. When she had told him about Pengorren, he’d known then he couldn’t wait any longer. The queen might be a powerful and awesome being, but he wasn’t sure he entirely trusted her where Melanie was concerned. Besides, he was used to making his own decisions and striking hard and fast at his enemies.

Nathaniel was a man of action, and he was sick and
tired of trying to be patient. It was time he took control of the situation.

Ahead of him, the darkness of the tunnel began to lighten. He could see Teth, bounding along, silhouetted against an opening laced with branches and leaves. As the hound jumped through, Nathaniel followed, pushing aside the prickly curtain. He realized then where he was, on the far side of the garden, in the clump of bushes growing by the summerhouse.

He could smell roses and the warm sweet breath of summer.

It must be the summer of 1813, soon after his return from Spain. Pengorren hadn’t arrived at Ravenswood until the autumn. He had time to go and speak to his father and mother and his sister, to somehow make them understand what was to come. He would defeat Pengorren before he even arrived, and bedamned to the queen of the between-worlds.

All would be well this time, he told himself, as he strolled toward the dark, sleeping house.

Melanie had taken a shortcut through the vast and overgrown vegetable garden that separated Eddie’s cottage from Ravenswood. She had a strong urge to sit down on the rustic wooden seat, where the cabbages had gone to seed, and have a nap. But strange things were happening to her, and she was afraid to sleep. She was equally afraid to stay awake. The truth, unnerving as it was, was that she wanted Nathaniel. Only he understood what she was going through.

But Nathaniel was leaving her, he’d made that plain.
This was not the sort of story where they would be walking off into the sunset together.

And yet,
she thought, weaving through some broken stakes with last year’s wilted vines still attached,
I’m certain Nathaniel needs me as much as I need him. That’s why the queen of the between-worlds has brought us together…

A soft breath of wind stirred her hair and rattled the old flower heads at her feet. She looked up, suddenly tense. The sky was darkening. Something ominous approaching.

A storm, she told herself, nothing more. Surely she wasn’t afraid of a storm? She was never one to hide under the bed when the thunder sounded. But it wasn’t just the storm that was unnerving her. The feelings inside her were stirring, unfurling, and she knew that this time she’d be sensible to heed the warning.

Melanie quickened her steps toward the house.

A horse whickered. Nathaniel stood in the stable doorway, letting the familiar smells engulf him. This was always one of his favorite places, and after he returned home from Spain and recovered enough to ride again, he enjoyed nothing more than galloping away across the park. There was a sort of freedom in it, an escape.

He knew he shouldn’t be here, he should have gone straight up to Ravenswood, but somehow his steps had deviated. Perhaps he just needed a moment to think, to collect his thoughts, to put aside his doubts, before he began the task of persuading his family to believe the impossible.

He admitted to himself that he was relying on father’s quiet strength and intelligence to persuade his mother and sister to listen to what would seem a wild story. He trusted his father, and as a boy he’d wondered how he could ever replace him as lord and master in this little patch of England. Was that why he’d gone off to war? It was easier to charge the French or ambush some Spanish guerillas, than it was to set one’s mind to the difficult tasks of rents and crops and money in the bank?

“You’re straightforward. Honest,” his father said to him upon his return. “You treat everyone as if you expect the best from them. That’s a good thing, Nathaniel. You’ll grow into your inheritance. One day, when I’m gone, you’ll make a fine master.”

His father was right. He was beginning to grow into the job he had been born for…and then Pengorren came. Usurped him, stole all that was his. Pengorren wasn’t honest or straightforward, and Nathaniel was taken in. And by the time he realized it, it was too late.

The horse whickered again, this time more urgently. Nathaniel smiled when he recognized the dark face and erect ears above the door of the box. It was Neptune,
his
horse.

The horse he had raced alongside Melanie’s car had been a ghost horse, some demon from the between-worlds he’d borrowed for the occasion,
and
received a memorable telling off from the queen. That creature hadn’t been anything like the warm flesh-and-blood beast before him now, and he realized just how much he had missed the real Neptune.

There was a lantern hanging from a hook in the
ceiling, but it was turned down low. The boy must have forgotten to turn it out again, he thought, because the stable was empty. Nathaniel came forward to pat Neptune’s nose, murmuring a greeting as the horse tossed its head and bumped against him.

“Good boy, good Neptune, I’ve missed you, too,” he said softly. “But it’ll be all right soon. Everything will be back to normal.”

He heard the footstep just before Pengorren spoke.

