An Honourable Rogue. Carol Townend

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      ‘Indeed, mistress, and this is the meat of it: your brother has received an offer for your hand in marriage.’

      ‘An offer, for me?’

      ‘Yes, mistress. His friend Sir Richard of Asculf has asked if you would marry him.’

      Rozenn had blinked, absently reaching for the cross at her neck. ‘Sir Richard wants to marry me?’

      The messenger had nodded. ‘Your brother would like you to consider this offer most carefully. But in any case, whatever your decision regarding Sir Richard, he would be pleased to welcome you to his new holding. Sir Adam has some business to put in hand before he can send you an escort, but by early autumn he should be in a position to do so.’

      ‘So soon? We are to join Adam this autumn?’ Adam must have taken leave of his senses! Ivona would never agree to leave the castle that had been her home for so many years, never. And as for Sir Richard wanting to marry her—a knight, a knight… It was beyond anything she had dreamed of.

      The messenger had simply nodded. ‘Yes, mistress.’

      Yes, mistress. As if it were a little thing, an everyday thing, for Adam to summon Rozenn and his mother across the sea to England and for her to receive an offer of marriage from a Norman knight.

      ‘B-but I’ve never even left Quimperlé…’

      The messenger had given her a strange look and he had sighed. He was holding himself in such a way that told Rose his back was aching. His throat had to be parched, he must be longing to put his feet up in a tavern. ‘I’m telling you all I know, mistress,’ he had said. ‘Make preparations, your brother will send you an escort… Sir Adam also stressed that if anything were to happen to him, you must put your trust in Sir Richard, who has your best interests at heart.’

      Rose could scarcely believe it, but it must be true. Sir Richard has your best interests at heart. Would Sir Richard have given a gold cross to a woman who meant nothing to him?

      ‘H-how did Adam find out that I have been widowed?’

      ‘I do not know.’

      Shortly after that, having attempted with a fair degree of patience to respond to a barrage of questions, the man had bowed and had made his escape, leaving Rozenn staring after him, her thoughts in turmoil. Adam had done well in Duke William’s service, apparently. For rallying fleeing troops at Hastings, England’s new king had given Adam lands and a new wife—one Lady Cecily of Fulford.

      As Rose had watched Adam’s messenger limp towards the nearest tavern, an idea—no, it was more of a dream— had flashed into her mind.

      Sir Richard has your best interests at heart…at heart. She had fingered the cross Sir Richard had, rather shockingly, given her even while she had been married to Per. Sir Richard had offered for her!

      Once she would have thought such a thing impossible. But was it so incredible that Adam should wish to foster an alliance between his family and his good friend Sir Richard? After all, Adam was only the son of a horse- master, yet he had risen through the ranks and become a knight. And if that had happened, why should Rose not become a lady?

      So now, on Witches’ Night, Rozenn smiled into the dark, twirling the gold cross while she wildly embroidered her dream. Not for her the life of a cloth merchant’s widow in Quimperlé where everyone thought of her as a foundling. She wouldn’t have to depend on Countess Muriel for work, she would marry a knight! Lady Rozenn of Asculf…

      England beckoned. Tomorrow she really must reveal her plans to Mikaela. And if Adam’s mother refused to leave, she would simply have to travel on her own….

      First, Rozenn would pay off Per’s debts, and then she would go and search out the place Adam’s messenger had mentioned—Fulford, near Winchester. She wasn’t about to wait for Adam’s escort, life was too short. Why wait till the autumn? She would go as soon as possible—this month, maybe even this week! Somehow she would find a way.

      King William had granted Adam lands in England!

      How pleased Adam must be, to have lands of his own at last. But if only Adam had got a scribe to write a proper letter. Of course, Rozenn couldn’t read herself, but England was a long way to go on the word of one exhausted messenger.

      Coming briefly down to earth, Rozenn grimaced into the dark. She prayed she could persuade Ivona to accompany her. For if she could not, Ivona was bound to object to her setting off without Adam’s escort. Having something in writing would have backed up her decision.

      But…in England, she would have the chance of a new life. Once in England—Rozenn’s lips curved—there would be no debts, no ignominious past to shame her. No one in England would realise why she had been christened Rose. No one in England would ever think, ‘there goes that girl whose mother abandoned her by the rosebush outside the White Bird’.

      In England Rose would meet Adam’s new Anglo- Saxon wife—what had the messenger said her name was? Cecily, Lady Cecily of Fulford. And after that, Adam would direct her to Sir Richard…

      Ben Silvester, wandering minstrel? Hah! She was aiming higher than that, she was aiming for a knight.

      Turning over, Rozenn thumped her pillow, and determinedly cleared her mind of the image of Ben Silvester, Breton lute-player with the roguish smile, and instead set about conjuring up the face and features of Sir Richard of Asculf, Norman knight.

      Down by the Quimperlé docks, at the confluence of the two rivers, some of the customers in the Barge were getting rowdy.

      Benedict Silvester was wearing his dull brown cloak, the one he wore when trying to blend into the background. His lute was stowed in its leather bag and slung over his shoulder, hopefully well out of harm’s way. Keeping the hood of his cloak up and his face in the shadows, he nevertheless seemed to have attracted attention. He didn’t like the look in the eyes of the men hunched over their cups at the next trestle, particularly the one in the greasy leather jerkin. That broken nose matched the man’s general air of belligerence. Doubtless, the man was a brawler. Had he observed Ben’s interest in their conversation? Had the man marked his features?

      He hoped not, but it was possible. Ben shrank deeper into his hood, and gazed into his wine. He’d not been back in Quimperlé above two hours, and if he was to remain useful to Duke Hoël, he must not court trouble.

      When the man glanced Ben’s way for the second time, Ben realised events could take an ugly turn. Wishing he had left his lute in the care of the stable boy guarding his horse, Ben dropped a coin on the table and edged to the door. His lute must not get damaged. It had once belonged to his father and it gave him good cover, cover which was vital because it drew attention away from his real work, his work for the Duke of Brittany.

      Outside, the River Laïta gleamed like pitch in the moonlight, and a couple of longboats rocked gently at the quayside. This was the point where two rivers met, just downstream from the Isle du Château. Encircling the island like a moat, the rivers formed the perfect natural defence for Count Remond’s keep before fusing into one and flowing on to the sea. Taking a moment to breathe in a lungful of warm night air, Ben found himself glancing uphill, towards the СКАЧАТЬ