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

by Alexa Aston

“He is fast asleep by now. I need to keep him there and hold him hostage while you ride for help.”

  Gillian grabbed her hands. Nan felt Gillian’s nails digging into her skin. “I can’t, Nan. I’m scared.”

  Nan took a deep breath. “After going through what you have tonight and coming through it, you’ll never be frightened of anything again. David awaits you, Gillian. You and he will have an amazing life together. But to live it, we need to secure Lord Petyr and you will need to bring help.”

  Gillian’s hands eased. Nan sensed the calm descend upon her friend. “You’re right, Nan. I want to be brave. Like you.”

  She touched Gillian’s cheek. “Remember, David already loves you as you are.”

  “You really believe I will see him again?”

  “I promise.” Nan’s voice was resolute. She needed to bolster Gillian’s courage. It would take both of them to pull off what she wished to accomplish. “We will need to bind Lord Petyr so I can manage him. We can take the silk cord he used on me but I’ll need more. Help me strip the bed. We can tear the bedclothes and use that to secure him.”

  They worked quickly in the dark, feeling their way and gathering long bits of material to use as Nan revealed her plan. If they needed more, she thought they could do what Roland had, this time using pieces from Gillian’s smock, if necessary.

  Nan opened the door again and saw the dimly lit corridor was still empty. She thanked the Virgin for watching over them as they returned to the solar. The candles in the first room she’d been held in burned low. Nan saw Gillian wavering between fear and determination and gave her an encouraging smile. Her friend returned it and Nan saw that Gillian’s resolve increased.

  Opening the door that led into the bedchamber, Nan held her breath. The first thing she heard was steady snoring. She glanced to the bed and saw the curtains had been drawn aside and the nobleman had been too lazy to pull them around the bed again. That would make it easier. She had feared having to ease the curtains away to reach him. As they sneaked inside the room, she was grateful that two candles still burned. That allowed her to hunt for the baron’s sword. She found it and silently withdrew it from its sheath as she crept toward the bed.

  A naked Petyr Medford slept on his belly, his hairy back thick as a rug. Nan pressed the tip of the sword to the base of his neck and spoke to him.

  “My lord, you need to awaken. Now.”

  Part of his face was buried in his pillow but the one eye she could see opened—and then widened as he recognized her.

  “Keep still or I will drive your own blade through your neck and out your throat, pinning you to the bed. And you know I have no qualms about killing. Ask John. Or Fitch.”

  He blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend his position. She could almost see the wheels turning inside his head, looking for a way to outwit her.

  Nan motioned to Gillian to toss the bedclothes aside. She did so, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the man’s hairy buttocks and skinny legs.

  “First, place your hands behind your back, wrists together.”

  The nobleman did as she asked, though Nan caught a few of the curses he mumbled.

  “Use the silk cord that Lord Petyr used on me, Gillian,” she instructed as she slipped it from her cotehardie and placed it on the bed. “Loop it around his wrists several times.” To the nobleman, she warned, “Do not move. Do not breathe.”

  Watching Gillian, she nodded her approval. “Tie a knot and loop it again. Good. Tie another knot. We don’t want him to get loose.”

  Gillian concentrated, knotting the cord twice more for good measure before she grinned at Nan.

  “Do the same with his ankles.”

  Gillian took some of the torn bedclothes and did the same with the nobleman’s ankles and then his knees. Nan began breathing more easily now that the nobleman was trussed. Flipping him over, she held the sword just below one nostril.

  “Give me a reason, Lord Petyr. Even the smallest one will force me to slice off your nose before you take your next breath.”

  A mixture of fear and anger flashed across his face. The anger won out and he stared defiantly at her.

  In return, Nan let her eyes roam down his body. She snorted and then met his gaze again, lowering the sword.

  “You thought to put that shrunken little cock inside me?” She laughed softly. “I am surprised that you even have an heir, my lord.”

  Wadding up a larger piece of cloth that she’d held in reserve, she started to place it in his mouth. He clamped his lips together.

  “Allow me,” Gillian said. She stepped closer and grabbed a fistful of his hair in each hand and yanked.

