A Midsummer Knight's Kiss
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Elisabeth Hobbes
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Chapter One
The first indication that Rowenna Danby was in trouble was the honking of the geese. She froze, standing on the sturdiest branch of the pear tree, with her hand outstretched towards one particularly ripe specimen. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the determined mass of white heading at speed towards her. Some devil had let the geese loose and they were making for their favourite forbidden place: the orchard where Rowenna was currently standing. She reached the tip of her fingers out and managed to pull the pear free, only for it to slip from her grasp and fall to the ground.
‘Bull’s pizzle!’
No one was around to hear her use her father’s favourite exclamation of annoyance, otherwise she wouldn’t have dared say anything so unladylike. She sat down and lowered herself until she could drop to the ground. The sound of ripping cloth accompanied her gasp as she landed in a heap, scuffing her knees and palms. She swore again, partly from the pain but mostly because of the large tear she now had in her already grubby skirt. She spat on her palm, rubbed it down her bodice and picked up the pear. The windfalls she had gathered before being tempted by the perfect fruit above her were heaped against the trunk of the tree.
The excited honking was growing louder and closer. Rowenna hesitated, caught between the urge to escape and the knowledge that if she returned without the pears it would earn her a whipping from Lady Danby. She scooped the pears up into her grass-stained skirt, then turned towards the path back to Wharram Manor.
Too late. A dozen geese blocked her route to safety. Avarice and determination gleamed in their beady eyes. Their honking became a crooning of anticipation.
‘Shoo!’ Rowenna stamped her foot. That did nothing to deter them. She clutched her skirts tighter and backed against the tree. ‘Hissssss! Get away! They’re mine.’
The ugly creatures only saw this as a challenge and edged closer, spreading out to surround her. Rowenna pressed against the tree. She found the smallest pear and threw it overarm, hoping to create a diversion. It disappeared beneath a flurry of feathers but all she had done was confirm that she had what they wanted. Now the geese knew she was the source of food they advanced on her with an alarming turn of speed. She hissed again, hoping to drive off the mob, but knowing she would never be able to get past without a severe pecking.
She bit down a sob of fright, but at that moment a dark-haired figure caught her attention. Rowenna’s spirits lifted.
‘Robbie! Help me!’
Her cousin Robbie was ambling towards the beck at the bottom of the village. He looked around to see who had called him and grinned at her predicament. Merriment filled his usually serious eyes.
‘Are you having trouble, D-Dumpling?’
‘You can s-s-s-see I am having t-t-t-trouble, you lumbering oaf!’ she retorted, mimicking his hesitant speech. The description wasn’t strictly accurate, but his nickname always made her blood boil. He didn’t lumber and he wasn’t an oaf, but Robbie was going through the awkward stage that afflicted most thirteen-year-olds where his limbs were too long. He moved gracefully, but with maddening slowness. Now he began ambling away from her.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked in alarm.
He scowled, looking hurt.
‘If you’re going to insult me, I’ll leave you to fend for yourself.’
Guilt prickled Rowenna’s neck. Robbie hated the fact that he struggled over some sounds. He would often go for hours without speaking if he was in company with people he didn’t know. Robbie had reason enough to be worried today, without Rowenna taunting him.
‘I’m sorry, Robbie. Truly, I am. You know I don’t think you’re an oaf. Please, don’t stand there laughing.’
Robbie strolled over, taking his time in retaliation for her meanness. He gave her another slow grin. Uncle Roger often said Rowenna was the only one who made Robbie smile, but now she would happily slap the smile from his face.
‘You do look stuck, Dumpling. Lady Stick isn’t going to be pleased when she sees what you’ve done to your skirts.’
Tears filled Rowenna’s eyes. The private nickname she and Robbie had for his grandmother reminded her of what was certain to happen when Lady Danby discovered what she had done to her dress and to the fruit.
‘Stop jesting! A fine knight you’ll make, leaving a woman in distress.’
Robbie frowned and Rowenna knew her arrow had hit the target. He was determined to be a knight like his father and grandfather before him.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well then, Lady Rowenna, if I’m going to be a knight, you must give me a favour.’
‘You can have a pear. Not one of the windfalls. I picked a good one from the high branch.’
Rowenna gave him a smile she hoped looked suitably ladylike. One of the few areas her mother and Lady Danby agreed on was that Rowenna should grow up with the accomplishments expected of a guildsman’s daughter. She knew by now how to dip a curtsy and show a man how wonderful she thought he was.
