The Rogue Knight

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Fontaine knelt by the bed again, wrung the water out of the cloth, and began softly bathing the stranger’s right arm.

  “What do you think befell him, Marta?” Fontaine asked in a whisper.

  “Thieves. Thieves is me best guess, miss,” Marta answered. “There be not one thing left about him…so I say thieves it was.”

  Fontaine noticed then a ring on the man’s smallest right-hand finger. “Save for this,” she whispered, studying the ring for a moment. It was caked with blood, and she could make no sense of its pattern in the dim light.

  “His hands were too swollen from the fightin’, no doubt, for the thieves to get that off, to be sure,” Marta explained.

  “To be sure,” Fontaine repeated, gently wiping the blood from the stranger’s fingers. Carefully she bathed his arms, then his chest and stomach. With each cleansing motion she removed blood and dirt from his skin only to find severe bruising of the flesh beneath.

  “It may be his ribs are broken up,” Marta whispered when Fontaine pointed out a particularly severe bruise at his right side.

  “Can you tell by feeling them?” Fontaine asked.

  “I can,” Marta assured her. Fontaine watched, her own ribs aching with sympathy as Marta’s plump fingers pressed here and there on the stranger’s stomach and sides. “Nothin’ feels loose,” Marta concluded. “Firm as stone as far as I can make out.”

  “Good,” Fontaine breathed, relieved. “Still, do you think we should try to search out a physician for him?”

  “Yar aunt would know it before he did, she would,” Marta said. “But me sister…over at Fairshade…she knows an ocean of medicine. I’ll be havin’ her in tomorrow early. She’ll do a better job of guessing at his condition than I.”

  Fontaine felt a worried frown pucker her brow; the anxiety rising within her was cold and uncomfortable. Still, she had hope. The man was obviously strong, no doubt resilient too. She would keep her faith and tend him as best she could.

  Having tended to the man’s cold, ragged feet, bathing them, and finally wrapping them in warmed linens, Fontaine rinsed a fresh cloth in the bowl of water not already red with the man’s blood and began to tenderly bathe his face. She winced as she wiped the drying blood from his lips and cheeks and was astonished to find that, save for a cut at his lip and the one swollen eye, his face was completely unmarred and uncommonly handsome.

  “My, my, my,” Marta whispered, impressed. “Like rinsin’ the dirt from a diamond, it is.” And she was correct. Fontaine was astonished, struck silent at the sight of him. The stranger was undeniably the most attractive man Fontaine had ever encountered! He had a squarely set jaw, strong cheekbones, a slight cleft in his chin. She remembered, and she knew she’d never forget, the bright emerald of his eyes. She imagined that conscious, healed, and smiling, this man could have his choice of women, wealthy or otherwise.

  “And he’s clean shaven, he is,” Marta added. “This man’s no vagabond, miss.”

  Fontaine raised a trembling hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The entire situation was unnerving, in the least of it—this handsome stranger appearing at the servant’s entrance of Pratina Manor in such desperate need? Fontaine knew she was in danger of being severely reprimanded by her aunt if she were to find out about him. And the stranger? Fontaine clutched her throat for a moment, unable to swallow the hard lump of dread filling her throat. If Carileena Wetherton were to find such a man harboring within reach of her wicked talons…Fontaine feared by taking him in, she’d put the stranger in a greater danger than he’d been in before he’d stepped from the brutal night of winter to find haven in the sickroom of Pratina Manor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  For three long days and nights Fontaine tended to Pratina Manor’s secret visitor, bathing his face, keeping him warm, administering sips of warm broth when he was conscious enough to allow it, and all the time hiding his presence from her aunt. Grateful for Daniel’s, Marta’s, and Sally’s help, she worried for them all the same. If her aunt were to find the man in the sickroom, if she were to gain a knowledge of Fontaine’s beloved friends assisting her, they would be sent away forever. Fontaine knew she could not hide the man forever and therefore hoped he would soon find his strength, strength enough to be on his way. Still, the thought of his leaving disheartened her, as Fontaine’s possessive nature toward the stranger continued to grow. But with each passing hour, she worried one of the manor servants would take ill and stumble into the sickroom to discover its occupant and notify her aunt, and Lady Wetherton could not discover him! Fontaine’s stomach seemed to wind itself into knots whenever she thought of her Aunt Carileena setting eyes on the stranger. Her aunt would covet the attentions of such a man, no matter his social status. She would woo and corrupt him, eventually growing tired of him and casting him off like an old stocking. Lady Wetherton knew nothing of caring and compassion. She knew only exploitation, and more than anything, Fontaine did not want to see the handsome stranger secreted in the sickroom fall prey to her wicked ways. Thus were Fontaine’s musings as she tended the stranger on the fourth day following his arrival at Pratina.

