The Rogue Knight

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Once in his quarters, however, quarters he was to share with Big William, the true and worthy coachman, he exhaled a deep and calming breath. He had not possessions on hand to organize, simply the clothes on his back and the money in his pocket, both provided by the kind Miss Fontaine. He must seek her out—let her know, somehow, he hadn’t betrayed her. He knew she frequented the kitchen in the late hours of evening. He would find her there then, he was certain, and he would express the truth of where his loyalties were placed. He would make her believe it, for he owed her more than could ever be regained.

  

  “She’s a villain, that one,” Marta grumbled. “And she taints anythin’ she touches, she does.”

  Fontaine sat at the servant’s table in the kitchen, her chin resting in the palm of one hand. She stared at the candle flame in the center of the table, listening to Marta and trying to find some joy in her friend’s chatter.

  “Still,” Marta continued, “I hope Knight is different, I do. I like to think that he is. He seems stronger than most men she corrupts…wise to her ways.”

  “He’s a man, Marta,” Fontaine sighed. “And like any other man, he’s drawn to wealth and beauty…no doubt driven by vanity and physical desire.”

  “You think no better of me than that?” Knight said, entering the kitchen at that moment.

  Fontaine felt the sting of shame’s blush tint her cheeks as he strode toward the table, taking a seat beside Marta and across from Fontaine.

  “And to think I’ve sought you out to assure you I’m not ignorant, only to find you judging me so quickly.” His voice was deep and angry, and Fontaine could not meet his gaze for shame’s sake.

  “If ya’re different than other men she’s known, than ya’ve yet to prove it,” Marta mumbled. “For ya’ve fallen into her aunt’s clutches easily enough, ya have, Knight.”

  Fontaine stared at her hands, wringing anxiously in her lap, but she gasped when she felt Knight reach across the small table, taking her chin in hand and raising her face toward his.

  “I’ve not betrayed you, miss,” he said, his hand on her face causing her breath to quicken, her bosom to flutter.

  “Ya’re a brazen one, ya are!” Marta exclaimed. “To touch her the likes that ya have!”

  But Knight ignored Marta, and Fontaine could not help but be captured by the smoldering heat of his gaze.

  “I owe you my life, miss,” he told her. “And I mean to repay the debt as best as it can be repaid. You saved me, after all,” he said.

  “God saved you, Knight,” Fontaine correct, afraid to trust him any further. After all, he belonged to her aunt now.

  “With you as His instrument,” he countered. “And I do mean to prove to you…that I mean only to serve you.”

  “I have a coachman,” Fontaine said, her voice breaking with emotion, tears barely withheld in her eyes.

  Knight inhaled deeply, dropped his hand from her chin, stood and walked around to Fontaine’s side of the table, kneeling beside her. Taking her hand in his, he pressed the sum of tender she’d gifted him earlier in the day, and fisted her fingers around it.

  “I mean to serve you, Miss Fontaine. I’ve a debt to repay, and I will repay it,” he told her. “With or without your faith and trust in me.”

  Fontaine felt her breathing stop as she tried not to feel belief in his promise. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and beg him to leave her aunt’s service, for she knew she could not endure watching him fail in his promise. But worse, she could not endure the thought of her aunt in Knight’s embrace the way she had been in the sickroom closet. And Fontaine knew it was Lady Wetherton’s intention…to be bound in Knight’s arms, to be lost in his affections. Fontaine grimaced as a vision of her aunt being the recipient of Knight’s attentions, his embrace his…his kiss.

  “You’ve no idea…the strength of her will,” Fontaine whispered.

  “You’ve no idea in the strength of mine,” he said in a lowered voice.

  The emerald of his eyes burned through the brown of Fontaine’s until she felt she might lose all hold on reality and fling herself against him, begging for him to choose her instead of her wealthy and powerful aunt. Her thoughts of wanting to own him were foreign, unexpected, and she found great difficulty in banishing or absorbing them. He was a stranger to her! She knew nothing of this man! Nothing more than the fact he was divinely handsome, lethally attractive, strong, and seemingly chivalrous. How could she possibly want to own him or be owned by him? Putting a hand to her temple, Fontaine struggled to dispel the mixture of emotions swirling about in her being. She must not succumb! He wasn’t to be trusted. Not with the way he apparently fell so easily into her aunt’s sticky web of cunning deceit.