“Nathaniel.”

For a moment he was too shocked to turn, and then he swung around, disbelieving. It
was
Pengorren, there could be no mistake. He was standing in one of the empty stalls and he looked the same. A little disheveled, perhaps, without his shirt, and with only half of his handsome face lit by the lantern. His blue eyes mirrored Nathaniel’s shock, and then they narrowed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Nathaniel said, knowing even as he spoke it was a ridiculous thing to say. “It’s too soon.”

Pengorren frowned. “Too soon?”

“This is the summer of 1813.”

Pengorren’s face cleared and he laughed. “Oh dear. And here I was thinking it was
you
who shouldn’t be here.”

Nathaniel felt the anger building inside him. “You don’t belong at Ravenswood,” he said quietly, dangerously. “I want you out.”

Pengorren’s mouth thinned. “Interfering with time, boy? Didn’t the sorceress tell you about the pitfalls of that? I’m sure she did. You’re only going to make it
worse, Nathaniel, just like you did last time. But you can’t help yourself, can you? Just have to rush in and play the hero. Is that why you’re here? To save your family? Or is it to kill me?”

“You seem to know everything, you tell me.”

“I think I already know.”

Pengorren smiled, his blue eyes glittered. Then he moved, pushing at something at his feet, where Nathaniel’s view was hidden by the stall door. There was a soft squeak, and then the sound of a voice he knew. “Is it morning already?” Pengorren, watching him, caught his dismay and gleamed with malevolent enjoyment.

Touseled dark hair appeared, and then two bare arms and a smooth naked back, as Sophie stretched sensuously, tangling her fingers together with a little laugh. “Is it morning?” she murmured. “We don’t have to go back yet, do we, Hew? Stay, please.”

Pengorren was unmoved by her invitation. “Your brother’s here,” he said.

Sophie froze, and then slowly she turned. She was white, her face slack with shock. And then she gave a whimper and clapped her hands over her eyes.

“I said,
it’s your brother
.” Pengorren gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull her hands away. “Look at him, Sophie.”

Her eyes rolled wildly. “No, no, it can’t be! Nathaniel’s dead!”

“Sophie,” Nathaniel whispered, his throat aching with sorrow.

She screamed shrilly, and Pengorren let her go with an expression of disgust, so that she fell to the ground,
weeping. “It seems she doesn’t want anything to do with you, Nathaniel. Could that be because you were buried last month? This is the summer of 18
14
, after all.”

Nathaniel felt a wave of despair settle over him as he realized he’d rushed in without consideration yet again. And then despair gave way to anger as he read the victory in Pengorren’s eyes. Neptune must have felt it, too, because the horse began moving restlessly, stamping his feet.

“Do you know, Sophie will do anything I ask of her?” Pengorren went on. “She follows me about like a little pet, don’t you sweetheart? I’ve taught her all sorts of tricks—”

“Leave her alone,” Nathaniel growled.

“But she’s still fond of her big brother. Do you know what she did? Shall I tell him, Sophie?”

“No, no, don’t tell him!” Sophie’s voice was a high-pitched wail. For a moment she looked directly at Nathaniel. “Get out of here! Run, run…” And then she was screaming as though she had lost her mind.

Nathaniel backed away, shaken, his heart pounding.

“Yes, run while you can,” Pengorren hissed. “Don’t think I won’t come after you, though, and destroy you forever.”

Nathaniel stumbled at the door but caught his balance. Behind him he could hear Neptune’s high-pitched whinnies mingling with Sophie’s screams, and then a crashing and splintering as the horse broke through the door of his box. A moment later Neptune galloped by him.

Instinctively Nathaniel reached out and grasped the
horse’s mane, pulling himself up and onto Neptune’s back. He bent low, finding some comfort as Neptune took him away into the dark night, knowing there was nothing else he could do.

For a long time he rode, the image of Sophie in his head. He was a fool, a blind and impulsive fool. He’d returned to try and stop Pengorren, to save his family and Melanie, and instead he’d made things worse. Pengorren was right, he’d tried to play the hero again and instead he’d put at risk the past and the future. When would he learn he could not accomplish his task through reckless actions? When would he learn that he couldn’t do this on his own?

He must learn to think about the future, to set aside instant gratification in favor of the benefits of waiting for the perfect moment. And he must learn that it was better to cloak himself in the cold and deadly anger of a man rather than waste his energy on the hotheaded impulses of a boy.

