The Highwayman's Lady (4 page)

He cannot have failed to detect the quiver in my voice, occasioned as much by my concerns at my own likely fate.

“I have not, madam, though I have taken the liberty of silencing him since I found his ranting tiresome. I stuffed his gloves in his mouth, but I fear he will soon spit them out since he seems most determined to heap insults upon you, me, and the world at large. A more permanent solution might be best. Would you like me to dispatch him for you? It would be no trouble.”

I gape at him, wide-eyed. That possibility is not one I had considered, not for a moment. I reject the notion however, for I am no murderer nor would I willingly become an accomplice to such an act.

“No, sir. I would not have his death on my conscience.”

The highwayman shifts along the seat to place himself directly opposite me. He reaches to cup my battered face in his palm. “A generous sentiment, madam, though not one shared by your companion. He would have surely killed you had I not disturbed him just now.”

“I know. I… I must thank you for your timely arrival, sir.”

His eyes narrow. “You are most welcome. Since you have no valuables and as I have rejected your would-be bridegroom’s alternative proposal, I will trouble you no further this evening. I intend to leave your eager bridegroom and the coachman tied to the carriage wheel, but you are free. It is up to you whether you choose to release them after I am gone, or maybe you will use this opportunity to make good your escape. Whatever you decide, I wish you good fortune, my lady.”

He offers me a curt nod and turns to leave.

“Please, wait.” I blurt out my words without thinking. He pauses, turns his head to regard me over his shoulder.

“Madam?”

“Take me with you. Please.”

He appears to consider my request, though just briefly. Then he shakes his head. “As I explained to your companion when he suggested a similar course of action, I do not abduct females and would object most strenuously to being hanged for such a crime. I have my faults, as must be evident, but I am no abuser of women.”

“It would not be abduction; it would be… a rescue. I will tell them that, if we are caught.” I reach for him, grasp his sleeve.

He makes a point of looking at my fingers as I clutch at his arm but does not shake me off. His gaze is level as he regards my no doubt frantic features. “I do not believe the distinction would be appreciated. I am sorry, I cannot help you other than to afford you the means to gain your freedom as I have already explained.”

“But, he will catch me. Sidney, I mean. I just need to get to my family in Scotland. They will help me.”

He shakes his head. “This is a secluded spot. It is likely to be several hours at least before anyone comes by to release him. Sidney, did you say? You will have good start on him.”

I nod. “I know, but how far will I get on foot? I do not even have a cloak.”

“We could always liberate that fine garment worn by Sidney. I would be delighted to assist you in that endeavour.”

I bow my head, disheartened. Sidney’s cloak will help, but I would still be facing a journey of over two hundred miles with no money, no food, no change of clothing, on foot and battered as I am. Even if I am able to reach Lady Beatrice in Stirling, what sort of a sight would I present by the time I arrive? She is as likely to slam her door and set the dogs on me thinking me to be an itinerant beggar as she would be to welcome me as her long-lost cousin. I try one last tack.

“I could pay you.”

He furrows his brow, his head tilted to one side. “Could you? I thought we had established that you have no money, nothing of value.”

“I do not, not yet. But I stand to inherit twenty thousand pounds on my twenty-first birthday, just eight months from now. If Sidney succeeds in forcing me to wed him, he will gain control of my inheritance. If you aid me in eluding him and thwarting his plans, I will pay you one thousand pounds. You will have to wait for eight months, but I swear to you I will redeem my debt.”

“I do believe you would, miss. However, even the promise of a small fortune for my trouble will not induce me to court the hangman’s noose for such an offence. What is more, if I were the chivalrous knight in shining armour you clearly mistake me for, I would not take payment from you in any case.”

I face the highwayman again and contemplate further pleading. I opt for a more direct and immediate reward.

“Sir, I would be prepared to do anything, anything at all you may desire, in exchange for your assistance.” I trust he will take my meaning and from the wicked glint that I perceive in his eyes, I can tell it is not lost on him. Despite my bold offer, a burning flush rises from below my neckline and creeps up my face. I am oddly calm at the prospect of sleeping with this outlaw. Indeed, the idea awakens some rather peculiar sensations deep in my belly. He may be ugly as the devil himself behind that mask, but I find him to be strangely attractive and he has treated me with the utmost respect thus far. Even so, the act of offering my body to him is not one which comes easily.

