Redeeming the Rogue Knight

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  She stepped back from him into the shadows of the corner, eyes growing wide. ‘But you have a title.’

  Irritation consumed Roger at this unexpected consideration for etiquette. She’d ordered him about, scolded him and done him all manner of injuries with no concern for the distinction he was owed by his station. Now was not the time to develop a sense of what was appropriate, not when his hand almost trembled visibly at the idea of taking hers. He licked his lips thoughtfully. His title had always mattered to him. Knowing he would one day become Lord Danby, he’d scorned women of a rank lower than him before. The distinction had always been important to him, but hearing his name on Lucy’s lips was a greater need than he had realised.

  ‘Fitting be blowed! Three generations ago my ancestors were little better than yours. My great-grandfather raised sheep. My grandfather left home and earned his knighthood by fighting and my father...’ A lump filled his throat as he thought of the man he had not seen in so many years. What would the current Lord Danby think to hear Roger dismiss the name they bore so easily? ‘My father now keeps sheep and no longer chooses to leave the village he grew up in.’

  He eyed Lucy sternly. ‘If I want you to call me Roger, that’s what you’ll call me!’

  She looked wary. Roger held his breath, sensing that to push her now would drive her away for good. After what felt like hours she licked her lips then formed the word silently, testing it out, tasting it.

  ‘What’s my name, dove?’ Roger asked, dropping his voice to a whisper and making his tone as gentle and seductive as possible. Lucy’s lip twitched, the slight curve at the corner that appeared every so often made him shudder with longing. The cream of her throat grew pinker, her skin transforming from pale to alluringly rose-tinted where it vanished below the bodice of her dress, crying out to be stroked or kissed.

  ‘Roger.’

  There was uncertainty in her voice. No warmth—certainly none of the love that a wife should show, much less the breathless, unrestrained, exclamation caused by a moment of passion that Roger yearned to hear, but it would suffice.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Lucy raised her eyebrow. ‘That’s the first time you’ve said that to me,’ she remarked. ‘Roger.’

  ‘It must be a good day for trying new things. So, shall we dance after all?’ Roger asked boldly, holding his arm out.

  Lucy’s cheeks dimpled. Her hand twitched at her side, a small jerky movement that caught Roger’s eye before she slipped both hands behind her back where they were safely away from being captured. Roger stepped closer and reached around behind her. He firmly drew her hands forward, lacing his fingers between hers, and raised their linked hands to chest height. Heart pounding at being so close, he began to whistle the tune again. He made the first advance, she stepped back, keeping the proper distance. They circled slowly, one way then the other, eyes locked. When it came to the measure where the man slipped his arm around his partner’s waist to lift her high in a circle, Lucy twisted free.

  ‘You’re not strong enough, you’d hurt your shoulder again.’

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ Roger said.

  She shook her head, though Roger sensed there was a hint of regret in her gesture.

  ‘Don’t you know when you’ve pushed a situation as far as you can? Thank you, though; it’s been a long time since I danced with anyone, let alone a nobleman. Finish this yourself, if you please. I’m going to search for eggs and see to the ale.’

  She dipped a curtsy that seemed unaccountably meek, rushed past him with her head down and was out of the door calling for Robbie before Roger could stop her. Through the doorway he could hear her scolding the boy for the mess he had made before both voices moved away.

  Was being in his arms so unsettling that it had caused Lucy to scuttle out with such urgency? He hoped so. It had unbalanced him for certain. There had been plenty of times he had beguiled women off the dance floor and into dark corners that he would gladly have owned to, but he had not intended to do such a thing with Lucy. Still whistling, Roger continued where Lucy had left off, grinding the stalks with his heels and trying not to imagine Lucy in his arms, dancing or otherwise.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was growing chilly when Lucy returned with three eggs. Roger was sitting on the bench resting his back against the wall beside the hearth. He began to form his excuse for sitting idle, but Lucy walked to the hearth and cracked the eggs into the pottage, careful to avoid catching Roger’s eye. She stirred the pot over the fire, keeping her back to him.