  “Off with ya now, Knight,” Marta ordered. “She’s too much concerned over the state of things this night, she is.” Coming to stand by Knight, Marta took his arms and urged him to his feet. “Off with ya, lad.”

  “You can put your trust in me, miss,” Knight said as Marta led him from the way. “And your faith.”

  But as soon as his back was turned, a torrent of tears and quiet sobbing wracked Fontaine’s body with heartache and pain the like she’d never imagined. Oh, how she wanted to trust him, to feel safe in his presence at Pratina. But she knew what Lady Wetherton was capable of, and Knight, strong though he may be, had most likely never encountered the likes of her. Her aunt would woo him, win him, and take him for her lover. And when she grew weary of him, she would send him off on other travels.

  Then a more miserable thought entered Fontaine’s mind. What if her aunt never grew tired of Knight? What if he turned out to be the one man who truly won her cold, cruel heart? Burying her face in her hands, Fontaine sobbed, vented the tears and heartache of the bitterly unhappy.

  “Don’t ya be professin’ any great loyalty to the lass, ’less you mean to show it, my lad,” Marta warned as she rather pushed Knight out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  “You know I’m beholden to her, Marta,” Knight growled, angry the woman didn’t believe his sincerity.

  “I know ya are, I do,” Marta sighed. “But…but the situation for Miss Fontaine is bleak, I fear…and no manner of false hope will help her endure it any better.”

  “I don’t intend that it is false hope,” Knight said. He couldn’t fully understand why everyone distrusted him so, simply because he’d accepted Lady Wetherton’s offer of employment at the manor. Surely they didn’t think a salary would turn him. And surely they didn’t imagine her wicked feminine wiles would ensnare him. Still, as he looked at the plump, rather adorable woman’s expression of concern, he realized they knew nothing much of him in fact. Just that he had been set upon by miscreants, had been beaten nearly to death, and felt grateful for their help.

  Marta sighed and forced a compassionate smile. “How old are ya, lad?” she asked.

  Knight chuckled. “Old enough to read the hearts of women,” he answered.

  Marta’s smile broadened. “Oh, I’ve no doubt ya’re old enough to fool with the hearts of women…but to read them?” She shook her head and added, “I judge ya’re not a day over twenty-four, and it takes a man of fifty years in the least…to read the hearts of women.” Knight smiled and nodded, amused at the woman’s insight and humor. However, her next utterance purely astonished him.

  “Just promise me this, me lad,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper and tugging on his sleeve in order that he would bend his ear closer. “Ya’ll kiss our young miss once…before you surrender to the witch’s ways.” Knight felt his eyes widen, more astonished at the cook’s suggestion he kiss Fontaine than the inference he would eventually succumb to Lady Wetherton’s wiles.

  “What say you, Marta?” he asked.

  “Ya well heard what I said, ya did,” Marta told him. “Furthermore, ya’ll kiss our young miss first…before ya take the kiss of the devil’s bride.” Knight could only stare at Marta, unbelieving.

  �
�Now, off with ya, at last, lad,” Marta said, turning from him. “I’ve the kitchen to tend, I do.”

  

  In truth, Knight had already considered on what the taste of Fontaine’s lips would be. For he looked on her as any man would, as a young and beautiful feminine treat who had rescued him from certain tragedy. Still, as Knight lay in his bed that night, the rhythmic sound of Big William’s snore doing nothing to lull him to sleep, he thought on Marta’s astonishing suggestion again and was somewhat irritated.

  “They’ve no faith in me whatsoever,” he whispered to himself. Still, he thought then, having been given permission—nay, having been ordered—to kiss the fair miss of the manor…then who am I to disobey?

  And so Knight resolved…when the opportunity presented itself, he would take the pleasure of Fontaine’s soft and no doubt innocent mouth with his own and feel no guilt in it.

