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

by Alexa Aston

  The playful light in her eyes and ghost of a smile teased him. A hot wave of fresh desire poured through him again as he imagined her naked, entwined in his arms.

  “Then I shall rest all the harder, knowing I won’t be entirely well until I can claim victory through checkmate.”

  “I bid you goodnight, my lord.” She slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.

  How could he rest when his mind swirled so?

  He slammed a hand down on the bed and gasped at the ripple of pain that sprouted from his broken ribs. He wondered how long they would take to mend. He fingered the stitches along his thigh. These, at least, seemed familiar to him. He knew he’d gotten them before, for already the itch at the place of the wound was something known to him. A week had passed since he had been brought to Kinwick. Though the bruises had begun to fade, he could see a few scars upon his flesh where he had suffered prior injuries.

  That led him to believe he was a soldier. Alys spoke of the men he’d downed when attacked. Again, vague shadows of him raising his sword crossed his mind. He closed his eyes and could envision himself riding on a horse as he approached—no, charged—a line of men. Flashes of sunlight glinting on his swinging sword flittered by. Then all went dark, as if his mind shielded him from remembering the way he had been injured.

  He pushed a hand through his hair and opened his eyes, searching the room. He’d been placed in a large bedchamber, much larger than he had known. That was what he believed in his foggy mind. He lay in a bed, and two smaller ones faced opposite it. He couldn’t remember anyone else sleeping in the room since he’d been brought here. Either its occupants had been encouraged to sleep elsewhere, or they were not present. He guessed this room might belong to the siblings Alys had mentioned. The twin brother. Ancel. The younger two. Hal and Edward.

  At least he’d finally discovered that she was unwed—and unattached. He sank back into the pillows and allowed himself to think of her. She wore her thick, chestnut hair in a long braid every day. His fingers itched to undo the complicated plait so he could rub the silken strands between the pads of his fingers. Her eyes, a vivid blue, seemed kind—yet sometimes they danced with mischief. Her heart-shaped face called for him to cup it in his hands. He longed to stroke those porcelain cheeks with his thumbs.

  More than anything, her mouth called to him. Those pink lips cried out to be kissed. He wished to brush his mouth against hers while he explored the sweet curve of her breasts and hips. Yet how could he act in so coarse a manner? Lady Alys had rescued him. Saved his life. He would never repay her by pawing at her.

  For all he knew, he might be betrothed—or wed.

  He sensed he must be older than she was. That meant it was possible that he possessed a woman in his life. He couldn’t allow his physical yearnings to override good sense when he might not be free.

  But what he would give for one night in Alys de Montfort’s bed.

  He shook his head to clear those wicked thoughts. At least the action no longer pained him, as the lump on the back of his skull had dwindled rapidly, even if it remained sensitive to his touch. He needed to assess his situation.

  What did he know?

  He knew war. His gut told him as much. With the truce he’d learned about, he must have returned home to England. He would ask Lady Alys where Kinwick lay. For some reason, he could picture London. The streets. The crowds. Wait . . . he knew the royal court. He hadn’t simply glimpsed the king and queen. He could imagine ladies in their finery and courtiers dressed in rich, vibrant colors. He knew exactly what King Edward looked like because he’d seen the monarch in person. Up close. And the queen. Sadness welled in him, knowing she was no more.

  Think.

  He brought up the king’s image clearly. This time, a newer one came to him. That of an older man, but still imposing. Now another likeness came to him, one that bespoke of age, even frailty. The king was no longer a strong man. Age and sickness marked his appearance.

  But if he knew of the sovereign at different times, did that mean he had been to court often? Could he have possibly grown up there or even fostered with a nobleman who spent time at the royal palace?

  All this thinking made his head throb. He touched the small, swollen knot at the back of his skull. Still tender. He brought his hands to his face and touched it gingerly. It was a bit puffy and no doubt bruised. A lump over his left brow bowed out. He could imagine what he looked like. He had probably given Lady Alys and her mother quite a fright.

  Yet as they tended to him, neither seemed jarred by his appearance. Both women had a competent, light touch. Their assured manner and frank words led him to believe they hid nothing about his injuries from him.

  He pulled the linen sheet up and shut his eyes as weariness descended upon him. Sleep would help restore his battered body and aching head.

  That . . . and another visit from Lady Alys. That would be the best medicine possible.

  Chapter 8

  Alys knocked on Kit’s chamber door and wasn’t surprised when he opened the door to admit her. He began restlessly pacing the room as she set down the tray she had brought him so he could break his fast.

  “I see that you are ready to be up and about, my lord.”

  He pushed a hand through his thick, brown hair. “I’ve spent more than a week in bed. I am ready to stretch my legs and see something of your estate, my lady.” He looked sheepish. “If you feel I won’t frighten anyone with my appearance.”

  His battered face still held a few bruises from the attack but wasn’t affected as much as his body. The garish colors she had predicted covered his torso and limbs in a variety of hues as he healed.

  “Your face appears almost normal. I can fetch a small hand mirror for you if you would care to see yourself.”

  He brightened. “I would. That might help spark my memory.”