  His whiskers were longer, thicker now from days of growth, and Fontaine wondered if she should attempt to soothe him by bathing his face. She pressed the warm, wet cloth against his forehead, hoping it gave him some unconscious respite. She noted the swelling around his eye was gone, leaving a bruise, and even that had lightened a bit.

  She pressed the cloth to his cheek, startled as his strong hand unexpectedly took hold of her wrist. As narrow as the stranger’s gaze was through his barely opened eyes, their emerald tint flashed brilliant in the low light of the room.

  When he did not speak, Fontaine calmly stammered, “You…you are harboring at Pratina Manor…my home. My name is Fontaine Pratina, and I caution you to remain quiet. You are yet in a great deal of discomfort, no doubt.”

  “The others,” the man began, but a dry cough halted his words. Fontaine retrieved a glass of water from its place nearby and drew it to his lips, allowing him to drink from it.

  “Do not speak…you are weary and…” she began.

  “The others…you’ve harbored me in danger to yourself,” he said. “I’ve heard the others speak of it.” Fontaine understood he must’ve heard Marta and Daniel talking at some point when they were tending to him.

  “I have no fear for myself,” she told him. “However, it would go better for you if…if we keep your presence here secret.”

  The stranger scowled and tried to sit up, but a deep grimace on his face told Fontaine he was still in a great deal of pain.

  “You mustn’t strain yourself. You’ve been badly beaten,” she said, pushing at his shoulders and trying to ease him back down onto the bed. Still, she saw his jaws clinch as he continued to rise to a sitting position.

  “I’m stiff from being still so long,” he mumbled, stretching his arms at his sides for a moment. “It’s activity I need.”

  Fontaine frowned, concerned for him. “In moderation, perhaps.”

  The stranger rubbed his eyes with one large hand, studying his bruised and battered knuckles. Then, looking to Fontaine, a slight smile spread across his handsome features.

  Fontaine felt her face warm under his gaze as he said, “Please tell me it hasn’t been you, the lady of the manor, tending to my chamber pot these past nights.”

  Fontaine found her hands wringing nervously in her lap as she looked away from him and said, “The lady of the manor does not know of your presence here…I’m the ‘miss’ of the manor, so to speak.”

  His smile broadened, and Fontaine could not help but smile in return. “Still, it’s not right that such a fine young miss should labor so well over a brute such as this,” he said, gesturing to his wounded hands and ribs. Then he added, “I’m Knight, and I am forever in your debt, Miss Fontaine Pratina.”

  “You owe me nothing, save the task of resting in order that you may be completely well,” Fontaine told him. She heard
his stomach groan a long, aching moan of hunger. He winced and put a hand to his belly.

  “Might a stranger, who has already caused you great inconvenience, beg a bite of bread or meat from his lovely benefactress?” he asked.

  Fontaine smiled, delighted and relieved to see he had an appetite for something other than broth. “Of course! Of course, sir. I’ll be but a moment,” she told him. Standing, she put an index finger to her lips, indicating he should not speak.

  Knight watched as the lovely young woman carefully opened the door of the room where he’d been convalescing. He admired her courage for, from the quiet conversation of the older man and woman who often tended him in this girl’s absence, he’d gathered enough to know the lady of the manor would not approve of the young miss harboring a vagabond. Glancing back at him, the young miss smiled and then closed the door quietly behind her as she left, leaving Knight to consider his predicament.

