Her Rogue Knight (6 page)

He had left so quickly that she had not been able to interrogate him, and from the looks the men had given her when they had entered, she knew better than to go back downstairs without him. But when he had told her he would introduce her as his wife, he had shocked her. She would have words with him tomorrow about his assumption.

Once she finished bathing, she slipped her shift back on and slid into the bed, happy to find it not as disgusting as she had expected.

* * *

“Mother!” Gemma called out, waking suddenly, sitting upright, not recognizing where she was for a moment.

“Shh,” came his voice from next to her.

“Wait!” she said to no one.

“Wake up, Gemma. You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

She looked at him lying beside her and remembered the events of the day before. “What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the covers up to her chin as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room.

“I was sleeping,” he said, looking at her.

“Get out of my bed!”

“I will not.”

“You will! I am not your wife!”

“
Yet
. You’re not my wife
yet
. And you appreciated the warmth of my body not five minutes ago,” he teased. “Your arms were so tight around me, I thought I might suffocate.”

“I did not! They were not! Get out!” she said, flustered.

“Go back to sleep, Gemma. I’m only teasing you. I promise not to compromise you,” he said. Then the expression in his eyes changed. “Well, not unless you want me to.”

She gasped, and when he laughed out loud, she shoved at him, trying to physically push him off the bed.

“Stop,” he said. “Lay down.”

She watched him as he turned his back to her.

“Try to get some more sleep. We won’t have a bed tomorrow night.”

“Can’t you sleep on a chair or something?”

“No.”

She huffed and began to climb out of the bed. “What a gentleman. Making a lady sleep on a chair!”

He grabbed hold of her and pulled her back onto the bed. “Stop behaving like a child and let us both get some sleep.”

“If you touch me…”

“Good night, Gemma,” he said.

She looked at him. His eyes were already closed, and he even pretended to snore. She huffed in frustration, lay back down with her back to him, and pulled the blankets off his body and covered hers.

“There,” she said. “Brute.”

“Spoiled little girl,” he threw back and fisted the blanket, pulling it back over himself.

“You’re unbelievable!” she said, scooting farther away but quickly resigning herself to the fact that he was staying in the bed whether she liked it or not.

* * *

The next morning, he was standing at the washbasin splashing water on his face when she woke.

“Good morning,” he said when she stirred.

“It would have been if someone had let me sleep,” she retorted.

“You snored through the night,” he filled in, drying his hands and turning to her.

“How would you know? You were the one snoring loud enough to wake everyone in the inn, I might add.”

He picked up her dress and held it out for her. “Get dressed. The sooner we ride, the better.”

“Throw it here and turn around,” she said.

“So modest,” he teased, but did as she asked.

Keeping one eye on him, she quickly stood up and dressed. She undid the braid of her hair and shook it out, brushing it through with her fingers before starting to re-braid it.

“It’s pretty like that,” he said, turning to watch her.

“I’m not trying to be pretty,” she retorted, not sure why she was angry.

“I would appreciate a little respect,” he commented.

“So would I. Where did you go last night?” she asked.

“I needed to take care of something. Here, this is for you,” he said, holding a bundle out for her.

She looked at him, then looked at the thing he held which was wrapped in a simple but clean cloth. “What is it?” she asked.

“Take it.”

One more glance at him proved he was as nervous about giving it to her as she was about accepting it. But she reached out and took the bundle, then sat down on the bed to unwrap it.

“What did you do?” she asked, running her hands over the thing. She wouldn’t have recognized the leather for what it had been, but the jewels were unmistakable.

“Put it on,” he said. “You needed a bracer.”

Her chest contracted, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “What did you do?” she asked again.

“Go on,” he said when she met his eyes.

She slid her arm into the bracer, and he stepped close, coming down on one knee to bind the ties. The jewels shone, and the leather itself looked somehow repaired, returned to its original state if that were possible.

“It’s a perfect fit,” she said, chills running through her body. “What about you? What about your sword?”

“I have replaced it with a sword belt. You said yourself it was ill-fitted, and it was. That scabbard did not belong to my sword.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, running her hands over it. “I cannot repay you,” she said, turning her face back to his.

“I did not intend to sell it to you. I am simply giving it as a gift,” he said, not quite looking at her eyes.

It took her a moment. “Then, I thank you.”

He nodded. “Do not take it off, Gemma. Ever. It will protect you. Do you understand?”

She opened her mouth to start telling him she didn’t believe in magic, in legends or myth, but the look in his eyes made her stop.

“Promise me you will not take it off, no matter what.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Let’s ride.”

“Sir William,” she said, standing when he reached to open the door. “I want you to know that I do not believe you—I do not believe you are evil, I mean. You said that yesterday, that all men are evil, but it’s not true. You would not have done this for me if you were evil.”

He stared at her for a while then pulled the door open and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

Chapter Five

A soft, low mist still covered the fields as they rode out of the inn. Her forearm bore the leather bracer, and Gemma swore the skin beneath it tingled. Maybe it was the weight of it she needed to become accustomed to. And yet it fit her like a second skin, and there truly wasn’t weight to it at all, only a presence, a constant awareness that it was there.

She rode a few paces behind Sir William, her eyes on the faded emblem of his sword. She thought again about how she recognized it, but she was sure she was mistaken. It couldn’t be what she thought. That was impossible.

She clicked a signal to her horse and rode to catch up with him.

“The innkeeper called you by another name,” she said outright. “Or he started to until he saw your face.”

She was taking a chance, but she had questions, and the answers her mind was forming were impossible to believe.

He glanced at her before facing forward again. “He made a mistake,” he said easily.

“But it looked like he knew you well enough that he would not forget your name,” she pushed on, speeding up again when he rode a little faster.

