A Midsummer Knight's Kiss

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  ‘I can go myself,’ she said, trying to placate him. ‘Tell me where to look.’

  ‘Not in this crowd,’ Robbie said firmly. ‘I’m taking you with me. Come on.’

  When she did not move he took hold of her upper arm. His face showed no fear or anxiety now, but the way his fingers dug into her flesh made it clear he was deeply worried by the commotion going on around them. Knowing this made Rowenna’s stomach clench.

  ‘You’re hurting me!’ she gasped.

  Robbie murmured an apology and loosened his grip a little. He moved so he was standing much closer, half behind Rowenna with his right hand on the centre of her back, and took hold of her left arm with his left hand. It felt like he was beginning the measure of a dance and she had the urge to skip her feet to an imaginary beat. She giggled loudly and he flashed her a look that quelled the urge to laugh. There was nothing funny after all.

  Robbie walked swiftly, the firm weight of his hand on the curve of her spine compelling Rowenna forward as they moved through the crowd. He set the pace and the direction. She could possibly have resisted if she tried hard enough, but in truth she did not really want to try. Ordinarily, being ushered along like a sheep to market would have set her temper flaring, but she was certain that she would wake in the night for days to come with the memory of the crowd pushing down on her and the sense of helplessness.

  ‘This isn’t the way to the gate,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To Sir John. Your parents are there along with mine.’

  ‘Oh.’ The urge to stay by Robbie’s side was stronger than she expected. ‘You can’t take me home yourself?’

  ‘No. I have to return to Sir John. I have already been gone too long. I’ll take you straight to your father. He’ll be worried about you. Thank goodness he did not see you as I did or he would have turned grey on the spot!’

  He flicked his own hair back from his eyes, as if checking it was still dark brown.

  ‘What were you doing by yourself in the crowd?’

  His mouth was close to her ear and he almost shouted the words. He sounded furious and there was no hesitation or stumbling over them. He had always been so slow to anger as a boy that it was a shock to hear him so agitated. Rowenna turned her head. It brought her lips disconcertingly close to his. Robbie stopped walking abruptly.

  ‘I heard cries so I wanted to see what was causing them,’ she murmured.

  Robbie raised his eyebrows, looked at the ground, the sky, back at Rowenna. He gave a humourless laugh and his brow knotted.

  ‘You thought there was t-trouble, so instead of seeking safety you rushed straight to it. You haven’t the sense of a chicken!’

  Rowenna’s eyes began to sting. It sounded reckless now that he said it, but Robbie’s disapproval after what had been a frightening ordeal was the last thing she could stand. She wrenched her shoulder free from his hand and began to walk off.

  ‘Ro, wait!’

  He skirted around her and spread his hands wide to prevent her walking past him. She folded her arms and glared, willing herself not to burst into tears. His face was grave and filled with such concern her anger died away. She allowed him to tug her arms gently from the tight knot she held in front of her chest. He held her hands, his thumbs a soft pressure on her palms that made her quiver, and fingers laced between hers.

  ‘I’m not angry,’ he said more gently, ‘but you need to take more care. If you hadn’t seen me, or if I hadn’t got to you when I did...’

  He left the thought unfinished, but for a gasp, snapping his lips shut and pulling her close. Rowenna suppressed the shiver of anticipation that raced across her skin and stepped eagerly into his embrace for the second time. Now her heart was no longer racing with fear, Rowenna had time to explore the sensation of being held in a man’s arms.

  Despite the firmness of his grip, Robbie held her tenderly against the chest that had transfixed her when she had seen him earlier.

  That chest.

  Pictures danced in Rowenna’s mind of Robbie naked to the waist, standing before the water trough, using his shift to wipe away sweat and grime when he had not known she was watching him. In her memory, the muscles undulated in his back and arms, toned from years of exercise and work, shapely and firm and sharply defined.

  No wonder she had not been able to tear her eyes away. No wonder she had been unable to resist reaching out to feel for herself the perfect, beautiful smoothness of his chest where it had been marred by bruising. She had done so without permission, a liberty that unnerved and confused her. Now he had invited her touch and she felt no qualms about taking full advantage.