  Knight sighed and looked around the tiny room, his haven from the elements. He judged it to be the servant’s sickroom, for it was bare save the bed, the fire, a tiny chair, and a small washbasin and stand. There were no windows, and the quilts covering him were well-worn and tattered. Still, he felt oddly comfortable and secure in the small room and in the care of those who had been tending him.

  He thought again on the bits of conversation he’d overheard from the others. Certainly he was not himself, but he was fairly sure he had discerned the relationship between the fair Miss Fontaine and the Lady Wetherton as that of niece and aunt. He’d further surmised the aunt was not of the same character as the niece, being arrogant and lacking compassion.

  His mind lingered on the young miss. She was uniquely kind, her touch soft and fragrant. And she was divine to look upon as well. What brute would deny the opportunity to be nursed by such a sweet girl? Still, he must find his health quickly, for he did not wish to cause her any harm or unhappiness. Slowly he rose from the bed, trying to ignore the tremendous aching of his body. He must recover hastily, but the stiffness of his arms and legs, the pain still throbbing at his sides…he must be patient yet.

  Fontaine gasped, startled when she returned and closed the door to the sickroom behind her to find the stranger out of bed and standing near the fire.

  “You must be careful, sir,” she told him. “You are not yet yourself, I am sure.” Knight turned and smiled at her, and again Fontaine felt her face warm with the heat of a blush.

  “Perhaps not, but I am somewhat revitalized,” he told her.

  “I’ve brought you bread and beef stew,” Fontaine said, holding the plate heaped with hot food toward him. “I hope it will suffice.”

  “More than suffice it will, my lady,” Knight said, gratefully taking the plate from her and going to sit on the edge of the bed.

  Fontaine smiled, pleased to have made him happy. “I’ll leave you to your meal then, sir,” she said, turning to leave.

  “I would beg you to stay, miss,” Knight said. “Speak to me, if you will—tell me of this place and its people. How is it that you came to let me in the kitchen, being that you are not in servitude?” Fontaine smiled, delighted at the invitation, and sat in the chair next to the bed.

  “I find my comfort in the kitchen of the manor,” she answered plainly. “My parents left this life two winters ago, and I am now in the guardianship of the Lady Carileena Wetherton, my aunt.”

  “For the fact you do not look, in figure, to find your comfort in the food in the kitchen of the manor…I would venture a guess it is the people of the kitchen you enjoy,” Knight said, a mischievous smile donning his face.

  Astonished, yet somehow oddly pleased the man would make reference to her physical form, Fontaine said, “Yes. Indeed, it is the company of my friends in the kitchen I take pleasure in.” Carefully then she asked, “And…and where do you find comfort, sir?”

  The man flashed a knowing smile at her and paused to take another bite of warm stew before answering. “I find comfort in travel and hard work, miss,” he said. “As of late, I have worked as a stableman, a coachman, a woodsman, and a gardener.”

  Fontaine felt somehow saddened by his answer. Not by the fact he was a hard laborer but that he found travel as his way of life. An unsettled man was this. Still, she ventured, “How came you by us?”

  Knight nodded and set the plate on the bed at his side for a moment. “I walked to this town from Westchester and found no trouble ’til I passed the Dalley.”

  “The drinking establishment in the Fobble district?” Fontaine asked.

  “I believe so,” Knight confirmed. “It was already dusk…suddenly, by way of an alley, five men pounced upon me to rob me.” He raised one arm and looked at the now purple and green bruising at his side. Fontaine glanced away for a moment, disconcerted by the sudden awareness of his bare, well-sculpted torso. Although she’d seen him thus before, his conscious state unnerved her now.

  “I am good in a battle…one to one…even three to one. But I fear the odds were too great for me, and I failed,” he explained, studying the scabs on his knuckles. “Fortunately, I managed to keep my breeches about me…though the ones I find myself in now are not mine.” Fontaine began to shake her head when he looked at her and raised a suspicious eyebrow.

