The Highwayman's Lady (10 page)

Gray nods to the driver as we hurry from the confines of the inn. He is a nondescript fellow who I suspect has been well paid to recall nothing of this morning’s excursion. I accept Gray’s assistance into the conveyance and make no further promises that I will not betray either him or his friend. I am sure he knows this already, but I cannot fault him for being cautious.

Gray appears disinclined to make conversation and I find myself quite at a loss to know what to say. He insisted I wear his cloak for the duration of the journey, the one I acquired from Sidney long since abandoned in my mad flight through the trees to escape my stepbrother. I huddle within the heavy fabric that is infused with Gray’s fresh, musky scent and I muse over my situation. My misgivings about what has happened between us, the intimacy we shared, have not been entirely dispelled, though I hope my view now is a more balanced one. I am ready to accept that I took my pleasure, a great deal of pleasure, from a man who offered it freely. He is a stranger to me, more or less and shall remain so. We shall not encounter one another again.

Our paths crossed, briefly and I am thankful that they did. Apart from Gray’s aid in protecting me and delivering me from Sidney’s murderous plans, he gave me something I am convinced I would otherwise have never experienced.

It is not my intention to marry—ever. Even without Sidney’s nefarious intentions, I had already arrived at the conclusion that I will not readily give up my life, and all that I will ever own, in exchange for the dubious haven of matrimony. I prefer to remain an independent woman and will soon have the means to do so. I am quite aware that the sensual delight I experienced in Gray’s bed is likely to have to last me a lifetime.

So be it. I will not live with regrets or guilt and I shall not yearn for what I cannot have. I shall go forward, my reminiscences of my gallant, if somewhat uncompromising highwayman, etched in my mind. They will be fond memories and all I shall retain of him.

My head thus filled with stoic determination, we clatter into the yard of a coaching inn on the outskirts of Harrogate. Gray opens one shutter on the side of our carriage and points out the coach to me, the six horses that will take me and my fellow passengers on the first leg of the journey already between the shafts. It is full light now, though a dull day. Thankfully, it is dry and not unduly cold so our journey will be less hazardous than it might have been. Even so, I experience a flutter of anxiety as I peruse the waiting vehicle.

“The coachman is expecting you and your seat is paid for. Do you have your purse safe, the one I gave you?”

I retrieve the small bag of coins from among my skirts, the serviceable wool dress being usefully supplied with secure pockets. “Yes, I have it here.” I gaze across the carriage at him, reluctant to take my leave. It will be so final.

“Good. Do you have all you need? Your food for the journey?”

I pick up the basket of provisions from beside my feet and nod. I am finding it hard to speak. Already his image is blurred by my tears.

He sees and leans across to wipe the moisture from my face with his thumbs. “Now, what is this? Do not cry for me, little one. I am a worthless rogue, you know that better than anyone. I believe you may have pointed that fact out to me only last night.”

“I was wrong,” I snivel, “you convinced me of that.”

“Ah, yes, your delightful derrière paid the price for your brief lapse in reason. I think perhaps you found the experience a surprising one though and not altogether unpleasant. Maybe I should spank you again, as a farewell gesture.”

I consider that for a moment, then find my voice. “Were we not in the middle of a busy inn yard, sir, my coach about to leave without me, I might be inclined to accept that offer.”

He laughs out loud, a rich, sensual sound, then moves across the small carriage to sit beside me and enfold me in his arms. “Take care, little one. I did not go to all this trouble and expense preserving your hide just to have you tumble from a coach or die of some fever because you forgot to wrap up warm. Go now, you should hurry.”

He is right but I find myself unable to move from his embrace. I mutter my thanks, inadequate though they are and start to loosen the ties of his cloak, intending to return it to him.

“No, you keep it. Remember that fever.” He leans past me to open the door, then offers me his hand to aid me in dismounting whilst somehow contriving to remain concealed within the dark interior. Seconds later I find myself standing on the cobbles, gazing up at him. I make no attempt to stem the flow of my tears.

He hands me the basket of food and blows me a kiss. “Be safe, Miss Bennett. I wish you well.”