  ‘We should eat soon. I may get customers and I want to be ready.’

  Roger heard the hope in her voice beneath the weariness. Privately he was doubtful. No one had called all day. Roger listed the ones he knew of: voices while he lay in bed, the unfriendly pedlars and the passer-by yesterday who had caused Roger a stab of jealousy on seeing Lucy sitting so close. He was not aware there had been any other customers since his arrival at the inn. This was not the prosperous place Thomas had made it out to be.

  Roger was glad of it. No company meant no need to deceive anyone and perhaps reveal something that could lead his pursuers to him. He was content to hide for now, but when he had the strength in his arm he might consider letting it be known he was there and drawing the men to him. King Edward would doubtless give a reward to learn who was trying to prevent his messengers doing their duty, if that was the motive.

  ‘No one has called all day. It’s unlikely,’ he said.

  Lucy looked miserable. ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

  She began to light rush tapers, holding the spill with a hand that shook. Roger beckoned to her with a finger.

  ‘Sit for a moment and rest. I’ll do that.’

  He plucked the spill from her fingers and finished the task while she took his place on the bench. Roger filled two cups with ale. He returned and sat alongside Lucy, leaning back beside her. They drank in silence, each lost deep in their own thoughts, but content to sit as companions. A rare feeling descended on Roger that it took him a moment to identify.

  He was at peace.

  He’d spent most nights during his time in France in camps and many others in the company of loud men and loose women. Even in his father’s home in Yorkshire there had been the animosity between Roger’s mother and his half-brother, and resentment between his parents for the existence of the bastard boy. To feel no anticipation of an argument was a new and welcome sensation.

  Keeping his head still, he risked a sidelong glance at Lucy. She had her eyes closed and her face was serene. When she opened them and made to stand up Roger caught hold of her sleeve.

  ‘There’s no rush.’

  ‘There is if you want to eat.’ All the same she settled back on the bench and made no further attempt to leave Roger’s side.

  ‘Do you always work this hard or were you doing it to make a point?’ he grumbled good-naturedly.

  ‘I wasn’t making a point!’ Lucy exclaimed. Her eyes softened a little as she caught her tone. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him wearily.

  ‘Perhaps I was. It’s hard work managing everything myself.’

  She dipped her head down before sliding a sideways look at him. ‘While you’re here I intend to make use of you.’

  Roger bit back the response that sprang to his lips about other uses she could make of him. They were sitting close and the atmosphere was intimate. He sensed that to throw out a careless innuendo would ruin that and for the time being he was happier to share Lucy’s company without trying to entice her into the nearest bed. He took a swig of ale and looked round the room.

  ‘Thomas described this as the finest inn in Cheshire.’

  ‘Do you have to mock me?’

  Lucy jutted her chin out. Her eyes brimmed with fury once more. Negotiating Lucy’s temper felt like pushing blindfo
lded through a thorn bush, never knowing when the next barb would prick him. She was exasperating, but how, how enticing! Her anger brought a vivacity to her face that excited Roger and made him hunger for her more than for any woman in as long as he could remember. More essential to him at this moment was restoring himself to her good graces. The peace that Roger had been enjoying was in danger of being shattered and he was determined to broker a truce.

  ‘Don’t be so fierce. I meant no mockery.’ Roger rested a hand on her wrist and looked at her questioningly. ‘I’m surprised, that’s all, after what your brother said.’

  Her shoulders sagged as her rage subsided a little. She gave him a sad smile.

  ‘I’m sure Thomas will be surprised, too, when he understands how things have changed.’

  She glanced at Roger’s hand. He removed it with regret.

  ‘It was grand once.’ Lucy bit her lip. ‘Now I’m little more than an alewife in a house that is too big for me to keep.’

  ‘You really run it alone. When you said that at first I didn’t believe you.’ Roger ran his hands through his hair, which felt better for the knife he had taken to the length.

