The Gentle Highwayman

Available now through Eternal Press or All Romance Ebook, The Gentle Highwayman was an interesting tale to write.  I had a lot of research to do and realized how little I actually knew of that period in American History.  It was informative and also rather daunting, trying to get all the details correct.  I hope you'll give the novel a chance.  Enjoy the excerpt!

Chapter One

"God's teeth, I've never felt it so cold," the man shivered, helping the littler man into his garb. "Don't forget your hat. You come home with a cold and Harriet will have my hide."

"It's not your hide you're worried about but your stomach," the smaller man said. He slammed the tricorn hat with its jaunty white piping and huge feather down on his head. It fit tightly, too tightly and he frowned but didn't say anything. Throwing on his cape, he stepped up on the box in the stables and threw his leg over the big black stallion that moved under him with nervous energy.

"Shh, you devil. We'll be about our business soon enough. But for now, settle or I'll trade you in on a nag." His words were harsh but the hand that reached out and scratched the big brute behind his sensitive ears was caring and gentle. "Come, we must be off or I'll lose what little nerve I have left. Hand me my pistol."

He cradled it in his lap, waiting until the third of their party pushed open the doors of the stables, shivering as the cold of the winter season settled over him. His ears turned red and his feet grew numb in their boots, and they hadn't even left the stable yet. Kicking his horse, he set off, hearing his compatriots fall in behind him as they traveled cross country and stayed shy of the roads. The deep ruts of the fields were rough and he slowed his horse, allowing the other two to catch up.

"Lord Warringer is having a ball tonight," he said to the largest of the two lad with him.

"Did you get the invite?" he asked, sending his brother a wink.

"What would I do at one of those balls?" their leader said, disgust in his voice.

"You could be looking for a mate you know? Someone to help warm the sheets on a night like tonight."

"No one will look twice at me, with the failed crops and the damn English and their constant call for more taxes, I barely have two pennies to pinch," the young master growled. "Why the hell else do you think I conned you two into this?"

"We know, Jack," the biggest said. "We wouldn't have let you go without us, no matter what Harriet did to us."

They were upon the road almost before they knew it would be there. Sliding down from his horse, he stood in the center of the road holding his reins. "I will wait here for the coach to come, you two will hide yourselves in the woods and come up behind the coach when it stops. Keep your faces covered and don't speak, I'll do all the talking. Understood?"

They both nodded, slipping off their own mounts and hiding them in the woods.

Jack stood in the road, the cold biting deep until he thought he'd never be warm. When he finally heard the sound of the coach coming around the bend in the road, he was so cold, he didn't know if he could open his mouth. Stamping his feet, he held his hand up in the light of the lanterns that swung on either side of the front of the coach.

"Stand and deliver!" he shouted though his voice sounded a bit on the high and shivery side.

The coachman pulled in his team, staring at the small man in the middle of the road. His livery was red and gold and inside his coachman's coat he carried a pistol of his own. He reached into the coat only to hear the click of a dueling pistol being cocked close to his ear.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, mate," the hoarse whisper came from the man who handled the pistol. "Ye hold still and this'll be done quicker than a whistle."

The coachman nodded his head, his hand slowly coming out from his coat empty.

"Good man," the whisperer said. Jack headed for the door to the coach, opening it from the side like he'd been told. "Hand out your fineries," he said in a gruff voice, standing slightly on his toes to make himself look bigger.

There was a duet of screams and then a flash of light lit the inside of the coach. The two ladies were accompanied by an older gentleman, either their father or their protector. He sat like a lump under a fur coach rug. "Don't hurt them," he growled.

"No one shall be hurt sir if you but do as you've been bid. Hand out your fineries and we shall be on our way letting you be about yours." Jack reached in, retrieving the man's purse easily enough. It clinked heavily with coin and Jack felt his heart race with triumph. He dropped it into the bag he held. "Now that watch and fob if you don't mind, sir."

The gentleman gave a grunt of anger, yanking at the gold watch with its long gold chain and dropping it in the bag as well. He pulled off his rings, almost flinging them into the bag before giving Jack a look that promised vengeance.

