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

by Alexa Aston

  “Just because I don’t live to talk about herbs as Mother and Alys do does not mean I did not learn from them both. I know how to care for many ailments, especially ones that occur in the training yard and on the battlefield.”

  “You know where I keep the stored herbs,” Elysande said. “You’ll find everything you need there. Take your time.” She gave Nan a sweet smile and watched as she left the bedchamber.

  Once the door shut, Lady Elysande turned to him, her smile now gone. In its place, accusations filled her eyes. “Fever or not, Nan’s lips were swollen. My guess is from your kiss, Lord Tristan. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Tristan could almost see the waves of anger emanating from the noblewoman and sought to placate her.

  “My lady, I must say—”

  “Whatever you say is unacceptable to me. Though I did not give birth to her, Nan is like a daughter to me, Lord Tristan. I am as protective of her as I am my other children. If you think to dally with her, you will have a serious problem. There’ll be no talk of which horses you might purchase. Horses will be the least of your concern. You will be expelled from Sandbourne and never allowed on our lands again.”

  “Lady Elysande, I do not wish to toy with Nan.”

  “Good. She may appear invincible to all who meet her but Nan has a tender heart. I would not see her hurt by anyone. Including you.”

  Tristan swallowed. “I’ll admit that we did kiss. I am attracted to Lady Nan. However, I know of her desire to wed a man who will love her.” He paused. “I am not that man.”

  She eyed him carefully. “Then see to it that you keep your hands—and your lips—to yourself.” Setting down the tray, she added, “Eat what you can. I will bring water to bathe you.”

  With that, the noblewoman left him. Tristan only hoped he could adhere to Lady Elysande’s advice.

  *

  Nan hurried from the bedchamber, thankful that Elysande had not walked in on them while they kissed.

  They had kissed. Multiple times.

  Why had they kissed?

  She lived in an orderly world of her own making. Went where she chose. Did what interested her. Depended upon no one but herself. By the Christ, she liked her life the way it was.

  Or had been—until the Earl of Leventhorpe had crashed into it and disturbed everything.

  Nan admitted to herself that she liked him better than she had when he first arrived at Sandbourne. Else she wouldn’t have kissed him. Or let him kiss her.

  Why did he keep kissing her?

  If she found the answer to that, she could figure out how to keep him from doing so again. Nan didn’t like to be bewildered and unsure of herself.

  Lord Tristan made her feel both of those things.

  She dug through her trunk, trying to decide what to wear and then stopped. She refused to dress in order to please him. Pushing all thoughts of looking feminine for him aside, she stripped off her cotehardie and the smock beneath it. Rolling them up, she tossed them onto the bed. She would don what she felt comfortable in. What she usually wore. What acted like a second skin. Nan yanked on a pair of dark brown pants and a hunter green gypon. She replaced her boots and took a deep breath.

  “Better,” she told herself. She was no longer dressed like a woman. She wouldn’t think like one or act like one. She would be her usual self around Lord Tristan.

  And she would stop kissing him. She’d threatened to cut off his balls if he touched her again, yet she’d allowed him to kiss her senseless. No more nonsense.

  As she marched to where Elysande stored her herbs, she admitted she was partially to blame. After all, she had curled up next to a naked man in his bed. What else was he supposed to think? She hadn’t had the time to explain to him how she was unable to sit in her chair. That wouldn’t be a problem in the future. If he grasped her—in sleep or otherwise—and refused to let go?

  Nan would bite his fingers. To the bone, if necessary.

  She located both the St. John’s wort and oil to mix with it. This could be applied to all of his bruised areas. For the most severe bruising, she could gently place a few drops directly onto his skin and allow it to soak in. She also found the comfrey, which her mother used for many different kinds of skin problems. After a day or mayhap two of using the wort, she would need to create poultices from the fresh leaves of the comfrey and employ those to promote healing and reduce any bruising and swelling that remained.

  Taking both with her, Nan left the comfrey in her bedchamber. She wanted to make sure she had a good supply of it because of how much of Tristan was bruised.

  That was another thing. She now thought of him as Tristan. He had asked her to use his Christian name after whatever passed between them in the forest. She couldn’t stop using it without him protesting overly much. Nan decided she would continue to call him by his given name—but not often.

  Because she liked the way it sounded on her tongue too much.

  She swore under her breath and gripped her bedpost for support. Damn the man! He had a tongue that worked magic on her. It had woven a spell around her, making her want nothing more than to kiss him until her lips bled. And the more they kissed, the more she wanted from him. Nan didn’t even know exactly what she wanted. Oh, she understood the physical part. His touch was meant to make her desire him. To ache for his hands to rub against every intimate place on her. For his cock to push inside her.

  But what she really wanted was affection. Understanding.

  Love.

  And that was something she would never receive from Tristan Therolde. He’d already warned her that he didn’t believe in love. She must start taking him seriously or else she’d be severely compromised by him. Nan didn’t want to continually kiss a man who wouldn’t let her—and love—into his life. As a pair, they weren’t meant to be.

  Men were weak, always giving in to their physical desires. She had to be the strong one between them. The next time Tristan attempted to kiss her, she would calmly warn him not to. If he tried again, she would knock him straight to Hell.

