An Honorable Rogue (34 page)

Rose was walking some yards behind Harold and Carl's haycart when the bell for vespers began to ring. She had spent the day exploring the village, testing her resolution, and had come to a conclusion that was both happy and painful. If she could choose a place in which to make her home, it would be Fulford.

A lone figure in her blue gown, Rose was wearing a pair of kid shoes that Cecily had given her. The thin soles were no protection against the hardness of the dried-out ruts in the road, but Rose was very glad of the shoes, it was far too hot for her clunky travelling boots. Earlier, when watching Harold and Carl scything the hayfield, Rose had removed her veil and tucked it into her girdle with her headband. As she neared the church, the cream lawn fluttered at her side, like a knight's pennant.

The boys and the cart, their mule, the freshly cut hay, indeed the whole of the village was bathed in a golden glow. While the boys' cart rattled and bumped to a halt outside the church. Rose glanced westwards. The sunset was breathtaking. If only she could replicate those exact colours in a tapestry: that clear blue above the dark line of trees on the hill, a blue that somehow gave life to those wild splashes of apricot in the clouds, to those dazzling bronze edges. Though the sun itself had lost most of its power and dusk was fast creeping up on them, the sky was so bright, so glorious, it almost hurt to look at it.

A house martin hurtled across the village green and whisked under the eaves of a cottage next to the church. For a moment time seemed to stop. A wolfhound bayed once, twice and, from the other side of the hall. Rose heard the chink of chain-mail and the soft neighing of a horse. Perfect. Fulford was perfect. If it were not for one thing...

The glow in the sky intensified. And then, even as a horse clattered out of the stable yard and on to the green behind her. the flush of pinks and apricots were blending with deeper colours, with madder red, with oxblood. Sinister hues, but none the less heartbreakingly beautiful. Rose gazed, memorising the colours, determined to get them on canvas.

Behind her, the horse broke into a trot.

Her instincts awoke. Those hoofbeats were too loud, the horse must almost be upon her. Frowning, but not unduly alarmed. Rose turned. The road was wide enough, and surely no horseman from Adam's stables would ride their lord's sister down...

She froze. A warhorse was thundering right at her, the knight's face hidden by the noseguard of his helmet. Something did not fit. but there was no time to ponder on what that might be. Heartbeat matching the pounding of those great hoofs, Rose leapt to one side. The warhorse swerved. Nostrils flaring, it headed straight for her, churning up a cloud of dust.

Dimly, Rose heard shouting by the stables. Adam, she thought she recognised Adam's voice, but she must not look in that direction, she must watch the destrier as it barrelled towards her, mane and tail flying. She lurched towards the ditch. Leather creaked, the knight--he was oddly familiar--leaned towards her, acrobatic as a tumbler on a performing horse. A tanned hand stretched out and gripped her by the girdle. No chain-mail. This knight was wearing only a leather gambeson over a kingfisher-blue tunic. And surely she knew that hand as well as her own...

Gripping the crupper of his saddle, he hauled at her so violently her breath was jerked from her body. If she did not help him, she, and possibly he, would land in the ditch or, worse, they might fall under those drumming hoofs. Clutching at his outstretched arm--
Ben,
it was
Ben!
-- Rose found his foot with hers and pushed. The clasp of her girdle gave way with a pop. Her cream veil fell between the horse's legs, was pounded into the ground. She did not see what happened to her headband. Ben grunted, she squealed, he hauled and twisted, and then somehow she landed ungracefully behind him on the back of the saddle and could breathe again. Her skirt was about her hips, the side seam had ripped.

'Hold hard!" Ben said, guiding her hands about his waist. She heard more shouting from the stables and the sound of running feet. Laughter. Adam's.

Of course! This was Adam's warhorse, Flame. Ben kicked his flanks and gave him his head, one hand firmly gripping hers. Rose clung for her life.

Fulford mill, the fishponds and the hayfield raced by. They careered on, up the hill that led, or so Rose had been told, to the woods and thence to the downland where they grazed the sheep. Ben let the great horse slow when they reached a line of beech trees that stretched for the sky. He turned, and his helmet and the leaf canopy behind him were both silhouetted against the sunset.

