"It was," he managed to interject.
"But you mock him."
"I do not."
"Then what?"
"I feared that I was walking over a line in trying to court you," Bransen improvised. "I thought it prudent to discern your true feelings for the one called Stork."
"I hate that name. He is Bransen."
The Highwayman conceded the point with a low bow and asked in all sincerity, "Then you do not love him?"
"Perhaps I do."
"But you will not marry him?"
"Marry him?" Cadayle echoed with obvious incredulity. "He can hardly care for himself. How is he to care for a family? Bransen will stay with the brothers of Abelle. It is the only place for him, I fear."
"And what for Cadayle, then?"
"That is for Cadayle to decide."
He dipped another conciliatory bow. In the middle of it, it occurred to Bransen to pull off his mask and reveal himself to her. How he wanted to!
But he could not. He could not so endanger Cadayle as to reveal himself, and he realized that he had not the courage to do so. She had not declared her love for him, after all, but had merely not denied the possibility.
Bransen wished that he were a braver man.
"You are not the only one who cares for Bransen," he said.
Cadayle didn't seem convinced, but neither did she remain overtly angry.
"Do you wish me to leave?"
Cadayle paused and stared at him for a long while, then said simply and soberly, "No."
"But no kiss for the flowers?" Bransen dared to tease.
"Next time, perhaps," she said, and she managed a smile. When his grin widened, though, she added, "Perhaps not."
"My lady, do not play with my heart."
Cadayle laughed.
"You dare to mock me?"
She laughed again, and he joined in.
A moment later, Bransen remembered the monks had planned to begin returning soon after lunch. "I must be on my way," he said. "But I will visit again, on my word."
"Day or night, it would seem."
"A man's heart forces him to take risks."
It was tough for Bransen to turn away from that smiling face, but he knew that time was running short. He ran with a spring in his step, flush with hope and joy, all the way back to the river, where he changed back into his woolen tunic and shuffled his awkward way back to Chapel Pryd.
Brother Reandu was already back at the chapel, waiting for him, seeming very afraid and more than a little angry. "What are you doing out beyond the chapel wall?" he scolded, and he grabbed Bransen by the arm and rushed him inside. "And what have you got in that sack?"
A wave of panic swept over Bransen. The game was over, he realized.
But a call from across the chapel's courtyard caught Reandu's attention.
"Come along and be quick!" Master Bathelais ordered Reandu. "Laird Prydae has ordered a sweep of the town to collect funds for Prince Yeslnik!"
"You go and finish your chores," Reandu said to Bransen, and the monk hurried away, apparently forgetting about the small sack.
Bransen breathed a deep, deep sigh of relief.
He made his way back to his room and fell upon his cot. The laird had ordered yet another round of taxes to be collected?
Bransen lay down and closed his eyes, seeking sleep.
He thought that the Highwayman would be busy that night.
Sweet dreams of fields and flowers and Cadayle swept through him. His body felt again the warmth of the peasant woman's kiss, but his mind substituted his love for the farm woman. Somewhere deep inside, the sleeping Bransen knew that her kisses would be sweeter.
The exertion of the day, the tumult of emotions, and the energy used in maintaining the harmony of his life energy, were more than Bransen had bargained for, and he was awakened not later that night, but the next morning, by the calls of a brother for him to get up and get to his chores.
So he did, and during the course of that day, he learned that Laird Prydae's collectors had been especially energetic the previous night.
Perhaps the Highwayman had missed an opportunity.
But the visiting Prince Yeslnik still had to get the treasure out of Pryd Holding.
When Yeslnik's carriage left Castle Pryd to great fanfare two days later, all the monks were in attendance.
And with the chapel emptied yet again, the Highwayman, too, was out and about.
31
The Sparkle in His Eyes Bannagran tried hard not to laugh, but his chuckles kept slipping past his tightly closed lips.
"Do not underestimate the seriousness of this," Laird Prydae warned. "Men like Prince Yeslnik do not take well to embarrassment." Despite his obvious sincerity, Prydae couldn't help but chuckle also. Prince Yeslnik's coach had rolled back to Castle Pryd. The angry young man had leaped from it, running screaming to Laird Prydae that he must capture and kill this "Highwayman beast!" Yeslnik had quickly recounted the encounter with the Highwayman, how this mysterious figure dressed in black had leaped atop his royal coach and had robbed him at sword point of all the monies Prydae had just collected.
Princess Olym had added that this robber had initially dispatched the powries who had initially stopped the coach.
"Do not forget that the prince's wife was quite smitten with the beast," Bannagran replied. "Or that Harkin, the driver, was quite grateful. Had the Highwayman not arrived, the three of them would have been slaughtered by the dwarves and Harkin's wounded friend would surely have died-I noticed that Prince Yeslnik made no mention of the powries at all."
"The man is angry."
"Wounded pride will do that to you."
"He will take that anger back to Laird Delaval. That and an additional tax exacted from Pryd."
"My liege, we cannot go back to the people for more money and goods," Bannagran warned. "They will not stand for it. Every tax collector would need a band of warriors to accompany him on his rounds, and there would be bloodshed, I warn you. Much bloodshed."
Laird Prydae considered those words carefully, knowing their truth but knowing, too, that he could not send Yeslnik back to Laird Delaval empty-handed. How he wished that the young prince had just kept going, all the way to the great river. That would have bought him some time, at least, before he needed to go and collect more revenues for his protecting Laird Delaval. Now he understood the truth, and that realization only made him even more angry at this Highwayman. He would have to take the money for Delaval out of his own riches.
"Post a reward," he told Bannagran.
"The people love the Highwayman."
"The people love money more. Post a reward, a substantial one. Promise that anyone who provides information leading to the capture of the outlaw will dine at the castle for the rest of his life. Offer a thousand gold coins. Offer complete access for the informant and his family to the brothers of Abelle and their healing gemstones."
Bannagran raised an eyebrow at that.
"Master Bathelais will not refuse me in this."
"I will spread the word through every tavern and every road," Bannagran promised.
Prydae walked over and dropped a hand on the sitting Bannagran's shoulder. "You have been my friend and companion for as long as I can remember," he said. "I need you now. I charge you with capturing and killing this outlaw. He is undermining my rule, Bannagran, and this latest theft jeopardizes the very life of Pryd Holding."
Bannagran's eyebrow arched again, showing that he thought his friend might be exaggerating a bit on that last point. There was no doubt, however, that the mere presence of this Highwayman was raising the ire of the common folk against Prydae.
"The people will not be pleased when he is dragged in and executed," Bannagran noted.
"Bernivvigar will kill him for us, I am certain. And the people will forget, soon enough. But we must get him, and soon. He has embarrassed us-could it be that he will attempt to attack me? To murder me in my sleep?"