Chapter Four
Lord Dawsey shoved Elizabet at John before she could utter a protest. He caught her easily and held her stiff form in his arms. Anger on her behalf filled him to the brim. Yes, he’d asked for the kiss. But he’d done so on a whim, almost as a jest. To torment the apoplectic old toad. He’d never expected the man to turn over his own daughter so quickly for so little. For all he’d known, John had meant to snatch her and carry her away.
She held herself aloof, unresisting, but the rage permeating her easily eclipsed his own.
“My lady,” he said softly.
She looked into his eyes, unwavering, unafraid. “Your actions suggest you see me as otherwise, sir,” she answered with steel in her voice. “If you have no intention of treating me as a lady, you needn’t continue to address me as such.”
“You are every inch a lady.” He brought her hand to his lips, lingering over the soft skin. He’d have liked nothing more than to taste those sweet, full lips of hers. But he would not do so under such circumstances. The tension in her body eased slightly and, with a final squeeze of her hand, he released her.
She remained where she was, looking at him with her forehead creased in confusion.
“Sir?” Philip said, his voice level, though John knew him well enough to detect a note of caution and concern. They’d already tarried far too long.
“The rope,” John said.
Will dismounted and grasped Lord Dawsey, binding his hands behind his rather ample back. The driver was similarly trussed. Will glanced at the women, but John shook his head. They were no threat to him. Well, Elizabet would shove a dagger down his gullet, if given enough provocation, no doubt. But he had yet to leave a lady tied and helpless in the middle of the road, and he had no intention of starting with her.
He removed one of the sacks of gold from Philip’s saddlebag and handed it to Elizabet.
She frowned. “But you’ve received no kiss, sir.”
“Be quiet, you insolent little fool!” her father shouted.
She blanched and at a nod from John, Philip shoved a handkerchief into the man’s mouth and bundled him back into the carriage. Lady Dawsey followed, taking the sack from Elizabet and casting concerned glances back and forth between her husband and daughter before climbing inside.
John turned back to Elizabet and drew a finger down her cheek. “A kiss from such a lady would be worth more money than I have to give. And I am no’ such a blackguard as to force myself on an unwilling woman. I would be honored to kiss ye. In truth, ’tis taking considerable restraint to refrain from tasting these sweet lips.”
She sucked in a startled breath as his thumb caressed her bottom lip.
He let his hand fall away, cursing his good intentions. “But I willna kiss ye until ye ask me to.”
She gaped at him, her eyes like rippling pools of water in the light of the moon. He half hoped she’d ask him right then. Instead, she took a step back. Not a surprise, though disturbingly disappointing, nonetheless.
“Sir,” Philip prompted again.
John nodded and mounted his horse. “Ye may release the men once we are out of sight,” he said to Elizabet. “Until we meet again, my lady,” he said, tipping his hat to her.
He had no idea why he’d said such a thing to her. He’d certainly never see her again. Not under the same circumstances, in any case. But for the first time in ages, he wished differently.
Elizabet reached for the door of the carriage, but she lingered, pausing to look back at him. Something caught her gaze, and she turned. Her dagger lay near a small bush, gleaming in the moonlight. She bent to retrieve it, straightening with it in her hand.
“Blade!” Will yelled, drawing his pistol.
John and Philip shouted, but Will’s finger had already tightened on the trigger. A shot rang out.
And Elizabet fell.
…
The coach horses reared and bolted, taking with them the carriage containing her parents. They were out of sight within moments. Elizabet lay motionless on the ground, struggling to maintain consciousness. One of the men shouted at the one who’d shot her, jerking the gun from his hand. The bastard didn’t put up a fight. Good. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting shot again. He merely stared at her mumbling, “She had a blade,” over and over.
“Wasn’t going to use it, idiot,” she murmured, though she couldn’t be sure she’d even uttered it aloud, as it didn’t register in her own ears.
The Highland Highwayman ignored him and rushed to her. She wished she knew his actual name. Saying The Highland Highwayman took a bit of effort. Not that she’d be saying it much. Even thinking it took more energy than she had. It occurred to her she might be rambling. Her thoughts, that is. Also, she didn’t feel much pain. She’d been shot. Shouldn’t it hurt?
The highwayman dropped to his knees by her side. He laid his fingers on the pulse at her neck.
That felt nice. Soft and tender.
“Faint, but steady,” he said.
“I like your voice,” she murmured.
He gave her a wry smile and laid his hand on her cheek. “Lie still, lass.”
He pulled aside layers of velvet and lace until he located the wound.
“Am I dying?” she whispered, strangely not all that curious about the answer. Shouldn’t she be? Seemed like something that should matter to her.
“Nay. The bullet pierced yer upper arm. A clean shot. All the way through.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I willna have to dig for it, at least.”
“That’s good,” she said, her voice faint and slurred to her ears.