  ‘My father is dead. Thomas was abroad. No man takes charge of my affairs.’

  She sounded proud. Roger bit back the retort that if one did the inn might be more prosperous.

  ‘What happened to your father?’

  ‘A canker in his belly took him last summer. Since then I’ve lived here alone with Robbie.’ Lucy’s voice was tight. ‘Now Thomas has returned home, the inn belongs to him.’

  Roger leaned back against the wall, crossing one leg over the other.

  ‘Would you like me to take him back to France?’ he offered. ‘I could doubtless persuade him to come back to the Northern Company if it would please you.’

  ‘Is that what you’re planning to do?’ Lucy twisted round to look at him.

  Now it was Roger’s turn to take a sudden interest in his hands. ‘Sometimes I intend to, then I don’t, then I change my mind again. I could return abroad to try to make my fortune or stay here and settle.’ He snapped his mouth shut before he began telling Lucy about Robin de Monsort’s daughter. ‘It’s only a handful of days since I believed I was dying. Too soon to plan a future.’

  ‘Whatever Thomas decides, the inn will always be his when he returns,’ Lucy muttered.

  Roger nodded in understanding. Thomas was another younger son like himself whose rights exceeded his older sibling’s, however morally lacking that claim was. Lucy had worked, but he would reap the benefit. No wonder she was angry.

  ‘You resent your brother?’

  ‘No!’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps. I’m fond of him, but he’s my father’s son and he claims everything, despite the fact that it is only my work that has kept the inn standing. He never disappointed my father the way I did.’

  ‘I know how you feel, dove.’ Roger sighed.

  ‘You have a brother, too?’ Lucy stared back at him curiously.

  ‘Hal.’ Roger sat forward, examining his fingernails again and thinking of his half-brother who had no claim on his father’s estate, but all of his love. He wondered, not for the first time, if he would swap places with Hal were he able. Be baseborn, but loved for himself rather than as the continuation of a line.

  Lucy looked at him sharply. ‘Is Hal short for Henry?’

  Roger nodded.

  ‘So that’s why you called the name when you needed one. How nice to have a brother so readily in your thoughts.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Roger agreed. Tension knotted his jaw. He doubted Hal would feel so happy to have been called to such use. Had Hal forgiven Roger for his attempted seduction of Hal’s wife? Had the small part he had played in reconciling them been enough to earn that? Roger did not know and would not until he faced Hal on his inevitable return to Wharram. He wondered if Lucy detected any irony in his tone, but she seemingly took the words as an honest appraisal.

  ‘Thomas and I are three years apart. We got on as well as most brothers and sisters, I expect,’ Lucy said. She frowned. ‘He used to steal my dolls for fun. He’d take anything he fancied from the larder and try to blame me. He never had much time for me growing up. He thought girls were a waste of time that could be spent gaming.’

  Thomas had certainly developed time and taste for girls after leaving the inn, but his sister did not need to know that.

  ‘Plenty of men are returning to France as mercenaries in the Free Companies. Your brother might be one of them if all goes as we hope. You might yet get to keep your inn.’

  Lucy clutched the cup tightly in her hands and stared beyond Roger at the shadows dancing across the rushes. She seemed melancholy now and dark circles were showing beneath her eyes, lending her a solemn air. If Roger was tired after the day, she must be more so for being up earlier than him and awake longer in the night. She must have spent every evening sitting here with no company since her father had died. Perhaps she enjoyed the solitude. Roger knew it would have consumed him.

  ‘At least when Thomas returns you will have some company,’ he ventured, attempting to console her. She did not receive this idea with the joy he would have expected.

  ‘Is that likely? The matter is out of my hands and yours.’

  She had been sitting still, but abruptly jerked her head upward and twisted further round on the bench until she was facing Roger in the position he had found her in with yesterday’s guest.

  ‘What have you got Thomas caught up in?’