He closes the door and I suspect he does not hear me repeat his words back to him. At the light tap on the roof from within, our disinterested driver clicks on his reins and the small carriage wheels around and away from me. I stand watching as Gray disappears from my life to the accompaniment of a brisk rattle of hooves and metal-rimmed wheels striking Yorkshire stone.

Several seconds pass; he is gone from my sight and my life. At last I turn and make my way to the waiting coach.

The journey to Edinburgh has been uneventful to the point of tedium. The weather was kind enough; we made good time as we cantered along the Great North Road and encountered no ruffians bent on robbery or worse. We stopped in Durham to change the horses and take some refreshment, then again in Berwick-upon-Tweed. We are to remain overnight in this small town on the Scottish border and I have been able to secure decent lodgings at a respectable inn. If the tavern keeper or patrons consider it amiss for a lady to be travelling alone, they do not remark upon it. Even so, I am glad enough to accept the company of an elderly couple also making the trip to Edinburgh as we eat our evening meal in the private dining room at the rear of the inn.

They are curious but polite and I am able to stave off their enquiries as to the purpose of my journey and the circumstances that have resulted in my being unaccompanied. I do not tarry over my meal, preferring to make my excuses and retire to my tiny room in the eaves.

We trundle through the outskirts of Edinburgh by noon the following day and I am fortunate enough to be able to purchase passage on a connecting coach bound for Stirling that leaves almost immediately. Hence, I find myself disembarking in the shadow of Stirling Castle by early evening. I wonder whether it is too late to seek out the earl of Kirkleven at once or should I seek lodgings for a further night and make my appearance with my mother’s kinsfolk in the light of day. I check the remaining contents of the purse provided by Gray. I might have sufficient funds to purchase one night’s lodgings but would find myself then with nothing in reserve. What if the earl and countess are not at home or refuse me their hospitality? I somehow doubt the latter, but cannot be certain. I opt to retain my slender resources and resolve to make my way to Kirkleven this evening.

I was right to assume that the earl would be well known in the area and directions to his estate on the other side of the bustling town are readily forthcoming. The distance is over five miles though, too far to walk, and as I catch my first glimpse of Stirling I gain the impression I am in somewhat lawless terrain. The inhabitants of the town scurry along the narrow streets as they go about their business and I spot at least three pickpockets plying their trade. I wonder if Gray commenced his career thus.

I conclude that I cannot avoid the expense of hiring another carriage.

Accordingly, some three hours after arriving in Stirling, I find myself gazing up in wonder at the elaborate facade of the family seat of the earl of Kirkleven as the small gig that brought me here disappears back along the winding lane leading toward the town.

The house is grand, far larger than I had anticipated. I am no scholar of architecture but surmise the structure to date back to the fifteenth or sixteenth century. It has been extended to offer more modern accommodation in two new wings and stands in graceful, sculptured grounds. In the fading light, I can just make out the silhouettes of deer scattered on the hillside at the rear of the property. They watch in silent curiosity as I ponder the solid oak door behind which lies my future. Or so I hope.

I draw in a deep breath, then another. Thus fortified, I march up to the portal and thump on it with the side of my fist. The sound is deadened by the thickness of the wood so I consider attempting to summon attention again. I raise my hand to do so, but drop it quickly when the door is opened to reveal a small individual dressed in rather austere black. He peers at me in the gathering gloom, his brows lowered as he looks me up and down.

I am glad of the new gown. Well—the not so old gown, as Gray pointed out. I do at least appear reasonably well turned out, sufficiently so to greet these relatives I have never met but on whom so much rests. I have no idea how polite company comports itself here in the Scottish borders, but I cannot believe an earl possessed of such a fine estate is reduced to answering his own front door. This stern gatekeeper must be a servant, surely, though his demeanour does not suggest that.

“Yes?” he intones, his expression far from welcoming.

I paint a polite smile onto my face and concentrate on trying not to appear too desperate. “Ah, good evening. I wonder, is it possible to speak with the countess, please?”

“The countess?” he parrots back at me.

I am proud to report my smile does not waver. “Yes, Lady Beatrice. Is she at home, by any chance?”

“Aye, Lady Beatrice is here.”

