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

by Alexa Aston

  “Aye,” Kit replied. “I could not place the rider since much of his face was hidden from view, but I believe I have seen him somewhere before.”

  Gilbert looked at him in confusion. “Where is Lady Alys? And your mother? The earl and countess expected you yesterday.”

  “They are not here?” Warning bells sounded in Kit’s head. He quickly made the connection with the oddly-delivered missive and Alys. “We must go to Lord Geoffrey at once.”

  The knight fell into step with him. Kit handed his horse off to the nearby blacksmith, who promised to see it cared for in the stables. He and Gilbert hurried to the great hall. Servants shifted trestle tables from the walls to the floor as they readied the room for the evening meal.

  “Sir Kit!”

  He turned and saw Nan running his way. She hugged his leg. “Mother says you and Alys are going to be married.”

  So Alys had not sent word to her family about Thea’s arrival at Brentwood. The last the de Montforts knew, their daughter headed to Kinwick with him and his mother in order to prepare for their upcoming wedding.

  Two young boys ran over to them, eager smiles on their faces.

  “These are my brothers,” Nan told him. “Hal and Edward. This is Sir Kit. He’s going to wed Alys.”

  At that moment, he saw Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn enter the room. “I will spend some time with you later, Nan. And your brothers. But I must speak to your parents at once.”

  He and Gilbert made their way toward Alys’ parents. Kit saw the questioning look on Lady Merryn’s face as they approached.

  “Where is Alys? We thought you would arrive—”

  “We must speak privately, my lord. My lady.”

  Lord Geoffrey took his wife’s hand and marched from the room. Kit and Gilbert followed them to the records room off the great hall. De Montfort closed the door and faced him, worry written on his brow.

  “Alys healed my mother,” Kit began. “You know of our plans to return to Kinwick for our wedding. But just before we left Brentwood, my father arrived from London—with my newly betrothed in hand.”

  Lady Merryn whimpered softly. Her husband put an arm around her to steady her and then led her to a chair.

  Kit continued. “Lady Thea is a widow. We immediately discovered that we both loved another. To make a long story short, we traveled to London and were given an audience with the king. He granted our betrothal contracts to become null and void. I came straightaway to Kinwick, hoping Alys would forgive me for the pain she had suffered.”

  “Then where is she?” Lord Geoffrey demanded gruffly.

  “She left with an escort party from Brentwood. They were to return her to Kinwick. I fear something happened to them on the road.” Kit gestured to Gilbert.

  The knight handed Geoffrey the rock. “This was thrown over the wall right as Sir Kit arrived, my lord. It’s addressed to you.”

  Lady Merryn gasped. She rose to her feet and came to stand beside her husband.

  The nobleman unrolled the scroll and scanned it. His wife began to cry as she read over his shoulder. Lord Geoffrey handed it to Kit and he quickly scanned it.

  “So Alys is a captive, and all the Brentwood guards are dead,” Lord Geoffrey said dully.

  Rage raced through Kit. It was hard enough to hear that ten of their men were dead at the hands of highwaymen. But to know Alys had been kidnapped? Wild thoughts churned in his mind. He couldn’t let them eat him alive.

  “How do we get her back?” he asked the earl. “I will do anything. Go anywhere. I can’t lose her, my lord. She is my life.”

  De Montfort’s face had turned brick red with fury. Lady Merryn’s was as white as a ghost.

  “They ask for gold, Geoffrey. Do we have enough? Will we get our daughter back?”

  “Aye. We have it,” he assured his wife. “The ransom note tells me to bring it alone tomorrow. I will do as they ask. Then I will hunt the thieving bastards down and run my sword through every one of them. If they have harmed even a hair on her precious head . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Nay,” Kit said. “I will go with you.”

  “We can’t take a chance with Alys’ life!” Lady Merryn cried. “We must do as they say. Geoffrey must go alone, as they have instructed.”

  Kit stared into Lord Geoffrey’s eyes and willed the nobleman to agree with him. “I can hide in the wagon bed, my lord. You will need a cart to haul the gold anyway, instead of riding on horseback. Cover it in hay so that anyone you pass won’t know what you carry.”

