The concussion kept him in his bed for six days.
On the fourth day, his head was still hurting. On the fifth, he woke to a flash of memories that passed through his mind with such speed it made him physically ill. Like a dizzying dream they danced rapidly from scene to scene. Everything came back in a rush: who he was, what he’d done, who he’d done it with. Faces crowded one after another in his mind’s eye until he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes in an effort to stop them.
He saw Jack, Jamie, his father frowning at him, pointing fingers.
He saw Bess walking up the stairs, her rear end swaying like a willow tree.
He saw Althea lying beside him, his arms wrapped around her.
He saw Penry’s fist coming at his face.
Along with the memories came emotions that tripped over themselves as they slammed into him. He had trouble sitting up for the room wanted to whirl away from him. He had to find his father. He had questions that needed answering. At the top of that list of questions was why he felt he needed so desperately to see Althea. Why he was so anxious to talk to her. Why he was worried about her.
It took him half an hour to get to his feet and dressed without feeling as though he was going to pitch to the floor in a heap. Hand against the wall for support, he took the stairs as slowly as a toddler just learning to walk. The smell of the breakfast meal drew him to the dining room where he found his father and Jamie reading the morning paper.
“Well, look who’s among the living,” Jamie quipped, laying the paper aside. “How do you feel, son?”
“I need to see Althea,” he said. He wobbled his way to the table and took hold of the chair back with both hands. His arms were trembling and his knees felt weak.
“You deflowered that girl in a filthy cabin in the middle of the woods,” his father accused without looking up at him. He shook his paper.
“Fairling McGregor is an excellent housekeeper and there is no room in this keep better kept that her one-room cabin,” Declan told him. He staggered and gripped the chair harder.
“Sit down before you fall down, Dec,” Jamie said. “You want some coffee?”
“Aye,” Dec said. He pulled the chair out and slumped into it. His head was hurting again but the dizziness was passing. His stomach rumbled at the smell of bacon and eggs.
Ever-present Iverson brought a cup of coffee to the table and set it down. “Nice to see you up, Your Grace,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” Dec replied. He took a sip, winced at the heat then looked at his father. “About Althea…”
“You should never have treated that girl like a common trollop,” his father stated.
“That girl has a name,” Declan reminded him. “Her name is…”
“I know her name,” his father said. “I also know she lied before two solicitors, a magistrate, a military commandant—not to mention both her father and yours—to keep you from going to prison. That makes her an accomplice. If you are caught, she will be arrested for her complicity in the matter.”
That explained part of the reason he was worried about her.
“And just in case I need to remind you, Penry would have hanged you at the garrison if he could have gotten away with it.”
“No, you don’t have to remind me. My ears are still ringing from his slaps.”
His father’s eyebrows shot up. “What slaps?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t!” the duke snapped. He crumpled his paper and tossed it to the floor.
“Edward,” Jamie said quietly then shook his head.
“I need to talk to her, Father,” he said.
“You are going to marry that girl.”
“Aye, I will,” Dec replied. “But I need to talk to her first.”
“Tomorrow mayhap. McGregor will accompany you,” his father stated firmly. “That is not open to debate.”
“Fine,” Declan said, overjoyed at the news. “Send for him.”
“He will go everywhere with you from now on. There will be no other chance of Penry catching you.”
“I’d like to know how he found me in the first place,” Declan said.
“He had a man watching you. He trailed you to McGregor’s cabin but lost you when you left. He went back to the cabin, broke in and found the chest of gold. They figured you’d go back there and you did.”
“Careless,” Declan said.
“Aye, well that carelessness nearly cost you your freedom. Were it not for Althea, you would be in that garrison jail awaiting transfer to the gallows.”
“Where is the dowry?”
“In my safe,” his father replied. “At Lady Althea’s insistence.”
“She told us why you wanted it,” Jamie said softly.
Dec set the coffee cup down. “What did she say?”
“She told us about the bloody note she wrote to you,” his father said with a snort. “Nice try, Declan James, but she has no intention of fleeing the country with her father’s money. It wasn’t an offer she was making to skip out on the Joining but rather a way of trying to save face for you rejecting her.”
Dec winced, felt the shame of it all the way to his soul. “Does Lord Alastair know she…?”
“No,” his father interrupted. “Nor will he.” He pushed his chair back, pointed a finger at Dec. “Don’t lie to me again, Declan. There never was a blackmailer and that is a relief to my mind.”
With that, his father pushed away from the table, spun on his heel and marched out of the room.
“On a happier note,” Jamie said, “Your lady-wife-to-be has given you alibies for every night the Gypsy struck.”
“What?” Dec asked, frowning.
“She told Penry that you and she have been lovers for quite a while now and that on those nights the two of you were in loving embraces in that cabin where Penry found you.”
* * * * *
Two days later he and Jack were riding to Standfield Hall so Dec could speak to Althea. The day was overcast with a brisk wind whipping at their coats. Warlock was in the mood to run but Declan kept a close rein on the rambunctious nature of the stallion.
“He’s as antsy as I am,” Declan remarked.
“I hope you’ve got better sense than to give him his head,” Jack grumbled. “A tumble might well finish killing off what little brain you have left.”
Declan chuckled at Jack’s peevish tone. “I’ll try to restrain myself and Warlock.”
“What are you going to do about Bess?” Jack inquired.
“I asked her to marry me and she turned me down—even when I told her about getting a divorce later.”
“Good thing she did else you’d be in breach of that gods-be-damned contract and you know what would happen then,” Jack reminded him.
“Aye, I know. She’s content to be my mistress.”
“Oh, for the love of the gods, Declan,” Jack hissed and reined his mount. When Declan twisted around in his saddle and halted Warlock, Jack shot him an angry look. “You know gods-be-damned well that’s not going to continue once you marry Lady Althea.”
“I know,” Declan said. He clucked his tongue and Warlock took that as permission to run.
“Declan, damn you!” he heard Jack shout.
