by Alexa Aston
Elysande found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the brutal action. Men swung swords and maces, landing horrific blows against one another. The ground ran red from so much blood. Loud, hoarse cries became swallowed by the screams of those injured. She reached down to her boot and withdrew the dagger that she’d used against Ernis. She doubted the guard surrounding them would allow anyone near enough for her to put it to use, but it calmed her to clasp the weapon in her hand.
It was hard to tell which side might be winning. She had no idea how many men Lord Ingram brought with him. Elysande knew from what Michael said when they’d left the Convent of the Blessed Sisters that they numbered about two hundred strong. She squeezed her eyes closed and begged God for nothing to happen to Michael or Geoffrey. She couldn’t believe so much loss was laid at her doorstep and prayed for forgiveness.
When she opened her eyes, she searched for Michael in the melee. She finally spotted him, thanks to his great height. He held his bastard sword in both hands, cutting through men faster than she could count. His determined face showed no mercy to his opponents.
Then she spied Lord Ingram in the fray. The nobleman headed toward Michael, grim resolve hovering about him. She wanted to scream out and warn Michael, but she knew her voice wouldn’t be heard above the battle noise. Elysande held her breath and gripped her blade.
*
Michael cut a swath through his opponents, moving swiftly with a fluid motion. His years of training took over instinctively. It was as if he and his sword were one as he brandished it against his enemies. Anger raged through him at the thought of Lord Ingram trying to steal Elysande from him. Harnessing the anger, he focused it against every man that stepped into his path.
He plunged his sword into the heart of one man and sliced it across the neck of another soldier. He lifted it high above his head and struck a death blow to another man’s head. Whirling, he ripped his sword across the throat of the next man that crossed his path. Michael continued cutting his way through the hostile crowd, focusing on the battle at hand. He longed to glance over to see if Elysande remained safe, but he had to trust that the men who protected her did their job and kept her and the other women secure.
A sixth sense had him turn and duck at the same time. A blade whizzed above him where his neck had been only moments ago. He drove his sword up into the gut of the soldier who stood next to him and then finished off the man’s companion before the soldier could raise a weapon against him. Michael kept on fighting, plowing through as many as he could.
And then he saw the man responsible for the day’s bloodshed.
Lord Ingram spied him at the same time. Without thought or word, Michael rushed in the nobleman’s direction.
He raised his sword as he approached his sworn enemy. Ingram did the same. Both men swung at the same time. The ringing of their steel meeting seemed like music to his ears. Michael brought his sword forth, again and again, sometimes parrying and evading Ingram’s blows, other times pushing the older man back with the force of his weapon as much as his rage.
Michael knew his opponent had begun to weaken as time passed and their duel intensified. Ingram lacked strategy. He’d begun to breathe heavily and sweat profusely. The nobleman from the north no longer initiated strikes. Instead, he had to defend himself from them. Michael took command of the fight. He sliced the nobleman’s upper arm and heard a howl then twisted low and jabbed his sword into Ingram’s hip, pulling it halfway across the man’s belly. With that second strike, Ingram stumbled backward and fell to the ground.
Michael planted a firm foot against the nobleman’s wrist. Ingram was forced to release his sword. The nobleman’s free hand clutched his bleeding belly. Their eyes met and Michael had the satisfaction of seeing defeat on Ingram’s face.
As he placed his sword’s tip against his fallen enemy’s throat, a trumpet sounded in the distance. Michael kept his weapon in place and looked around the impromptu battlefield for the first time since his fight with the lord of Rudland began. He saw that most of the soldiers wearing Ingram’s colors had fallen. The trumpet blared again. Fighting ceased.
He glanced over his shoulder to where the women had been led and almost laughed aloud. Elysande scrambled through the parted legs of a very surprised Hammond. She sprang to her feet and gripped her skirts in her hand.
And ran to him.
Love burst within him, its warmth like a hundred suns coursing through his veins. She slowed as she reached him, not wanting to interfere with his pinned his opponent. Michael reached his free hand out to her. She took it. He squeezed her hand, hoping it communicated all the love he felt for her at this moment.
Elysande looked down at the fallen nobleman, a look of disdain on her face. “You’re the cause of this bloodshed today, my lord. It need never have occurred. ’Tis your ego that brought about the death of many men this day.” She spat on the ground next to him. “I hope you rot in the bowels of Hell.”
Geoffrey appeared to their left. “The king approaches. I’ve spoken with his scout. The royal court is returning to London from their summer progress.” He glanced at Michael’s prisoner. “He’ll want to speak with this one.”
“If I live long enough.” Hatred blazed from Ingram’s eyes. Despite the man’s defiant words, Michael saw the pain he suffered.
“Lay down your swords,” he bellowed. “All of you, whether from Sandbourne, Kinwick, or Rudland. Put them to the ground now. The king comes.”
Michael looked around and saw those still alive obeying his command. He did likewise but made sure his weapon was out of Ingram’s reach. He also kicked his prisoner’s sword away, finally releasing his boot from the man’s wrist. Ingram remained flat on the ground, both hands now cradling his wounded gut. Blood leaked between his fingers. Michael knew it was only a matter of time before Ingram succumbed to the fatal wound.
