Redeeming the Rogue Knight

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  So many ‘ifs.’ He sighed.

  Movement in the corner of the room caught his eye and he stiffened. A shadow formed on the wall.

  ‘I know you’re there.’ Roger kept his voice level and as free of any threat as he could manage. ‘Come in. I won’t harm you.’

  Lucy’s face appeared round the door frame, but she did not come any closer.

  ‘I’m very thirsty.’ Roger added a touch of self-pity to his voice. ‘And hungry.’

  She gave one nod and vanished. Roger waited patiently. He heard her voice and the sound of a child’s cry rising in a wail. He gritted his teeth. He’d forgotten the brat. That had been the reason for the delay in removing the arrow.

  After far too long, Lucy returned, looking weary. This time she entered the room carrying a bowl. In the other hand she held the poker at arm’s length in the manner that people who had never held a sword thought they should be brandished. She took three steps, stopped and placed the bowl on the floor. She used the poker to push it towards Roger. It contained watery broth and wasn’t meaty enough for Roger’s liking, but he drank it eagerly. Remembering his intention to woo Lucy into freeing him he thanked her politely. She received the compliment stony-faced.

  ‘Is there more?’

  ‘Put the bowl on the floor and push it towards me,’ Lucy instructed. ‘I’m not stupid enough to come closer.’

  Roger’s cheeks flushed with annoyance. She spoke to him as if he were her equal. His stomach growled as the broth made its way down, waking the appetite that had been dormant. He pushed the bowl out. She hooked the handle of the poker round the brim and pulled it closer. A thought struck him as he watched.

  ‘Is that what you burned me with?’

  She folded her arms across her chest, hunching her shoulders defensively.

  Roger shifted until he was sitting more upright. ‘You tied me to your bed and branded me!’

  ‘No,’ she blurted out. ‘I burned you, then tied you to the bed.’

  Roger barked a laugh. ‘I’m not sure the order makes much difference to me now. And you did this without instruction? Why?’

  ‘Because you attacked me,’ she answered. She raised her head, revealing troubled eyes that bored into him. ‘You were crying out that I should run, but holding on to me. You wouldn’t let go when I tried to pull free and I panicked. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  Roger sucked his teeth, a knot hardening in his guts. His memories of his arrival at the inn and what took place afterwards were confused, but to be presented with this scenario was disconcerting.

  ‘I have no memory of that,’ he said quietly. ‘I was drugged and drunk. You cannot hold me responsible for what I did under those circumstances.’

  Lucy’s expression hardened. ‘Perhaps not, but I wasn’t going to take the chance.’

  Roger raised his hands, wrists upturned and palms flat in supplication to show the ropes. ‘I swear you are at no risk of harm. Take these off.’

  ‘I think not. I prefer you as you are for now.’

  She raised her head haughtily as if she were a noblewoman and he the serf. He remembered he was supposed to be seducing her into freeing him.

  ‘You prefer me this way, do you?’ Roger asked. He twisted his wrist around to display his bonds, giving Lucy a flirtatious look. ‘I’ve heard of men who find it stimulating to be pleasured under such circumstances and of women willing to oblige them so. I’ve never had the inclination myself, but perhaps we could discover the thrill together?’

  Lucy’s cheeks flamed scarlet. The blush came on instantly and crept down her throat, carrying on, no doubt, below the bodice of her dress. Roger could not take his eyes off the slender throat that he had held so recently. Oh, to replace his cruel fingers with his lips, tongue, teeth... To tease moans of excitement from her would be wonderful. The urge to bed her grew strong and he felt himself begin to grow hard.

  ‘I prefer you that way because it keeps me and my son safe,’ Lucy snapped. ‘Making such unfitting and revolting suggestions only serves to prove I’m right. You kissed me against my will. You’ll not touch me again in any manner.’

