The Rogue's Revenge

by Lucy E. Zahnle

  "I will not keep you from the duke any longer, Your Grace." Lindley bowed again. "I will find my own way out. Until tomorrow, then."

  When Lucia entered Robin's bedchamber, she found Bellefield and Malkent ensconced in chairs on either side of his bed, watching him grimly. Propped up on pillows, his head crowned with bandages, Robin was belting out snatches of a bawdy sea shanty, switching easily from English to French to Spanish to German, and giggling at the song's risque lyrics.

  Upon seeing Lucia, Robin's warbling abruptly stopped and his eyes followed her approach intently. As she bent over him to adjust his blankets, he slipped a surprisingly strong arm around her waist and pulled her into the bed. "My pretty lady." he said thickly in a voice reminiscent of the Saddewythes' highwayman. "Stay awhile with me, pretty lady. You won't regret it." His warm breath stirred the curls near her ear as his free hand caressed the soft ivory hillocks above her bodice.

  "Robin, please! We have guests." Blushing, she struggled to escape, but he held her fast while he glared at Malkent and Bellefield.

  "Go away!" he ordered.

  "Perhaps you had better leave, gentlemen," Lucia said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances. "You may call upon us tomorrow. I do want to know what happened this morning."

  "Do you think you can handle him?" Tracy asked doubtfully.

  "We'll be fine." Lucia's smile was strained.

  Robin was still glaring at the men. "Go away!" he repeated more vehemently. Tracy and Tony bowed and departed.

  "Now, pretty lady, we are all alone." Robin grinned. "Come show me that you love me 'more than anything in this world'."

  "You are injured, Robin! You will only make your situation worse if -- " Lucia fought once more to free herself.

  Suddenly Robin's arms tightened around her and she quietened, lest she hurt him. She lay very still in his embrace as his mouth found hers. He reeked of spirits, but his kisses were tender and caressing and she found herself warming to him.

  After a few minutes, however, she lifted her head to stare into his eyes. "Let me up, Robin! You will only do yourself further injury."

  "At least lie nex' to me awhile, Lucia," he said, his breath hot on her skin as he cradled her head on his shoulder. "Lie nex' to me and le' me tell you how lucky I am to have you to kiss." His lips caressed her hair and his arms tightened around her. "It's so sweet to touch you; to hol' you in my arms. I don' deserve -- such -- good -- luck -- " His voice faded as he slowly relaxed. His breathing deepened and he drifted into sleep.

  Sliding out of his arms, she rose and settled his blankets around him. Dropping a gentle kiss on his forehead, she brushed a heavy red-gold curl out of his face with a caressing hand. "Sleep and get well, my Robin," she whispered. Giving him a last fond look, she hurried out to see to Fletcher's needs.

  ***

  Giles faced the glaring light of day with a pounding head. Staring around balefully, he concluded after several minutes of hard thought that he was sleeping on Sir Winston Rochedale's hearth. Swift on the heels of this revelation came the conviction that there was something he was supposed to do, an appointment.

  He closed his eyes against the light and tried to clear his muddled brain. "The duel!" he said thickly.

  "That was yesterday, dear boy." a mournful voice lamented. "The coward refused to fight you! Sent us home!"

  Mountheathe sat up, staggered blearily to his feet, and stumbled toward Sir Winston, who sat at a cluttered table. Rochedale silently poured a cup of coffee from a pot at his elbow and shoved it toward his guest. Giles sank into a chair, cradling his aching head with one hand and moaning, "What the devil did I do to deserve a head like this?"

  "What didn't you do?" Rochedale's lips parted in a silent laugh. "There were the cock fights and the clubs and we looked in at Clarissa's. Don't think she was too happy to see us, what with Norworth there and all. Then we hit a few more hells and ended up at Angel's."

  Giles jerked his head up to stare in dismay at Sir Winston, wincing at the consequent daggers of pain that stabbed through his skull. "Angel's! My God! That unholy pit!"

  "Dragged you out at dawn, dear boy. You didn't want to leave. You were wild! Singing and boasting. Said you were coming into a fortune and wanted to bed every strumpet in the place in celebration."

  Giles dropped his face into his hands. "Oh, Lord! Did I say anything specific?"

