Her Rogue Knight

by Knight, Natasha

  “You cannot give him your ring! What if we never see him again?” Gemma broke in.

  “Go to your room, child.”

  “No!”

  “Now!” Abraham demanded, raising his voice in a way he hadn’t in years.

  “I’ll take my leave and prepare for the journey,” Sir William said, ignoring her altogether and bowing his head to Abraham.

  “I thank you, Sir William,” Abraham said.

  Sir William didn’t smile but walked out the door.

  “I can’t believe you just gave him your ring, not to mention what you promised! We don’t even know the man. He is a recluse, a hermit. He could be a criminal, no better than those men who took Alys.”

  “His heart is pure,” Abraham said, watching as the door closed behind Sir William before turning to Gemma. He reached out a hand to take hers. “Open your eyes, child. See what is true. You have your mother’s magic—you simply must open your eyes.” He squeezed her hand. “As well as your heart.”

  “There is no magic, Father,” she spat in familiar anger, walking out the door just in time to catch Sir William as he mounted his horse.

  “Sir William,” she called out, the words sounding bitter.

  He turned.

  She covered the few steps between them. “That ring belongs to my family. It’s the last thing of any value that my father owns,” she said, her voice more an angry hiss than anything else.

  “I understand, and I shall bring your sister and it back to him. Go back inside to your father. He needs you now.”

  “I won’t marry you.”

  He ignored that. “Go inside.”

  “At least let me come with you. You cannot stand against all those men alone.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous for you.” He then spoke more slowly, as if she were hard of understanding. “Go back inside. Your father needs you now.”

  “You’re going to lose the trail if you wait,” she said. “We have to go now.”

  “There is no ‘we’. The men are headed west. I know that as well as their destination. It’s useless to go after them without first preparing. I will be of no use to your sister if I do not do that.”

  Frustrated, she turned away and walked back into the house. She heard him mutter something under his breath but didn’t look back. Instead, she listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves as Sir William rode off.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as night had fallen, Gemma climbed out of her bedroom window. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and secured her bow and arrows along with two apples inside Morning Glory’s saddlebag. She then mounted and trotted off into the woods in the direction the men had gone earlier that day.

  The night was cool as it usually was this time of year, and she was grateful for it. The light of the stars guided her through the dense wood, but she worried that it would become thicker and much darker soon.

  Sir William had said they had headed west, so she went in that direction, guided by her own senses for the moment. She had borrowed the last of her father’s coins—well, borrowed without his knowledge or permission. She slid her hand into her pocket and touched them, feeling a pang of guilt before turning to the path ahead of her. Alys’ life was more important than any amount of money and any material thing.

  Sir William had said they had six days and that the ceremony would be held on the night of the Beltane fires. What ceremony he spoke of, she had no idea. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She touched a hand to the slightly raised birthmark behind her ear. She had some idea.

  Before her mother had died, she had told stories. Strange, wonderful, magical stories that enthralled Gemma. She would sit for hours listening at her mother’s feet, staring up into her beautiful face and her strange eyes. Gemma had inherited her mother’s eyes, although they were tempered slightly by her father’s darker ones. Hers were more golden, while her mother’s had been more green.

  She recalled the tales she had been told. She could retell them herself and had done so to her sister, but that had been years ago. Alys had been just a baby then and remembered none of it.

  The day of Alys’ birth had been the day of her mother’s death. Gemma’s lip quivered, and her eyes grew hot with tears at the memory. She’d seen her one last time that day, holding the still-bloody baby, the cord still in place connecting daughter to mother. She remembered her first thought, the feeling inside her when she had been led into the birthing room. She had looked at the baby, her sister, but what had drawn her attention was the cord itself. It still connected this new being to her mother. Jealousy had erupted inside Gemma, an energy that made her body tingle, her muscles tighten, her heart fall like a boulder to her stomach.

  Her mother had called out her name then, and Gemma had turned her eyes to her mother’s, knowing her mother knew what she felt. Her mother’s bright eyes usually shone. But that day when Gemma had looked into them, she’d gasped, shuddering as if the devil had laid a hand upon her shoulder.

  “Come here, Gemma,” her mother had said, her voice weak as she held out her hand.

  Gemma had stared for a long time, her feet still, as if planted where she stood. Tears had begun to fall from her eyes, and if her father hadn’t know it before, he had known then by looking at her that her mother would not survive this birth. His own tears had come quietly, his hand large and protective on his wife’s shoulder, but unable to shield or protect her against that final death.

  Slowly, she had walked to her mother. She had placed her trembling hand inside her mother’s weaker one.

  “Mother,” she’d managed, her body rocking with emotion.

  “Daughter.”

  She had not said more, but while they had remained as they were, their eyes locked on one another, and Gemma had heard everything, had seen everything, all without a sound, all within an instant: her mother’s thoughts, her dreams, her fears, her loves, her losses and her regrets.