A wave of relief flows through me as my worst fear evaporates. “Ah, good. I realise I am not expected and the hour is growing late, but it is imperative that I speak to her.” I step forward, expecting him to invite me inside. He does not and I find myself making sharp contact with the solid mass of the door. I step back, my smile less apparent now, I daresay. “Excuse me, may I come inside?”

“Lady Beatrice is not receivin’ guests. Ye’ll have to come back another day.” He makes to close the door on me.

“No. Wait, please. I won’t keep her more than a few minutes. You
did
say she was at home, did you not?”

“Aye, but ye canna see her. If ye tell me where ye’re stoppin’ I’ll tell ‘er an’ she can send ye word when it be convenient.” With that, he closes the door firmly in my face.

I gape at the woodwork separating me from the woman I so badly need to see. Surely Beatrice would not turn me away. If I can just get this unhelpful individual to tell her I am here… With renewed vigour, I thump on the door again.

I am forced to repeat my actions four more times before the reluctant servant returns. He opens it again, his scowl fit to strike fear into the sturdiest of hearts. Mine is not in the least sturdy at this moment, as I contemplate a five-mile walk back along the country lane to reach the closest approximation to civilised company. It is dark now, more than a little chilly and becoming colder by the minute and I have been two days on the road. I need to at least be afforded a bed for the night and I am not above pleading with this surly man if I have to.

“Please, is there anyone else I could speak to if Lady Beatrice is too busy this evening?”

“They’re all busy.”

“I see. But perhaps—”

“What the hell is going on there, Masterson? What’s all the bloody din for?” Another voice enters our conversation and one that sounds more than a little irritated. I am not acquitting myself well at all.

“It’s someone wantin’ to see ‘er ladyship, sir. I told ‘er Lady Beatrice isna seein’ anyone but she willna go away. Shall I ‘ave ‘er seen off our land, my lord?”

“Who is it? What is her business with the countess?”

“She didna say, my lord.”

He has never asked and I have yet to find an opportunity to explain my presence here. The door opens wider as the servant steps back to allow his master to take over proceedings. I am, at last, to have an opportunity to tell my story and seek the protection of my family.

The manservant, Masterson, backs off and I find myself gaping up at a man head and shoulders taller than I am. From my mother’s description I know Sir Phillip, earl of Kirkleven, to be around fifty years of age, though this man does not look above forty. His brow is furrowed, his mouth turned down in an irritable scowl. He regards me for a few moments, then, “Your name, miss?”

“Er… Bennett. Imogen Bennett, my lord. From York.”

“York? You are far from home, Miss Bennett. How can we help you?”

“I was hoping to speak with Lady Beatrice…?”

“The countess is not available. What is your business with my wife?”

“I… she… Lady Beatrice is my cousin. I mean, my mother’s cousin. She was, at least.”

“Cousin?” He lifts one aristocratic eyebrow as he rakes his gaze down my less than prepossessing appearance. I am quite sure I do not look like any cousin he might have imagined would ever be connected to his noble house.

I nod as I draw Gray’s cloak more closely around my body to fend off the growing chill on this most inclement doorstep. “Yes. My mother and Lady Beatrice, they were close, as children.” I pause, then, “Perhaps Lady Beatrice has spoken of her girlhood, maybe mentioned my mother. She was called Prudence.”

He narrows his eyes thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “No, I do not believe I have heard my wife mention such a person.”

My heart sinks. “But I am telling the truth. I am certain Lady Beatrice will bear out my story.”

His expression softens. “I did not say I disbelieve you, Miss Bennett. And you must forgive me as I am forgetting my manners entirely. It has been a most trying day, I am afraid. Please, won’t you come inside and we can talk in comfort.”

He gestures me to enter his home. I do so quickly, before he changes his mind and I trail along the hallway in his wake.

“Masterson, would you take Miss Bennett’s cloak and bring us some refreshment, please. We will be in the library.”

“Of course, my lord.” The servant takes my outer garment from me, folds it over his arm and scuttles off, all helpful obsequiousness now. I follow Sir Phillip into a room at the end of his imposing vestibule and cannot contain my admiring gasp at the wealth of literary quality that adorns the book-lined walls.