  “I will bring it at once while you break your fast.”

  Alys left the bedchamber, her heart pounding in her chest. She should have thought to let him view his image. She knew she was being selfish, keeping his identity from him—for she had determined he must be Kit Emory. Though she’d had but a single conversation with him years ago, he had left an indelible print on her memory. The more she spoke with him, the more she could see the young man he had once been.

  The one she longed for with all her heart.

  She wavered between telling him who he was and believing he should come to the realization on his own. If she told him now that she had known who he was all along, she couldn’t predict what his reaction might be. Nay, she could, for she knew what hers would have been. She would be furious with the person who kept her very name from her. She would lash out at him or her. Curse them.

  And never forgive them.

  That was why she had kept her secret, for with each conversation she had with Kit, each moment she spent in his company, she became more drawn to his intelligence and quick sense of humor. Alys liked that he treated her as an equal. Many men would not have done so. She enjoyed his company immensely and did not want him to leave Kinwick.

  It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Alys knew she should speak up. But every time she tried to, she became lost in his emerald eyes. Bewitched by his handsome face. Drawn to him as she had been to no other man.

  She knocked on the solar door but received no answer. She supposed her parents remained in the great hall, breaking their fast after mass. Alys entered and went inside the bedchamber. She lifted her mother’s mirror to her own face and studied herself, something she rarely did. Her cheeks had color in them. Her eyes looked bluer than they normally did. She wondered what Kit thought of her looks.

  That thought made her tear her eyes away from her image. Nay, she should not think in this manner. Kit was married to Richessa. It did not matter if he thought her pretty or interesting looking. He had a wife and probably children by now. Selfishly, she was keeping him from his family and home.

  The sudden thought of him returning to them—l
eaving her alone at Kinwick—caused her knees to buckle. She dropped to the ground. Hot tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Alys?”

  Her mother’s voice undid her. The tears began to flow rapidly, spilling onto the stone floor.

  Wordlessly, her mother’s arms came about her, bringing her close. She gave in to them as her mother stroked her back, murmuring sounds of sympathy and encouragement. Alys cried till she had nothing left. She took a cleansing breath and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “It’s this stranger,” Merryn said. “You have feelings for him.”

  “Aye,” she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper. “And I should not.”

  Her mother drew Alys to her feet. “You cannot contain your feelings, my sweet. It’s like saying you could control the wind or the rain.” She kissed Alys’ forehead. “I hope he will remember who he is soon. Then we can explore whether the two of you could have a future together or not.”

  Alys clung to her mother. She should tell her mother that she knew who Kit was. That he was not free. That she lied by omission and kept the truth from him.

  But she couldn’t. Shame filled her at what she had done. She had never disappointed her parents in any way. She was embarrassed to admit she had kept such a wicked secret.

  Her mother drew back. “I see you have a mirror.”

  “Aye. He thought if he saw himself, it might help his memory return.”

  “It could. That and all the ginger we have given him to eat. Sephare always told me that would aid a person’s memory. I hope she was right.” Merryn cupped Alys’ cheek. “Bathe your face in some cool water before you go back to him. And remember, whatever happens, you know your father and I love you and will support you.”

  “Even if I choose not to marry?” The thought sprang to her head. If she couldn’t have Kit as her husband, she didn’t want any other man.

  Her mother frowned. “Why would you say that, Alys? You nurture everyone about you. You will make a fine wife and mother someday.”

  She swallowed. “I may wish to return to court. To be a healer. For the royal family and those who reside there.”

  Disappointment flickered across her mother’s face. “I know the king would be happy to have you back. Your skills now outshine my own.” She paused. “But do you truly want to go back into court and all the politics?”

  “I am only considering it.”

  Her mother nodded wisely. “You believe this man might have a family. And you have fallen in love and believe you could be happy with none but him.”

  Alys bit her lip and held back her tears. “You know me well, Mother.”

  Merryn put an arm about her. “No decisions need to be made yet, my love. We must first find out who this man is. Where he comes from. Then we will go from there. Now splash that water on your face. You will feel better for it.” She pressed another kiss to Alys’ cheek and left the room.

  “I should have told her,” Alys muttered once the room was hers again. “I should tell him. I will tell him,” she determined. “If he cannot remember who he is by May Day, I will tell him his name and suffer the consequences.”

  That gave her today to enjoy his company—if he didn’t recall he was Kit Emory before then. Then she would let him go to live his life with Richessa, and she would make a new one for herself—one without Kit in it.

  Calmly, she washed her face and took another glimpse at herself in the mirror. She seemed much as she had before.

  Alys steeled herself and returned to Kit’s bedchamber.

  *

  He paced the chamber nervously, wondering what took Alys so long in retrieving a mirror.

  It struck him that she had none of her own.

  To think that a woman of her beauty had no idea how she moved him. He knew women—many of them. The last several nights he had dreamed of women. Had flashes of memories of his limbs entangled with other female ones. Even though he couldn’t remember his own name, his gut told him that he had been with a score of women over the years.

  Yet none could hold a candle to Alys de Montfort.