“Miss, you do tempt me, most sorely. However, I must, with regret, decline.”

It seems I am not, after all, destined to have a highwayman. My disappointment at this is unexpected, but I meet his gaze, determined not to sacrifice my dignity despite his rejection and the pressing dilemma I find myself facing. “I see. Then thank you, I would appreciate your aid in the matter of the cloak.” Even bound as he is, I prefer to give Sidney a wide berth.

My liberator descends from the coach and I hear a brief but angry exchange. Sidney has clearly rid himself of the gloves stopping his mouth and is not prepared to relinquish his garment without protest. He loses the argument and in moments the masked bandit reappears at the door of the coach.

“May I assist you down, miss?”

“Thank you.” I take his outstretched hand and make my way to the exit, wincing at the sharp pain in my side. The discomfort is easing, however, which leads me to conclude that no ribs are broken and for that at least I am thankful. The highwayman lifts me to the ground, then wraps the cloak around my shoulders.

“Here, this may aid your cause. I wish you well.” He hands me a small purse, encouragingly heavy.

I peer at him, surprised. This is surely not the way a robbery should go. “Sir?”

“You had no money. Now you do. You should be able to purchase passage to Scotland with that.” He leans down to drop a brief and wholly unexpected kiss on my forehead, tips his hat to me, then turns and strides to the dark horse standing quietly beside the coach. He leaps into the saddle, his movements fluid and agile, lifts his hand in silent salute. Then, with a nudge of the man’s heels, the horse bursts into a gallop. The animal leaps the wall beside the road and the pair disappear into the night.

I remain rooted to the spot for several seconds after the beat of hooves dies away. I stare into the velvet blackness, half expecting the masked bandit to relent even now and come cantering back for me.

It is not to be. Instead, Sidney is heaping curses upon me and demanding to be set free. I spare him a glance. Both my stepbrother and the coachman have been lashed securely to the wheels of the coach as the highwayman described. The driver seems to accept his situation with stoic calm, but Sidney is struggling to escape.

“Untie me, you snivelling bitch. That thieving bastard is getting away and he has my purse—and my watch. He even stole my fucking ring.”

Even in the dim moonlight, my stepbrother’s contorted, irate features are plain to see. He has murder on his mind. I back away from him, wondering which way is best to run.

“Imogen, do as you are fucking told or so help me, I’ll take a whip to you and strip the miserable hide from your scrawny carcass. Get over here and set me free. Now!”

I require no further encouragement. Wrapping the cloak around me, I break into a sprint. I scale the wall that the horse cleared with such ease and run as hard as I am able across the springy meadow on the other side. I pass several disinterested cows and can make out a stand of trees several hundred yards in front of me, illuminated in the soft moonlight. I head for that, believing the cover it will afford me will stand me in good stead.

My strategy is not well formed. In truth, I am running headlong across the grassland, simply seeking to put as much distance between me and Sidney as is humanly possible. I hitch the heavy black serge of my mourning dress around my knees and run as hard as I can. Reaching the trees I crash on through them, my breath heaving. My sides ache and my legs are ready to collapse under me. Yet still I run, darting between the trees, seeking the far side of the small wood.

All the while, Sidney is screeching his venom and threats after me, his enraged tones ringing across the countryside. His voice grows fainter as I make progress and at last fades to nothing as I slip into the protection of the trees.

I pause, leaning against the trunk of a stout oak to catch my breath and get my bearings. I drag in several shallow breaths, ready to plunge once again into my desperate dash for freedom. It is then that I hear it. Sidney’s bellow—clear and growing louder.

Oh, sweet heaven preserve me, he is free.
He has somehow managed to escape and is in pursuit. With a cry of utter despair, I break into a run again.

“Do you think to escape me, you grasping, treacherous little bitch?” His words reach me, piercing the darkness. I run faster.