The wind felt good rushing against his face. It pushed all thoughts of both women out of his mind for the length of time it took to crest the hill overlooking Standfield Hall. The moment the manor house came into view, something strange happened to him. He felt different than he had the last three times he’d been in Althea’s home. There was no sense of dread hanging over his head as he urged Warlock down the incline of the hill. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d regained his memory: a deep, overwhelming desire to be with Althea. To thank her for saving his life. For saving him from prison. For giving him alibies for the times he’d been out on the coach road as the Gypsy. To beg her pardon for making her a fallen woman. Yet the guilt of that didn’t sting as sharply as he thought it should. Perhaps abasing himself before her would help to purge him of some of that regret.
But speaking to her was not to be.
“The duke and Lady Althea are not in attendance at this time,” the servant said with a sniff.
“When will they return?” Declan asked, feeling more disappointed than he could understand.
“I am sure they will be back in time for the Joining,” the servant said then firmly closed the door.
“Are you shitting me?” Jack asked and would have pounded on the door had Declan not stopped him.
“I’ll just leave a note,” he told Jack.
“You think the bastard will give it to her?”
Declan chewed on his lip. “Mayhap not.” He turned from the door. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“What work is that?” Jack asked as he went down the steps with Declan.
“Repairing my reputation with her. She really doesn’t deserve a man like me. She deserves a man who is whole in body and mind, and right now? That isn’t me.”
* * * * *
On the ride back, Declan was quiet. Jack seemed to sense he didn’t want to talk just yet and kept the silence between them. When they reached Dead Man’s Crossing, Declan pulled Warlock to a halt.
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked.
Declan stared down into the swirling waters, his brain working feverishly.
“Dec?” Jack pressed.
“I have to marry her and—in good conscience—I need to,” he said.
“That’s a given, isn’t it?”
He continued to stare at the water.
“They’ve moved the wedding up by two weeks in case…” He heaved a long sigh. “In case I got her with child.”
“That’s a strong possibility,” Jack conceded.
“What we need to do is intercept that priest and replace him with someone else.”
“Replace him with who?” Jack asked.
“Daniel Rees,” Declan said, shifting his attention to the entrance to Black Chasm Cave.
“Daniel was defrocked,” Jack said. “He can’t legally perform a Joining.”
“Aye, that’s the key word, McGregor: legally.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not following. What am I missing?”
“Althea deserves to get married. No one outside you and Fairling and the people who were in Penry’s office that day know that I took her maidenhead, ruined her. None of them—and that includes Penry—would dare reveal what they know. Althea would be ruined socially as well as morally.”
“I understand that, but that still doesn’t explain why you would want to have a man who is not entitled to bless your Joining…” Jack stopped and he sucked in a deep breath. “You are going to pretend to marry her?”
“Aye but no one but you and I will know the marriage isn’t legal. No one knows Danny. He’s never visited Arlington and there is no one from our old regiment who will be attending the ceremony.”
“I fail to see how this helps anything, Dec. Why begin your marriage with a lie? Live with her in sin even though she might never know that. Is that fair to her?”
“Just listen,” Declan said. He swung his leg over Warlock’s head and dropped to the ground. He walked over to where he usually took the horse down into the river to cross over to the cave. “What if after the Joining, I die?”
“Die?” Jack asked, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We’ll have a fight,” he said. “I’ll storm out of the house. With any luck at all it will be raining—hopefully storming—and I will ride out into the night never to be seen again.”
“And just how the hell are you going to do that?” He got down from his horse and walked over to where Dec was standing.
Declan pointed to the cave. “I’ll have fallen into the river and gotten sucked into the cave. As so many others before me, my body will never be found. Althea will be a widow—a very wealthy widow—who will be free to eventually marry a man who will love her as she should be loved.”
“Where will you really be then?” Jack asked.
“I will leave Serenia,” Declan said. “Change my name—since I will be free to do so considering the Joining to Althea wasn’t legal in the first place—and no one will ever hear from me again.”
“Not even me?” Jack asked, hurt rife in his voice.
“Especially not you,” Declan said. He reached out a hand to lay it on Jack’s shoulder. “I love you like a brother. You know that, Jackson, but I have to leave. Althea needs someone she can trust, can count on. She deserves a man who doesn’t ruin everything he touches. Sooner or later I’ll fuck up. I always do and what if she got hurt because of something I did? Something I didn’t do or I didn’t do right? What if—the gods forbid—I prove unable to protect her?” He shook his head. “No, I’m doing this more for her than me. She doesn’t deserve a man like me and I sure as hell don’t deserve a good woman like her. There’s another godsend to me leaving. The highwayman will have been put to rest. I’ve got one more silver dollar to give away and then I’ll retire.”
“Who are you going to rob?”
“There will be an envoy taking foreclosure notices to Boreas tomorrow night. All the paperwork for the king’s men to steal the property from over two dozen farmers will be in his pouch. I want that pouch.”
“Declan, I don’t know. Penry has men tailing you. There are two of them behind us now.”
“I know. I saw them the moment they fell in behind us, but there isn’t a tracker I can’t dodge. I know the countryside better than any of Penry’s men.”
“You tweak his tail, Dec. The man isn’t going to rest until he catches you. Think about that. The rest of your plan I can go along with. I’ll do whatever I can to help you disappear but just forget about the envoy. Don’t push your luck.”
Declan blew a raspberry. “Stop being an old maid,” he told Jack. “I know what I’m about. I’m very good at what I do.”
“Mistakes happen, Dec. You’ve made a few in the last month. Another one could cost you your life.”
“You want to help? Here’s what you can do. Ride over to Groversner’s Point. You should be there by morning. Danny lives in the cottage with the green door. Ask him to do this for me and tell him our slate will be wiped clean if he does.”
“Oh, he’ll do it,” Jack said. “I’ve no doubt of that. What then?”
“Take him to Arlington, but hide him somewhere so no one will see him. When the time comes, it’ll be up to you and him to intercept the real priest. Tell him there was a change of plan. I’ll give you money to pay him for his time so he won’t raise a stink.”
“All right,” Jack agreed.
“I doubt Danny still has his robes. You may have to pilfer those from a church.”