  He saw the moment Lord Geoffrey made his decision.

  “He’s right, Merryn. I would need to conceal the gold on the open highway. And I can use Kit’s arm and his sword when we punish the men who have dared to take our Alys.” He held out his hand to Kit. “Have a seat. We have much to plan.”

  Chapter 20

  Alys sat in the corner of the filthy cottage. She had spent all yesterday and today in the same spot. Carac gave her a small bowl to use as a chamber pot and some watery stew with moldy bread after they’d arrived. The same meal had been repeated last night. She forced herself to eat it because she needed to keep up her strength.

  None of the other men that had attacked their camp had entered the small cottage. She wondered where they were. If they slept outside somewhere, mayhap in a nearby barn. It was important to know what awaited her once she made her escape.

  Sir Fendrel tried to engage her in conversation yesterday, but Alys remained silent. She had nothing to say to the nobleman. He finally gave up and had ignored her ever since.

  She wanted him to forget about her. It would give her a better chance to get away.

  Alys stifled a yawn. She’d only slept a few hours last night. She couldn’t get comfortable with her hands tied. Once again, she’d lost feeling in them.

  Sir Fendrel now stretched out on a pallet on the far side of the room. She doubted he could even see her sitting in the shadows on the opposite side of the one-room cottage. Carac had lain in front of the doorway last night. Alys guessed since he’d been generous enough not to tie her feet together, he protected the one way that would provide her escape.

  But Carac disappeared at dawn, instructing his lord to bar the door. The outlaw hadn’t returned yet. Alys believed he’d gone off to deliver the ransom note to her parents. She wondered how far she was from Kinwick. How long it would take Carac to get there and back. Fendrel had given her more of the moldy bread so she could break her fast, then he seemed to ignore or even overlook her. When it became time for a noon meal, she watched him cut into a round of cheese and eat some bread without bothering to offer her anything.

  He’d left the knife next to the cheese.

  Soon, he drank himself into a stupor and collapsed on his blanket and bed of straw underneath it. Alys waited patiently, barely breathing, not wanting to draw any attention to herself.

  The snoring soon began. She wondered if all men snored. It seemed every man from Brentwood had as they rode from there to Kinwick. Did Kit snore? Tears sprang to her eyes as his image burned in her memory. Alys pushed aside all thoughts of him. She couldn’t think of him anymore. Kit Emory was no longer a part of her life.

  But a small part of her hoped that their coupling would produce a child. Their child. One she would love beyond measure—but never let him know about—for it might bring a world of trouble between him and Lady Thea. More than anything, Alys was determined to let Kit build a life with his new wife.

  She waited a few minutes longer to make certain Fendrel wouldn’t awaken, but she couldn’t chance Carac returning. It was time to flee.

  Alys pushed herself to her feet and tiptoed to the table where the knife lay. It was small, and the blade looked dull, but hopefully she could use it to free her hands once she escaped. She couldn’t afford to take the time now to do so. The blade could also be used to protect herself if Carac came for her. Alys slipped it into her boot. She promised herself she would return with her father and an army of knights in or
der to confront the wicked Sir Fendrel for holding her for ransom.

  She crept toward the door. Fendrel snorted, and the snoring ceased. Alys froze. She held her breath. Then the snoring started up again. Tiptoeing to the door, she quietly lifted the bar. Her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid it would wake the sleeping nobleman. She eased the door open, thankful that the Virgin Mary had answered her prayers since it didn’t creak this time. Alys looked out and saw no one in the open clearing in front of the cottage. She closed the door behind her.

  Her eyes swept the area. Beside the cottage, a small structure stood to her left. It was open on one side. She saw it was a barn. She hurried to it, hoping to find horses. She could ride without a saddle if she had to. But no horses stood there. Only a goat that was probably used for milk. He bleated at her. She petted him so that he wouldn’t continue to bleat and give her presence away if any of Carac’s gang hovered nearby.

