An Honorable Rogue (11 page)

Ben took a deep breath and focused his gaze on the top of the church roof, where even now a workman was edging his way out on to the parapet at the top of the tower. He did not think this was the right moment to bring up the offer she had turned down, the offer that had, sadly, precipitated his falling out with Adam, 'I wonder...' he spoke casually, almost musingly, but was startled to realise that his every nerve was taut as a lute string, alert for her slightest reaction '.. .if you truly know what you do want.' He slanted her a look.

Her eyes glistened, tears looked about to fall, and her fingers were almost as pale as the cream ribbon, which was wound so tightly it threatened to cut off her circulation.

'Don't, Ben, please.' she said, in a choked voice.

Reaching for her wrist, Ben gently began unwinding the cream ribbon. 'Careful, little flower, you're tying yourself in knots."

Ben's fingers were warm on hers. Careful fingers with calluses from playing the leopard's-head lute; fingers brown from the summer sun; fingers that belonged to a minstrel who called no place his home. A pain in her chest, Rozenn watched them untangle the ribbon and smooth it out.

And then Ben changed the subject and they spoke of inconsequential matters, of the heat of the day, of the lack of rain. Shortly afterwards, he wandered off.,and Rose watched his lithe figure threading its way through the townsfolk until it was lost to sight.

Noticing Anton in the crowd, Rose thrust Ben from her mind and waved him over. 'Anton, there's extra money for you if you will man my stall for a minute. I need to speak to Mark Quemeneur.'

'Yes.
madame.'
Anton, who had helped Rozenn many times before now, took up his position.

'I won't be long.'

When Rozenn reached Mark Quemeneur's stall on the other side of the square, the crowd had thinned, which was a blessing. Mark's stall, like hers, was a tumble of silks and linens and wools, only his was much better stocked. Artfully arranged, the fabric looked as though there were bargains to be hand, but Rozenn knew, as indeed did half the town, that Mark Quemeneur charged full prices.

His eyes lit at her approach.

''Monsieur,
my apologies if I was too abrupt.'

'Nay,
madame,
I was perhaps too blunt myself.' Mark looked pointedly through the arch into the castle bailey where Ben was to be seen in conversation with Lady Alis. Naturally. Nearby, the red-haired stranger with the sharp nose was lounging in the stable doorway. How odd, she was seeing that man everywhere.

'Unlike some,' Mark continued, nodding towards Ben. 'I'm out of practice when it comes to wooing graceful ladies."

Flushing, Rozenn held up her hand. 'Please, I have not come about that.' She waved to where Anton stood guarding her stall. 'I have reconsidered your offer to buy the rest of Per's stock. Are you interested?'

Mark's grey eyes narrowed. 'You have that green linen?'

'Half a bolt."

And that brown wool, the fine weave, not the coarse homespun?"

'That's all gone, I'm afraid, but I have some of it in russet.'

'Half a length?'

'No, full."

'I'll take it.' Mark named a price, not overgenerous, but fair.

'And the rest?' Through the arch, Ben took Alis FitzHubert's hand and, with natural gallantry, raised it to his lips. Rozenn gritted her teeth and struggled to concentrate on her negotiations with Mark. 'And the rest? You will take the rest?"

'Aren't you keeping any for your own use?'

Half her mind on the scene in the castle bailey, Rozenn shook her head. 'No. I can't be burdening myself with heavy cloth. I shall be travelling--to England, in fact.' She had not wished to tell Mark Quemeneur of her journey before she discussed Adam's summons with her adopted mother Ivona, but Mark's proposal had forced it on her. She might not be in love with the man, but she did not wish to hurt his feelings. And to that end, she must supply Mark with a good reason for her refusal.

'You are leaving Quimperle? You are going all the way to
England?'
Mark's eyes bulged. 'This is the first I have heard of it.'

'I am sorry..." She smiled. 'You caught me unawares with your proposal. It is a recent decision but I do indeed travel to England. The new English king, the Norman Duke William, has granted my brother an estate in the south, and I intend to join him."

Mark looked thoughtful. 'Dangerous for a woman alone, a journey like that.'

Her chin went up. 'Nevertheless, I intend to go.' She softened her voice and touched his arm. 'I appreciate your other offer,
monsieur,
but for the first time in my life I feel truly free to choose my own way. I want to find my brother. Perhaps I'll make my home in England too."

'It's that friend of his, isn't it, the Norman knight'?'

Rozenn darted a glance through the arch, but Ben and Alis had moved out of her line of sight. The red-haired man still lounged by the stable door and by the direction of his gaze and the cynical twist to his lips, she knew that he was watching them. Were they kissing? It was
not
her business.

Ice in her guts, Rozenn managed a light shrug. 'Sir Richard has asked me to marry him. Mark, I am sorry.'

The icy feeling in her guts was telling her that she did not like Sir Richard enough, not nearly enough, but she ignored it. Yesterday Ben's kiss had disturbed her with its sensuality, a gentle sensuality she had known with no one. not even her husband. Especially not with her husband. However, while Ben's kiss had unsettled her, it was not nearly as unsettling as the thought of the pedlar's life that would be hers if she gave in to such impulses and followed them to their natural conclusion. Ben was not steady; Ben was not constant. But yesterday, when for the first time Ben had kissed her as a man kisses a woman, her mind had opened on an unexplored world of pleasure....

