Her Rogue Knight (5 page)

But Gemma had never been one to back down or be bullied. “Did you steal it, Sir William?” she dared ask, feeling how her hand began to tremble in his. “Is that why you hid on our lands?” she went on, a voice inside her calling her a fool all along but her mind unable to stop her mouth.

She had touched a nerve. She knew it instantly.

His hand tightened on hers for a moment, and emotion darkened his eyes. She watched as over the next moments, he regained himself. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he released her hand abruptly.

“Your imagination amuses me,” he said. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

“Lesson?” she asked, still staring up at him.

He gestured toward her arm where she kept her knife.

She nodded once, suddenly no longer aware of how hot she was.

“Show it to me,” he said.

She turned her attention to where she had sheathed the small knife and withdrew it, holding it out for him to see. He took it from her hands.

“A kitchen knife?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I sharpened it,” she defended.

He touched the tip. “Yes, you did. Show me the sheath.”

She pushed the sleeve of her shift up to reveal the tiny leather sheath she had also hand made.

“Clever girl,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve used it much.”

She shook her head and took it back when he handed it to her. He held it by the blade so she could grip the handle.

With that, the lesson began. She tried to listen to his instruction as he spoke in detail of the different ways she could use it and the most effective given her size and strength. Throughout this though, her mind was still on their prior conversation. Was the emblem really what she thought it was? But that was not possible. Was it truly the dragon of the Knights of the Round Table? And if so, then who was this man? If he had stolen his sword from one of those fabled heroes, then he was an outlaw, a mercenary perhaps. He could be a part of her sister’s kidnapping—this whole thing a cleverly mapped-out plan to fool their father, steal their land.

She thought about the events of the last day, how he had come upon her just as she had been ready to shoot an arrow at one of the men who had stormed her home and run off with her sister. Was the plan all along to kidnap her too? Was it still his plan?

“Pay attention!” Sir William commanded, kicking her feet out from under her in one quick movement but catching her as they both went down to the ground.

She let out a cry as they hit the earth, bouncing once as he easily relieved her of her weapon and held it to the racing pulse at her throat.

“If you do not give your full attention, you will lose,” he said, his face inches from hers. “And if you lose,” he began, pressing the tip of the blade against her skin.

She made a small sound, her eyes wide on his as she lay trapped beneath him.

“If you lose,” he repeated, bringing his face so close to hers she could feel his breath when he next spoke. “You die.”

She heard herself swallow. She could only stare at him, her eyes wide, her heart racing, her body powerless beneath his.

He rose to sit up and pulled her up with him. “The sword belongs to me,” he said without looking at her before handing the knife back. “I did not steal it. I live on your father’s land not in hiding but in retreat. There is a subtle but important difference. Do you understand it?”

“Yes, sir,” she managed after swallowing. “I’m sorry I accused you. I don’t know why I did.”

He nodded his acceptance of her apology and rose to his feet, looking up at the late afternoon sky. “Sheathe your weapon. We shall practice again. For now, we ride.”

Chapter Four

“Who taught you how to shoot an arrow?” Sir William asked while they rode to the inn.

“My mother. She was also an archeress, although for her, it was for pleasure. Not for survival.”

“How did she die?”

“She died the day she gave birth to Alys,” she said, looking straight ahead rather than at him. “At least she was alive long enough to hold her for a few minutes.”

“You miss her still.” It was more a statement than a question, and she glanced over to find him watching her.

She nodded, unable to hold his gaze. “I hated her when I first saw her. Alys, I mean,” she said, the memory of that day still so vivid in her mind.

“Go on,” he encouraged when she stopped talking.

“When I saw her in my mother’s arms and I saw my mother’s face, her eyes… I knew she would die. She knew it too. We were very close. Sometimes she said she could hear me think, and I thought I could hear her too. I didn’t like how she was holding my sister. I was jealous. But the last thing she said to me was for me to love Alys like she had loved me. I was only a child, but I understood that Alys was the one I should feel sorry for. She would never know her. She would never feel her kisses or listen to her stories. She would never hear her think. Nothing.”