  Fontaine wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned her pillow to its other side, its current surface having become far too damp with her sobbing to remain comfortable.

  “Why do I concern so?” she asked herself out loud. “He’s a traveler, a rake, no doubt. Certainly he feels an obligation toward me,” she mused. “But that is the stuff of it…an obligation.”

  Yet why can’t I put him from my thoughts? she wondered in silence. Why can’t I stop the terrible fluttering in my bosom that begins at the mere sight of him?

  Being a young woman of aristocratic birth and fine social standing, Fontaine was not unaccustomed to the attentions of men both young and old, both homely and handsome. Thus, even for his uncommonly attractive presence, it was beyond her understanding as to why Knight had rapt her soul so completely.

  For a moment she thought, Have I fallen in love with him? But she knew one did not fall in love with a stranger over the course of seven slight days. Yet she felt her body yearning to be close to him, envisioned the green blaze of his eyes each time she closed her own, longed to hear the deep nature of his voice, wished for the sound of his low chuckle in her ears.

  Finally, amidst the soothing crackle of the fire and the memory of those beloved moments in the sickroom closet spent wrapped in Knight’s arms, Fontaine found sleep. However troubled it may have been, Fontaine found respite in the unconscious dreams of Knight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I’ve such compassion, such understanding for my sweet niece and her circumstances,” Lady Wetherton explained.

  “I see it daily, Milady Wetherton,” Knight said, gritting his teeth.

  In the three weeks since gaining employment at Pratina, he’d also gained further insight into the plight of his young rescuer, Fontaine. Through the servants’ gossip, Marta’s and Big William’s friendships, and most of all by way of his own observations, he’d learned the full depth, the deep hopelessness of Fontaine’s situation.

  Fontaine’s parents had failed miserably in trying to provide proper care for their only daughter. Most likely assuming they would never pass away together, their will not only named Lady Carileena Wetherton as their daughter’s guardian until she reached the age of nineteen, it also stipulated that Lady Wetherton must choose, or at the very least approve of, any suitor interested in their daughter until such time as she reached the same age. Further, Lady Wetherton could condone or deny Fontaine’s marriage to any suitor or even pledge her troth to a worthy man of Lady Wetherton’s choosing once her niece reached the age of eighteen, the age deemed appropriate for marriage by Fontaine’s parents. Supplementary to the already contemptible terms of Fontaine’s marriage or troth, if she did marry before the age of nineteen, her entire inheritance including properties and all tender, fell to her husband, thereby becoming solely his own set of assets.

  Thus, Knight understood why Fontaine’s outlook was so bleak, her hopes so suppressed. And short of throwing her into a sack, tossing her over his shoulder, and spiriting her away, he was at a loss as to how to help her. Still, he had decided to bide his time, wait patiently, and see what other opportunities might present themselves.

  Enduring Lady Wetherton, however, had proved a greater challenge than he had surmised. She was undoubtedly the most flirtatious and forward woman of title he had ever encountered. Her access to the Pratina wealth had spoiled her as well. She was a woman used to getting what she wanted. Anything she wanted. In truth, Knight gained a decidedly deeper understanding of Marta’s concern where he was concerned, for it was apparent Lady Wetherton found him attractive. He saw nothing in her, however, save the countenance of malevolence. Still, for Fontaine’s sake he was enduring Lady Wetherton’s orders, attentions, and wicked ways.

  Lady Wetherton placed her hand on Knight’s arm and smiled up at him. “I knew I could trust you to show loyalty toward me the moment I saw you, Knight,” she said.

  Knight’s jaw clinched so tightly the grinding of his teeth echoed in his head. She meant to seduce him, he knew it, and he was sickened by it. Further sickened because he was not certain how to avoid Lady Wetherton’s advances and remain in her employ, thereby protecting his young miss.

  “Yes, milady,” he said through clinched teeth.

  Lady Wetherton tossed her head, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “I see that Fontaine has taken a fancy to you, Knight,” she began. Knight’s brow puckered, for he was surprised and puzzled by the venue she chose to cast her lure. Lady Wetherton laughed, amused by his expression of puzzlement.

