Roger's Bride

by Sarah Hegger

  Roger dropped his head and shook it. “Do you not think you should have thought of that before your made me buy him?”

  Now he sounded like a nagging old woman, but he did make a fair point. “Perhaps.”

  “There is no perhaps about it.” Roger sighed. “And aye, Kathryn, I will keep Dagger at Anglesea for you.”

  Such a good man. She gave him her sweetest smile, and hugged Dagger again. “Only until I come for him. Striker, Dagger, and I shall travel the world together.”

  Roger growled and stomped closer to the inn.

  Braziers burned against the walls, lighting the way for any weary travelers. From within, warm, rich smells of good food rode the night air, and teased her growling belly.

  “Wait here.” He skirted the inn yard, and approached the stables.

  Dagger pressed closer to her legs, and Kathryn dropped a hand to his large head. His presence helped ease the wait.

  Roger slipped into the stables. He reappeared after a short time and eased his way back through the yard shadows to where she waited.

  “He is staying for the night,” he said. “The stable boy knew him, and told me he often passes this way and stays for the night.”

  “Should we make camp?”

  Roger’s teeth flashed white in the dark as he smiled. “I think I can do better than that. What say you, my lady, to a bath and a bed for the night?”

  “In there?” A bath sounded temptation enough but the idea of sleeping on a soft pallet would be heavenly.

  “Aye.” Roger nodded. “The groom says the inn has a chamber for rent. I also promised him two crowns if he woke me before our friend leaves.”

  “Do you trust this groom?” They had come so far, to lose the messenger now would be awful.

  “I trust his desire for two crowns,” Roger said. “And even if he does not rouse me, we will wake early and there is only one road and we know which direction he is taking.”

  His reason nibbled at her objections. A bath! To wash the stink of travel from her. Even Dagger seemed to approve, his gaze locked on her in silent entreaty. “What if the messenger sees us?”

  “He will not.” Roger took up his destrier’s reins. “He beds down in the common room, and the groom says he has a wench who beds down with him.”

  Kathryn blessed the dark that hid her blush. “Lead on.”

  They left their horses with Roger’s stable boy, who winked broadly before pointing them to the back entrance to the inn.

  The innkeeper, a man of middling height with a paunch and a thin dusting of hair, let them into the kitchen.

  “We understand you have a room for the night?” Roger spoke.

  The innkeeper’s keen stare took in Roger, her, and Dagger. Then locked on the coin in Roger’s palm. He canted forward. “I do, but that animal sleeps in the stable.”

  “Nay, he sleeps in the room.” Roger dropped another coin into his palm.

  With a smirk, the innkeeper stuffed the coins in his apron. “Well, when you put it that way, my lord. Follow me.”

  They crossed the stable yard to reach the room. Attached to the back of the inn, the room could only be entered from this side.

  Dagger had to be persuaded not to eat the poultry.

  Kathryn really needed to teach Roger the value of the coins in his pocket. He tossed them about like he had plenty to spare. Perhaps he did. She and mother spent most days wresting a meager existence for the residents of Mandeville from the amount Sir Royce provided. Some days they had gone to bed hungry so the keep children and infirm could eat. Gathering coin for Matty’s bliauts for Anglesea had meant many nights of scant food. But a prospective bride must look her best. It must be a strange luxury to not think about where the coin came from or if there was enough.

  “Here we are, my lord.” The innkeeper threw open a rough door. Nudging Roger, he chuckled. “Nice and quiet. Nobody will disturb you here.”

  A small bed stood against the far wall, clearly meant for only one person, and not a Roger-sized person. The rest of the room held a wash stand with basin and ewer beneath a window placed high enough in the wall to prevent looking outside. A rough bench sat before the empty hearth, swallowing most of a wool rug that seemed in danger of unraveling. From the lingering smell, it might have served as an animal pen at some past point.

  “Well.” Roger placed their packs against the wall inside the door. “Rude, but better than the forest floor.”

  Indeed.

  Dagger explored the room with his nose to the ground.