  Roger swallowed down the unfair accusation that it was he getting Thomas into trouble. The lad had been the cause of them leaving John Harpur’s house so hastily after all. He remembered that he had foolishly taken the blame for what the boy had done rather than let Lucy know what a fool her brother was. Hearing her talk about him now made Roger wish he had saved himself the bother. Perhaps Thomas had left a similar trail of angry fathers or husbands across Italy and France that Roger didn’t know about.

  Most likely the men chasing them had nothing to do with that and Lucy was correct in her beliefs. He reminded himself to investigate when he was able. Lucy was watching him keenly and feeling her interested eyes on him relit some of the flame of pride that he had once felt at being admired in the tournaments.

  ‘Thomas and I met when we were fighting as mercenaries in the Northern Company.’

  ‘You told me you are working for the Crown,’ Lucy interrupted.

  ‘That’s right. King Edward’s most recent campaign in France was ending and we joined the Northern Company in the hope of becoming rich.’ He examined his fingernails. ‘My family would be appalled to hear I’d sunk so low. It is not a profession for a knight. Most are foot soldiers. Rough men who had little to call them home.’ He had kept himself apart from some of the more common men, but grimaced remembering some of Thomas’s drinking companions.

  ‘The matter of the Breton Succession needs to be settled and Edward is keen to give his support to the Duke of Brittany. He gave me the chance to work for him again and instructed me to visit certain nobles in the north of England on his behalf. He is requesting them to join him in support for the Duke. Thomas wanted to return to England so came with me.’

  ‘You’re messenger boys.’

  Roger’s cheeks coloured at her dismissal of his task.

  ‘I’m more than that.’ He sat forward, resting his hands on his knees. The motion sent a twinge of discomfort through his shoulder and he sucked his breath in. Lucy’s eyes flickered to his wound and her brow wrinkled. Roger hoped it was concern that prompted it. He fixed her with a serious look, determined to impress upon her the importance of his role.

  ‘If the noblemen King Edward has asked me to visit answer his summons, I’ll claim a payment from him. It won’t be big, but it will be more than I’ve earned any other way. Even you
must realise the importance of what I’m doing.’

  ‘I don’t care about politics or the wrangling of kings.’ Lucy hugged her arms around her chest. ‘What difference does it make to me who rules France or Brittany? Or England, for that matter?’

  ‘How could it not matter?’ Roger asked.

  ‘To men of your rank it probably does, but to me it makes no difference,’ Lucy said. The familiar light of annoyance was back in her eyes. ‘I pay my taxes and try to earn enough to feed Robbie and myself. The affairs of men I’ll never meet makes no difference to the way I live. Was that why you were visiting Lord Harpur?’

  Roger confirmed it. Lucy gave a short laugh.

  ‘He’ll send men. You’ll get your commission from his attendance, I’m sure, though the lord is unlikely to fight himself. He’s well reputed round here for not venturing too far from his home for any kind of pursuit.’

  Lucy gave a sudden shiver, though the room was not particularly cold. Roger reached out to touch her shoulder, spreading his fingers wide. What use were cold rooms if you couldn’t take the opportunity of snuggling up to a woman? She did not shrug him off. Her frame was rigid, but when he spoke her name quietly, questioningly, her shoulders softened and she drooped against him. She gripped the edge of the bench with both hands and looked at the floor.

  ‘Do you know when Thomas may be back?’

  If Thomas had evaded their assailants he would have made his way to Calveley’s home. That would take at least two days, another for the inevitable hospitality, then another two to return. All that assuming he was no longer being tracked or had been intercepted. If he decided to continue with their original plan to travel further north to recruit men for the Northern Company, the lad could be gone for weeks. Roger did not want to add to Lucy’s unease by telling her this so simply shrugged.

  ‘I should have insisted he found a way to send me a message, but I was not thinking straight. I was more intent on him leaving and reaching safety than what happened after.’

  ‘Thomas should have taken you elsewhere. You brought danger to my home when you came. I should never have let you come inside in the first place.’