An Honorable Rogue Read Free Page A

White Bird".
    In England Rose would meet Adam's new Anglo-Saxon wife--what had the messenger said her name was? Cecily. Lady Cecily of Fulford. And after that. Adam would direct her to Sir Richard...
    Ben Silvester, wandering minstrel? Hah! She was aiming higher than that, she was aiming for a knight.
    Turning over, Rozenn thumped her pillow, and determinedly cleared her mind of the image of Ben Silvester, Breton lute-player with the roguish smile, and instead set about conjuring up the face and features of Sir Richard of Asculf, Norman knight.
    Down by the Quimperle docks, at the confluence of the two rivers, some of the customers in the Barge were getting rowdy.
    Benedict Silvester was wearing his dull brown cloak, the one he wore when trying to blend into the background. His lute was stowed in its leather bag and slung over his shoulder, hopefully well out of harm's way. Keeping the hood of his cloak up and his face in the shadows, he nevertheless seemed to have attracted attention. He didn't like the look in the eyes of the men hunched over their cups at the next trestle, particularly the one in the greasy leather jerkin. That broken nose matched the man's general air of belligerence. Doubtless, the man was a brawler. Had he observed Ben's interest in their conversation? Had the man marked his features?
    He hoped not, but it was possible. Ben shrank deeper into his hood, and gazed into his wine. He'd not been back in Quimperle above two hours, and if he was to remain useful to Duke Hoel, he must not court trouble.
    When the man glanced Ben's way for the second time. Ben realised events could take an ugly turn. Wishing he had left his lute in the care of the stable boy guarding his horse. Ben dropped a coin on the table and edged to the door. His lute must not get damaged. It had once belonged to his father and it gave him good cover, cover which was vital because it drew attention away from his real work, his work for the Duke of Brittany.
    Outside, the River Laita gleamed like pitch in the moonlight, and a couple of longboats rocked gently at the quayside. This was the point where two rivers met, just downstream from the Isle du Chateau. Encircling the island like a moat, the rivers formed the perfect natural defence for Count Remond's keep before fusing into one and flowing on to the sea. Taking a moment to breathe in a lungful of warm night air. Ben found himself glancing uphill, towards the merchants' quarter.
    Hauteville. Where Rose had lived with Per.
    Two years, it had been two years. And now with the current unrest reaching into every corner of the Duchy, no lesser person than Duke Hoel himself had commanded that Ben put aside his quarrel with Rose's brother. So far everything was going according to plan. Adam had done his bit, and Rose had received her summons to England. It was time for Ben to make amends with her if the second part of his plan was to stand any chance of success.
    A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. As ever he must be careful. Rose knew him well and she was not stupid. But he had rehearsed his part, he would even affect surprise when she told him of Per's death. If she caught wind of the fact that she was being manipulated, she would kill him.
    The tavern door creaked. Yellow light spilled onto the quayside, and the silhouette of a man with a broken nose loomed in the doorway. Ben turned, slipped into a dark alley between two rows of wooden houses, and began running swiftly uphill towards Hauteville.

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Chapter Two

    The second time the door latch rattled on Witches' Night, Rozenn's breath froze. It had to be well past midnight, Mikaela and her friends would have made their way home from Saint Columban's long before this. Rising from her bed, Rose groped through the dark and bumped a knee against a stool. Grabbing it, she held it aloft and edged her way through the shop.
    Heart pounding, she put an ear to the front door. Breathing--surely that was someone breathing on the other