The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (30 page)

He tossed his hat onto the seat and followed it with the black silk handkerchief he used as a mask. The coat he threw over the side of the wagon before giving attention to his boots.

Those went first into the small chest he kept stowed under the wagon seat. The boots, like the coat, were too old to be fashionable, but something appealed to him about the softness of the leather and the way the tops hung in a deep cuff when not lashed over his knees. They reminded him of cavalry boots, except the tops were the same supple leather as the shaft.

Sam folded the coat in over the boots, smoothing the long, full skirts, careful not to snag the fantastic embroidery with his roughened fingertips. Some nobleman had once worn the ensemble, he was sure.

More than a year ago he’d been paid to take the chest from Philly down to Salem, only to find the recipient had died. Inquiries yielded no word of any heirs, certainly no one willing to take the thing off his hands.

He and Jed had debated long and hotly before striking off the lock and peering inside. The hat appeared interesting enough, plain black felt cocked on three sides with black braid trim and a black ostrich feather, but then came that coat and the boots after. Lured by the feel of such soft, quality leather, Sam could not resist trying on the boots, on the spot. They fit as if made for him.

Jed, laughing, suggested he don the coat next. Shaking his head, Sam did, feeling foolish but enjoying the lark.

And then, like tonight, there came a cry, an unmistakable sound of someone in distress. Without a word, Sam grabbed the plumed hat and reached for the long whip he’d always taken just a little too much pride in, then ran to see what was the matter. Only as an afterthought did he pull up the kerchief he kept tied about his neck, covering the lower half of his face.

A lark, he told himself. That first time was a simple matter of a pickpocket, quickly dispatched with but a flick or two of his whip. The woman Sam rescued was so grateful, and the notoriety afterward went quite to his head, that he and Jed plotted more. Once in Philadelphia, to challenge a group of redcoats. Another time in Winchester, where Tories harassed a man who voiced his discontent with the Crown. Two or three in Big Lick—none of those planned—but Sam had gotten skilled at putting on the disguise quickly and had cut eye holes in the kerchief, to tie it over his head and conceal his identity.

Dozens of times, up and down the Great Road. Indeed, it had gotten quite out of hand.

Inside the inn, he slipped off his boots and crept up the stairs to the chamber he shared with Jed. Nearly always the same room, just below Sally’s.

Jed snored then rolled over, and Sam stretched out beside him. He lay for a moment listening. Nothing but the usual creaks and whispers of a house. Lord willing, Sally was asleep long ago.

Lord, please let her not lose sleep over this night.

The next he knew, it was full daylight, and Jed was gone.

Memory of the night before returned in a rush. Pulse racing, Sam rose, splashed water on his face and smoothed back his hair without bothering to retie it, then grabbed his boots and headed downstairs.

A feminine voice floated up the stairs to him—Sally? No, her mother. He paused at the bottom step. Snuffling came from the direction of the kitchen. Softly, he crept down the hall to peer around the corner.

Sally stood at a table, back to him, stirring something in a bowl, but slowly. She stopped, her shoulders lifting and falling with a sigh, and one hand came up to swipe across her eyes.

His heart seized. Sally, crying? Had he done that, or—

Please, Lord, if You will, let her brother be well!

“Sally? Is aught amiss?”

His own voice startled him, and she spun with a gasp. Shadows rimmed her eyes, and aye, she’d been weeping. “Oh—I—nay, all is well.”

He let himself relax but a little. “Your brother?”

Another sniffle, but she waved her hand. “He’s better this morning, thankfully.”

“Ah.” He stood there, stupidly.
Come on, man! Find your tongue again.

A scowl marred Sally’s fine brow. “You’re up late, aren’t you? Breakfast is in the great room, if your cousin hasn’t eaten it all—”

“Ah, Sam! There you are,” came Jed’s booming voice.

Sam gritted his teeth. Should he thank his cousin for the interruption, or pummel him?

It was more words than she’d ever heard at one time from the quiet wagon master—and he couldn’t have picked a worse time. Catching her mooning and blubbering over a bowl of blackberries, when she should have had the pies baking already.

Just for a second, though, he’d nearly caused her heart to stop, and for the most unaccountable reason….

She glanced away as Sam’s blustering cousin clapped him on the shoulder. “Late to rise again, I see! How many times have I told you to lay off the drink?”

Sally shot them both a sharp glance. Sam looked—what
was
that look? His head dropped, a single blond lock sweeping across a jaw gone completely crimson.

Something in her sank. “Where did you get drink? My father doesn’t like to serve anything stronger than watered ale, unless someone’s dying.”

Jed turned a too-wide grin on her. “Oh, Sam keeps a store in the wagon. Don’t you, Sam?”

Why was he so cheerful about it? Men. Bumbling clods, all.

With the possible exception of one…

She turned away. It hurt to breathe. “Begone, both of you. I have work to do.”

The hallway door to the outside slammed, and Johnny’s voice overlaid the patter of his running feet. “Jed! Sam! You’ll never guess! The Highwayman was here last night. In our town!”

Sally’s knees nearly buckled. Sweet Lord, have mercy. Word was out already?

Sam could feel his face blanch, and the sudden weight of Jed’s gaze upon him. “Was he, now?” his cousin drawled. But it was Sally who consumed all his attention—Sally, gripping the table as if her life depended on it, her own face gone pale.

Johnny was still jumping up and down. “Sally, did you hear? The Highwayman!”

“I hear,” she said, faintly.