  “Oh, Knight! Silly man. Do not feign ignorance in the matter,” she said. “You can’t have missed the way her eyes brighten when you enter the room, the way a blush rises to her cheeks when you smile at her.”

  “Apparently, I have, milady,” he said. So this was it! She planned to further abuse Fontaine by jealousy’s means. His molars ached with sealing the anger in his throat threatening to vent at the woman.

  Again the lady smiled at him. “Your humility becomes you further, Knight,” she said. “However,” she continued. “I’ve a proposition for you. Let us see if you’re game, shall we?”

  “Milady?” Knight asked, truly puzzled.

  Lady Wetherton sighed, affecting disquiet. “You see, Knight…Fontaine’s prospects in life…well, as you may have noticed, she isn’t the loveliest of young ladies.” Again Knight’s molars ground into one another with irritation. “Furthermore, the responsibility of finding her a suitable, worthy husband…unhappily falls to me. And though I’ve several superior prospects…it is a sad thing to see a young woman enter into a marriage of convenience with an older, albeit capable man some twenty years her senior, without ever having known the affections of a young, handsome, mischievous man such as yourself.”

  Knight’s eyes narrowed. The woman’s loathsome character seemed boundless. Was she indeed suggesting…

  “Therefore—and I assure you, you will be well paid for it—therefore, I propose a gift, as it were, to my dear, neglected Fontaine,” Lady Wetherton said, smiling at him.

  “That being?” Knight prodded. He could not believe she was actually suggesting what his imagination interpreted.

  Lady Wetherton laughed again and said, “A harmless tête-à-tête…a secret lover all her own, and in you, my dear coachman!”

  “I beg your pardon, milady?” Knight mumbled.

  “She’ll fall in love with you, naturally. But…it needs be. For I know how desperately a young girl’s heart needs a secret love to comfort her as the years pass. And I do so want that for Fontaine,” the woman explained. “As for your benefit, not only am I giving full permission for you to romance my niece…but your reward shall be the equivalent sum of two years’ employment here.” Lady Wetherton smiled, her eyes flashing with triumph.

  Knight knew full well what the woman’s intentions were—heartache, pain, and injury to Fontaine. To place in her memory and heart a lover after whom she’d pine away for the rest of her life, simply assuring her complete unhappiness in the arranged marriage she must face. Still, his mind was racing with the possibilities the situation might afford. Fo
r one, it would procure time in his favor…time to consider other ways of rescuing the rescuer from her sad ruin.

  “Two years’ wages, milady?” Knight asked.

  Instantly Lady Wetherton’s witch’s eyes blazed with triumph. “Two years’ worth, Knight.”

  He pretended to be pensive for a moment. “What rules bind me?” he asked plainly.

  “Your wisdom shows in that question,” she said. Still smiling she said, “Only a few. It cannot be an advertised affair…to the servants or any other. It must remain in secret, for her reputation must be protected at all cost.”

  “Of course,” Knight mumbled.

  “She must think it is in earnest, as well,” the woman continued, “Fontaine must believe that you are indeed smitten with her.” Knight nodded. “And finally…” Knight noted the smile fading from her face, indicating the seriousness of her next utterance. “Finally…it ends when I say it ends. No questions, no arguments…and you move on,” she said, reaching up, caressing Knight’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You move on to…other venues of entertainment.”

  The sickened condition of Knight’s stomach, the anger swelling in his chest, the need to lash out verbally at the witch almost overcame his desire to help Fontaine. But with every ounce of power coursing through his being, he restrained his want to overcome her.

  “Are those the only restraints put upon me?” he asked through still clinched teeth, for her hand on his cheek infuriated him.

  Lady Wetherton sighed with delight at her seeming victory. “Yes,” she said. “Other than…as I said, her virtue must remain untainted…at least, to the world’s knowledge.”

  “Then, milady…the game is afoot,” he finished.

  “Marvelous!” Lady Wetherton chimed, clapping her hands together. “It is so important that a woman have her cherished memories, Knight. I hope you can understand that.”