  She composed herself and returned to his chamber, balancing the bowl of salve and the makings for the poultice in hand. Knocking once to be polite, she nudged open the door. The tray sat on the floor, so he had finished eating. Elysande gathered up cloths and lifted a bucket of water.

  “I am glad you’ve returned, Nan. Lord Tristan has eaten and been bathed. He doesn’t seem feverish to me. I’ll return these things to the kitchen.” She pointed to the chair. “I’ve already set out new clothes for him to wear when he feels up to it.”

  Nan nodded. “I plan to cleanse his wound and apply a new poultice to it. I also brought salve to rub into his bruises. After that, I will go to the range where I am needed. You might have a servant sit with him until he is definitely free of fever.”

  “Then I will leave him in your capable hands,” her cousin said. After a long look, Elysande added, “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Of course,” Nan agreed.

  Elysande left and Nan bustled about, ignoring the looks Tristan threw her way. She finally came to the bed, noting he was now under the bedclothes.

  “May I remove your dressing?” she asked.

  “Do as you wish.” His voice sounded husky and low, causing a chill to run along her spine.

  Nan pushed back the bedclothes so that she could access his leg. Concentrating, she carefully unwound the linen cloth and then gently lifted the poultice. She inspected both the entry and exit of the arrow, pleased at how both had already begun to heal. Her mother would have been proud of her.

  “You looked pleased with yourself,” Lord Tristan said.

  “I am happy with your progress,” she admitted. “And that you seem to have no fever. Infection and fever are always something to worry about. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you losing your limb.”

  Nan bathed the wound again in white wine and honey and then created a new poultice. She wound clean linen around his leg once more, securin
g the poultice to his thigh. Now would come the hard part.

  Bravely, she looked Tristan in the eye. Having three brothers had taught her to show no sign of weakness and she drew on that strength and experience.

  “I’ll need to address your bruising now. I should have done so last night but you needed your rest.”

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, his eyes burning into hers.

  “Roll to your side to give me easier access.”

  He tossed the bedclothes away and did as she instructed. Nan caught herself holding her breath as she gazed on his magnificent form again. His muscled torso and long, strong limbs seemed as if carved from impenetrable stone. She averted her eyes from his manhood and retrieved the bowl that contained the salve that she had blended.

  Perching on the bed, she said, “I will be as gentle as I can.”

  Tristan laughed. “You couldn’t do any more damage than the boar did.”

  Nan bit back a smile. “Oh, really? Then what would you call the holes in your leg?”

  He roared with laughter. “I suppose you’re right. Have at me, Nan. Do as you will.” His gaze held hers a moment before she forced herself to look away.

  She focused on her task at hand, dipping her fingers into the bowl and applying the salve to his body. Her fingers gently massaged it into his battered skin. Already, dark purple and black blotches covered from his shoulder and along his side down to the end of his hip. On the worst places, she used drops of the St. John’s wort, dousing the bruise and allowing it to seep into his skin before using her fingertips to rub it even more deeply.

  His arousal became obvious to them both the longer she touched him but neither of them acknowledged it. Nan watched it grow from the corner of her eye, swallowing when she saw how huge it became. She, too, had become aroused as she touched him, feeling her pulse jumping in her throat and her heart drumming against her ribs. At the apex of where her legs joined, a quivering began. First, it tingled to make her aware of it. Then it began pulsating. She wanted to move her hips but kept them still.

  Finally, her task ended. Nan stood and tossed the bedclothes back over him. “I have coated every bruise I can find. I think by tomorrow you will be able to blend the salve into your skin without my help.”

  “Nan?” Tristan reached for her but she took a step back.

  “You need rest, Tristan,” she said firmly. “Try and get some. I need to return to the range to work with Michael’s pages and squires.”

  Scooping up her supplies, she hurried to the door.

  “Nan?” he called again. She heard the urgency—and tenderness—in his voice.

  Ignoring him, she left the bedchamber.

  Chapter 9

  If Tristan could have climbed the walls, he would have. Keeping to his bed with nothing to do might be the end of him.

  Especially because with all the long hours spent on his own, all he could think about was Nan de Montfort. Her smile. How soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips. The way she laughed. How the pants she wore emphasized her rounded bottom and the curve of her hips.

  She came twice a day to examine his wound and change his dressing, every morning after mass and at night before the castle’s occupants bedded down for the night. She reported to him on his progress and guaranteed him that within a week he could leave his bed and begin to walk with a cane. Nan had already brought the cane and allowed him to move about his bedchamber some. That was the only contact they had. Nan still called him Tristan on occasion but she had erected an invisible wall between them. She was polite but never stayed to converse with him as he longed for her to do.

  Tristan did have visitors every night after the evening meal during the long week of inactivity. Stephen and Toby always came by to share with him how they’d spent their day at Sandbourne. Lady Elysande and Lord Michael were regular visitors, as well, entertaining him with stories about their extended family. He continued to quiz each of them about various tasks at their estate and how they managed their affairs. Lord Michael had brought his steward along on two occasions for Tristan to question and learn from.