  "Only that you were going to inherit the old duke's fortune. I thought it was all going to your cousin, Golden -- er -- the duke."

  Giles framed his answer carefully. "I merely meant that if I can prove the Rogue's marriage a fraud, I shall get Grandpapa's blunt." He dared not mention his murder plots, even to Rochey. "Have -- have you heard anything else about the duel?" he asked, gulping his coffee.

  "I've not been out this morning. Not feeling well. Not at all well." Sir Winston stood unsteadily, his face pale. "If you'll excuse me, dear boy, I've got to -- to -- " He ran from the room.

  When Mountheathe staggered into Heathe House an hour later, his butler informed him that Lord Malkent was waiting in the Jade Salon. Hoping Tracy brought news of the Rogue's death, Giles smiled as he entered the room to greet his guest.

  "So you have returned home at last!" Tracy growled. "Are you afraid to face your own misdeeds or are you bastard enough to go out and celebrate the supposed success of your infamies?"

  Giles paled. "What are you babbling about, Tracy?"

  "At Lynkellyn House, two men lay injured, one nigh unto death, and you are responsible!"

  "What the devil do you mean? Nigh unto death? Who?" Giles asked, his brows rising over widened eyes.

  "The Rogue's man, Fletcher. The Rogue fared rather better, although the doctor says he may limp for the rest of his life. After you left, they were shot by a brigand in a tree who, curiously, had your name on his lips when I caught up with him. It must be a grave disappointment for you to learn that your tree-climbing monkey only winged his target."

  Hiding his frustration, Mountheathe sank into a chair, apparently stunned. "Are you accusing me, Tracy, of hiring a cutthroat?" He flushed. "How dare you suggest, sir, that I would commit such a reprehensible deed!"

  "What else can I think, Giles? The footpad specifically told me that you hired him!"

  "He was lying! He probably heard my name somewhere and..."

  "I don't think so." Tracy shook his head. "The man was talking to save his life. He didn't pull your name out of the air. He was confessing the truth to avoid the gallows!"

  Mountheathe drew himself up stiffly. "I do not consort with criminals, my lord, and I resent your insinuations! Leave my house at once!"

  Tracy stared at his former friend. "I am beginning to believe Robin is telling the truth about that nasty business with Valeria," he said after a moment.

  "So now I am a liar and an abductor as well as an aspiring murderer! I thought we were friends, Tracy! How can you think such things of me after all the years we've known each other?"

  "I'm not certain now that I ever really did know you, Giles," Malkent said. "You have ordered me out of your house. I shall depart gladly. Good day." Tracy bowed, turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  ***

  "His fever broke during the night, doctor, but he hasn't awakened yet." Lucia's hushed voice penetrated Robin's hazy, half-conscious dreams. He moaned and slowly opened his eyes, then slammed them shut against the brightness of the room. He eased them open again, his head pounding and waves of agony crashing through his body at his slightest move. Lucia's weary face blotted out the blinding sunlight, then a stranger's head replaced hers.

  "I'm Dr. Lindley, Your Grace. Welcome back," the stranger smiled. "You've been feverish."

  "How long?" Robin rasped, his throat cracked and parched.

  "Two days," the doctor said, filling a cup with water. "No doubt you are thirsty. Drink this." As Robin gulped down every drop, Lindley asked Lucia to order some fresh water for him.

  Robin watched her
go, suddenly aware that he was ravenous. He raised himself a little in the bed, wincing at the consequent pain. "Perhaps Lucia could order some food as well."

  "Later, Your Grace, and nothing but broth for you for the next few days, I think. No need to rush things." The doctor pulled away the blankets to examine Robin's leg.

  Robin closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Lindley's probing fingers sent hot streaks of pain from his toes to his groin. "Is Lucia ill?" he asked, forcing his mind away from the pain. "She looks exhausted."

  "Rest easy, Your Grace. She is with child; that is all."

  "That is all!" Robin's eyes flew open. "How is she faring? She's not been well lately and..."

  "Calm down, Your Grace, or you will do yourself harm. She will be fine if she gets her rest. With two invalids to nurse and this great house to run, however, I don't think she's gotten more than three hours sleep out of the last twenty-four. No one can get her to slow down. Do you not have a female relative, perhaps Lady Blayne who can come in and take over Her Grace's responsibilities temporarily? She is completely overwhelmed, Your Grace, though she will never admit it."