“And thus make sure I’ll be going to hell alongside you,” Jack grumbled.
“We’ll jump through the fire together, my friend,” Declan replied with a laugh. “Have a merry old time with Old Scratch.”
“What about the men tailing you now?”
“We need to split up. You go east; I’ll head west. They’ll pay no attention to your leaving. I’ll lead them to the Hound and Stag where I’ll be spending the night with Bess.”
“Where will I be?”
“You come the long away around from East Plain. That way leads you to the back of the stable. I’ll leave Warlock at the hitching post in front of the tavern. He needs to be in plain sight. Leave Spirit out behind the stable for me. Slip around the side of the inn and hide by the woodshed. A little after midnight, come around the side of the inn and mount Warlock. Head for Groversner’s Point. They’ll think you’re me and follow you. If you can’t lose them, you don’t have a hair on your balls.”
“Oh, I can ditch them,” Jack said. “You’d better hope they take the bait and follow me.”
* * * * *
She paused in mid-plait as she heard the pounding of hoofbeats along the coach road and looked to the casement window. It was just past ten of the clock and she had been expecting him.
Her father had gone to bed early with a toothache—had taken a touch of laudanum to help him sleep—so he would not hear the steed’s hooves clattering over the cobblestone pathway. There was no one—save perhaps Tim, the hostler—who might be privy to the late-night caller and Tim would never tell.
At least she didn’t think he would.
Heart pounding, hands twisting at the waist of her white lawn nightgown, she waited for the clops of the hooves to slow then stop just below her window. With two low, single notes the whistle came then a tap on her shuttered window brought heat to her cheeks. She swallowed nervously then walked slowly to the portal. Hand trembling, she reached for the latch and pushed open the shutter.
He was waiting there on his midnight black steed. In the light of the moon sailing overhead she saw his merry blue eyes twinkling. She put a hand to her throat as he doffed his cocked hat and swept it elegantly to the side.
“Good eve to you, Lady Bess,” he said.
“Good eve to you, milord,” she replied quietly.
“All is locked and barred, I see,” he commented.
“Indeed,” she said. “As it should be at this time of night.”
“Is everything locked and barred?” he queried.
She felt the heat deepen on her face and neck and she began fiddling with her braid. “Mayhap there may be a side door that I forgot to latch,” she told him.
His roguish grin sent waves of hunger rippling through her body. When he threw his doeskin-clad leg over the horse’s head and dropped lithely to the ground, she felt her heart speed up.
“Mayhap I should check to make sure if you did or not?” he asked.
“That would be prudent,” she said huskily and the blood in her ears began to pound.
He winked at her then looped the reins of his horse over the hitching post. He moved so quickly, so stealthily—as befitted his stock and trade—to the corner of the inn. The last she saw of him was the tail of his claret velvet waistcoat.
Heat pooling low in her belly, dampness gathering at her core, she turned away from the window to lock her gaze on the door. Faintly she heard the creak of a stair tread then a soft rattle as the latch to her door was lifted. Moisture flooded her mouth as the door opened quietly.
He stood framed in the doorway. He looked so elegant despite his ride down the coach road and over the moors.
Her avid attention traveled slowly down him from bare head to booted toe. There did not appear to be any dust on his black leather boots. The lace jabot at his throat was crisp and pristine. The dark red velvet waistcoat fit him perfectly—stretched across broad shoulders and tapered to a trim waist. Brown doeskin britches clung sensually to his thighs. He stood there with hat in hand, hip cocked and that grin that could melt the chastity belt off any maiden. She was dying to ask him why he had bruises on his face but never had the chance. The hat went sailing across the room and he started toward her.
“Oh,” she whispered. That predatory look, that swaggering walk turned her blood to molten lava.
“Come here, wench,” he said as he reached her.
He swept a brawny arm around her waist and pulled her to him. His arm like steel, his chest like iron—the gold buttons of his coat pressing against her breasts—sent wave after wave of desire racing through her body. She put her arms around his neck as he lowered his mouth to hers.
Soft, firm lips that tasted of sweet wine claimed her own. A wet, hot tongue pressed for admittance and as it met hers, her knees weakened. She heard the low growl of amusement that came from his throat and knew he was perfectly aware of what he was doing to her. His mouth left hers.
“Ah, Bess, you turn me inside out, m’darling,” he whispered against her lips.
With all her heart she loved this reckless rogue who plied his trade upon the coach road. Robbing the rich and galloping away with redcoats in hot pursuit.
She saw his eyes wander to her bed and smiled. “Are you cold, milord?” she asked.
His smile could have lit the darkest night. “Are you up to warming me if I am?”
She lowered her arms and reached down to take his hand. “All I can do is try, milord,” she answered.
“That’s all a man can ask for, wench,” he said with a wink.
“Tim was lurking about,” he said as she put her hands to his jabot to pull it from his neck. “I saw him peering at me from the stable.”
“He’s always lurking about,” she said. “He’s harmless.” She pushed the dark red coat from his shoulders and he allowed it to fall to the floor.
“I’m not so sure,” he said as her fingers went to the buttons of his waistcoat. “I don’t particularly like the way he watches you.”
She ran the buttons on the brocade waistcoat then peeled it from his chest. “He watches everyone, Declan.” She would have folded it but he plucked it from her hands and tossed it over his shoulder.
“You are so careless of your clothing, milord,” she said with a tsk.
He shrugged and took a seat on the edge of her bed to pull off his boots. She shook her head then dropped to her knees to do it for him. The thigh-high boots were a gleaming black, expensive Spanish leather and they fit him almost like a second skin. She had to tug forcefully on the heel of the boot to pull it from his foot. When she had both standing side by side next to her narrow bed, his stockings stuffed inside them, she used the tall poster beside her to rise. She motioned for him to stand. He obediently obeyed—his lips twitching with amusement.
“I should hire you as my valet, wench,” he said.
“You could not afford me, milord,” she teased.
He stood still as her hands lowered to his belt. She drew the pistol from it and turned to lay it on the bedside table. It was heavy and she hated the sight of it, but the weapon kept him safe for her and that was all that mattered. When she turned back to him, he was unbuckling his belt—his gaze steady on her and as hot as a crucible.
