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

by Alexa Aston

  “Yes, my lord.” She stepped back a few paces, and he led the horses to two empty stalls opposite one another.

  Raynor loosened the restraints holding Tolly’s body to the horse and moved the dead servant to another vacant stall. He would need to discuss the man’s burial with their priest. He then instructed Brice in the basics, which the boy seemed to know from either Old Sam or his own father. Raynor promised to return tomorrow and work with Brice more closely.

  “I have high expectations when it comes to my horse. Fury deserves the best of care.”

  Brice promised to watch Fury carefully until Raynor came to the stables to give the lad another lesson. Raynor lifted his bundle of possessions that he’d placed in the corner and headed for the entrance.

  Beatrice waited in the same place he’d left her. Wordlessly, he captured her hand in his and led her toward the keep. They entered and paused in the great hall. Raynor looked across it, surprised to see that only about half of those who normally bedded down there were present.

  “Sir Raynor,” a voice called softly behind him.

  He turned to find Gobert approaching. The steward looked half a score older since Raynor had last seen him. He released Beatrice’s hand and strode toward him.

  “Thank the Christ you have returned, my lord,” Gobert said in a rush. “I have done my best trying to keep Ashcroft from falling into ruin.” He hesitated. “And I am afraid your brother might very well have gone mad.”

  Chapter 7

  Beatrice stood in the shadows, alarmed by the man’s words.

  What on earth had she gotten into?

  She had attached herself to a complete stranger and come to his home without question, dazzled by his good looks and gallant ways. But what little she’d seen since their arrival concerned her. Though unfamiliar with how life in a castle unfolded, this place seemed be run shoddily. No one defended it. Only young boys were about. The stench of old rushes, rotting food, and piss coming from the great hall assaulted her nose.

  And now Raynor Le Roux had just been told that his own brother might be mad?

  Beatrice shuddered. Ashcroft was nothing like what Sir Raynor had told her. Yet, in the knight’s defense, he also seemed surprised by what they had come across since their arrival.

  “Mad?” Raynor hissed. “What are you talking about, Gobert? You said nothing of this in your message to me.”

  The rotund, balding man looked apologetic. “I’m sorry to keep it from you, my lord. But you have been gone for some time—and when you have returned these past few years, you’ve only stayed for brief periods.”

  Raynor glared down at the man. “So, you’re saying that I haven’t paid enough attention to circumstances on my quick sojourns home? You believe that I have been remiss in my duties?”

  “Nay, my lord.” The man took a step back. “It’s not your place to see to the running of Ashcroft. It is Lord Peter’s responsibility.” He swallowed. “Though I do fear for what goes through his mind these days.”

  Raynor’s balled his hands into fists. “Why do you think he has gone mad, Gobert?”

  Beatrice saw how the knight controlled his temper and hoped he could keep it reined in. Being a man of formidable size and strength, she didn’t want to see this servant take the brunt of his wrath.

  “Rarely anyone sees him, my lord. Lord Peter takes all his meals alone in the solar. Most of his days are consumed by kneeling in prayer, whether in his oratory or the chapel. He goes for weeks without speaking.” Gobert paused, looking uncomfortable. “And sometimes Lord Peter . . . he . . . takes off.”

  “Where? Where does he go?” Raynor demanded.

  Gobert shrugged. “We haven’t a clue, my lord. He’ll simply be gone come morning. No one sees him leave the castle grounds. Occasionally, he’s spotted when he emerges from the woods upon his return. I don’t know if he lives and sleeps there or what he does. We all fear for his safety when he’s gone. And with no one to tell the people what to do while he’s away?” He raised his palms and shook his head sadly. “Ashcroft suffers from the lack of strong leadership. That’s why I asked you to come home. You’re his flesh and blood, my lord, the one he would listen to above all others. Mayhap you can talk some sense into him.”

  Raynor’s mouth set in grim determination. “If I can’t, I’ll see that the people of Ashcroft receive the proper guidance, Gobert. As Peter’s brother, I should have done more. Much more. I let the needs of others distract me. I assure you this will not happen in the future.”

