Redeeming The Rogue Knight. Elisabeth Hobbes

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      He pulled on his linen braies, woollen breeches and tunic, casting a regretful glance at his own bed companion. He’d hoped for another tumble with her before they parted. Thomas deserved a clout around the head for that, if nothing else. Ah well, there would be another bed before long, and no doubt someone else to warm it. This way had the advantage of no tearful farewells from a girl who had hoped he would stay longer than he intended. Roger tossed a farthing on to the pillow where the girl would see it on waking. He tied his scrip with his last farthing and penny to his belt.

      Thomas had gathered the leather bags containing all their possessions, including the fuller bag of money Roger had hidden rolled in his spare linens. Roger finished dressing rapidly in his thickly padded jerkin and travelling cloak and reached for his sword. He cast a final look around the room in case they had forgotten anything before leading the way to the kitchens where he knew there was a door that would be unguarded. Making friends with the maidservant was proving to have a benefit he had not anticipated and they were able to creep out without being spotted and make their way to the stables.

      In silence, they wrapped sacking around their horses’ hooves and shouldered their saddles. The animals snickered in protest at the early start and Roger paused to run his hand across the rough winter coat of the chestnut courser. They led their mounts around the edge of the courtyard. Fortune was on their side as they passed through the gateway without notice.

      They saddled the horses, stowed their bags and mounted. Their breath hung in the frosty morning air, but gathering clouds promised the day would be warmer and wet. The horses were not warmed through and to push them beyond a canter would do no good.

      When they came to the fork in the road, Roger turned right.

      ‘This is the wrong direction, my lord. We came this way when we arrived.’

      Suppressing his annoyance, Roger nodded. ‘Lord Harpur knows we are heading into Cheshire. If he decides to pursue us that’s where he will go, so we are going in the other direction. Now ride!’

      They stopped when Roger’s stomach began to growl, dismounted and led their horses into the shelter of the trees. The rain had begun in earnest and the two men pulled their oiled wool cloaks around themselves for warmth.

      As soon as they were settled Roger cuffed Thomas around the ear. The younger man yelped.

      ‘What did you think you were playing at?’ Roger demanded. ‘I know we’ve been out of civilised company for months—and perhaps in your case you have never been in it—but the general rule is if you’re going to bed one of the household, don’t pick the finest jewel of the lord’s treasure chest.’

      ‘We didn’t...make love.’ Thomas flushed scarlet. ‘We did nothing wrong. We only lay beside each other and talked through the night.’

      Roger laughed. ‘You wasted your time and caused trouble for nothing! What’s a woman for besides swiving? If you’re going to risk getting your throat slit or your bollocks hacked off by an angry father, at least make sure you get your end away first.’

      Thomas stuck his lower lip out sullenly. ‘Katherine and I are in love.’

      Roger guffawed.

      ‘After three days in her company! Don’t fool yourself, lad. You may tell yourself—or better still the wench—that it’s love, but don’t confuse the twitch in your braies for the thump of your heart.’

      Thomas flushed red. Roger leaned back against a tree and chewed his thumbnail, his anger subsiding now they were clear of Lord Harpur’s lands. He knew well the hot fire that riddled a man’s limbs and refused to be ignored, so his next words were spoken more gently.

      ‘Balance the pleasure gained with the trouble caused. I don’t blame you for responding to your pole, but you can’t let it rule you.’

      Hypocrite, a small voice in his mind shouted. His own had led him into trouble often enough.

      ‘Not at the moment, when we’ve got work to do,’ he clarified. ‘Once we’ve delivered our message you can sard as many women as you like. You’ll be rich enough to pay for the best.’

      ‘And what if I don’t want to pay?’ Thomas mumbled. ‘What if I want to marry?’

      Roger felt his jaw tighten. ‘Then hope the girl’s father thinks you’ve got enough in your pockets to warrant handing over his treasure and don’t leave it too long to decide she’s the one you want.’

      ‘Is that what you plan to do?’ Thomas asked.

      Roger thought of Jane de Monsort, the woman he had briefly been betrothed to before her father decided Roger’s pockets were not full enough. Thanks to a stint in the newly formed Northern Company fighting as a mercenary, they were fuller now.

      ‘I have to marry eventually. I’ll find a dutiful, dull girl with good connections and a little wealth who can give me an heir to appease my father.’ He scratched his belly. ‘I can’t say it appeals.’

      Thomas was silent, perhaps thinking of Katherine Harpur. Another face filled Roger’s memory, one that caused deeper pangs of regret even years after he had last seen her. He had been fond of Joanna, his brother’s wife, but had not realised quite how deeply until it had been too late. He concentrated on the pattern of raindrops falling into the puddles that were forming rather than let his mind drift back to the mistakes he had buried in his past.

      ‘Much better to stick to tavern wenches who will give you what you want in return for a ribbon or a kind word,’ he commented, to no one in particular.

      ‘Do you think Lord Harpur will send men to fight in France?’ Thomas asked.

      Roger stretched out his legs, glad of something fresh to think of. He uncorked a wine flask and drank deeply.

      ‘We don’t get our bounty otherwise, but I don’t see why not. Leaving aside you seducing his daughter, he was interested in the thought of increasing his fortune. The peace won’t last forever, and a man prepared to fight is a man who will become rich.’

      A man such as himself.

      Roger drew his cloak tighter around him.

      ‘We’re going to stay here until the sun has passed overhead. Then we’ll head back the way we came.’

      ‘Past Lord Harpur’s house instead of the higher road to Mattonfield?’

      The roads that bordered Lord Harpur’s estate gave it the shape of a triangle with sides of uneven length. To take the route Thomas suggested would mean they travelled on the longest side and over the steepest edge of the hill.

      ‘Yes. It would add more than a day to the journey if we took the other side of the hill.’

      ‘We’d be close to my home!’ Thomas said wistfully. ‘It’s a fine inn, the grandest on the road to Mattonfield, and my father would welcome us gladly.’

      Roger considered the possible routes. There was hope in the lad’s voice, but Roger was damned if he was going to detour to allow Thomas to pay a call, however tempting a СКАЧАТЬ