“I’ve waited all week for this night,” he said in his low, husky brogue. He swept his scrutiny down her body. “I can almost see through that nightdress.”
She smiled and batted his hands away as he started to unbutton his britches. “Let me unwrap my present, milord,” she said with a toss of her head.
“Unwrap away, wench,” he agreed. “We’ll play with whatever pops out.”
Heat flooded her cheeks and she felt it all the way to her bare toes. When she risked a look at his face, his eyes were twinkling with promise.
Once she’d tugged the fine white shirt from his britches, he raised his arms and she pulled it over his head. With as little care as he had shown, she tossed it aside.
“You’re learning,” he said with a grunt.
Before her was a broad chest—bare except for a small patch between his chiseled pectorals. Ripples of muscles advanced down that rock-hard chest to fan out over a flat belly and flow into twin ridges just above his hips. She had no name for those two muscles but the sight of them made her womb clench.
She swallowed hard, took a deep breath then slid her hands beneath the waistband of his britches and began to push them down his lean hips. The garment didn’t go far before his cock sprang free and—as it always did—the sight of that thick, long shaft filled her with red-hot desire.
“He’s eager tonight, milord,” she managed to say.
“He’s been waiting for your kiss, milady,” he said. His voice was low, raspy and his words caused his cock to pulse. As she watched, a pearly drop appeared in the slit of the broad mushroom head.
Bending over, she slid the britches down his legs and he braced his hand on her shoulder as he lifted his feet free of the garment. When she straightened he reached for the laces at the neck of her nightdress and slowly untied them. All the while, his heated blue gaze was locked on her eyes.
“I have such need for you, wench,” he said.
That was more than evident to her. He was close enough for her to feel the tip of his cock pressing against her body.
The laces undone, he pushed her nightdress over her shoulders and it fell from her arms, rippled down her body to pool at her feet. Before she could take another breath, he snaked his arms around her, put his hands to her rump and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck and kissed him. He took three steps to her bed, turned and drew her down with him to the narrow mattress.
From their very first night together she had known he would always be a gentle—and thorough—lover. He always put her pleasure before his own and this night was no different. His hard body covered hers, his delicious weight pressing her into the covers, and he smoothly eased her thighs apart with his hips. His lips moved to her chin, her neck, the sensitive sweep of flesh between neck and shoulder and then he was gliding down her. The moment his mouth closed over her straining nipple, she arched toward him. His low chuckle vibrated against that turgid peak to send chills down her sides.
His mouth and cock hot as the fires of an inferno, he trailed kisses, nibbles and grazes from nipple to nipple then down her belly to make it quiver. He planted a tender kiss on the hair of her mound then eased her lips apart with his thumbs, his shoulders resting on her mid-thighs. The wet firmness of his tongue sweeping along her core brought her hips from the mattress and another chuckle from deep in his throat. She threaded her fingers through his dark chestnut curls and anchored his head between her thighs. He was doing things to her body—as he always did—that would bring her so much pleasure she wondered how she could survive it without coming apart at the seams. She knew he would not cease until that first, tantalizing orgasm shook her to her foundation. Then, and only then, would he slide up her body to take possession.
Flesh to flesh.
Heat to heat.
Wet to wet.
A tidal wave of sheer pleasure undulated inside her and swept her up in the crest. She rode it—soft cries she barely recognized coming from the very depths of her—until she sank beneath the surface of the release and floated there.
His smile was slow and wicked as he began to crawl up her body.
Flesh to flesh.
Heat to heat.
Wet to wet.
He slanted his mouth over hers.
Breath to breath.
Hot cock to slick pussy.
Thrust to arching.
Going deep. Claiming. Pulsing.
One slow push. Retreat. Another slow invasion then slower retreat.
He stilled with his elbows elevating him above her. His eyes fused with hers and she watched the muscle in his jaw clench.
One quick thrust and a quicker retreat then the pistoning inside her began. His eyes never left hers. One last hard, deep penetration then he held himself steady as jet after jet of cum shot into her core. She felt the kicking of his shaft with each discharge. When he was depleted, he lowered himself gently atop her, turned his cheek upon her shoulder and lay there breathing shallowly.
She twined her arms around him and began to hum an old lullaby. It always soothed him, eased him into sleep. Within moments he was snoring lightly with his breath fanning the cusp of her shoulder.
* * * * *
She watched him buckling his belt—chewing on her lip as he drew on his waistcoat. It was nearly four of the clock and dawn was rapidly approaching.
“Don’t go tonight,” she said.
He looked around. “Beg pardon?”
She threw the covers back, swung her legs from the bed and padded over to him. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I’ll be back,” he told her. “Before morning light.”
She put a staying hand on his arm. “Don’t go, Declan. For me. Please?” she pleaded.
He took her chin in his hand. “Where is this coming from?” he asked.
“I dreamed—” She tucked her lip between her teeth. “I saw you lying on the road in a pool of blood,” she told him.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He tugged on her chin. “Nothing ever happens to me, wench. I have the fastest steed in Serenia and he always shows the redcoats the dust from his hooves. Beside, there’s a prize to be had tonight. There are very important papers that should not reach the king’s men. Those papers are worth their weight in gold. I’ll be back before the dawning. I promise you this will be the last time. My last ride as the highwayman.”
“And your last time coming to me?” she asked, her heart aching at the surprised look he gave her.
He released her chin and turned to gather up his coat. “Why do you ask that?” he hedged.
She shrugged. It was more a feeling than anything he’d done and said. His lovemaking had been more intense this time ’round, but it had carried with it a touch of melancholy she could not dismiss.
“When is the wedding to be?” she asked.
He cocked a shoulder. “A few weeks.”
She nodded. She knew he would not—could not—be deterred now. He had that glint of determination she recognized all too well in his blue eyes. He was going through with the Joining.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.
She would be his alibi tomorrow should the redcoats come marching. She would swear on her life he’d been with her the entire night. But she knew their days of making love in her bed would cease with the coming of the new day.
