Shannon Drake - Beguiled

She was also the most guarded orphan in the empire, she was quite sure.

“You’ll not touch that girl—” Shelby began angrily. But he did not finish. The highwayman had cracked the whip he carried, a long and lethal-looking thing that snapped through the air with the sharpness of a shot. The pistol Shelby had reached for went flying through the air as he cried out, not so much in pain as in surprise.

“My dear fellow,” the highwayman said. “We’ve no wish to harm you or the girl. You’ll step down, please.”

Stiff, angry, wary, Shelby did so. Ally heard a soft expulsion of breath, and when she looked, he was no longer standing. He had sunk easily to the ground, as if he had simply been so tired he had gone to sleep standing.

She started to run toward him, crying out in alarm.

She did not reach him. The highwayman caught her by the shoulders. When she kicked and fought and tried to bite him, he swore softly.

“What is the matter with you, girl? You are playing with your life here.”

“What have you done to him?”

“He will awake soon enough, none the worse for wear,” he assured her.

“What did you do to him? You’ve killed him!”

“He isn’t dead, I assure you.”

She tried again to bite the hand that held her. “This is ridiculous,” he hissed, and before she knew it, she was thrown over his shoulder and he was striding quickly off the open road and along a forest trail.

What had she done?

A trickle of fear slipped along her spine, despite her resolve.

“If you think you’re going to slit my throat in the woods, you’ll be truly sorry,” she warned him. “They’ll come after you. You are already wanted for your crimes. They’ll revive public executions—indeed, they’ll bring back drawing and quartering. I’m warning you—”

“You should start begging me,” he warned.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “You don’t even know who I am!”

They had apparently reached his destination. She was quickly and unceremoniously set down on a tree stump next to a small stream through the woods. Oddly, the water bubbled melodiously. The sun was almost gone for the day, just disappearing into the horizon, so they were surrounded by pale glimmers through the canopy of the trees and the coming shadows of the night. He set a foot on the log and leaned close to her. “Seriously, lass, I don’t know who you are. Had you answered that question for me at the start, you might well be on your way again already.”

“Don’t call me ‘lass.’”

“I should be calling you an idiot.”

“I? An idiot? Because I protest a wretched criminal who will surely end his days at the end of a rope?”

“If I’m to hang, anyway, what would it matter if I were to add your body to the list of my trespasses?” he demanded.

“You will hang,” she said icily.

“Perhaps, but not today. Today, you will answer to me.”

She fell silent, staring at him, once again forcing down any sense of fear. She would not go easily.

She stared at him, eyes burning, head high. “You are young and able-bodied. You might have found legitimate work easily enough. Instead, you have chosen a life of crime.”

He laughed softly, truly amused now. “Indeed, lass, of all the young women I have encountered, you are definitely the most brazen. Or the most stupid. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I told you not to call me ‘lass.’”

“You are a lass.”

“Then you are nothing but a boy, playing at being a man.”

He seemed to take no offense; indeed, he smiled slightly.

“Have you a title, then?” he inquired.

She stared at him coldly. “You may call me Miss.”

“Miss. So who are you and where are—were—you going?”

“Are you an idiot, that you don’t recognize a carriage belonging to the Earl of Carlyle?”

She couldn’t tell whether he had recognized the carriage or not, for his next question was not an answer.

“What are you doing in his carriage?”

“I haven’t stolen it,” she retorted.

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

He leaned closer. “But it is not the answer I am seeking.”

“I’m ever so sorry.”

“Pray, don’t be sorry—yet. Simply provide me with the information I seek.”

“You are a bully and a thief. I owe you nothing.”

“I am a highwayman. And your life and safekeeping are in my hands.”

“Shoot me, then.”

He shook his head, irritated. She lifted her chin. She was afraid, true, but she was oddly excited, as well. The blood was rushing through her veins. Ridiculous as it might seem, she felt up to the challenge.

Strangely, she didn’t believe he would really harm her. There was something too…decent?…about his manner.

Perhaps this was simply what she had wanted: something had finally happened in her life. She felt as if she were really living, perhaps for the first time. How sad if it were all about to end.

He laughed aloud and the sound was easy and pleasant. “Let me start over. Dear mademoiselle, pray, please, tell me what you’re doing in the earl’s carriage?”

“Obviously I am going to see the earl.”

“Ah. You’re good friends, then?”

“He is something of a godfather to me,” she explained.

“Indeed?”

“Yes, so you had best take care, lest you truly offend me.”

“I’m afraid it matters not at all to me whom I offend.”

“The earl will see you skewered through.”

“The earl will have to catch me for that, don’t you think?”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“I never would.”

“Pray, tell, exactly what do you want from me? I’m afraid I’m not carrying any riches.”

He was still smiling, and his foot continued to rest on the log as he leaned close. She found herself wondering how such a man, well spoken, well dressed, smelling clean but with a hint of musk and leather, could have come to such a pass in life.

“Riches may be attained in any number of ways. If you’re beloved of the earl, you’re worth a pretty penny.”

“I’m not that well loved,” she said sharply.

His smile deepened. She wished she could see more of his face.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he commanded.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“I asked first.”

“But you already know more about me than I know about you,” she reminded him primly.

“Ah, but I am the highwayman, and you are the victim,” he said.

“Precisely. Victims are not required by any social standard to be cooperative,” she informed him.

He leaned closer. “Victims are supposed to be frightened.”

“Do you know what I think?”

“Pray, tell me.”

“You are not at all dangerous.”

“Really?”

“It appears to me that you have at least a modicum of intelligence, and that someone raised you properly. And that, if you chose, you could certainly do well enough without resorting to highway robbery and accosting random victims.”

“I’m afraid,” he murmured, “that you weren’t a random victim.”

She was startled, and a trickle of fear began to ice her blood.

“I have nothing. Why would you choose me?”

“You were in the earl’s coach.”

“Again, I tell you, I have nothing worth stealing,” she assured him, more determined now than ever that he believe her.

“You might be quite valuable as a hostage,” he informed her.

“Oh!” she cried in frustration. “You are a fool. What is the matter with you? There are grave things going on in the world. We may well find ourselves in a state of anarchy. Men have been murdered. People are in an uproar. And you are worried about nothing but yourself.”