‘Don’t pull away from me,’ he entreated, her withdrawal cutting into him like a knife.
‘I told you last night that I would stay with you for one night only. It’s morning now.’
Roger pulled her closer until her head rested against his chest. ‘I know. I was only thinking that we are here in the warm, Robbie appears to be sleeping and once you leave this room you won’t return. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that spending the night in my arms meant nothing to you?’
‘What does it matter what it meant? It can’t happen again. I won’t risk having a baby.’
Roger laughed softly. ‘Oh, dove, there are other ways to please each other. Things lovers can do which won’t result in a child.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How many men have ever made love to you?’
‘You know how many!’
Her eyes narrowed. Roger put a finger to her lips.
‘I asked how many had made love to you, not bedded you? Did that oaf who fathered Robbie ever take time for more than a quick grind up against a wall?’ He hated to even bring Harpur to mind.
She looked confused, which was all the answer Roger needed.
‘I thought not. You have a whole body to experience pleasure with, and I have plenty of ways to give it. Hands, lips...’ He paused and slipped his hand down to her waist. She gazed back with an expression of curiosity that sent him weak. ‘What you were going to do yesterday, for example, has anyone done that for you?’
She shook her head, mouth falling open in astonishment and a pink flush rushing to her cheeks. ‘Is that even possible?’
Roger took her hand and kissed the soft mound at the base of her thumb before applying his teeth gently. As he ran his tongue lightly in a circle over her wrist where the pulse thumped she moaned softly. A throb of lust pounded through Roger. It was so acute, bordering on painful, that he could barely breathe.
‘Your heart is racing,’ he murmured, moving his lips higher up her arm, sliding the sleeve of her dress aside to allow him access to the smooth, cool skin beneath. He guided her hand to his heart and held it there. ‘So is mine.’
Lucy slipped her hand under the open neck of his shirt and pressed the cool tip of her finger over the scar she had left him with the poker. Her nails grazed his chest, tipping him to the brink of control.
‘You made me yours when you branded me,’ he murmured.
Why had he not recognised earlier that they belonged with each other? He had squandered his efforts on trying to seduce her for a quick moment of pleasure rather than trying to win her heart. Oh, the hours that could have been spent showing her he was worthy of her love beyond a casual tumble between the sheets! He knew deep in his heart that Lucy was the last and only woman he would love.
‘Those things you mentioned, have you done them with your other lovers?’ Lucy asked. He heard the undisguised curiosity in her voice and a touch of jealousy, too. The mention of previous women was enough to bring his body back under his mind’s control.
‘Most,’ he admitted. ‘But last night when I held you in my arms it meant more than all those times combined.’ He laced his fingers between hers. ‘I wish you could have seen the man I was before I met you.’
‘I don’t know that I would have liked you,’ Lucy said cautiously.
Roger’s jaw tensed. ‘You’d have hated me. But you would understand how much knowing you has changed me. Made me better. I remember scorning your brother for...’ He shut his mouth, remembering that in Lucy’s mind it had been he who had seduced and bedded Katherine Harpur.
‘Marry me.’
His words astonished him as much as they did Lucy. Her eyes hardened.
‘Don’t toy with me, Roger.’
She threw back the bedclothes and climbed out. She began to run her fingers through the knots of her hair, pulling at them with an aggression that must have stung. ‘How could a woman like me possibly be the wife of a knight?’
An outrageous idea struck him; that he could stay with her here and the pretence that she was his wife need not be a falsehood. Would he trade his name and rank to become an innkeeper’s husband? Perhaps that would convince Lucy that his devotion was as true as he claimed.
‘If I could stay here...’ he suggested, sitting up.
‘You can’t and you won’t.’ Lucy smiled sadly. ‘You won’t abandon your responsibilities or your family, not even for me.’
Roger threw himself back on the mattress. Once he might have done something so rash and irresponsible, but he was no longer that man. He dismissed the idea with painful regret. As much as he dreamed of leaving Hal to inherit their father’s title and lands, such a thing was not possible. He could not be the cause of any more disappointment and misery to his father than he had already been. He didn’t know the answer, but now the idea was in his head there had to be one. Was it beyond the bounds of respectability that he could take Lucy with him as a wife rather than a mistress?
‘Go find Thomas and finish what you need to do,’ Lucy commanded. ‘I’ll put Robbie out to play with the chickens and empty the cart. I want to oil the window linens while the weather is fine.’
She left the room. Reluctantly Roger pulled on his boots and cloak and went downstairs. Lucy was sweeping the ashes from the hearth. She paused when she heard his footstep.
‘Be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt. Either of you.’
‘You’d care if I died. That’s something at least,’ Roger said with a grimace. He knelt at her side by the fire with the pretext of striking the flint. ‘But not enough to be my mistress?’
‘You know the answer to that.’
Roger pressed the flint into Lucy’s hand and left, pondering the misfortune of falling in love with a woman who knew her own mind so well.
* * *
Fine rain hung in the air. Roger followed the directions Lucy had given him along the line of the stream, feeling vaguely guilty that Thomas had spent the night in the damp while he had been warm and comfortable with Lucy.