  Beatrice stepped forward. “I can help you with this endeavor, my lord.”

  Gobert’s eyes widened as he caught sight of her. “Who—”

  “This is Lady Beatrice Bordel, Gobert. My lady, this is Gobert, Ashcroft’s steward—and my friend,” Raynor added quietly. He looked back at the steward. “Lady Beatrice had a run-in with some highwaymen. I’ve brought her to Ashcroft and guaranteed her safety. As soon as I have set things right here, I plan to escort her north to join her betrothed’s family.”

  “Very good, my lord. Where . . . where would you have her stay?”

  “I think we can put her in my sisters’ former bedchamber. Does it still contain some of their old clothing?”

  Gobert thought a moment. “It should. But the room will be quite musty. It hasn’t been aired out since—”

  “That’s how I can assist you, my lord,” Beatrice interrupted. “You asked me earlier what I did with my time. Besides my music, I was in charge of our manor house. I can cook, sew, and clean. I’m afraid you don’t have any idea how to set things straight inside the keep, but I’m familiar with such woman’s work.”

  She took another step forward and placed a hand upon his forearm. “Please, let me be useful and help you so that you can concentrate on other matters. I’m not expected at Brookhaven for three months. I can help you right everything here. It’s a small way to repay you for the aid you’ve given me.”

  Beatrice watched him mull her offer over and saw when he decided to accept it.

  “Very well, my lady. It would be nice to have a woman’s touch handling affairs inside the keep.” He placed his hand atop hers and guided it to the crook of his arm. “I will escort you to the chamber where my sisters slept growing up. It can be the first place you start tomorrow. You should make yourself comfortable there before seeing to other things.”

  Raynor turned to Gobert. “We’ll speak in the morning after we break our fast. Mayhap we can encourage Peter to sit with us while we discuss the running of the estate.”

  Gobert grimaced. “I’m afraid he’s gone again, my lord. Vanished sometime yesterday, and he did not return today.”

  Beneath her fingers, Beatrice felt Raynor’s muscles tighten at this news. “I’ll deal with everything, Gobert. I promise. I bid you a good night.”

  He turned away from the servant and guided her up a large stone staircase. A single sconce cast an inkling of light at the top of the stairs.

  “More should be lit,” he muttered as they walked down the hallway.

  “I’ll take an inventory, my lord. I can check to see what’s available and what’s needed. I’ll take stock of how many candles there are and if more should be made. I’ll investigate what the larder holds and what herbs are stored and replenish what they lack.”

  Raynor paused as they came to a doorway. “Your help will be immeasurable, my lady.” He frowned. “I regret that I have brought you into such circumstances. I am ashamed of how neglected Ashcroft is and the part I played in it sinking to such a low level.”

  “But you are not the baron,” she reminded him. “It wouldn’t have been your place to instruct an older, titled brother on how to run his estate.”

  A weariness settled over him, thick as a woolen blanket. “Nay. I should have been here. Peter lost his wife and son during childbirth and has mourned for them ever since. Our mother passed soon after that. I should have known what those blows meant to him. ’Twas my place to support him.”

  “
He might not have let you,” she said gently. “But you are here now, willing to help Lord Peter in whatever tasks must be accomplished. I’m sure he’ll be most grateful for your help.”

  “We’ll see.” Raynor sighed. “I wish you good night, Lady Beatrice. Please make use of any clothing you find within. And I hope you won’t regret being brought to stay at Ashcroft for a time.”

  Before she could reassure him, Raynor bent and pressed a chaste kiss upon her brow. Beatrice stilled and gave him a trembling smile.

  “Thank you once more for rescuing me, my lord. I am thankful that you came along when you did. I will see you in the morning. Have you a chapel?”

  “Aye. If you will allow me, I’ll stop by your chamber and escort you to mass and breaking your fast. Good night, my lady,” he said softly before he continued down the darkened corridor.

  She opened the door and hurried in, closing it behind her. Beatrice leaned against it for support. In all of the disappointments that she had discovered since they’d entered Ashcroft, one good bit of news lingered in her mind.

