A stolen moment...
...to reunite them!
Since her mischief-making childhood with Robbie Danby, Rowenna has curbed her impetuous nature and become a lady. When she meets Robbie again in York, he’s close to claiming his knighthood. Their newly awakened affection inspires in Rowenna a new—decidedly adult—impulsiveness! Yet Robbie’s heart appears to belong to another—unless a midsummer kiss could change everything...?
“Beautiful,” he sighed.
“It’s so strong it makes me feel light-headed,” Rowenna said.
She opened her eyes and looked at him over the top of the flower, her long lashes widening to frame eyes that were now heavy with sensuality. Her lips curved into a wide smile and Robbie’s heart began to beat faster. He was starting to feel light-headed himself but that had nothing to do with the scent of the rose. Light-headed, and more than a little reckless.
“I don’t mean the flower,” he murmured.
He folded his hand over the rose and lowered it, noticing in the back of his mind that his hand was trembling. He bent his head down a little more until he was close enough that his mouth was next to Rowenna’s. Close enough that he could feel the softness of her cheek against his. Close enough to whisper and be perfectly certain that no one else who might venture to this part of the garden would be able to hear the words that were meant for only her ears.
“I mean you.”
And he kissed her.
Author Note
Once, a knight had two sons: his heir, Roger, and illegitimate Hal. Hal married Joanna (who had been in love with Roger but saw sense). Roger married Lucy, who had an infant son named Robbie, and they all lived happily ever after in Yorkshire. Their stories are The Blacksmith’s Wife and Redeeming the Rogue Knight.
It always annoys me that an otherwise sensible hero will moon after a bland heroine while a much more interesting woman is available. Éponine in Les Misérables has much more about her than drippy Cosette, and don’t get me started on Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale ignoring Kate the blacksmith in favour of the high-maintenance Jocelyn! This is my attempt to redress the balance.
I’m often asked if I use personal experience as inspiration for stories (if I was surrounded by knights and highlanders I wouldn’t get much writing done), and in this case I did.*
The Peasants’ Revolt happened after an attempt to increase taxation on a population already angry about inequalities in society. Wat Tyler, the nominated leader of the rebels, said “No deal” to King Richard, attacked the Lord Mayor of London and was later decapitated. News spread throughout England, leading to riots as far north as York. Simon de Quixlay and John de Gisburne, mentioned in this story, were real figures. The riots and attack on the city are based on fact, though there was no tournament taking place at the time.
*It’s the geese, in case you were wondering.
Elisabeth Hobbes
A Midsummer
Knight’s Kiss
Elisabeth Hobbes grew up in York, England, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which has made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing, she spends her time reading and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire, England, with her husband, two children and three cats with ridiculous names.
Books by Elisabeth Hobbes
Harlequin Historical
Falling for Her Captor
A Wager for the Widow
The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge
Beguiled by the Forbidden Knight
A Midsummer Knight’s Kiss
The Lochmore Legacy
A Runaway Bride for the Highlander
The Danby Brothers
The Blacksmith’s Wife
Redeeming the Rogue Knight
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This book was written over the course of a mammoth house renovation. Huge thanks to Rosemary and Peter for the part they played in that.
Contents
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
Excerpt from It’s Marriage or Ruin by Liz Tyner
Chapter One
The first indication that Rowenna Danby was in trouble was the honking of the geese. She froze, standing on the sturdiest branch of the pear tree, with her hand outstretched towards one particularly ripe specimen. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the determined mass of white heading at speed towards her. Some devil had let the geese loose and they were making for their favourite forbidden place: the orchard where Rowenna was currently standing. She reached the tip of her fingers out and managed to pull the pear free, only for it to slip from her grasp and fall to the ground.
‘Bull’s pizzle!’
No one was around to hear her use her father’s favourite exclamation of annoyance, otherwise she wouldn’t have dared say anything so unladylike. She sat down and lowered herself until she could drop to the ground. The sound of ripping cloth accompanied her gasp as she landed in a heap, scuffing her knees and palms. She swore again, partly from the pain but mostly because of the large tear she now had in her already grubby skirt. She spat on her palm, rubbed it down her bodice and picked up the pear. The windfalls she had gathered before being tempted by the perfect fruit above her were heaped against the trunk of the tree.
The excited honking was growing louder and closer. Rowenna hesitated, caught between the urge to escape and the knowledge that if she returned without the pears it would earn her a whipping from Lady Danby. She scooped the pears up into her grass-stained skirt, then turned towards the path back to Wharram Manor.
Too late. A dozen geese blocked her route to safety. Avarice and determination gleamed in their beady eyes. Their honking became a crooning of anticipation.
‘Shoo!’ Rowenna stamped her foot. That did nothing to deter them. She clutched her skirts tighter and backed against the tree. ‘Hissssss! Get away! They’re mine.’