“I shall have you yet, slut, you and the bloody inheritance you thought to steal from me. You will never have anything of mine and you shall never be free of me.” He is closer, gaining on me fast. I may be fitter than he, more nimble, but the beating I took has exacted its toll. Even the cloak, whose warmth I so desired, is hampering my progress. I pause to loosen it and fling it aside.

It must be several minutes but feels like mere moments before he is within sight, when I turn to glance back over my shoulder. With a speed born of pure rage he powers forth, narrowing the gap between us with every step. If he catches me, he will kill me this time—I have no illusions on that score. My only hope is to outrun him and that seems more forlorn with every passing second.

In my preoccupation with looking back to check my pursuer’s progress, I fail to properly watch where I am going. A tree root wraps itself around my foot and I fall heavily to the ground. I attempt to scramble to my feet, but it is too late. He is on me. I let out a scream, though I know there is no one to hear. No one will come to my aid.

The struggle is brief and unequal. Sidney rolls me onto my back and draws back his fist to batter me. I open my mouth but my scream is silent now. I close my eyes, brace for what is to come.

As quickly as the struggle started, it ends. Sidney is hauled from me, to be sent hurtling across the flattened grass. A shadow pursues him and I catch a brief glimpse of the cloak, the flash of a pistol. I manage to sit up and see the dark horse stamping and fretting to my left. The highwayman is pummelling Sidney into a bloodstained pulp, his movements controlled, effortless, but delivered with deadly effect. He will kill him; it is that simple.

“Please, stop. Enough.” I call out, hoping to end the slaughter. I recoil from violence and bloodshed, however well deserved.

I am astonished when my rescuer halts and turns to regard me. He still wears his mask, though his hat has been discarded. He returns to my side.

“You have the right of it, miss. He is not worth the noose. You, on the other hand…”

He reaches for me, offering his aid as I attempt to get back on my feet. I take his gloved hand and find myself standing before him.

I tilt back my head in order to look him in the eye. “You came back.”

He offers me a courtly bow. “It seems I did. We must assume your offer was more persuasive than I at first thought.”

“Which offer? I made two proposals to you.”

He lifts one eyebrow. “Madam, I am a businessman, not a despoiler of helpless women.”

“Ah… the money then.” I am strangely disappointed and not because I had hoped to retain my fortune intact.

“A thousand pounds, you say?”

“Yes, it shall be yours in eight months’ time.”

“In that case, madam, I am at your service.”

I have not the faintest notion what possessed me to reconsider. It is not as though I need the little wench’s money and I have no serious intention of collecting my ‘fee’ in eight months’ time. Her alternative offer is the more attractive, but I doubt the lady to be in any condition to fulfil her part of that particular bargain, at least not for a while. She is badly battered, her face and body a mass of bruises and as she walks beside me to my horse, I discern a distinct limp. I also notice how small she is, a fact that had somehow escaped me back at the coach.

That bastard has much to answer for and he shall do so. Not right now though and certainly not while my little protégée looks on. It would have been a pleasure to deal with him here and now but he will keep and I have a more pressing problem to address. I need to find a place of safety in which to install a vulnerable young lady until such time as she is sufficiently recovered to make the journey to Scotland. I am reluctant to abandon her in some anonymous coaching inn, but neither am I comfortable about remaining overlong in her company. Apart from the rather insistent demands being made by my dick, I consider it less than prudent to risk enabling her to identify me in the future. She may be grateful for my aid now, but will that sentiment last when in the cool light of a new day she has the leisure to reflect upon my dubious profession?

A highwayman trusts no one. That is the only way to keep the hangman at bay and even that strategy cannot always be guaranteed to work.

I whistle and Nero, my horse, lifts his head from the grazing he was enjoying. He trots over to us, his reins dangling from the bridle. I flung myself from his back as soon as I came upon the struggle in the woods and am glad of his loyal nature that means he will never stray far. I remount and lean down to offer my assistance to my diminutive companion. She takes my hand and I lift her up to sit before me. She winces as she seeks to arrange herself in comfort.