A Midsummer Knight's Kiss (HQR Historical)

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  ‘We’ll never make it home,’ Rowenna groaned. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  She might well be right. It would be more sensible to stay in the workshop for the time being. Before he could console her as he wished to, a flaming torch sailed through the door. Sparks burst everywhere, catching on the rush matting that covered the floor. The rush mats in the doorway, dried and brittle from weeks of hot weather, began to burn.

  Robbie recoiled. Panic closed over him, a fist squeezing his throat.

  ‘We’re going to die,’ Rowenna cried.

  Robbie fought the urge to join her cries. Trapped between flames and freedom, a cold sweat of terror covered his body.

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ he soothed. He hugged Rowenna to him, staring over her head at the fire with eyes that were blurring. Flames leaping higher than these filled his memory, though where such a demonic vision had sprung from, he could not tell. The furniture had not yet caught fire and the door was open.

  ‘We’ll run through the flames,’ he said. ‘Quickly, before they reach further into the room.’

  Robbie fumbled for Rowenna’s hand and clutched it tightly. The fire was spreading, but knowing it could be the last chance he had, he looked into her eyes. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you.’ She curled her fingers into his palm.

  ‘We go together.’

  They exchanged a glance, then sprang towards the door. Hand in hand they leapt through the flames. Rowenna’s skirt billowed and the hem caught. She screamed and as they tumbled out on to the road she began to beat frantically at the cloth. Robbie threw her to the ground and rolled her over. He gathered the folds of her skirt and ground them into the dusty street. He beat the flames until they were extinguished, ignoring the pain in his hands. They slumped together, legs sprawled and arms around each other, both weeping with relief and oblivious to the chaos around them.

  Robbie stroked her face, brushing away the tears with his thumb. She loved him. He couldn’t confront that knowledge now when they were not safe, but his entire body sang with glee.

  ‘I think I preferred it when you were only trapped by geese,’ he joked. Saying anything else would be too momentous. They both laughed, giggles bordering on mania, as they ran hand in hand for home.

  Hal’s house was close by, and as they rounded the final corner they almost ran face-to-face into Roger and Hal, both armed with swords, and working alongside neighbouring men to subdue a party of rioters. As they spotted Robbie and Rowenna, Hal ran forward and tore his daughter from Robbie, engulfing her in a hug, calling her name over and over as she sobbed. Robbie stood awkwardly by, trying to ignore the jealous urge to wrestle her back into his own embrace. He turned instead to Roger.

  ‘The Mayor needs to know what is happening.’

  ‘He already does,’ Roger said. ‘The militia are gathering.’

  The silence that enclosed them after that could have lasted eternally but Hal broke the unease by thumping Robbie between the shoulder blades.

  ‘You brought my daughter back safely. I can’t repay that, but I’m for ever in your debt. Whatever obstacles you have to confront, you have me at your side.’

  Rowenna beamed at him from her father’s arms. Robbie studied her, taking in the singed hem, dishevelled hair and a bruise forming across the mound of her cheek that he could not explain.’

  ‘Robbie saved my life. Twice. He shot someone, then we were trapped in a fire. I would have burned if it had not been for him.’

  Robbie flexed his fingers, aware for the first time of stinging spots where the flames had licked the backs of his hands.

  ‘A fire?’

  Roger and Hal exchanged a look that meant nothing to Robbie. Roger held his hand out to Robbie: the pink, smooth one that had always puzzled Robbie.

  ‘You were burned?’ he asked.

  ‘When you were a baby. One of the many things Lucy and I should have told you about. It seems to be a tendency of Danby men to rush headlong into danger,’ Roger remarked. ‘And you are a Danby, make no mistake of that.’

  ‘I stand by what I did,’ Robbie said, drawing himself up tall. He found it hard to speak, but it was the lump that filled his throat, not his disobedient tongue that caused him difficulties.

  Roger cocked his head to one side. ‘I would expect nothing less. You may not be my blood, but you’re my son as truly as any could be. Your recklessness and obstinacy is proof of that. The Mayor’s men want every able man to defend the city. Will you join them? Will you join me?’

  He held out his hand once more. After the briefest hesitation Robbie took it.

  Rowenna broke free from her father’s arms and into Robbie’s. She held him tightly and buried her face against his chest.

  ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’ Turning to Roger, she said, ‘Bring him back to me safely.’

  ‘I think Robbie is capable of ensuring his own safety.’ Roger grinned.

  ‘Especially when I have you waiting for me. How could I do otherwise?’ Robbie asked Rowenna. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and felt her break into a smile as her cheek dimpled beneath his lips. It was nowhere near as passionate or thorough a kiss as he wanted to give her, but with their fathers watching it would have to suffice. He promised himself more of those later.

  ‘Come back,’ she whispered.

  He watched as Rowenna slipped inside the house and the door closed. With Roger beside him, he walked out into the city.

