The Rogue

Beatrice said after a long moment.

Nicholas gave a little shudder to shake off the haunting memories, then looked down at her and smiled. “Owen now calls me Papa. Mayhap his aunt should take his example and learn to call me Nicholas. Will you say it for me?”

The flickering shadows of the midsummer twilight lent an air of unreality to the scene. Beatrice’s eyes were inscrutable as she paused, then moistened her lips and said, “Nicholas.”

The word seemed to stir a wave inside him. As it intensified, he suddenly recognized the familiar sensation. With a feeling akin to panic, he tried to tell himself that he was a changed man. Yet as Beatrice swayed ever so slightly closer to him in the shadows, he could not deny his feelings.

He wanted her….

Dear Reader,

This month our exciting medieval series KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK ROSE continues with The Rogue by Ana Seymour, a secret baby story in which rogue knight Nicholas Hendry finds his one true love. Judith Stacy returns with Written in the Heart, the delightful tale of an uptight California businessman who hires a marriage-shy female handwriting analyst to solve some of his company’s capers. In Angel of the Knight, a medieval novel by Diana Hall, a carefree warrior falls deeply in love with his betrothed, and does all he can to free her from a family curse. Talented newcomer Mary Burton brings us A Bride for McCain, about a mining millionaire who enters a marriage of convenience with the town’s schoolteacher.

Whatever your taste in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals novel. We hope you’ll join us next month, too!

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell,

Senior Editor

The Rogue

Ana Seymour

Available from Harlequin Historicals and ANA SEYMOUR

The Bandit’s Bride #116

Angel of the Lake #173

Brides for Sale #238

Moonrise #290

Frontier Bride #318

Gabriel’s Lady #337

Lucky Bride #350

Outlaw Wife #377

Jeb Hunter’s Bride #412

A Family for Carter Jones #433

Father for Keeps #458

Lord of Lyonsbridge #472

*The Rogue #499

With affection and thanks to my wonderful fellow

Harlequin Historicals authors, especially the team who

brought the KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK ROSE to life—

Suzanne Barclay, Shari Anton, Lyn Stone,

Sharon Schulze and Laurie Grant. And special thanks to

Margaret Moore, who started us all down this path.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

“I’ll not be able to sit straight on my horse if we continue,” Gervase of Palgrave said, shaking away the tankard being pushed at him by the smiling barmaid.

The knight sitting across the table from him frowned, gave an exaggerated blink and stopped the girl’s retreat with a heavy hand on her arm. The tankard clattered to the floor.

“By the saints, Nick, you’re swoggled!” Gervase cried, jumping from his stool. He swatted at his legs where the liquid had splashed his clothes. “I’ll smell like a brewmaster.”

His companion kept his seat but cast a look of remorse at the indignant serving girl. “I beg pardon, sweetheart,” he mumbled, then punctuated the apology with a smile.

Immediately the anger drained from the girl’s round face. “’Twas an accident, milord,” she said, her eyes fixed on the handsome knight. Even masked by the grime of many weeks’ travel, Nicholas of Hendry’s strong features caused most who saw him to take a second look.

As the girl stooped to retrieve the mug and swipe at the spill with her skirt, Gervase seated himself again with a grunt of disgust. “What ails you, my friend?” he asked. “We’re but half a league from Hendry Hall, yet you insist on tarrying here in this sorry excuse of an inn like a bashful bridegroom. Are you not eager to see your family?”

The two knights were the only customers in the tiny inn, which was really just an ale shop, nothing like the bustling establishments they had visited on the long road home.

Nicholas put both elbows on the table and stared into his empty tankard. “Aye.”

“Then, let’s be off, man. I warrant there’s a lady or two who’ll be anxious to see your pretty face again.” He glanced at the serving girl, who had not taken her gaze off Nicholas. “Mayhap more than one or two.”

Nicholas offered the girl another smile and she turned scarlet. She bobbed up and down, holding the tankard in one hand and her sopping dress in the other. “Would the gentlemen, ah, my lords, ah…shall I draw another flagon of ale?”