Robbie folded his arms and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. She wondered if she had gone too far in her flattery. He was more used to Rowenna beating him at scoring points with the lance and rings or kicking his ankles as they sped round the field after a ball. While the village boys drew back instinctively when tackling her, Rowenna showed no such hesitation and most of them surrendered the ball voluntarily rather than risk being on the end of her solid boots. She vowed to try being a little more gentle in future games, at least towards Robbie.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble. It’s a very nice pear.’
She cocked her head to her skirts, indicating the fruit. Robbie rolled his eyes again, but he grinned.
‘You’re behaving more like Eve, tempting me into sin with forbidden fruit, than a lady at court, only I bet Eve d-didn’t have such a foolish smile. I s-suppose I can’t leave you there, though.’ He flourished an imaginary sword. ‘Fear not, fair Lady Rowenna, Sir Robert Danby will save you from these knavish creatures!’
He ran towards Rowenna, circling his arms and yelling at the top of his voice. The geese scattered, their wings brushing Rowenna’s skirts as some hurtled past her. Robbie danced out of their way to avoid a couple of sharp beaks that stabbed towards him. He cried out as one scored a hit on his thigh. Emboldened, Rowenna added her voice to the commotion and ran to the safety of Robbie’s side. He seized her around the waist and almost caused her to drop her skirt full of pears. Laughing riotously, they ran to safety on the common green and hurled themselves down in a heap on the spongy grass and heather.
When she got her breath back, Rowenna leaned forward and punched Robbie hard on the upper arm.
‘Ow! What was that for? I helped you!’
‘Eventually!’
‘You looked s-so funny, though, huddled in a corner, all wide-eyed and trying not to appear afraid.’
‘And I’ve told you not to call me Dumpling.’ She drew her knees up and muttered under her breath, ‘You know I don’t like it.’
Her father called her solid and her mother said Rowenna would grow more slender as she got older, but that seemed a long way off to the eleven-year-old Rowenna.
‘Lady Dumpling!’ Robbie crowed. He pointed a finger at her. ‘You’ve got mud on your face.’
‘And you’ve got goose muck on your britches,’ she retorted.
‘Well, your hair is like s-straw.’
‘And your face is one huge spot.’
‘But we’re both still better-looking than the twins or Henry and John.’
‘And more clever.’
They sat back, honour and humour restored by the insults to Rowenna’s two brothers and Robbie’s twin sisters. Henry was seventeen, John was four and the twins were almost seven. Rowenna and Robbie had grown together as the nearest in age with a strong bond.
‘Well, fair Lady Rowenna,’ Robbie said when he could catch his breath from laughing, ‘You promised me a reward for my s-service.’
Rowenna unfolded her skirt to reveal the bounty that lay within in her lap. She found the finest pear and held it out. Robbie leaned forward and took a bite from it while it was still in her hand. She watched the loss of her prize with a little regret. Robbie, who always seemed able to see her secret thoughts, pushed it towards her.
‘We’ll share.’
She took a bite; licking her lips to catch the last of the sweet nectar. Robbie’s eyes followed her movement hungrily and the strangest fluttering sensation filled Rowenna’s belly. He might be suffering the pains of early manhood, but beneath the spots and unsuccessful attempt at growing a beard, Robbie had a nice smile and a good nature. He had been Rowenna’s favourite playmate for as long as she could recall.
She reached across and rubbed Robbie’s arm where she had punched him and was surprised to feel muscle. She withdrew her hand slowly, letting her fingers trace the unanticipated contours. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him and wished she had suggested that instead of the pear. The thought took her by surprise and she wasn’t sure what was more alarming—that she had thought it at all or that she did not feel the slightest shame at the idea.
Mother had warned her that marriage wouldn’t be too far away in her future and she would have to become considerably more ladylike. She kept threatening to send Rowenna to live in the town house in York, where she could mix with the daughters and wives of city guild officials rather than the children of villeins and husbandmen in a small moorland village.
Robbie made her laugh more than any of the other boys she knew. He would be a good choice and their parents would be overjoyed. They could live together in Wharram and she wouldn’t be too far from home. She absent-mindedly handed Robbie the half-eaten pear, her mind full of visions of a future she hadn’t properly considered until now.
Her daydream was interrupted by the arrival of Rowenna’s mother striding from Robbie’s house. Robbie ran towards her.
‘Aunt Joanna, is M-M...?’
