Redeeming the Rogue Knight

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  Her body was trembling beneath Roger’s fingers. It confused him until he remembered the tales she had told of facing down the men who had come in pursuit of him. For all her ferocity, however much she met his arguments and challenges head on, she was frightened. What must the intrusion have been like for a woman living as she did? Roger wished Thomas had indeed taken him elsewhere so Lucy had not had to endure that.

  Roger slipped his arm further around her shoulders, yearning to ease her anxiety.

  ‘But you did let me in and for that I thank you.’

  He attempted to draw her head on to his chest, but she resisted that intimacy, for which Roger could hardly blame her given the frequency with which he had tried to seduce her. No doubt she believed this was another such attempt. He wished he could make it clear it was not.

  ‘I told you I won’t let any harm come to you. I mean it,’ Roger said earnestly. ‘I’ll protect you as long as I’m here.’

  Her eyelids flickered. She did not ask how long he intended that to be. Roger knew it would be too long for his intended interrupted mission, but not adequate to satisfy his need to comfort the woman beside him. She tilted her face to stare at him. Shadows flickered across her face, brushing her sharp cheekbones, thick lashes elongated and accentuating the grey-blue eyes that regarded him solemnly. The soft lips were half-open in a trembling pout that awoke Roger’s senses. He swallowed to moisten his unaccountably dry mouth and drew her closer.

  ‘A woman should not live alone,’ he whispered, lifting a hand to her jaw and running a thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone. ‘You shouldn’t be alone.’

  Lucy tensed, eyes narrowing. She drew back. Roger cursed inwardly at the gulf that had arisen between them once more. He would not let her withdraw into anger, however. He held his hands up to protect his face in mock defence with a grin, determined to make light of his blunder.

  ‘Before you get your claws out, I mean for protection, not companionship.’

  ‘I have no need for either.’ She sniffed and straightened up. ‘I can take care of myself if need be.’

  Roger’s hand crept to the side of his temple where she had once struck him with the bowl. He flashed her a grin.

  ‘With your bowl and stave and knee? I dare say you could.’

  Lucy bit her lip once again. Roger longed to capture it and do the same.

  ‘Those of us too poor to afford servants must make do.’

  Lucy pushed herself from the bench and crossed to the fire, briskly stirring the pot as if to illustrate her point.

  ‘Why don’t you get a girl in to help?’ Roger suggested. ‘There must be plenty in the villages round here.’

  ‘None who would be allowed to come here! What respectable mother would send her daughter to live and work with such as me? Before I disgraced myself and brought shame on my family we had more customers. While my father lived some still came, but since I took sole charge the people from Mattonfield will not drink here.’ Her lip quivered. ‘Thomas will not find a thriving business when he returns.’

  Roger ground his teeth. He found himself caring nothing of Thomas. The lad would have to shift himself to get customers if he returned. That should not be Lucy’s burden.

  Lucy dropped the ladle into the pot and walked outside, returning with Robbie in her arms. The child’s head lolled against his mother’s shoulder. Lucy looked at Roger over the top of his curls, holding him tightly to her. Her face was bleak.

  ‘I’m tainted forever because of what I did. Because of Robbie.’

  ‘Where is his father?’ Roger asked quietly.

  She’d brushed off the question before and he expected to be rebuffed, but she simply sighed. In truth, he cared less about whom the child belonged to and more about the man who had possessed Lucy long enough to father him. He was curious to discover what kind of man she had invited into her bed to risk ruin in the process.

  ‘He was...’ An odd expression filled her eyes. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, enclosing her child in an embrace that excluded the world. Such fierce love was moving to witness and it struck Roger that to be loved by Lucy would be a considerable prize.

  She settled Robbie on the bench and moved to the fire where she began ladling the pottage into bowls. With her back to Roger she carried on speaking. ‘I knew him when I worked in Lord Harpur’s manor.’ Her voice was hard. ‘I meant nothing to him and I prefer it that way.’

