A Highwayman's Honor: (A Highland Highwayman Novella #1)

  A Highwayman’s

  Honor

  Michelle McLean

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Michelle McLean. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Michelle McLean.

  Michelle McLean

  PO Box 53

  Muncy, PA 17756

  Visit her website at www.michellemclean.blogspot.com.

  Chapter One

  Lord John Ramsay kept a tight rein on his anxious horse, wishing it were as easy to keep a rein on anxious men. Will, the newest member of the Highland Highwayman’s crew, fidgeted at his side, his hand edging toward his pistol. John frowned, his gaze flicking toward Philip, his second in command. Philip eased his horse closer to Will.

  “Keep your hand off your weapon unless you intend to use it, Will. We don’t 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 much too highly strung for John’s liking. The last thing they needed was a dead body to deal with. Though 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 nobleman had handy, and they 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. There was a price on his head. But that price would go a whole lot higher if he accumulated a body count. He did what he could to right some wrongs committed under Oliver Cromwell, the former Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Not commit more atrocities.

  The eerie call of an owl sounded from the direction of the woods. His look-out’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 just 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 Lord Thomas Harding, an arrogant blow-hard who liked to overtax his starving tenants. John’s source had informed him Lord Harding would be traveling back to court after a stay at a friend’s country estate. But his wife and daughter had supposedly elected to remain behind. Apparently, they had changed their minds. Which made that night’s work more delicate than John 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, who sat staring at him with an intense mixture of curiosity and excitement. If she felt fear she didn’t let it show. How refreshing. Would that her mother could follow suit. His ears would ring for a week.

  He let a smile touch his lips and held his hand out to the young woman. “My apologies, lass. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step down for a moment.

  She didn’t hesitate, but slid her hand into his. Then she lurched out of the carriage, throwing herself on him with a shout. He caught the glint of metal in the moonlight just 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. “I think I’ll just 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!”

  “Oh, of that I have no 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. And by ladies far less beautiful than you.”

  Her eyes locked with his, their icy blue depths sucking 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. “I’m glad you 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 for one moment you meant a word of it.”

  John laughed again. Oh, this one was amusing. 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…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 though. 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 Harding.

  “Madam,” he said, raising his voice above the din. “If you’ll not keep quiet I’ll have you gagged.”

  She hiccupped to a stop, pressing one hand to her great, heaving bosom, and fanning her face with the other.

  “And if you faint, I’ll let you 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 the young woman. “My apologies, my lady. As you so succinctly pointed out, I prefer not to treat ladies too 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, only just containing 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 just seized their carriage. He shook his head as Lord Harding’s large ruby ring disappeared into his wife’s bodice.

  John held his hand out to the young lady at his side and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

  He looked her over, his eyes roving from her voluminous skirts to her tightly corseted torso that displayed her breasts so magnificently. “You aren’t hiding any other sharp objects in there, are you?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  “Feisty wee thing, aren’t you? I suppose I’ll just have to keep a close eye on you then.”

  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 don’t want you to take a chill.”

  She didn’t come to him immediately and he waited, the way he would with a skittish colt, not wanting to spook her.

  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 very hard to come to that conclusion, now is it, lass?” he asked, exaggerating his Scottish brogue.

  Her head cocked to the side as she studied him, sending the blonde ringlets gathered above each ear swinging. “I’ve always wondered why a Scotsman would travel so far from home to do his wicked deeds. The roads leading into London are a bit out of the way for you, I’d think.”

  “I have my reasons. Curious wee thing, aren’t you?”

  “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 men.

  “On the contrary lass, curiosity, especially about matters that don’t concern you, 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 the girl – 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 you my tale sometime.”

  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, before she could respond. Time to focus on what he was there to do.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, my lady,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

  It took him only moments to locate the hollow space beneath the carriage’s bench where Lord Harding had stashed part of his considerable fortune. He pulled out four leather sacks, each about the size of a loaf of bread, from the depths beneath the bench. The girl’s eyes grew wide.

  “I take it you weren’t aware of your 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 much too much of a temptation for a man of such low morals as myself. Though describing the money as his isn’t completely accurate.”

  Her frown deepened. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Have you never considered where your wealth originated?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “No…of course you haven’t.”

  Anger mixed with the confusion on the girl’s face.

  “I meant no insult, my lady,” he assured her. “It is hardly something you’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 the girl as to the nature of her odious father and his many misdeeds.

  “Explain,” she demanded again.

  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 where 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.

  She folded her arms across her richly embroidered bodice, the jewelry on her wrists and fingers glinting in the moonlight. She waited for her answer with barely restrained impatience.

  John gathered the bags and motioned for her to follow.

  “Your father spent a great deal of Crowell’s ill-gotten reign bleeding his royalist neighbors dry. And, ever the opportunist, he switched sides just before His Majesty King Charles’s triumphant return.”

  She shook her head, her mouth open in horror. John pitied her, but pressed on.

  “Since His Majesty’s return, your 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. And of course the bribes and blackmailed funds from his old cronies from Cromwell’s days who didn’t 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 you, lass, he has. This money does not 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 family had suffered terribly under Cromwell and he had no qualms about exacting a little retribution from those he knew had made his family’s lot worse. But he shared the majority of the wealth he stole. Whether it was 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 regained his throne.

  But he had no desire to explain that to his young captive. He was out of time. And explaining who he was and why he did what he did to his enemy’s daughter didn’t seem the wisest course of action.

  The bags clinked when he passed them to Philip who stored them quickly in his saddle bags. Lord Harding 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. You did worse to a great many who trusted you. And I’m quite certain you’ve at least one more carriage like this one, full of your stolen gains. I doubt you’ll even feel the loss. In fact, I quite hope we meet again one dark night. I’d be happy to relieve you of
more of your worldly goods.”

  His eyes rested on the girl 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 herself for battle.

  He grinned, speaking while the idea still formed itself in his mind. He addressed the cursing Lord Harding again, though he kept his gaze on the girl. “In the spirit of fairness, to show you what a generous man I can be, I’ll return one of these bags to you.”

  “Just one? What of the others? You can’t just—”

  John held up his hand. “I can, and I shall, and if you insist on being rude I’ll leave now with all four bags firmly in my possession.”

  Lord Harding 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 you. In exchange for your name,” he said to the bewildered girl who watched him with those glacial eyes. “And a kiss.”

  Her jaw dropped. Her mother resumed her wailing. And her father didn’t even hesitate. “Done.”

  Chapter Two

  Lord Harding shoved the girl 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.

  “Your name?” he asked softly.

  She looked into his eyes, unwavering, unafraid. “Elizabet,” she answered with steel in her voice.