He trailed off, unable to finish the question. Anxiety surged inside Rowenna.
‘Your mother is well.’ Joanna hugged Robbie to her own swollen belly. ‘That’s why I’m here. She’s had her baby. Another daughter.’
Robbie’s eyes shone. After three pregnancies that had ended before their expected time, Lucy Danby’s baby had survived the birth.
‘I’ll stay with your mother until your father returns,’ Joanna said. ‘Go share the good news with your grandfather. I’ll follow on with Ro.’
Robbie ran off, long limbs spinning. Rowenna retrieved the pears and walked beside Joanna, no longer caring about the spoiled fruit, the scuffed hands or torn tunic. There would be work to do and a new baby to take care of. Plenty to keep her busy enough to forget about the odd sensation of need that Robbie’s expression had caused to spring to life inside her.
Robbie’s grandparents were sitting in the Great Hall, Lady Danby at her embroidery frame and Lord Danby listening to a storyteller. Both started in alarm at Robbie’s hasty entrance.
Robbie slowed to a walk and halted in the centre of the room. A fire was burning fiercely. It seemed excessive on what was a mild autumn day, but perhaps old people felt the cold more keenly. Even if it had been frosty, Robbie would have chosen a chill over getting too close to the flames. His aversion to fire and his refusal to even step into Uncle Hal’s forge was something his cousins endlessly teased him about.
‘You look a state, boy!’ Lady Danby’s voice was sharp. ‘Why are you disturbing us? My husband said your duties were done for today and I thought you were gone to your own home.’
Lucy had insisted that Robbie start his knight’s training as a page in his grandfather’s house rather than with a stranger she did not know. In truth, Robbie would have preferred to be in the smaller, newer manor house his parents had built at the opposite end of Wharram Danby, but once his mother started screaming with birthing pains, he’d been sent back. He kept the thought to himself, though his eyes fell on the slender cane his grandmother used for walking—and for meting out punishments to her grandchildren and any of the village children who displeased her.
He delivered his news, breathing slowly in the hope of lessening his stutter. Sometimes his lips felt like a door that would not open, however much he pushed. It was always worse when he was nervous, which he usually was in the presence of his grandmother.
‘Another daughter? Lucy must be overjoyed.’ Lord Danby stood and made his way to Robbie, his milk-white eyes crinkling as he tapped his cane across the stone floor.
‘A son would have been preferable,’ Lady Danby remarked with a thin-lipped smile. ‘What a pity Roger will return home to another girl.’
Robbie bit down his retort. There were seven years between him and his twin sisters, and another six between them and the new baby. His mother felt her failure to produce a son, however much his father assured her he was more than content.
‘Still, boy, that does not explain your appearance,’ Lady Danby continued.
Robbie glanced over his clothes. He did indeed have goose crap on his lower legs, as well as grass stains on his knees and fingers that were sticky from pear juice.
‘S-s-someone let the geese into the pear orchard and they w-w-were attacking Rowenna.’
Lady Danby looked down her nose at him. Whatever the reason for his appearance, he suspected she would disapprove. The sight of the twins peeking around the corner of the dais at the end of the hall made him suspect who the culprits were.
‘That explains, at least, why my cook has been waiting half the afternoon for the pears. Where is that idle girl now?’
Robbie was saved from answering by Rowenna and Joanna’s arrival. As soon as Joanna returned to sit with Lucy, leaving instructions for Robbie to remain, Rowenna was summoned to stand before Lady Danby. She recounted her tale in a trembling voice and displayed her fruit, which was found wanting and sent to the kitchen to be boiled down into sweetmeats.
‘You’re a disgrace, Rowenna Danby.’ Lady Stick reached for her cane. ‘I had hoped you would begin to display some decorum, but I see you have not.’
‘Decorum wouldn’t have picked the pears,’ Rowenna retorted, ‘or seen off the geese!’
Robbie winced. Rowenna never knew when to hold her tongue. It was infuriating.
‘Rude chit! Hold out your hand. You’ll get two strokes now.’
Lady Danby’s voice was iced outrage. Rowenna whimpered softly. She held her hand out. It was already scraped and red. Small drops of blood welled in places. The whipping would hurt much more than usual.
‘It wasn’t her fault! My s-s-sisters let the geese out.’ Robbie rushed across the room and stood between Rowenna and his grandmother. ‘If you’re going to punish Ro, you should punish them, too.’
Lady Danby’s eyes flickered to the twins playing happily in front of the fire and beckoned them over.