  She walked to the table and slammed the bowls on it. Her cheeks bore two bright spots of anger, a far cry from the delicate blush that he had seen on other occasions. Roger said nothing, taken aback that the love she bore for her son was so darkly reflected in the alarming animosity towards his father. She settled at the table on the other side of Robbie and began to coax the boy to eat, taking alternate mouthfuls herself.

  Roger began eating. The food was warming and flavoursome, but like everything he had eaten since arriving did not go far to filling his belly or providing the pleasures he usually took from a good meal. He thought back to his father’s table and his mouth watered.

  ‘What I would give for some good Yorkshire mutton,’ he said with feeling. ‘Boiled hogget...roasted new lamb...forcemeat rissoles...’

  He lost himself in a reverie, imagining such delights, and was brought up sharp by Lucy’s angry interjection.

  ‘Stop that!’ She glared at him, spoon half-raised to Robbie’s lips.

  ‘I’m only daydreaming,’ he said, affronted. ‘I used to scorn my father’s obsession with breeding his stock, but now I look back with more fondness than I expected.’

  The moors of Yorkshire beckoned him as they so often did, purple edged and rugged, dotted with grazing sheep that made him long to be there.

  Robbie pulled at Lucy’s hand, making indignant demands to be fed. She spooned more pottage into his waiting mouth. ‘You have no idea how tantalising all that sounds to an empty belly,’ she muttered.

  Roger had not seen her eat since the small morsel of cheese and egg Robbie had left the night before. It was small wonder Lucy looked so slender. The delicate cheekbones and waist that he could reach around one armed were the product of hunger. Even now she gave more to the child than she took herself. Roger’s bowl was fuller, too.

  ‘You think I’m spoilt, don’t you?’ Roger said ruefully, placing his spoon in the bowl.

  Lucy paused before answering. ‘I think you’re used to being obeyed and getting what you want,’ she said with a frankness that Roger found disarming.

  He could have told tales of hardships he had faced in France with no idea where the next meal might come from, of hours spent as a young squire in Northumberland living at the beck and call of his lord, of the scorn he had faced for every failure in the tournaments.

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ he agreed. ‘When your life involves courtesies and privileges simply because of who you are it’s hard not to expect that as an entitlement.’

  He indicated the bowl in Lucy’s hand.

  ‘You should eat more than you do. You finish what you have. The boy can share with me.’

  ‘I don’t...’ she began, but Roger raised a finger and gave her a stern look. She stopped, her eyes wide in surprise. Roger took her free hand. Her palm was chilly, but heat danced through his fingertips. Lucy curled her fingers around his and Roger’s chest tightened. He looked up and found her eyes watchful, but with a hint of the interest she seemed determined to hide.

  ‘I’m used to getting what I want, as you say.’ He smiled.

  He expected a caustic retort, but she lowered her eyes, studying their linked hands. A smile played about her lips. If he lifted her hand to his lips would her eyes harden or grow soft with longing? He ran his thumb around the centre of her palm, then with great self-possession guided her hand to the bowl.

  ‘I want you to eat.’

 
He enclosed his hand around hers a beat longer before reluctantly withdrawing it.

  Roger took hold of Robbie’s knees and spun the boy to face him. Lucy watched closely, eyes flicking from boy to man and back. When it became clear Robbie did not care who fed him as long as he could distribute the pottage between his mouth and ears she began to devour her portion with enthusiasm that made Roger’s heart swell.

  When she had finished she stood and held her hand out for Roger’s empty bowl. Her fingers lingered beside his on the rim as he passed it. She smiled.

  ‘You must think I have a bad opinion of your sex and your rank in particular. Perhaps I do, but my experience has not given me much opportunity to form a favourable one. A man can swive who he likes and ruin any number of women and no one censures him, but she is ruined forever unless the father acknowledges his child,’ she said. ‘Robbie’s didn’t, so we are both shamed.’

  That explained her hatred of the man.

  ‘Perhaps he doubted the boy was his,’ Roger suggested.