  The baron’s mouth flew open to protest. Nan quickly shoved the wadded material inside, muffling his roar. He tried to use his tongue to push it out but she quickly secured a strip around his head to hold the gag in place.

  “Now what?” Gillian asked.

  Nan already had changed her thinking on how they would win their freedom. “Find ink and parchment and write a note to Tristan to tell him where we are. One of Lord Petyr’s men will ride to deliver the missive.”

  “I could ride to Leventhorpe on my own,” Gillian volunteered, still looking unsure.

  Nan shook her head, knowing from Sir Dawkin that Gillian hadn’t ridden alone since before the peasants had revolted. That alone made her loath to let the girl out of her sight. After pondering the situation, she doubted Lord Petyr’s men would allow Gillian to leave Wycliffe unscathed. Nan couldn’t afford having Gillian used as a pawn against her, forcing her to release the baron. And if by some miracle they decided to let her friend pass through the gates of Wycliffe unharmed, something unthinkable might happen to her while she was on the road.

  “Nay, the roads are far too dangerous for a woman alone to ride that far.”

  “But what if they refuse to send a rider to Tristan?” Gillian’s voice trembled with doubt.

  Nan steeled herself. “Then we’ll start sending out pieces of Lord Petyr, one at a time. A tooth. A finger. A toe. An eye. Believe me, Gillian, Lord Petyr will be able to convince them to do our bidding.”

  Chapter 22

  Roland couldn’t sleep. Tension still filled his body as he relived parts of this day over and over. He wondered how soon it would be before the bodies of his companions might be discovered at Leventhorpe. He realized he should have lashed both of the corpses to their horses and brought them back to Wycliffe so that nothing could link the baron to the missing women. That had been impossible since he would have had no place to put the tawny-haired noblewoman for the return trip, and Roland had needed her to keep Lady Nan in line.

  He understood now why Lord Petyr was so taken with the dark-haired creature. If her archery skills were anything like her knife skills, Lady Nan would be a formidable opponent. The fact that she was breathtakingly beautiful only added to her allure. He found himself growing hard simply thinking about her, envious that such an impressive woman now belonged, body and soul, to Lord Petyr. Of course, if the baron wanted her as his bedmate he had better not close his eyes during or after their love play. After seeing Lady Nan roll swiftly into action tonight, Roland had no doubt the lady would gut the nobleman the moment she saw he was vulnerable. He didn’t envy Lord Petyr trying to control such a vixen—but if he could, it would be worth every moment.

  Sitting up, Roland decided he needed a woman to release what troubled him. He left the barracks where dozens of soldiers slumbered around him, wondering if the new kitchen maid would be willing to tumble with him in the middle of the night. Though her face held nowhere near the beauty of Lady Nan’s, the wench had given him a few bold looks and a saucy smile when she served him this past week. He felt she would be open to love play with him, especially if he flattered her. Roland had found that was the key to getting his way with any woman and this new one would be like them all.

  He entered the keep and, instead of making his way to the great hall where the servants bedded down each night, he found himself
climbing the stairs as a delicious idea came to him. He wouldn’t dare steal Nan de Montfort from the solar. Roland liked his head attached to his body too much to try something so foolish.

  But her companion was available tonight.

  The baron hadn’t wanted Lady Gillian and seemed put out that Roland had brought the lady to Wycliffe. Knowing the shrewd nobleman, Roland suspected he would ransom her back to her brother. And if the lady returned to Tristan Therolde a little worse for the wear? So be it. She shouldn’t have been traipsing through the Leventhorpe forest without a male escort.

  The thought of plowing into her virgin womb caused his heartbeat to quicken. Roland reached the top of the staircase and started down the corridor—and then stopped in his tracks.

  Where was Baul?

  He had left the soldier to guard Lady Gillian’s door after Roland had threatened her not to leave the bedchamber. Surely, Baul hadn’t had the same idea as Roland and now rode Lady Gillian himself. Or had he?

  Keeping his anger in check, Roland crept down the stone passageway until he reached the room where the noblewoman was being held hostage. He lifted a nearby torch from its sconce. Holding it in one hand, he opened the door with the other.