With each step he found his mood becoming more serious. If fortune was on his side—which he had no reason to believe it was—Thomas would have brought his horse and belongings. The saddlebag containing his clothes and his share of the prize from his time in the Northern Company would be his once more. He would pay Lucy what he owed her and more besides to ensure that she would never struggle to survive.
The clearing was deserted, but a bundle of clothing piled beside a crumbling well and the remains of a small fire indicated someone had been sleeping there. Roger approached cautiously. Sweat broke out across his body as he realised the clothing was in fact a figure.
Thomas was face down, one arm twisted below his head, the other at an angle to one side. A hefty branch beside the boy’s head revealed the weapon that had been used to strike him.
Roger gave a soft moan of despair, thinking of the sorrow Lucy would feel at this discovery. He sat back on his haunches, looking at the place Thomas had met his lonely end. He was so absorbed in regretting the destruction of such a young life he was unaware he was not alone until he felt breath on his neck and the kiss of a knife against his throat.
‘I knew you weren’t far away, Mister Danby.’
The voice was slow, the accent thick, from even further north than Roger. No one who had heard the slow, lumbering tones could ever forget Gilbert Seaton. If it had been this man on the hilltop that day, the mystery would have been solved in a stroke.
Roger turned his head as far as he dared with the cold blade pressed beneath his ear. He looked at the giant Northumbrian he had not seen since he had left the Northern Company after the division of spoils. Now Roger knew what matter the business related to.
‘You’re a long way from the Northern Company, Gilbert. I take it you are responsible for Thomas’s d
eath.’
Roger felt pain as the knife twisted slightly in Gilbert’s hand and nicked his ear. Not more than a scratch, but enough to warn him to keep his tongue still.
‘He ain’t dead yet. Where is it?’
‘Where is what?’
Another flick and more pain, this time stinging Roger’s cheek.
‘Don’t try fooling me. He tried to keep it from us,’ Gilbert growled. ‘He’ll wake soon and then I’ll be askin’ him again.’
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ Roger said. The reference to more than one assailant was a worry he would have to deal with later. ‘Whatever you think I have—or Thomas has—you’re mistaken.’
‘Your friend cheated us,’ Gilbert said, his voice harsh. ‘The contract was simple—equal shares for all who fought. We want what is ours.’
Roger held his hands to the side to show he was unarmed. His legs were starting to ache from maintaining his position and if he did not move soon he would find himself unable to take action if the chance arose. He edged his head away, but the knife followed, the tip of the blade pressing deeper against his windpipe.
‘Is it at the inn? Perhaps the woman knows.’
Roger’s stomach constricted at the mention of Lucy. His skin grew clammy with terror.
‘What woman? What inn?’
The bluff was pitiful and Roger knew it. Gilbert sneered. He flicked his wrist and for the third time Roger felt the blade. Another sting on his cheek followed by a trickle of blood. He flexed his hands, feeling the inequality between his left and right. If he had a weapon he might meet Gilbert as an equal, might even prevail, but he had not worn even a dagger since arriving at the inn. Without anything he had no hope.
Gilbert cocked a thumb at Thomas. ‘His sister. Wilmott’s keeping her company. Shall we leave them alone a while longer?’
Roger bit down the nausea that rose within him at the name. Gilbert was seldom without his associate Wilmott: a man who thought a beating with his fists was legitimate foreplay and resistance made the act so much sweeter. It must have been Wilmott who had asked after him on the road. Imagining Lucy alone with the brute made Roger sick to the guts with fear for her. What of Robbie? Was the boy also at Wilmott’s mercy? He closed his eyes, bringing Lucy’s face to mind.
‘I’m going to stand now,’ he said, keeping his voice calm. ‘Then we’re going to return to the inn. I truly don’t know what Thomas took, but I’ll help you discover it.’
Anything to keep Lucy safe.
‘Bring him,’ Gilbert said, indicating Thomas with a jerk of his head.
Roger stooped and hefted the boy over his good shoulder. Thomas sighed and slumped against Roger, only half-succeeding in standing. Carrying him back would take all Roger’s strength. Strength he would dearly need if he hoped to prevent harm befalling Lucy. As he staggered through the forest, Gilbert’s sword in the small of his back, he fervently hoped he was not already too late.
* * *
Lucy carried the pot of linseed oil to the table and spread the strips of linen beside it. She methodically brushed the foul-smelling liquid across the window panels, glad that the monotonous task meant she could give free rein to her thoughts of Roger and indulge in fantasies involving the acts he had hinted at. It was just as well he hadn’t mentioned those the night before or she would never have dared to share his bed. She rested the brush on top of the jar, the fumes causing her head to spin. At least, she tried to blame the oil, but she knew full well it was the memory of Roger’s arms about her that addled her senses.
For the first night in her life she had felt cherished and protected and desired. It would never be enough, but she would cling on to the memories long after Roger had left. Part of her yearned to surrender to him, to experience those pleasures in the arms of the man who had captivated her so completely, to take whatever time they had together whatever the consequences.
Could he really remain faithful to her? No, he must marry sooner or later and however he jested, it would never be to a penniless woman who whored herself out to pay her debts.