Minutes later, the royal entourage came into view. Michael had never laid eyes on the king, but he would have known the man to be royal merely from his noble bearing.
Edward marched through the waves of bowing men and came to stand in front of him, Elysande, and Geoffrey. The men bowed as Elysande made her deep curtsey.
“What have I come across, Lord Geoffrey?” The king casually glanced around, but Michael saw that no detail would be missed by this man.
His eyes came to rest on the prone nobleman. “Lord Ingram? I gather ’tis you.”
“Sorry I cannot greet you properly, sire.”
The king’s eyes flicked back to Geoffrey. “Explain what goes on, my lord. The queen and I were enjoying a lovely day with our retinue when we stumbled across this killing field. I didn’t think any English lords made war upon one another at this time.”
“Sire, it’s because of me.”
Michael turned and saw that Elysande had taken a step forward. Her mouth trembled, but she held her head high.
Edward studied her with twitching lips. Michael thought the king hid his amusement.
“Identify yourself, my lady. And then please clarify your statement.”
“I am Lady Elysande Le Cler, daughter of—”
The king interrupted, looking at Geoffrey. “This is the niece you spoke of? The one you wanted to marry your knight, Sir Michael Devereux.” His eyes turned to Michael.
“I am Michael Devereux, your majesty. Now Earl of Sandbourne.” He moved to Elysande’s side and took her hand in his. “My father recently passed away, and my betrothal fell through.”
“Is that so?” Edward looked at their entwined fingers and sighed. “And you wish to marry, I assume.” He glanced over Michael’s shoulder. “Greetings, my ladies. Come join us.”
Michael watched as his mother, Lady Mary, and Avelyn came forward and curtseyed to the king.
“Ah, another young lady. I’m thinking this is your other niece, Lord Geoffrey. The one scheduled to come to my court. Lady Avelyn, I believe?”
Avelyn nodded. “Yes, sire,” she managed to say before falling silent.
The king appraised her. “I’ve heard excellent things about you, my lady.”
“Thank you, sire.” Lady Mary demurely lowered her eyes, which Michael thought was a smart move on her part.
“And this last woman. A nun, I see. Why are you traveling with this group?”
Michael released Elysande’s hand and went to take his mother’s arm. “This is my mother, sire. Lady Orella Devereux. My father sent her away to a convent many years ago. I swore a vow to find her once I became the new earl.”
Michael saw understanding dawn upon Edward’s face. “And so you have.” The king studied the gathered group a moment before he brought his attention back to Lord Ingram.
“I see the Sandbourne and Kinwick forces united against you, my lord.” Edward gave the nobleman a harsh look. “I thought I expressed my wishes clearly and concisely when I denied your suit toward Lady Elysande.”
“You did, sire,” Ingram said with great effort. His face contorted as his body spasmed. Then he grew still.
The king looked upon the dead body with disdain. He glanced back at Michael.
“I suppose you’re happy with Sandbourne, my lord. Would you also like Rudland? I believe Lord Ingram will no longer be needing it.”
Michael hid his shock. “No, sire, but I thank you all the same. Sandbourne—and Elysande—will be more than enough for me.”
Elysande moved to stand by him again. Michael caught her hand in his.
The king nodded sagely. “I will have to find someone else worthy enough to claim Rudland then. So I assume your wedding will be soon?”
Geoffrey said, “We travel to Kinwick now, your majesty. Elysande and Michael wish to be married there.”
Edward clapped his hands in delight. “Lady Merryn will be thrilled, no doubt, when she discovers she has a wedding feast to plan.” He paused, lost in thought. Michael thought he might actually be considering whether or to attend their wedding, but then the king said, “I wish the best to you in your upcoming marriage and life together.”
“Thank you, sire,” both Michael and Elysande replied at the same time.
The king looked to Geoffrey. “And once this wedding is over, you’re bringing Lady Alys and Lady Avelyn to court?”
“I am, sire.”
“It seems you have things well in hand, Lord Geoffrey. The queen and I will be on our way. Give my best to Lady Merryn. Remember, she’s welcome to come with you to London.” He looked around. “See that Ingram’s men return to Rudland. I’ll have to think about who’ll receive the estate next.”
With that, the king swept away, a true force of nature.
After his departure, Geoffrey had the surviving Rudland men gather around. He explained to them they would soon have a new liege lord, but for now the king had instructed them to return to their home. They went without protest, first placing the bodies of their fallen comrades upon horses to be returned for burial.
Geoffrey and Michael had Charles and Hammond do the same for their own soldiers who had died in combat. Michael assigned Charles to lead a small contingency back to Sandbourne with the bodies as the remaining Sandbourne knights traveled on with them to Kinwick.
As Michael went to place Elysande upon Tempest’s back, he brought his arms around her in a tender embrace.
“We now have the king’s blessing, my love. I plan on a long life so that I can love you thoroughly each and every day.”
“And I will return every bit of that love to you, Michael Devereux,” she said, her eyes shining with that promised love. “You may count on it.”