‘Does your brother speak the truth?’
Anne nodded shyly. Lisbet, looking amused, scuffed the floor with her foot. They were identical, save for Anne’s slightly straighter hair and a small mark on Lisbet’s left knuckle, and looked more like their father than their mother. Lady Danby’s face softened at the sight.
‘That was naughty of you, girls. If you do that again, I will have to punish you. Now, go back to your game and be quiet.’
The girls scampered away, giggling with relief.
‘Hold out your hand, Rowenna,’ Lady Danby repeated.
Robbie watched with mounting, impotent fury as Rowenna thrust her hand forward and closed her eyes. The stick swished through the air and snapped down. Rowenna gave a wordless wail and bunched her fist tightly. Tears began to stream down her round red cheeks. She opened her hand again and the second stroke caused her to yelp as blood welled in her palm.
‘I hope this will teach you to behave more like the lady your parents are trying to make you into,’ Lady Danby said. ‘It will be hard enough with the stain on your family to find you a place in society without you doing everything you can to thwart it.’
Rowenna flushed even redder, but to Robbie’s relief she had the sense not to rise to this taunt.
‘Now, Robbie. Your hand, for being so insolent.’
Boldly, Robbie met Lady Danby’s eyes. He clenched his jaw and held his breath and was proud that when the stick met his palm he allowed no sound to escape him. He kept his hand outstretched until Lady Danby had lowered her cane before slowly closing his fist. He bowed deeply and asked to be dismissed, and it was only when he had left the room that he allowed hot tears to fall as he clutched his palm beneath his armpit to stop the pain.
Despite the unpleasant interlude, the evening meal was a merry affair. Robbie’s father, Sir Roger, returned at sunset. He called on Lucy, then visited Wharram Manor, greeting his daughters by swinging them high into the air until they squealed. He enveloped Robbie in a strong embrace.
‘Lucy is going to be vexed with me, I fear,’ he told Robbie with a broad grin. ‘My business was successful.’
Excitement coursed through Robbie. He had told no one of the business Sir Roger had left on, though he had found it hard to keep the secret from Rowenna.
His father named a place and person, but looked solemn. ‘We’ll talk more this evening when we’re in our own home.’
As soon as he was able, Robbie sought Rowenna out and pulled her into Lady Danby’s garden, determined that she should be the first to hear his news. He had been allowed more ale than usual and felt as though his head was padded inside with raw wool.
They sat side by side on the stone bench and listened to the bleating of the sheep on the moors. Rowenna ran her fingers over Robbie’s palm. ‘I’m sorry you got a whipping,’ she said, fingertips tracing the lines on his palm. ‘It was my fault.’
It was intended to be soothing, but made Robbie’s chest tighten. He was becoming uncomfortably aware how even the glimpse of one of the village girls’ legs could make his body do all manner of alarming things. Before today Rowenna had never had such an effect on him and he was unsure he was comfortable with it.
He concentrated on examining her hand, unwrapping the wide blue ribbon she was using as a makeshift bandage. The skin on her palm had broken in three places and was dotted with raised weals across the mounds below her fingers where she had previously scuffed them. They would scab over in time, but were now weeping a little. The fury that had boiled inside him began to rise once more.
‘I’m not sorry,’ he said. ‘But why did you have to be rude to her and earn yourself a second strike?’
‘Why should I keep quiet when she is being unjust?’ She gazed at him, eyes full of rebellion and outrage.
‘Is s-speaking out worth the pain of a whipping?’ he asked gently.
‘Sometimes it is. Lady Stick didn’t have to punish either of us. She just doesn’t like us.’
Rowenna wrapped the ribbon round her hand once more and bunched her fist. Her expression grew fierce. ‘She never tells Anne and Lisbet off the way she does us or John. She dotes on them! Mother says its because my father isn’t her true son so I’m not really her kin. I don’t know why she dislikes you, though. She loves your father and one day you’ll be Lord Danby.’
Robbie’s heart filled with pity. Uncle Hal was a bastard: the illegitimate son of Robbie’s grandfather. He would never hold rank or title and nor would any of his children.
‘She thinks I’m stupid because I s-speak poorly,’ he muttered.
‘But you aren’t at all!’ Rowenna exclaimed. She twisted round to face him. ‘You’re clever and kind and brave. That’s twice today you have defended me. Thank you, Sir Robert.’
Robbie couldn’t contain his excitement any longer.
