Chapter Three
John kept a tight rein on his anxious horse, wishing it were as easy to keep a rein on anxious men. The sudden change in plans didn’t sit well with his crew, though they were well enough trained, for the most part, to adapt quickly. Luckily, Philip had thought to leave a scout at the manor to keep an eye on things, or they’d have met at the rendezvous point at dawn to discover their prey had escaped in the night.
Will, the newest member of the Highland Highwayman’s crew, fidgeted at John’s side, his hand edging toward his pistol. John frowned, his gaze flicking toward Philip, who nodded and eased his horse closer to Will.
“Keep yer hand off yer weapon unless ye intend to use it, Will. We dinna want any mistakes tonight. No one is to be harmed.”
“Oh, yes sir, I know. My apologies.”
Philip and John shared another look, Philip giving him a slight shrug. Will was a good man, generally handy to have around, but young and much too highly strung for John’s liking. The last thing they needed was a dead body to deal with. It was the first job they’d allowed him to ride. Hopefully, with a bit more experience he’d calm.
John might be a highwayman during his nocturnal hours, but he still had some principles. He and his men swept in, took whatever easily disposable goodies the corrupt and traitorous noblemen had handy, and rode on. They might leave their prey angry and slightly less wealthy, but they always left them alive and, whenever possible, uninjured. John wanted to keep it that way. The price on his head, well, on the Highland Highwayman’s head, would go a whole lot higher if he accumulated a body count. He desired to right the wrongs committed under Oliver Cromwell. Not commit more atrocities.
The eerie call of an owl sounded from the direction of the woods. His lookout’s signal.
“Get into position,” John said, sending Will and Philip into the tree line.
A few more minutes…
The distant rumble of wheels echoed through the night, and John jerked his head toward the road dimly lit in the moonlight below him. The carriage ambled along at a slow, steady pace, heading straight for the narrow, wooded passage where his men waited.
A thrill shot through John. He didn’t necessarily enjoy this pastime of his—or at least not all aspects of it—but he couldn’t deny that it did liven things up a bit. And he did enjoy knocking a few corrupt nobles from their ivory perches. They might be his peers by birth, but most certainly not by honor. They didn’t know the meaning of the word. John relished enlightening them.
The carriage entered the passage, and John spurred his horse into action, thundering down the embankment and drawing even with the coach as his men burst from the trees. The carriage’s team reared in surprise. Feminine shrieks emanated from inside, along with a stream of profanity from a more masculine throat.
John frowned. There shouldn’t be any women in the carriage. It belonged to Thomas Harding, the Earl of Dawsey, an arrogant blowhard who liked to overtax his starving tenants and whose dealings under Cromwell, and in recent years, should rightly have the man swinging from a rope. John also highly suspected it was Dawsey who was behind the smuggling ring that had gotten his brother killed, but he hadn’t been able to gather enough evidence. Fergus’s reappearance at the same country house where Dawsey had been staying served only to strengthen John’s suspicions that Fergus was also involved. John wouldn’t rest until the smuggling operation had been taken down, and the men in charge, in chains. And if one of those men happened to be Fergus, that would make it all the sweeter.
In the meantime, he would make Dawsey’s life as miserable as possible. Like a cat toying with his prey. Dawsey’s actions had caused the misery of many, and most likely the death of Angus. He deserved every ounce of retribution John could lay at his feet.
John looked at Philip who shrugged. Lord Dawsey should be traveling back to court while his wife and daughter remained behind at the Barrington’s. Apparently, they’d changed their minds. Which made that night’s work more delicate than John would have liked. Women had a tendency to ruin even the best-laid plans. No help for it, though.
Will kept his gun trained on the driver while Philip’s gun joined John’s, pointing at the carriage door and the agitated occupants inside. John yanked open the door to reveal a middle-aged couple squawking with indignation. And a young woman, most likely their daughter. A connection he cursed himself for not making sooner.
Elizabet sat staring at him with an intense mixture of curiosity and excitement. In the dark of night he knew she couldn’t be sure he was the same highwayman who’d rescued her earlier that day. Though surely the coincidence would be hard to ignore. However, even if she recognized him, he wasn’t flirting with her in the firelight, but robbing her coach at gunpoint. So she should be afraid. Yet, if she felt fear, she didn’t let it show. How refreshing. Would that her mother could follow suit. His ears would be ringing for a week.