  “You will always be my first. No one and nothing can take that away,” her mother had said, releasing her hand to touch her face. A small shadow of a smile had played on her mother’s lips. “Love your sister as I have loved you.”

  Gemma had broken then. It was the end; her mother was moments from death, and she knew it. And as soon as they had cut the cord that connected her sister to her mother, she had passed. Without a sigh, without a gasp or even an exhale of breath; nothing at all. She had simply closed her eyes and passed.

  The nurse had collected the child as Gemma had fallen across her mother’s still form and howled. Since that night, Gemma had been the protector of Alys—that and Alys’ mother, her sister, and her only friend.

  A sound brought her back to the present, and Gemma gasped, startled. She touched the blade strapped to her upper arm as she looked around the thick, dark wood, but she saw nothing. It had likely been an animal. She was alone, tired and cold, and more than a little uncertain.

  She rode on a while longer until the path ahead of her disappeared fully in the thick growth of the forest and no more star light penetrated the dense cover of trees. She dismounted, listening to the sounds of insects and other creatures of the night. Clearing a spot just a few feet away, she sat down on the cool, damp earth, pulling her hood over her head. She slipped the blade from its sheath on her arm and closed both hands over it. Leaning her back against a tree and making herself as small as possible, she allowed her eyes to close.

  * * *

  Sir William rode as if the devil himself were after him. The girl was stubborn, and she was going to get herself hurt or worse. Abraham had sent a boy to his cottage before daybreak once he had realized she had run off after her sister. She had taken the last of his coins and left a letter in their place explaining her plan—which was no plan—and explaining that she did not trust this stranger, this old, weak man, to rescue her sister.

  Old, weak man. William shook his head, fuming. He was no old man. Older than her, yes, but no old man. He was barely fifteen years her senior. And he was
certainly not weak. But best to show the headstrong girl rather than tell her. He would now have to find and return her to her father’s house before heading out once more to find the kidnapped child. He only hoped this wouldn’t cost him too much precious time. The moon would be full in six days. He had an idea where they would take Alys, and he could be there in four days if he rode hard. But he would have to take paths less traveled and keep himself well hidden. That would cost him time, time perhaps the child did not have.

  He slowed his horse as the path split and grew more dense. He dismounted and looked around. Finding the way with the freshest tracks, he walked his horse by the reins. At least she had chosen the correct direction. She was an archeress; he had seen her with her kill more than a few times. But who knew what her sense of direction would be like here in the unfamiliar and dark wood, especially at nighttime.

  Once he was certain this was the path she had taken, he mounted his horse once more and rode at a slightly slower pace, his eyes scanning the wood as the sun made its way up into the sky. The image of her emerging naked from the river yesterday formed in his mind, and his cock immediately stirred. Although he had watched her before, he had never seen her bathe. She had thought she’d been alone, but that was just one more reason she shouldn’t be out here on her own now. She thought herself stronger than she was, but this was not a woman’s place. Abraham’s proposition had taken him by surprise, although it made perfect sense. The man was old and had weakened so much in the five years Sir William had known him. He needed protection for his family, and his proposal left no doubt in Sir William’s mind that he had in fact recognized him upon their first meeting.

  He remembered the first time he had seen Gemma. It had been when he had gone to her father to rent the cottage on his lands. It was a remote, hidden place, and he had needed just that. He had needed to put space between himself and the world.

  Her father had been working the field when William had arrived on his horse. Having ridden for days, he had been filthy. Although he had washed himself in the same river where he’d yesterday spied Gemma, his clothing was torn and not that of a noble man, certainly not that of a great knight. But Abraham had taken one look at him, had eyed the hilt of the sword he carried with its scratched and faded emblem, and had bowed his head. Sir William suspected he had recognized the symbol because he had welcomed the rogue knight into his home without question.

  That was five years ago. Gemma had been thirteen at the time. When Abraham had taken him into the house, she had first watched him from a corner. He had pretended not to have seen her, but her pale golden eyes had all but burned into his back until finally her father called her in, telling her to fetch refreshments for them. She had done as he’d said but had spared a glance, or more a glare, in his direction that he could still clearly remember. It had taken all he’d had not to laugh outright at the brave girl who thought herself world-wise.

  Since that day, he had watched her whenever he’d come upon her. She was too free and needed someone to look after her in a way Abraham was no longer able to. He knew the stories of her mother. The nearby townsfolk discussed the Fey witch who had fallen in love with a mortal and, unable to live without her human lover, had chosen to give up her own immortality to be with him. He had seen enough magic to know this sort of talk took root somewhere in truth, but he had never mentioned it, just watched her instead with curiosity, and something more as she had grown older, becoming a beautiful, fierce young woman.

  “Stubborn young woman,” he said out loud, hearing the song the wind carried to his ears.

  Dismounting, he secured his horse to a sturdy branch and went on foot through the thicket of trees, remaining as quiet as possible until he spied her.

  “You do not take direction very well,” he said, his voice breaking into her quiet song.