  Lucy whipped her head up. ‘Do you intend to insult me so blatantly? Robbie’s father was my first, my only—’

  ‘I mean no insult. Many women with the prospect of a fatherless child seize on one they hope will shoulder the burden.’ He looked at Lucy, simmering with righteous indignation. She deserved the explanation for his unfair accusation, even though it would condemn him in her eyes. He braced himself and spoke.

  ‘It happened to me.’

  ‘You have a child?’ Lucy sank to the bench beside him.

  ‘I may have fathered a child. I wasn’t going to acknowledge her without definite proof.’

  ‘Her? A daughter? And you left her unclaimed?’

  ‘A child who I was not sure was mine!’ Roger protested. ‘The woman was my brother’s lover, though she came eagerly to my arms when he was absent.’

  Hal’s expression on discovering their betrayal hung heavily in Roger’s memory. At least he had never shared that truth with Hal. The one good thing he did in the whole shameful affair. He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

  ‘I knew mine was not the only bed she had taken comfort in, but I did not care. I didn’t expect faithfulness from a woman who was already cuckolding someone else, but when it became apparent the child could not be Hal’s she attempted to name me as the only candidate for fatherhood. I told her I had no proof the responsibility was mine and...I sent her away.’

  Roger frowned, recalling the cries and tears, the pleas and assertions he had hardened his heart to.

  ‘So you let her and her child live in shame?’ Lucy’s voice was low with horror.

  ‘Kitty did not survive the birth.’

  Roger’s first thought on hearing that news had been relief. He put his head in his hands, knocked sideways by the revulsion that flooded him now. It seemed unbelievable that he had been so callous.

  ‘I never saw the child, but I hear she does resemble me, so perhaps Kitty spoke the truth. My brother believes she is mine.’ He sighed.

  ‘Do you regret how you behaved?’ Lucy asked.

  Roger folded his arms defensively and looked away. Was this an accusation or was she offering him absolution? ‘I can’t change the mistakes I made.’

  ‘You could see the girl, though. It might do her good to know her father,’ Lucy said with more gentleness than Roger felt he deserved under the circumstances.

  ‘A man like me? I doubt it!’ Roger shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to imagine himself as any sort of father. ‘The child is well cared for and if she never learns of me, her life will be better for it.’

  ‘An easy thing to tell yourself to salve your conscience,’ Lucy said. She stood abruptly and drew Robbie into her arms. She eyed him coldly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  Roger followed, unwilling for this to be her final word to him, but she kept her back to him. As she reached for the door latch he called her name. She turned slowly.

  ‘Would you have married Robbie’s father if he had acknowledged the boy?’

  She bit her lip and gazed at him with solemn eyes that made Roger want to draw her into his arms.

  ‘He was already married.’

  Roger waited until she had closed the door before going into his own room and collapsing on to the mattress. He imagined he would sleep instantly, but every time he felt the drag of slumber, his mind jolted him awake and dragged his thoughts to the woman sleeping so close. She had invaded Roger’s brain like ivy round an oak and her scathing judgement echoed in his mind.

  He flexed his arm, feeling the discomfort of stiffness and the throb that was ever-present, coupled with the desire building inside him that demanded to be sated but for which he could foresee no release.

  He had succeeded in easing his mind and body into a state of drowsiness when a high-pitched wail pierced the silence, causing his body to be at once alert. He growled under his breath when he realised it was Robbie beginning his nightly assault. He rolled over, covering his ear with his arm in the hope of drowning out the sounds, but to no avail. Would the child never be quiet!

  Pulling his shirt and braies back on, he stomped to Lucy’s room and pushed open the door. Lucy was standing by the window, holding Robbie and rocking him gently. Her hair was loose and she was barefoot. Her linen shift stopped at mid-calf, giving Roger a good look at shapely ankles. Despite the cold night air Roger felt himself grow warm with desire. When she saw Roger Lucy’s eyes widened. Her lips slid into a smile that vanished as she began to apologise for the disturbance.

