Elisabeth Hobbes - Redeeming The Rogue Knight

The spy who sought refuge...

When injured spy Sir Roger Danby comes asking for shelter at her inn, Lucy Carew is wary. He may be strikingly handsome, but the disgraced single mother has learned the hard way with men like him. Against her better judgement, she gives him refuge.

Sir Roger has never been at the mercy of a woman before, and he’s never met one as mysterious and bewitching as Lucy. He hasn’t come looking for redemption, but Lucy is a woman who could reach in and touch his closely guarded heart...

His eyes were soft and his lips slightly parted.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb as his fingers slipped behind her head, drawing her towards him. He was going to kiss her. And she intended to let him.

Roger’s mouth sought hers. Lucy tilted her head until it was within reach. His kiss was eager, his lips hungry for hers. The scent of him flooded her limbs…the taste of him made her grow weak. She gave herself over to the pleasure, allowing him to guide her in pace and pressure until her head spun.

Roger broke away first. He held her gaze in a moment of stillness. The world contained only them.

‘After I won I started thinking about my future—and yours. You don’t have to live the way you do. There is another way.’

He pushed a lock of hair behind Lucy’s ear in a gesture that was at once intimate yet proprietorial. He smiled.

‘I want you to become my mistress.’

Author Note

We first met Roger Danby in The Blacksmith’s Wife , which ended with the disreputable knight heading to York for one last tournament and then planning to go abroad, determined to make his fortune after realising too late the value of the woman he had spurned. His story was going to end there, but readers kept telling me that they wanted to know what had happened to him. I too became curious to see how this knight who had jousting ‘groupies’—to use a slightly anachronistic term—dropping at his feet coped when he didn’t have his flashy armour, his fine horse and his noble connections to tempt them.

Brewing was once a female task, with many women making a living as ale-wives, selling from their houses. When I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on ‘The Changing Role of Inns and Ale houses in English Rural Society’ I never suspected I would get to use the information for writing a book!

Lucy brews so frequently because back then beer and ale—there is a difference—did not last. An anonymous source from Saxon times wrote: ‘After two days only the bravest or silliest men of the village would drink the ale, but usually it was only fit for pigs.’ I planned to brew some myself, but decided against it—partly because I suspected I’d end up very drunk or very ill, and partly because an acquaintance told me I’d need a much bigger bucket!

As always, this story has a theme song. Roger chose ‘I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)’ by Meat Loaf.

Redeeming the Rogue Knight

Elisabeth Hobbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELISABETH HOBBESgrew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which has made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing she spends her time reading, and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children, and three cats with ridiculous names.

Books by Elisabeth Hobbes

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Falling for Her Captor

A Wager for the Widow

The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge

Linked by Character

The Blacksmith’s Wife

Redeeming the Rogue Knight

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

To Mark, housebreaker and hacksaw wielder for damsels in distress! I owe you a pint!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

‘Wake up, my lord! We have to leave!’

Urgent shouts infiltrated Roger Danby’s dreams, whirling him from the home of his childhood on the heather-covered moors to the battlefields of France. The carnage there came almost as a relief.

He’d been dreaming of Yorkshire again, as he had done nightly since returning to England: the endless, purple moors and deep valleys that he had not seen for almost four years. The people from his past were present, too, which invariably caused Roger’s dreams to darken. Even though he was somehow aware he was dreaming, his stomach twisted with loss. He wondered if they thought of him as often as he had thought of them and if his name was ever mentioned within the pink stone walls of his father’s house.

Someone was still calling his name and a dying archer was tugging at the neck of his cloak. He waved his arms to fend off the man, but the tugging continued. The shouts were not part of the dream and when he opened his eyes it was his squire, Thomas, looming over him, hands on Roger’s bare shoulder.

The young man’s eyes were wide and his hair was unkempt. Thomas had fought beside Roger in France so his presence on the battlefield in Roger’s dream was unsurprising, but it took a moment for Roger to shake his dream completely and return to the comfy bed in the manor house of a Derbyshire nobleman, so strange after months of straw pallets or bare ground.

‘My lord, please. We need to leave,’ Thomas repeated.

Dreaming of home always left Roger’s nerves as tightly strung as a bow. He glared up at Thomas in confusion and irritation from the feather mattress. Soft light peered around the edge of the tapestries covering the window. His breath made a cloud in the cold room.

‘Did I oversleep?’

‘No, it’s early.’

Roger threw himself back with a groan. They had stayed three nights with Lord Harpur at Bukestone and had planned to leave in the morning, but Roger had not intended to start so early. The maidservant who had been his companion the previous night rolled on to her side, still fast asleep. Her bare buttocks rubbed against Roger’s hip as she shifted her position and sent small throbs of pleasure through him. He reached for the wine flagon by his side, but found it empty.

‘It’s barely daybreak,’ he growled. ‘What’s the hurry?’

Thomas was already lurching around the small chamber, gathering possessions and stuffing them into his saddlebag. He threw Roger’s boots and cloak at the foot of the bed.

‘Lady Harpur decided to pay her daughter a visit early this morning,’ Thomas muttered. His face took on a pinched expression, his cheeks turning pale beneath his wispy beard. ‘She discovered Katherine was not alone in her room and hadn’t been all night.’

Roger swore. Katherine Harpur was a maid of sixteen with her mother’s fine, pale skin and her father’s dark curly hair. She was a fruit ripe for picking, but Roger had put the flirtation he’d seen pass between her and Thomas as nothing to concern himself about. Apparently he was wrong. He pushed himself from beneath the covers. The cold blast of air served to wake him fully, but even if the room had been comfortably warm his soldier’s instincts made him alert to the sudden danger they were both in.