“You’ll be careful?” she asked.
He tucked the pistol behind his belt. The sight of that lethal weapon disturbed her.
“I’m always careful, Bess,” he said with just a touch of exasperation. “It’s hard to catch a man riding full-out in the dark of night.”
“What if they come after you in the light of day?” she countered.
“Well, if they press me during the day, it may be night before I can come to you. But keep watch in the moonlight, wench. I will return.”
He started to fetch his hat but stopped. Turning back to her, he held out his arms.
She went to him, pressed her cheek against his solid chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was all she could do not to sob.
“I wish you wouldn’t go this time,” she mumbled against his chest.
“I’m not going to let them catch me. I’ll be back before the dawning,” he said. “Now, come. Give me a kiss.”
Reluctantly she raised her head and he tilted his head to the side to take her mouth.
With a heavy heart and belly filled with fear, she watched him leave. She opened the casement shutter, squinting against the first bright rays of the dawn. He appeared beneath her window but did not look up at her. He untied his mount then vaulted easily into the saddle. He lifted his head then rose up in the stirrups, extending his hand to her. She took it for a moment—never wanting to let it go. He gave her a broad wink, puckered his lips to blow her a kiss then pulled his hand from hers. He wheeled the stallion away from the inn, dug his boot heels into the side of the horse and the animal sprang forward.
From the corner of her eye she saw movement by the stable and turned her head in that direction. Tim, the hostler, was staring up at her with a look that chilled her blood. His slow, decayed-tooth grin made the hair stand up on her arms before she stepped back and hastily closed the shutter.
* * * * *
As Declan rode toward the spot where he would stop the envoy, he thought of the clandestine group of spies he had cultivated over the past four years. Men, women—and the occasional young boy—kept their eyes and ears open for any tidbit that might be of help to the Gypsy. None of them knew his true identity but they wanted to help. Through things he overheard the spies, gleaned from the keep or from the taverns and inns he frequented, he kept a close account of everything he learned. A written note here, a written note there, a whisper in the ear of a known gossip and those he chose to help him left their information in various secret spots where he would retrieve it. Always he left a silver dollar in that spot for his informant.
“Why a silver dollar?” Bess had asked him.
“It’s my way of paying them back for the risk they take,” he’d told her.
“And the ones you leave with those you rob?”
“These men and women take every last copper from the peasants, leaving them with nothing. It is a reminder that no one should be left with nothing.”
This would be his last ride. He had one more silver dollar to hand out. That would be his last act as the Gypsy.
And his goodbye to his black-eyed Bess.
Jack’s horse was not as nimble of foot as Warlock and the beast wasn’t any happier about him riding it as he was doing. The jarring gait when he was accustomed to the smooth glide of his own mount had given him a headache. It was a relief to reach the point where he had chosen to intercept the envoy. Urging the horse into an overgrown hedge of cherry laurel bushes, he kept tight control of the reins for Spirit was a nervous beast—skittish and a bit on the stubborn side.
In the distance he heard the pounding of hooves. The envoy was right on time. He figured it was just a little past three of the clock and the man would be tired. Irritable. Wary of the dark shadows stretching across the road. He had learned all he could about Silas Caits, but what he hadn’t been able to discover was whether or not the man was given to fits of retaliation. If that was the case, he might put up more of a fight than expected. He wanted this last mission to go without a hitch. He hadn’t really hurt anyone yet and didn’t intend to but that had largely been luck, he thought. He prayed that luck would hold just one more time.
* * * * *
Bess looked in on her father and found him snoring soundly. His tooth had gotten worse during the day and he had taken more laudanum when he went to bed. The drug had worked all too well. She doubted if a cannon going off near his ear would wake him. As she eased his door closed just in case, she thought she heard a noise downstairs. She stilled with a hand on the door latch and listened but there was no repeat of the noise.
“The wind,” she murmured. She was afraid a storm was brewing to the west.
Which made it both safer and at the same time more dangerous for Declan. With that new worry wriggled through her mind she turned toward her room. The noise came again.
Was he back already? She thought. Had he been hurt?
Fearing that was the case, that something had gone horribly wrong, she hurried down the stairs.
“Declan?” she called out.
The taproom was dark but she saw the shadow standing at the far end of the bar.
“Declan?” she said, uneasy when he didn’t answer.
Before she could reach for the lantern by the doorway, a hand slapped across her mouth and a strong arm slid around her waist to pin her to a hard, thick chest. She reached up to pry the fingers from her mouth—digging her nails into leather that tasted of horse sweat and musket oil.
A match hissed. Light flared in front of the dark shadow and then she saw the face of the man holding the match. The glow from the flame cast his hawkish features into a death mask. Her heart jumped in her throat as she realized who he was.
Then she saw the other men who had been hiding in the shadows. Four of them. Six in all. The dull red of their coats looked like dried blood in the flare of the match.
“Take her upstairs.”
That voice that sent chills down her spine roused her in a furious attempt to break free of her captor. His arm was a steel band around her waist and though she kicked out at his shins with her heels, the soft kid slippers she wore made no impression on him at all. He hoisted her from the floor, turned and began carrying her—on his hip—up the staircase. The sound of muffled footsteps followed behind them.
* * * * *
“It would be best if you came and stayed close to us,” Jack told Daniel Rees after they’d spent an hour reminiscing about their time in the Royal Marines together. As a cleric assigned to the military, Danny had trained alongside the men, though he would never have been able to fire a pistol at a living being if his life depended upon it.
“Where would I stay?” Danny asked.
“Well, I have a barn that I could make very comfortable for you,” Jack said, looking around. The hovel in which he’d found his old friend was a hell of a lot worse than the barn on Jack’s land.
“It doesn’t take much to make me comfortable as you can see,” Daniel admitted. The straw-filled bed, a single table and a rickety chair were the only furniture in the small cottage. “I got used to a monk’s cell at the Abbey.”
“We can do much better than this for you, Danny,” Jack told him.
“Your wife won’t mind?” Danny asked.
“You’re my friend. Why would she mind?”
“Some women do,” Danny replied, looking away. “When they hear my story.”
