Sitting in the very back of the smoke-filled tavern, Darius took another drink from the tall glass. He hoped the liquor would wipe away all memories of meeting Gabrielle Fairmont.

How ironic that he would meet the woman who was without a doubt the reincarnation of his dead wife, only to have her slip through his fingers like sand.

He knew Demetri had meant only good by bringing him here and showing him the woman who so resembled his dead wife.

But Gabrielle had fled, and no matter how much he called out to her, she did not respond.

That meant she did not want to be found. Not by Sutherland, her uncle, or him.

Very sobering.

Unfortunately, no amount of alcohol would take away the pain in his heart.

Not even Remont’s or Demetri’s constant companionship could pull him from his dreary mood. Nor the taste of blood for that matter.

“Have they caught the witch yet?”

Darius sat up straighter at the question being asked by one of the men playing poker at a nearby table.

“Not yet, though I understand some high-fallutin’ gent has put up one hell of a reward for whoever captures her.”

“How much?”

“Don’t know for certain, but me brother said it would be enough to buy me a whore for a month.”

The man next to him guffawed, and Darius gritted his teeth and counted to ten.

“A rare beauty, I hear, though I doubt she is a witch,” one of them said with a snicker.

Another of the men sat forward in his chair. “I hear she brought the boy back from the dead. How could a mere mortal do such a thing? Perhaps she is a witch?”

“Or perhaps she was lucky.”

“That could be, too.”

The answer was Gabrielle Fairmont was indeed a witch. A healer who could read minds, which meant she was not so very different from himself, save she did not require blood in order to survive and she would not live forever. And as he feared, Sutherland was pulling out all the stops to get her back.

“Perhaps she left on a boat and is far away.”

One of the men scoffed at that. “With no money?”

He nudged his partner. “She is a woman, gents. All she need do is spread those lovely thighs of hers, and any captain would take her where she wished.”

Darius stared at the man, who lifted a glass of ale to his lips. He took a long drink, then his eyes widened as he choked. The men around him laughed at first, but as the man dropped the glass and the contents flew up, soaking each of them, the humor faded as curses filled the air.

Darius ignored them as a tavern wench approached him, a saucy smile on her thin lips. “Another drink, love?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“Should I just bring you the bottle then?”

“I think this will be my last, but thank you, lass.”

She winked. “Well, be careful when you leave. Try to stay east of Hawthorne Ridge.”

“Why is that?”

“Have you not heard?” she asked, excitement in her voice. “We have ourselves a highwayman, it seems.”

“A highwayman?” he repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He had read about thieves who preyed on the rich and powerful, robbing the rich of their money and jewels on dark roads far outside the city.

“Indeed, it is true. And I hear the highwayman himself is very gallant and polite, and from what I understand, has quite a way with the ladies.”

“Does he, indeed?”

The wench placed her hands on her ample hips. “Yes, and he kisses their hands seconds before he takes their rings, bracelets, and baubles. His lips are soft, I hear. And he is also quite striking.”

“He does not wear a mask?”

“He does, but it covers just his mouth. He has lovely eyes, I hear. Light green.”

Light green eyes.

“Apparently the Dowager Countess of Castile has become quite smitten with him. Rumor has it she has been up and down this stretch of road a good dozen times today in the hopes of seeing him again.”

Darius laughed. “The countess must have an armory of jewels to keep the highwayman busy.”

“Indeed, she does. Though I doubt she wears her best, knowing full well the highwayman will take them.” The wench laughed gaily, making Darius smile. “I imagine it has given her some excitement in her old age.”

“We could all use a bit of excitement in our old age,” Darius murmured, his gaze shifting to the woman’s generous breasts that nearly swelled from their small confines.

“Strange thing is, I hear the highwayman is said to be quite small in stature. Not much taller than myself,” she said, “and slender. It is a wonder no one can stop him.”

“Perhaps the lad has a larger pistol?”

“Indeed,” she said with a wink. “Or perhaps he has a partner in crime. Someone lurking in the shadows to come to his rescue in case things go badly.”

“That could very well be the case, and I appreciate you letting me know of the danger. I might just travel the road out of curiosity.”

She slapped him playfully on the arm. “I secretly hope he continues to haunt this same stretch of road. It has been great for business. We have been bursting at the seams since word has circulated.”

“I would not count on it continuing for much longer, if he knows what is good for him. Luck only lasts for so long.”

“Indeed, it does.”

“Well, I had best get yer whisky, love.”