Gradually, as Neptune’s fluid movements soothed his misery, he became aware that he was near the woods on the Truro Road.

It was here that it all began, the night he’d seen Sophie and Pengorren together, the night his mother died. And it was here it ended, when he was fatally shot and lay dying on the road.

As he remembered, he felt himself slipping away, losing touch with the here and now. He saw the moon in the dark sky, heard the cry of a hunting owl, and felt the cold air against his face. There, in crowded trees, he had stood waiting for the coach to come along, and all
the time the pain inside him bit into him like something corrosive. He was thinking of his mother, dead, her neck broken, her eyes blank and dulled. He was thinking of Pengorren in Sophie’s bed.

The memories washed over him now, so vivid and real, so painful. He couldn’t stop them taking him back through time, he didn’t try, as Neptune galloped on.

Nathaniel was standing in the shelter of the
gnarled trees, a mask covering the upper part of his face and a neckerchief over the lower half, while the old tricorn hat was pulled down on his head. He was gripping a pistol in his hand, one eye on Neptune, hidden back in the woods out of sight, and the other on the road.

He could hear the coach and horses
.

It was closing on him—Pengorren coming home to Ravenswood after his trip to Truro to make arrangements about the estate. Nathaniel’s estate. He should have gone with him, he should have insisted, but all he could see in his head was Sophie and that man, in bed together, and his mother lying dead at the bottom of the stairs.

Nathaniel was in mourning, half-crazed with grief and suspicion, and in no state to be rationally discussing the future. When Pengorren had denied being in Sophie’s bed, and then offered to go to Truro in his
stead to “handle matters” for him, Nathaniel said nothing.

“He’s lost his wife, and he still wants to lighten your load,” one of the callers come to pay his respects had spoken in wide-eyed admiration. “You should be grateful for the assistance of such a man, Nathaniel.”

Grateful! They didn’t understand, and if they did, they wouldn’t have believed it. Pengorren could do nothing wrong, while Nathaniel could do nothing right.

All day long his anger had been gathering force and focus. He needed to bring it to a head one way or another. He was sick of Pengorren’s lies, sick of feeling disloyal because he couldn’t trust the man. Sick of feeling like he was losing his mind. He needed to know the truth, whatever the danger to himself. He couldn’t wait any longer.

As the coach rounded the corner, Nathaniel fired his pistol into the air, and it was a blessed relief to do something at last.

The ensuing din was very satisfying. The horses were rearing and screaming, the driver of the coach was shouting curses, and the coach itself was creaking and rattling as it came to a shatteringly abrupt halt.

“Get down!” he ordered, waving a second loaded pistol, his hand amazingly steady. But then he found it was always so in times of crisis. When the coachman refused to obey, he raised the barrel and sighted it upon the hapless man.

“What the devil is happening?” Pengorren roared from inside the coach like a caged animal.

“Major, if ye wud be so kind as to step outside.”

He’d altered his voice, made it deeper and with a stronger Cornish accent, while the cloak concealed most of his tall, familiar form. The coach door swung open and the steps dropped down and an elegant leg in stocking and pantaloon planted itself on the top stair. Pengorren was wearing a black coat over his satin waistcoat—a small sober concession to Felicity’s death—but other than that he was no widower.

“I can have you hanged for this,” he hissed angrily.

Nathaniel smiled behind his mask. The risk he was taking made him feel more alive than he had since he left the army. But there was more to it than that. He was up against Pengorren for the first time; he was rejecting all that Pengorren was pretending to be. He was finally doing something, and it felt good.

Pengorren was furious. In the wan light of the coach lamp, his skin was flushed and his blue eyes glittering. The beringed hand at his side was clenching and unclenching, as if he wished it was fastened around Nathaniel’s neck.

“I am the magistrate for this district,” he said through his teeth. “You won’t get away with this, you bastard. I’ll have you hunted down.”

“Well, we’ll see about ’at,” Nathaniel said softly. “Give me your purse, sir.” He held out a hand. “An’ I’ll have your rings, too, while ye be at it.”

Pengorren looked at him, and something in the major’s expression made Nathaniel wonder whether he was being entirely sensible. He hadn’t really planned
this out after all. As usual he was acting on impulse, on instinct. But it was too late, he wasn’t going to turn tail now. It was done, and in truth he couldn’t feel sorry.

Pengorren was tugging at the rings on his fingers, tossing them contemptuously at Nathaniel’s feet, before reaching for his purse.