  Roger’s irritation melted. He held his hands out and stepped towards her.

  ‘Give him to me.’

  Lucy clutched her son to her chest, looking fearful. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you look exhausted and I am less so,’ Roger said gently. He placed a hand on her shoulder, aware with every part of his body how smooth her skin felt beneath his fingertips. She gave a shiver, like a bird struggling to break free, though Roger had known enough women to recognise it was desire that caused the flutter.

  ‘Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch on him. He’ll come to no harm with me.’

  Lucy’s hesitation lasted almost no time and before he could draw breath Roger found himself holding Robbie. Lucy flashed him a look of relief mingled with some other emotion Roger couldn’t identify. She took a step towards him, one hand reaching out, then withdrew it hastily. With difficulty Roger tore his gaze from the beguiling curves he could make out beneath Lucy’s shift and left the room. At the top of the stairs he gave Robbie a stern look.

  ‘Now, child,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘I know you’d rather be in your mother’s arms. If it comes to it, so would I, however neither of us are getting what we want tonight.’

  Robbie stopped crying, curious at this man who seemed unperturbed by his tears and wails, confirming Roger’s suspicion that at least half the fuss was for Lucy’s benefit alone. The boy attempted to cram his entire fist into his mouth, studying Roger to see what reaction this would cause.

  ‘Your teeth hurt. So does my shoulder,’ Roger said agreeably. ‘I suggest we go downstairs and find something to ease the ache.’

  By the glow of the embers Roger located the almost empty bottle of liquor. He poured the remains into a cup and settled on the stool beside the fire. Roger dipped a knuckle into the cup, reasoning that what eased his own pain would surely work for the child. Cupping Robbie in the crook of his arm, he gave the boy his knuckle to chew on. The sharp stab of an emerging tooth explained Robbie’s general displeasure at the world.

  Robbie sat placidly on Roger’s lap, head beginning to droop. Minding the boy was easier than Roger had anticipated. He closed his eyes, occasionally sipping his own cup and letting his mind drift to Lucy who he hoped was sleeping peacefully upstairs.

  Despite all attempts he had not been able to rid himself o
f thoughts of her. Worse, every moment he did, Roger felt increasingly drawn to her. The realisation of the extent of his feelings chilled him, unwanted as they were. He was besotted with Lucy. Infatuated.

  He would go further and venture to call it love, other than to declare such a thing even to himself was a danger far greater than any he had faced on the fields of battle.

  Remembering Lucy’s stark condemnation of men such as himself, he writhed with shame. When he had been accused of fatherhood he had been so intent on denying the claim that he had never stopped to consider the desperation Kitty must have felt. Kitty’s daughter was cared for. Hal, with his conscience and determination to do good that made Roger grind his teeth with envy, had seen to that. There was no one to care for Robbie besides Lucy and no one at all to care for her. Little wonder she was constantly angry, eternally argumentative and simmered with rage like a pot with the lid on too tightly.

  Lucy had no Hal. No good man to bear the responsibility. Not even a bad man who paid and left. Well, tonight Roger would bear her burden. The knowledge caused a feeling of warmth in his heart as much as the liquor warmed his belly.

  * * *

  Roger could not say whether he or Robbie fell asleep first, but he awoke to find the soft head nestled beneath his own, a warm heaviness on his chest and the light beginning to creep beneath the gaps in the door frame telling him they had slept through the entire night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Robbie was rolling around on the floor by the hearth, still in his nightclothes, when Lucy came downstairs. She hesitated before entering, unsure of what she would see and with an unnerving squirming sensation in her belly at the thought of seeing Sir Roger after the previous night.

  The evening had been like no other she could remember: a curious mix of heated accusations and intimate admissions. What Sir Roger had told her about his behaviour towards his former mistress was reprehensible, so why was she drawn to him despite that? Perhaps it had been the slight hesitation before he had admitted he could change nothing. Only a small sign that he perhaps regretted that, but a sign nevertheless. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and entered the room.