The Rogue Knight

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Also by Marcia Lynn McClure

  The Pirate Ruse

  Romantic Vignettes-The Anthology of Premiere Novellas

  The Windswept Flame

  Weathered Too Young

  Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

  Saphyre Snow

  A Crimson Frost

  The Time of Aspen Falls

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood

  The Whispered Kiss

  The Touch of Sage

  The Fragrance of Her Name

  Dusty Britches

  Shackles of Honor

  The Visions of Ransom Lake

  The Heavenly Surrender

  Daydreams

  Divine Deception

  An Old-Fashioned Romance

  To Echo the Past

  Desert Fire

  Love Me

  Born for Thorton’s Sake

  Sudden Storms

  The Prairie Prince

  Take a Walk With Me

  A Better Reason to Fall in Love

  The Tide of the Mermaid Tears

  Kiss in the Dark

  The Light of the Lovers’ Moon

  Sweet Cherry Ray

  Kissing Cousins

  The Rogue Knight by Marcia Lynn McClure

  www.marcialynnmcclure.com

  Published by Distractions Ink

  ©Copyright 2005, 2010 by M. Meyers

  Photography by Viera Vodrazkova

  Cover Design by Sheri Brady

  All rights reserved.

  The contents of this e-book may not be reproduced in any part or by any means

  without the written consent of the author—except in the case of brief passages embodied in reviews and articles. The title, author and ISBN must accompany such reviews and/or articles.

  Published by Distractions Ink

  P.O. Box 15971

  Rio Rancho, NM 87174

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this work are fictional.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  To Grace,

  For the magnificent smile you own!

  Thank you for giving me, my heart, my memory…

  such a beautiful thing to draw upon!

  AND

  For you on…your birthday!

  Happy birthday, Beautiful G.C.A.E.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The snow was falling harder now—the wind pushing it into drifts against the buildings lining the cobblestone streets. Knight knew if he did not find shelter soon, the harsh elements would mark the end of him. He was a powerful man, but even he could not withstand such extreme exposure to such brutal weather—and winter was thickening like cold, miserable gravy. At least they’d left him his breeches. All the worse it would have been if he’d been left in nothing but his undergarments, or simply his bare skin. Licking the blood from the corner of his mouth, he shook his head, thankful for his breeches, at least.

  Strapping his strong arms across his exposed chest in a feeble attempt to warm himself, Knight stumbled through the alley toward the light at the back of one of the finer houses in the square. He suspected this lighted access was the servant’s entrance of the manor and hoped a kind-hearted kitchen maid or butler would allow him to warm himself by their fire until he could decide what to do next.

  His knuckles were sore and bleeding—worked raw with defending himself during the earlier altercation—the fight that had left him battered and only half clothed in the dead of winter. Still, he raised one tenderized fist and rapped on the door.

  

  “The stew was delicious, as usual, Marta,” Fontaine said. Brushing aside the kitchen curtains, Fontaine Pratina peered out through the window into the dark of winter’s night. The dainty patterns of soft frost trimming the windowpanes brought no beauty to the season for the young woman. Winter was settling in early, and the knowledge caused Fontaine to involuntarily shiver—even for the comfortable warmth of the cozy kitchen. Winters were dark and cold and ever so long. At least, so it seemed. Especially since her parents had both succumbed to fever two winters previous, leaving the guardianship of their only daughter to her mother’s sister, Lady Carileena Wetherton.

  “Thank ya, Miss Fontaine,” Marta said, smiling. “I added a wee bit more basil to tonight’s stew. I think it was a fine decision.”

  Fontaine smiled at the plump, elderly woman—delighted with the cook’s obvious pride in her culinary skills.

  “Still, it would be wisdom for ya to run away from the kitchen before yar aunt finds ya dallyin’ with the cook and scullery maids again, Miss Fontaine,” Marta reminded.

  Fontaine sighed. “I know, Marta,” she said. “But this is the only place I feel happy anymore.”