“There’s little enough in there,” he said, throwing the small leather bag. “Hardly worth dying for.”

Nathaniel caught it in one hand, the pistol steady in the other. “Enough for an ale or two,” he replied pleasantly. “I’m very grateful, sir. Ye can go now.”

But Pengorren didn’t scurry back into the coach as he was supposed to. He stood staring at Nathaniel, cold-eyed, and then he said in a voice so low only Nathaniel could hear it, “You’ll regret this, my friend.”

When the coach had gone, Nathaniel stood alone in the darkness, the rings at his feet and the purse in his hand. His head was throbbing, as if he had just fought a vicious hand-to-hand combat, but there was a sense of elation, too. He had seen the real Pengorren tonight, the man who lived behind the amiable exterior, and he knew for certain that Pengorren was his deadly enemy.

The road shivered beneath his feet, and he stumbled, taken by surprise, attempting to stay upright. A part of his mind was telling him this wasn’t right. It didn’t happen like this. Pengorren had climbed into his coach and driven away. But now here he was again, standing in the road right in front of him. Just the two of them.
And it was no longer like a dream, it seemed real…

“That’s right, Nathaniel,” Pengorren said, his voice soft and seductive. “You stay right here with me in the past where I want you. You enjoyed that memory, didn’t you? Make the most of it, because it will be your last. Did you really think I’d let you just ride away? I’m going to have to kill you all over again, and this time you won’t be coming back.”

“You can’t,” Nathaniel said, but it was a whisper, and he felt dizzy. Pengorren’s face was wavering in and out of his vision. There was a thudding in his ears, like horses’ hooves, and his face was wet with salt spray, and yet the sea was miles away from the Truro Road.

“Haven’t you learned yet,” Pengorren retorted arrogantly, “that there’s nothing I can’t do?”

Nathaniel!
A woman’s voice in his head, breathy and terrified. Nathaniel spun around, almost losing his balance, but there was no one there in the dark woods. Then, louder, closer. “Nathaniel!”

Pengorren cursed, and said, “Melanie? Where is that interferring bitch? Why can’t she mind her own business and stay in her own time?”

“Melanie,” Nathaniel whispered, “I need you. Come to me.”

The salt stung his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. He could feel Neptune beneath him, he could hear the pounding of the sea against the cliffs. The cliffs? What in God’s name was happening to him.

And then Pengorren grabbed Nathaniel’s arm, his fingers pressing painfully deep into his flesh. His face was
so close that Nathaniel could see the pores of his skin, and suddenly he was back on the road again, darkness all around him.

“No, you don’t,” Pengorren said. “No wandering off. You stay right here with me. I have you now, and I won’t let you go.”

Melanie was all alone in the darkened house. The storm had come over with terrifying swiftness, the wind howling around Ravenswood while overhead lightning flashed and thunder growled. The electricity had flickered once or twice and then gone out. She’d lit some candles, and she had her flashlight, but still the house seemed dark and dangerous, like a heavy weight around her.

Where was Nathaniel? When he left her he hadn’t said he was going away. There was something very wrong, she could feel it. He was too rash, the sort of man who dived headlong into battle without considering the consequences. She feared for him.

An extraloud crack of thunder came from overhead, and she shivered. She wasn’t certain if the surging noise she could hear was the sea against the cliffs or the trees blown by the wind. Melanie ran to the window and stood, fingers gripping the sill, peering out. It was as black as night out there, the rain thudding all around, puddles already forming on the driveway. Lightning slashed across the sky, dazzling her and making her blink.

Melanie…

“Nathaniel?” She turned, thinking he must be here in
the room with her, but she was alone in the dark house. And then she realized his voice was in her head, coming from that part of her she had kept locked away for so long.

Melanie, come to me
.

He was fading, leaving her. Trembling, Melanie closed her eyes and concentrated. She drew his image into her mind, so real and vibrant and alive.

“Nathaniel, where are you?”

The room spun and the sound of the sea surged in her head. Melanie cried out as she felt a part of her breaking away, splitting in two. One half remained in the darkened room, grounded, while the other slipped backward into time, like a roller coaster on a hairpin bend, fighting it all the way.

It was night and cold. Melanie saw that she was approaching the woods, the dark trees leaning together like whispering widows. Nathaniel stood on the road, the moonlight shining eerily across his features. Pengorren was before him, eyes strangely aglow, as the two men faced each other.