  Roland found it hard to breathe. Lady Gillian was gone. The bedclothes had been ripped asunder. Had she somehow enticed Baul into the room and knocked him senseless and tied him up? Nay, he doubted it. That would have been something Nan de Montfort would have been more than capable of doing. Gillian Therolde had seemed too timid to even leave the bed he’d left her upon, weeping pitifully.

  Roland searched the small chamber and saw no sign of the soldier. His gut wrenched painfully. It told him that Lady Nan was somehow involved in her friend’s disappearance. He left the room and returned the torch to its place and then headed for the solar. Without knocking, he quietly opened the door and found the room empty, a single candle flickering. Still, that didn’t prove anything. The baron’s bedchamber door was closed. For all Roland knew, the noblewoman was tied to his liege lord’s bed this very moment, her virgin blood spilled upon the sheets as Lord Petyr sampled her delights.

  And if she wasn’t? That meant that two women were missing. Though Baul had been the careless one, Lord Petyr would blame them both.

  Roland had to find them before the baron awoke.

  He slipped from the solar, his head spinning as he tried to think of where they might have gone. Would they hide inside the keep or try to leave it? Would they be bold enough to slip into the stables to saddle horses to make their escape? He didn’t see how they could possibly leave Wycliffe. The gates were locked for the night. The gatekeeper would never have opened them for any reason. The two women were trapped within the castle walls. He simply needed to be clever enough to locate them before sunrise.

  As he passed a bedchamber, Roland thought he heard a muffled cry coming from inside it. He retraced his steps and pressed his ear against the door. Anger sizzled through him. He opened the door and heard the cry again—one of a woman being pleasured. In the dim light spilling from the corridor, he saw her silhouetted as she rode a man, her head tossed back and her abundant breasts jutting out. Her lover’s voice now chimed in, moaning as he reached his climax.

  Roland strode to the bed, his fingers digging into the woman’s arm. He jerked her away, tossing her to the floor. She hit the stones hard and cried out in pain. Baul sat up, ready to swing at their attacker.

  “Tell your slut to leave,” Roland said, his tone deadly as he recognized the very kitchen maid he’d thought to relieve himself with.

  Baul swung his legs from the bed and pointed at her. “Go. You heard what he said.”

  “But we—”

  “Not now. Leave us.”

  The woman pushed herself to her feet and retrieved a smock. She threw it over her head and lowered it before leaving the chamber.

  When she was gone, Roland demanded, “What possessed you to leave your post?”

  Baul shrugged. “You saw how the lady cowered, Roland. Especially when you told her you’d cut out Lady Nan’s tongue if she tried to leave the bedchamber. I knew she was so terrified that she wouldn’t go anywhere.”

  “You rutting with that whore may have cost both of us our heads. Lady Gillian is gone from her chamber,” Roland revealed. “Lady Nan might have also found her way out of the solar, as well. We’ve got to find them. Now.”

  Baul shot to his feet. “Where do we look?” he asked, fear in his eyes.

  “Everywhere,” Roland said. “Leave no stone unturned inside this keep. I will look outside.” He stepped close to the soldier, crowding him until their noses almost touched. “And you’d better hope we find them both before Lord Petyr realizes they’re gone.”

  Roland strode from the room. “How would Lady Nan think?” he asked under his breath as he rushed down the stairs and out into the dark night.

  *

  Tristan and his men rode to Wycliffe en masse, arriving a few hours before dawn. He’d promised himself if he found Nan here that he would slay Petyr Medford on the spot and then beg her forgiveness for being such a fool for so long.

  He signaled for his soldiers to halt and approached the gates on his own.

  “Gatekeeper!” he hollered. “I am Tristan Therolde, Earl of Leventhorpe. I demand entrance at once!”

  A man with thinning hair looked down at him, a torch held high in his hand. He looked frightened to be confronted by an angry nobleman. “You aren’t expected, my lord. Especially not in the middle of the night. I must seek out our captain of the guard. He will be the one who decides whether or not to give you permission to enter.”