  Raynor Le Roux obviously had no wife or child.

  *

  Raynor tossed and turned. Sleep escaped him as his mind whirled in a thousand directions. No matter how many times he tried to let his mind become a blank, he remained agitated. Guilt weighed heavily upon him. He berated himself for being so enthralled with Merryn and her twins that he had put his own life on hold and been neglectful of his own family for some time.

  In truth, he didn’t know much about his brother anymore since he’d spent long stretches of time at Kinwick. Even growing up, they were very unlike one another. Where Raynor liked to hunt and fish with friends, his brother pursued solitary interests. Raynor had enjoyed everything about fostering with Sir Lovel, from learning the duties required of a page and squire to the training he undertook to become a knight. He loved the camaraderie with his fellow soldiers, the long hours spent in the yard, and the conversation once training had ended for the day. He enjoyed being in the company of others, always ready to tell a joke or bed a willing wench.

  But those carefree days must be put behind him. He must rouse his brother from whatever malaise pulled at him and bring swift changes to Ashcroft. If Peter stayed true to his decision not to marry again—and from Gobert’s description, that seemed a distinct possibility—then the estate would eventually come to Raynor. He didn’t want the people to suffer in the meantime. Ashcroft must become and remain productive. Whatever it took to guarantee the estate succeeded, even if it meant overstepping his bounds, he would begin in the morning.

  Pushing himself to a sitting position, Raynor braced his back against the wall in his chamber. It wasn’t only Ashcroft’s disrepair that kept him awake tonight.

  Beatrice Bordel’s image also kept him wide-eyed.

  He couldn’t believe a mere slip of a woman had him tangled in knots. Raynor still hadn’t gotten a clear look at her. He longed to see her in daylight and find out the true color of her eyes and what shade her hair became when sunlight fell upon it. He wanted to run his hands through it, down her back, and more. Much more. He pictured them in an embrace, arms wrapped about one another, as he took his fill of her sweetness.

  “God’s wounds!” he cried out. He got out of bed and pushed his hands through his thick hair. Would he always be cursed to fall in love with women who were unavailable to him?

  Pacing the small chamber, he fought to gain control of the wild ideas that flitted through his head. No woman had ever caused him to behave in such a manner. He must rid himself of these fantasies since Lady Beatrice was promised to another man. His knightly code demanded that he keep his pledge to protect her and deliver her to her betrothed. Nothing untoward could occur between them.

  It troubled him that they would live in close contact for several weeks, but he planned to keep his promise to Gobert and bring Ashcroft back to better days. And somehow, he must reach Peter. They had been close once, years ago, despite their different dispositions.

  He prayed that his brother remained sane and merely chose to live in seclusion because of his lasting grief. Raynor hoped he held the key that would unlock whatever prison Peter had willingly thrust himself into.

  Returning to his bed, he stretched out, placing both hands behind his head and letting his thoughts wander again until he heard footsteps. He sat up.

  Who could be lurking about the keep in the dead of night?

  Raynor retrieved the sword lying next to his bed and crept to the doorway. Easing the weapon from its sheath, he silently turned the knob.

  As he opened the door, a shuffling noise sounded down the corridor to his right. Raynor left his chamber to investigate. He spied a shadowy figure a few doors down and began to stalk it. By the height, it had to be a man.

  Closing in, he watched the man pause at the end of the hall in front of the door leading into the solar. Slowly, the shadow turned and faced him.

  “Hello, Brother,” Peter said.

  Chapter 8

  Raynor froze at the familiar voice. A multitude of feelings swirled through him.

  “Come in,” Peter instructed as he pushed open the door. He crossed the room and lit a candle before he sat upon a bench.

  Raynor reluctantly entered the solar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been invited inside. Its rooms had been the site of many happy occasions while growing up. His last memory, though, was colored by his brother sitting in the very spot he occupied now—only then, Peter’s head had been lowered to the table as he wept upon hearing the news of their mother’s death.

