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

by Alexa Aston

  He gazed into her eyes. “I have fostered in four households, Lady Alys. And four times I have been asked to leave. I am too bold. I do not follow the rules. I am disrespectful. It’s always something.” He shook his head. “This last time I’d been placed in the household at a friend of Lord Sewell’s. He must have heard about the . . . incident.”

  She squeezed his hand in encouragement. “Go on.”

  “I served in Lord Brutus’ service. I think my father paid him with several bags of gold simply to take me on. Lord Brutus was especially hard on me. He beat me at the slightest provocation. Everything that went wrong in the household was forever blamed on me.” Kit chuckled. “That’s why I called him Lord Brutal behind his back—and then to his face.”

  Alys sucked in her breath. “You didn’t.”

  His green eyes gleamed. “But I did. That proved to be the final straw. He sent me back to my mother at Brentwood. She did not know what to do with me, so she wrote to my father. He requested my presence here at court. I assume he believes I will learn under his tutelage and tame my wild ways. I briefly met the king, though. He praised my boldness,” Kit said, pride evident in his voice.

  “You must do your best to fit in, Kit,” she said softly. Her hand throbbed in his, but she cast aside the thoughts that brought. “The king may have complimented you, but he is strict when it comes to the rules of court. You will not be given special consideration. You must conform in all practices of the court. It won’t only affect you, but your actions will affect your father and his position at court.”

  Kit blew out a long breath. “Then we are doomed. Curbing my restless nature is the last thing I can do. I have always been rash and acted first without thought. Mayhap, I will beg Father to send me home instead of jeopardizing his role at court. I would not wish to harm his relationship with the king.”

  He slowly drew himself to his feet, pulling her up to her own.

  “You surprise me.”

  Alys wondered at his words and asked, “Why?”

  He searched her face as if looking for the answer. “The king demanded you come to rid him of his headache. I expected Lady Alys to be a healer who was older, not a mere girl. And now you have dispensed words of wisdom to me. You are quite an unusual person, Lady Alys.”

  Her insides glowed with the praise he offered to her. She tamped down the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.

  “I have known the king since childhood and have fostered with the queen these past five years. My mother has a way in the healing arts. She has passed on her knowledge to me. I often prepare potions for the king when his head aches or if his bowels run foul.”

  “Well, the king is lucky to have you. But come, we must head swiftly to his side. I fear he will be upset at the delay.”

  “If he is, I can placate him,” Alys said. “I will tell him I was with the queen and only recently left her side. He loves his wife very much and knows she’s felt poorly as of late. He won’t be angry with you, my lord.”

  Kit released her hand and reached down to retrieve her case. He handed it to her as they stepped out into the corridor and hurried to the opposite end of the Rose Tower.

  They arrived at their destination and entered the king’s chambers. Kit brought her straight to the royal monarch, bowing and stepping aside as Alys made her curtsey.

  “My head hurt before, but I did as you have suggested and ate some fruit and drank a tankard of ale. I feel much better, Lady Alys. I am sorry you made the trip here. But how is my queen today?”

  She knew sometimes the king got so busy he forgot to eat or drink. She found if he got something into him, preferably juicy fruits or ale, he seemed to recover quickly.

  “The queen asked that you come visit her as soon as possible, your highness. She was in some pain when I left her side just now.” Knowing he respected honesty, she added, “The swelling is much greater today. Her feet and ankles are twice their normal size, as are her legs. I think a visit from you would go a long way in bringing her relief.”

  Edward stood. “Let us go to her then.” He motioned to his royal physician. “Hobard. Come with us.”

  The king strode from the room as assembled courtiers stepped aside, only to fall in behind him. Alys found herself almost swallowed up by the horde.

  Then someone grasped her hand and pulled her forward.

  She looked and saw it was Kit who had hold of her. He maneuvered them through the crowd till they caught up with the king just before he entered the queen’s rooms.

  The assembled ladies-in-waiting all rose as he made his way across the room. Edward paused at the door and seemed to steel himself before he knocked and went in. Hobard followed the monarch inside. Kit boldly drew Alys into the chamber and closed the door behind them.

  The queen looked pale but smiled as her husband pulled a chair close and took her hands in his.

  “We have had a good life together, have we not?” she asked.

  “We have, indeed.”

  “I fear I have not accomplished enough.”

  The king laughed. “You gave me ten and four children, my love. That alone should be accomplishment enough.”

  He grew serious. “But you have done far more than that. You founded the colony of Flemish weavers at Norwich and have supported them for years. You brought artists and scholars from Hainault to the court. Your namesake college sits at Oxford and will for decades to come. You have acted as my regent on many occasions when I have left the country.”

  The king looked affectionately into the queen’s eyes. “And you have been my loyal, most loving companion for forty years. Your wisdom and kindness are shining beacons that call out to me in my darkest times.”

  Edward leaned forward and tenderly kissed her hands.

  Philippa closed her eyes and smiled. The room remained silent for several minutes. Then she opened her eyes. Alys saw the pain in them and shuddered.

  “I would ask three things of you, Husband. Pay all the merchants I have engaged for their wares. Fulfill any gifts I have made to the church and my servants.”