She stabbed angrily at the linen strips, splashing droplets of her precious linseed oil on the table. She wiped them hastily, knowing how easily they could catch fire if a spark ever came close.
A crash came from upstairs and Lucy frowned. Robbie had refused to play outside in the rain so she had carried his toys upstairs to the bedroom where he seemed happy enough. Perhaps she should bring him downstairs to play by the fire, but while she was using the linseed she preferred him to be elsewhere.
Lucy smiled wistfully, picturing a future where he grew up to be a squire or something equally promising. Whatever else she doubted, she believed Roger when he said he cared for her, so had no fears that he would find a place for her boy.
She had just picked up the brush when there was a soft tap at the door. Hating the way her heart leapt into her throat, she counted a dozen heartbeats before opening it, hoping to see Roger.
‘Good morning.’
The swarthy man was one she had last seen on the night Roger had barged into her life. Lucy gasped in alarm. She tried to shut the door, but the man was through before she could react.
‘I did not introduce myself last time we met. I’m Wilmott.’
He pushed her roughly and as she fell with a grunt, he shut the door behind him. Lucy opened her mouth to scream, but closed it again. There was no one to help her and it might scare Robbie into coming downstairs.
‘I know you’re alone. I watched him leave this morning.’ He pulled Lucy to her feet, bringing her face close to his until his stench filled her nostrils.
‘Was it Roger Danby in your bed that night?’
‘Yes!’ Lucy smirked defiantly. ‘And you never guessed. I saw to that!’
He slapped her, open-handed. She gasped in pain.
‘Lying slut! We’ve been half over the country trying to track them.’
‘He’s gone now. He won’t be back.’ It hurt worse than the slap to admit it.
Wilmott grinned. ‘He’ll be back. My friend Gilbert will make sure of that. Remember him?’
He raised his hand high above his head. The giant. Icy fingers clutched Lucy’s chest. Wilmott drew a knife and held it to her breast as he backed Lucy up against the wall beside the hearth. She whimpered as the tip pricked the skin through her dress. Her eyes slid to the poker lying beside the hearth almost within her reach.
‘I don’t think so.’ Wilmott grinned, following her gaze. He drove the poker deep into the flames. ‘I’m going to start searching and you’re going to stay very still. Every time you move I’m going to cut you. First on the arms, then the face. After that we’ll see where else I can find. You don’t want that, do you?’
Lucy shook her head, more terrified than she had ever been in her life. She sat where he instructed, hands on the table before her, and watched in hopeless fury as Wilmott ransacked her home, tipping over jars and pots, hurling boxes across the room, even pulling the newly laid rushes from the floor. The precious linseed oil pooled on the table, dripping on to the rushes below. The sparse furniture was overturned and kitchenware strewn about the room. Bowls were broken and the cooking pot tipped to one side on the hearth. The destruction made her want to weep, but Lucy kept her gaze down, barely breathing in case he took it as a cue to begin his torture, wishing Roger would return and dreading the moment he did.
A low whistle came from outside. Wilmott paused in the middle of his search and grinned nastily at Lucy.
‘I told you he’d be back.’
Chapter Eighteen
The door opened and Roger entered, supporting Thomas in a dreadful recreation of the first time they had arrived. The hulking figure of Gilbert followed. Lucy had never needed more self-control than it took not to hurl herself into Roger’s arms.
‘
Thomas! Is he hurt?’
‘He’ll survive.’ Roger looked in poor condition himself. Blood welled from cuts on his cheek and trickled from his ear down his neck.
‘Good day, Master Danby. Master Carew. You’ve both caused us a lot of trouble,’ Wilmott said.
Roger helped Thomas on to a stool at the table. Thomas groaned. Now Roger was here, Lucy no longer feared Wilmott’s threats. She slipped from her stool and knelt beside her brother, examining his head anxiously.
‘Wilmott, it’s been a long time,’ Roger said. ‘Your friend tells me you’re searching for something.’
‘We came here before. This slut said you weren’t here,’ Wilmott growled.
‘Perhaps I wasn’t when you came.’
‘She had a man in her bed she swore was her husband.’ Wilmott stepped beside Roger. ‘She took some persuasion today to admit it had been you.’
An expression of cold fury filled Roger’s eyes. ‘Has he hurt you, dove?’
‘Not yet,’ Wilmott growled.
‘Well, now you know she was lying there’s no need. What can I say? She was happy to welcome me there. I can also be persuasive, though admittedly with a little more refinement.’ Roger leered at Lucy, an action so unexpected she gasped in surprise.
‘How did you find us?’ Roger asked. ‘Has this fool been leaving a trail all over Cheshire?’
‘We lost him,’ Gilbert snarled. ‘But fortunately we heard Lord Harpur was full of anger at some innkeeper’s son who had tried to bed his daughter. He was happy to give me the name of Carew. Seems it isn’t a popular one in his household.’
‘You told me it was Roger who did that!’ Lucy exclaimed.
‘I blamed him.’ Thomas looked shamefaced. ‘I was scared.’
‘Why did you let me think that of you?’ Lucy asked.
Roger shrugged, looking more ashamed than if he’d truly done the deed.
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