A Midsummer Knight's Kiss (HQR Historical)

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  They walked in silence. Rowenna’s mind had been overflowing with things she wanted to say ever since she had learned Robbie was returning, but now they all seemed dull or too personal.

  ‘You don’t mind me claiming you tonight?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Why would I mind?’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might have other engagements, having just arrived in the city.’

  He was silent for a moment, his brows knotting as if some matter had only just occurred to him, but then he shrugged.

  ‘I did, but nothing that could not wait until m-morning. When I have not seen you for so long I would be glad for you to claim me at any time you choose.’

  ‘Sir John said you hope to be successful tomorrow. What are you doing?’

  ‘Tomorrow is the first day of the tournament.’

  Ralf had been listening quietly, but could not help interrupting with excitement, tugging on Robbie’s sleeve. ‘You are competing in the tournament? But you aren’t knighted yet!’

  Rowenna hid her annoyance that her brother was intruding. If only Father had allowed her to collect Robbie alone as she had begged.

  ‘There will be a bohort for anyone who is not yet knighted, as well as the formal tournament,’ Robbie explained, smiling at them both. ‘I sh-shan’t be competing against knights, only squires.’

  ‘Will you joust?’ Ralf interrupted.

  Robbie shook his head. ‘I may take part in the ring tilting, but I’m better with the sword and better s-still with a bow.’

  ‘Not the joust?’ Rowenna asked. ‘You used to enjoy that. Your father will be disappointed.’

  The joust was the most prestigious event and the one with the chance of winning the greatest prize. Uncle Roger, Robbie’s father, had apparently been a keen jouster when he was younger. An injury at some point had weakened his shoulder and now he rarely held a lance.

  ‘I used to, but then I stopped. I will shine on my own, not walk in his shadow.’ A determined light filled Robbie’s eyes and his chin came up, giving his face a startling vitality. ‘I prefer to choose my own path to success.’

  Rowenna bit her lip to hide her astonishment, hearing the fire in his voice. For his son to reject the discipline he had loved would strike Roger hard. Perhaps Robbie would say differently when he arrived at the house to discover his parents present. The street was busier as they rounded the corner into Aldwark. The small herb garden in front of the Smiths’ Meeting Hall was one of Rowenna’s favourite places to slip away to and watch the busy streets. Her home was only two streets beyond that, and when they arrived Rowenna would have to surrender Robbie to her family and his. She had so much she wanted to ask him about life in a nobleman’s household, the places he had seen and people he had met while she had stayed at home on the moors.

  ‘Ralf, run ahead and tell Mother that Robbie and I will be along shortly.’

  Her brother raced off with Simon the puppy at his heels. Rowenna stopped beside the old fountain with the weathered stone lion’s face that stood at the edge of the garden. The fountain had long since lost the cup on a chain so Rowenna dipped her fingers in the basin of the fountain and rinsed them as an excuse for lingering.

  ‘Rowenna? I did not know you were in town!’

  Surprised at hearing her name, Rowenna turned to face the sombrely dressed young man who was striding towards her. She recognised Geoffrey Vernon, her mother’s cousin and a member of the same guild as Rowenna’s father. Now she would be trapped in conversation until Judgement Day.

  Her heart sank at the interruption, doubly so as she recalled the discussions between Geoffrey and her father regarding marriage with Rowenna.

  Don’t reject Geoff. You might find it harder than you think to find a husband in York.

  The regret in her father’s voice as he warned her cut deeper than any of Lady Danby’s jibes. It would not do to snub Geoff, who, for all his lacklustre conversation, did not openly shun the daughter of a bastard. She discreetly wiped her hands dry on her skirts and dropped into a curtsy, while Geoffrey bowed in turn.

  ‘I arrived yesterday and am here for the next fortnight,’ Rowenna replied.

  Delight filled Geoffrey’s ruddy face and he filled the next few minutes with a succession of pleasantries and broad hints that he hoped to see Rowenna again before long. He allowed her no time to respond even in the short time he drew breath, but she listened with all outward appearance of interest, while inwardly cursing him for interrupting her time with Robbie.

