Knights of Honor Books 1-10: A Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Alexa Aston

  Sometimes, he allowed Merryn to go with him. They would walk hand-in-hand through the castle, exploring various rooms. She would take him to where the healer had gathered different herbs and describe to him what each could do for an ailment. They would go down to the stables and feed Mystery and Destiny some small treat before they went riding.

  He loved riding together through the meadow or woods. Sometimes, he took them to visit Hugh at Wellbury. He even imagined a bride for Hugh. He danced with Merryn in his arms at Hugh’s wedding, then raised a cup toasting her beauty and wit.

  And on very special occasions, he would allow himself to remember what it was like to make love with his wife. He relived the night of their marriage over and over again. Touching her silken hair. Stroking the smooth curve of her hips. Entering her and bringing her to the heights of pleasure.

  Geoffrey never thought of the hunting lodge.

  He’d wanted it to be their special place. But after what had happened in the clearing, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine the place.

  His stomach grumbled noisily. Berold had not come for three days. He wondered what feast day might be celebrated above stairs.

  And a part of him feared that the earl might not ever come back. That he would slowly starve to death.

  But he would die with Merryn’s name on his lips.

  Wait.

  The faint noise he’d grown to know so well sounded then. Berold—or possibly Hardie—opened the door at the top of the stairs. Within minutes, he would either glare at the earl in silence or enjoy a bit of conversation with the madman’s son.

  Hardie arrived. He placed the torch in an empty sconce and moved toward the cell doors.

  “I think you will like this.” He tossed something in. Geoffrey caught it.

  Goose. He hadn’t had goose in some time. His stomach rumbled in need and appreciation. Without speaking, he bit into the bird. Though he wanted to devour it whole, he took his time and chewed slowly, relishing every bite.

  Hardie watched him silently. When Geoffrey had finished, he tossed an apple and half a loaf of bread into the cell, along with several slices of cheese. It must be a feast day. He could not remember ever eating this well.

  “Thank you, Hardie.”

  Hardie still did not speak. That was unusual. For the most part, he was quite talkative. Something must be different. Something had happened.

  Finally, the words came. “I’m sorry no one came for a few days. Father . . . Father is gone. He clutched his chest and collapsed. Nothing could be done. He’s dead.”

  Geoffrey froze, hearing the words he’d longed to be uttered. A mix of joy and fear swept through him.

  Hardie was the new Earl of Winterbourne. He could choose to free him. Or would he remain a prisoner?

  “I am sorry for what Father did to you, Geoffrey. He was wrong. I hope to be a better man in many ways.” He paused. “That’s why I want to do the right thing now.”

  Geoffrey tamped down the hope that rose. He couldn’t take any more disappointment. He rested his chained wrists atop his bent knees.

  And waited.

  He saw Hardie struggled with what he wanted to say. He paced the space in front of the cell, his hands behind his back. Geoffrey let him work out whatever demons he struggled with. He tried to make his mind a blank and think of nothing.

  Yet, everything flooded through him. Images rapidly danced before his eyes. Longing swept through him, piercing his soul.

  And still, he waited.

  Hardie halted and locked his fingers around the iron bars of the cell. Geoffrey saw that he’d arrived at his decision.

  “I cannot honor Father’s memory by keeping you confined any longer. Fortunately, he never made me swear a blood oath to him that I would continue in this duty.” His nose turned up in a sneer. “He never questioned that I would oppose him. He ordered me to keep up the practice after his death. He assumed because he spoke it, I would obey.”

  Hardie turned his eyes to the wall above Geoffrey. “It never crossed his mind that I would dare release you.”

  A tiny ray of hope burst through Geoffrey. As if he stood in the dark of night and had caught the first glimpse of the sun as it broke across the horizon.

  And yet his mind wouldn’t allow him to rejoice. Not until he set foot on Kinwick lands and had Merryn in his arms would this nightmare be over.

  Hardie mused aloud. “I must help you clean up. I should bring you fresh clothing.”

  “No.” Geoffrey stood. He moved as close to the bars as his chains would stretch. For him, ’twas a matter of pride. His captor had taken everything from him. He would refuse to accept anything in return. Nothing Hardie could offer would make up for the lost years away from Merryn.

  “I will be seen as I am.” He hesitated, knowing he must ask the next question. Dreading the answer he would receive.

  “How long have I been here?”

  Hardie looked stricken, as if he’d been slapped hard. He swallowed and then met Geoffrey’s eyes.

  “’Tis halfway through May. The Year of Our Lord 1363.”

  Geoffrey stumbled back. He fell to his knees. A low, guttural moan bellowed from deep within him. He heard the sound, as if it came from some wounded animal and not himself.

  Six and a half years?

  God in Heaven. He knew his captivity had stretched endlessly before him. But for so long a time?

  His first thought was that Merryn would not even be at Kinwick. She would have married again. The king would not let such a pretty widow dangle loose for so long. Knowing she had gone to another man destroyed him. Another howl escaped his lips. He screamed again and again, eviscerated by the news.

  He collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.

  After some minutes, he raised his head. His gaze met Hardie’s. He had to ask. No matter what the answer was.

