What's a Rogue Got To Do With It (Rogues of Redmere Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  What’s a Rogue Got To Do With It

  Samantha Holt

  Rogues of Redmere

  Copyright © 2018 by Samantha Holt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Cornwall, 1814

  “Bloody hurry up.” The ship’s captain peered down at Knight from the upper deck, moonlight highlighting his strained expression.

  Knight merely grunted. Drake only wanted this done so he could be on his way with haste and return to Knight’s sister. Knight grunted again. What his sister saw in Drake, he did not know, but she seemed happy to be his wife. He gripped the wooden crate tighter than he needed to. Didn’t mean he had to be happy about her being married to a rogue.

  Air whistled about them, tinged with the flavor of salt. The ping of metal on metal and the creak of wood drifted in with the breeze, punctuating an otherwise silent night. Stillness circulated the ship, the docks empty of the usual bustle of fishermen and the tide carefully nudging the ship from side to side, any power the waves possessed were lost when they entered the long harbor.

  Above, an almost full moon gave them most of the light they needed, fingers of frosty light trickling over the fishing village and allowing them to douse the lanterns and ensure they could keep their nighttime activities secret. By day, they would appear legitimate businessmen. By night, and once across the sea to France, they were smugglers—corrupt to the core—the only sort of men able to access France during wartime with no questions asked.

  An ominous shadow glided across the ship and Knight peered up to eye the cloud doggedly covering their only source of light. He sighed. Little had gone right tonight, and until the ship was safely abound for France, he could not relax.

  “Are you going to help me with this damned thing or not?” demanded Nate, who clutched the other side of the crate.

  Knight snorted. “I could lift all of these alone.”

  Nate arched a brow. Dark haired and wearing spectacles, Nate was well built, and though the glasses softened his looks, it made him no less handsome and aristocratic. He was not, however, as bulky as Knight. Nor as scarred. None of them were. Even Drake, who had been injured in battle and promptly forced to retire from the Navy could not match Knight’s gruesome looks.

  “If you want me to leave you to it...” Nate raised his hands and stepped away from the crate.

  Air expelled from Knight’s lungs as he was forced to take the weight of the crate. Most were stuffed with fabrics and were easy enough to carry. This one had to not only hold fabrics but also contained a person.

  An important person.

  A spy.

  “Damn it, Nate.” Knight struggled to move the crate across the deck.

  Nate chuckled and came to take the weight on the other side once more. “Not so strong now, are you?”

  Knight didn’t respond. He only used his strength when necessary. After all, he’d done enough fighting in his life. That did not mean he was not tempted to wipe the smirk off Nate’s face. The men he worked with were as close to friends as he’d ever had but they seemed to take great delight in riling him, knowing full well he wouldn’t lay a hand on them.

  Well, at least until Drake had started showing interest in Knight’s sister. But after Drake had saved her life, Knight could hardly complain.

  “Will you two cease gossiping like women and make haste?” Drake stepped down from the upper deck, his limp pronounced when he made his way down the steps. “We know the customs men are out. Louisa said they frequented the inn tonight. It’s only a matter of time before they reach the docks.”

  Knight stiffened at the mention of Louisa. The owner of the Ship Inn had helped them many a time, and it was the place Knight frequented most. Sometimes he even stayed there if he had been drinking late. It had become something of a refuge—a place where no one cared what he did or with whom he spoke. Which, if it could be helped, he rarely did. Drake, in particular, was known for speaking without thinking and it got him into plenty of trouble. Knight would rather leave the conversing to him.

  Especially when it came to Louisa. The beautiful innkeeper plagued his thoughts enough. He didn’t need her softening to him.

  “If you want us to move more quickly, why do you not come and give us a hand?” said Nate.

  Drake folded his arms across his chest. “I captain this ship and I’m no ship hand. And, alas, my leg will not allow me to lift heavy objects.”

  Knight rolled his eyes. Drake’s injury only caused him problems when he wished it.

  “If you would stop complaining like an old woman, we would be done by now,” Nate said through clenched teeth as they moved the final crate into place, the wood scratching across the surface of the oiled deck. He didn’t envy the spy trapped inside the dark confines. Knight had done his duty to his country once before, and while they might be helping the cause, the lure of coin and an occupation had hooked him into helping the Earl of Redmere and his smuggling ring. He could certainly think of better things to do than sneak into the enemy’s territory with little air and an uncomfortable journey ahead.

  Knight peered across the harbor and hissed out a breath. “Hell fire.” He pointed toward the hill that led down to the Cornish fishing village. Golden lights snaked down the slope at a pace, no doubt held by the excise men who patrolled the coasts in the hopes of catching smugglers in the act. Cornwall, in particular, was ideal for bringing goods in and out of France, especially wares that were no longer allowed thanks to the war. Unfortunately for them, it meant dodging those trying to catch them in the act was becoming harder.