“That’s verra good.”
“Sir,” one of the men said. The one who hadn’t shot her. “We must go.”
The highwayman nodded. “Aye.” He swept his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it about her. “Hold tight, love. I’ll try not to jostle ye too much.”
Before she could respond, he scooped her into his arms. She thought the other man protested. But they kept moving so her highwayman must not have agreed. She didn’t remember much after he got her on the horse and climbed up behind her. He kept her tight against his chest. He emanated warmth. His solid arms encircling her offered safety. She’d been shot and now was being carried off to who-knew-where by a highwayman whose henchman was responsible. She should be terrified. Screaming. Calling for help.
Instead, she slumped back against him, sighed when his arm drew her closer, and drifted away.
The next several hours were a blur. The occasional jarring of her shoulder would jerk her awake periodically, sending white-hot pain shooting through her arm. At some point they stopped, and she felt herself being lifted from the horse. Carried inside. Someplace warm.
Something soft beneath her.
She sighed and burrowed deep into pillows beneath her head. And gave in to the darkness that pulled at her.
…
Warm sunlight filtered over Elizabet’s face, and she carefully cracked open an eye. Her whole body ached. She closed her eyes and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. The jolt of pain burning through her shoulder had her instantly awake and gasping.
“Lie still,” a deep voice said.
She turned her head, her eyes watering. “Where am I?” Her voice rasped, and a man came into view and handed her a cup.
“Water,” he said. “Drink.”
She frowned at him, recognizing her highwayman. She could hardly help but recognize him. He still wore his mask.
She took a deep drink and handed the cup back to him. “Wear that everywhere, do you?” she asked.
He grinned and reached for a pitcher on the table beside the bed to refill her cup.
“Usually, no.”
She accepted the cup gratefully. “Don’t be shy on my account.”
“I wear the mask for yer protection.”
She drank and handed the cup back to him. “Don’t you mean for yours?”
“Nay.” He placed the cup on the table and grabbed a folded rag. “If you were to know my true identity, I’m afraid I’d have to…make sure the information went no further.”
Elizabet didn’t think he was jesting. She also didn’t think he referred to a stern talking-to. He sat beside her and reached for her chemise. She drew away from him, and he frowned.
“I’m no’ going to hurt ye. I need to check the bandage on yer shoulder,” he said, his forehead creasing, as though he were somehow offended that she might think him a threat.
“Well, you did threaten to kill me if I saw your face. Not to mention it was your man who shot me. You can understand my caution.”
His lips quirked up. “Indeed. It is always wise to be cautious.”
“Where is my gown? I’ll admit I don’t remember much of the past several hours, but I am quite certain I was wearing one earlier this evening.”
He chuckled. “It is over in the armoire, safe and sound. I thought ye’d rest more comfortably without it. And I didna wish to soil it while seeing to your wound.”
He tended her shoulder with surprising gentleness, cleaning the wound and re-bandaging it with skill and speed.
“Bandage many gunshot wounds, do you?” she asked.
“A few.”
He responded without an ounce of humor in his voice, and Elizabet was reminded what this man did for a living.
“Not that I’m not grateful, but why am I here?” she asked.
An eyebrow peeked up above the edge of the mask. “The horses bolted, taking yer carriage and yer parents off into the night, leaving ye quite alone. You’d rather I left ye in the dust to die?”
“No.” She grimaced. “Horses must not like me much. They are always bolting and leaving me in dire straits. I had to be rescued last time, too.”
“Well, perhaps I’m bad luck, as I happened to be in the vicinity both times.”
She gave a delicate snort. “That’s better than blaming my own shortcomings, I suppose.”
“Always happy to be of service, my lady,” he said with a smile.
She shivered and reached for the blanket but the movement sent another bolt of fire down her arm, and she drew in her breath with a hiss. He stood up long enough to pull the thick quilt up to her neck and then sat back beside her.
“Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “No. I’m glad you didn’t leave me to die. I suppose I simply don’t understand why you didn’t. Bringing me to your home seems a dangerous thing to do. What if I were to escape? Unless you don’t plan on letting me live long enough to try.”
Those full lips of his pulled into a smile again. “This isna my home. It’s…a place to go when needed. More importantly, I doubt ye could even get out of this bed right now, let alone try to escape. Ye lost a great deal of blood.” He frowned and straightened the blanket around her.
“But I havena kidnapped ye for any wicked purpose. I simply couldna leave a woman alone on a dangerous country road bleeding her life’s blood into the dirt. Especially since I am responsible. I do have some morals. Not many, mind ye,” he said with a wink that made her smile despite the situation. “But a few. When ye are well, ye’ll have no need of escape. I’ll return ye to yer home. If I was going to kill ye, I wouldna bother healing ye first.”