“Fairling isn’t like other women. She’ll welcome you to our home as she would any other friend. Have no worries of that.” Jack lifted the cup of bitter coffee his host had poured for him. “Besides, if she has no problem with the infamous highwayman visiting us, I doubt she’ll bat an eye at a defrocked priest.”
“I worry about him,” Danny said. “I could scarce believe me ears when he spoke to me that night.”
“Aye, well, I worry about him, too. He swears this is the last time.”
“I fervently pray it is,” Danny said quietly. He sat forward on his bed for he had given Jack the only chair. “Mayhap we should ride to Wixenstead instead of going on to Arlington.”
Jack gave him a long look. “Why? I am to meet him back at the keep,” Jack said.
“He’s not going to the keep. He can’t get there,” Danny said. “Don’t ask me how I know but he’s in trouble, Jack. I have a sick feeling. Right here,” Danny replied, putting a hand to his gut.
“You think he needs us,” Jack said.
“Aye, I do.”
Jack got to his feet. “Then what are we waiting for?”
* * * * *
The envoy pulled up short just as he came round a bend in the road. He would have turned and galloped away had Declan not fired a warning shot over his head.
“Quarter!” the man shrieked, throwing his hands into the air. “Quarter.” His horse shied sideways then whinnied loudly. “I’ve a wife and four boys. Don’t shoot me.”
“Throw down the pouch and you can ride away,” Dec told him as he walked Spirit closer to the envoy. He looked around them for once more he had a tingling feeling down the center of his back. He knew it wasn’t Jack who might be spying on him. Jack was forty miles to the west.
“Aye,” the man agreed and peeled the strap of the pouch from his shoulder then threw the leather bag to the ground.
“Are you traveling alone?” Declan asked.
The man betrayed himself by cutting his eyes to the left. “Aye, Gypsy, I am.”
That tingle became a shock down his spine. He leveled the pistol at the man’s heart. “I’ll ask you again. Are you traveling alone?” He cocked the pistol.
Once more the man looked away and Declan knew. With a curse, he kicked Spirit in the ribcage and bent low over his saddle as the horse sprang forward. The iron ball that had been aimed at his head sailed past him and he thought he had felt it kissing the queue at the base of his neck. More shots rang out but he beat at the horse’s flanks with his whip, silently begging the animal’s forgiveness for spurring him on in such a cruel way. But he had to outdistance the troops he could hear shouting as they thundered after him.
His life depended on it.
* * * * *
Penry laughed at her as he dragged her by the arm to the casement window. He threw wide the shutter and the moonlight lit the darkened room.
“That’s the direction from whence he’ll come,” he told her, his hand brutally tight just above her elbow. “He’ll not know we’re here until the first lead ball hits him.”
“I don’t know who you mean,” she said.
“I am going to tie you to the bedpost so you will have a front-row seat to the final act,” he said as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’ll need to gag you to prevent you from warning him though.”
“Milord, I have no idea who you…”
He shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle.
“Farrell!” he shouted in her face, spittle flying. “Your lover. The bastard who fucks your diseased cunt when he comes here after his robberies.”
One of the redcoats came into the room from having gone to check on her father.
“The old man is trussed up like a feast goose,” he reported. “Didn’t move one muscle as I tied him. He’s dead to the world.”
“Good to know,” Penry snapped. He shoved her against the post. “Tie her,” he ordered his man.
She tried to run but the same redcoat that had manhandled her to her room caught her and dragged her—kicking and screaming—back to the bed. While the other four men laughed, he made quick work of tying her hands behind her back, looping the end of the rope around the upright.
“Tim,” she yelled. “Tim, help me!”
“If you mean the dimwitted sot in the stable, he’ll be of no use to you,” Penry said with a chuckle. “He is out cold in the straw.” He grinned nastily. “If he didn’t die from the blow.”
“Tim,” she tried again.
“Gag the bitch,” Penry snapped.
She tried to bite the hand of the ruffian who pulled out his dirty handkerchief, whipping it around and around between his hands to turn it into a roll then forced it between her teeth. Though she struggled, and behind the gag called him every filthy name she had ever heard from the tavern-goers, it only made him and the other men laugh.
“I want two of you at that window,” Penry said. “He’ll be here before sunrise so be sharp. Let him get just inside the inn yard before you shoot him.”
Bess whined at the words. Twisting and turning her hands behind her she could feel them bleeding as the ropes bit into her flesh.
“Stop that,” Penry ordered. He grabbed a musket from one of the men and shoved it between her and the robes that bound her to the bed. The barrel of the weapon gouged into her back, the muzzle pressing painfully into her shoulder blades.
“That musket has a hair trigger, bitch. Keep struggling and you might blow yourself to kingdom come,” Penry sneered.
She gaped at him and stilled but his words wound through her head like a lifeline playing out from the shore to a drowning man. Slowly she turned her eyes back to the window and the narrow roadway that led from the brow of the hill to the inn yard.
There would be no help for him. He would come riding down the road. Riding to his death. He was coming to see her. To take her to that mystical place he called Oceania. He loved her and wanted her with him and because he did he would die for love of her.
“Just in case you are wondering,” Penry said. “I’ve stationed men out of sight all around the inn. He’ll not escape what is coming to him.” When she hissed at him, he chortled and walked from the room as though he were the most important man in the kingdom. He motioned the other three redcoats to follow him.
“This ain’t nothing but an execution,” one of the men at the window said after his captain had left the room. “We don’t know for a fact the earl is the Gypsy.”
“Ain’t up to you to make the call,” the other man said. “Cap’n wants the earl dead and it’s our orders to see it done.”
“What if he’s innocent?”
“Innocent men die all the time.”
“It will be murder, Jonas. Pure and simple. The man deserves a trial.”
Jonas stroked the barrel of his musket. “This here is the trial, the judge, the jury and the executioner all rolled into one. What the fuck do you care about what happens to a toff anyways, Belk?”
“Just ain’t right is all,” Belk said. He glanced at Bess.