He let a smile touch his lips and held out his hand to Elizabet. “My apologies, lass. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask ye to step down.”
She didn’t hesitate, but slid her hand into his. Her quickness made him pause…did she know him, after all? Then she lurched out of the carriage, throwing herself on him with a shout. He caught the glint of metal in the moonlight in time to twist out of the line of danger. She stumbled over her skirts and he lunged to catch her, though he took care to stay out of reach of her dagger.
He twisted her arm behind her, wrenching the blade from her hand. The tip easily pierced his thumb when tested. It was sharp. And she knew how to use it.
“Impressive,” he said.
She brushed her hands down her skirts, setting everything to rights. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “Now if you don’t mind.” She held out her hand.
He laughed and tucked it into his belt. “Nay, lass. I think I’ll hold onto this for now.”
She glared at him and crossed her arms. “You have no right to hold us here. And most certainly no right to steal our property. You have no shame, sir! Rest assured, the king himself will hear of this!”
“Och, of that I have nay doubt, my lady. However, by the time His Majesty has heard the tale of my wickedness, I’ll be long gone and nothing but a pleasant dream.”
“Nightmare is more like it. You are a scoundrel, sir.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been called worse, my lady. Far worse.”
“But I doubt you’ve been called better.”
He merely grinned. “And by ladies far less beautiful than you.”
Her eyes locked with his, their dark depths, the color of a new fawn’s coat in the sunlight, now deepened to a dark amber in the night. They sucked him in, making him feel naked, exposed, as though she’d suddenly stripped him of the mask he wore. He resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.
“I suppose pretty speeches like that are why tales abound of your gallantry.”
He swept a bow, though he kept his gaze firmly on her. She wasn’t one to let his guard down around. For more than one reason. “I’m glad ye approve.”
She gave a most unladylike snort and shook her head. “I didn’t say I approved. Pretty enough words, but spoken by a man such as yourself, in a situation such as this, and any woman would have to be daft to think you meant anything by them. I confess, I found you much more charming when you weren’t holding my family at the end of your pistol.”
John laughed again. Oh, she was even more amusing spoiling for a fight than she was wet and bedraggled in the woods. He wished he could linger. He wouldn’t mind matching wits with her. It wasn’t often he came across someone who could surprise him. Her parents, on the other hand… While neither he nor the delightful woman by his side had paid any attention to the continued threats and exhortations from them while they’d sized each other up, her parents’ shrieks for justice grew harder to ignore. Philip would maim him for certain for leaving him to deal with the fools.
John winced at a few high-pitched screams from the now hysterical Lady Dawsey.
“Madam,” he said, raising his voice above the din. “If ye willna keep quiet, I’ll have ye gagged.”
She hiccupped to a stop, pressing one hand to her great, heaving bosom, and fanning her face with the other.
“And if ye faint, I’ll let ye lie in the road until our business is concluded.”
Her constitution instantly improved, though a few whimpers escaped every so often.
He turned back to Elizabet. “My apologies, my lady. As ye so succinctly pointed out, I prefer not to treat ladies so harshly but…”
Her gaze flicked to her mother and back to him and she turned her head so her mother could not see her face. “It’s quite all right. There are times I wish I could get away with that threat myself.”
John snorted, barely managing to contain a laugh. “Indeed,” he muttered.
He couldn’t imagine being the child of such parents, who seemed far more concerned about the safety of the jewels they were hastily trying to hide rather than the safety of their daughter as she stood in close proximity to the man who’d seized their carriage. He shook his head as Lord Dawsey’s large ruby ring disappeared into his wife’s bodice.
John held out his hand to Elizabet and, after a brief hesitation, she took it.
He looked her over, his eyes roving from her voluminous skirts to the tightly corseted torso that displayed her breasts so magnificently. “Ye wouldna be hiding any other sharp objects in there, would ye?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
“Feisty wee thing, aren’t ye? I suppose I’ll have to keep a close eye on ye.”
She shrugged, a gentle movement of her shoulders that caused the soft lace spilling from her bodice to shift slightly. He tore his gaze away from the expanse of creamy skin the dress exposed. Her cloak had come untied in their scuffle and fallen to the ground.