  No matter whom he had encountered in his past, whatever his relationship had been with them, he wanted only one woman now.

  Alys.

  He heard her steps in the corridor and looked up as she entered his room. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. She was paler than when she had left, her eyes puffy.

  She had been crying.

  Without thought, he crossed quickly to her and cupped her face in his hands. He almost bent to comfort her with a kiss, but her eyes widened and she pulled away. Her arms crossed protectively in front of her, as if to ward him off. He saw the hand mirror clasped between her fingers.

  He wanted to ask what had upset her, but he didn’t know how to deal with whatever answer she gave him. Instead, he held an open palm out. She understood and placed the mirror in it. He stepped away and turned his back to her. Somehow he didn’t want her to watch as he viewed himself.

  His hand rose slowly, bringing the mirror to eye level. He brought it closer and moved it around, curious as to what he saw. Thick, dark brown hair. A high forehead, the knot over his brow now a bump. Brilliant green eyes. A strong jaw. A mouth that would enjoy kissing.

  But no recognition came, no response from his body or brain. He studied the image dispassionately, as if it were a stranger before him.

  Lowering his arm, he faced Alys. He could not read the odd expression upon her face. Wordlessly, he shook his head and stepped to her, returning the mirror.

  “It stirred nothing?” she asked. “No memories?”

  “None.” His voice was flat. He hid the disappointment and hurt that began to well inside him. “I had hoped seeing myself might spark some recollection. It didn’t.”

  She looked at him a long time, as if she tried to come to some decision. Then she brightened.

  “I think you are ready to get some fresh air,” she declared. “You must be tired of being cooped up in your sickroom.”

  “I am more than ready to fly my coop, my lady, if you will but join me. Might I see something of your family’s estate?” He saw the flash of consternation cross her face. “I don’t mean to ride yet, but I would enjoy a long walk. I need to regain my strength as much as my memory.”

  Alys visibly relaxed. “If you would like to see around the keep, Tilda would be happy to show you. If you want to see the castle grounds, I will see if one of our soldiers might escort you. You might want to watch our men training in the yard.”

  Disappointment sank in when he realized she would not accompany him. “And where will you be, my lady?”

  A blush stained her cheeks. “I have neglected visiting our tenants this past week. I must make my rounds and see to some of our sick and ailing.”

  “Then I will come with you.”

  “Nay. I have far to walk.”

  He snorted. “You think me not capable of keeping up with you? I’m not an invalid, my lady. My bruised body is recovering. Movement will be good for me. As for my broken ribs, I promise not to run giddily about since you are releasing me from my sickbed. As long as I don’t go lifting heavy objects, they will be fine. My legs have carried me many places over the years. I trust they can walk about the countryside with no problem.”

  “But you might become bored.”

  “Bored, you say? Bored is lying abed as I have for a week. The only interesting thing that has taken place is when you have come to tend to me or keep me company. I long to get out in the sunshine.”

  Still, she looked unsure. “It will only be walking to various workers’ cottages.”

  “As you said, the fresh air will do me good. If I tire, I will return to the keep.”

  Alys nodded. “Then come with me to the herb room.”

  “Lady, I would travel to the kitchens if it meant leaving this chamber.”

  She burst out laughing. The sound brought a smile to his face then he, too, began laughing. And hurting. He wrapped an arm about his righ
t side, holding it gently against his broken ribs.

  Seeing what he did only made Alys laugh harder. Tears began to leak from her eyes.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I don’t mean to laugh at you. You are such a large man. I am sure you are fierce on the battlefield,” she wheezed. “But to see laughter reduce you to . . .” She couldn’t go on because she had erupted in peals of her own laughter again.

  “I’m happy to see that I can entertain you,” he said. “Now you laugh at my pain as well as my chess play.”

  His words caused her to double over in laughter again. “You . . . you aren’t a bad player,” she sputtered, “just . . . just one . . .” She sucked in a quick breath. “Sorry.”

  “Aye, my play has been sorry. Thank you for pointing that out, my lady,” he said, teasing her.

  Her giggles dissolved. She licked her lips nervously. The gesture tugged hard on him. He swallowed, his hands falling to his sides.

  Now recovered, she nodded. “Follow me, my lord.”

  He did so, along a long corridor lit with a few sconces and down a sweeping staircase and into the great hall. The large room held trestle tables pushed against three of its sides and smelled of some sweet scent that coated the rushes they walked upon. A servant passed and dipped a curtsey to him. He gave her a nod. The woman eyed him with speculation and gave him a wink as she moved away, her hips swaying suggestively.

  But it meant nothing. In the past, he knew he would have sought the woman out and spent a night with her. He imagined he had spent many nights in the company of such women, women who probably remained nameless to him. Ones he had used to pleasure himself with.

  Now, he was interested in only one woman. Oddly enough, he wanted to pleasure her more than he would receive in return. He knew, in that moment, that something within him had changed. Fundamentally, he thought he had been a selfish man, one who thought only of himself and what others could do for him.

  Yet a single woman with a magical smile and porcelain skin and a long, chestnut braid was making him into a new man. He wanted to be a better man than he had been.