Redeeming The Rogue Knight. Elisabeth Hobbes
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The giant nodded slowly.
‘I still don’t like this,’ muttered his companion. ‘What is your husband called, mistress?’
Lucy opened her mouth. She could not call him Roger and reveal his identity, but an alternate name had not occurred to her. It would be too cruel for the deception to be uncovered when it was so close to success.
‘Henry,’ Roger slurred from behind her. ‘Leave my woman be!’
He dropped his head back and began to snore. Before she could wonder how Sir Roger had pulled the name from the air, or if his shout had been a coincidence or intentional, Robbie gave a shrill wail of alarm. He had been slumbering in his cradle, but for the second time in the night his home had been invaded and his sleep interrupted by strangers.
Nailed to the spot, Lucy watched her son clamber from his bed. Red-faced but half-asleep, he tottered across the wooden floorboards towards the bed. Pulling at his dark hair with his podgy fists, he looked around with unfocused eyes then, in a manner that Lucy would ever be grateful for, he did what he always did when he half-awoke in the night.
He tumbled on to the bed, tugging at the blanket until there was space to climb beneath and pulled himself up beside Sir Roger. The two men in the doorway looked at the bed where two dark heads now lay. Seeing her salvation Lucy exclaimed, ‘See! My son knows his father!’
That might have been the end of the matter in any case, but at that moment there was a commotion from outside. A voice shouted. Then another answered. The sound of hooves—two sets—grew louder as they neared the inn and diminished as they went past. Lucy had forgotten Thomas in her desperation to prevent the men discovering Sir Roger’s identity, but he had clearly been active while she had been engaged upstairs. He must have led the horses on foot along the road before mounting to give the impression they were riding past.
The two men lunged for the stairs in unison. Lucy raced after them, close on their heels, and slipped her way between them. For a moment the three bodies stuck at the top of the narrow stairs. She succeeded in tangling their feet between hers and wedging the giant back into the door frame, delaying them all reaching the bottom of the stairs. The door was closed and by the time they pulled it open and ran outside, the two horses were the size of Robbie’s toy cow, climbing the hill towards Mattonfield. Both horses were close together and heavily laden. One rider appeared oddly hunched over until Lucy spotted that the old sacking she had wrapped around the small apple tree had been removed. Thomas had cunningly contrived to give the impression there were two riders.
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.
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