  She slipped her hands around Robbie’s waist and let them settle in the small of his back. She rested her head on his chest in the place where her hand had caressed his bruised flesh, closed her eyes and let her entire body melt against him.

  She took another deep breath and her breasts pushed against Robbie’s chest in a manner that caused them to throb. Fingers of heat raced down every limb, turning them to liquid. Her chest tightened once more and she took another lungful of air, then another, savouring the deliciously wicked sensations that the closeness of their bodies awoke in her.

  She could have stayed in that position for the rest of the day, but she felt Robbie shift a little. To claim him as her protector was selfish when he undoubtedly needed to be elsewhere. Reluctantly she opened her eyes again and her vision was filled with Robbie’s face. His hair fell forward as he looked down at her and his soft brown eyes brimmed with concern. He held her gaze, unblinking. His pupils grew wide until they almost obliterated the brown of his irises, leaving only blackness that drew her in.

  Rowenna’s skin prickled and grew hot, yet a cold shiver ran down her spine. Perhaps she was starting to fall prey to a fever. She surreptitiously wiggled a hand between them and loosened the neck of her gown. She hoped she would not be indisposed before the feast. She wanted to dance so much. She wanted Robbie to be there to dance with her and to hold her like this again.

  ‘You’re safe now, I promise.’

  Robbie loosened his embrace a little, but made no move to remove his arms from around Rowenna. She cherished the small moment of peace in the middle of the field that was now rapidly emptying as guards marched through the stalls and stands, ushering the spectators out none too gently.

  ‘I’m glad you did come to me,’ she whispered. She lifted her head up to kiss him, but it felt too intimate. Instead she brushed her fingertips over the line of his jaw.

  ‘Thank you.’

  His face twisted into something that was not quite a smile and he unwound his arms from around her. ‘Come on.’

  He took her by the hand, his fingers enclosing hers, and led her through the crowd.

  Sir John’s stand was close to the Lord Mayor’s. Rowenna’s father was striding back and forth in the company of the burgomaster’s deputy and one of the councillors Rowenna was familiar with. Their faces were grave.

  Robbie apologised for his slow return and explained in a few concise words how he had encountered Rowenna. He spoke slowly, carefully choosing words that he would not stumble over as much as possible, but Rowenna noticed the tension in his throat and the slight deepening of colour in his neck and cheeks.

  ‘A man of sixty-two would be of no use in a skirmish,’ Sir John announced. ‘I shall return to the inn.’

  Rowenna hoped Sir John would send Robbie to escort her home after all, but her father stepped in.

  ‘I need to gather some documents from the house before I meet with the other guild members. I’ll take my women home.’

  The Danby women began to make their farewells and edge towards the end of the stand. Hal threw an arm around Rowenna’s shoulder.

  ‘My thanks for keeping Rowenna safe, lad,’ he said, swinging her round to face Robbie. ‘Come by the house when you are able to and I’ll ma
ke sure I have a flagon of fresh ale waiting.’

  Robbie bowed and turned to go, but Rowenna caught him by the hand. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes searching her face.

  ‘My thanks, too,’ she said in a low whisper.

  She lifted on to her toes and wrapped her arms round his neck. He stiffened and his eyes slid to the stand. Rowenna’s heart clenched. Of course his Mary would be there and Robbie would not want another woman behaving so intimately in front of her. She wondered if Robbie would have been so eager to relinquish Mary to a father’s care. A sob rose in her throat and she swallowed it down painfully. She unwound herself from around him with reluctance and followed his gaze. A cluster of young women was helping to gather Lady Isobel’s possessions. Rowenna could not tell which attendant Robbie had been looking at and she had no more time to find out because Joanna tugged at her arm.

  ‘We need to leave.’ She cocked her head at Robbie’s mother. Lucy looked stricken. Rowenna’s stomach twisted in sympathy. A son and husband both about to be caught in the middle of inevitable violence must be unendurable. She was glad for once that her own father took no part in such dangerous acts. She took Lucy’s arm and patted it, and was gratified by the warmth that filled Robbie’s eyes.