  Raising a chubby hand to the girl’s cheek, Marta smiled. The poor, dear child, she thought. She loved Fontaine as if she were her own flesh and blood. It was torturous to watch her suffer so. The girl was lovely—within and without. An average-sized young woman with thick, golden hair and deep brown eyes embellished with long, dark lashes, Fontaine had the heart of an angel. Never had Marta known a person of aristocratic lineage to bear more true compassion and kindness toward her fellow man. As sweet as pudding and as fair as a princess, Fontaine treated the servants at Pratina Manor as her equals—sometimes as her superiors. And it had reaped a great deal of grief upon the young woman at the hand of her sharp-tongued, wicked aunt. Marta secreted the hope of a wonderful, dashing young man arriving astride his magnificent white stallion one day and whisking her sweet Fontaine off to a life of love and happiness.

  Yet she knew the kind of woman Lady Wetherton was, her wicked intentions, her greed. Lady Wetherton had married at the age of sixteen Lord Wendell Wetherton, who had squandered away his fortune to gambling debts, leaving Lady Wetherton a nearly destitute widow at the age of twenty-six. Fontaine’s parents, Lord and Lady Pratina, had taken her in and dearly paid for her vices and follies. Still, they’d named her as their only daughter’s sole guardian, and Marta feared the worst kind of life for her sweet Fontaine.

  “Still,” Marta continued. “She’ll be wicked angry if she finds ya here again, my sweet,” she told the girl.

  “I know,” Fontaine sighed.

  The kitchen was quiet now—supper long over and everything tidied and put away for the day. The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth and Marta’s lulling humming of an old Irish tune lent to the comfort of the evening. But a moment later, a sudden pounding on the kitchen door startled everyone. Fontaine’s own heart leapt in her bosom almost painfully for the surprise of the noise.

  “For mercy’s sake!” Marta exclaimed. “Who could be out at this hour…in such bitter weather?”

  Being closest to the entry and desperate to stop the mad pounding, Fontaine opened the servant’s entrance door leading to the alley. What met her eyes instantly sent the hairs on the back of her neck to prickling.

  “Shut him out, miss! Quickly!” Daniel, the head gardener, shouted as everyone in the room stood, mouths gaping open in astonishment at what stood in the doorway.

  “Please, miss,” the stranger’s hoarse voice begged. “Just a moment of warmth is all I ask.”

  Filling the doorway was an enormous measure of a man, completely bare save a pair of tattered breeches—his mouth bleeding, one eye blackened and swollen nearly shut. His skin was red with exposure to the cold, and the flesh at the knuckles of his fisted, trembling hands was ragged and bleeding.

  “I am no villain, miss,” he breathed. “Though I was set upon by several and find myself in need of shelter.”

  “Shut him out, miss! Hurry!” Daniel ordered again. But Fontaine paused, mesmerized by the stranger’s condition and the deep green of his eyes.

  “I promise you, miss�
��” he muttered. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I…I…”

  In the next moment, Fontaine found herself struggling to support the man’s weight as unconsciousness enveloped him, felling him forward against her.

  “Help me, Daniel! Quickly!” she called over her shoulder. The man’s weight was far too much for Fontaine to support, and she felt her knees buckling under the strain of it as she wrapped her arms around him and struggled to hold him up.

  Sally, one of the kitchen maids, hurried over to assist Daniel and Marta as they helped Fontaine to ease the large man down onto the floor. He made no move, no motion to indicate that consciousness would be his again anytime soon.

  “He’s been robbed, he has,” Marta whispered.

  “He’s a mountain if he’s a mole hill,” Sally added.

  “He’s none but trouble, Miss Fontaine,” Daniel warned. “None but trouble.”

  Fontaine drew in a deep breath. “He’s a man in desperate need, and I mean that we should help him.” The dark-haired man would typically be quite powerful, Fontaine noted as she studied the sculpted muscles of his torso and arms. “Whoever would be ignorant enough to beset such a man as this?” she wondered aloud.