She pleaded with him with her eyes and he looked ashamed, worried, but he shrugged and turned his gaze from her. Despite his reservations, she knew he would do nothing to stop what was coming. It would be up to her to do what she could. She stretched her fingers toward the trigger, trying to hook the tip of one finger through the trigger guard. Her flingers kept slipping away from the metal for they were slick with her blood.
* * * * *
Dawn came and went and the man Penry knew was the highwayman did not come. By the striking of the clock at noon, he still had not shown. Cursing, he stomped around the taproom where his men were swilling down pints of ale. He should have said something to them, ordered them away from the liquor, but at that point he didn’t care about anything other than watching Declan Farrell die.
“Where is the bastard?” he snarled. He’d made dozens of trips up the stairs to the bedchamber of the woman who had given herself to Farrell—and by doing so forever earned his contempt—but the road down from the hill remained empty of riders.
The landlord was still tied to his own bed and the whore was lashed securely to hers. When last he visited her bedchamber, she was nodding but came awake as soon as he entered. The look she gave him suggested Farrell had made a fool of him. It was a look of gloating he wished he could slap from her beautiful, deceitful face.
“I will get him,” he told her. “As the gods are my witnesses I will see him in the ground.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes locked on his.
He glared back at her—hating her even as he admired her delicate peasant beauty. For a fleeting moment or two he had contemplated using her as he had scores of other women beneath his station, but that had passed quickly enough. What he wanted most was to hurt her in such a way that it would utterly destroy Farrell. It was obvious the man had feelings for the chit. Mayhap he even loved her, though how a man of his station could lower his standards to such a degree was beyond his comprehension.
The main objective was to hurt Farrell, to kill him. To erase his very existence.
“He will come,” he said. “And when he does, he will die like the dog he is.”
Pivoting on his heel, he left the room with his fists doubled and a wild ache in his belly.
* * * * *
They’d chased him for miles and now he was far from the Hound and Stag with a lathered horse and fury raging through him like none he’d ever known. Not only had he failed to gain the papers that would save the cottages of the people, failing those good people he had tried to protect, he was being harried across three counties. Ran to ground like a stag.
“Not good,” he said as he led Spirit into a cave. The animal needed rest. He needed sleep and something to stop the rolling hunger pains eating at him—two things he wasn’t going to get any time soon.
He had to get back to the Hound and Stag. Jack would be coming to Arlington tonight on Warlock and that set a blazing fear burning its way through his very soul. Penry was behind this. He had to be and Declan would bet the last silver dollar in his pocket that the bastard had another trap set for him. If that trap was being staged near Arlington Castle, the redcoats could mistake Jack for him. Claret velvet coat and cocked hat aside, they’d arrest Jack and take him to Gilhaven for questioning and that he could not allow.
He squatted down beside Spirit and hung his head. He was tired, hungry, and so was the horse. They’d almost caught him when he stopped to let the animal have a drink of water at a creek a few miles back. He had been moments away from turning his pistols on the four men chasing him and bringing them down. That was not what he wanted to do. Violence was something he’d tried hard to avoid. Killing? Well, killing was out of the question unless it came to his life or the fate of the man facing him or threatening those he loved.
Staying in the cave as long as he dared, he walked to the entrance and looked out, scouting the area around him. He listened carefully to the sounds of the forest that told him no one was close by. The birds were singing, the squirrels chattering at one another. A few yards away, a fawn minced its way delicately through the ferns. There was nothing about to cause the animals concern. He hoped in his weariness and state of mind that he wasn’t misreading the signs. He turned from the entrance and went back to gather up Spirit’s reins. Leading the beast out of the cave, he once more stood still and cocked an ear to the early afternoon air. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out his grandfather’s watch, opened it.
“Two o’clock,” he said softly. “Five hours before moonrise.”
Looking up, he realized the sky was gunmetal grey. He had sensed a storm coming the day before, but apparently it had stalled somewhere to the west. Now it was easing eastward again. The air had a heavy feel to it and the winds were picking up again. With them came a bit of a chill, which was never good at this time of year. As he watched the clouds shifting and swirling above him, he knew the conditions were forming for a potentially bad storm to come whirling down from the heavens.
After leading Spirit down a slight incline he stopped yet again and listened. Hearing nothing but a far-off rumble of thunder, he swung up into the saddle but kept the animal still. Once more he surveyed the land around him before setting the beast into motion. Walking him slowly to the ridge that looked over the valley below; he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his pursuers, galloping toward the road that led north to Beaverton. He smiled and turned Spirit eastward.
* * * * *
Jack and Danny had reached the outskirts of Belvedere Glenn. The Hound and Stag was only an hour’s ride due south.
“You think he’ll still be there?” Danny asked as they stopped to rest their mounts.
Jack pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s half past two,” he replied as he returned the watch to his coat. “He told me he would get back to the inn at dawn. He may still be sleeping.”
“He always was the lazy sort,” Danny said with a snort.
“Hasn’t changed,” Jack told him.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“From what he told me of his plans, he intends to wait until nightfall to leave. He will need to stay hidden in her room until then and hope Penry and his men don’t come looking for him.”
“By the gods I despise that man,” Danny said.
“As do I.”
“What then?”
“He’ll head straight to the keep to pick up Warlock.”
“Why didn’t he just ask you to return his horse to the inn and leave from there?” Danny queried.
“It isn’t safe. Penry’s men have been watching the area around the inn.”
“He rode there last eve,” Danny reminded him.
“Aye, but that was night. This is day. He’s afraid a redcoat troop might spy me and follow me back there. They’ll be looking for this big black. Under the cover of night Warlock is hard to keep in sight. In the daylight, he stands out like a sore thumb.”
“Makes sense,” Danny acknowledged. “But I can’t shake this uneasy feeling, Jackie. I think I should go to the inn, check things out.” He frowned. “Make sure he’s there.”
“Unless he got caught, he’ll be there,” Jack replied.
“All right,” Danny said. “You stay here and I’ll go check out things at the inn. If he is there, I’ll try to speak to him. At the very least, I’ll ask the girl to tell him we’re nearby should he need us.”