“Oh,” she said, relaxing a little. She hadn’t thought he’d meant her harm, not when he had taken pains to care for her so thoroughly. But it helped to hear him say it.
“Besides,” he continued, “ye were unconscious the entire trip here and ye’ve yet to see my face. So even if ye were to escape, it wouldna do ye much good or me much harm.”
He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her face. She stared into his eyes, wishing she could see the color more clearly, without the shadow from the mask dimming them. She wished she could see more of his face. His hair flowed uncovered to his shoulders. Blond, though not completely. The strands reminded her of the fields of wheat at her grandfather’s country estate. Unremarkable until the sun hit them, highlighting the rich golden tones of the stalks.
Most of his face was covered. The mask left only the lower half of his face bare, and what she could see was covered in rough stubble. She had the sudden urge to reach up and run her fingers along his jawline, his full lips. Feel the difference in texture. See if those lips were as soft as they looked. She clenched her hand in a fist and dropped her gaze.
His smug grin left little doubt he knew exactly what path her thoughts had taken. “Yer best chance for a quick recovery is to lie back and get some rest.”
She scowled at him but settled back into the pillows. He stared at her, as if there were something else he wanted to say.
A loud sound, like a barn door slamming against a wall, followed by an angry shout made her jump from the bed. Or nearly, in any case. His hand on her good shoulder kept her put. She grunted in pain.
“Rest,” he said again. He frowned and glanced out the window before turning back to her. Whatever he’d seen didn’t seem to make him happy, but not particularly concerned. “Rest. I promise ye no harm will come to ye under my care.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “You will protect me?”
He regarded her before quietly saying, “I will. Ye have my word.”
Again she wished she could see more of his face. The mask did more than hide his features. It hid his emotions as well.
“Why?” she asked. “I am your enemy. Aren’t I?”
He smiled at her again. “No, my lady. Ye were never my enemy. And even if ye were, it would make no difference. I’m no’ in the habit of harming, or abandoning, defenseless women.”
“I’m not defenseless.”
His eyes roamed over her bruised and prostrate body, and she grimaced. “Usually, I’m not so defenseless.”
His lips twitched. “Aye, I ken that well. Speaking of which…”
He pulled open the drawer of the table near the bed and retrieved her dagger. “I thought ye might like this back. With the agreement,” he said, pulling it back from her grasp, “that ye refrain from plunging it into my heart. I am trying to help ye.”
Now her lips twitched. “Agreed.”
He handed her the dagger, and she slipped it beneath her pillow. Her heart ceased its frantic hammering, and she settled back. Trusting this man was probably the height of folly. Yet, she did.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Och,” he said, breaking into a smile again, “if I told ye that, I’d have to kill ye.”
She sighed. “If I’m going to be here awhile, I can’t keep calling you the highwayman.”
He watched her, then nodded. “Ye can call me Jack.”
“Is that your name?”
He hesitated before answering. “Nay. But I’ll answer to it.”
She frowned, aware the expression bordered on pouting. But she didn’t argue with him. Frankly, that he’d given her any name at all surprised her. “All right, then. Jack.”
He jerked slightly when the name left her lips. Interesting. It might not be his true name, but she’d be willing to bet her new velvet cloak that it meant something personal to him. A sibling’s name maybe? Or a nickname? That would narrow down the possibilities of his real name a bit.
Perhaps the name stood for John? Jackson? Jacob? James? Jason? She’d known men with all those names who preferred to be known as Jack. She’d even had a cousin named Claudius everyone called Jack, so it might come from nothing at all. Perhaps a name he simply pulled from the air. Certainly not something she should be obsessing over, for goodness sake.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said. After making sure the blankets still snugly covered her, he grabbed the sword that had been propped against a chair near the bed and hurried out of the cottage.
Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hand. She had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. Or how she’d get out of it. Or what kind of fool she was for trusting a highwayman who’d stolen from her father, gotten her shot, and then kidnapped her in order to heal her. At least she hoped that was the only reason. What kind of highwayman brought his victims back to his hideout to patch them up? Though notorious for his charm and manners, certainly this went above and beyond—even for his tales.
She yawned, sleep pulling at her again. This so-called highwayman baffled her. His speech and mannerisms suggested a gentleman. Not English, certainly, but a gentleman nonetheless. Yet he traveled the roads robbing coaches in the middle of the night. What sort of gentleman did that?
An incredibly well-informed one, for certain. He’d known her father had carried around a ridiculous fortune. Even her mother hadn’t known that, judging by the look on her face when the sacks had been pulled from beneath the bench. The robbery had been no circumstance of chance, either. The highwayman and his band had lain in wait for them specifically.
Why?
Too many questions with no answers floated through her head. With slim chance of having them answered.
The rumble of male voices outside the window soon faded into the background as her eyes grew heavy and finally closed. She drifted away to sleep, the vision of blue, soulful eyes filling her thoughts until she knew no more.