  “My lady would care to bathe.” Roger clapped the innkeeper’s shoulder.

  The innkeeper twitched and toed at a piece of straw. “That be extra.”

  Roger’s knuckles whitened as he increased his grip.

  The innkeeper paled and wriggled beneath the punishing hold.

  Teeth bared in a far from convivial smile, Roger said, “I think not.”

  “Right you are, my lord.” The innkeeper bowed himself out the door, nose almost smashing his knee. “Straight away and I will see if Cook can dig up a soup bone or some’at for the doggie.”

  “I have faith in your cook.” Roger shut the door on the man. “You will take the bed. I will sleep beside the hearth.” He pushed the hearth bench against the wall.

  The air in the room seemed thicker somehow, awash with currents. She struggled to draw breath and Kathryn loosened the neck of her tunic. “Nay, you take the bed. I will be happy as a tick curled up beside the fire.”

  “Kathryn.” Roger stripped his cloak and draped it over a peg near the door. “Please, give my knightly honor enough credence to believe I would not allow a lady to sleep on the floor whilst I occupied the bed.”

  “Oh. Indeed.” Well, put that way, she really did not have an option. “I thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Head cocked, he studied her. “Are you well?”

  “Marvelous.” Her voice resounded off the bare walls, and she flinched.

  Roger grinned. He bent to unlace his boots. “I feel sure I must be mistaken, but you, my lady Kathryn, seem a mite uncomfortable.”

  “Never.” She waved her arms about in a manner as ridiculous as it was mortifying. Why could she not sound and behave like a sane person? It must have aught to do with the room. The room with its tiny bed, close walls, and big handsome knight who watched her with a smirk on his rugged face. “I am well accustomed to this sort of accommodation.”

  “Indeed.” He dropped his boots by the door, and padded to her on his large, bare feet. “And how many times have you been thus alone with a man who was not your blood?”

  Kathryn jammed her hands on her hips, which made her appear ridiculous she felt certain, and then shoved them into her pockets. “All the time. Many a time. Plenty.” She needed to shut her pie-hole.

  “A woman of vast experience indeed.” Roger worked his sword belt lose and hung it over the cloak.

  “You are laughing at me.” She tried to glare, but her sense of the ridiculous sparked beneath her outrage.

  “Just a mite.” Bending at the waist, he wriggled out of his hauberk. It hit the floor with a clink of metal. “Be easy, Kathryn. I have, on occasion, been known to control my boorish lusts. I shall endeavor to do so now.”

  She sketched a curtsy. “I would be very grateful.”

  “You can curtsy?” He gaped at her.

  “I will have you know I am very…” She marched to him and shoved his shoulder. “You are laughing at me again.”

  A fist pounded on the door. “Got your bath here, my lord.”

  Roger opened the door and admitted the innkeeper and two men who struggled with a linen-lined tub. They placed it before the hearth, and the innkeeper bent to light the fire. “Girls will be along shortly with your water.”

  The ‘girls’ had passed their middle years a while back, but they did bring in the water and poured it into the tub. One of them even opened a small vial of rosewater and added a f
ew drops to the water.

  The door shut behind them, and the air grew thick again.

  “This is awkward.” Kathryn blew out her breath to dispel the tension.

  “Not at all.” Roger’s smile seemed a trifle tight. “I will wait outside until you are done, and then we can call for more water for me.”

  * * * *

  Roger let himself into the kitchen yard. Which stupid bastard had thought it would be a good idea to spend the night alone at an inn with Kathryn?

  This stupid bastard. The same idiot whose braies grew suddenly tighter at the idea of her stripped naked as she climbed into her bath. Did the peach sun-blush on her face extend to the rest of her? Or was she pale as parchment beneath her mannish attire?

  Not his bloody business.

  Shouts from the common room dragged his attention away. He stuck closer to the shadows, out of the light that spilled from the casements.

  The door hurtled open and two men tumbled out, locked on each other in a snarling, brawling tangle. From the casement and doors, men hung out and shouted encouragement.