He bent to retrieve it and held it out. She looked at him in surprise.
“I dinna wish for ye to take a chill.”
She didn’t come to him immediately, and he waited, as he had earlier that day, until she decided he could be trusted. At least far enough to provide her some warmth. She finally blew out an irritated breath, though he wasn’t sure if the annoyance was aimed at him or herself, and turned her back so he could drape the heavy fabric across her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she muttered, obviously galled to be obliged to him.
He drew the cloak tight about her, savoring the feel of her soft, supple body in his arms before she wrenched away from him.
She tied the ribbons at her neck and wrapped herself in the material, perusing him the way he’d done to her.
“You’re the Highland Highwayman,” she said, before he had the chance to utter another word.
His eyebrow rose. “Not verra hard to come to that conclusion, now is it, lass? I’m surprised ye didna ask the last time we met.”
Her head cocked to the side as she studied him, sending the blond ringlets gathered above each ear swinging. “I thought it might be rude to mention the fact when you’d risked yourself to rescue me. As you are now the one I need to be rescued from, I have no such qualms.”
He barked out a laugh again. Oh, he’d never enjoyed himself so much on a robbery. She definitely made the job much more entertaining.
“I’ve always wondered why a Scotsman would travel so far from home to do his wicked deeds,” she said. “We are near the border, I suppose. Still, a bit out of the way for you, I’d think.”
“I have my reasons. Curious wee thing, aren’t ye?”
“No harm in that,” she said, giving him a sweet smile that had probably worked wonders in weaseling trifles and baubles from a court full of fawning men.
“On the contrary, lass, curiosity, especially about matters that dinna concern ye, can be a dangerous thing indeed.”
Her smile faded a bit around the edges, her eyes finally tinged with a speck of fear. He didn’t wish to frighten her—at least not too much—but it certainly wouldn’t do her any harm to practice a bit more caution. Especially in the dark of night when surrounded by men with guns and swords.
“I believe it very much concerns me, since you’ve decided to hold my family hostage, no doubt to reap whatever treasures you can from us.” She jutted her pert little nose in the air, daring him to contradict her.
“Point taken, lass. Perhaps I’ll tell ye my tale sometime.”
“I have no wish to hear it.”
Judging by her apparently curious nature and her fidgeting as she answered, he doubted that. But it would be rude to point it out. “As ye wish,” he said, tipping his hat to her.
He turned his attention back to the coach and her parents, who had finally subsided on the side of the road in a heap of finery and dire mutterings. Time to focus on what he was here to do.
“If ye’ll pardon me, my lady,” he said.
It took him only moments to locate the hollow space beneath the carriage’s bench where Lord Dawsey had stashed part of his once considerable fortune. He pulled out four leather sacks, each about the size of a loaf of bread, from the depths beneath the bench. Elizabet’s eyes grew wide.
“I’ll wager ye werena aware of yer father’s penchant for traveling with a large portion of his wealth?”
She shook her head and stepped closer. She frowned. “Seems a foolish thing to do,” she muttered.
John snorted again. “Aye, it is. And too much of a temptation for a man of such low morals as myself. Though describing the money as his isna completely accurate.”
Her frown deepened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Have ye never considered where yer wealth originated?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “No…of course not.”
Anger mixed with the confusion on the girl’s face. “According to my father, we have no wealth.”
He snorted again. “As ye can see, that isna quite the truth. Though I reckon it’s a far bit less than it once was.”
“I didn’t realize…”
“I meant no insult, my lady,” he assured her. “It is hardly something ye’d need to worry about, after all.”
She ignored that comment. “Explain what you meant.”
John took a deep breath. He had neither the time nor the desire to enlighten Elizabet as to the nature of her odious father and his many misdeeds.
“Explain,” she demanded again. “Is this…is this all from his tenants?”
His eyes widened behind his mask. Imperious little thing, wasn’t she? Though not so little, really. She was unfashionably tall for a woman, her head reaching to just beneath his chin. Most women were no taller than his chest. Her long willowy limbs looked strong, though, and the amply rounded breasts barely contained by her gown promised sweet, soft curves beneath the many layers of fabric she wore. Curves he’d had only a mere taste of and couldn’t erase from his mind.