  * * *

  He did return once it was clear the stirrings of violence were starting to be quelled. It was growing light and Robbie was bone-weary and aching everywhere from a night of fighting.

  Two nights without sleep had left him uncertain what was real and what was his imagination. The soft mattress he slumped on to might have been real, but the gentle hands that helped ease the grime-and-sweat-matted tunic over his aching arms and pulled the light coverlet over him belonged in a dream. A sweet scent filled his nostrils and a kiss of such gentleness that it made him weak sent him off to sleep.

  * * *

  He awoke to full daylight. His fingers felt sticky and a pungent smell of salve reminded him he had been burned. They did not sting as much as they had the previous day. He opened his eyes and discovered Rowenna was sitting at the end of his bed, her head bowed and her hands moving rapidly over something she was sewing. He eased on to his elbows and she turned, her face breaking into a smile that heated Robbie’s belly.

  ‘Why are you in my room?’ he asked, momentarily disoriented.

  ‘You’re in mine,’ she said, her smile dimpling. ‘In my bed.’

  Robbie became aware he was naked to the waist. He jerked upward then winced as his ribs spasmed. Rowenna’s eyes skimmed him anxiously. She laid her sewing down and shifted along the bed to sit beside him.

  ‘You’re hurt. Let me.’ She squeezed a cloth out of a bowl of water and ran it over his chest, where fresh bruises had formed over old ones. Robbie closed his eyes as the cool water soothed his sore flesh, which immediately flamed as Rowenna’s palms ran across his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles.

  ‘I was so worried,’ she said. ‘I stayed awake all night. I don’t think you even knew where you were when you returned.’

  ‘I told you I would be back.’ The thin sheet that covered his lower half did nothing to conceal the stirring that her touch was causing. He bunched the sheets into his lap and sat up. Resisting her was the hardest trial he had to overcome, up to and including subduing two drunken rioters intent on stealing a cart.

  ‘Where did you sleep?’ he asked. A blush was rising to his cheeks and he wondered how much blood remained in his veins, given that most of it was centred in two very distinct areas of his body.

  ‘On the pallet beside you.’ Rowenna turned crimson as she indicated one of the thin mattresses that lay with a heap of crumpled blankets. ‘I’m not so
forward as to slip into bed with an unconscious man.’

  ‘What about a conscious man?’ Robbie asked daringly. He reached for her hand and slid his fingers over her wrist up beneath the wide sleeve, delighting in the way her bare skin shivered at his touch. She leaned in closer until the scent of her hair and skin filled his nostrils, intoxicating him.

  ‘Perhaps once he’s bathed.’ She dropped a playful kiss on to his cheek that left him gasping for breath. ‘I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake. Get dressed and make yourself presentable.’

  She fled, leaving Robbie to dress in a borrowed tunic of Hal’s and hose that were far too shabby for what he had planned.

  Presently he walked uncertainly into the parlour. As on the first night of his arrival in York, his mother fell on him, weeping and chastising him, examining his burns and kissing him by turn.

  ‘Can you forgive me?’ he asked.

  Lucy’s tight embrace was answer enough to know he had her pardon. He faced Roger. They had not spoken of the matter the night before.

  ‘It isn’t how I would have dealt with the matter, but I think you were right to do what you did. We should have been honest from the start. I will formally adopt and name you as my heir as I should have long ago,’ Roger said. ‘Titles can pass to adopted sons if there is no legitimate son. It has been known. I’ll petition Horace of Pickering as I should have done so years ago. The estate is not entailed and with his clemency the estate and title may pass to you still. He is more charitable than his father would have been and I believe he will agree. You certainly have the courage and principles required of a knight.’

  Robbie knelt. ‘Sir, I cannot repay the debt I owe you for your kindness and understanding.’

  ‘It is purely self-interest. Wharram needs a man like you to care for it.’ Roger winked to show he was joking. He tugged Robbie upright with a smile and placed both hands on Robbie’s shoulders.

  ‘Thank you,’ Robbie said. ‘Father.’

  Roger raised his brows, then grinned and clasped Robbie’s wrist. He called for wine and the women rushed to fetch it. There was much that needed to be said, but for the time being Robbie was content to sit on the settle, surrounded by family with a cup of warm spiced wine in his hand.

  Rowenna sat opposite Robbie at the other side of the fireplace and while in company they were content to simply stare at each other, smiling as their eyes met. Finally Robbie could wait no longer.

  ‘I m-must go and seek an audience with Sir John. I have his forgiveness to beg more than any, perhaps. I do not expect him to take me back into his house and, truly, I will be glad to start afresh. Cecil deserves his place as Sir John’s principal squire.’

  Robbie walked to Hal, who was watching with a stern look in his brown eyes. The bastard who had made himself a life to be proud of. From the corner of his eye he noticed his mother starting to speak and Roger hushing her.