  Closing the door behind him, Raynor took a seat opposite Peter. He studied his brother for a moment as the candle flickered, casting odd shadows upon his brother’s face.

  “Where have you been?” Raynor demanded.

  Peter gave him a wry smile. “I might ask the same of you.”

  He flinched at the words.

  “You always had such a sense of duty,” Peter said, shaking his head. “True to your code of chivalry. Marked by your service to the king and the good of your fellow man.”

  “It’s how Father raised us,” he answered, “and how Sir Lovel trained the boys fostering under him. Honor and duty were first and foremost.”

  Peter laughed softly. “You were always so excited about life, Raynor. Enthusiastic about swordplay. Full of vim and vigor. Ready to take on the world. Well, let me tell you, little brother—the world can be a dark place.”

  “You have allowed it to become so for you,” he retorted.

  Peter’s brows shot up, then understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, you’ve been talking to Gobert. Our loyal steward is the one who summoned you home, I suppose. You would never come here of your own free will. You sought out adventure—and then coveted Merryn de Montfort. She’s enthralled you for a long time.” He paused, his lips twitching in amusement. “Did she finally toss you out? Or better yet, did the king find her a new husband to marry since hers ran away? I’ll bet he did, one befitting her station, with a title and abundant property.”

  His brother had always fought his battles with words and knew how to injure his opponent to the quick. Raynor would not rise to the bait Peter offered.

  Calmly, he said, “Geoffrey de Montfort has returned to Kinwick.”

  Peter’s wild laughter went on for some minutes, causing Raynor to question his brother’s sanity. Wheezing, Peter finally caught his breath. “So, your best friend came home to claim his pretty wife, and that left you out in the cold. Now here you are, ready to chastise me. Oh, I see it in your eyes, Brother. You’ve never been one to disguise your feelings.”

  “As far as Ashcroft goes, I have no need to hide anything.” Raynor heard the sharpness in his words and softened his tone. “Gobert told me—”

  “Oh, I am sure our steward has informed you of many things. That I rarely speak to anyone and disappear for days on end. That I pray more than I breathe and I no longer care for the estate or the people on it.”

>   Raynor stared into the eyes of a man who had become a stranger to him. “Are his words true?”

  Peter slammed a hand down on the wooden table. Through gritted teeth he said, “I have not cared for anything—anything—since God saw fit to deprive me of my beloved wife and child. I have cursed Him both day and night since that time.”

  Peter’s fists grabbed onto chunks of his hair and squeezed tightly, as if he might rip the hair from his scalp. A wildness appeared in his eyes, making it seem that he danced upon the precipice of madness.

  “I spend hours praying for forgiveness every day, for I am weak, Raynor. Weaker than any man I know. I was never physically strong and I became emotionally numbed by all that befell me. Aye, I let the people do as they please. If they work, they shall live. If they don’t?” He shrugged. “Then they can starve. I truly don’t care what happens to them. Soldiers who pledged their fealty to Father have now deserted me. They call me a coward and feebleminded. Many have fled and moved on.”

  Peter paused, contemplating his next words. “None of that matters. Do you hear me? If Ashcroft fell down about my ears, it would mean nothing to me. I simply want to be left alone.”

  “You will not offer leadership?”

  “Nay, Brother. You’ve been prudent enough to stay out of my affairs till now, but you may intervene if you see fit. It’s no longer my concern.” Peter released the hold he had on his hair. “Do as you wish, but don’t disturb me to tell me of your actions. I will return to my suffering in silence.”

  Peter stood. “Now I ask you to leave me in peace. Or simply leave. You have always done as you wished, Raynor, and been your own man. You are free to come and go as you please. I wash my hands of you and Ashcroft.”

  His brother went to the door of his bedchamber and entered, softly shutting the door behind him.

  Stunned by what his brother had voiced, Raynor sat at the table for some minutes. Peter had always been a pleasant fellow, both kind and sympathetic. Never a great warrior or horseman, but a nobleman who took his responsibilities seriously and cared for those around him. This bitter, vindictive shell of a man proved to be a stranger.