The lad turned his grin upon Jed. “The chief justice is mad as a wet hen because he said the Highwayman accosted his son last night—but everyone knows that Willie Brown is nothing but trouble. Him and his boys—”

“Hold your tongue!”

The crackle of Sally’s voice yanked them all to attention, her dark eyes wide and more shadowed than before. Sam’s hands twitched with the sudden need to catch her close.

“Do you wish to get us all in trouble?” Sally went on, her voice lower. “It’s bad enough Willie Brown and the others run wild as they do, but this—”

Johnny and Jed gaped at her, but Sam did not move. Johnny said, “Well, the magistrate is fit to be tied. Swears he’ll catch the Highwayman once and for all—”

Fire crawled up Sam’s spine.

Sally reached behind her for a chair, and without thinking, Sam whisked one into place. She glanced up, her eyes glazed with distress, and murmured her thanks.

Her gaze found Johnny again. “What do they say happened?”

He could fix this. He could—

Nay. He should go. Now. Before his presence caught them all in the magistrate’s sights.

“Willie and his boys, they said the Highwayman challenged them. That they was minding their own business, and he stepped out and took to callin’ them names—”

Jed’s gaze was like to bore a hole in Sam. He backed out of the kitchen, taking a better grip on his boots and seizing Jed’s arm. Jed startled as if just now coming awake. “Pardon, Sally, but we’re long past needing to be on our way. Thank you kindly for breakfast.”

Who dragged who down the hallway to the great room was hard to say. They stumbled over each other at the edge of the buffet, and after a quick glance to make sure they were alone, Jed gave Sam a hard glare. “What in heaven’s name did you do last night?”

But Sam was hauling on his boots and pulling a spare cloth from his breeches pocket to wrap up a hasty breakfast from the buffet. Hanged if he’d answer that before being well away from here.

Chapter 4

S
he needed to compose herself. She
had
to.

But she stayed rooted to the chair, apron over her face.

She’d thought the affair over with when the Highwayman had chased the last of her attackers into the night. But it had just begun. “
You’re naught but a tavern maid.
” If Magistrate Brown was after the Highwayman in all this, Willie would make sure she suffered as well. Was there anyone within reach who could stop this madness?

“Lord God,” she choked, “oh God, help me.” A new fear lashed at her. “And help—help the Highwayman, whoever he is.”

Now where had that come from? Praying for someone she didn’t even know, who had played on her girlish affections as surely as Willie had sought to take advantage. Yet, she couldn’t shake the conviction that he needed the prayer.

Wherever he was.

“Sally! Whatever ails you?”

She startled upright, hastily uncovering her face and wiping her tears at Mama’s concerned inquiry. “‘Tis naught. Truly.”

Mama gave her a long look. “Well. See that you finish that pie in time for luncheon, then.”

“Aye, Mama.”

She settled herself at the table’s edge once more, surveying the bowl of sweetened berries, the sack of flour, the rolled-out pie crust at the ready. She should put the crust in the pie dish first—

“Sweetheart? Is all well?”

Her father this time. She clapped a hand over her heart. “Papa! Have a care in startling people.”

He smiled, but his dark eyes still shone with concern, as Mama’s had. And rather than leaving quickly, he took a step forward. “And I ask again, are you well?”

She straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. “Of—of course, Papa.”

He peered into her face, his broad features calm. “Jed and Sam left just now.”

“Aye.” Where was he going with this? She flicked a hand. “They were late getting on their way. Sam—slept too long.”

She swallowed past a sudden burn at the reminder that quiet, dependable Sam was secretly a drunkard.

“Well. It’s interesting, that. Before he left, young Sam asked me to tell you not to believe anything ill you might hear about him.” Her father’s gaze became uncommonly sharp. “What would you know about that?”

Sally swayed a little. Her thoughts were a perfectly clean slate. “I have no idea.”

“So, you know naught about whether the lad harbors some secret affection for you?”

“Sam? Nay!” But even as she said it, she could see again the deep flush that stained his face at Jed’s jibe over the drink.

The little smile was back on Papa’s face. “Nay?” But when she only stared at him, the look turned sad. “You’re nearly twenty, sweet girl. I know you don’t want to be working for your papa forever, that you need a home and family of your own—”

“I’m happy here,” she protested, but his hand brushed her elbow, and the smile returned, more tender this time.

“Shh, daughter. I’ll not be offended if you admit you long for a bit more than this.” He started to turn away and hesitated. “And Sam is a good lad. If he ever finds the pluck to speak his mind, you should listen.”

If Sam ever—? Nay. Last night, Sam hardly spared her a look. Men were distractible creatures, true, especially where their feed was concerned, but—nay.

Besides, last night—

“Papa?”

Her father stopped at the doorway and glanced back.

“Papa.” Sally clutched her apron then forced herself to smooth the fabric against her skirt. “There is something I must tell you.”

He turned, waiting.

She took a breath, plunged on before she could lose the moment. “The Highwayman’s appearance last night. He—he defended me, from Willie Brown and his cronies.”

Papa’s gaze narrowed, and his mouth hardened.

“After taking word to the doctor that Mama needed him for Jacky, I stopped at Polly’s. And lingered, when I shouldn’t have, but—I was nearly home when Willie and his boys stopped me.”

“Were you harmed?” he asked, in a quiet, dangerous voice she’d never heard.

“N–nay.”

“Thank the good Lord for that!”

She bobbed a nod. “But, I might have been, if—if he had not come.” She swallowed. “I do not know why he was there, but I was grateful.”