  “Oh, no, no, no! It was Daniel changed you from the old ones to these. Not I,” she assured him. “And I’ve just this morning sent Marta out for a new set of clothes for you.”

  “I thank you, miss…but dread to tell you I’ve no means of repayment,” he said. “Being that I was robbed and…”

  “You needn’t worry on it, sir,” she said. “I ask nothing from you in return.”

  “I can work…as payment for your care, the food I’ve eaten, the clothing…” he began.

  “That isn’t necessary, I assure you,” she said, feeling rather miserable suddenly. “We’ll see you healthy and on your way.”

  Knight noticed the cloud of misery, which passed over the girl’s expression. He was certain she wanted him to stay, but she seemed simultaneously determined to have him leave as quickly as possible. He was intrigued. What was amiss in this grand house that would find its young miss floating between her aristocratic position and the lower classes?

  And so he ventured, “Surely you have something, some task which needs doing that would serve as repayment for all you’ve done for me. Allow me to satisfy my pride at least and…”

  “Quickly, miss!” came a voice from the other side of the door. “It’s the Lady! Just at my heels, she is!”

  “Sally!” Fontaine called, going to the door. “Slow her, if you can, Sally! Please!”

  Knight frowned. The girl was positively terrified.

  “Quickly, Knight!” she told him in a whisper, tugging on his arm to get him to stand. Sliding the plate of food under his bed, she took his hand and moved toward the door. In the dim light, he hadn’t noticed the small closet behind the door, but when Fontaine opened the closet door and began rather shoving him inside, he understood at once. She was hiding him.

  “Not a sound,” she whispered as she began to shut him in the tiny closet.

  “Nor from you,” he whispered, taking hold of her waist and pulling her in with him, shutting the door a moment before the other opened.

  Fontaine held her breath, tried to remain calm as Knight’s arms closed around her like steel bands. It would’ve been dreadful enough for her aunt to find her nursing this stranger, but to find her locked away in a closet, enfolded in his arms!

  “Who has been ill?” she heard her aunt ask as she stepped into the room.

  “’Tis I’ve been under the weather a bit, milady,” Marta answered. “Just restin’ a bit more this mornin’ between meals, I was.”

  Fontaine closed her eyes tightly, waiting for her aunt’s venomous retort. But when none came, she felt hope rise in her bosom. Her aunt liked Marta…if indeed her aunt was capable of truly liking anyone.

  “Very well. But there’s no need to waste wood on a fire in here once
you’re feeling better,” Lady Wetherton said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Marta agreed.

  “And let’s hope dinner is served on time. We’ve guests arriving, you remember, Marta,” Lady Wetherton added.

  Fontaine heard the door to the sickroom close, but as she moved to leave the confines of the closet, Knight’s arms stayed her.

  “Shhh,” he whispered in her ear. “There is always wisdom in an extra moment to be certain.”

  Fontaine squeezed her eyes tightly shut. This man was dangerous! His effect on her was wildly unsettling. His mere touch tantalized her senses beyond anything she’d ever experienced before, his breath on her neck sent gooseflesh prickling the length of her body. She must see him healed and out of her aunt’s reach as soon as possible. Though she doubted he would ever leave her own mind.

  “There now,” he whispered. “’Tis safe enough now.” His arms left her, and Fontaine felt oddly cold and insecure as he pushed the closet door open, allowing her to step out. Taking his hand, Fontaine tugged at him, urging him to take to the bed once more.

  “I must be found elsewhere in the house,” she explained. “She only comes to the kitchen when she’s seeking me out.” Panic was rising in her bosom, and Fontaine knew her aunt must find her promptly, or suspicion would begin to grow in her mind. If Lady Wetherton’s curiosity at her niece’s activities was kindled, Fontaine would find herself under constant scrutiny and unable to return to Knight. And that thought…she could not bear it.

  Knight rested his head on the bed pillow at last, and Fontaine drew a quilt over him. He caught her hand and pressed a grateful kiss to the back of it.