  The gatekeeper disappeared from his view. Tristan groaned in frustration.

  David Devereux trotted his horse up next to Tristan, followed by Drew Stollars, who came to Tristan’s other side.

  “A gatekeeper cannot make that kind of decision on his own, Lord Tristan,” said David. “Hold your temper and exercise patience. Anger can make you lose focus. What is important is to get Gillian and Nan back unharmed.”

  Tristan sighed. “You’re right.” He studied the knight beside him. “I will tell you now that I want no fighting between us. I am the one who will kill Petyr Medford. If he’s touched Nan or Gillian, I plan for him to suffer before he dies.”

  “Agreed.”

  A small entryway cut into the wall swung open and a large man stepped out. He approached them warily, his sword in hand.

  “Lord Tristan?” he asked.

  “Are you the captain of Wycliffe’s guard?”

  “Aye. I cannot let you and this small army of men inside our walls, my lord. You are armed and look ready to fight. I will awaken Lord Petyr so he may determine whether we open the gates or not to you and your men. I know of no trouble between you and my liege lord but I cannot let my guard down in such a way. I hope you can understand my position.”

  Tristan refused to accept this answer. “Lord Petyr holds both my sister, Lady Gillian, and my betrothed, Lady Nan de Montfort, inside Wycliffe’s walls. They were taken from Leventhorpe tonight, against their will. Open now, Captain, or suffer the consequences.”

  The knight’s eyes flickered in alarm. “Your betrothed?”

  “Aye. Lady Nan and I are as good as wed, so she cannot marry another. You know the laws of the Church.”

  “I do.” He frowned. “You may enter, my lord. But your men must stay outside our gates.”

  Tristan was loath to enter on his own.

  “At least allow Lady Gillian’s betrothed, Sir David Devereux, and my squire, Drewett Stollars, to accompany me,” he countered, indicating the men next to him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the captain said, “Only the three of you. Leave your horses.” He fled back inside the castle the way he came.

  Tristan turned his horse in order to face his men. In a loud, commanding voice, he told them, “We three are going inside the castle’s walls. Sir Dawkin will lead you in an attack on Wycliffe if one is necessary
.” He motioned to his captain and Dawkin rode toward him.

  “If we are not back with both Nan and Gillian within an hour, begin the assault,” he instructed.

  “Aye, my lord.” Dawkin nudged his horse and returned to the assembled army.

  The gates slowly opened, enough to allow the trio to walk through them single file. The captain waited inside for them. Tristan saw a man up ahead running toward the keep and wondered if he went to warn Lord Petyr of their arrival. It didn’t matter. Tristan was committed to this course of action.

  He only prayed Nan would go along with it.

  *

  “I’m finished,” Gillian said, entering the bedchamber. “Do you care to read it?”

  “Nay. I trust you said enough to bring Tristan here. Sand it and seal it. Hurry, Gillian,” she urged.

  Though it was still the dead of night, she didn’t like the girl out of her sight. If someone entered the solar, he might capture her and threaten to harm Gillian unless Nan released Lord Petyr.

  Gillian returned moments later, the missive rolled up and sealed with wax.

  “What do we do now, Nan?”

  “Wait. I’m sure a servant will come to wake Lord Petyr or even bring him food to break his fast. When that happens, we’ll show whoever arrives that his liege lord is our hostage and demand a rider leave for Leventhorpe immediately.”

  A door outside the bedchamber crashed open. Nan stepped toward the bed and rested the tip of the sword against Lord Petyr’s throat, motioning Gillian to come stand close to her. Moments later, Roland threw open the bedchamber door. He rushed inside, only to gape at the nobleman lying trussed on the bed and held hostage with a blade to this throat. Though it disgusted Nan to see the baron naked, she had wanted whoever came through that door to see how dire the situation had turned.

  Nan slipped the scroll from her friend’s fingers and tossed it toward Roland. It hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. He retrieved it and stared at her.

  “That missive is to be delivered to Lord Tristan Therolde at Thorpe Castle,” she directed. “You seem to know where that lies so you might as well take it—else your baron will meet with an accident.”