Her heart was pounding, but Rose smiled. She was not afraid because this knight had deep brown eyes, with green-and-grey flecks in them. His lashes were long and dark, like the knight she had ached for, the knight that had never existed. 'What in God's name is this, Benedict Silvester?'

'I'm carrying you off. Got the idea from Cecily." Tugging off the helmet. Ben looped it round the pommel. His hair stuck out in all directions.

Without thinking, Rose lifted her hand and combed her fingers through it. When he raised an eyebrow and grinned, she slid her hand down to rest on his shoulder, which was clad in Adam's leather gambeson. It was slightly too large for him. 'No chain-mail?"

Ben dismissed chain-mail with a grimace. He was breathing hard. 'Tried it, too restricting. Was afraid I would drop or bruise you. Thought we should do better without it.'

'Real knights wear chain-mail.' she said softly, absurdly pleased that he had gone to all this trouble.

'I know it. But I am not a real knight, and never will be. However,
I am going to keep you.
'

And then Ben faced forward and Flame plodded on up the hill. The horse's chest was heaving too from his recent exertion.

Happiness blooming within her. Rose leaned her cheek against Ben's leather-clad back and sighed. 'Keep me? What do you mean?"

'Just that. I am not going to let you go. You are my prisoner, little flower.'

She lifted her head. 'Don't you think we should have this conversation on the ground? The back of this saddle is fiendishly uncomfortable."

'No.' Twisting his head, he flung her a smile. He had never looked so handsome, 'I have gone to a lot of trouble to put you at a disadvantage, and I am going to keep you there until you have agreed.'

'Agreed? Agreed to what?'

'Rose, you are going to marry me.'

'I am?" More happiness, it flooded her whole being.

'Yes, you are. As soon as possible.'

'It is customary,' Rose said, 'for a knight to go down on bended knee, for a knight to ask--'

His head jerked round; he was scowling. 'Rose, I asked you before and you refused me--'

'I refused you? Ben, what
are
you talking about?'

Dark brown eyes gazed intently at her. 'You refused me. Rose, don't try to deny it.'

'Ben, I am not trying to deny anything, but I have to say I don't know what you are talking about'

'Back in Quimperle, before you married Per...I asked for your hand. Adam said--'

There was pain in his eyes. Seeing it, Rose touched his cheek. 'Ben.,I never knew."

'Adam never told you?'

'No, no, he didn't." Rose brought her brows together. 'But yesterday, when we arrived Adam did mutter something about having made some bad mistakes as far as I was concerned. At the time I did not know what he was talking about."

'Truly, you never knew I wanted to marry you?'

'No.'

'Well, there will be no arguments today. You
will
marry me."

'Will I, indeed?'

'Yes.'

Rose swallowed and her arms tightened about his waist. Her lips curved--she could not stop them. Th-that sounds very domineering,' she said, aglow with happiness, because she had picked up on a slight uncertainty in his voice. Ben would never force her into anything unless he knew that in her heart she wanted it. Which in this case she did. It was not the most sensible of matches, but she loved him and wanted to marry him, wherever that might take them.

'You will agree?"

'There is one condition.'

'Condition?'

'Ben, there must be no secrets between us. If you are some kind of undercover agent for Duke Hoel, I want to know about it."

'You know?' His voice was startled. 'You know I work for the Duke?'

'I became certain after we had left Josselin." She maintained her grip about his waist. 'I know your work is dangerous, Ben, and I would never betray you. But I do need to know that there are no secrets between us. We must trust each other. Fully."

'I agree," Ben said, and his brow cleared as he pressed a swift, hard kiss to her cheek. It was not enough, but already he had turned back to the road. They had reached a fork and he urged Flame down the left-hand track.

'Ben?'

'Mmm?'

'Where are we going?'

'You will see.' His voice had a smile in it.

'I think we should return to Fulford.'

'Wait and see.'

'But my things, Ben. I have left my things behind. I did pack but...oh! What about Jet and Piper! Ben, we can't leave our horses behind!'

'We are not going to leave anything behind.' Ben said. He pointed ahead. 'Look, little flower."

Rozenn blinked. Ahead of them was Fulford mill, or its exact match, flaming in the evening sun. But, no, it
was
Fulford. There was the church, the green and the hall, bathed in the last rays of the sunset.