The door opened, letting a brisk wind inside. Darius smiled seeing his brother and Remont. It was comforting having them both with him. He had grown melancholy in the past few days as hopes of finding Gabrielle had diminished.

Remont, dressed in a frock coat made of fine silk and grey breeches, ran his hands up and down his arms. “It is so cold. I cannot get the damn chill out of my bones.”

Demetri smirked. “I know a way I can help with that.”

Remont merely smiled and sat down next to Darius. “You look a bit pale, my friend.”

“I am fine.”

His master gave him a look that said he did not believe him.

“Have you had any luck finding Gabrielle?” Demetri asked, pulling a chair closer to his brother.

The wench came over with Darius’s drink. “Here you go,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “And what can I get for you two gents?” Her gaze skipped over them and settled on Remont. “A bit young, aren’t you, my dear?”

“I am older than I look, love,” he said, with a smoldering smile that had the woman blushing.

They were all used to similar reactions from the opposite sex, but Remont was always a favorite—of both sexes.

“We would each like a glass of your finest red wine,” Demetri said, putting a firm hand on Remont’s knee. A full second later, he moved it farther up his thigh and in clear view of the wench.

The woman’s eyes widened and turned her attention to Demetri. She glanced between he and Darius. “Aw, will you look at that. You are twins.”

The tavern door flew open. A wide-eyed man looked out of breath. “The highwayman has struck again! He held up our carriage not a mile from here.”

“Highwayman?” Remont lifted a brow. “Did I hear him correctly?”

“Indeed, you did,” Darius replied. “The tavern maid was just telling me that a gentleman highwayman has been haunting this stretch of road.”

“Gentleman highwayman?” Remont repeated, laughing. “Only the English would romanticize a highwayman.”

“Yes, apparently this particular robber has impeccable manners and charms the women he steals from.”

Demetri tapped his long fingernails on the table. “Perhaps we might have ourselves a bit of fun tonight after all.”

“We should just leave the poor lad alone. He apparently needs the money, or he would not take such a chance,” Remont remarked.

Demetri tossed back the rest of Darius’s whisky. “Come, before he gets away.”

* * *

“Stand and deliver!” Gabrielle yelled, her heart pounding so loud it was a roar in her ears.

A gust of wind nearly knocked the hat from her head. At least the kerchief covering her lower face had not blown up.

The carriage driver looked at her as though she had grown another head. “I hope you are stronger than you look, lad, cuz’ I ain’t giving you a shilling.” He lifted the reins, ready to use them, when she produced another pistol from the band of her breeches and cocked it.

“Drop those reins and open that door or I shall blow a hole clean through your head!” She gave a mental shudder, finding it hard to believe she had sunk so low in such a short period of time.

But she’d had no choice. She needed money, and she clearly was not going to make money working with Bev at the market selling flowers.

The driver sighed loudly and moved slowly, climbing down from his perch, huffing and puffing the entire way.

Bloody hell.

She heard the passengers in the carriage whisper amongst themselves. They were anxious and scared. Gabrielle felt a pang of remorse when she heard a woman crying.

She couldn’t very well tell them she meant no harm and would never use the gun unless her life was in real danger. In fact, she had limited experience with firearms. Bev kept one of the pistols hidden in a kitchen drawer, and the other under a plank in the attic room where Gabrielle slept.

She had raided Bev’s closet for clothes. Her husband who had left her a year ago for another woman had been a man of small stature, thank goodness. Pulling the coat tighter about her, she leveled her gun at the driver.

The carriage shifted as he finally jumped off, onto the hard ground. He slipped on the mud, compliments of the rain, landing firmly on his backside. “Damn it all!” he muttered, struggling to get up.

Gabrielle’s first instinct was to help him, but she stopped herself short of doing so. “Get up, man! Hurry!” she said gruffly, shifting on her feet as he managed to stand and open the door.

She had robbed a carriage just quarter of an hour before. Unfortunately, the couple had little in the way of riches on them, and aside from taking the man’s gold ring, she let them go, the woman wailing all the way.

Though Gabrielle took a chance by holding up two carriages in one night, she could not go home with so little. Perhaps after tonight she would have enough to leave London. “Step out of the carriage now!”

The driver pulled the steps down and a pretty brunette appeared at the doorway.

Gabrielle nearly groaned aloud. The woman’s gaudy satin dress marked her as a whore. Another woman, this one a voluptuous redhead, followed, her dress barely reaching to her knees. She sobbed as she clung to the brunette. “Do not kill us, kind sir.” She hiccupped and proceeded to cover her mouth with a trembling hand.