The ugly creatures only saw this as a challenge and edged closer, spreading out to surround her. Rowenna pressed against the tree. She found the smallest pear and threw it overarm, hoping to create a diversion. It disappeared beneath a flurry of feathers but all she had done was confirm that she had what they wanted. Now the geese knew she was the source of food they advanced on her with an alarming turn of speed. She hissed again, hoping to drive off the mob, but knowing she would never be able to get past without a severe pecking.
She bit down a sob of fright, but at that moment a dark-haired figure caught her attention. Rowenna’s spirits lifted.
‘Robbie! Help me!’
Her cousin Robbie was ambling towards the beck at the bottom of the village. He looked around to see who had called him and grinned at her predi
cament. Merriment filled his usually serious eyes.
‘Are you having trouble, D-Dumpling?’
‘You can s-s-s-see I am having t-t-t-trouble, you lumbering oaf!’ she retorted, mimicking his hesitant speech. The description wasn’t strictly accurate, but his nickname always made her blood boil. He didn’t lumber and he wasn’t an oaf, but Robbie was going through the awkward stage that afflicted most thirteen-year-olds where his limbs were too long. He moved gracefully, but with maddening slowness. Now he began ambling away from her.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked in alarm.
He scowled, looking hurt.
‘If you’re going to insult me, I’ll leave you to fend for yourself.’
Guilt prickled Rowenna’s neck. Robbie hated the fact that he struggled over some sounds. He would often go for hours without speaking if he was in company with people he didn’t know. Robbie had reason enough to be worried today, without Rowenna taunting him.
‘I’m sorry, Robbie. Truly, I am. You know I don’t think you’re an oaf. Please, don’t stand there laughing.’
Robbie strolled over, taking his time in retaliation for her meanness. He gave her another slow grin. Uncle Roger often said Rowenna was the only one who made Robbie smile, but now she would happily slap the smile from his face.
‘You do look stuck, Dumpling. Lady Stick isn’t going to be pleased when she sees what you’ve done to your skirts.’
Tears filled Rowenna’s eyes. The private nickname she and Robbie had for his grandmother reminded her of what was certain to happen when Lady Danby discovered what she had done to her dress and to the fruit.
‘Stop jesting! A fine knight you’ll make, leaving a woman in distress.’
Robbie frowned and Rowenna knew her arrow had hit the target. He was determined to be a knight like his father and grandfather before him.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well then, Lady Rowenna, if I’m going to be a knight, you must give me a favour.’
‘You can have a pear. Not one of the windfalls. I picked a good one from the high branch.’
Rowenna gave him a smile she hoped looked suitably ladylike. One of the few areas her mother and Lady Danby agreed on was that Rowenna should grow up with the accomplishments expected of a guildsman’s daughter. She knew by now how to dip a curtsy and show a man how wonderful she thought he was.
Robbie folded his arms and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. She wondered if she had gone too far in her flattery. He was more used to Rowenna beating him at scoring points with the lance and rings or kicking his ankles as they sped round the field after a ball. While the village boys drew back instinctively when tackling her, Rowenna showed no such hesitation and most of them surrendered the ball voluntarily rather than risk being on the end of her solid boots. She vowed to try being a little more gentle in future games, at least towards Robbie.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble. It’s a very nice pear.’
She cocked her head to her skirts, indicating the fruit. Robbie rolled his eyes again, but he grinned.
‘You’re behaving more like Eve, tempting me into sin with forbidden fruit, than a lady at court, only I bet Eve d-didn’t have such a foolish smile. I s-suppose I can’t leave you there, though.’ He flourished an imaginary sword. ‘Fear not, fair Lady Rowenna, Sir Robert Danby will save you from these knavish creatures!’
He ran towards Rowenna, circling his arms and yelling at the top of his voice. The geese scattered, their wings brushing Rowenna’s skirts as some hurtled past her. Robbie danced out of their way to avoid a couple of sharp beaks that stabbed towards him. He cried out as one scored a hit on his thigh. Emboldened, Rowenna added her voice to the commotion and ran to the safety of Robbie’s side. He seized her around the waist and almost caused her to drop her skirt full of pears. Laughing riotously, they ran to safety on the common green and hurled themselves down in a heap on the spongy grass and heather.
When she got her breath back, Rowenna leaned forward and punched Robbie hard on the upper arm.
‘Ow! What was that for? I helped you!’
‘Eventually!’
‘You looked s-so funny, though, huddled in a corner, all wide-eyed and trying not to appear afraid.’
‘And I’ve told you not to call me Dumpling.’ She drew her knees up and muttered under her breath, ‘You know I don’t like it.’
Her father called her solid and her mother said Rowenna would grow more slender as she got older, but that seemed a long way off to the eleven-year-old Rowenna.