‘I will be Sir Robert,’ he said, facing Rowenna. ‘Father has secured me a place as a squire. I shall have to serve two years as a page so I’ll be fifteen rather than fourteen before I become squire.’
‘Are you going to go?’ Rowenna asked quietly.
‘Of course,’ Robbie exclaimed. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Rowenna pouted. ‘You’ll become Lord Danby anyway one day. You could just stay here.’
‘I can’t just wait here until I inherit my title. I need to earn it. I want to serve in another household.’
‘Then I’m very pleased for you. It’s what you’ve wanted for as long as I can remember!’ Rowenna was beaming, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Where will you be going?’
‘Wentbrig. To Sir John Wallingdon, who owes fealty to De Lacy of Pontefract.’
‘That’s so far,’ Rowenna breathed with excitement. ‘The same distance again as from here to York.’
Robbie looked towards the beck, even though it was too dark to see the moor or stream. His whole life had been spent in Wharram Danby or Ravenscrag. The furthest he had been was to York, when Uncle Hal stayed in his town house and invited Roger’s family to visit. When he had to leave, a part of his heart would be torn from his chest, remaining in the home he loved.
Rowenna’s eyes shone with dreams. ‘I wish I could go with you. You’ll get to see the whole country while I have to stay here.’
He took her hand and was surprised by the strength in hers when she gave his a squeeze in response. He cared a lot for her, for all the trouble she caused.
‘I’ll miss you most of all,’ Robbie said. ‘I’ll write to Father and get him to tell you everything I say.’
‘Perhaps I’ll work harder at learning my letters so I can read them myself,’ she replied. ‘Father wants me to read and write as much as Mother nags me to learn to sew and sing. I’ll have to if I’m to ever become a lady and satisfy Lady Stick. “A bastard’s daughter who can’t behave might as well be a dairymaid”,’ she said, mimicking Lady Danby’s cold tones. ‘I’ll have to catch a husband somehow.’
Robbie couldn’t imagine his best friend as a grown woman. She would for ever remain a wild, unruly girl who joined in with the village children kicking a blown-up bladder through the beck, or dirtying her skirts playing Blind Beggar Catch. For that matter he could barely see himself as the knight he hoped to become. He pulled Rowenna to her feet to stand opposite him. She smiled and her hand tightened on his, causing the hairs on his arms to rise. She was quite pretty, really.
‘I would marry you,’ he declared nobly.
She burst into peals of laughter. ‘Yes, we should get married! Can you imagine what fun we’d have?’
Robbie blinked. He didn’t think marriage was supposed to be fun. It should be passionate to the point of mortifying onlookers like his parents’, or serious and prickly like his grandparents’. He couldn’t marry Rowenna. Once more it struck him how unfair it was that she was a bastard’s child. She couldn’t help who her father was.
‘Perhaps I’ll meet a lord who will marry you and you will be Lady Rowenna after all. Lady Dumpling.’
Robbie ducked his head to avoid the playful swipe of her hand and they stared at the sky in silence. The stars pricked the blackness like gems on a velvet cloak. He plucked a rosebud and held it out to her.
‘We’ll always be friends, even if I become a noble knight and you’re still hurling yourself out of trees,’ he said.
She unwound the ribbon from her hand and held it out to him. ‘Here. You asked for a favour earlier. Take this. I hope it brings you more luck than the pear did.’
Robbie coiled it around two fingers, then slipped it inside the pouch at his belt.
‘I’ll be returning to Ravenscrag tomorrow morning with Mother,’ Rowenna said. ‘Will you come visit us before you leave?’
‘Of course.’
Father had said he could leave as soon as he liked, but he might delay for a few weeks. He lifted Rowenna’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly in the manner he had been taught, bowing low with a flourish. Her face grew uncharacteristically serious.
‘Promise you won’t forget me.’
Robbie put his sore hand to hers, palm to palm. They linked fingers and another rush of fondness for Rowenna filled him.
‘I promise. We’ll always be friends.’
She smiled widely, then unexpectedly leaned close and kissed his cheek. The sensation lingered long after she had darted back inside the house.
Roger was sitting in the kitchen when Robbie returned home. He looked up when Robbie entered.
‘We need to talk.’
He gestured to a chair. Robbie sat, unnerved by the serious tone. Roger had poured two cups of wine and was turning one between his fingers. His hands were mismatched: one pink, smooth and hairless. Robbie had never asked why.
‘Is something wrong with Mother?’
