Free The Herb of Grace by Kate Forsyth

quizzically for a while, then busied himself tying up the two men and dumping them in the coach.
    He lifted high the lantern and shone it into every corner of the coach, then expertly opened up some kind of secret drawer under one of the seats, extracting a folder of papers and another two bulging bags of coins. He made a noise of intense satisfaction in his throat, and thrust the papers and the coins into the saddlebags of his own horse, a beautiful bay that had been waiting patiently by the side of the road. He hid the coach behind a largebush, and unhitched the four horses, running his hands over their legs appreciatively.
    â€˜Should get a pretty penny for these lot,’ he said to Emilia. ‘I know a fellow in Salisbury who will paint them up and sell them for me, none the wiser.’
    She nodded her head. ‘It’s a shame they’re black,’ she said. ‘Much easier to disguise a grey.’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s a pretty young lass like you doing knowing such things?’
    Emilia flushed. ‘Oh, I’m guessing.’
    â€˜Good guess.’
    She smiled and dropped her eyes.
    â€˜A boy who knows how to take an imprint for a key to be copied, and a girl who knows how to disguise a stolen horse,’ he said with a grin. ‘What kind of company have I fallen into?’
    â€˜I could say the same,’ Emilia retorted, and he laughed.
    â€˜Can you ride?’ he asked. ‘Because I’d like to get away from here fairly quickly.’
    She gave him a scornful glance, then vaulted up onto the back of one of the coach-horses, which was no easy task as it was fifteen hands high.
    â€˜I guess that means “yes”,’ the highwayman said.
    Luka had finished taking an impression of the keys, and was carefully tucking them back into Coldham’s pocket, making sure there was no wax left on them to make the big man suspect they had been copied. He then joined Emilia and the highwayman with a smile of pure joy on his face.
    â€˜I have a feeling these could be very useful,’ he said to Emilia as he tucked the wax impressions carefully in the bag.
    â€˜You think they’re the keys to the gaol?’ she whispered sceptically. ‘But would the pig-man have them?’
    â€˜Maybe, maybe not,’ Luka said. ‘Only one way to find out.’ He winked at her. ‘Besides, even if they’re the keys to his dear old father’s cottage,they still may come in useful. I like to be prepared.’
    â€˜After all, they could be the keys to his strong-box,’ Emilia replied, grinning.
    â€˜Exactly.’ Luka deftly leapt onto the back of one of the other horses, his monkey’s tail whipping round his neck as she fought to stay on his shoulder.
    â€˜Let’s go!’ the highwayman cried, and gave a wild cry, whipping up his horse. At once the bay was off, galloping along the road, the two other coach-horses racing along behind him.
    â€˜Be careful!’ Luka called. ‘This road is full of potholes!’
    But the highwayman only laughed, and galloped on, the lantern tied to his pommel casting an uncertain light on the road ahead. Emilia and Luka followed at breakneck speed, huge clods of mud spraying up from the hooves of their horses, the darkness hurtling past them.

The Highwayman’s Hideaway

    T he highwayman rode under a heavy branch, lifting it with one hand. Luka and Emilia came close behind, bending over their horses’ necks. Hidden beyond the big tree was a narrow bridle path, gleaming white in the darkness. They rode along in silence, and finally came to a rough camp in a small hollow. A tent was slung over a rope tied between two bushes, and there was a dead fire in a circle of stones.
    â€˜Home sweet home,’ the highwayman said, dismounting gracefully. He unsaddled and hobbled his mount, then laid a fire. Emilia and Luka were so tired, it was all they could do to dismount. They slithered