An Honorable Rogue Read Online Free

and she really was very fond of him, Rozenn did not object.
    'Sorry, little flower, but I was in something of a hurry. No time to send out the heralds.'
    Twisting round, she grasped his shoulders. 'Some poor cuckold of a husband after you, I expect,' she said lightly. It was too dark to read his expression, but he stepped back.
    'Ah, Rose, you cut me to the quick. Always you think the worst of me."
    'Isn't there reason?"
    Silence. Then, gently, 'Rose, I won't stay if I'm not welcome.'
    Impulsively, guiltily, she found his hand in the dark and lifted it to her cheek. 'No, Ben, I am sorry, you are welcome. It has been too long.' She softened her tone. 'My house is yours. Treat it as your home."
    'I don't have a home, cherie, ' Ben said, adopting what she termed his flirtatious voice. He carried her hand to his heart. 'But if I did, you would be its flickering flame, toasting a man's toes on a winter's night."
    Rozenn shook her head, smiling at him through the dark. 'You're a rogue, Benedict Silvester, to try to flatter me. Haven't you learnt I'm proof against your wiles?'
    'I live in hope, I live in hope. Rose?'
    'Mmm?'
    'May I stay here while I'm in Quimperle?'
    'Won't you be bedding down at the castle?'
    'I'd rather not; there's never much rest to be had for a minstrel in the hall of a castle."
    Forgetting he could not see her in the dark, Rozenn nodded. She knew how it was--he would be constantly in demand at the castle, as a musician, a singer, a drinking companion and... No. she would not think about that. It warmed her to think that Ben could relax in her house, but then, they had been friends for ever.
    'Of course. You don't need to ask." The words had slipped out before she had time to question the wisdom of letting Ben--a man with the most appalling reputation--stay in her house now that her husband had died. Moving past him. Rozenn led the way into the private family room. Fumbling for a taper, she lit a candle and mocked him. 'Do enter, kind sir.'
    'My thanks, little flower.'
    Ben fetched the things he had tossed through the shutter and, as the light strengthened, Rozenn recognised his lute bag among them. She ought to, having stitched it herself years ago. It was the first and the last thing she had ever made in leather, and by the time she had finished it, she had gone through two thimbles and her fingers were pricked to the bone. Never again, she had sworn, vowing to stick to fabric thereafter.
    Ben tossed his cloak on to a stool and frowned at her empty bed. In the candlelight she could see that his hair was cut in the fashion favoured by the Normans--shaved short at the back. It was longer at the front though, so long that his dark fringe flopped into his eyes. With an impatient gesture, he shoved it back.
    He has been running. Rozenn reminded herself, deliberately turning her attention to his clothes to stop herself staring at his face, like just another of his lovestruck women. But even a furtive glance had told her that Benedict Silvester remained more handsome than a man ought to be. It wasn't fair, but Mikaela was right, those dark looks, especially his eyes and the way they appeared to soften when they regarded one, were almost irresistible. His face was leaner than it had been; it was no longer the face of a boy. but that of a man coming into his prime. He needed a shave and this gave him a faintly disreputable air that hinted of danger, but typically, since it was Ben. this was not unattractive. His looks were as much his stock in trade as was his talent with a lute.
    Shaking her head. Rozenn forced her attention to his clothes, assessing them with the eyes of a woman used to judging the quality at a glance. Under that unremarkable cloak that was surely too dowdy for Ben and far too hot for a night like tonight, they were showy. This was more like it, this was the Ben she knew. Ben's clothes had always been fit for a prince--they were the clothes of a man who earned his bread by entertaining noblemen.