He did not respond.

“Your sword, Sir William,” she went on, not sure how far he would let her go. “The hilt bears a familiar emblem. A dragon is what I can make out.”

From the side of his face, she could see his expression change. When he slowed his horse and took hold of the reins of her horse, she swallowed. He pulled both animals to a stop.

“What are you doing?” she asked, knowing instantly she had gone too far.

“And what about you,” he said, shifting the reins of her horse into the same hand with which he held his. “What about the emblem
you
wear?” he asked, his voice menacing as his hand reached up to grip the base of her neck beneath her braid.

“Stop,” she said, reaching up her hands to circle his forearm.

“Your birthmark speaks volumes,” he said, tilting her head and pushing her braid away. His thumb closed over the slightly raised twin serpents behind her ear.

“Let me go,” she said.

“Is that not the mark of the Fey?”

“No.”

“Your mother was Fey—isn’t that what they say?”

“She wasn’t. It’s just common stupidity.”

His thumb pressed against then rubbed the mark as he studied it closely. “Half Fey, half human. You descend from Avalon. Your mother as well. Your blood is tempered with human blood, although hers was pure. You know it. Your father knows it. Why do you think he’s kept you hidden so far from the rest of the world?”

“It’s not true,” she said. “Take your hands off me.” This time, her words were accented with the tip of her blade at his throat. She had managed to get hold of it when he was busy with his inspection.

He looked at it, then at her.

“Let’s understand one another,” he began. “You keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine. I took on this journey at your father’s urging. I took you along because I had no choice. I will keep you safe and bring your sister home. But you will respect me and you will respect my privacy, is that understood?”

“I’m the one holding the knife, Sir William. If that’s your name at all,” she blurted out stupidly.

In the next instant, he had released the reins and had taken hold of her wrist. Instead of disarming her however, he turned her arm so she still held the blade, and he held her hand so the flat of the knife pressed full against her own throat, her hand crushed inside his.

“Do not play with me, little girl.” It wasn’t more than a whisper. A lethal one.

He pressed the blade harder against her flesh. She tried not to move or make a sound but couldn’t help trying to pull away, couldn’t help the little sound of fear that escaped her throat.

“Do you understand?”

Her wide eyes went from his, glanced down at his hand holding the blade at her throat, then back to his eyes. She blinked twice. “Yes,” she whispered.

He released her but kept her knife, dropping it inside his saddlebag. She took up the reins with trembling hands and followed in silence, convinced he hated her, and for some reason, that knowledge made her stomach feel as though she had swallowed a mountain of rocks.

* * *

They approached a small village at midday and Sir William slowed his horse. They had ridden in uncomfortable silence for the last few hours.

“We’ll stop here,” he said.

“I don’t think we should stop. We need to keep going to find her.”

“The horses need to rest, and we need to eat.”

“I am not hungry,” she said. “I want to go on.”

“The horses are tired, Gemma. And I am hungry. If you want to wait for me while I eat something, you can suit yourself, but I don’t think that would be wise.”

She eyed the village. It was small, and the few people that were outside were staring at them.

“I will wait with the horses,” she said. “I don’t want someone to steal them while we are inside.”

He made some noise, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath, but he walked toward the tavern.

Gemma watched him go, muttering a curse to herself, still angry from the morning. She’d only been asking questions. She touched the mark at the back of her ear. She hated it. Hated what people thought it stood for. It was just a birthmark; that was all. It meant nothing.

She caressed Morning Glory’s head while the animal grazed, then moved slowly over to his horse. Checking once over her shoulder, she casually dug into his saddlebag. Finding her knife, she replaced it inside the sheath on her arm. She then searched the other bag but found nothing.

West. They were going west. Surely she could find it on her own. Sir William, or whatever his name was, had no reason to hurry. It wasn’t like he cared about Alys. He was probably in there trading her father’s ring right now, getting what he could out of this. She didn’t need him. In fact, she would be faster without him.

Before she knew it herself, she had untethered Morning Glory from the post and walked quietly back toward the path they had been on. Checking over her shoulder one more time to make sure he wasn’t outside, she mounted her horse and began to ride, picking up speed as she got farther from the village.

* * *

Sir William finished his meal, carrying with him a loaf of bread for her to eat. She was hungry—he had heard her stomach rumbling—but she was still too angry to even look at him after the morning. The bread would be his peace offering. He hadn’t meant to frighten her or even argue with her. But her questions had touched a nerve. She was a bright girl, and he had known that all along. Brave too. But if he told her who he was, told her what he had done and why he had gone into hiding, would she understand? What he had done with the stolen scabbard, did that absolve him of his original theft of it?

But all thought left him when he opened the tavern door and saw his horse and only his horse.

Muttering a curse, he pushed the loaf into his saddlebag, mounted his horse, and rode after her. He knew she would continue west. He rode fast, all the while conducting her various punishments in his mind, his eyes bright with more worry than anger, his hands fisted over the reins.

* * *

An hour had passed when Gemma finally slowed her horse. Morning Glory was tired, and she couldn’t keep pushing her. They both needed water and just a few minutes rest. She dismounted and led her to the creek she had been riding along. After drinking, she reached for handfuls of water to wash her face and arms. The sun was hot, and although if she could have she would have let Morning Glory rest for a few hours, she was sure Sir William had discovered her absence by now.

A sound suddenly drew her attention, and she pulled her knife out of its sheath as she rose to stand. Was she expecting Sir William? She knew he would come. Of course he would. As she turned, she realized he would punish her for running off and questioned why she’d done it in the first place. But the sight that greeted her was far worse than even the thought of Sir William angry. He might punish her, but she somehow trusted he would not harm her.