  Daniel shook his head. “This ain’t no wounded kitten, miss,” Daniel said. “From the looks of his hands…”

  “From the looks of his hands, he gave them that harmed him a good accountin’ of himself,” Marta interrupted.

  Looking around quickly, Fontaine said, “Help me get him into the sickroom, Daniel. We can’t let Aunt Carileena find him.”

  “That be for sure and for certain bein’ that she’s between lovers…uh…suitors at the moment,” Marta said. “This one would find himself in her venomous web before he could say Jack’s Jenny!”

  Fontaine felt the lump in her throat creep down into her stomach. “I was thinking more that she might throw him back out to suffer in the elements, Marta.” But in truth, her thoughts had been the same as Marta’s. Her aunt was the most unscrupulous woman she’d ever known, and she knew that a man such as this would catch her eye quick as a wink. And for some reason, Fontaine did not want her aunt’s eye catching sight of this stranger.

  “He weighs more than a horse!” Daniel complained as he, Marta, and Sally helped Fontaine drag the man into the nearby room used to nurse ailing servants back to health. The room was small and dark, and Fontaine knew her aunt generally took no notice of sick servants. The man would be well hidden there.

  “And just how would you be knowin’ what a horse weighs, Daniel?” Marta grumbled. Daniel glared playfully at Marta, and she winked back at him.

  Once they had managed to drag the stranger into the small sickroom adjoining the kitchen, Fontaine set about in caring for him. “Daniel…you’ll need to strip him of his breeches and put some dry ones on him before I can tend to anything else.”

  “If you insist on baiting the sleeping lion, miss,” he grumbled as he turned to leave. “I’ll have to get something of Big William’s. He’s the only one who’s got something to fit that in there.”

  “Warm water, washcloths, and towels, Marta? Please?” Fontaine begged. Then turning to Sally she pointed an index finger. “Now, Sally,” Fontaine began. “This is one of those instances in life when silence is of the essence. Not even your own mother can know about this, do you understand? It would go very badly for this man, myself, and anyone else who helped me were my aunt to find out.” In fact, Sally was two years older than Fontaine, but in the past, Sally had shown an innocence of knowledge where Lady Wetherton’s character was concerned. Still, the look on her face at that moment encouraged Fontaine. Sally feared Lady Wetherton as much as any of the rest of them, it was clear.

  “Yes, miss,” Sally agreed. “I’ll not speak of it to a living soul.”

  Fontaine smile and sighed with relief. “Good. Now…build a fire in here quickly, and then run along and let me know if anyone is coming toward the kitchen. Yes?” Sally nodded. In a few minutes a warm fire burned in the sickroom hearth, and Sally had posted herself in the hallway to watch for anyone who might unexpectedly arrive.

  Kneeling beside the bed where the stranger lay, Fontaine took one of his battered hands in her own and softly said, “As soon as Daniel has found you some warm breeches…we’ll have you bathed and see what can be done about the damage inflicted upon you.”

  As she reached across the man’s massive chest to pull a blanket over him, the stranger’s free hand caught her arm in a tight grip.

  “Where am I?” his deep and quiet voice asked.

  His grasp had startled her, but realizing he was incapable of rendering immediate harm, Fontaine released a relieved breath. Putting her hand on his forehead to soothe him, she whispered, “You’re safe…at Pratina Manor. But I must ask you to remain very quiet…for your own welfare. Very well?”

  Suddenly the stranger’s hand released Fontaine’s arm and took hold of her chin, pulling her head toward his. “Have I placed you in danger?” he whispered.

  Fontaine was hypnotized for a moment by the flash of his eyes…like candle flame reflected in emeralds. “No,” she lied in a whisper. “No, of course not.”

  The stranger seemed to relax then, for his hand slipped from her face, and he closed his eyes once more.

  Fontaine found her breath short and uneven. Never had a man dared to touch her so roughly, so improperly, and she was surprised by it. She was even further surprised by the odd thrill that fanned out in her bosom when he’d held her face in his callused hand. Her aunt must never find this stranger. Never!