* * * * *
Bess was bone tired and though the guard with the conscience had brought her back some bread and cold meat when he took his last break, her stomach was rumbling. At one point Penry had untied her and allowed her to use the chamber pot. Despite the humiliation of him standing there watching her every move, she had been grateful to relieve her bladder. Now she was tied to the bedpost again and the gag was back firmly in place, the musket lashed beside her. This time the muzzle was pressed against her breast. Penry himself had pulled the bonds tight and his meanness had opened the gouges on her wrist to set the blood oozing again. The only good thing to come of it was that she was able to wedge her finger inside the trigger guard. The tip of her finger was resting on the trigger.
The clock below began chiming.
“Four o’clock,” Penry said with a growl when the chiming stopped. He was standing at the casement window with the two guards who were hunkered down with their muskets pointed toward the road.
“Mayhap he returned to Arlington, sir,” Belk, the guard with a conscience suggested.
“Did I ask for your opinion, soldier?” Penry shouted.
“No, sir,” Belk said.
“Then shut your mouth and keep watch in the road!”
Thunder boomed loudly across the firmament and a few splatters of rain hit like iron shot on the cobblestones.
“Fuck,” Penry hissed.
Behind her gag Bess smiled. Anything that irritated Penry was a good thing in her estimation. He was already on edge, nervous, chewing on his thumbnail as though it were a carrot. Annoyances, frustrations and time moving like molasses were adding to the man’s miseries.
“I think I see him,” Jonas said.
Bess snapped her head up and as soon as she saw the rider cresting the hill she tensed. Her fingertip was on the trigger but she had to wait until he was closer. So there would be no doubt that he would hear the warning shot and turn back.
“That’s not him,” she heard Penry said with a snort. “Wrong color horse and the man is thicker set than Farrell.” He kicked at the chair beside the window. “Nothing more than a fucking farmer coming to wet his whistle.”
Penry stripped off his uniform coat and cravat, tossed them onto Bess’s bed. As she watched he ran out of the room and she heard him inside her father’s bedchamber. When he ran past her door, he was tying an apron around his waist.
“Get out of sight,” she heard him shout to the men waiting below in the taproom.
She turned her attention back to the window where the two guards had withdrawn their muskets from the edge of the casement. Both were pressed back so they could not be seen from below. From that distance she could tell the rider coming along the road wasn’t Declan but she couldn’t make out his features. She didn’t believe it was his friend Jack. She prayed that it wasn’t for she believed Penry was going to try to pass himself off as the landlord. Yet if the man was a regular patron he would see right through the ruse. Chances were good if he did come to the tavern often, he would also recognize Penry as a Royal Marine. It said much for the frazzled state of mind of her captor that he was willing to risk being found out.
The rider had reached the stable. She saw him glance toward the door that had been swinging back and forth in the brisk wind. Tim had not shown himself all day and she was worried about him. She said a silent prayer that the soldiers had not killed him.
“That’s sure not Farrell,” Jonas said. “Does he look familiar to you?”
Belk eased up so he could see out the window. “No,” he said.
“Looks familiar to me,” Jonas mumbled.
“You’ve most likely seen him about,” Belk told him.
“Aye, probably so.”
Bess could no longer see the man who had ridden up for he had stopped at the hitching post. She listened to hear the door to the inn open.
“Good day to you, sir.” Penry’s voice was overly jovial. “Welcome to the Hound and Stag.”
It was her father’s customary greeting to new customers and a part of Bess was disappointed that the rider would not think anything amiss.
“What can I get for you this fine day?”
She glanced at the window. Rain was beginning to fall. Lightning flared close by and the rumble of thunder shook the glass in the window. It was another indication of Penry’s nervousness that he did not alter her father’s words to fit the weather—which was what Patrick Arbra would have done.
“A pint would go a long way in making the day better,” the stranger replied.
There was a pause then Penry’s voice showed his fluster. “Aye, well, so it would. So it would.”
“Nice place you have here. You run it by yourself?”
“Ah, no. My daughter usually helps but she’s not here today.”
“If she’s like my missus,” the stranger said. “She’s out shopping. Is that where your daughter is?”
A warning bell went off in Bess’s head. That was a strange question to ask and she hoped Penry was too on edge to realize it.
“Aye, that’s exactly where she is. Up to Wixenstead at the market,” Penry replied.
“Bad day for that, eh?” the man inquired. “Hope she makes it back safely.”
“She’s a good head on her shoulders,” Penry said. “If the weather turns bad, she’ll stay with friends there.”
Who that might be Bess had no idea since she knew no one in Wixenstead.
“Say, I’m looking for a fellow who might have passed through here on occasion. He offered me a job on his estate but I went and misplaced the card he gave me. I’m in sore need of work so I’m hoping you might know him.”
“I am new to these parts,” Penry told him. “We just opened the inn this month.”
“His name is Farrell,” the stranger said. “Lord Declan Farrell. Ever heard tell of him?”
“Not that I recall, but a lot of men come through here,” Penry replied and it was hard to miss the hostility on his voice.
“Handsome fellow,” the man told him. “Black hair, blue eyes. About my height but slimmer. Rides a black Rysalian.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Penry lied.
“Ah, well, didn’t hurt to ask, I reckon.”
“You might head over Belvedere Glenn way,” Penry suggested. “Ask the innkeeper there.”
“I’ll do just that,” the stranger said. “Much obliged for the recommendation.”
“My pleasure. Can I pour you another?”
“Nope,” the stranger answered. “One’s my limit afore the sun sets.”
“That won’t be long now,” Penry said. “Looks like I might not be having many customers tonight. Might as well close up, I’m thinking.”
A heavy roll of thunder shook the inn to punctuate Penry’s words.
“Not good weather even for ducks,” the stranger said then laughed. “Thanks for your hospitality.”
Penry must have walked him to the door for as soon as she heard the crunch of the stranger’s boots on the cobblestones under her window, the door to the inn shut and the latch was thrown.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Declan had sent the man to the inn because he knew something was wrong. She prayed that was the case and he would not fall for the trap that lay in waiting for him.