  She hadn’t been shocked at his words though, Roger mused. If anything, he’d seen a flash of something bordering on interest in her eyes. The kiss might have started unwillingly, however she had joined in enthusiastically until he had chanced his luck too far. He would let that lie for now. No sense in provoking the annoyance that seemed to consume at least two-thirds of her when he needed her to think fondly on him.

  ‘I swear on my honour as a knight you are in no danger from me.’

  ‘You are truly a knight like Thomas said?’ Lucy sounded doubtful.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Will I have heard of you?’ Her eyes showed interest rather than suspicion for a moment and the familiar feeling of vanity awoke in Roger’s breast. He’d swapped middling success at the tourney for the chance to grow rich abroad, but he’d switch in an instant to have Lucy look on him with admiration.

  ‘Do you follow the tournaments? The joust?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t have time for that sort of amusement.’

  Roger’s vanity deflated like a pig’s-bladder target pierced with an arrow. ‘Then you won’t have.’

  Even if she did, his name would mean little to her unless she looked at the bottom of the lists. Still, she needn’t know that. All women were the same when it came to knights and it would do no harm to bolster his name.

  ‘My name is better known in Yorkshire. In fact, my skill on horseback was the talk of the shire before I retired from the contests. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to boast you had Roger Danby sleeping in your bed.’

  Lucy snorted. ‘I’ll be sure to mention he slept there alone.’

  She stared at him suspiciously. ‘The men who came said you were a killer, not a gallant knight.’

  ‘A man can be both,’ Roger answered. ‘In battle he has to be.’

  She sniffed contemptuously. ‘Oh, in battle, of course! They said you had killed three nights ago.’

  ‘They lied!’ Roger jerked forward at the blatant falsehood. An accusation of adultery he could live with, but if John Harpur sought to blacken his name in such a way there would be consequences.

  ‘Three nights ago I was a guest in a noble household not far from here. I did not break the laws of hospitality in so odious a manner.’

  Lucy’s mouth fell open and her eyebrows shot up. She edged closer to the bed, still not within Roger’s reach, but she had lost the air of anxiety.

  ‘Either you’re lying or you’re still confused. I don’t know which, but three nights ago you arrived here with my brother. You’ve been here ever since.’

  Chapter Six

  Her words had the same effect on Roger that the arrow had when it pierced him. He froze, ice chilling his limbs and weakening them before fire rushed through, sickening him.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ he gasped. All the time he had spoken, in whatever state of consciousness or pain he had been, he believed his voice had been steady. Now it shook for the first time. He clamped his jaw shut tightly, shocked at the outward sign of weakness.

  ‘Of course I’m not!’ Lucy exclaimed. She came closer to the bed, hands on her hips and face thunderous. Her voice dripped with resentment.

  ‘Believe me, I have counted every hour! I’ve spent three days not knowing if you would be dead the next time I came up here. Trying to keep your presence—which I could well have done without—hidden from anyone who might be searching. Tending to your needs...’

  ‘My needs?’ Roger interrupted, furrowing his brow. His bladder, which had begun increasingly to trouble him, should have been fit to bursting after three days. A horrifying thought crossed his mind and his hand moved downward.

  ‘All your needs
,’ Lucy confirmed, following the movement with a smirk. ‘Don’t worry, I have a young child so I’ve done such things before. It was no great matter.’

  ‘I hope it was a matter a little greater than your son’s!’ Roger exclaimed. He caught a flash of a smile before Lucy stalked to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She whirled around in a swirl of skirts, no trace of amusement on her face now.

  ‘I told you. I don’t need that sort of talk.’

  Roger sucked his teeth. All the barmaids he had known had been coarse drabs or merry harlots who needed little persuading to slip between the sheets. Could Lucy Carew be that rare thing: a virtuous woman? As she held herself haughtily, her breasts jutting forward and her hands resting on her slender waist in a manner that invited him to slip his hands over hers, Roger fervently hoped not.