‘Lady Dumpling!’ Robbie crowed. He pointed a finger at her. ‘You’ve got mud on your face.’
‘And you’ve got goose muck on your britches,’ she retorted.
‘Well, your hair is like s-straw.’
‘And your face is one huge spot.’
‘But we’re both still better-looking than the twins or Henry and John.’
‘And more clever.’
They sat back, honour and humour restored by the insults to Rowenna’s two brothers and Robbie’s twin sisters. Henry was seventeen, John was four and the twins were almost seven. Rowenna and Robbie had grown together as the nearest in age with a strong bond.
‘Well, fair Lady Rowenna,’ Robbie said when he could catch his breath from laughing, ‘You promised me a reward for my s-service.’
Rowenna unfolded her skirt to reveal the bounty that lay within in her lap. She found the finest pear and held it out. Robbie leaned forward and took a bite from it while it was still in her hand. She watched the loss of her prize with a little regret. Robbie, who always seemed able to see her secret thoughts, pushed it towards her.
‘We’ll share.’
She took a bite; licking her lips to catch the last of the sweet nectar. Robbie’s eyes followed her movement hungrily and the strangest fluttering sensation filled Rowenna’s belly. He might be suffering the pains of early manhood, but beneath the spots and unsuccessful attempt at growing a beard, Robbie had a nice smile and a good nature. He had been Rowenna’s favourite playmate for as long as she could recall.
She reached across and rubbed Robbie’s arm where she had punched him and was surprised to feel muscle. She withdrew her hand slowly, letting her fingers trace the unanticipated contours. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him and wished she had suggested that instead of the pear. The thought took her by surprise and she wasn’t sure what was more alarming—that she had thought it at all or that she did not feel the slightest shame at the idea.
Mother had warned her that marriage wouldn’t be too far away in her future and she would have to become considerably more ladylike. She kept threatening to send Rowenna to live in the town house in York, where she could mix with the daughters and wives of city guild officials rather than the children of villeins and husbandmen in a small moorland village.
Robbie made her laugh more than any of the other boys she knew. He would be a good choice and their parents would be overjoyed. They could live together in Wharram and she wouldn’t be too far from home. She absent-mindedly handed Robbie the half-eaten pear, her mind full of visions of a future she hadn’t properly considered until now.
Her daydream was interrupted by the arrival of Rowenna’s mother striding from Robbie’s house. Robbie ran towards her.
‘Aunt Joanna, is M-M...?’
He trailed off, unable to finish the question. Anxiety surged inside Rowenna.
‘Your mother is well.’ Joanna hugged Robbie to her own swollen belly. ‘That’s why I’m here. She’s had her baby. Another daughter.’
Robbie’s eyes shone. After three pregnancies that had ended before their expected time, Lucy Danby’s baby had survived the birth.
‘I’ll stay with your mother until your father returns,’ Joanna said. ‘Go share the good news with your grandfather. I’ll follow on with Ro.’
Robbie ran off, long limbs spinning. Rowenna retrieved the pears and walked beside Joanna, no longer caring about the spoiled fruit, the scuffed hands or torn tunic. There would be work to do and a new baby to take care of. Plenty to keep her busy enough to forget about the odd sensation of need that Robbie’s expression had caused to spring to life inside her.
* * *
Robbie’s grandparents were sitting in the Great Hall, Lady Danby at her embroidery frame and Lord Danby listening to a storyteller. Both started in alarm at Robbie’s hasty entrance.
Robbie slowed to a walk and halted in the centre of the room. A fire was burning fiercely. It seemed excessive on what was a mild autumn day, but perhaps old people felt the cold more keenly. Even if it had been frosty, Robbie would have chosen a chill over getting too close to the flames. His aversion to fire and his refusal to even step into Uncle Hal’s forge was something his cousins endlessly teased him about.
‘You look a state, boy!’ Lady Danby’s voice was sharp. ‘Why are you disturbing us? My husband said your duties were done for today and I thought you were gone to your own home.’
Lucy had insisted that Robbie start his knight’s training as a page in his grandfather’s house rather than with a stranger she did not know. In truth, Robbie would have preferred to be in the smaller, newer manor house his parents had built at the opposite end of Wharram Danby, but once his mother started screaming with birthing pains, he’d been sent back. He kept the thought to himself, though his eyes fell on the slender cane his grandmother used for walking—and for meting out punishments to her grandchildren and any of the village children who displeased her.
He delivered his news, breathing slowly in the hope of lessening his stutter. Sometimes his lips felt like a door that would not open, however much he pushed. It was always worse when he was nervous, which he usually was in the presence of his grandmother.
‘Another daughter? Lucy must be overjoyed.’ Lord Danby stood and made his way to Robbie, his milk-white eyes crinkling as he tapped his cane across the stone floor.
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