Mark's gaze was not hurt as much as openly curious. Noticing it, Rozenn gave herself a little shake and ejected Ben from her thoughts. Smiling, she spread her hands. 'Lord knows what the journey may bring,
monsieur,
but I intend to make it.'

Astonishingly, as she spoke, her heart lifted and the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. Yes! She would definitely go to England, whether or not Ivona chose to accompany her. She would find Adam and Sir Richard and would see how they suited. Suddenly her rash confession of intent to Mark Quemeneur did not seem quite so rash.

Murmuring her thanks, Rozenn took her leave of Mark. Since gossip travelled faster than the flight of a swift, she had to discuss her plans with Ivona at once. Ivona must be told of Adam's invitation for them both to go to Fulford, and she must hear it from Rozenn's lips and no one else's. And if Ivona decided against accompanying her? Well. Rose could not force her; Ivona must make her own decision.

And once she had discussed it with Ivona. Countess Muriel would have to be told.

Ben was talking to one of Count Remond's grooms, Ivar, when he saw Rose leaving the market square. Nodding farewell to Ivar, Ben slung his lute over his shoulder and left the stables.

He fell in step with Rose as she was crossing the Pont du Port. It was late afternoon and the port was in shadow, the sun having dipped behind the cliff on which Hauteville was built. Rozenn's purse was bulging, leading Ben to conclude that she was on her way home and that her day at market had been successful. He had earned a few pennies himself that afternoon and hoped to buy her supper at the White Bird. It was past time for him to learn if her plans to answer Adam's summons were really taking shape.

It was time for him to become involved. Discreetly, of course. It would not do for Rose to learn that she was being manipulated....

She sent him a vague smile. She seemed oddly nervous. Distracted. He wondered why.

'Anton not carting the cloth back for you?' Ben asked, almost, but not quite, regretting his impulse to kiss her on the jetty the previous day. He had wanted to know what kissing Rose would be like for some time and now that he had kissed her, he could not regret it, except that it seemed that he wanted more, every time he looked at her. Rose had felt right in his arms, right in a way that all the Alis FitzHuberts in the world would never feel. But at this moment Rose's pretty mouth was set in a straight line. He hoped the kiss was not the cause of it. Ben's chest tightened. She stepped off the bridge and turned left, heading for Basseville. It was as though she hadn't heard him.

Ben blew out a breath. If this awkwardness between them was the result, kissing her had been a mistake. He needed to be on good terms with Rose. Hell, the Duke needed him to be on good terms with Rose. But maybe it was not the kiss that was bothering her, perhaps she was angry about his comments regarding her marriage with Per. He leaned forwards, the better to catch her gaze. 'Rose?'

'Sold all the stock,' she mumbled, continuing to walk on.

Damn. He liked it when things were easy between them, but if this was to be the way from now on...

Touching her arm, he was appalled when she jerked aside, as though he'd stabbed her with one of her needles. 'Rose,
cherie...'

'Mark Quemeneur bought it,' she said brightly. 'Got quite a good price.'

Ben recognised a cue when he heard one. A slight belligerence in her eyes and a tilt to her chin warned him to follow her lead. Something was making her nervous. 'Really? He's not usually so generous.'

'Hmm.' Her nostrils flared. 'Most likely he thinks he can persuade me to marry him."

Ben's boot caught on a loose cobble. 'You would not accept?'

Finally, thank God, Rose paused mid-stride and turned to face him. grinning with something of her old familiarity. 'Won't have to. Sold enough myself at the full price today." With a slight smile, she tapped the purse at her belt. 'Going to see Ketill to pay him off.'

'Ketill?'

'Ketill Saffell, one of Per's suppliers. He is a Norseman--from Scandinavia, I think. He has a couple of trading ships.'

'I'm coming with you,' Ben said firmly. 'Some of these men are pretty brutal characters.'

'Not Ketill.'

'Nevertheless...' Breathing easier because she did not gainsay him. Ben casually linked his arm with hers and they proceeded towards the port.

They passed Denez on his way to the gatehouse.
'Hold,
Ben.'

'Captain.'

Denez threw a grin Rozenn's way and raised a brow.

Rozenn's cheeks reddened and she fixed her gaze on the flag fluttering on the tallest of the masts by the docks. The ducal colours. Ben noticed, his attention sharpening. Abbot Benoit, a distant cousin of the Duke, was standing by the ship, supervising the unloading of some huge blocks of stone destined, doubtless, for the church. Ben was careful not to look at him.

Several other vessels with furled sails were moored at the quayside. They had heavy oak rudders and sat low in the water, like a fleet of Viking longboats. Curved wooden prows pointed to the sky. Carvings had brought the prows to life--twisting snakes, smiling mermaids and writhing sea-monsters--but these seemed out of place in the shining calm of Quimperle's placid river. And instead of being crammed with Viking raiders, the ships were stacked with barrels of wine from the south; with jars of oil from the East; with pottery packed in straw-filled crates; with cloth wrapped in oilskin...