  Robin shook his head. "Lady Blayne is far too busy with her own family, doctor. I can only think of one woman who might help us, but she detests me."

  "You need to put personal feelings aside, Your Grace. If you want Her Grace to survive this pregnancy and your baby to thrive, you are going to have to find someone."

  "très bien! I will consider your advice, doctor. When is the babe to be born?"

  Lindley smiled. "Sometime in December, I think, Your Grace. A Christmas blessing."

  When Lucia returned, a footman followed her with a full pitcher and glasses on a tray. Setting the provisions on Robin's night table, the servant bowed and left. The doctor gave Lucia his last instructions for the day, sternly ordered Robin to stay in bed, and departed.

  Lucia filled a glass with water, stirred a sinister-looking powder into the cup, and handed it to Robin. "Drink Dr. Lindley's medicine and Laddock will bring you some broth in a few minutes." Sniffing suspiciously at the cup, Robin drank its contents in one gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste. Exhausted by the past half hour's exertions, he sank back into his pillows and closed his eyes while Lucia bathed his forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

  Laddock brought the promised broth a quarter of an hour later. Lucia offered to feed him, but Robin firmly refused. Sitting up so he could reach the tray, he ate slowly, the spoon trembling a little in his weak fingers as he cast furtive glances at his wife. He noted with alarm and disapproval the dark circles wreathing her eyes and the way she sagged in her chair when she thought he wasn't watching. How tired and haggard she looked. Lindley was right. She needed help. Thoughts of Lindley reminded him of his impending fatherhood. "Why didn't you tell me you were with child, Lucia?" he said. "Why did I have to hear it from a stranger?"

  "Dr. Lindley told you, I suppose. I didn't want to raise your hopes until I was absolutely sure. The doctor confirmed my suspicions on the day of your duel and then, of course, I could not tell you because you were injured."

  His meal finished, Robin handed her his bowl. "Lindley says that you have been doing far too much, considering your delicate state of health. I will invite Lady Easterbury to stay with us until the babe is born. She can take care of your domestic duties so that you can rest."

  Lucia set the bowl on a tray for a maid to take away. "But, Robin, what about you and Fletcher? You are both still far from fit and will require a great deal of nursing."

  "We have servants for that."

  "And then, of course, the renovations must be overseen. The music room and some of the salons are only half done. The ballroom and the nursery have hardly been touched."

  "Those rooms have waited twenty years for refurbishing, ma chérie. They can wait a little longer."

  Staring at the floor, Lucia said, "If you are unhappy with the way I'm doing things, you have only to say so, Robin." Accusation tinged her voice.

  "You have done wonderfully well, Lucia. This house is returning to life under your ministrations. Now that the babe is sapping your strength, you need to fill your days at a more leisurely pace. You would not want to lose the infant, would you?"

  "No." she answered softly.

  "Bon. I shall write Lady Easterbury tomorrow."

  "How ironic it would be for you to have come so far in your machinations only to lose your grandfather's fortune because I had a miscarriage. What a waste of time it would all have been!"

  "Is that what you believe this is about, ma chérie? My grandfather's damned money?" Robin stared at her, thunderstruck. "Do you think I am so callous that I care for nothing else?"

  "Oh, no! You have your revenge to nurture as well!" Rage suddenly roughened her voice. "You almost got yourself killed, and another man as well, over your wretched vengeance!"

  "I offered Giles a truce, Lucia! Even offered to pay his debts! He would have none of it! He insisted upon insulting you! Insisted upon a challenge!"

  Lucia paced the room, endeavoring to release some of her anger. Staring into the empty fireplace, she spoke more calmly. "Of course, I do not know all the details of your encounter, Robin, but it appears to me that you were lured into a trap. Do you remember anything at all about that duel?"

  Robin cast about in his mind, endeavoring to dredge up reluctant memories. "There was no duel," he said after a moment. "A shot was fired from behind me! I don't understand! Giles and I were to meet with rapiers!"

  "Lord Malkent can explain it all better than I can. He has promised to attend you this evening so that I may sleep." She paused beside the bed to straighten his blankets. "Rest now while I see to Fletcher."