Nicholas sighed and pushed himself back from the table. “Nay, sweetheart. My friend is right. ’Tis past time for me to reach home.” He stood. “You will accept the hospitality of Hendry Hall this night before traveling on, Gervase?”

Gervase nodded. “I’d like to meet your father. He’ll be a proud man to welcome back a hero son.”

Nicholas gave a humorless laugh. “Surviving makes us heroes, is that it?”

Gervase reached for his gloves and stood. “All returning Crusaders are heroes, Nick.”

“We’ve won nothing, accomplished nothing more than sending a few poor heathens to their own heathen hell. But we’ve struck a blow for Christendom and lived to tell the tale. Aye, you may be right. It might be enough to make my father proud of his son. If so, I don’t know whose will be the greater astonishment—his or mine.”

The two knights started walking out of the inn, Nicholas weaving the first two steps until he gained his equilibrium. “Surely not,” Gervase protested, steadying his friend with a hand on his elbow. “How could a father not be proud of a son like you—a superb horseman, deadly with a sword, quick-witted, not to mention that devil’s countenance that has melted the hearts of half the maidens between here and Sicily?”

“There’s the rub, precisely. My father was always disappointed that I neglected those first attributes you mentioned in favor of the last.”

“He disapproved of your female conquests?”

Nicholas squinted as they walked out into the sunlight. “’Twas a vacillation between disapproval and disgust, I believe. He claimed I curried trouble by what he called my ‘irresponsible attachments.”’

His companion gave Nicholas a sideways glance. The lean, blond Gervase was only a couple of years older than Nicholas, but his expression was much less world-weary. His blue eyes were clear and innocent. “There were many, then?” he asked, his voice softly curious.

“Aye. Many.”

They’d almost reached their horses when the girl who had been serving them in the inn came running out the door and called to them, “Begging yer pardon, my lords.”

They turned toward her. “What is it, girl?” Gervase asked.

Her eyes on Nicholas again, the girl, shuffling her feet in obvious discomfort, said, “The master said ye was to pay fer the spilled ale, my lords. I’d not ask it meself, but he said ye was to pay.”

Gervase looked toward the inn, then at Nicholas. “Do you know the owner, Nicholas?” he asked.

Nicholas shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear it. “It’s been nearly four years. I don’t remember. Who’s your master, sweetheart?” he asked the girl.

“Master Thibault, sir,” she said. “I’d not ask it myself,” she repeated with another nervous bob.

“Thibault the brewer?” Nicholas asked. “Phillip Thibault is master of this place?”

The girl bobbed in confirmation.

“You did spill the drink, Nick,” Gervase said. “Pay the chit and let’s be on our way.”

But Nicholas shook his head. “Tell Master Thibault we’d speak directly with him.”

“Very good, milord.” The girl turned and ran into the inn.

“I’ll give you the coin,” Gervase offered, “if it will get us on the road.”

Nicholas didn’t answer his friend. His eyes were fixed on the door of the inn, but the person who emerged was obviously not Thibault the innkeeper. It was a woman, tall and slender. As she marched toward them, Nicholas could see that her features were finely chiseled, her nose straight and narrow, her cheekbones high.

“Might this be one of your conquests, Nick?” Gervase asked under his breath. “Because methinks the lady has had a change of opinion since your departure. I see daggers in those blue eyes.”

“I know her not,” Nicholas answered, puzzled himself by the woman’s obvious animosity.

She didn’t speak until she was practically on top of them. Then she said, “So ’tis truly you. I didn’t believe it when they told me. We’d thought you dead. I’d hoped you dead.” As she finished speaking, she set her feet apart, rocked up on her toes and spit square in his face. Then she whirled around and stalked back into the inn.

The two knights looked at each other in astonishment, Nicholas wiping the spittle from his face with the back of his hand.

Finally Gervase broke the silence with a shaky smile. “My friend, I’ve had second thoughts about asking your instruction in matters of the heart.”

