Page 32 of The Highwayman's Bite

Madame Renarde lifted the lantern and pointed. “There is an opening in the top of the cave. Can you see the stars? That’s why the cave doesn’t fill with smoke from the fire.”

Vivian nodded. The hole was too high up for them to climb, and even then, it appeared to be too narrow for a person to fit through. She rubbed the back of her neck. It had gotten sore from craning it. She saw that cunning little shelves had been carved into the walls of this part of the cave as well. Little wooden figures lined the stone surfaces, gathering dust.

“Look at these,” she said and lifted a wooden cat that was so expertly carved that it looked like it could nuzzle her and purr at any moment. “Do you think he carved these?”

Madame Renarde inspected an owl, humming in appreciation. “He should sell them.”

“He truly should.” Vivian agreed. “Since we can’t escape, perhaps we should persuade him to turn to honest work.”

“That’s a lovely thought, but this man is too stubborn to see reason.” The companion smiled sadly. “He is hell-bent on coercing that money from your uncle.”

“I cannot believe that Uncle refused to pay him.” A fresh hurt pierced her heart. “Do you suppose he does not care for me?”

Madame Renarde shook her head. “No, Cherie. He adores you. It is only that he suffers from the same unyielding pride as Rhys. He is used to having his way and thinks that this highwayman is a feeble enemy, easily defeated.”

The tea kettle whistled, and they returned to the living area of the cave. While the tea steeped, Vivian cursed this male pride that caused her to be held like a bone before slavering hounds. “And do you think Uncle will find us?”

Madame Renarde frowned as she poured their tea into heavy clay mugs that were more fitting for ale. “No, Cherie, I do not. This Rhys is as clever as he is determined. From the look of these shelves and figures he’s carved, and the door he built for this cave, I can see that he has been here for a long time and survived in comfort while countless authorities are already doubtless hunting for him. Your uncle is cunning, but he is still an aristocrat, accustomed to a life of comfort and ease. That hinders his imagination.”

Vivian blew on her tea to cool it. “I have a feeling we shall be here a long while then.”

“As do I.” Madame Renarde said. “We may as well make the best of it. At least he has sugar.”

They sipped their tea in pensive silence.

She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. His noble reason for abducting them, coupled with the fact that he truly did not want to hurt them wore away at any animosity she could muster. He was like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, only even more endearing since he stole to keep his own family from being thrown out of their home.

What was Rhys’s family like? Vivian couldn’t help pondering the question. Did they know he was a highwayman? Did they worry when he was away from them? Was that where he was now?

As if summoned by her thoughts, the round oak door swung open and Rhys strode in, bearing a large stuffed sack over one shoulder and a bundle of firewood on the other. Heavens, he was strong indeed. Vivian became possessed by a mad urge to grasp his bicep and feel those muscles capable of bearing such weight.

She looked down at her tea to hide her blush.

Rhys set down the firewood and sat on the cot opposite her. “I come bearing victuals,” he said merrily and opened the sack.

As he brought out bread, crocks of butter, cream, cheese, and small barrels of salt meat, fish, honey, and even some sweets, Vivian looked at him in wonder. Villains in novels did not keep their victims in cozy places and provide them every comfort possible. They threw their prisoners in dark, damp dungeons and fed them gruel. Villains did not joke with their captives and take them riding, or teach them how to swear like a dockworker. They did not reveal that they were too soft to be cruel.

Rhys grinned at her and reached into the sack like someone presenting a gift on Christmas morning. “And finally, I was able to procure the latest issues of the Much Hoole paper, so we can read more ‘Two Hills’ stories.”

Vivian couldn’t fight an answering smile. Villains were not kind.

But if Rhys was not a villain, what was he?

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