  Fontaine rose to her feet, wringing her hands, disturbed over her immediate possessiveness for the man on the bed before her. She needed distraction from her unsettling feelings and was thankful when Marta returned carrying two bowls of water and with several linens draped over one arm.

  “Thank you, Marta,” Fontaine said, smiling, so relieved to have someone else in the room with her.

  “He’s a bit on the tattered side, that’s for certain, it is,” Marta said, shaking her head with compassion.

  “How long do you think before he’ll be well enough to leave?” Fontaine asked as she set the bowls of water on the floor beside the bed and knelt down, soaking a cloth in the warm water of one.

  “Days…in the least of it,” Marta answered. “You’ll have to be on yar toes, miss…or yar aunt will have ya for supper.”

  “I know it,” Fontaine whispered.

  “Remember how furious she got when ya brung home that wee pup last spring?” Marta continued. “Imagine how angry she’d be over this big dog.”

  “I know, Marta, I know,” Fontaine reminded the woman. “But what was I to do? Leave him to die in the street?”

  “Maybe he’s a criminal that’s just this evenin’ escaped from prison to come and murder us in our beds,” Marta offered.

  “Maybe he’s a prince who was set upon by thieves, and he’ll reward us all when he’s himself again,” Fontaine countered.

  Marta giggled. “That’s ya for certain, miss…always the silver linin’.”

  “Mark my words, Miss Fontaine,” Daniel whispered as he entered the room carrying a pair of men’s breeches. “No good can come from taking in the likes of that one.”

  “And behold,” Marta said, irritatedly rolling her eyes, “the black prince of gloom.”

  “Now, Daniel,” Fontaine began, “Haven’t you read of the Good Samaritan?”

  Daniel nodded. “I have. But he wasn’t looking at a man the size of an oak, now was he?”

  Fontaine smiled. She adored Daniel. Even with his somewhat pessimistic perceptions, he was a good man and a superior gardener.

  “Even so, Daniel…please, change his breeches for me so I may be about bathing him. We’ll be seeing what we can do to put this oak upright. Very well?” Fontaine said, smiling.

  “Yes, Miss Fontaine,” Daniel relented. “But my mother always said, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’”

  “And my mother always said, ‘Ch
arity never faileth,’” Fontaine added.

  If he hadn’t felt so near to death’s door, Knight might have chuckled at the mumbled complaints of the small man rummaging around with the bedding.

  “’Tain’t right for a man to be so big,” the little man grumbled. “The young miss has stepped in over her head this time,” he rambled on. “If the lady finds out…it’s the chopping block for all our heads…including yours, you big horse.”

  Knight heard a deep chuckle escape his throat, though he thought his body too weak to produce it.

  “Oh, so you’re laughing at me now, are you?” the small man grumbled, finally stripping off Knight’s breeches. “Well, one more noise out of you and I’ll leave you as bare as the day you were born.” Knight stifled the next chuckle, catching it in his throat a moment before it would’ve meant his further humiliation.

  “You didn’t hurt him, did you, Daniel?” Fontaine inquired when Daniel exited the sickroom scowling and muttering under his breath.

  “The oaf laughed at me!” Daniel told her. “Laughed! And me…trying to be the Good Samaritan.”

  “And ya are, too, Daniel,” Marta said, smiling and patting him on the shoulder.

  Fontaine reached out and took Daniel’s hand for a moment. “Thank you, Daniel,” she told him. “You know I need you…in so many ways…and you do so very much for me. If it were in my power, I’d…”

  Instantly Daniel softened. “I know, miss,” he said, smiling at the young beauty. “And you know I’d do anything for you…even if I do complain about it.”

  Fontaine smiled. “I know, Daniel. And I’m ever grateful and in your debt.”

  “Off to bed with ya now, Daniel,” Marta ordered. “I’ll keep the wee miss company.”

  With a smile and a nod, Daniel left them. “Well, let’s see what’s been done to the poor lad,” Marta sighed, taking Fontaine’s hand and leading her back into the sickroom.