Elisabeth Hobbes - Redeeming The Rogue Knight

The pursuers ran to where their own horses were tethered to the fence alongside the house and attempted to pull the reins free. Upon discovering they were knotted and tangled together, the giant swore loudly. Lucy hid a smile and backed into the shadows as the men fumbled to disentangle their animals. Thomas had been hard at work while they had been distracted upstairs. As the men swung themselves into the saddle the smaller one shifted round to look at Lucy. His expression was not unkind.

‘You had a lucky escape, mistress. Keep your door barred until daylight. Your life will be worth nothing if you stand in the way of these rogues. Liars, thieves, and one is a killer. He’s killed tonight already.’

He dug his heels into the horse’s belly and galloped off to join his companion who was already ahead, leaving Lucy alone in the dark.

Chapter Four

Lucy watched until the figures began their climb up the hill. They rode fast, but Thomas was far enough ahead by now that once he reached the town his pursuers would have too many roads to choose from to catch their quarry for certain. Even if they did not catch him they were very unlikely to come back to her again now they had proof that she was not harbouring the fugitives.

He’s dangerous. A liar, thief and killer.

The warning echoed in Lucy’s ears and she clutched weakly at the door frame, willing herself to not faint. Relief coursed through her that the men had gone. Dread followed it close behind. She had felt so clever at hiding Sir Roger from their sight but now she was left with a dangerous man in her bed. She could not hope Thomas would return that night; it would be far too risky. He would surely find a way to double back as soon as it was light, but until he did, Lucy was alone in the inn with Sir Roger.

Except she wasn’t alone.

The blood drained from her limbs, leaving her cold as the grave as she thought of her child upstairs with Sir Roger. How could she have let Robbie slip from her mind so easily? She spun on her heel, racing back inside, and only paused long enough to bar the door as advised. Her hands shook as she lowered the latch. Was it worse to be trapped inside with a murderer or leave the door open for other intruders to enter? She looked around frantically for anything she could defend herself with should Sir Roger take it in his mind to harm her or her child.

The better of her two knives had gone. Thomas, of course!

‘Oh, Thomas! You horrible thief!’ Lucy exclaimed.

He had always had a tendency to help himself to anything he liked, even as a child. She took the poker from the fire and clutched it tightly, focusing on the now-glowing tip as though it was a beacon. If he had hurt Robbie, Sir Roger would not live to see the sun rise.

Lucy crept back up the stairs, torn between the need to hurry and the desire to remain unnoticed. She pushed the door open, heart in her throat pounding painfully. She stopped in the doorway and lowered the poker, taken aback by what she saw.

In the darkness she could make out the bundled shape of the two figures still lying together. Robbie was curled up in the crook of Sir Roger’s arm, his small face buried deep against the man’s neck, his tiny fist clutching the edge of the sheet. The blanket had slipped and the child’s linen nightdress contrasted with the dark hair and tanned flesh of Sir Roger’s bare torso. Sir Roger’s broad arm was draped across the child’s back in what looked like a caress. He had his eyes closed and lay unmoving. He looked as if the grave had already stamped a claim on him and for a brief, unkind moment, Lucy’s heart soared in hope that this was the case and the problem was solved. She drew closer, still holding the poker. He had already surprised her by revealing himself to be half-conscious before and she could not trust he would remain asleep for long.

They looked serene, the two dark, curly heads together, so close in colouring it was no wonder they had passed for father and son. Robbie had never slept in the arms of the father who refused to admit his existence and never would. At the sight, an odd pang of sadness clutched at Lucy’s stomach that the boy had found comfort so quickly. What instinct had told him he was safe with the man who had forced his way in and apparently killed a man tonight? It felt almost cruel to move him when he was sleeping so peacefully after a night of chaos and disruption.

She shook her head forcefully, reminding herself this was not a loving father. Robbie was lying in the arms of a man who must barely be aware of his presence and would care about it even less were he awake. Her son was too young and trusting to know the ills the world held. He had no understanding of the possible danger he was in, feeling only that he was warm and being held tight.

She knelt beside the bed and edged Sir Roger’s hand down to his side until she was able to tug Robbie free. She eased him across her shoulder. The child wrapped his arms around her neck and did not stir. Sir Roger muttered and rolled his head from side to side, though his eyes remained closed. Now she had her son back, Lucy could breathe easily once more. She paused to look curiously at the man in her bed.

Sir Roger. But Sir Roger who? And of where? She had heard of no knight or lord of that name in Cheshire or Derbyshire. She had no idea where he had come from, or where he was hoping to go. He would not want to remain here long if he had slighted Lord Harpur, she knew that much. Instinctively she tightened her hold on Robbie.

‘He’ll never know he has you to thank for his life,’ she whispered against the boy’s ear.

Robbie needed his bed. Lucy, too, though where she would sleep was anyone’s guess. Not in her bed, that was for certain. She felt the beginnings of a blush around the back of her neck as she remembered Sir Roger’s hands on her body. The arm that had held her son was muscular and iron hard, the neck and chest well shaped. Robbie was not the only one whose bed was a solitary place of rest.

She eased herself to her feet and stepped away. As she did, Sir Roger gave a great gasp. His eyes snapped open and he jerked upright, clutching hold of Lucy’s skirts. He bared his teeth and snarled.

‘Run, wench, lest they take you, too!’

Biting down a scream, Lucy pulled away, but his grip was strong and he held her fast. Still holding Robbie in one arm, she could not tug her skirts free. In panic, she brought down the poker she held in her other hand, flailing at his chest to push him away. The tip was hotter than she had expected it to be and as it touched the bare skin above his heart there was a hissing, accompanied by the sickening smell of singeing hair and flesh.

Sir Roger cried out, loosening his grip on Lucy’s skirts and falling back on to the mattress. The back of the arrow landed on the bed, driving the tip forward through his body, but not fully out. Sir Roger screamed at the pain—the angry, agonised roar of a felled boar. His head lolled back as he slipped into a deep faint.

Lucy dropped the poker in horror at what she had done and backed away. In her arms, Robbie began to whimper. She kissed his damp forehead, trying to quiet her own sobs, and backed against the wall by his cot. When Robbie had settled, she eased him into his bed. She slid to the floor and hugged her knees until she stopped trembling.

Sir Roger did not move. Lucy’s assault had drained him of any remaining strength.

For now.

The room still smelled of charred flesh and Lucy’s stomach heaved. She needed to see what damage she had inflicted and tend to the wounds, but she could not trust that Sir Roger would not awaken before she had finished. Her skin crawled at the idea of him seizing her once again and she thought furiously what she should do. She clambered to her feet and ran back down the stairs, returning with a length of thin rope and a knife.