  The queen swallowed. “And when God calls you hence, lie by my side at Westminster Abbey.”

  Tears shone in the king’s eyes as he replied, “Lady, all this shall be done.” He leaned to kiss her cheek.

  Tears sprang to Alys’ eyes. She realized Kit still held her hand in his. She glanced up at him, her mouth trembling. He brushed a hand against her hair in comfort.

  Quietly, the king said, “I believe she is gone, Hobard.”

  Alys watched the royal physician move forward to examine the queen. After a minute, he nodded. No other words were necessary.

  “’Twill be as she asked,” the king said. He slowly trod from the room, followed by Hobard.

  She heard him say something to the gathered women in the next room. Immediately, sobs broke out. Alys’ tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Silently, Kit wrapped her in his arms. Alys burrowed her face into his chest. They stood that way a long moment without words. She drew strength from him as she remembered the remarkable woman who had passed.

  Finally, she drew back. “England has lost a great lady,” she told him. “The queen was kind and compassionate and knew how to handle the king like no other.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “You seem to have known her well.”

  Alys nodded. “We should leave.”

  Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from his and felt at a loss when it was free. She wrapped it around the handle of her case, both hands squeezing it to help ground herself.

  They exited the bedchamber. Weeping women embraced one another, seeking comfort from such a tremendous loss.

  Alys looked up at Kit. Before she could speak, he said, “You wish to be alone. Let me escort you to your bedchamber.”

  She nodded and followed him from the queen’s rooms, no words between them. They walked slowly down the long corridors until they arrived at the room she shared with Hilith.

&nb
sp; “Thank you,” she said.

  “I am sorry we met under such circumstances, my lady. I did not know the queen as you did, but I realize your heart is heavy.”

  Alys nodded, words impossible to speak.

  Kit pulled her to him again, his arms enveloping her in a comforting warmth. She wished she could stay this way forever.

  “What are you doing, Christopher?” a familiar voice screeched.

  Kit dropped his arms and turned to face his accuser.

  “I am giving solace to Lady Alys, my lady. We come from the queen’s bedside. She has passed on to a better world.”

  Richessa Giffard stepped forward and tucked her arm possessively through the crook of Kit’s arm. She glared at Alys as if she wished Alys were dead.

  At that moment, Alys realized that Kit . . . was Christopher Emory.

  Chapter 1

  London—April 1375

  Kit Emory made his way through the palace as only an insider could have. He avoided the usually crowded corridors and receiving rooms, filled with sycophants and foreigners. Instead, he slipped through a little used door that his father had shown him when he first came to court six years ago. The hall he entered served as a holding area for those awaiting their audience with the king.

  His eyes skimmed over close to a dozen men grouped in small circles scattered about the room. He sighed and leaned against the wall, wondering how long he would wait before he could speak with his father.

  He listened in on the conversation among the trio standing to his right. From what he overheard, Kit gathered that the Duke of Lancaster and a committee of men involved in the signing of the Treaty of Bruges currently had an audience with the king. As one of Edward’s closest advisers, Kit’s father would be in the thick of things.

  A passing servant offered him a glass of wine. He swallowed the sweet brew with a tinge of sorrow. He did not want to be on English soil. He preferred to be back fighting the French—even though he had not seen his country meet with success during this most recent campaign. Kit had been part of the ill-fated group of ships that had sailed with the king and his men three years ago. Every attempt to land English troops in France had been met with contrary winds that finally drove them back home. His father, knowing that the king was in no shape to lead a war party, had called the misadventure a blessing in disguise.

  That made Kit even more eager to be a part of the troops when the Duke of Lancaster, John of Gaunt, had led a march through France two years ago. Though fighting had been fierce and laden with heavy casualties, the king’s second son had achieved nothing through this endeavor. Unlike his older brother, the Black Prince, the duke did not have a keen military mind. His strategies proved fruitless, and the English troops never maximized any advantage they’d held. The entire venture ended in failure. Subsequent battles Kit had fought in saw dwindling forces falling to the French—including the one where he lost men due to his own stupidity—along with his friend Ralf.

  England had failed to keep Aquitaine and only held four coastal cities in France now. Kit wondered if his country would ever return to its former greatness during his own lifetime. From the sound of it, the same thoughts were being echoed by the two men to his left.

  Turning slightly in their direction, Kit decided to join in their conversation.

  “At least we retained Calais. It’s a vital port,” said one with piercing blue eyes and the rugged build and air of a warrior.

  “But what good are four towns, Michael? By the Christ, we need the Black Prince whole again, to lead us against these French bastards,” his companion proclaimed. The man’s hazel eyes flickered with anger. A broad chest and muscled arms let Kit know this one was a man to be reckoned with. If in a fight, he would want both of these knights by his side.

  “You speak of the treaty?” he asked.

  Both men glanced to where Kit stood and shook their heads, their eyes wary. He knew spies could be anywhere, so he kept his own voice low.

  “I believe the year’s truce the treaty calls for will only give France more time to build up their weaponry,” Kit said. “And more time for the Duke of Lancaster to dig himself into a hole.”