  “Damn it, must be customs men.” Nate turned to Drake. “You make ready to leave. We’ll distract them.”

  Knight shook his head. “I’ll distract them. You’ll ride home.”

  “But—”

  Drake cut Nate off. “He’s right. We cannot have the Earl of Redmere’s brother caught with smugglers.”

  “They do not know you’re smuggling anything,” Nate protested.

  “Leave the fighting to me,” Knight said through clenched teeth.

  The whole reason the earl had brought him on board was to be the aggressive face of the operation. With his bulk, height, and scar-riddled features, even he would be hard-pressed to think of a person better suited to heading up a smuggling operation. Not that it had been his life’s ambition, but after his father disinherited him, and his time in the Army had all but crushed him, there were few options open to him. Hell, he’d fallen into lawless ways when Red had found him. The chances were he’d be dead or locked up if he’d continued down that path.

  “Damn i
t, Knight.” Nate’s knuckles whitened as he balled a fist.

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Knight glowered down at the man. Red would have his head if Knight let anything happen to his brother.

  Nate’s grin grew smug. “You do not scare me one jot, Knight.”

  Knight took a step forward, glancing briefly over his shoulder to eye the movement of the lanterns. Glimpses of glowing light highlighted the silhouettes of the ramshackle cottages that made up the bulk of the village. They only had a few minutes before the men were upon them.

  “Nate,” he growled.

  Lifting his hands, Nate retreated a step. “Fine. Do as you will. Just do it with haste. They are almost upon us.”

  Drake directed the ship-hands to make ready. “I’ll get her away. You go break some skulls or whatever is it you normally do,” he told Knight.

  Knight didn’t respond. He avoided violence at all costs. His size attracted trouble as much as it prevented it, so sometimes it couldn’t be prevented, but he’d do his damndest not to harm anyone. At least permanently. The last thing they needed was the attention of the government. Their work with the Crown was never officially sanctioned.

  Dragging in his last breath of unhindered air, he pulled a wool scarf over his mouth and nose then yanked his cap down over his face. He didn’t need the customs men recognizing him.

  He slipped along the shadowy length of the harbor at pace, keeping his steps quiet. He smirked to himself. At least the Army had taught him one thing—how to move quietly for a man his size. There had been many a time his newfound skill had saved him from a bullet or a blade to the gut.

  The excise men did not follow the same precautions. There were barked orders, the snort and whinny of horses, and the hollow stamp of hooves against the dry ground. Knight would know once they entered the cobbled length of the harbor.

  Fishermen’s boats creaked with the gentle tip of the waves entering the port. Beside him, the stone buildings in which the daily catch was unloaded provided protection from the moon every time she revealed herself from behind a cloud. He pressed deeper into the darkness and continued along until the clatter of horses was almost upon him.

  Flatting his back to the stone wall, he waited, the jagged walls pressing into his shoulder blades. He curled his fingers around the hilt of his knife, the smooth wooden handle resting comfortably against his palm. Others preferred pistols for a quick response, but they took time to reload and were never accurate. Even if he wanted to spill blood tonight, shooting a man was never as easy as people assumed.

  With any luck, he’d keep the ground clean tonight anyway. The men who patrolled the area were usually poorly paid and ill-trained. They should be easy to overcome.

  His heart gave a thud in his ears at the change in sounds. The men had entered the main entranceway to the harbor where the carts were driven in to collect the catch. They moved with caution, given the restrained clatter against the flagstones.

  Knight eased himself away from the wall long enough to catch sight of them. Three men, all on horseback. They’d made life harder for themselves by carrying lanterns. None would have quick access to their weapons. He allowed himself a small smile beneath the itchy wool. It would be even easier than he’d first thought.

  Letting the shadows swallow him back up, he drew in measured breaths. Little scared him these days but it did not prevent the rush through his veins, the heavy thump in his ears. He tapped his knife once more, assuring himself it was there if necessary.

  Launching forward, he grabbed the boot of the first man. A startled cry released from him, and he jerked against Knight’s hold. The horse reacted to the sudden tug on the reins and bolted forward, leaving his passenger to flail and fall to the ground. The two other men responded quickly, the grate of blades loosened from their scabbards making the flesh on Knight’s arms prickle. Lanterns shattered to the ground, their brief light snuffed out on the cobbles.

  A swift punch to the man’s face rendered him senseless, allowing Knight to concentrate on the two men still in the saddle. He ducked a blade but felt the rush of air as it missed him by mere inches.

  “Get him,” bellowed the second man, his thin features briefly lit by the moonlight before it vanished under cloud cover.

  Knight barreled toward him, launching himself high enough to wrap his arms about the man and drag him from the saddle. They fell together, Knight taking the brunt of the fall. Breath left his body, and his enemy’s bony frame jabbed his ribs. Ignoring the pain that thudded along his spine, Knight rolled quickly, pinning the man beneath him. He spared the final rider a glance as the man turned his horse to make another run at Knight.

