The thumping on the door stopped abruptly. Perhaps the men had assumed the inn was deserted and gone. Lucy was uncertain whether or not to be relieved. She felt a pang of sympathy for cold, pinch-faced Katherine Harpur who would no doubt be suffering her father’s cruel temper. She was mildly surprised that Sir Roger had found the mouse-like woman worth risking his neck over. The kiss he had pressed on Lucy—unwelcome though it had been—felt oddly diminished by the knowledge.
Nevertheless, she felt a delicious sense of spite that Lord Harpur had been shamed in such a way. If Katherine had been left with a child, would she, too, be cast out to starve?
She smiled at Thomas and reached for the bottle.
‘Let’s take this back to your friend. I think they’re gone, but I promise I won’t open the door. Lord Harpur is no friend to me.’
‘Why?’
Thomas looked puzzled at her abrupt, and what must seem confusing, change of attitude, but she had no intention of revealing the reason behind it. That was her secret alone.
‘That is no concern of yours.’
Thomas was not completely dull-witted; perhaps he would work the reason out for himself. Eventually.
Thomas lowered his sword. They were halfway to the stairs when a thump louder than before thundered around the room. The previous noises had sounded like fists on wood, but this had a more sinister tone. There was a second thump and the door hinges creaked, light bursting round the frame. Lord Harpur’s men had found the means to try to force entry and the old door would not withstand them for long. She glared at Thomas in desperation.
‘They’ll break in. I can’t refuse to answer it.’
Thomas glanced from the door to the stairs. He crossed the room, drawing his sword once more, and slipped into the shadows, crouching at the end of the counter where the door would conceal him once open. Lucy ran her hands through her hair, tangling it and pulling some of the fine, brown strands forward across her cheek. She unlaced the front of her kirtle and pulled at the neck, easing it low until more of her linen shift could be seen than was decent. She eased the neck of her shift down, too, dragging the cloth to one side. She rubbed her eyes to redden them. Taking a deep breath, she crossed to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked, pressing her hands on the wood and putting her lips close to the gap at the side of the frame. The door thumped once more, sending tremors running through her palms and up into her arms. She cried out in shock.
‘Open up!’ came a harsh voice. ‘We mean you no harm. We are searching for fugitives.’
Thomas paled.
‘That voice! Open it. But please, do not betray us,’ he whispered.
He sounded terrified and Lucy ignored the unfair insinuation. She nodded.
Thomas hid beside the door, disguised amid the folds of Lucy’s cloak. For the second time that night, she slowly drew the latch back, her hands trembling. She opened the door slightly and peered through the gap. Two men tried to look past her, one large enough he had to stoop to look at her. She wedged her foot against the door.
‘I have seen no one all night.’ She yawned and brushed the hair from her eyes, frowning at them in confusion. ‘You woke me from my bed.’
‘It took long enough to rouse you,’ the smaller man remarked. ‘Let us in. One of them might be hurt. Perhaps both. They’re dangerous men and we need to find them.’
‘On whose authority?’ Lucy asked.
‘On our own,’ rumbled the giant from deep within his hood. ‘Let us in or we’ll flay the skin from your back.’
Lucy opened the door wide, careful to conceal Thomas without hitting him and making the door bounce back. Still holding the door to prevent the men closing it, she beckoned them in. Her heart was in her throat as she watched them take in the sight of her inn, gazing all around the small room. Lucy stood silently, glad the only light was from the dying fire.
The men finally turned their attention to Lucy. One man, dark haired and swarthy, could not take his eyes from her. She smiled nervously, hoping he would treat her kindly. His companion, hulking, equally dark but beardless, was not so easily distracted.
‘What’s in there?’ he asked, jerking his thumb towards the storeroom.
‘It’s where I keep the ale.’ She tried to keep her voice level. ‘Who are you searching for?’
The giant walked into the storeroom. His companion stayed with Lucy. She could hear the sound of boxes being moved and the lid lifted and dropped on the ale cask.
‘We’re hunting a pair of thieves and rogues,’ the dark man answered, his black eyebrows coming together.
Neither man looked like someone in Lord Harpur’s employ. Lucy wondered if Thomas had told the truth about why they were being hunted.
‘They took something that they should not have,’ the large man called from inside the storeroom. He emerged with a hunk of bread in his hand, chewing loudly. Lucy’s eyes narrowed in anger that the man could talk of theft while helping himself to her bread.
‘What did they take?’
‘What it was doesn’t concern you. They’re thieves and killers.’
‘Killers?’ Lucy’s scalp prickled. For all his new-found ferocity, she could not imagine Thomas cutting down anyone in cold blood. Sir Roger she knew nothing of, but her brief impression was that his mind seemed to focus entirely on seducing women and not on fighting, stealing or killing.
‘No better than a dog in a bear pit. When we find them, the misbegotten curs are dead men.’
He made a slitting motion across his throat, then tossed the bread to his friend who snatched it from the air and tucked it into the front of his tunic, eyes still on Lucy.
‘What’s upstairs?’