  As she scratched the goat under his chin, she glanced around the barn for a tool that might be sharper than the knife she’d stolen. She was weary of the restraints on her wrists. Seeing nothing she could use, she decided to move on. Even if she could find something to cut through the thick rope, she didn’t dare risk staying here to saw through it.

  She needed to leave. Now.

  Alys lifted her skirts with her bound hands and took off running before someone discovered her. Before Fendrel awoke and found she was missing. She skirted the barn and darted into the trees. First, she would search for a road. Once she found it, she would look at the sun and determine which direction Kinwick lay. Alys knew she needed to keep her wits about her. Running blindly through the forest could cause injury and increase her chances of being caught and returned to Fendrel. She told herself not to panic. She would keep a cool head, just as she did when she delivered a babe or cared for a patient who had met with an accident.

  It would be important to conserve her energy. After she ran for a few minutes, she slowed to more of a trot. It still let her cover a lot of ground and wasn’t nearly as tiring. Already, her legs ached. Her calves burned. Her breathing was labored. Alys kept up this pace for as long as she could, until her breath came in gasps.

  She slowed. Beating wings seemed to surround her. A coven of black birds flew up, frightening her. Still, she urged herself on. She didn’t want to think of the consequences if she failed.

  Especially if Carac was the one who found her.

  A snap behind her caused her to draw up. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw nothing. As she stepped forward, she tripped over a fallen log and went down hard, biting her tongue. She tasted blood in her mouth. Alys spit it out and pushed herself up. She must keep going.

  Again, she picked up her speed and ran again as if someone chased her. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Carac as she could. Alys could only imagine the man’s rage when he returned to the cottage and found her gone.

  Exhausted, she finally slowed her steps and began walking. The sound of water caught her attention, so she headed in that direction. Within minutes, a small stream appeared. Gratefully, she bent and drank from it. The cool water was the most delicious she had ever tasted. She drank her fill and then bathed her face. It had a calming effect on her.

  Alys knew she must keep moving, but she didn’t know if her aching feet could attempt another step. She had no idea if she had left any trail behind. She knew some men could follow others by clues left behind. She had to assume Carac was one of those who possessed this skill. He had proved far too wily for her to think otherwise.

  As she stood, Alys realized she was too weary to continue on. She had to rest—but not here in the open. She forced herself to continue walking until she found a hollowed out tree. It was large enough for her to climb inside and not be seen.

  She was so tired. Alys dropped to her knees. Her eyes drooped. She curled into a ball. She would rest her eyes. Only for a minute.

  *

  Carac rode as quickly as he could through the woods. He looked over his shoulder several times to make sure that no one followed him. He thought the rider he saw approaching the gates at Kinwick might have, but he was too deep into the woods now. Something nagged at him, as if he’d seen the man before. He pushed it aside. It didn’t matter.

  Because he was about to be rich beyond his wildest dreams.

  Delivering the ransom note to de Montfort had been risky. Usually, he wouldn’t take such a chance. That was what his minions were for. But this would be a start to a new life for him. He wouldn’t be sharing the ransom with anyone—least of all that fool Fendrel.

  He only stashed Alys de Montfort at the fat bastard’s cottage to keep her out of sight. He made sure each member of his crew had been sent on errands that would take them a few days. Carac had worked for Fendrel many years—first as one of his foot soldiers and later as the man who kept the stupid nobleman alive when he had lost everything. Fendrel trusted him, which was why he would succeed with this plan. He would collect the enormous ransom from Geoffrey de Montfort and never split it.

  Every last gold coin would be his.