“I swear, Gervase, I never set eyes on her,” Nicholas insisted as the two knights rode side by side along the dusty road to Hendry Hall. After the young woman had disappeared inside the inn, Gervase had argued Nicholas into continuing on their journey at once, rather than waiting to see if the innkeeper shared the lovely spitfire’s hostility. “Do you think I’d not remember a woman like that?”

“She seemed to know you right enough.”

“Aye. And I’ll have an answer to that mystery, but now I’m for Hendry Hall.”

“Am I seeing at last a glimmer of eagerness to be home?”

Nicholas shifted in his saddle. “They said at the inn that they’d thought me dead. No doubt my arrival will be a surprise.”

“We six were all counted among the departed when we didn’t come back directly at the end of the fighting.”

Just six. Of the two hundred knights who’d ridden off four years before proudly flaunting the banner of the Black Rose, only the six comrades-in-arms had returned. Level-headed Simon, the natural leader of the group; Nicholas, the charmer; Bernard, battle-hardened from humble squire to deadly conquerer; Guy, the outlander who was rightfully the lord’s son; Gervase, the innocent who’d taken a vow none of the others would dare; and Hugh, whose soft-hearted manner disguised a warrior’s strength.

“I thought the news of our miraculous survival would make our welcome all the merrier,” Gervase continued when Nicholas remained silent.

“Hendry Hall is not a merry place, Gervase, which is perhaps why I was wont to seek friendlier diversions away from home.”

“By the saints, Nicholas, if all your diversions were like the one we just met, I’d say you’d find friendlier ground back fighting the infidels.”

Nicholas shook his head. “And still you refuse to believe me. The lady was not my lover.” He stared ahead at the gray stone manor house that had come into view around the bend in the road. He’d always favored buxom maids with pleasing smiles and easy ways. The woman at the inn had had a strength to her, no matter how willowy her form. And there’d been steel in her gaze. “Trust me, Gervase,” he said softly. “I’d have remembered such a one as she.”

Beatrice crooned softly as she rocked the sleeping boy in her arms. “’twas in the merry month of May, when green buds were a-swellin’…”

She enjoyed these quiet evening times with her little nephew, though she knew that he would soon be beyond such attentions. Over three years old now, he seemed to grow bigger daily.

The door to her bedchamber creaked open. “Do you think to sit here the rest of the night, daughter?” Phillip Thibault asked softly, taking one step into the room.

“Flora was right, Father,” she answered, still rocking, and rubbing her hand lightly over the child’s dark curls. “Handsome as the devil himself, she used to say. Dancing black eyes that can melt the innards of whatever woman they light upon.”

“You should come down to sup, lass. You’ve taken nothing since this morning, and that was before dawn.”

Beatrice’s glance slid to her father. Her blue eyes were icy without a hint of tears. “As handsome as the devil and twice as wicked, I trow.”

Phillip shook his head sadly. “Put little Owen in his bed and come downstairs with me. Gertie left a leg of mutton that’s fair charred on the spit while I’ve waited for you.”

“You should have supped, Father. I’ve no taste for food this night.”

Phillip walked across the room. His daughter’s bedchamber was large, encompassing half the upper floor of the Gilded Boar. It had once been the master’s quarters, but when Beatrice had come from York to care for her sister, Phillip had insisted on moving to the small room at the rear of the inn. He’d stayed there now that the big upstairs chamber served as both sleeping quarters and nursery. The big bed Phillip had shared years ago for too short a span with Beatrice and Flora’s mother was pushed up against one slanting wall. The rest of the room was devoted to the child’s needs.

“You’ll be a fine nursemaid to the lad on the morrow after a day of fasting,” Phillip said sternly, reaching for the child. “He’ll be awake with the cock’s crow, running every which way and begging to be off to the meadow while you slump over your porridge.”

Owen murmured as his grandfather lifted him, but remained asleep. Beatrice watched nervously as her father carried the child across the room. Phillip was not strong these days, and at times the shaking made it difficult to keep his balance. She let out a little sigh of relief as her father placed the boy successfully on his pallet.

“I cannot stomach the thought of food while that blackguard’s face still dances before my eyes,” she said.