  ‘Come back. I was teasing,’ Roger called. The idea of being handled in such a way made him feel oddly vulnerable. The thought she might have been assessing him and found him wanting was insufferable.

  ‘No man likes to be referred to as a small matter.’

  ‘It was the act I meant,’ Lucy retorted. She stopped and clamped her mouth closed. Her cheeks reddened as she realised what she had inadvertently admitted. Roger hid his smile, though inwardly he crowed as exultantly as the morning cock. She might deny it, but he had seen the flash of interest in her eyes more than once.

  ‘I’m grateful for all your ministrations, but why didn’t you wake me sooner?’ Roger asked.

  ‘You needed to sleep,’ Lucy said, as if she were talking to a child. ‘Though sleeping is too light a word to describe what you’ve been doing. You were so hot to touch I feared you had started a fever or the poison had got into your blood. I thought it safer to let it burn off.’

  ‘Or let it claim me,’ Roger muttered. He had been hot in his dreams. Her fingers had been barbs of ice across his flesh. He felt again the odd curling of desire that rippled in his guts at the thought of Lucy’s hands on him.

  ‘Not that! I kept the wound as clean as I could and hoped Thomas would return before you woke.’ She raised her eyes to meet his demandingly. ‘Were those men lying? Did you kill someone?’

  Roger delved into his memories of the chase through the forest, remembering the crunch of steel against bone as he lashed out blindly with his sword.

  ‘If it was the night I came here, I bloody well hope so. I slashed the throat of the man he meant.’

  She paled visibly. ‘Why?’ she asked, eyes wide.

  ‘Because the whoreson had just shot me though with an arrow!’ Roger thundered. ‘I wasn’t going to let that go unanswered or give him the chance to strike with more accuracy.’

  He jerked his head towards his shoulder, greater concerns than his loss of days now consuming him.

  ‘Why didn’t you remove the arrow while I slept?’

  ‘Me!’ Lucy’s eyes grew wide. ‘I didn’t dare. I don’t know how.’

  Roger bit his lip. ‘That’s probably as well. Leaving it there stopped the blood flowing. It probably kept me alive, but I cannot leave it indefinitely—I have to get this arrow out. I will not be able to do it alone. Lucy, you have to help me now. You will have to be the one to pull it free.’

  She paled, edging away from the bed. A moment more and she would be out of the door.

  ‘I can’t do that. I don’t know how.’

  ‘It’s not hard. I’ve done it in the midst of a battle,’ Roger said soothingly. ‘You will do well out of it.’

  She looked suspicious, but stood still.

  ‘I’m a rich man, or will be one day. I can reward you.’

  Lucy came a little closer.

  ‘With money?’

  ‘Of course. Unless you’d prefer me to show my gratitude in a different form...’

  Roger left the suggestion hanging. Lucy wrinkled her nose, but did not retreat any further.

  ‘The reward I suspect you mean would most likely leave me with a fuller belly than a purse,’ she remarked drily. ‘Can you think of nothing else but that?’

  His eyes flicked to her face. ‘Lying here like this, I can hardly contemplate making my fortune or planning my future. There is little else to think of.’

  She rubbed her hands across her eyes with an air of weariness. Roger resisted the urge to prompt her. She seemed to take against that. When she looked up her expression was icy.

  ‘Tell me what I need to do. I don’t want your money. The greatest reward will be seeing you gone and leaving me and my son in peace.’

  * * *

  Sir Roger blinked. He looked as though Lucy had slapped him. What sort of response did he expect from her?

  ‘We’ll need more light. Refill the lamp,’ Sir Roger ordered abruptly, gesturing to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. ‘Bring a knife, fresh water, cloths, something to serve as bandages and that hot poker you so like to wield.’

  Lucy edged closer to the bed. Sir Roger’s eyes followed her with a look that reminded her of Gyb planning to raid a nest of fledglings. At the foot of the bed she stopped and snatched up the lamp, half-expecting him to pounce in the manner the cat did.