  Roger moved closer to the door that housed Kathryn. Normally, he would not have stayed at such a rough inn. Perhaps, and all things considered, he and Kathryn might have been better in the forest.

  With a shout, one of the combatants rose, blood dripping from his nose. He spat more blood onto his opponent.

  The other man stayed down. Head pressed into the dirt of the yard.

  The innkeeper bustled out with a bucket of water and upended it on the grounded fighter.

  The fallen fighter stirred, raised his head and shook it before he dropped it back into the dirt.

  Two grooms grabbed him by the feet, dragged him onto the road, and left him there.

  The winning fighter turned and wiped his nose with his fist. He caught sight of Roger and stiffened. “You want something, your lordship?”

  Roger crossed his arms and leaned against Kathryn’s door. “Nay.”

  “Bit lost are you not?” The man swaggered closer. “Not sure the king is within.”

  Loud guffaws greeted his sally from the common room.

  “You do not want to fight me,” Roger said.

  The bully stepped within strike of Roger’s fist. Bullies! One taste of power and it went straight to their heads.

  “And why is that?” The man’s breath reeked of mead.

  Roger stretched his neck to ease the slight tension. He did not want to fight tonight, but his friend had that determined jut to his jaw that told Roger he needed more inducement to leave. Father had drilled it into them, a preemptive strike stopped a messy war. He fastened his hand about the bully’s throat. Tightening his grip, he raised the man onto his toes.

  The bully choked and clawed at Roger’s hand, his eyes started out of his head.

  Aye, you stupid sod. Roger squeezed, limiting airflow to a trickle. The man really should look before he issued challenge. A warrior’s most powerful weapon was observation. “Because.” Roger kept his tone conversational, but loud enough for the silent watchers to hear. “I will snap you like a twig and piss on your bones.”

  Roger opened his fist and the man crumpled to the floor. The watchers dropped their gazes and stepped back into the tavern in a murmuring, muttering mass.

  The bully crawled back and clambered to his feet. He dashed into the inn.

  Roger kept his back against the door, a silent warning to anyone who rediscovered their ballocks. Inside the room, Kathryn splashed about in her bath. Naked.

  Roger took a deep breath. “Now to Enoch was born Irad, and Irad became the father of Mehujael, and Mehujael became the father of…”

  * * * *

  Even knowing Roger waited outside, could not quite persuade Kathryn to hurry her bath. It had been days since she’d felt clean. She lay back in the water and let it soak away the grime and ache of travel.

  Noise from the inn permeated the walls in indecipherable snatches. She thought she heard Roger’s voice, but the warm water persuaded her not to investigate further. Roger could take care of himself. She’d lay her last mark on it.

  Why had Matty run from him?

  Perhaps in his brusque forthrightness Matty had glimpsed their father and been afraid. The resemblance was fleeting at best. Sir Royce held none of the honor and nobility embedded in Roger. Or the sense of humor that peeked through his gruff exterior. Roger’s size made him more intimidating. Unlike Matty, however, Kathryn liked his size. A big man to stand between Matty and the world. And their father.

  Kathryn would like to see Sir Royce try to browbeat Roger. Unlikely!

  Poor, timid Matty. Out in the world alone and frightened. Kathryn had to find her soon and allay her fears. Perhaps the rutting part of marriage had set Matty all atwitter. If only they explained it a bit more, it might not be so daunting. Bulls covered cows, stallions mounted mares, even roosters went about the entire business unabashed. Yet, they sent girls to their marriage beds with no more knowledge than that which they had gleaned from the home farm.

  Roger, fierce and intent, rising behind Matty like a stallion on a mare. Kathryn’s stomach lurched, and she shied away from the picture.

  She would wager a man such as Roger would have lusty appetites. Warmth spread low in her belly. A peculiar, new sensation that spread through her as honey running through the comb.

  The peak of her breasts tightened, and between her thighs she grew restive.