  David Devereux came thrice and eagerly discussed horses with him. The more time he spent around this young man, the more Tristan believed David would be an ideal match for Gillian. He’d thought previously to approach Lord Petyr, the nobleman who lived two estates away to the north of Leventhorpe, but the baron was close to two score. A widower, he already had his heir and three other boys, so any male children Gillian produced from the marriage would not have many advantages. Sir David was much closer to his sister’s age and would one day inherit his father’s title and lands. Tristan would rather see Gillian taken care of by this caring family once she left home.

  He’d grown fond of all the Devereuxs, even after Lady Elysande castigated him for kissing Nan. He accepted her rebuke and told her it had been a momentary lapse, promising his hostess he would be on his best behavior during his remaining time as their guest. Of course, Tristan had also given Nan the same pledge once—and he had quickly broken his word to her. She had done the same, though, her threats against him touching her proving empty. At least for that short lapse. If he tried to capture even her fingers for a brief kiss now, he wasn’t sure his hand would come back to him whole.

  Surprisingly, he’d grown fond of young Drewett Stollars. Drew had visited him faithfully every night. He enjoyed the squire’s company and thought he would make an excellent knight. Once Drew earned his spurs, Tristan hoped he could lure him away from Nan’s father. Tristan needed knights such as Drew Stollars, to protect Leventhorpe lands and its people.

  A servant brought him his meal on a tray. He thanked her and ate quickly, eager to see who might stop by his bedchamber this evening. The earl and countess appeared shortly after he finished. Tristan decided the time had come to broach the idea of a betrothal between their families.

  “Nan tells me she will allow you out of bed for good in the morn, my lord,” Lady Elysande told him.

  “Ah, she has not informed me of this,” he replied. “’Tis good to know. I hope we can continue discussing the possibility of my purchasing horses from you once I’m up and about.”

  She studied him thoughtfully. “You had made good progress before your accident. David is also impressed with how quickly you’ve learned during your conversations together. I believe we can start small for now and allow you to add to your stock slowly over the next half a dozen years if that is agreeable with you.”

  “Knowing how valuable your horses are, my lady, I will buy whatever you allow me and return each year to conduct a new transaction.” Tristan paused. “Since that’s the case, I’d like to speak with you about a few other matters.”

  Lord Michael sat up, now interested that the talk had turned from horses. “What is on your mind, my lord?”

  “I would ask that your son accompany me back to Thorpe Castle for a few weeks. He could help see the horses settled in and teach my stable hands what they need to know about the training and care required.”

  The earl looked to his wife. “I don’t see that as a problem. Do you, my love?”

  “It would be good experience for David and helpful to Lord Tristan. We are drawing near the end of foaling season. That frees David up, except for retrieving Tucker from Ashcroft.”

  Tristan had learned that Tucker was their youngest child, currently a squire fostering with Lord Raynor Le Roux. The couple had mentioned the boy several times over the last few weeks.

  “I will be fetching my sister, Gillian, as well, when we return to Leventhorpe. She is fostering at Shercastle. I would like to discuss with you the possibility of a betrothal between her and Sir David.”

  Lady Elysande’s brows arched. “Oh, really?”

  “Aye. I have been favorably impressed with your son, my lady. ’Tis time to find Gillian a husband since she is ten and seven, soon to be ten and eight. Is Sir David betrothed to another or free to enter an arrangement?”

  “David is his own man, Lo
rd Tristan,” the earl said firmly. “We will not arrange anything on his behalf. I will allow him to journey to your estate. Let the two of them spend time with one another. If they believe they would be a good match, then Elysande and I will give our blessing to their union.”

  Once again, Tristan thought how odd this family was, turning time-honored traditions on end. Still, it couldn’t hurt to let the two meet. If David Devereux did not seem inclined to wed his sister, Tristan could always return to his original plan and approach Lord Petyr.

  “I agree,” he said. “Last, I have also been most impressed with Lady Nan’s skills and way of teaching. I wonder if she would be able to accompany Sir David to Thorpe Castle and work with my men for a week or two.”

  Lady Elysande’s eyes narrowed. “That is not our decision to make. ’Twould be up to Nan.”

  “What decision?” Nan entered and crossed the room, curiosity written on her face.

  Before he could speak, Lord Michael said, “Elysande has agreed to part with a few of her horses. David is to accompany the earl and his men back to Thorpe Castle and work with the stable hands on their care for a week or two. Lord Tristan has also thought to invite you to come, as well, and work with his men regarding archery. The choice is yours, of course.”

  Tristan held his breath. Nan had been distant with him. He didn’t know how she would react to this sudden invitation.

  “I received a missive from Ancel this morning. He and Margery wish for me to come to Bexley for a visit. Ancel implied Margery might be with child again, so she will need some help with Cyrus and Miranda. He also wanted me to work with the boys fostering with him on their crossbow and longbow skills.”

  Nan placed her basket on the table. It held the supplies to redress Tristan’s wound. He saw from the look on her face that she struggled to come up with an answer.

  And more than anything, Tristan wanted her to come with him. Nan de Montfort intrigued him. Frustrated him. Challenged him. He wasn’t ready to part from her yet.