  As she turned to leave, Robin reminded her firmly that soon Fletcher would be Lady Easterbury's responsibility.

  ***

  Jolted awake, Robin sat up with a gasping sob, his eyes springing wide open. Sweat beaded his brow and soaked his nightshirt. Confusion darkened his countenance for a moment as he surveyed the candlelit room, but his face cleared when he recognized his own bedchamber.

  "Anything I can do for you, Rogue?" Tracy inquired from the shadows as he entered the candle's sphere of light.

  "Water!" Robin croaked.

  Tracy filled a tankard from a pitcher on the night table and gave it to him. He gulped it down. "More!" His voice stronger, he held out the glass. Tracy refilled it and Robin emptied it a second time.

  "Another?" Tracy offered. Robin shook his head, setting the empty tankard on the night table and sinking into the pillows. "What's the matter, Rogue?" Tracy pulled his chair closer to the bed. "Do you need something for the pain? You've been twisting and turning and muttering all night."

  Robin ran shaky fingers through his wild copper tresses. "I'm having nightmares, Tracy! I haven't had them for years, but suddenly they're back!"

  "Nightmares?"

  "They plagued me constantly right after I left England, then dwindled to once a week or so until a few years ago when I acquired my fortune and settled in Paris. Then they disappeared entirely, until now."

  "What are these dreams usually about?"

  "Each one is different, but terror is the common thread. My past and present become entwined so very darkly, horribly." Robin shuddered. "I don't like to remember the details."

  "Take your mind off your nightmares, then. Tell me of your travels and adventures," Malkent said.

  "Shall I tell you the truth, Tracy, or merely ruminate upon the marvels of America and Araby?"

  "The truth, Robin. Unvarnished."

  Robin told Tracy of slums and stews, hells and brothels, castles and cathedrals, gaols and gutters all over the world. He described his wild days on the High Toby and the high seas, his adventures among the Arabs and the Americans, and his soldiering in three different armies, patiently answering all of Tracy's questions.

  At last, Tracy sat back with a deep breath. "You have certainly lived a full and varied life, Rogue!"

  Robin
smiled ruefully. "When you are forever on the run, my lord, adventure and disaster follow you like faithful hounds."

  "And what of Angelina?" Malkent asked.

  Robin paled, his hands clenching his blankets. "Angelina?"

  "You shouted her name in your delirium. Said you loved her; wanted her to marry you!"

  After a second's hesitation, Robin said, "I suppose Lucia heard me?"

  "No one could fail to hear you, Rogue! Cannon fire is quieter! In any case, you were speaking Italian most of the time. 'Twas Lucia who translated what you were saying for the rest of us."

  "Damn!"

  "Since you called Lucia's name just as fervently and just as often, Robin, I daresay she will forgive you, but we are all exceeding curious about this Angelina."

  "Angelina? Merely a wench!" Robin scowled, wincing as he shifted his injured leg. "A wench in the basest, meanest sense of the word."

  "And so?"

  Robin glared at him. "I don't wish to discuss it."

  "Obviously, this 'wench' touched you deeply."

  "What happened on the dueling field the other day, Tracy?" Robin interrupted him abruptly. "I can remember very little after putting Giles into his coach."

  "I will tell you, but you must tell me about Angelina first. I have some startling information to impart in return, I promise you."

  "I do not understand why you concern yourself so closely with my affairs, Tracy," Robin said peevishly. "Whatever happened to 'I shall not know you in the morning, Rogue'?"

  "Perhaps I'm having a change of heart about the past. In any case, I've a wealth of curiosity."

  "A deal too much curiosity for my taste!" Robin cast him a skeptical glance. Tracy looked at him expectantly. "Very well," Robin sighed, "I will tell you about Angelina, but the story goes no further than this room, s'il vous plâit. Angelina's father owned a ramshackle tavern in a remote corner of Italy that catered exclusively to cutthroats and highwaymen. I was a member of the last order."

  "I had just turned one and twenty when I took up residence at the 'Bird and Bell', having spent my birthday fleeing a furious French nobleman and his personal army. The inn was cheap and secluded and I was fairly certain Monsieur le Marquis would not find me there. I took to the highways to get my living and I met Angelina who began to teach me Italian."