  ‘Still wary of me, dove?’ Sir Roger laughed. He lifted his chin and smiled, revealing his teeth. Three days with little food had left his face leaner, his cheekbones sharp beneath watchful, intelligent eyes.

  ‘You’ve given me no cause to be otherwise,’ she answered. ‘Don’t call me that. I’m Mistress Carew.’

  ‘Can’t I call you Lucy?’ He gazed at her through half-lowered lids, rolling her name around his mouth, the tip of his tongue lingering on his bottom lip a touch longer than necessary, elongating the word. She didn’t really care what he called her, but the sight made her shiver deep inside as she remembered the sensation of his tongue on hers.

  ‘If you must,’ she replied. ‘Do you want me to bring you more of the sleeping draught? I have some left.’

  He shook his head, scowling. ‘No. You’ve taken three days from me. I’m not losing any more.’

  The accusation was barbed and Lucy was about to object until she saw the fairness in it. The use of her father’s concoction had been as much for her peace of mind as the comfort of her patient.

  ‘But won’t it hurt when I take the arrow out?’ The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the idea.

  ‘I imagine so,’ he grunted. He swallowed and his expression darkened just a touch before a ghost of his cocksure smile flitted across his lips once more. ‘Don’t fear though, dove. I’ve been bruised and beaten at the tilt until my entire body was as purple and tender as autumn plums. Men are able to withstand what would make a woman faint to contemplate. I will be able to endure it.’

  Lucy eyed him with interest, letting the familiarity slide for once. She tried to imagine the unkempt, bearded, dishevelled figure, more akin to a vagabond, as a knight in his glory. She failed, but could not help wondering if he had been any good. His condescending manner set her teeth on edge.

  ‘I know all about pain,’ she retorted. ‘I’ve birthed a child and unless it will take from now until daybreak to remove your arrow I wouldn’t be making any wagers about who could endure the most discomfort! We’ll do it without any help if you wish.’

  ‘Very well, woman,’ he said grudgingly, as if he was doing her a favour. ‘Bring wine, or anything stronger if you think it will help, but I’m done with potions.’

  He still spoke with bravado, but Lucy saw a flash of real anxiety cross his face. She felt a burst of sympathy. So much of his posturing was just that.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she promised. She left, feeling his eyes on her until she was through the door.

  She gathered what he had listed, her hand pausing as she added her short kitchen knife to the pile, glad that Thomas had
not stolen that, too. She tucked it inside the pouch at her girdle, determined to keep it from Sir Roger’s reach. She still didn’t trust him. If anyone had asked, she was uncertain what she thought he would do, but knowing he was tethered securely gave her peace of mind. She would have to free him at some point, but not today.

  At the top of the stairs she paused and rested her head on the door to the second room where she and Robbie had slept since their own chamber had been invaded. He had been restless for nights and she whispered a quick entreaty that he would stay asleep and safe while she did what needed to be done.

  Sir Roger had manoeuvred himself upright and was leaning back against the headboard. The blanket had fallen to his waist, revealing the firm, defined muscles of his chest and belly. His eyes were closed and his head lolled to one side, pulling the tendons in his throat tight where they appeared from beneath the shaggy beard. The blackened scab of blood around the sharp tip of the arrow made Lucy feel sick to see.

  ‘I’ve got everything you asked for,’ she whispered. Perhaps he was unconscious again and she should let him sleep until morning. ‘Your shirt was beyond saving so I think it will serve to bandage the wound.’

  When she began to lay things on the chest he opened his eyes and gave her a smile of such unexpected sweetness that she hesitated, suspecting trickery.

  ‘It’s a pity. It was a good shirt.’ He stretched his hands out towards her. ‘Will you free me now? It will be much easier if I’m able to use my hands.’

  Lucy looked at the ropes, and the wrists they bound. The muscles in his arms were as well defined as the rest of his body. On the wrists she could see red welts where he had strained to free himself.