Elysande pulled his face to hers in a lengthy, heated kiss.
As Michael returned it, he heard the approving cheers ring out.
Epilogue
Michael awoke, as he did every morning, with a smile on his face and Elysande in his arms. Her cheek nestled against his bare chest. Their limbs entangled so closely that it was hard to tell where one ended and the next one began. He held the woman who had become more precious to him than any amount of gold and thought of all the ways she had changed his life in the past few months.
He glanced around the bedchamber of the solar, thinking how he’d been forbidden to enter it as a child. He’d left Sandbourne so many years ago, an angry, friendless boy. But in truth, his father had done him a favor by helping drive Michael from his home.
He had learned—and then thrived—under Sir Lovel’s tutelage. Michael had gained the friendship of the older squires, Geoffrey and Raynor, who impressed him with not only physical lessons regarding swordplay and weaponry but the moral life lessons they taught that helped him become the man he was today.
Elysande stirred slightly in his arms. His hand stroked the soft waves that tumbled about her shoulders and spilled across his chest. He thanked Christ Almighty that he’d heard of Lord Geoffrey de Montfort’s return to Kinwick—for if he’d never heard the news, Michael wouldn’t have sought out Geoffrey and offered himself in service to the nobleman. Without that, Michael never would have traveled to Hopeston and met his future wife.
Elysande moved again, this time stretching as lazily as one of the barn cats in their stables. Her head tilted back as her amethyst eyes opened and fastened on his. Her love for him shined through as a beacon guiding a traveler on a dark night.
Michael gently kissed her. “Are you ready for our travels today, Wife?” he asked as he ran his fingers lightly down her face, caressing her long, swanlike neck and milky white shoulders.
“I am more than ready, Husband,” she said, a teasing light in her eyes. “I look forward to seeing my mother and Avelyn and all of my kinfolk at Kinwick. I’m grateful that we’ve been asked to spend the Christmas season with the de Montforts.”
“I agree,” he said, “Thought I would love to play host to them at this time next year. By then, I hope to have all the changes completed at Sandbourne. I’ll be pleased to show off the estate to them.”
She smoothed her thumb across his cheek, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think that would be best. I know this year it would’ve been hard for Merryn to travel to Sandbourne since she’s is heavy with child.”
“When does the babe come?” Michael asked.
“Probably two months into the new year,” she replied.
Again, he caught the smile that threatened to dance across her mouth. “Do you have something to tell me, Elysande?” he asked.
She pressed her lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss and then pulled back. “I do have news, my lord husband.”
“What news do you wish to share with me, my lady?” he asked formally.
She took his hand and brought it to rest against her bare belly. “I’m certain that our child grows within me even as we speak.”
His eyes widened in amazement and fell to where their hands lay resting together.
His child. Their child. Nestled deep within her belly.
She said, “This time next year, we’ll have our own babe in our arms, my love. I would wish for the others to come and celebrate Christmas with us at Sandbourne as we start new traditions with our own family.”
“You couldn’t have given me better news, my sweetest Elysande,” Michael said, excitement brimming within him. He thought to the many happy hours he’d spent playing with the three de Montfort children. Now he would have a child of his own.
He cupped her face tenderly. “We’ll raise our child with an abundance of love, be it boy or girl. And I hope many more babes will follow. I want to fill the halls of Sandbourne with happy children who run through them, laughing and playing.”
“We will, Michael,” Elysande promised, “for out of our love will grow many more lives.”
He kissed her again, with love and desire, with longing and reverence. This would be a good life they would share. Together. Forever and always.
The End
Jo
urney to Honor
Knights Of Honor
Book Four
Alexa Aston
Prologue
Shadowfaire Castle—May, 1342
Gussalen looked down at the woman in the bed, her hair damp with sweat from the many hours of labor she had endured. At least, this time, a child would be the end result. Poor Juliana had lost three babes in the four years of her marriage to The Brute.
“Guss?” Juliana’s voice was barely a whisper now, hoarse from the piercing screams that had gone on since early morn.
“I am here, my lady,” the nurse said. “I will not leave you. I will never leave you.”
She took the noblewoman’s hand and squeezed it encouragingly. Juliana let out a long sigh and closed her eyes, resting them until the next birthing pain struck.
The young woman would deliver soon. Gussalen had grown up accompanying her own mother to hundreds of births until she herself had wed and become a midwife. Her new husband died in an accident less than a month before she gave birth to their child. One look at the weak, mewling babe told Gussalen that the infant would soon follow her husband to the grave. Two days later, the priest buried the child next to her father. Gussalen had wanted to crawl into the hole with them—until word came from the castle.
The baroness’ water had broken.
Gussalen answered the summons and delivered a beautiful, healthy daughter, but she could not save the mother. The master kept her on as wet nurse—and Gussalen never left. She raised Juliana from birth and attended the girl every day. The old lord, who had refused to marry after the death of his beloved wife, had not even let his daughter leave to foster, reluctant to part from his only child. Gussalen had gone from that household to Shadowfaire Castle seventeen years later upon Juliana’s marriage to the Earl of Shadowfaire.