  ‘But you are out without the protection of your father! This will not do in these troubling times!’ Geoffrey exclaimed. ‘Please permit me the honour of escorting you home.’

  Before he could take hold of her arm and forcibly enclose it under his, Rowenna slipped to one side. ‘Thank you, but I am not alone. My cousin is with me.’

  She glanced around and discovered Robbie had stolen round to the other side of the fountain while Geoffrey commanded her attention. He stood with arms folded, watching the exchange take place. In his dark cloak he blended into the shadow, but as Rowenna caught his eye he stepped forward and bowed with a flourish. He came to stand close at Rowenna’s side. Geoffrey’s face fell at the sight of the handsome young squire. He quickly made his excuses and left with a hasty bow to Robbie and a longer one to Rowenna, who acknowledged it with another graceful curtsy and a smile.

  When Geoffrey had disappeared round the corner Rowenna turned back to Robbie, intending to apologise for the unwanted intrusion. She found he was looking at her with interest and amusement in his deep brown eyes. A grin was spreading across his lips. She folded her arms and held his gaze.

  ‘Is something wrong, Robbie?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Nothing is wrong at all. I am merely remembering how the Rowenna I left s-seven years ago would have responded to your acquaintance’s none-too-subtle hints.’ His eyes flickered downward, then settled on her face. ‘Have you become a lady, Ro?’

  Approval and wonder were clear in his voice, laced with something else.

  A touch of jealousy as he spoke of Geoffrey?

  Admiration?

  Attraction?

  The idea thrilled her. Years of mastering her impulses and behaving with decorum and grace had paid their dues. The urge rose up to throw her arms round Robbie’s lean frame and pull him into a wild dance. She fought it down, knowing that would prove the lie to what he had said. Instead she inclined her head in acknowledgement, regarding him with a half-smile, though inside she sang triumphantly at his words.

  ‘I’m trying to be. As you say, Robbie, that was seven years ago. Did you really expect me to be running around barefoot chasing after a pig’s bladder?’

  He looked a little guilty and she realised with a jolt of dismay that must be exactly what he was thinking.

  ‘I finally tired of your grandmother’s cane,’ she said. She drew her hand out from beneath the cloak and held it out, palm upturned. ‘Do you remember the whipping we got after the geese in the orchard? I still have a scar.’

  She rubbed her thumb over the soft, plump mound between her first two fingers. Robbie took hold of her hand and lifted it to the light, cupping it in his palm. His hand was warmer than hers and the small hairs on the back of her hand and arm stood on end. Robbie was looking at her hand and to avoid looking at his face in case hers revealed something she did not want him to see, she kept her eyes on the scars. They were small, white marks about the size of grains of wheat along the ridge between her palm and fingers.

  ‘You grazed your hand falling from the tree. I remember.’

  ‘Jumping! Not falling!’ Her pride momentarily overcame any intention to act as a lady. ‘You’re right, though. It bled and hurt so much when she whipped me, too. After you left I vowed that would be the last time she would use her cane on me.’

  ‘I’m pleased she didn’t hurt you again.’ He
looked at her earnestly. She saw the boy’s eyes peering out from the man’s face, bearing the familiar expression of protectiveness and outrage he had worn whenever Lady Danby disciplined Rowenna too harshly.

  ‘Oh, Robbie, I have missed you. You always think the best of me. Of course, it wasn’t the last time, but I made an effort for it not to happen without very good reason.’

  She didn’t tell him about the deeper wounds that had left scars on her heart, not her flesh—that a bastard’s daughter would never have a place in society. Widowhood had released Lady Danby from the trial of tempering her nature in front of her late husband and as she had aged her tongue had become freer and crueller. But she was still Robbie’s grandmother and he would not learn of her unkindness from Rowenna. If she had not loved Robbie so dearly she would have been racked with envy that his birth and position ensured him a path through life with an ease she would never have.