  ‘Ro will stay with you and the twins.’ He kissed his mother’s cheek, then smiled at Rowenna.

  ‘Look after her for me.’

  He straightened his cloak and left without another word or checking if she agreed. He knew her well enough to know it was not even in doubt. Rowenna watched Robbie walk away to join his master. The walk transformed into a stride in one fluid movement with no sign of the loping gait of a youth whose limbs were too long, which she had held in her memory. He had grown into his body and wore it well.

  ‘He’ll be safe. He fought so well this morning,’ Rowenna said reassuringly to Lucy. Her throat tightened at the thought that Robbie might come to harm. Losing him was more than she could bear to imagine.

  ‘Ro’s right,’ Joanna added, drawing Lucy’s other arm under hers. ‘He’s been well trained by Sir John, I’m sure.’

  Rowenna was ushered away by her father, but as she looked back she caught a final glimpse of Robbie flanking Sir John along with another squire. He held his head high and his eyes roved keenly for any trouble. He reminded Rowenna of a cat, poised to leap on prey. No, not a cat, she considered as she made her way through the crowd to the safety of the town house. He was more like one of the hunting dogs Roger favoured, shaggy haired, with meltingly soft eyes and a mild nature, but with powerful muscles concealed beneath their skin. A whistle or word would have them springing to alertness, ready to defend their pack. Robbie was the same, his body hardening to iron and hinting at the strength he bore. She hoped that would be enough to keep him safe because the thought of losing him so soon after having him return was almost unbearable.

  Chapter Six

  The simmering anger that had begun to brew during the tournament was only the start of what proved to be a long night. The unrest caused by the announcement of Wat Tyler’s death boiled over into a riot that spread throughout the city. Every available man who could fight was called upon to patrol and stop the violence when it occurred, walking in groups of three or four: a constant presence on the streets and squares.

  Robbie found himself with a pair of knights in their fourth and fifth decades and a squire of seventeen. He was the only man in his group who knew the city well so he found himself taking charge, despite his youth and status. A squire commanding knights! After his triumph in the arena earlier in the day, the blood sang in his veins at this opportunity to prove his worth as a leader. Keeping a watch out meant there was no need to speak and reveal how hard he found it.

  The largest part of the unrest seemed to centre around the religious houses and the Mayor’s dwelling. As Robbie guided the men down snickets and through squares, he could not tell how much of the raucous language and fighting as men spilled out of the inns and taverns was related to the news from the south and how much was simply the usual drunken behaviour of York’s population. He suspected many were taking the opportunity to settle personal vendettas as much as express their anger at the death of the rebel leader from the other end of England.

  The sun was setting, but the temperature was still stuffy and overbearing. Robbie led his companions past the Smiths’ hall and through a narrow passageway that opened beside the herb garden where he had paused with Rowenna the night before. He gratefully took a drink from the fountain, hoping Uncle Hal had managed to take the women safely home. He had been instructed to finish his patrol at the Dominicans’ House on King’s Toft and assist with ensuring the curfew was obeyed, but decided to walk past Hal’s home and try to catch a glimpse through the window to reassure himself his cousin was safe after her ordeal.

  As Robbie and his companions rounded the corner, they came face-to-face with Roger striding in the opposite direction. Roger sheathed his sword. His eyes looked weary from patrolling, but his broad frame exuded vitality. Robbie wondered whether his father missed the excitement of a battle. He had volunteered to join the watchmen eagerly.

  ‘Heading to Hal’s? You had the same idea as me, lad,’ Roger said.

  It was hardly an original idea and didn’t merit such commendation, Robbie thought.

  ‘Has Rowenna recovered?’ he asked.

  ‘She has.’ Roger smirked knowingly. ‘Your mother and sisters are well, too, in case you were wondering.’

  Robbie’s neck flushed hot at Roger’s implication that he cared only for Rowenna. ‘They had never been otherwise,’ he retorted. ‘Rowenna suffered a fright so naturally she is my first concern. It was difficult to relinquish her knowing she was upset.’