  “Merryn?” The one word came out a hoarse whisper.

  “I saw the lady this very morning.”

  The words stunned him. “This morning?” he echoed, not understanding.

  Hardie crouched, holding onto the bars for support. “Aye. She came to my father’s funeral mass.”

  “You lie,” he growled.

  “Nay, Geoffrey. I saw your wife. I remembered her from . . . from when you were first taken. She and others came to Winterbourne asking about you. Searching for you. She was so pretty. I found myself tongue-tied around her.”

  Hardie paused. “She’s more than pretty now, Geoffrey. She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have laid eyes upon. And she wore the sapphire brooch you told me about.”

  “The brooch.” Just thinking of the brooch left him weak. “She wore . . . my brooch.” His voice cracked.

  “I know it to be so. When I commented on it, she told me ’twas a wedding gift from her husband.”

  She still wore the brooch.

  “She . . . she still lives . . . at Kinwick?”

  “Aye.”

  “She has not remarried?”

  Hardie frowned. “I don’t believe so.” He rose to his feet. “You can go home to her, Geoffrey. But you must hear me out.”

  He focused on the boy—no, the man—in front of him. An eerie chill swept through him. Something told him that to gain his freedom, he was about to make a bargain with the Devil.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

  “It’s said you were a man of your word. Even my father said as much.”

  Geoffrey nodded solemnly, knowing Hardie’s next words would decide the future.

  “My word is my honor. I would never dream of breaking it. I will give you my word, no matter what you wish.”

  Hardie relaxed. “I would not have my father’s reputation sullied. He did what he thought he should to atone for Barrett’s death.”

  “You mean avenge, don’t you?”

  The new earl shrugged. “I ask two things of you. You will owe me these because I have it in my power to grant you your freedom.” He paused. “First, you must never
speak about what happened to you. I’ll not have Father’s reputation in tatters. No one must ever know what he did to you.”

  Geoffrey’s gut twisted, a physical pain as if he’d been stabbed. Not tell where he’d been all these years? Still, if it granted him release from this Hell, he must agree to it.

  “And the other condition?” he asked.

  “That you will grant a favor to me in the future. You may not know what the favor is now, but when the time comes, you will act without question. You must swear to this, Geoffrey de Montfort. Upon your word of honor and your very life.”

  Geoffrey would agree to dance with the Devil himself if he could leave—and live. With Merryn.

  “Aye. I swear I shall never reveal where I’ve been nor why I was taken. And I swear that I shall agree to whatever request you make without question.”

  “Then you shall leave Winterbourne tonight.”

  Chapter 13

  Still in chains, Geoffrey patiently waited for Hardie to keep his word.

  The new earl had left quickly after his promise to free Geoffrey, hurrying back to life above.

  He could only hope that Hardie did not play some monstrous game with him invented by Berold to torment him.

  The food he’d eaten sat heavily in his stomach. He leaned his head against the wall, wondering if these truly might be the final hours he spent in this hellhole.

  Almost seven years . . .

  He fought the urge to think about how much had changed at Kinwick. If anything remained the same.

  Most of all, he pushed aside thoughts of Merryn.

  Hardie appeared at the door, finally. Geoffrey noticed he seemed on edge. The new earl would want no one to see them—else explanations must be forthcoming.

  Hardie removed the keys from the hook. He tried several before he chose the right one to free Geoffrey. Suddenly, the door swung open, squeaking on its rusty hinges. Geoffrey’s heart raced in anticipation.

  Hardie then removed the shackles from Geoffrey’s wrists and ankles. As the cuffs were tossed aside, a heavy burden lifted from him.

  “’Tis the dead of night, Geoffrey,” Hardie said. “You must keep silent as we move through the castle. I will lead you to our postern gate. A single guard is assigned to it.”

  “What will happen to him?” Geoffrey remembered the first earl’s cold-blooded murder of the two soldiers who’d kidnapped him.

  “I made sure a sleeping draught went into the guard’s ale before he reported for duty tonight. We should find him fast asleep at his post.”

  “And the healer? Is she the same one who tended me all those years ago?” Geoffrey touched his scarred shoulder as he spoke.

  “Aye. But she will never tell another you were here. Father made sure of that.” Hardie looked away as he stepped from the cell.

  Geoffrey heard the bitterness in Hardie’s voice. “What did he do?” Somehow, it was important that he know.

  The new earl’s eyes met his. “Before she tended to you that first time, he cut out her tongue.”

  Horror halted his steps. He remembered how the woman had gone about her business, never speaking to him. Now he knew the reason why.

  Hardie gave him a pleading look. “I am not my father, Geoffrey. Nor would I ever be a traitor to king and country as my brother was. I have many sins of theirs for which I must atone. Tonight, I try to right the first of many wrongs.

  Follow me.”

  Geoffrey fell in behind his savior. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed other worldly to him. He had to watch his balance as he moved, putting his hand on the wall for support as they climbed the many steps.

  Hardie led him down several corridors, the candles flickering in the wall sconces as they passed. They slipped past the great hall, where dozens were bedded down, then left the keep. They arrived at a thick wooden door. He would finally leave Winterbourne through this postern gate. Hardie unbolted the lock and opened the door wide.