“And then your father broke down.”

“He loved her too much. It was like something broke when she died. A part of him died with her.”

“Do you know how they met?” he asked.

She looked over at him from beneath her lashes. Should she tell this story?

He smiled and made a gesture as if asking why she was looking at him like that.

“She was bathing in a wood when he came across her,” she said, smiling. “My father fell in love immediately.”

He smiled. “I’ve heard your mother was a beautiful woman.”

“She was.”

“And that you resemble her greatly.”

Her eyes grew wide at that, and she quickly met his before dropping hers as a blush crept across her cheeks. She shrugged her shoulder. “She was the beautiful one,” she said, unused to hearing anything like this.

“No one has ever told you you’re beautiful before?” he asked, leaning into her space so she was forced to look at him.

She shook her head. “Only father. But of course he would say that.”

“And no one has come to claim your hand?” he probed.

She looked at him, her expression now completely serious. “I do not want a husband. I want to be free. And besides, my father kept us at a distance from people. He was always afraid for us. I knew what they called my mother—a Fey witch. Stupidity. There is no such thing. It is a myth.”

“Are you so sure?”

She turned a serious expression to him. “Yes,” she said. “If my mother were Fey, she would be here now. Legend says they are immortal, so she could not have died.”

“I’m sorry for your pain, Gemma,” he said, his face somber.

“It was a long time ago. What about you? Why aren’t you already married?”

He shook his head and looked forward without answering.

“Oh, come now, Sir William,” she teased, riding a little faster in order to be able to look at him as she spoke. “I am sure you were handsome once,” she taunted, “before you became so… gruff.”

He turned to her and smiled.

“A very, very long time ago?” she carried on, smiling a little for the first time since yesterday’s events.

“You are a very funny girl,” he said.

“I told you something. Now you tell me something.”

“All right,” he said, turning to her, his expression making it clear he would meet her challenge. “There was no time to fall in love,” he said. “My life was devoted to something much greater. My human life—well, it was forfeit even before I was born. I was destined—not for greatness—but destined never the less. You see I, unlike you, know to believe in legend. I have learned we all are here to play a part and that the hand which creates those roles for us is oftentimes not a kind one.”

His expression which had been playful a moment ago now turned bitter.

“Tell me something,” he began. “Were you frightened earlier? When I held the blade to your throat?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on his.

“Good. Learn quickly to trust no man. We are all evil in the end.”

She simply stared at him, unsure how the conversation had twisted into this.

“The inn is there,” he said, pointing in the distance where some dim light penetrated the now darkening sky.

“Good. I am tired of riding,” she said. “And I can already smell the food.” Her stomach growled as she said it.

“Come,” he said. “I too am tired, and there is still much to do.”

* * *

There were two other men dining when they walked inside. They both turned to look Gemma over from head to toe and back again. He felt her shrink back and pulled her close, placing a protective, possessive hand around the nape of her neck.

“No one will harm you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I am not afraid,” she whispered back, even as her body told a different story.

“No, of course you’re not,” he said when they approached the bar. “I will introduce you as my wife. Everything will be easier that way.”

Gemma’s head turned sharply in his direction and she opened her mouth to protest, but he had timed well the instant he told her his plan.

“Sir Ga…” came the innkeeper’s voice from behind the bar, cutting off any resistance from Gemma.

Sir William shook his head once. The man understood his small movement instantly, but Sir William did not fail to notice Gemma’s eyes on him. She was too clever. She heard everything and questioned it all.

Sir William held out a hand, and the man took it.

“An honor to have you here again, sir.”

“Thank you,” Sir William said. “This is my wife, Gemma,” he lied.

Gemma shifted a little when he said it.