"My lady," he said to the frightened brunette who sat primly, clasping her trembling hands upon her lap. A lady of your beauty has no need for such fripperies." He nodded at the diamond and emerald necklace she wore as well as the bracelet. She handed them to him as well as her own purse, turning to her sister to help her remove her jewelry.

The younger of the two clasped her hand around a small gold ring on her finger. "Please," she said, staring out at the small but rugged looking highwayman. "It is not worth much but what it means to my heart. It was my mother's. She is dead sir; might I not keep this as a remembrance?"

Jack glanced at the ring and then back up into the brunette's eyes. "Fine, my lady. Your remembrance shall remain yours. You remember to tell them though, that Gentleman Jack is a man of his word." He reached for the door, meaning to close it when suddenly his arms were filled with the young beauty.

"Thank you, sir," she said softly then her lips found his.

Jack gasped, not sure what to do in this situation. When he felt her tongue probing between his lips, he opened his mouth to rebuff her. But she didn't give him the chance, instead she upped the anti, sliding her hand over his shoulder and against his neck to hold him still.

"Marguerite!"

With a soft moan of regret, she moved away from him and back into the coach. "Thank you," she whispered with a smile, dropping a soft, silken handkerchief onto the ground at her feet before getting back inside and sitting down.

The burly gentleman reached out and slammed the door closed. He could be heard berating the young Marguerite even as Jack stepped back, his hand coming to his mouth.

"Be away!" he called, grabbing Demon's reins and swinging himself up and into the saddle. He hooked his bag of goods onto the pommel, looking up as the shade on the window of the coach moved just a bit and the beautiful brown eyes of Marguerite stared out at him.

She watched him as the coach jerked and then began to move. On the other side of the road, his partner now in crime, Simon, stared over at him, a small smile turning up his lips.

"You hush," Jack called, unwilling to hear the callousness of the man's words when his own mind was so over run.

"We should be away, Jack," Felix whispered close by him. "They are beyond the curve and won't know which way we went. We should separate and then meet back up at the barn."

"Aye," Jack said. He nodded toward Simon, watching as he easily leapt upon his horse and took off in the opposite direction of the barn. Felix galloped away as well, quickly being lost to the shadows of the forest. Jack knew he should be off, but he sat for a moment savoring the triumph of the evening. With what he'd gotten in the purse and what Felix and Simon would get for the jewels, they would be able to keep their land as well as put food on the table for at least a month's time.

The sound of horses caught his ear and he quickly sank back into the forest, letting the shadows cover him as well. With the light of the moon covered by the thick clouds sending down the drifting snow around him, he was concealed.

Two men upon horses came into sight, coming from the direction of Lord Warringer's estate. Jack sat quietly, watching them as they came further into sight. Both were heavily bundled in thick woolen coats with hats upon their heads and thick gloved fingers holding onto the reins. One had hair of a fiery hue, his locks just a touch beyond the current fashion's decree of length. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, Jack could see him speaking at length from the plume of condensed air that came from his mouth. He couldn't hear their words, they were too far away.

The other man laughed, his head going back and Jack felt a flush of heat suffuse him. Hair as black as coal was clubbed back, the ends waving down his back. He was handsome, more so than what was good for a man to be. His eyes shone amber in the dim light, such as the head of Jack's grandfather's cane. There was something about him, something almost magnetic that made Jack unable to turn away.

He barely stifled a gasp and watched in almost horror as the man turned his head, his amber eyes carefully searching out the shadows where Jack hid.

"Did you hear something?" he asked his companion.

"Aidan, you're paranoid. All this talk of war and traitors has gotten to you," his red haired companion replied.

"You're the one that is touting the benefits of freeing ourselves from England, Warren, not me."

"But you're the one with the skills we need, Aidan. Your hunting and tracking skills would be a huge benefit in training our men."

"I told you, I'll think about it," Aidan said, turning his head toward his companion. Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief. Those eyes were too thorough, seeming to see him in the deepest of the shadows he hid in. He could feel his heart racing and his palms were sweating in the gloves he wore. A warmth seemed to center in his groin, startling him.