Melanie stepped closer, not feeling the chill night, seeming to float above the ground. Inside, her soul, her spirit, was humming, so strongly, so powerfully she no longer felt like herself.

“Nathaniel?” she called.

His eyes flicked toward her, and for a moment she saw into his heart. He was angry, but he was also shaken. Things, she thought, hadn’t gone as he wanted them to.

The contact seemed to anchor her, for now she
found herself standing firmly on the road. She came to stand at his side, aligning herself with him, and watched as Pengorren’s mouth twitch in a scornful smile.

“Melanie,” he said, “what a pleasure.”

But Melanie wasn’t fooled. It wasn’t a pleasure. He didn’t like her invading his past, any more than she liked him stealing into her present.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m showing Nathaniel how he died,” Pengorren said.

“You killed him,” Melanie retorted, “and then made it look like an accident.”

Pengorren smiled. “Far too simplistic, Melanie. I’m capable of a great deal more than that.”

“What are you?” Nathaniel demanded. “What evil demon spawned you?”

“Ask the sorceress,” he replied.

“The sorceress?” Melanie glanced from one to the other. “Who’s she?”

“The self-styled queen of the between-worlds,” Pengorren sneered.

“Do you—” Melanie began, but she was interrupted.

A cry sounded from the woods. “Hew?”

Nathaniel started forward. “Sophie?” But Pengorren held out his hand to stop him.

“She can’t hear you,” he said. “She’s not really here. What you can see is the essence of Sophie, her ghost, if you like. I’ve brought her here so that she can replay her part from the night you died, Nathaniel. Don’t you
want to know what happened? I mean, what
really
happened?”

Sophie was in sight now, a dark cloak covering her from head to toe, except where the lighter strip of her gown showed between the fastenings. For something that was a “ghost” she seemed very solid. She gripped one of the tree trunks, peering around her. “Hew?” she whispered again. “Where are you? I don’t like this place…”

“I’m here,” Pengorren called. Then, to Nathaniel and Melanie, “Don’t worry, she can’t see you.”

Sophie stepped out of the woods, sighing with relief, her eyes big and a little wild. “Why did you want me to meet you here, Hew? I don’t understand. Is this another test of my love?”

“Yes, Sophie, this is another test,” Pengorren said, taking her hands and placing the pistol in them.

She looked down at it and tried to pull away.

“No, Sophie, this is what I want you to do. Your brother has lost his mind. He is no longer responsible for his own actions. You do know that, don’t you?”

Sophie stared up at him, white-faced. “I know he is playing at being a highwayman,” she whispered. “But he’s not like that, Hew, he’s not!”

“I know, I understand,” Hew assured her, “but I am the magistrate, and I am bound to act and soon. I will have to arrest him, and he will hang. You know that, Sophie. He will suffer. There is only one solution. End his life swiftly, and save me from the pain of being the one to sentence him to the gallows. You know how fond I am of the boy.”

Sophie shook her head, but her eyes were fastened on Pengorren’s.

Nathaniel groaned. Melanie reached for his hand, to comfort him, but couldn’t seem to grasp it.

“You have to do this,” Pengorren went on. “Sophie?”

For a time she continued to fight against it, but Melanie could see her weakening before Pengorren’s greater strength.

“But Hew?” she breathed. “There must be another way. Can’t we get him out of Cornwall, onto a ship for the Americas?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear. It’s gone beyond that now. No, he must die, Sophie. A good clean death, what more could a soldier ask for?”

Soon she fell silent, listening to him, and then she gave a little sob and nodded.

“When?” she asked, and her voice had lost all color.

“Tonight.”

“He will not suffer?”

“No. Not if you aim true.”

“You bastard,” Nathaniel whispered. “You evil bastard!”

Pengorren laughed. “Poor Sophie, she’d do anything for me.”

“Hew?” Sophie whispered, not understanding.

Furiously, Nathaniel flung himself at Pengorren, but the other man moved back, fumbling at a chain about his neck and lifting some sort of medallion. The next instant, Nathaniel was gone.

Melanie spun around, searching the road, but Na
thaniel had vanished. Sophie was gone, too. It was just herself and Pengorren, alone on the road.

“Where is he? What have you done to him?” she cried in a panic.

“He was never really here, Melanie. He was like Sophie. I captured his mind, his essence, but his body is elsewhere. It was a trick. While I kept his mind occupied, his physical body has been moving closer to its death. Maybe it’s already too late. I’m sorry, I know you were fond of the boy, but perhaps I can make up for his loss.”