‘My bedchamber,’ Lucy answered. She swallowed. If they asked outright if the men they were looking for were there she could not lie, but the mention of death set her legs trembling with terror. The men began to move to the stairs. Unless she prevented them, they would discover Sir Roger.
‘Stop! You can’t go up there!’
‘Why not? What are you hiding?’
Lucy faltered, desperately trying to think of a reason. Perhaps it was the talk of Lord Harpur and his wife that put the idea into her head and she blurted out the first thing she could think of.
‘My husband is up there asleep.’
The men paused and looked back suspiciously. Lucy hoped she had been the only one to hear Thomas’s sharp intake of breath from behind the door. The men exchanged a glance, then looked back at Lucy, eyes raking over her. She drew her kirtle high to her neck as if ashamed of what they might see, whilst at the same time contriving to push her breasts together with her wrists so that the full mounds were visible where the fabric dipped. The smaller man was leering openly, his eyes following and lingering on the shadow between her breasts. Good. If he was looking there, he was forgetting to search the inn, or examine the space behind Lucy too closely.
‘So it wasn’t sleep that kept you from answering straight away.’ The dark man laughed, finally raising his eyes to meet her face. ‘Why was it you who came down rather than him?’
‘My husband has a fearsome temper,’ Lucy whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes as the composure she had somehow maintained throughout the evening began to crumble. She edged around the room to the bottom of the stairs so that the men had to turn to keep her in view, their backs to Thomas’s hiding place.
‘Please don’t disturb him,’ she entreated.
The large man loomed over at her. ‘If I find you’re lying…’
He raised a fist and Lucy flinched. He lowered it again and peered at her face closely, his thick fingers lifting the hair at her temple. She recalled the bump on her head and lifted her fingers to it. The mark must be red and the man’s assumption was clear. Lucy looked at the floor, caring nothing that she had in one instant
branded Sir Roger as the basest of husbands.
‘We’re going up anyway. You first.’
Almost in tears and unable to think of another way of preventing them, Lucy led them up the stairs. The men followed close behind her. She would be unable to warn Sir Roger, even if he had been in a position to defend himself. She stopped in the doorway. The oil in the lamp had burned almost to nothing and the room was in near darkness. Lucy hoped it would be enough to prevent the men recognising the occupant.
Sir Roger was lying where she had left him, the blanket tucked high beneath his chin and covering the arrow. He was unmoving and appeared asleep with his head lolling towards the window, though Lucy suspected he was unconscious. His right arm had dropped down the side of the bed and his left was tangled in his dark curls that spread across the pillow. Just in case he was conscious and pretending to be asleep, she spoke loudly, filling her voice with fear that she did not have to act.
‘See, my husband is sleeping. Please, kind sirs, don’t wake him. It will be the worse for me if you do.’
The smaller man sniffed deeply.
‘Sleeping? I think not.’
Lucy’s legs threatened to give way, but instead of pulling a sword and running them both through, the man gave a guffaw of laughter.
‘I can smell the wine on him from this far away!’
Drunk. Of course! Why had she not thought of that? The blanket was sodden with wine, as was the occupant. Lucy slipped across the room and knelt by the bed, blocking Sir Roger from view. She gathered the empty bottles in her arms. Bowing her head over them as if ashamed at least gave her the opportunity to collect her thoughts. It was possible this might just work.
‘You could be tricking us.’ The giant sounded less certain now he was confronted with the scene before him. ‘How do I know this is your husband?’
Lucy raised her head imploringly.
‘Who else would he be? Please, leave us alone,’ she begged. ‘I cannot bear the shame if this becomes known. My husband is a good man, but he cannot help himself.’
She began to cry in earnest, the tears falling freely down her face as her fear and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. As she wept she leaned slightly forward, knowing that it would give the men a perfect view of her full breasts and hoping that would draw their attention from examining Sir Roger too closely.
‘Lucy?’ Sir Roger mumbled, lifting his left arm. He attempted to fumble for her, but merely succeeded in clouting her across the shoulder. It did not hurt, but Lucy sensed the opportunity for further proof of his abuse and gave a small cry.
‘Just bring me my wine like the sweet, obedient dove you are. I need warming,’ Sir Roger crooned. His voice was thick with the effects of the painkilling draught. She looked round at him. Shadows played over his face giving him a demonic—and hopefully unrecognisable—demeanour. A lustful grin spread across his lips, making his face glow with life despite the sweat beading on his forehead and the pallor of his flesh. ‘Sweet one, my dove. I’ll never hurt you.’
His words sent her stomach tumbling, until she recalled he had most likely said something similar to seduce Katherine Harpur into bed. Lucy clambered to her feet, deciding a change of tone was needed. Still standing in front of Sir Roger, she wiped her hands violently across her eyes and stared coldly at the two intruders.
‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked angrily. ‘You see I am harbouring no rogues here. Is it enough I must parade my shame before strangers, or would you further question my integrity?’
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.
CHAPTER FOUR
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 he
r 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.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 49