Page 35 of The Highwayman's Bite

Chapter Thirteen

The past three nightshad been a revelation for Rhys. For the first time in decades, being consumed by this mission to save Berwyn Farm while at the same time evading legitimized vampires who hunted rogues for sport did not consume his waking existence. Those things still weighed heavily on his mind, of course, but now he’d also found laughter, companionship, and intellectual stimulation.

After he hunted in the evenings, Rhys would take Vivian and Madame Renarde outside to the beach to walk or ride. Vivian delighted in collecting seashells and Rhys taught her and her companion to skip rocks.

They also practiced fencing with sticks they’d snapped off a tree. Rhys later straightened them with his carving knife. He spent many hours leaning against a rock, watching Madame Renarde teach Vivian new steps and maneuvers. Renarde’s knowledge impressed him. Rhys himself had learned in his mortal days as a privateer. The captain was insistent on every member of the crew knowing their way around a blade. That had saved his life and countless others.

After he’d become a vampire, he’d honed his skill by sparring with other vampires who could fence, his preternatural abilities opening him up to new and innovative techniques. Thinking of transformations, Rhys wondered if Renarde had learned to fence before or after she’d made the decision to live as a woman. Likely before, as most men were against teaching a woman swordplay.

He’d tried to glean information about the eccentric companion’s past, but Renarde remained close-mouthed and always redirected the conversation back to him. For his safety as well as theirs, Rhys couldn’t talk about his past. He did reveal that he’d once been a privateer, leaving out that it had been back in the late 1600’s.

“Ah,” Renarde had said, “That’s why you’ve done such efficient work on securing this cave. You’ve designed it like a ship.”

Vivian had favored him with a heart-stopping smile. “You’re remarkable with carving things. The animals are beautiful. Did you cut all these shelves too?”

“Yes.” The compliment had warmed him all over. “As a—an outlaw, I am forced to spend long hours in this cave. I had to find something to occupy the long hours. You may choose one, if you like... both of you,” he added at the companion’s sharp look.

Madame Renarde shook her head. “A lady is not permitted to accept gifts from a gentleman unless she is to marry him.”

He’d laughed. “I am no gentleman.”

Vivian had bounded to the shelves where he kept the wooden figures. “I hardly think the rules apply in our circumstances.”

She’d selected a hawk he’d carved, its wings spread, and its beak open as if to emit a defiant screech.

“What made you choose that one?” he’d inquired, surprised that she hadn’t preferred the puppy or the hummingbird.

“It looks so free and fearless,” she’d said with a musing smile as she’d stroked the talons. “No one could keep it locked away.”

Madame Renarde offered no explanation for the sculpture she chose aside from, “I like owls.”

Between the walks outside and practice with swordplay, they’d occupied themselves reading through the stories of “Two Hills.” Some supernatural elements had appeared in the serial, with Constable Daleson dreaming of otherworldly beings. Madame Renarde opined that they were only dreams, while Vivian speculated that they were demons, and Rhys was convinced that they were fey creatures from Underhill.

That led to a long discussion of the legends of the fairy folk across the world. Vivian only knew what Shakespeare had referenced, while Rhys shared the Welsh tales he’d heard growing up. Madame Renarde knew both French and Irish stories.

He’d been so enraptured with spending time with Vivian and Madame Renarde that he’d nearly forgotten that they were supposed to be his captives.

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