‘Lucy is well. She’s sleeping. This concerns you. What I am about to say must never be spoken of to another,’ Roger continued. He stood and paced around the room. Robbie’s heart began to pound a slow drumbeat.
‘I have considered how to tell you and there is no easy way of doing it.’
‘Tell me what?’ Robbie urged.
Roger poured himself another cup of wine and drained it in one gulp.
‘Robbie, I am not your father.’
The world folded in. Robbie lifted his cup to his lips, but it was as if someone else was drinking the wine because he tasted nothing. He thought about protesting that his father was jesting, or there was a mistake, but the look in Roger’s eyes told him it was futile.
‘We always wondered if you would remember the time before I met your mother, but you never did.’ Roger twisted his cup between his hands and bowed his head.
‘And now you have told me, you are s-s-sending me away?’
‘You are not an exile,’ Roger said. ‘You want to go.’
Robbie stared around. He could remember nothing before this stone house full of laughter and affection, but now the walls trapped him.
Robbie’s throat seized with an unspeakable pain. It was not in his nature to shout or rant, and experience told him that he stuttered worse when he did.
‘Why are you telling m-me now?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘You have a right to know.’
‘It’s something I should have always known!’
Roger reached out a hand, which Robbie ignored, his heart tearing. The father who had soothed Robbie when he fell, played with him and taught him did nothing to ease the grief and confusion beyond offer a hand.
‘You were too young to understand before and we couldn’t risk you revealing it. There were reputations to consider. But you are almost a man and should know the truth about yourself.’
Robbie balled his hands. Roger’s reputation was the least of his considerations when his world had been shattered. He flung himself from the stool, sending it crashing to the floor. He winced at the noise. The wine made his head spin, adding to the fug of emotions that surged inside him.
‘Sit down and be sensible,’ Roger said.
Robbie glared, bristling at the command in Roger’s voice, and stood his ground.
‘Is Sir John my father?’
Roger shook his head.
‘Who is?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me!’
‘It is not my place to tell you.’ Roger looked away. ‘This changes nothing. I have no son of my own.’
Robbie glanced at the closed door to his mother’s room. Acid filled his throat. If the new baby had been a son, Robbie would have been an outcast by now.
‘You’re my only heir. Titles can pass to adopted sons if there is no legitimate heir.’
Roger smiled, as if this negated years of deceit. Robbie had often marvelled at the way his father—no, his stepfather—swept through life with a carefree manner as if nothing had consequence. Did Roger not understand how completely he had destroyed everything Robbie had believed to be true?
‘But you haven’t adopted me. You’ve kept it secret.’ Robbie began to shake.
‘William of Pickering believes only true bloodlines matter. His son, Horace, might see differently when he becomes the Earl, but it is too much of a risk to reveal the truth. Secrecy is better. For now, at least,’ Roger said.
‘Lies are better, you mean?’ Robbie exclaimed. ‘What if I reject your plan and refuse to be your heir?’
‘Then Wharram could pass to a stranger when I die. Everything my family has created will be lost.’ Roger eyed him sharply. ‘Would you do that?’
The portion of land owned by the Danbys, including Rowenna’s village of Ravenscrag, was held in fief from the tenant-in-chief, William of Pickering. Whether or not Robbie cared if the manor passed to another of William’s vassals—and at this point he was not sure he did—there were tenants who relied on the Danbys. Another nobleman who was unfamiliar with the area might be less generous and fair with the serfs and peasants. Robbie couldn’t be responsible for jeopardising so many lives. He shook his head.
‘Does anyone else know?’ he asked.
‘Hal and Joanna, and my parents.’
Which was why Lady Stick had no liking for Robbie. He was not her blood any more than Rowenna was.
‘Your reputation is safe,’ he said stiffly. ‘I shall tell no one and I shall be your heir. I’ll leave for Wentbrig at first light.’
‘There’s no need for that.’
Roger looked distraught. He raked his fingers through his hair, a gesture that Robbie had unconsciously adopted. Robbie stared at the man, who he resembled so closely in manner and looks. No wonder the deception had been so easy.
‘There’s every need. You’ve done your duty and found me a position. I shall take it.’
He had promised to see Rowenna. Though he would break his word, how could he face her knowing what he did now, but unable to share his burden? He did not know what the future held, but it was not in Wharram.
He bowed curtly. ‘Please tell my mother I am sorry not to see her. Farewell, Sir Roger.’
He left the room before he cried.