He drew rein outside the cottage next to the church and dismounted. When he reached for her, his eyes were laughing. 'We turned round a ways back.'

Taking his hand. Rose slid from the saddle and let herself stand within the circle of his arms. 'Oh.' She would have felt stupid if it were not for the light in Ben's eyes. He was insisting she married him, as if he did not realise that her ambitions to marry Sir Richard had been left behind in Brittany. To herself she was at last able to acknowledge that her happiness lay in Ben's hands; she would follow him to the ends of the earth. She would tell him as much, once they were married.

'Come on,
cherie.'
Ben led her to the door of the cottage as a house martin arrowed past them and vanished under the eaves. In their nest, its babies twittered and cheeped.

'Ben?' He pushed open the cottage door and bowed her in. Bemused. Rose stepped over the threshold.

The fire in the central hearth had been lit and water was bubbling in a cauldron hanging from a chain in the rafters. The light angling through the shutters fell on a scrubbed wooden table upon which stood a couple of candles, beeswax by the look of them, and a tray with a wine-pitcher and two goblets. Some food too. Rose guessed, covered by a cloth. There was a posy of wild roses in an earthenware jug.

A wide box-bed was set to one side of the cottage, in the gable end. It had been made up with white linen, which Rose recognised because Cecily had shown it to her earlier that day, when she had asked her opinion of its quality. It was of the finest. Another spray of wild roses, prettily bound with streamers of cherry-coloured ribbon, was nailed to the beam above the bed. The flowers put her in mind of Mikaela. Rozenn's eyes filled.

Ben was watching her, a smile on his lips. 'You like it?"

'Of course I do. I
love
it, all of it. But I don't understand. Is this Adam's guest-house? Are we to rest here while we are in Fulford?'

Hands on her waist, he drew her close. 'It is ours,
ma belle.
Welcome to our home.'

He would have kissed her, but she drew back, bemused. 'Ours? But how can that be? It will be empty most of the year, while we are travelling.'

Nuzzling her ear. Ben gave it a slight nip. 'No, it won't,' he murmured, breath warm on her cheek. 'We won't be travelling. Rose, Fulford can be our home. For one thing, Adam has a need of a minstrel--'

'He can't afford you every day!'

'No, but his reeve is getting on in years, and Adam wants someone to take over from him. And Cecily likes you and she tells me there is great need of someone in Fulford who can sew a straight seam. Her maid has run off and lord knows when she will be back and...' Ben sighed and looked into her eyes as his hand wandered to her hips and his fingers began edging up her skirts. Hot blood rose to her cheeks, her heart thudded. 'Can't this wait,
ma belle?
You know you want to live here.'

'And the other thing?'

'The Duke has commanded me to ensure that a base is established in England for his supporters to... Rose, can't this wait?"

Stunned, Rose steadied her weakening knees and reached up to caress his cheek. Dusk hid his expression. 'You... You are prepared to settle in one place?
You
?' She had accepted him; she had made him promise there would be no secrets, but this she had not expected.

Turning his head, he kissed the cut on her palm. 'Yes, since you will marry me and be at my side. I think that I have always loved you. It is just that after you refused me--'

'Ben, I told you, I never refused you.'

'Adam thought me unsuitable.' He gave a dramatic sigh. 'Genevieve's bathhouse, now there was a place...'

'You'll not be visiting Genevieve's again, I hope."

He nuzzled her ear. 'It was never as bad as Adam thought. I only went there on the Duke's business.'

Rose put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. 'Ben?'

He grinned. 'Never again. I swear.'

Rose's heart swelled. Sliding her hand into his hair, she drew his head down and their lips met. As she pulled him close, closer, the scent of him, familiar and beguiling, filled her nostrils and her mind. The warmth of his lips moving over hers was the only warmth she would ever want. This was Ben. and he was hers at last. The hard length of his body pressed against hers was demanding a response and for a moment she gave it before tearing her lips free. 'You must love me.'

'Always, little flower." His grin was crooked, an eyebrow lifted, and the love in his eyes brought her hands round his neck.

Ben's love. It had been there for years and had she not been blinkered by ambition and fear, she might have known it. She caressed the silky dark hair at the nape of his neck, almost swooning with lust when he groaned.