  ‘Uncle Hal, I’m not a knight. I might never become one now, though I shall work my hardest to gain the status I gave up. I have no fortune to offer, but if you will allow me to love your daughter, the debt you say you owe me will be repaid in full, with more besides.’

  ‘I think you’re asking the wrong person, Robbie.’

  Hal cocked his head towards Rowenna who bit her lip and looked as if she was about to cry. He walked over and sat beside Rowenna, taking her hand. She laced her fingers between his and gripped tightly.

  ‘On the night of my engagement I asked if you would always be my friend, but I asked the wrong question,’ Robbie said. ‘What I should have asked was could you ever imagine we could be more than friends? That I could mean more to you?’

  ‘You mean everything to me,’ Rowenna said. ‘No one else matters. No one else ever has.’

  Robbie sank to his knee.

  ‘Ro, you once asked if my love was changeable and I tell you it is not. I love you, but more than that, I am in love with you. M-more deeply than I dreamed was possible. You vex and infuriate me, inspire and sustain me. I would very much like to m-marry you, if you’ll have me. I cannot guarantee you wealth or status, but I promise to love you every day until I die.’

  He pulled the faded ribbon from his pouch and pressed it into her hand. ‘I’ve kept this with me for years to remind me of you. Now I want to keep you as close.’

  ‘Robbie, you’re a fool.’ Tears filled Rowenna’s eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. She crumpled the ribbon in her hand.

  ‘I don’t care if you’re a knight or a squire, or...or a tavern boy. It’s you I want. You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you. I wouldn’t want to. You know my dreams and secrets, my faults...’

  ‘What faults? You’re perfect. You always tell me so.’

  He grinned and ducked as she brought a hand round to swipe him playfully on the arm. He caught her wrist, held it and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft skin where her pulse beat fast. Small scars stood out white on the mounds at the base of her fingers. He ran a fingertip over each one, then kissed them, too. She shivered and her eyes blazed with a desire that matched Robbie’s own, tormenting him with the anticipation of a lifetime of discovering each other’s passions. For now he had to content himself with this small moment, but he promised himself that as soon as they were alone he would devote himself to showing Rowenna how thoroughly he desired her.

  He faced the adults, trying his best to ignore the varying expressions of delight and triumph that their faces bore. They were his family and the tenuous bond would only grow stronger through the marriage between himself and Rowenna.

  ‘They’ll marry and inherit Wharram Manor,’ Hal said, pouring wine for everyone. ‘Two Danbys together. Imagine what a pair they’ll make.’

  ‘The legitimate daughter of a bastard and the adopted son of the legitimate heir? I’m not sure that is what Father hoped for.’ Roger grinned. ‘But I think he would have found it amusing.’

  ‘We’ll be content with nothing besides each other.’ Robbie sprang to his feet, pulling Rowenna with him. ‘Roger—Father—has many years ahead of him.’

  He kissed her, still more briefly than he would have liked, but with a lifetime ahead of them he could afford to wait. ‘Will you come see the world with me, Ro?’

  He drew her to him, sliding his hands to her waist. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rose up to meet his lips again.

  ‘I will.’

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  why not check out these other great reads

  by Elisabeth Hobbes:

  The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge

  Redeeming the Rogue Knight

  Beguiled by the Forbidden Knight

  A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

  Keep reading for an excerpt from It’s Marriage or Ruin by Liz Tyner.

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  It’s Marriage or Ruin

  by Liz Tyner

  Chapter One

  Emilie Catesby could not be dancing at the wrong moment.

  She stood in her very best dress, with her very best demeanour, which she quickly changed to her very best frown should any man try to catch her eye.

  Finally her mother departed for the ladies’ retiring room and Emilie saw her chance. She’d not been fetching those lemonades for her mother purely out of daughterly devotion.

  Lightly clasping the side of her skirt, so she could lift the hem enough to move quickly, Emilie made her way across the ballroom floor, one destination fixed in her mind. The pianoforte music and violins faded into silence; all her concentration was on her task.

  Her mother didn’t want anyone to be reminded of Emilie’s fascination with art, but Emilie had to examine the portrait of Lady Avondale.

  The likeness rested on an easel, to the opposite side of the musicians, its unveiling the excuse for the soirée.

  Then she stopped, gazing at the life-sized replica of the Marchioness, the scent of the dried oils still lingering.

  Emilie folded her arms behind her back and examined the brushstrokes. The blending of colours. Lady Avondale’s interlaced fingers were almost hidden by fabric and her aunt had painted them by blending skin tones with the hues of the dress. They gave more the appearance than the reality. As Emilie browsed from the outside of the portrait to the centre, she realised the painting became more detailed. An observer’s attention was being directed by the artist. Emilie was entranced. Such mastery.