  She startled, straightening from her position so quickly that she hit her head on an overhead branch.

  “Ouch!” she said, rubbing her head as she regained her balance.

  Somewhat amused, William leaned against a tree.

  “How did you find me? Are you following me? Did my father send you?”

  “Easily, yes, and yes,” he said, picking a piece of dirt from his fingernail and flicking it onto the earth before returning his gaze to hers. “You’re not difficult to track, although I am pleasantly surprised you chose the correct direction.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Her stance told him this wasn’t going to go easily, not that he expected it to.

  “Get your things together. I’m taking you back to your father’s house.”

  “No, you’re not. I’m going to find my sister and bring her home. You standing here talking to me is only taking up time she probably does not have.”

  “The only reason she would run out of time is because of her stubborn sister taking matters into her own naïve, inexperienced hands. Get your things. I’m taking you home.”

  “Naïve? Inexperienced?” She huffed for a moment, and he could see the anger glowing in her eyes. He almost chuckled. She ground out, “I am neither naïve nor inexperienced. You do not know anything about me, and you are not taking me home!”

  He took a step toward her. “I know that you’re well-intentioned, but you are also misguided. I know that you are brave and you will not allow yourself to dwell in uncertainty—both excellent traits. However, I also know you have a stubborn streak and are in need of a lesson in respecting your elders, but I will leave that to your father to address once you are home. Gather your things. I will not say it again.”

  “You are not my father! And you are not my husband! Nor will you ever be,” she said, although her voice faltered just a little and she dropped her gaze from his for a moment. “You cannot tell me what to do!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I am not your husband yet, but as I have been tasked with finding and bringing you home in addition to your sister, you are in my charge and you will do as I say or face the consequences,” he said, taking two steps toward her. “What exactly were you thinking you were going to do alone against what, a dozen men? Two dozen, perhaps?”

  * * *

  Gemma watched him approach, took a quick glance in either direction, but determined to hold her ground. She wasn’t going to plead with him. She was just going to tell it to him as it was. He had no rights over her.

  “I just want to find my sister. I know my father means well, but he does not understand that we do not have time to waste.”

  “Does not understand? Your father is a wise man. Life may have aged him prematurely, but I wouldn’t say he does not understand. I think it is you who does not understand the danger you’ve put yourself in, not to mention the small window of time we have to save your sister.” He sat down on the stump of a tree. “Tell me what exactly you were going to do when you caught up with them. If you caught up with them,” he added.

  She shifted on her feet. “I will catch up with them, and then I will take her back, bring her home.”

  “How exactly?”

  She made a face and shook her head as if he were the one not understanding.

  “Let me be more specific. How were you going to track her?” he pressed.

  “I was going to go west,” she said, wavering a little.

  “And then?”

  Well, she hadn’t really thought of the ‘and then’ part. She glanced at the ground, then returned her gaze to his. “Is that not obvious? And then I would find her, kill the men who kidnapped her, and bring her home.”

  He nodded, scratching his scruffy neck as he looked up into the now blue sky. “So, just to make sure I—this old, weak man—understands…” he began.

  She cringed at the words he threw back at her—he’d obviously seen the letter she had left for her father.

  “You were going to ‘go west’, magically locate your sister, single-handedly kill her captors, and return with her to your father’s house unharmed.”

  She glance
d around, avoiding his somewhat amused, somewhat bored gaze. “That’s about right.”

  “M-hmm. Do you see any flaws in your plan?”

  “Excuse me for not having had the luxury of time to plan something far more elaborate and exciting! And, speaking of time, you are now taking up not only mine but my sister’s as well. Tell my father I’m fine and I’ll be home as soon as I can with my sister. Good day, Sir William!” she said, turning on her heel.

  She hadn’t even heard him take a step when his hand was on her shoulder, halting her.

  “You are one stubborn little girl,” he said.

  Just as he turned her, Gemma drew the blade from her sleeve and held it up. Her hand shook and her heart raced, but he looked almost relaxed as she held the blade to him. She carried the sharpened kitchen knife in case of something exactly like this, but as she had never had to deal with anything like this before, she stood wide-eyed, absolutely at a loss for what to do next.

  But she didn’t have to think long. Before she knew it, his hand had closed over her wrist, and he turned her, hugging her back to him just like he had done yesterday, except that this time, his hold was much more rough. With a little pressure and a quick shake of her wrist, her knife fell to the earth.

  “You’re hurting me!” she yelled, pushing the elbow of her free arm into his ribs as she pressed her hips back in an effort to free herself. “Let me go!”

  “Once I’ve taught you a lesson,” he said, hauling her off her feet and carrying her backwards until he was sitting down again on that tree stump.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, struggling when he pulled her face down onto his lap.

  His huge hand connected hard with her buttocks, and even through the layers of both her dress and shift, she felt its strength.

  She gasped. “Ow! Let me go!”

  He pulled her waist closer to him and spanked her again.

  “You can’t do this! You have no right!”