She folded her arms across her richly embroidered bodice, the jewelry on her wrists and fingers glinting in the moonlight. She waited for his answer with barely restrained impatience.
John gathered the bags and motioned for her to follow.
“Some of it, aye. But much of it is from those he had no legal right to take from. As despicable a landlord as yer father is, he unfortunately has the right to tax his tenants as he sees fit. However, much of his wealth yer father gained during Cromwell’s ill-gotten reign, bleeding his royalist neighbors dry. And, ever the opportunist, he switched sides in time for His Majesty King Charles’s triumphant return.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide with horror. John pitied her, but pressed on.
“Before His Majesty’s return, however, yer father seems to have tried his hand at smuggling. Now, I could look past that. Cromwell denied the people a great many things, and I’ve no grudge against a man making a bit of coin providing goods that canna be gotten any other way. But under yer father’s operation, men got hurt. Innocent men. And that I willna abide.”
He stopped and cleared his throat, the memory of his once laughing, adventurous brother lying dead in the dust too much to bear. He didn’t know why he felt it so important to make her understand that what he did had purpose. But he pressed on anyway.
“Since His Majesty’s return, yer father has taken to inflating his coffers the good old-fashioned way…by leeching it from tenants who can ill afford to pay and are forced to do so, anyway. Whether he still does the odd night of smuggling remains to be seen. And, of course, the bribes and blackmailed funds from his old cronies from Cromwell’s days who didna have the foresight to change allegiance before the king returned—and who are willing to pay handsomely to keep their shortcomings from the king’s attention.”
“He wouldn’t,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry to inform ye, lass, he has. This money doesna belong to him.”
She glared at him. “Neither does it belong to you. You, it seems, are no better than he.”
“On the contrary, my lady. I’m a great deal better.”
He left it at that. Yes, he kept a decent portion for himself and his men. His clan had suffered terribly, not only under Cromwell but under many English kings, until Charles had retaken the throne. So John had few qualms about exacting a little retribution from those he knew had made his kinsmen’s lot worse. But he shared the majority of the wealth he stole. Whether by anonymously settling accounts or leaving a few coins in the chicken coop, he did what he could to ease the way of those villagers and merchants who’d suffered before the king had regained his throne.
But he had no desire to explain that to his young captive. He was out of time. And he’d already spent far too much time explaining who he was, and why he did what he did, to his enemy’s daughter. Not the wisest course of action.
The bags clinked when he passed them to Philip, who stored them quickly in his saddlebags. Lord Dawsey shouted incoherently, his mottled cheeks purple with rage.
“You…you bastard! Brigand! You’ll steal my entire fortune and leave me destitute in the street?”
John kept a tight rein on the fury that rushed through him. He stepped closer to the blustering fool, looming over him. “Come now, my lord. Ye did worse to a great many who trusted ye. And I’m quite certain ye’ve at least one more carriage such as this, full of yer stolen gains. I doubt ye’ll even feel the loss. In fact, I quite hope we meet again one dark night. I’d be happy to relieve ye of more of yer worldly goods.”
His eyes rested on Elizabet once again, roaming from bejeweled head to slippered foot and back again. Her beauty rivaled the moon itself. She sucked in an outraged breath, though whether her anger stemmed from his implication of her status as part of her father’s worldly goods or his frank perusal of her, he didn’t know. Either way, she returned his gaze boldly, drawing herself up to her full stature, as if preparing for battle.
He grinned, speaking while the idea still formed itself in his mind. He addressed the cursing Lord Dawsey again, though he kept his gaze on Elizabet. “In the spirit of fairness, to show ye what a generous man I can be, I’ll return one of these bags to ye.”
“Only one? What of the others? You can’t simply—”
John held up his hand. “I can, and I shall, and if ye insist on being rude, I’ll leave now with all four bags firmly in my possession.”
Dawsey subsided with a huff, his cheeks growing so dark John feared he might expire on the spot. Better hurry this along.
“As I was saying, I will return one bag to ye. In exchange for a kiss,” he said to the bewildered Elizabet who watched him with those glacial eyes.
Her jaw dropped. Her mother resumed her wailing. And her father didn’t even hesitate.
“Done.”