  Turning his attention back to his captive, Knight wrapped his fingers about the man’s neck while he squirmed beneath him. He felt the warm pulse of life under his fingertips and squeezed. The man clawed at his hands. Knight barely spared him a glance as he eyed the soldier on horseback, his gaze firmly on the drawn blade as the man descended upon him. Beneath him, the man went limp. Not dead, but he’d wake with a mighty headache.

  Knight rolled as the blade swished over him. This time there wasn’t even inches in it. The sword had caught his cap, dragging it off his head.

  Coming to his feet, he curled his fists and faced the man as he made a third run. This would be his third and final, Knight would ensure that much. He waited until the man was nearly upon him before turning and sprinting toward the harbor edge, where stone gave way to sea. He twisted and faced the man again as the soldier was forced to bring his horse to a sudden halt.

  Panic flared in the man’s expression, and Knight used the opportunity to grab his arm, hauling him straight from the horse into the water. The resounding splash made Knight grin.

  He peered into the inky darkness of the water. A head popped to the surface and flailed his arms.

  “Help.” His words were choked. “I cannot...swim...”

  The man bobbed under. Knight closed his eyes briefly and drew in a long breath.

  Damn it.

  Divesting himself of his boots and jacket, he leaped into the sea. The cool shock of water pushed the air from his lungs. Knight swiped droplets from his face and swam over to where the man fought to stay afloat. He quickly grabbed the flailing man, barking an order to keep still that was muffled by the scarf across his lower face.

  He dragged the man to the edge of the port and shoved him up onto the stone before heaving himself up. The soldier lay limp, but Knight could hear quietly frantic breaths from the man.

  “Why...why did you not let me die?” the man whispered.

  “I’ve seen enough blood,” Knight muttered, coming to kneel over him. “But if you want to stay alive, you run from here and you do not come back. I might not be so generous next time.”

  Knight didn’t wait for a response. He snatched up his cap and jacket and slipped his feet back into his boots, grimacing at every sodden movement. Retrieving the men’s swords, he flung them into the ocean. The horses milled aimlessly about the port, but Knight knew they’d come to no harm. When discovered in the morning, the horses would be looked after by villagers until the three men were capable of riding them back to wherever they came from. As much as the local people disliked the customs men, who were not discrete in their enquiries and frequently threatened folk, they wouldn’t risk drawing more attention to their small village.

  Knight only hoped he had not done so either. It wasn’t their first run in with the men, and so long as they continued smuggling, it would not be their last. Thankfully they were not alone in their attempts to get goods in and out of the country, and their operation was but a trifle compared to what some of the criminal element were partaking in.

  The sea air sent a gust his way, wrapping it about his sodden clothes. He needed a warm bed and warmer whisky. He turned and headed in the direction of the inn.

  Set atop the cliff that overlooked the rest of the village, lanterns shone their ambient light in warm greeting, having been responsibl
e for many a man being lured to their drunken fates. It took plenty for Knight to get in such a state so no such fate awaited him tonight, but the pull of a comfortable bed and a place to hang his clothes was enough. He cut his way through the village, his movements slowed by his sodden clothes, then ascended the path up toward the ramshackle inn.

  Little noises emanated from the building, but at this time of night he was not surprised. He pushed open the door to find a few patrons slumped across tables. It was not the best of inns nor the worst. One could be promised a clean bed and a hearty meal here, which was a lot better than many he had frequented. Louisa ran the pub with a tight hand and now that his sister worked here, their feminine touches could be seen. The floors were clean and the tables polished—at least the ones on which no one was slumped.

  A fire crackled generously in the grate, and Knight made his way over, drawing off his boots and placing them in front of it. The bar was empty, but that didn’t surprise him. At this time of night, Louisa and Julianna were likely abed. He used the opportunity to slip off his shirt and hang it over the fireguard. Shirtless, he ambled over to the bar and helped himself to a glass of whiskey.

  “It’s not raining.”

  Knight peered sideways. Louisa stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her golden hair in a frizzy halo about her face. Shadows lingered under her eyes. He looked away. Frizzy hair and dark eyes didn’t prevent the clamp of desire in his gut.

  She moved toward him, and he could swear he felt her gaze rake his half-naked body. His muscles tensed. There was no hiding the scars that riddled his back and abdomen. They were ugly and jagged and visible. He cared little for what anyone thought of his appearance.

  Normally.

  “Why are you so wet?” she asked, sliding onto the stool next to him and snatching the glass from his hand to refill it before shoving it back in his direction.

  “I slipped.”

  “Slipped?” She let out a light laugh. “Well—”

  The door to the inn swung open, bringing a fresh blast of frigid air. Knight straightened. This could not be good.