  She sat up and wrung the water from her hair. Her disordered senses disturbed her, and ruined the peace of her bath. For once she wished she had spent more time with the keep ladies. They might tell her what ailed her. Why the idea of Roger marrying Matty suddenly bothered her.

  She stepped from the bath and snatched up a drying cloth. Applying the cloth to her skin with vigor, she attempted to scrub away the unwelcome sensitivity. Would that she could scour her mind so effectively.

  Matty did not deserve Roger. The thought stopped Kathryn’s leg drying. What a stupid thought. Of course Matty deserved a man like Roger. Who else could protect Matty so well? Shelter her, nurture her and keep her from Mandeville.

  Except, Father did not treat Matty as he treated her and mother. Like Ranulf, he understood where lay his riches, and he seldom raised a hand to Matty. Matty also had this way about her of appeasing father, wriggling around his anger and escaping unscathed.

  Roger’s question from when they lay on the hill echoed in her mind. Why did she protect Matty?

  Kathryn resumed her drying. She protected Matty because Father’s temper swung and twisted like a summer storm. One moment all seemed well, and the next, you faced the hard end of his fist. Only a horrible sister would think for a heartbeat that if Matty could not see her good fortune, that she did not deserve it.

  “Kathryn?” Roger pounded on the door. “Are you done?”

  Aye, she was done. Done with this line of thought. “Just a moment.”

  He grunted.

  Kathryn hurried to dress and braid her hair before she opened the door.

  Roger stepped through and stilled. His gaze took in her scrubbed face, and wet hair. A disquieting smile played about his firm mouth.

  Her unruly flesh started up again. “I will wait outside.”

  “Nay.” Roger shut the door with a firm thud. “The common room is full of thugs and louts. You will remain here.” He grinned at her. “And promise not to peep.”

  “As if I would.” Her face heated. “I will stick to the shadows outside.”

  “Nay.” He spread his large fingers over the door. He grew deathly serious. “I mean it, Kathryn, you will stay here.”

  She could not stay here. Impossible! Already her skin grew too tight for her bones, and her breath came ragged as if she had been running. “I cannot—”

  “You stay.” Roger slid the bolt home. “Do not make me chase you, girl.”

  “Girl?” To whom did he think he spoke?

 
He jerked his chin toward the bed. “Sit there where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “I will not.” She needed to escape him, and herself.

  Roger clasped her by the elbow, marched her to the bed and pressed her to sit. “I will have your word, on your honor, that you will not move from this place. Otherwise I will tie your hands and feet.”

  Chapter 12

  Kathryn nearly broke her word as Roger hauled his gambeson over his head. Now only his chemise stood between her gaze and his chest. Dear Lord, she did not think she could do this. She swallowed to ease the dryness of her throat. She was being ridiculous. Times past counting, she had seen the men of Mandeville stripped to their chausses in the summer heat.

  Roger fisted the back of his chemise and pulled it off.

  Those men did not look like Roger. She tucked her clammy hands beneath her thighs.

  Broad, powerful shoulders blocked the fire from view. Strong, defined chest muscles gilded by the weak firelight tapered into a line of ridges that marched down his belly. Fine hair dusted the area between the flat, dark discs of his nipples, and then arrowed beneath his chausses.

  His broad fingers worked at the drawstring of his chausses. “You are staring.”

  “Nay I am not.” Kathryn glared at her knees. She forced her gaze to stay there, even as he shucked his chausses, then braies, and hair roughened calf muscles hovered within view. She concentrated on his feet.

  Large and flat, with coarse dark hair across the toes, they were truly ugly feet, which vanished from sight as he walked to the tub. With a splash he upended a bucket of fresh, hot water into the tub before stepping in.

  “It is safe to look now,” he called, his voice full of laughter.

  Kathryn risked a peek. Nay, not at all safe. Because now she had the back view of those shoulders and with his arms, easily the width of her thighs, laid over the tub sides. No wonder he had no difficulty swinging steel. Arms like that could wield a sword tirelessly for hour upon hour. Muscle surged and bunched as he pushed his hair back.