  Feeling more confident in their intimacy, she put her arm under Robbie’s, drawing him close to her side. He looked at her and his eyes flashed with a new light of interest that made sparks burst in Rowenna’s chest like a hammer striking hot iron.

  She stumbled, turning her foot on a pile of rough stones and slipping from the kerb, bumping into him in the process. His hand shot out, catching her in the small of her back to steady her. He slid it further around her waist until it came to rest on her hip and drew her close to his side. Rowenna bowed her head to hide the flush of embarrassment that raced across her cheeks. She, who was as sure-footed as a goat and could walk these streets with her eyes closed, had no reason to be stumbling and tripping in such an ungainly manner.

  ‘Here we are,’ she told him. They stopped opposite a large two-storey house set back from the road with Hal’s workroom on the ground floor and their living quarters above. Robbie let out a low whistle of surprise and appreciation. Rowenna grinned, realising he had not seen the new house.

  ‘Father bought it last year when he received a commission for ten swords for the Sheriff of York. He’s determined to have a house that reflects his wealth and status.’ A great throb of love filled her heart for her father. ‘He’s worked so hard to ensure his children would not be blighted by his birth.’

  ‘Is his birth such a blight?’ Robbie asked quietly.

  A rich man who was still shunned by some members of York’s society? Whose wife and daughter were not acknowledged as they passed through the marketplace? Robbie would never understand that all the wealth in the world could never compensate for the taint of illegitimacy.

  ‘What else could it be?’ she asked, bitterness creeping into her voice.

  She gripped Robbie’s hand tightly a moment longer, then tucked it under her arm and led him to the door. She had kept him to herself for long enough. Now she had to let his family claim him.

  * * *

  As Rowenna had suspected, as soon as they entered the house she no longer had sole claim on Robbie. Rowenna’s parents greeted him with delight and Robbie’s three sisters hurled themselves at him with shrieks of joy, even though small Joan didn’t know him, but the warmest reunion was between Robbie and his mother. Aunt Lucy burst into tears and clutched Robbie to her tightly as if she never intended to release him. Finally she surrendered Robbie to his father, who had waited silently at her side. Robbie had grown taller and leaner than his father, and there were grey hairs in Roger’s darker curls.

  The two men faced each other and said nothing for what felt like a decade. Silence descended. Rowenna looked from adult to adult, all of whom stood watching closely. The feeling grew on her that she was missing something that everyone else understood.

  Finally, Robbie took the hand that Roger held out.

  ‘Good evening to you, Father.’

  The tension lifted. Robbie dropped Roger’s hand and turned back to Rowenna. She could not read his expression.

  ‘You devious wench! You gave me no idea my family was here also.’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ she said. It had seemed such a good idea, but now she was not sure.

  Robbie crossed the room and took her face between his hands, turning it up to him, his marble expression softening. Her skin began to prickle with the anticipation that he was about to kiss her, but he only laughed.

  ‘That you did.’

  For the first time they were looking properly into each other’s eyes in the light. She examined Robbie’s with interest. They were greenish brown with flecks of a darker shade that reminded Rowenna of the burnt-sugar syrup her mother made to drizzle over Lent cakes. She licked her lips at the thought of them. Robbie smiled, creating tiny half circles at each side of his mouth. Rowenna wanted to dip her fingernails into them and trace the shapes.

  She became aware that they were being watched. All four parents were standing by, observing Robbie holding her in such a familiar manner while she gazed at him like a newborn calf at its mother. An unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness overcame her and she stepped back hastily before she inadvertently let anyone guess that her thoughts were careering off in wild directions.

  If anyone noticed her reaction, it was her mother alone. Joanna Danby called Rowenna through to the storeroom to help serve the wine.

  ‘Robbie is looking well, isn’t he?’ Joanna remarked as she placed cups on Rowenna’s tray. ‘He looks so much like Lucy it’s quite startling.’

  If this was a hint that Rowenna should spill out her thoughts of how well Robbie had grown, she was determined to ignore it. The strength of the feelings that had assaulted her on seeing him again was something she wanted to consider in private.