  The one called Michael studied him. “You are free with your tongue, my friend.”

  He regretted his rash statement. He often spoke—or acted—upon impulse without considering the consequences. His mother termed it his greatest flaw. And with his father as an adviser to the king, he had been privy to information others did not have. Kit shrugged and said, “It’s merely my opinion. I fear England is in for hard times ahead with both the king and the Black Prince in poor health.”

  The larger man nodded and offered his hand. “Kenric Fairfax. Earl of Shadowfaire.” He indicated his companion. “This is Michael Devereux. Earl of Sandbourne.”

  “I am Kit Emory, son of Godwin Emory, Baron of Brentley. I have been with the duke’s men in France and have only returned home with the news of this truce.”

  “We, too, have fought for England these last few years. I am ready to return to my children and my sweetest Elysande,” said Devereux.

  “You think she will tear herself away from her precious horses in order to greet you?” Fairfax teased.

  Devereux punched the nobleman in the arm good-naturedly. “She better. I am starved for her kisses and her touch.”

  “And I long to embrace Avelyn and never let her go,” Fairfax answered. “Other than to hug my own children, of course.”

  Kit heard something in the voices of both men that caused him an inkling of jealousy.

  “You both sound smitten with your wives,” he noted cautiously.

  Both men laughed. Devereux said, “We married sisters, nieces to Lord Geoffrey de Montfort.”

  Fairfax added, “They are both beautiful women with quick wits and loyal hearts.” He beamed. “I do not care if the world knows. I love my Avelyn with every fiber of my being, and I know Michael feels the same way about Elysande.”

  “We are both men who married for love and find ourselves constantly challenged by the women we wed.” Devereux added. He grinned. “And we would not have it any other way.” He paused. “Are you married, Emory?”

  “Aye.” He thought of his loveless union with Richessa, a woman whose inane chatter drove him to madness—when he could tolerate her presence. She had given birth twice to stillborn children. The midwife had told him after the last one that Richessa could no longer bear any more. Since his wife’s health had grown poor, Kit wondered how she had fared in his time away from England. As an only son, he would need to provide an heir for Brentwood.

  If he could, he idly wondered if the charming Alys de Montfort might still be available. From time to time, he found himself musing over what happened to the budding beauty he had met when he first came to court. He had caught the de Montfort name when Devereux mentioned it and decided to inquire, hoping to appease his curiosity.

  “You mentioned Lord Geoffrey de Montfort. Might he be father to Lady Alys de Montfort?”

  “He is, indeed,” Devereux said. “Lord Geoffrey is inside now, meeting with the king, along with his cousin, Raynor. Both men participated in the signing of the latest treaty.”

  “Lord Geoffrey is the best knight in all of England,” Fairfax proclaimed. “A warrior like no other and possessing a good heart and keen mind. Alys is his oldest daughter. She favors her mother, Merryn, in looks and has her mother’s healing ways. So you know her?”

  Kit nodded. “I met Lady Alys briefly at court. Years ago, on the day the queen died.”

  Devereux nodded solemnly. “God bless the good queen. Poor Alys took her death quite hard.”

  “I did not see her at court after that event. Did she leave to foster elsewhere?”

  “Nay, she returned home to Kinwick Castle,” Fairfax said. “She had been with the queen several years and was ready to come home. Lady Merryn knows much about herbs and healing. She has passed on her knowledge to Lady Alys through the years, and Alys’ reputation grows each
year.”

  “Do you visit Kinwick often?”

  “Aye,” Devereux replied. “Both Elysande and Avelyn are close to their uncle and Lady Merryn. Lord Geoffrey’s sister, Lady Mary, lives at Sandbourne with us. Visits are made from our households on a regular basis. All the young cousins enjoy being with one another.”

  Casually, he asked, “I wondered if—”

  At that moment, the doors were thrown open. Men began pouring through them.

  “It was nice meeting you, Emory,” Devereux said. “We must leave now and head for home with Lord Geoffrey and Lord Raynor. If you are ever nearby, stop in at Sandbourne.”

  “Or at Shadowfaire,” added Fairfax, “now that we have a break in this nasty war.” He gave Kit a brusque nod. The two men joined up with two older noblemen, both still handsome for their ages and bearing the posture of seasoned knights. He wondered which of the two might be father to Lady Alys.

  And if she had wed.

  Kit had been about to ask that very question when the meeting with the king ended, interrupting their conversation. He watched as the group exited the hall and lingered as others ventured from the long meeting. Finally, he caught sight of his father and headed toward him.

  “Christopher!” his father called in greeting, embracing him. “I did not know when to expect you.”

  “I came on the ship that brought the duke back to London,” he explained.

  He studied his father, noting that his beard had gone totally gray, as had most of his hair. New lines were etched into his face since Kit had last seen him.

  “Come. We shall go to my chamber and speak in private.”

  Kit followed his father as they wound their way through the gathered throngs and down crowded corridors before they reached the quiet of the large, airy chamber. His father offered him wine, which he refused.

  Pouring himself a healthy amount, Godwin drained it and rested the cup on a table as he sat. He indicated for Kit to take the chair next to him.