The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) Read Free Page A

said, leaning against his shoulder as the beaming innkeeper’s wife walked away. “If only you could do the same with the young ones.”
    Jack raised his tankard to the two lovely misses, winking as they gasped and giggled. Not a moment later there was a flurry of bewildered protests as a stern matronly woman, clucking in outrage, glared at him as she ushered them hurriedly from the room.
    He chuckled and turned back to his companions. “The trick, Billy…is to remember that old women were young women once, and still are at heart. What makes one smile, likely makes the other do so as well.”
    His gaze shifted. “Eat your dinner, Allen.”
    The boy, who had stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth to listen, blushed and returned to wolfing down his food.
    “Aye, and mind your own business! No one wants a big-eared bastard following them about.” Billy raised his hand to give the boy a cuff but Jack grasped his wrist, holding it easily while stabbing a sausage with his fork.
    “Leave the lad be, Bill,” he said mildly. “You can speak in front of him. He knows what and when to keep quiet.”
    Bill jerked his arm free and rubbed his wrist. “He’d better.”
    “You’ve news then? Something better than country squires, school girls, or overfed parsons?”
    Despite missing one eye, few men were better observers than Bill Wyse. Jack employed men like Bill as eyes and ears in every village from Huntingdon to York, and on more challenging adventures, he sometimes brought men like Ned.
    “Aye. I’ve news. Rat-faced Perry wants a meeting.”
    Henry Perry was the criminal equivalent of a local feudal overlord. Footpads, pickpockets, prostitutes, and thieves all paid him fealty and a percentage of their earnings. Some said his fingers reached as far as London and as deep as a magistrate’s pocket. He had no influence over his social superiors though, the free-willed gentleman of the road.
    “Since when am I one of Henry Perry’s minions?”
    Billy shrugged. “You pay me to bring you information. I bring it. He says you would find it worth your while.”
    Jack snorted in disgust and downed the rest of his ale. What did a man like him need with more money? He had no family or property to maintain and was glad of it. A home was a trap, a family a burden, and a stationary man easily found and captured. He kept no mistress though he knew a few comely barmaids, and though he drank it was not as much as other men—and never enough that he failed to notice each exit and entrance or the lay of the land.
    He had his freedom, a magnificent horse in Bess, and finely crafted weapons. He had plenty for gambling, clothes, and helping the occasional stray, and he could treat friends and acquaintances with food and drink. When he took to the road now it was purely for excitement. Something to stir the blood between endless rounds of cards.
    His prey were the wealthy and privileged, or some exotic treat like the shipment of liquid gold malmsey marked for His Majesty he’d liberated two weeks past. It was a form of entertainment, though God knew it had lost its luster over time. Lately he’d been taking unnecessary risks, seeking the same thrill that had charged him in the early days. Perhaps that’s why we all die young. We grow bored and careless.
    “He said you might find it entertaining. He said there’s a wench involved.”
    A gleam of interest sharpened Jack’s eyes. “A pretty one?”
    Bill shrugged again. “According to you, aren’t they all?”

 
     
     
CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    “I need you to deliver a package.” The rat-faced man was nibbling some fine Nottingham cheese, oblivious to the irony.
    “ That package?” Jack nodded toward a bound figure trembling in the corner, shrouded in an over-large cloak and held between two brutish thugs, both of whom he could smell from his comfortable seat by the fire. Or perhaps it was the cheese. He stabbed a piece with his dagger and held it to his nose experimentally,