  Carac read the note Fendrel wrote and knew exactly how much to expect. Part of him wanted to keep all of the treasure and Lady Alys. He’d never met a woman with more spirit and determination. She intrigued him, both her fearlessness and her luscious curves. But he didn’t want to take the time needed to bend her to his will. He could do it, of course, but the lady had a stubborn streak wider than the sea between England and France. ’Twould take far longer than he wanted to spend. Besides, he didn’t wish to be tied down to any woman, even one as lovely as Alys de Montfort. Carac enjoyed his sleep too much. Even when he succeeded breaking her, with Lady Alys he would spend the rest of his life in bed with one eye open, hoping she wouldn’t stab him to death. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  He thought at first to leave her with Fendrel. Meet with de Montfort and claim the ransom. Tell the earl where she could be found. His gut told him the knight would not be trusting enough to part with the gold unless his daughter was in sight. So Carac would return for the lady. Spend a last night under Fendrel’s pathetic thatched roof, then leave with a promise to return with the ransom.

  But he would disappear instead. And Fendrel would never suspect a thing.

  Carac wondered where he might go. Nothing bound him to England. He hated the French with a passion. Scotland would be too cold for his bones. The Welsh were too damned crazy.

  Italy might be the place. He’d heard tales of its wine, women, and warm weather. He would definitely have the money to travel there and stay if he liked it.

  He rode another hour and reached the small hovel that had become home to Fendrel. The man had gambled away most of his money at court. Then his lands grew barren—as barren as his wife. More peasants left the great estates each year, coming to London and other growing cities throughout the kingdom. Fendrel’s tenants had run from the estate like foxes being chased in the hunt. Soon, hardly any remained, and the lord fell on hard times.

  Carac thought the man deserved everything he got. The nobleman had been careless with his money and too hard on his soldiers for no reason. Fendrel drank more than he should and cared about no one but himself. Carac almost wished he could watch while Fendrel waited for his return. And waited. And waited.

  He arrived at the cottage and tied his horse in the barn. The friendly little goat bleated a greeting to him. On a lark, he untied the animal and shooed it away. It went scampering into the forest. Just another nail in Sir Fendrel’s coffin. Carac smiled.

  The place had a deserted air about it with none of his men present. Carac strode to the door and rapped hard. He insisted that the nobleman keep the door barred. Even if pretty, little Alys de Montfort made it to the door, her restrained hands would have trouble with the bar. Fendrel could reach her easily in case she tried to escape.

  He waited. When no one came, he pounded his fist several times and kicked the door for good measure. It swung open. Fendrel’s greas
y hair clung to one side of his face. His reddened eyes told Carac he’d been drinking a good part of the day. The last thing he had warned the nobleman about was not to touch a drop until he returned.

  Carac pushed past him. His eyes perused the cottage.

  “God’s teeth!” He turned on the nobleman, but he already knew the answer. “Where have you put Lady Alys?”

  Fendrel looked around sleepily as if he hadn’t a clue as to who Lady Alys was. He scratched his chin. “She was here.”

  “You fool!” Carac unsheathed his sword. With both hands around the hilt and anger in his heart, he struck a mighty blow. Fendrel’s head flew through the air. The nobleman’s body seemed to hesitate before it crumpled to the ground.

  Carac overturned the table. Threw a rickety wooden chair against the wall. Screamed obscenities. Kicked Fendrel’s lifeless body—then kicked his head across the room. None of it brought back Alys de Montfort.

  How long had she been gone?

  She wouldn’t have left moments after he did. Fendrel would have still been awake and sober. Carac saw the wine stains spilt upon the nobleman’s cotehardie. The very smart Alys would have waited for the man to be deep into his cups. Fendrel had a high tolerance for wine. It would have been hours before he was so drunk that he slept through Alys slipping by him and unbarring the door.

  No horse had been available to her, so she would be on foot. Surely, a delicate flower of the nobility could not have gotten far.

  But this was Alys de Montfort.

  Carac knew her to be clever and feisty. The beauty probably had the strength of ten men when angry, and she would have been plenty mad at being taken and held hostage.

  He went through the pockets of the dead man and found a few coins. He also knew of the hidden place behind the cottage. He’d seen Fendrel digging one day and had waited for the nobleman to finish. In the dead of night, Carac had dug in the same spot and unearthed a small casket that held Lady Fendrel’s few remaining jewels and some gold and silver coins. He replaced the chest and covered it with dirt and knew he would remember the location when the time came to end his partnership with the sloppy nobleman.