Thomas flushed scarlet. ‘We did nothing wrong. We only lay beside each other and talked through the night.’
Roger laughed. ‘You wasted your time and caused trouble for nothing! What’s a woman for besides swiving? If you’re going to risk getting your throat slit or your bollocks hacked off by an angry father, at least make sure you get your end away first.’
Thomas stuck his lower lip out sullenly. ‘Katherine and I are in love.’
Roger guffawed.
‘After three days in her company! Don’t fool yourself, lad. You may tell yourself—or better still the wench—that it’s love, but don’t confuse the twitch in your braies for the thump of your heart.’
Thomas flushed red. Roger leaned back against a tree and chewed his thumbnail, his anger subsiding now they were clear of Lord Harpur’s lands. He knew well the hot fire that riddled a man’s limbs and refused to be ignored, so his next words were spoken more gently.
‘Balance the pleasure gained with the trouble caused. I don’t blame you for responding to your pole, but you can’t let it rule you.’
Hypocrite, a small voice in his mind shouted. His own had led him into trouble often enough.
‘Not at the moment, when we’ve got work to do,’ he clarified. ‘Once we’ve delivered our message you can sard as many women as you like. You’ll be rich enough to pay for the best.’
‘And what if I don’t want to pay?’ Thomas mumbled. ‘What if I want to marry?’
Roger felt his jaw tighten. ‘Then hope the girl’s father thinks you’ve got enough in your pockets to warrant handing over his treasure and don’t leave it too long to decide she’s the one you want.’
‘Is that what you plan to do?’ Thomas asked.
Roger thought of Jane de Monsort, the woman he had briefly been betrothed to before her father decided Roger’s pockets were not full enough. Thanks to a stint in the newly formed Northern Company fighting as a mercenary, they were fuller now.
‘I have to marry eventually. I’ll find a dutiful, dull girl with good connections and a little wealth who can give me an heir to appease my father.’ He scratched his belly. ‘I can’t say it appeals.’
Thomas was silent, perhaps thinking of Katherine Harpur. Another face filled Roger’s memory, one that caused deeper pangs of regret even years after he had last seen her. He had been fond of Joanna, his brother’s wife, but had not realised quite how deeply until it had been too late. He concentrated on the pattern of raindrops falling into the puddles that were forming rather than let his mind drift back to the mistakes he had buried in his past.
‘Much better to stick to tavern wenches who will give you what you want in return for a ribbon or a kind word,’ he commented, to no one in particular.
‘Do you think Lord Harpur will send men to fight in France?’ Thomas asked.
Roger stretched out his legs, glad of something fresh to think of. He uncorked a wine flask and drank deeply.
‘We don’t get our bounty otherwise, but I don’t see why not. Leaving aside you seducing his daughter, he was interested in the thought of increasing his fortune. The peace won’t last forever, and a man prepared to fight is a man who will become rich.’
A man such as himself.
Roger drew his cloak tighter around him.
‘We’re going to stay here until the sun has passed overhead. Then we’ll head back the way we came.’
‘Past Lord Harpur’s house instead of the higher road to Mattonfield?’
The roads that bordered Lord Harpur’s estate gave it the shape of a triangle with sides of uneven length. To take the route Thomas suggested would mean they travelled on the longest side and over the steepest edge of the hill.
‘Yes. It would add more than a day to the journey if we took the other side of the hill.’
‘We’d be close to my home!’ Thomas said wistfully. ‘It’s a fine inn, the grandest on the road to Mattonfield, and my father would welcome us gladly.’
Roger considered the possible routes. There was hope in the lad’s voice, but Roger was damned if he was going to detour to allow Thomas to pay a call, however tempting a night at an inn sounded.
‘No. I want to be done here as quickly as possible.’ He stared moodily at the ground, Thomas’s mention of home raising an unwelcome thought. ‘I should visit my father before I return to France.’
Thomas looked startled by the dark tone his voice had taken on.
‘Don’t you want to see your family?’
Roger took another drink to delay answering the question that had troubled him since he stepped back on to English soil. Finally he spoke.
‘It’s been a long time. I parted angrily with my brother and I vowed not to return until I was rich and had proved myself. At least that is within my reach now. Let’s get some rest.’
He closed his eyes and settled back. The day had started far too rudely.
* * *
The weather had worsened into driving rain by afternoon. Iron clouds rolled across a steel sky as they climbed the hills into Cheshire. Early spring in England was truly appalling and Thomas looked more miserable with every twist of the road, glancing behind him and pulling his cloak forward to envelop him.
‘Of all the reasons that compel me to return to France, this weather might be the greatest,’ Roger called.
Thomas merely shivered and glanced around moodily. They passed the turning for Lord Harpur’s manor without encountering any hindrance and as they skirted round the far side of the densely forested hills Roger began to believe his plan had worked. Tension he had not known he was carrying began to melt from his shoulders and he slowed his horse to a walk, rolling his head around to ease the knots.
It was probably this slowing that saved their lives, because as they reached the brow of the hill Thomas gave a cry of alarm. The road ahead curved downward, then sharply snaked left around a pool. Just beyond the bend three riders were waiting. If Roger and Thomas had ridden a few paces further the men would have been hidden from view until they rode straight into them.
The men could have been ordinary travellers, but they lingered at the edge of the road in a manner suggesting they were planning trouble.
‘I think we’ve been found,’ Roger muttered.
Thomas let out a moan. ‘Lord Harpur’s men?’
‘Probably,’ Roger muttered. That was the simplest answer and the most welcome. The suspicion they might have been followed from France by men intent on preventing him completing his commission for the King had crossed his mind once or twice since setting foot back in England. Roger felt for his sword, wishing he had a lance to hand. He’d ended more lives with his preferred weapon than he cared to count.
‘We can’t fight them,’ Thomas whimpered.
He was right. Three men against two was not good odds. Roger stared around him. The road was crossing the highest point as it circumnavigated the forest and night would soon be upon them. Taking the easier road had been a mistake after all. In the distance beyond the forest, Roger could see lights coming from different villages and a large cluster that must be the town where both roads joined.
‘We’ll cut through the forest and try to reach the other road,’ Roger decided, wishing he had taken that route in the first place. Cross-country in the near darkness was risky, but better than riding straight into trouble. ‘If we can reach one of those settlements, we may be able to hide.’
A shout echoed in the silence of the hills. One of the prospective ambushers pointed towards them. Roger cursed his stupidity. He’d been so intent on watching the men