The woman might have taken up acting. She was quite good at it, though she might work a bit at actually producing tears to match the wail.

A man stepped down next, the entire carriage rocking under his weight. He was massive, standing at least two heads taller than the girls and quite thick around the middle.

He placed a hand in his waistcoat.

“Do not move, sir!” Gabrielle shouted.

His pudgy hand fell to his side. “I merely wanted a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from my brow,” he said, his voice reflecting his anger. His fleshy lips pursed as he gawked at her. “Perhaps I can borrow the one you use to disguise your face?”

“I think not,” Gabrielle replied. For once, she might actually enjoy robbing someone. “I would like all of you to first empty your pockets. Slowly. One hand at a time. We shall start with you,” Gabrielle said, pointing to the man.

He sighed heavily, his jowls wobbling as he took his sweet time emptying each pocket, which proved to be a chore for him since he kept cursing every few seconds.

Gabrielle tossed her velvet bag between them. “I want all your rings, all your necklaces, and all your earrings please. Place the items in the bag.”

“At least you are polite,” the man said, doing as asked and encouraging the women to do the same. The brunette moved slowly, staring at Gabrielle with a coy smile as she took off each piece of jewelry, which hopefully was not paste and glass.

The redhead sobbed as she pulled the rings from her gloved fingers. “I cannot believe this is happening to us.”

Once finished, the man tossed the bag back at Gabrielle. “Can we leave now, sir?”

“I want the ring,” Gabrielle said, looking at the brunette, who tried to hide a lovely ruby ring by covering it with the other hand.

“I worked too hard for this ring.”

“I am sure you did, but I will have it now or put a bullet in your head. The choice is yours.”

“Bloody hell, Renona, I shall buy you another,” the rotund man said, clearly exasperated.

The brunette kissed his cheek and proceeded to pry the ring off her finger, tossing it toward Gabrielle, but it landed short. “How about buying me two rings, love?” Renona said to her frustrated lover, who merely shook his head.

“And me too?” the redhead asked, brushing fake tears from her face as she looked at her lover with a hopeful smile.

In the distance, Gabrielle heard the sound of a carriage coming. The others would not hear it yet, thank goodness. “I have what I need, now please go.” Snatching up the bag and the ring, she stuffed both into her jacket and bowed. “You may go now. Godspeed!”

She rushed into the trees, untied the horse, and mounted it. She had borrowed the mare at the livery, two blocks from Bev’s. At first the poor animal had reared up in fear of Gabrielle, but she had spoken softly to it, all the while chanting beneath her breath. The horse had been docile ever since, and a faithful companion.

Perhaps she would even take the mare with her north, if she had enough money to buy her.

She did not know if it had been the dreams that haunted her each night that had planted the thought of Scotland in her mind, but she was drawn to the northern country.

She could go to Scotland and live a simple existence. A remote house where she could grow her own vegetables, perhaps buy livestock. A simple, solitary life. If Bev could do it, then so could she. Or perhaps a lovely manor house that sat between two large hills in the Highlands.

Do not fool yourself, Gabrielle. You want Darius MacLeod, and that is why you desire to live in Scotland.

Why was it the handsome Highlander always entered her mind when she thought of the future? The dreams she’d had each night, of him making love to her, played over and over. Every night, never changing, burning into her memory, to the point it was almost all she could think about throughout the long day.

Perhaps one day she would know what it was to make love to a man like Darius MacLeod.

Sadly, the dream ended when she opened her eyes, and always she awoke feeling sad and empty, her body pulsing with a need that could not be extinguished. There could never be anything between her and Darius MacLeod. After all, her mother had warned her that he was a creature of the night.

A vampire. A creature to be feared.

But then again, she was a witch. They burned and hung her kind. Ostracized for being different, which was not so very far from what a vampire must go through.

She had never been so confused in all her life.

Her horse stopped so abruptly, she had little time to hold onto the reins. She patted the sack of jewels and money, tucked into her coat pocket to be sure she would not lose it.

The carriage came along at a solid clip.

It was close. Should she take the chance and hold up a third carriage, or would that be too greedy?

But if she managed to rob this third coach, and her take was substantial, then perhaps she could leave London by morning, and even have a big chunk left over to give Bev for all her help.

She could leave and never worry about Sutherland or her uncle again.

Or Darius MacLeod.