They were far enough down the road now, almost to the curve. Jack could no longer stay still, he kicked Demon, tearing across the road and through the brush on the other side.

No shout greeted him, or the sound of a pistol firing. He heard nothing other than the heavy beat of his heart that seemed to echo the sound of his horse's hooves. Tearing wildly through the trees as if all the devils in hell were after him, he barely kept control of Demon, the big black horse rearing wildly, his eyes showing white.

He finally regained control of the horse before the huge tobacco field that stood behind the stables. Holding him steady for a moment, he tried to take a few deep breaths, ridding himself of the fear he'd felt.

"Aidan," Jack said softly, the name coming easily to his lips. "He's a handsome one," he said to Demon, knowing the horse would calm even more at the sound of his voice. "But Harriet would be wont to say, handsome is as handsome does." He chuckled, rubbing the froth of white from the horse's neck.

The door to the stables opened and Demon, sensing home, heat and food, started across the field at a brisk trot. "Aye, my handsome one. We've done well tonight. We all deserve a treat."

* * * *

It didn't take long to take care of the horses, rubbing them down and then covering them with blankets so that they didn't fall sick. Giving them an extra measure of oats Jack hadn't thought they could afford until now, he patted Demon on the flank.

He split the take, giving Simon the jewels to sell. He would leave on the morrow, taking them far from here to sell, perhaps across into another of the colonies. Perhaps to Maryland. Jack didn't want to know.

"Take them but beware," he told the older man. "I cannot afford to lose you to another of our ilk." Simon chuckled.

Now, he quietly closed the door into the kitchen, pulling off his boots by that door. Tucking them under his arm, he would have to return them to his brother's room before Harriet could catch him. He tugged off the hat, breathing a sigh of relief at getting rid of the thing. That and the wig that he wore had kept his head warm but now it itched and he couldn't wait to get to his room and brush out his own hair.

The stairs were an easy climb; he remembered to jump over the third one because of the squeak they'd never been able to get to go away. Hurrying up the rest of them, he snuck on stocking feet past Harriet's room at the top of the stairs, heading down the hallway to the last door.

The light casting his shadow over in front of him was his first indication that someone besides himself was up and he turned guiltily.

"Who are you and what are you doing in this house?" Harriet's stern voice sounded from just outside her room. She carried a candle in one hand, the match to Jack's dueling pistol in the other.

"It's me, Harriet," he said, stepping forward and holding up his hands while letting the boots fall to the floor. "Don't shoot."

"Me who?" Harriet asked. "There's been no men in this house since Master Graham was taken by them redcoats." Harriet had come over from England as an indentured servant to Jack's father and then had stayed on, more like one of the family when Jack's mother had died.

Jack reached up, pulling off the wig. Her long blonde tresses fell down her back to her waist. "No, Harriet, I'm not a man," she said quickly, knowing the woman's eyesight was beginning to fail her at night. "It's me, Heather."

* * * *

Heather Elise Maria Coulter sank down further in the tub of hot water that sat before the fire. The heat was wondrous after the cold weather of the wintry night. She leaned back against the high back of the copper tub, letting the water lap at her chin as she listened to Harriet berate her for the thousandth time since she'd returned home.

"What was you thinking, Miss Heather? Running around out there dressed like some lad and holding up people, taking their jewels and such. You're going over to that house tomorrow and return them things you took."

Water splashed against the side of the tub as Heather sat up. "No!" she almost shouted. "Harriet, you know as well as I that if we don't do something desperate, we'll lose our home as well as our lands to those redcoat taxes. In this one take, we've got enough to pay the taxes and put food on the table. I am not returning it to those that have so much when we have barely a roof over our heads." Her hands slammed down onto the surface of the soapy water, splashing herself in the face. She reached almost blindly for a towel, wiping her eyes.

The look on the older woman's face was pinched and she frowned. "Your poppa made a match for you before he died," she said. "I've kept the papers that was signed in the family bible."

"He did what?" Heather screeched, coming out of the tub like a shot. She grabbed the towel she'd used on her face and wrapped it around herself, tucking it in between her full breasts. They still ached from the wrapping she'd used to bind them flat for her disguise. "Why have I not heard of this before?"