  ‘He’s grown too tall to be Lucy’s son,’ she said gaily. ‘He even towers over Uncle Roger. They look nothing alike.’

  Joanna looked at her daughter thoughtfully and it seemed as if she was about to speak, but Rowenna was well practised at holding her mother’s gaze with an innocent expression and Joanna said nothing more to her. Rowenna bustled back through with cups of wine to discover that already the men were already arguing.

  ‘By unorthodox means, but de Quixlay is better for the city than Gisbourne was!’ Her father clapped his hands together loudly in emphasis. ‘He’s less corrupt and the fines he imposes are fairer.’

  Uncle Roger strode towards Rowenna and scooped up a cup with a nod of thanks, then turned back to his brother. ‘That wasn’t the tune you were dancing to when the Common Hall was stormed last year!’

  Hal glowered. ‘Of course not! Only a fool would welcome violence in the streets, but Gisbourne had been minting his own coin and ruling by means that...’

  Rowenna never discovered what means he had been ruling by, because her mother marched to the centre of the room in a flurry of skirts and held her hands up.

  ‘I will not have this argument again!’

  Joanna folded her arms over her chest and Rowenna knew the matter was finished. Her mother was a short woman, wide-hipped and buxom, who had raised four children and could command attention from everyone in the building with a single frown. She gave such a look to her husband and brother-in-law, who both became intensely interested in the contents of their wine cups. Joanna smiled.

  ‘Not when we have guests and this should be a night of celebration. Rowenna, bring your cousin a cup of wine and we’ll toast his safe return.’

  Rowenna did as bid and squeezed beside Robbie on the settle beside the hearth. It was her father’s house, but Hal held his hand out, palm upward, and invited Roger to speak. Roger formally welcomed Robbie back and wished him well in the tournament. Everyone cheered. Aunt Lucy sniffed. Roger slung his arm around her and kissed her full on the lips, which caused his daughters to protest loudly with embarrassed groans and Lucy to swat him away with a hand. Despite her outward disapproval, she leaned against him and rested her hand on his waist, Rowenna noticed. The argument was forgotten and the mood was merry.

  ‘Do our fathers quarrel
often?’ Robbie asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, all the time. They never fight in a serious manner, but more so since the unrest in the city last year,’ Rowenna replied, taking a sip of wine. She wrinkled her nose, never much liking the sickly burning sensation in this particular wine. ‘Both of them are as determined to be right as they always were.’

  Robbie looked across at his father and his expression darkened a little. Did that explain the unexpected coolness between them?

  ‘I remember. It seems there is unrest everywhere,’ he said with a frown.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that or they’ll start off again. You have no idea how persuasive I had to be to get Father to let me come to York this week! He thought I should stay safely in Ravenscrag in case there was any more trouble. I have to behave or he’ll never let me attend the feast at Midsummer and I can’t bear to miss that.’

  Robbie gave a deep-throated laugh and tilted his cup towards her in salute. ‘I can imagine you could persuade anyone if you got it in your mind to do so.’

  Rowenna leaned back contentedly, wriggling the brightly coloured, padded mats into place behind her. The settle was small and her leg and arm were squashed slightly against Robbie’s, which Rowenna was more than happy with. The room was slightly stuffy and she felt a little sleepy. It would be so nice to rest her head on Robbie’s shoulder and drowse beside him. Joan went to bed, complaining she could not stay up. Anne and Lisbet sat with Ralf and teased Simon the puppy and two of the young cats that had slunk in. Her father and uncle had taken seats beside their wives on the settle opposite Rowenna and Robbie.

  * * *

  The evening passed far too quickly. Robbie obligingly answered question after question about his life in Sir John’s household, though Rowenna could tell he found speaking so much a trial.

  ‘I m-must leave now,’ he said eventually.

  It was a signal for everyone to go to bed. Rowenna began to gather the cups and took them into the storeroom. Robbie followed, bringing the jug. She stowed it back on the shelf and turned to go back into the room, but Robbie caught her hand to hold her back. She was startled when she saw how serious his expression was.