  ‘I’m merely jesting. Lucy and the girls are safe at Hal’s house. Rowenna made sure Lucy had a bottle of Mistress Jackland’s ale to criticise so she hasn’t time to fret over what we are doing.’

  Robbie grinned. His mother was never happier than when she was passing judgement on the quality of a brew other than hers. He had been right to leave her in his cousin’s care. Rowenna might seem flighty, but she was warm-hearted and had always possessed a quick mind and determined nature. He knew no woman more capable.

  ‘When I bade them goodbye Rowenna was making light of the riots and explaining to Joanna why it would be safe for her to attend the Midsummer’s Night Feast. She’s her mother’s child through and through.’ Roger laughed, then grew serious and clasped Robbie’s hand. ‘You did well to reach her so rapidly when you did. She could have been badly hurt.’

  Robbie shuddered. Seeing Rowenna quaking with fear as she was swallowed and felled by the crowd had shocked him to his core and he would have cut down a hundred men to reach her if necessary. He would not soon forget the way she had trembled from head to toe as he held her in his arms to comfort her. She could not have been aware of the way her breasts had pushed against him, or that her hands brushed against the sensitive flesh at his waist as they tightened around him, but these unconscious actions only served to strengthen Robbie’s urge to protect her and to hold her closer and longer. Releasing her afterwards had been harder than he’d thought.

  He ran his fingers across his jaw where she had stroked her fingers and was lost for a moment in a reverie involving the soft curves he had felt beneath Rowenna’s clothes. He did not hear his father speaking at first until his name was repeated.

  ‘Where are we going now?’ Roger asked, adjusting his hood and nodding at Robbie’s companions.

  ‘We?’ Robbie frowned.

  ‘I might as well add my strength to yours,’ Roger said.

  Robbie didn’t relish being accompanied by his stepfather, but Roger’s face glowed with life. ‘With your permission, that is,’ Roger added.

  The addition of the request was a surprise and it would be churlish to refuse.

  Childhood tales of his stepfather’s escapades and b
attles came back to Robbie. Moonlit chases through forests, days spent on horseback travelling the country, facing opponents on the battlefield. Lucy had always disapproved of the stories, hushing Roger whenever she caught him spinning them, but Robbie had gloried in them. Roger must miss that life now he was lord of Wharram. If they focused on the patrol, there would be no opportunity to reopen the awkward conversation that had been interrupted.

  Robbie pointed back the way he had come from. ‘We’re going towards King’s Toft.’

  ‘Where’s the glory in that? There is better fighting to be had and more opportunity for distinction.’

  ‘This isn’t about glory,’ Robbie said. ‘It’s about defending York.’

  Roger rolled his eyes. ‘We should go towards the river. There is unrest near the castle and we can skirt round the outer wall.’

  Robbie’s jaw clenched at the way Roger immediately assumed leadership. He glanced at the other two knights, who were looking impatiently between father and son. He would gain no respect by agreeing timidly with his father, but the route to the river would take Robbie close to his lodging. He belatedly wondered if Mary was safe and felt a small stab of guilt that he had not considered her well-being before that of Rowenna and his family. It was fortunate Roger hadn’t spotted that or he would have been insufferable.

  ‘If you w-wish to join us you may. But w-we’ll cut by the river and go to the D-Dominican friary as I s-said. If you prefer to go another w-way, do it alone.’

  Robbie could hear himself beginning to stutter at the effort of speaking so much in front of strangers. He would lose the argument if it came down to words. He shifted the bow on his shoulder and planted his feet further apart. His jaw tightened as he drew himself tall. Much taller than Roger. His unknown father must have been a large man. He held Roger’s gaze, waiting for his response. Roger nodded briefly.

  ‘We’ll do as you say.’

  Cheering inside at this victory, Robbie fell in beside Roger and they walked side by side towards the friary. The road was littered with rocks and makeshift weapons that had been discarded. Men dressed in everything from tatters to fine homespun lurched about or slumped against walls, passed out from drink.