Herotica 2 by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood [Greenwood, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780994353832
Publisher: Clan Destine Press
Published: 2016-03-14T13:00:00+00:00

THE HIGHWAYMAN

1740, St Albans, The Great North Road.

‘Stand!’ cried a voice. ‘Stand and deliver!’

The horseman pulled on the reins and the mare halted. The rider turned his head and found that a flintlock barrel was being brandished far too close to his face. The masked highwayman was wearing a felt hat which had seen better years and a red handkerchief across his mouth. Tendrils of golden hair curled out from under it.

‘Very well,’ said the rider, ‘I’m standing. What would you like me to deliver?’

‘Purse, rings, gold,’ said the highwayman.

‘Oh, no, I don’t think so,’ drawled the rider. ‘I really don’t have time to be robbed by an amateur today.’ Swiftly, he grabbed the barrel, forced the gun from the highwayman’s hand, and struck him across the temple with the stock. The hat fell off and the rider was faced with a very pretty young man, clutching his head and about to burst into tears.

‘God’s nightgown, cully, what made you take to crime?’ demanded the rider. ‘You’ve precious little talent for it! Come along, there’s an inn near here, I’ll buy you a pint and you can tell me about it. Up we go, Dowsabelle, my love,’ he said to his horse. ‘There’s a bran mash waiting for you at the Silent Woman.’

‘Ain’t you going to turn me in?’ asked the young man.

‘Tare ‘n ’ounds’ boy, don’t you know me?’ asked the rider, exasperated. The boy looked at him. Hawk-featured, black hair in a queue, streaked with silver, long hands with a flawed emerald on the forefinger, horse called Dowsabelle. Oh. He blushed and hung his aching head.

‘You’re Matthew Benjamin, the Famous and Notorious Highwayman?’ he asked in a small voice. Matthew swept off his feathered hat and bowed.

‘The very same. Delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear.’

‘Oh, I am such a fool,’ whispered the young man.

‘Come, take heart, we all make mistakes. What’s your name?’

‘Jeremiah,’ whispered the boy. ‘They call me Jem.’

‘Then come along, Jemmy, ’tis a tolerably sharp day and Dowsabelle wants her bran mash.’

Jemmy came quietly.

The Silent Woman was a busy coaching inn on the Great North Road. The sign was a woman holding her head under her arm. “If she be silent, why should men dispute?” the caption asked. It was locally considered to be a fair question.

Matthew Benjamin was evidently known here. He led Dowsabelle and Jem’s farm horse into the stable, rubbed her down, made sure that she had her bran mash, and reached a small parlour by way of the kitchen. There Matthew sat down, doffed his hat, and put his feet up on a hassock. There were pots of beer on the small table and several new clay pipes. Jem shifted from one ill-shod foot to another. He was not used to the company of gentlemen. Especially masterful, handsome gentlemen who had taken possession of his life so suddenly. Matthew waved at him.

‘Sit down, cully, don’t loom. Have some beer and pass me a pipe and the tobacco. There. All right?’

Jem gulped, blew foam off his nose, and nodded.

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