“Then banish him from your mind, Beatrice. You need not have any contact with Master Hendry.”

“With Sir Nicholas Hendry, you mean,” she corrected bitterly. “You forget he’s a hero now, returning from the Holy Crusade.”

Phillip took her hand and pulled her out of the chair. “Ah, you see. He couldn’t be such a devil after all if he’s spent the past four years on the Lord’s work.”

Beatrice let her father lead her out of the room. “’Tis more likely that he’s spent the past four years seducing every maid between here and Jerusalem.”

Phillip shook his head again slowly and pushed gently on his daughter’s shoulders to start her moving down the narrow stairs to the tavern room. “Put him out of your head, lass. With any luck he’ll be so busy over at Hendry Hall that we won’t soon see his face again.”

Nicholas bit his lip as he gave Gervase a full forearm grip. The younger knight’s free hand went to Nicholas’s shoulder. “We’ll meet again, my friend,” he said, his voice thick.

Nicholas nodded without speaking.

“I’ll stay on a few days if you need me, Nick. If you need help with…you know…settling your father’s affairs.”

“It appears they’ve been well settled without me,” Nicholas answered with a shake of his head. “Though I can still scarcely credit it. I’d thought my father too tough to ever let death catch up with him.”

“’Twas not the homecoming you’d planned.”

“Nay.”

The two knights let their hands drop and Gervase moved toward his horse, saying, “You’ll give my thanks to your lady mother for the night’s lodging?”

“Aye.”

Gervase mounted his big stallion. “We’ve a brotherhood, you know, Nick, the six of us. Knights of the Black Rose. We’re the only ones left to tell the stories.”

Nicholas ventured a wan smile. “I know. Forgive this melancholy farewell, Gervase. I count you as a brother and always shall.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Nick. You’ve come back to find a house of mourning. It will take you some time to get used to the idea that you’re the new master of Hendry Hall.”

Nicholas shook his head once again. He’d not told Gervase the true extent of the bad news he’d learned from his mother last night after the rejoicing at his safe return had subsided. “Aye, it will take time,” he said simply. He gave the horse a gentle slap. “Now off with you, my friend, to put your own affairs to rights. You, too, return to a house much altered.”

Gervase gave a sad smile. “You know me like a brother as well, Nicholas. I’ll send word when I’m settled.”

Nicholas nodded and forced a smile to his lips as his friend rode off. Saying goodbye to the last of his comrade knights put an end to the adventure that had at times seemed part of a four-year-long dream. Now it was time to awaken. Past time. Gervase’s horse disappeared around the bend. His shoulders set, Nicholas turned back toward the house where his newly widowed mother waited.

“That’s the third time you’ve invoked the name of Baron Hawse in the past five minutes, Mother,” Nicholas said wearily. “I care nothing for the baron’s thoughts on the matter. I want to know yours.”

The mistress of Hendry Hall was a tiny woman, totally dwarfed by her strapping son, but her gaze did not waver. “Baron Hawse has been my savior, Nicholas. I’d likely have perished without him, thinking both you and your father dead.”

“I grant you it must have been difficult, Mother, but now I’m back and Hendry Hall can be restored to its rightful master. I mislike the idea that the ghost of my father has been chased away by the presence of our neighbor to the south. If I recall, Father thought little of the man.”

Constance turned away from her son’s gaze and walked a few steps to sit on the low stoop by the small fireplace that had been a recent improvement to the spacious master’s chambers of Hendry Hall. When alive, Nicholas’s father, Arthur, had been constantly rebuilding the stone house that had started as a much more humble abode shortly after the days of the Conquest.

Nicholas looked down at his mother. At twoscore years, she was an old woman, yet in the flickering firelight her face was devoid of lines, her eyes clear. After a long moment she turned her head back to him and said, “As I recall it, you and your father were too often at odds for you to know much about what he thought.”

Nicholas hesitated a moment, then crossed the room to drop down beside her directly in front of the fire. “Aye. ’Twas the principal thing that I was determined to change. I’ve thought of little else this year past as we struggled to make our way home.”