  A soldier lay stretched out on the ground. His faint snores broke the silence of the dark night. Both men stepped over him, keeping to the shadows of the wall that surrounded Winterbourne so that the sentries on the wall-walk would not see them.

  Once they’d gone a good distance, Hardie stopped. “This is as far as I go.” He held out his hand. “No apology will ever be enough. Nothing can ever repay the years you’ve lost. I only hope those to come will be kind to you.”

  Geoffrey took the offered hand and shook it. He gave Hardie a curt nod and walked away. Back to his old life.

  But could it be as it was before?

  Geoffrey moved ahead without a backward glance. Sparse moonlight shone as the clouds drifted across the sky. He took his time, carefully watching each step, his balance still off. He finally reached the forest.

  Fear gripped him without warning. He’d experienced fear on the battlefield, but Sir Lovel told him all men did. It was taming that fear and forging onward that separated the courageous from those who turned coward.

  Yet fear turned to dread with each step he took. Everything once familiar seemed strange now. His world had shrunk to an isolated few feet for many years. These wide spaces and nocturnal sounds now made his stomach churn in apprehension.

  An owl hooted. The loud noise startled him. He realized how sensitive his hearing had become during his years of solitude. All around him, the night noises came alive, making his heart race. He became confused and stumbled to the ground. Geoffrey stayed rooted to the spot, his hands digging into the dirt. He crawled a few feet to the trunk of a massive tree and wrapped his arms about it and wept.

  Free . . . but not.

  He still felt as if he were trapped in the dungeon.

  Geoffrey released the rough bark and twisted so his back leaned against the tree. He slept.

  *

  Warmth flooded him. Geoffrey stretched lazily and yawned. Then he became aware of the open space around him.

  Afraid.

  His eyes swept across the woods surrounding him, looking for any enemy. Sunshine cut through the covering of trees. He touched his arm. His skin felt warm after being chilled for so long, but he squinted as the sun struck his face. It almost pained him to feel it after so many years in dim light.

  He wondered how long he’d slept.

  At least his body felt rested. For the first time in years, his sleep had been deep and uninterrupted. Geoffrey raised his arms high, reveling in the freedom from his shackles. He held his hands out in front of him. Years of dirt clung to his nails, hands, and arms. Embedded so thick that he might never feel clean again.

  What turned his stomach most were the scars ringing his wrists. The shackles had branded him. He would never escape the memory of being restrained. They had kept him from life itself as he’d fought against them each day of his captivity.

  Geoffrey looked down and saw his clothes were little more than rags. His cloak might break apart at any moment. How would the people of Kinwick react when the lord apparent came through the gates looking worse than the lowest of beggars? He must rinse the filth away. He knew of several nearby streams where he could bathe before returning home.

  Home.

  The word thrilled him—yet brought a sense of foreboding. He had no idea what he would find when he returned.

  He set off cautiously, his gaze constantly roaming. Part of him believed Berold’s men would suddenly appear and drag him back to his prison after he’d had a taste of freedom. Geoffrey would die fighting them if that occurred. His head began to ache since even the smallest of noises seemed amplified. Birds that flew from a tree branch. A squirrel that scampered along the path. Stepping on a twig that snapped.

  He’d never been so unsure of himself.

  Geoffrey heard a brook and eagerly followed the noise until it came into view. He hurried to reach the water and fell, bruising his shins. He realized he was like a babe learning to walk. He needed to take his time.

  Kneeling, he cupped his hands to bring the cold water to his mouth. He dran
k deeply, scooping more up again and again. He forced himself to stop before he made himself sick from drinking too much.

  He slipped off his clothes and left them on the bank. As he looked down, his olive skin seemed pale because of the years he was deprived of sunlight. At least he hadn’t wasted away. He was leaner than before but not gaunt, thanks to the extra food Hardie had given him and Geoffrey’s insistence on exercising his limbs.

  He sank a foot into the running water. An icy chill raced up his leg. He submerged his other foot, allowing the running water to rush over his feet and calves. He waded out until the water came mid-chest. Then he fell back, letting it cover him entirely.

  He broke the surface, pushing his hair from his eyes. Then he leaned back into the water until all but his face was covered and ran his fingers through his hair, roughly scrubbing his scalp with his fingertips. He did the same with his bearded face and body. He longed for a bar of soap, but he made do with a few stones, using them to try and cut through the layers of filth.

  Satisfied, he waded to the shore and lay down, basking in the sunlight. After a few minutes of enjoyment, he returned to the water and washed his clothes. He spread everything out on the bank to dry.

  All this activity left him exhausted. Geoffrey’s limbs seemed like lead. His eyes drooped as he fought to keep them open. Finally, he gave in to the urge and curled up on the bank and slept again.

  When he opened his eyes, the light had faded. Dusk surrounded him. Kinwick was a good hour or more away from Winterbourne if he’d had a horse and knew where the road was. Traveling through dense forest on foot and weakened legs might take him a day or more. Geoffrey donned his dry clothes and began walking as quickly as he could, away from the water.

  And then he knew where he must go.

  Chapter 14

  The hunting lodge.