The man behind the bar smiled. “We have waited for this news for a long time,” he said, taking Gemma’s hands in his. “Welcome, my dear.”

“Um… Thank you,” she said simply.

The man’s wife came out from the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron. Upon seeing Sir William, she smiled a warm smile, then moved to take Gemma in, her eyebrows rising.

“This is Sir William’s new bride,” the innkeeper said, introducing Gemma.

“My wife is very tired—we both are. I wonder if you have a room for us?”

“Of course, always,” the innkeeper said.

“Thank you, my friend,” Sir William responded.

“If you could have a meal sent up to my wife, she will eat in her room,” he said.

Gemma stared up at him, trying to get his attention, but he refused to turn to her.

“And also a bath, if it’s not too much trouble,” he went on, ignoring her.

“I will heat some water,” the man said.

“Are you not staying with me,
husband
?” Gemma asked, her voice tight.

He had to smile. “I shall return to our bed soon,
wife
,” he said and had to stifle his smile when her face turned bright red. She was so completely innocent—so opposite the façade she put on. “But I have some business to attend to first.”

“Perhaps I should come with you.”

“Go to your room, eat your meal, wash yourself, and sleep,” he said, his tone telling her there would be no discussion. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Come,” the innkeeper’s wife said, having come around the bar and taken Gemma’s hand. “I will take you upstairs, dear.”

Sir William watched as Gemma followed, her expression more confused than anything else. Once she was out of the room, he turned to the innkeeper. “Keep her safe for me,” he said. “I have something I must do but will return as soon as I can.”

“Yes, Sir Galahad,” the innkeeper replied.

He nodded and turned to leave. Once outside, he mounted his horse and rode to the tiny house hidden in the woods. It was only a half hour’s ride from the inn, but unless you knew of it, it would be impossible to find.

Once there, he knocked quietly on the door. It was a moment before the old woman opened it, smiling up when she saw his face.

“I was expecting you, Sir Galahad.”

“Then you knew I would come before I did, Lena,” he said, walking inside and closing the door behind him.

The old woman beckoned him toward the fire and offered him a seat.

“And do you know why I’ve come?” he asked.

She studied him, her expression serious but soft. “You’ve found the scabbard’s purpose. A girl,” she said. “But are you certain?” she asked. “She is worthy of this?”

Every hair on his body stood on end as he heard her words. He recalled the day he had found Arthur’s scabbard, how Morgan had thought the lake had swallowed it up when she’d thrown it in in her anger and her rage at her half-brother. How he had known the right thing to do would be to return it to his king, and how he had been unable to. Guilt rose anew at the knowledge that perhaps Arthur would be alive today if he had done right all those years ago.

“I cannot undo what I will do,” the old woman pressed.

“She has more right to it than I—she is their kin. It never belonged to me.”

Lena studied him, but he couldn’t quite read the woman’s expression. It was strange. Something nagged at him, and a part of him knew that no matter what had happened in the past, he should not and could not trust anyone, not even her. But what choice did he have at the moment?

“You stole it to save it. It was not for any evil purpose. Perhaps you knew your own destiny even if you could not understand your action at the time.”

“You are kind, Lena,” he said, taking the scabbard off his back and sliding the sword from it.

He looked at her, watched her expression change once again when she eyed the scabbard. He hesitated for a moment.

“The fourth stone is missing,” she commented.

He simply nodded. “It was always missing.”

She touched the thing, studying it before turning it over and over, speaking words in a language he did not understand. He only watched in silence, knowing he would have little sleep tonight.

* * *

Gemma ate the meal the innkeeper’s wife brought up to her. No, she didn’t eat it—she devoured it. The meat was delicious, and when every last morsel was finished, she dipped her finger in the traces of sauce left on the plate, embarrassed at her manners.

She then sat in the tub where lukewarm water reached to her waist. She washed as best as she could, thinking all along about what had happened when they had entered the inn, about how the innkeeper had begun to call Sir William by another name.