Constance reached out to her son and gently brushed an unruly lock of hair from his forehead. “I know. ’Tis a bitter pill that you two were never reconciled. But, Nicholas, in my heart I know that your father truly did love you.”

Nicholas looked away from her as he said, “Aye. He loved me so much that he signed away my birthright to a man he didn’t even like.”

“He thought you dead, Nicholas. And he respected the baron’s position. To him that was the most important thing. He was trying to protect me.”

Nicholas leaned toward the flames and felt the welcome heat on his face. The house had not entirely given up the chill of the long winter months. “I still can’t believe it—Baron Hawse as master of Hendry lands and Hendry Hall.” He looked up at his mother. “And of the mistress of Hendry Hall as well, from the way you speak of him.”

“The only man who has ever been my master is dead, Nicholas. And I’ve no desire to lease myself to a new one.”

“Yet the baron is in want of a wife. ’Twould be a natural match.” Nicholas finally voiced the thought that had been in his head since his mother had told him how his father, on his deathbed, had signed over his estate to Gilbert, Baron Hawse.

“Mayhap. But ’tis not a match I seek. And I’d mourn your father this twelvemonth before I’d even consider such a notion.”

Though her words were a denial, something in her tone told Nicholas that the idea of marrying the baron had, indeed, occurred to his mother. The thought made the back of his mouth taste sour.

His bad leg had gone stiff. He untwisted it and rose awkwardly to his feet. “By the rood, Mother, you deserve happiness after enduring my father all those long years. But I intend to fight Hawse on this matter of the Hendry lands. I’d hoped you’d not let your heart get in the way. Women are ever soft on these matters.”

Constance gave a sad smile. “Before you went off to the war, the rumor was that you were something of an expert on the subject of women’s hearts, my son. I confess I’d hoped that the years away would have taught you something about their heads as well.”

“The Crusades taught me many things, Mother. You’ll not find me the reckless philanderer who fled here four years ago. I’ve grown up.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The firelight caught the brightening of her eyes.

“But the Crusades also taught me to fight my own battles. Hendry Hall belongs to me, in spite of the documents my father signed.” He rubbed his thigh where the old wound nagged.

“The baron will be here on the morrow,” his mother said. “He has made no move to implement the change in title, and has promised not to act until the mourning year is over. Mayhap we can come to a peaceful resolution.”

“Mayhap.” He bent to plant a kiss on the top of his mother’s head. “Don’t fret yourself, Mother. You’ve had too many worries since my father’s death. Now that I’m home, I’d see the smile back on your face.”

She obliged him with the broadest smile she’d given since he had arrived on the previous day. “My prayers have been answered by your return, my son.”

He turned to leave, moving gingerly as the feeling came slowly back into his leg. As he reached to open the door, he was startled by a knock that sounded from the other side. He pulled it open to reveal his mother’s handmaid.

The girl was breathing heavily, evidently having just run up the steep stairway to the upstairs bedchambers. “Visitor’s awaiting, Master Nicholas,” she puffed.

Nicholas looked back at his mother. “I thought you said the baron was coming tomorrow.”

“’Tis not Baron Hawse,” the girl said. “’Tis a lady. Not a fine one, but not common neither.”

“One of your former admirers, no doubt, son,” said Constance with an air of resignation. “I thought it would not take them long to discover your return.”

Nicholas frowned and turned to follow the servant girl downstairs.

Chapter Two

The news that had awaited him upon his arrival home had almost made him forget the incident at the Gilded Boar Inn. But even before he entered the great hall and saw the tall woman waiting for him at the opposite end of the hall, he somehow suspected that his surprise visitor might be her.

Oddly enough, the thought rather pleased him. For one thing, it would give him the opportunity to solve the mystery of her dramatic response to his visit to the inn the previous noon.

She looked up as he approached. Once again, her eyes were like skewers. However, this time he had ample opportunity to observe that they were also handsome, as was the rest of her. “Mistress,” he said in acknowledgement. When she didn’t speak at once, he decided to be direct. “You have the advantage of me. You seem to know who I am, but I remain in ignorance of your identity.”