eagerly alongside the pair.
Beatrice folded her elbows on the windowsill and watched as the trio disappeared into the darkness.
She considered the matter for a very long while, but she could not think of a good reason for the Mad
Monk of Monkcrest to ride out at midnight with only his hound for company.
Hunting highwaymen was similar to hunting any other sort of wild beast. One learned the creatures' ways
and habits and then employed the knowledge to set a trap.
Years of experience had taught Leo a great deal. He was aware that one of the members of the local
country gentry had scheduled a house party that evening. Most of the guests would spend the night under
their host's roof. Inevitably, however, a few would brave the roads to drive home. Those who did would
be wearing their best jewelry.
If that were not attraction enough, tonight's full moon would tempt any ambitious highwayman who
chanced to be in the neighborhood. Leo was almost certain that the villain who had attempted to rob
Beatrice's carriage was still in the vicinity.
He made it a practice to keep track of everything that went on in and around Monkcrest lands.
Information, gossip, and news flowed into the abbey through maids, gardeners, and grooms. It was Leo's
habit, as it had been the habit of the Mad Monks who had come before him, to collect the information
and sort through it.
Word of a rough stranger seen drinking at the inn had reached him that afternoon.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Highwaymen were common enough on the roads. Hunting them was a rather uncommon sport. But Leo
reminded himself that everyone needed a hobby.
Over the years Leo had honed his ability to spot his quarry's favored hiding places. He rarely guessed
wrong. Tonight he kept watch on a thick stand of trees that inevitably appealed to every passing villain on
a horse. From his vantage point on the opposite side of the road, he waited patiently for the rumble of
carriage wheels. He knew the man in the trees waited also.
There was a chill in the air. Leo thought of the warm fire and brandy that awaited him. And then he
thought of Beatrice. Tomorrow he would go with her to London. Excitement stirred somewhere deep
inside him.
The clatter of wheels and the thud of heavy hooves striking muddy ground pulled him out of his reverie.
He eased one of the two pistols he had brought with him out of his belt and gently tightened the reins to
get Apollo's attention. The big gray stopped dozing. He raised his head and pricked his ears.
The carriage rounded the bend in the road, its pace slowed by the damp earth. The curtains had been
drawn back from the windows. The interior lamps revealed an elderly, bewhiskered gentleman and a
woman who wore an enormous gray turban.
For a few seconds nothing happened. Leo wondered if he had mistaken his quarry. Then, with the crack
of broken branches and scattered leaves, a horse and rider thundered out of the trees and took up a
position in the middle of the road.
"Stand and deliver, master coachman, or I'll blast yer head off yer shoulders." The highwayman wore a
broadbrimmed hat. A mask fashioned out of a triangle of dirty white cloth concealed his features. He
aimed the pistol with a steady arm.
Leo pulled the collar of his cloak up around his ears and yanked his hat down low over his eyes. The
shadows of night would do the rest. He prepared to guide Apollo out of the trees.
"Damn yer eyes, man." The startled coachman sawed frantically on the reins. "What do you want with
us? I've naught but an old couple inside."
The highwayman laughed as the coach veered to a shuddering halt. "A couple of the local fancy, you
mean." He urged his horse past the carriage team and stopped near the door. "Well, now, what 'ave we
here? Come on out. Be quick about it and you'll be on yer way in no time. Give me any trouble and I'll
lodge a bullet in someone's gullet. I'm not particular
Beatrice folded her elbows on the windowsill and watched as the trio disappeared into the darkness.
She considered the matter for a very long while, but she could not think of a good reason for the Mad
Monk of Monkcrest to ride out at midnight with only his hound for company.
Hunting highwaymen was similar to hunting any other sort of wild beast. One learned the creatures' ways
and habits and then employed the knowledge to set a trap.
Years of experience had taught Leo a great deal. He was aware that one of the members of the local
country gentry had scheduled a house party that evening. Most of the guests would spend the night under
their host's roof. Inevitably, however, a few would brave the roads to drive home. Those who did would
be wearing their best jewelry.
If that were not attraction enough, tonight's full moon would tempt any ambitious highwayman who
chanced to be in the neighborhood. Leo was almost certain that the villain who had attempted to rob
Beatrice's carriage was still in the vicinity.
He made it a practice to keep track of everything that went on in and around Monkcrest lands.
Information, gossip, and news flowed into the abbey through maids, gardeners, and grooms. It was Leo's
habit, as it had been the habit of the Mad Monks who had come before him, to collect the information
and sort through it.
Word of a rough stranger seen drinking at the inn had reached him that afternoon.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Highwaymen were common enough on the roads. Hunting them was a rather uncommon sport. But Leo
reminded himself that everyone needed a hobby.
Over the years Leo had honed his ability to spot his quarry's favored hiding places. He rarely guessed
wrong. Tonight he kept watch on a thick stand of trees that inevitably appealed to every passing villain on
a horse. From his vantage point on the opposite side of the road, he waited patiently for the rumble of
carriage wheels. He knew the man in the trees waited also.
There was a chill in the air. Leo thought of the warm fire and brandy that awaited him. And then he
thought of Beatrice. Tomorrow he would go with her to London. Excitement stirred somewhere deep
inside him.
The clatter of wheels and the thud of heavy hooves striking muddy ground pulled him out of his reverie.
He eased one of the two pistols he had brought with him out of his belt and gently tightened the reins to
get Apollo's attention. The big gray stopped dozing. He raised his head and pricked his ears.
The carriage rounded the bend in the road, its pace slowed by the damp earth. The curtains had been
drawn back from the windows. The interior lamps revealed an elderly, bewhiskered gentleman and a
woman who wore an enormous gray turban.
For a few seconds nothing happened. Leo wondered if he had mistaken his quarry. Then, with the crack
of broken branches and scattered leaves, a horse and rider thundered out of the trees and took up a
position in the middle of the road.
"Stand and deliver, master coachman, or I'll blast yer head off yer shoulders." The highwayman wore a
broadbrimmed hat. A mask fashioned out of a triangle of dirty white cloth concealed his features. He
aimed the pistol with a steady arm.
Leo pulled the collar of his cloak up around his ears and yanked his hat down low over his eyes. The
shadows of night would do the rest. He prepared to guide Apollo out of the trees.
"Damn yer eyes, man." The startled coachman sawed frantically on the reins. "What do you want with
us? I've naught but an old couple inside."
The highwayman laughed as the coach veered to a shuddering halt. "A couple of the local fancy, you
mean." He urged his horse past the carriage team and stopped near the door. "Well, now, what 'ave we
here? Come on out. Be quick about it and you'll be on yer way in no time. Give me any trouble and I'll
lodge a bullet in someone's gullet. I'm not particular
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