"Because you never did something so blamed foolish before," Harriet scolded, her eyes softening as she saw the shock in her mistress's soft gray eyes. "Come, child, sit in front of the fireplace and let's get you dried before you catch a chill."

"I can't believe Poppa would trade me like some piece of stock," she whispered, sliding her hands into the warmth of her robe and wrapping it around her as Harriet pulled her wet hair out to let it hang in front of the fire. It was pure gold in the light, even wet, and hung heavily to lie against the hearth she sat upon.

"Your Poppa knew he was sickening, Miss Heather. He knew he had little time left to see to your and Miss Mandy's safety. He meant to talk to you about it, ease you into the idea, but that last attack came so quickly and suddenly, there was no time." Harriet picked up Heather's brush, one that had belonged to her mother, and used it to rid the long golden tresses of snarls, letting the strands dry in the heat of the fire. "It weren't his fault."

Heather could hardly stand to remember her father's last days, those attacks that came so suddenly, leaving his entire right side paralyzed, his speech so badly slurred he was all but unintelligible. His eyes, usually so warm and brown as they gazed upon her had been so filled with pain; it had tore at her heart. She'd been with him the night that he'd died, had sat with him as he fought against that pain, grimly trying to stay with his daughters who still needed and loved him so.

But his fight had been to no avail. He'd taken his last breath as she'd sat next to him, holding his hand, her tears falling against his chest, once so mighty and wide, now shrunken by age and illness. Only after his death had she found out how strapped they were. She'd done everything possible, sold valuables and chunks of her family's land, everything she could think of to keep them safe and sheltered. Gentleman Jack had been her last recourse.

She thought of Mandy, her little sister at fourteen. She was just beginning to blossom. Blonde like her sister, Mandy's face was a touch more angular, her eyes slightly darker than Heather's. Where Heather was curvy, Mandy was all long lithe leanness. But the beauty was there, just ready to bloom. Heather was responsible for her, for keeping her safe and for finding her a husband.

It wasn't fair, she thought for a moment. Graham had been taken and then her father's death. She was little more than a child herself at eighteen and she'd been left to carry the weight on her own. Her eyes moved around the room, seeing the bare spot on the walls where she'd taken down artwork to sell, the tin candle holders that had replaced ivory and gold. Even her clothing was threadbare and in need of replacement, but it was impossible now. Maybe after her next evening out as Gentleman Jack...

"What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?" Harriet asked, knowing the look in her mistress's face.

"We were successful tonight, Harriet. There's no need to bring out some betrothal agreement that my groom to be couldn't care two pennies for. We can manage until I can think of something else."

"You could be killed, Miss Heather. Those two laggards can't keep you safe. Please, just think about meeting him. What harm could that do?"

"I'll think about it," Heather said, trying to hold Harriet off.

"Good. The Benjamin's Ball is this weekend. It'll be the perfect place for you to see him without having to be seen yourself. I know Mr. Benjamin will keep an eye on you there so we don't have to worry about a chaperon. I can redo your blue gown so that no one will know it's last years."

"Wait," Heather said, holding up her hand to stop Harriet's plans. "I didn't say I would go."

"But you will, Miss Heather. You will or I will take it upon myself to return the money and the jewels. You know those two oafs won't stop me. It's what is best and it's past time you do what you should and get your head out of the clouds."

Heather felt her shoulders slump. She was defeated and she knew it. "At least tell me what his name is," she whispered, remembering the black haired man who'd sent such thrills through her body earlier tonight. Marriage to him might be interesting at least.

"His name is Lord Matthew Hunter," Harriet said, pronouncing the name like it was royalty.

"I do not know him," Heather said, her hopes shrinking. Gone were thoughts of the dashing Aidan as images of a Lord, his wide belly spreading into his lap from over eating, his thick, sausage like fingers touching her skin consumed her.

"No, he was new to the colonies when he approached your father with the contract for your hand."

"He approached father?"

"Yes, or at least that is what your father told me. Now will you at least go to the ball and meet Lord Hunter?"

Heather sighed, her eyes lowering to where she clutched her robe between her fingers. "You leave me no choice," she said.