by Alexa Aston
She rose and opened the door. Drew stood in the corridor, shuffling his feet. “Come in,” she encouraged.
“Do you know why I’m here?” he whispered.
Nan shrugged. “It’s a mystery to me.”
“Have a seat, Drew,” Geoffrey said.
The squire did, an apprehensive look on his face. “Am I . . . am I in trouble, Lord Geoffrey?”
“Nay, but we have important matters to discuss with you. First, I want you to know how much Merryn and I have enjoyed having you foster at Kinwick all these many years.”
Gratitude filled Drew’s face. “You have been as a father and mother to me, my lord. I couldn’t have asked to go to a better place than Kinwick.”
“You also have done well in regards to Nan. You have befriended her and protected her all her life. That has not gone unnoticed.”
Drew grinned. “Nan and I are the best of friends. As close as brother and sister.”
“What I suggest is that we go ahead and hold your knighthood ceremony tomorrow. Here at Thorpe Castle.”
“My lord?” Drew looked confused, but Nan suddenly knew what her father was up to.
“You have proven yourself beyond measure and I think the sooner you become a knight, the better. But there’s more to it,” Geoffrey continued. “The choice will be yours to make. You may take your oath and do one of three things. Return to your home and serve your brother. Remain at Kinwick and take your place in my barracks.
“Or you may accept an offer from Lord Tristan and pledge your loyalty to him and his family and the people of Leventhorpe.”
Drew’s jaw dropped. Nan didn’t bother to hide her smile.
Her friend now looked to Tristan. “You would have me in your service, my lord?”
“I cannot think of a man I would want more than you, Drewett Stollars,” Tristan said. “Your experience and loyalty cannot be bought.”
Drew looked back to Geoffrey. “All my life, I hoped and prayed that I would be given the chance to remain at Kinwick, my lord. But I see a world of opportunity awaiting me here at Leventhorpe. Lord Tristan needs good men.” He looked back to Tristan. “I would be honored to become one of your knights, my lord.” Then he glanced to Nan. “And you know I would give my life for you, my lady.”
Nan leapt to her feet as Drew did the same and they threw their arms around one another in glee.
“We can stay together,” Nan told him. “Why, you can tutor my children in swordplay!” she exclaimed.
“And archery,” Drew added. “I’ve become quite adept at teaching those skills to others.”
Glancing over Drew’s shoulder through a blur of tears, Nan mouthed a thank you to her father and then caught the wink Tristan gave her.
Nan had wed a man she loved completely and would continue to share in a friendship with another man she respected. She looked forward to all the years to come.
Epilogue
Thorpe Castle—August, 1417
“Look—a butterfly!” Anne broke away, leaving the cool shadows of the forest and running into the nearby meadow.
Nan followed her six-year-old granddaughter, marveling at how curious Anne was about the world around her. Though she loved her two grandsons dearly, Anne was the first granddaughter born to one of her five children. Nan had been secretly thrilled that they named the babe in honor of her grandmother.
Emerging from the woods, Nan paused a moment. ’Twas at this very spot that she had taken the life of two men many years ago. She never crossed the place without thinking about those days and how terrified she’d been when she and Gillian had been taken against their will. Fortunately, in the almost thirty years since, she had never once seen the Baron of Wycliffe. Word somehow got out about what the nobleman had done and the power he’d wielded in Essex waned away. Men in this area had begun to look to Tristan Therolde for guidance and continued to do so decades later.
She watched Anne chase the butterfly until the insect flew too far and fast for the young girl to keep up. Anne returned to her side.
“Can we practice archery now, Grandmother? I’m getting better, aren’t I?”
“You are, indeed, my precious. Come.”
Nan took her granddaughter’s hand again and they made their way back to the castle. When they reached the training yard, she signaled a page and instructed him to go to the keep to fetch Anne’s bow and quiver. The boy grinned and took off, eager to please the Countess of Leventhorpe.
Anne watched the soldiers as they paired up for their combat exercises but Nan’s eyes drifted to the platform where her husband stood. Even at five and fifty, Tristan still had a mane of tawny hair with only a few strands of white mixed into it. He stood tall and proud, every bit the man she had fallen in love with that summer when she first came to Thorpe Castle—but so much more. For that man had grown in confidence and leadership. More importantly, he had unlocked his feelings and let love inside, doting on his wife, his children, and now their children.
Anne danced around impatiently. Her actions must have caught Tristan’s eye. He waved at the girl and she waved back with enthusiasm.
But his smile was for Nan—and she knew what it meant.
The page returned with the bow and quiver and Nan led Anne to the butts, passing Drew on their way. The knight, who had become Leventhorpe’s captain of the guard years ago, worked with a left-handed squire. Nan was still thankful that Drew had chosen to come to Leventhorpe. She treasured their friendship and had enjoyed seeing their children play together. Drew’s ginger hair was now threaded with silver, but he still had the same happy spirit and sense of optimism that he helped spread among their knights.
No one was at practice on the range and Nan enjoyed having the area to themselves. She could see already how much progress Anne had made in the week since she’d arrived for a visit with her grandparents. Nan enjoyed watching the young girl nock her arrow and send it flying toward its target. This time, though, a gust of wind came up just as Anne released the arrow. Because of that, it fell far from the mark.
Anne muttered a curse under her breath.
“What did you say?” Nan asked, fighting to keep the smile from her face and her tone stern.
Anne sighed in exasperation. “You heard me, Grandmother, and I know I’ll be in even more trouble if I repeat what I said to your face.”
“You’re right about that,” Nan readily agreed.
“But Father said—”
“So your father taught you this?”
Anne’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Nay. ’Twas Mother,” the girl confessed.
Nan thought she would have to have a talk with her oldest daughter—and then a good laugh.
“Gather your arrows and go again,” she told Anne.
The girl scampered toward the target as Drew joined Nan.
“She’s so like you at that age,” he said.
“Even down to the cursing,” she replied. “Apparently, her mother has been teaching her a few choice words.”
Anne returned, beaming when she saw who had joined them. “Sir Drew, I’m getting better. Grandmother says so. Would you like to see me hit the target?”
“Aye, Anne.”
“But I have to watch for the wind. It’s died down now but it could come back.”
“It could,” he agreed. “But ’twill only be me watching you. Your grandfather sent me to tell your grandmother that he has urgent need of her.”
Nan knew exactly what awaited her.
“I will see you both later,” she told the pair and headed toward the keep, her heart pounding against her ribs in anticipation.
Over the years, Tristan had sent everyone from servants to stable hands to soldiers to his wife, instructing them to tell the countess that he had an urgent need to see her. Gradually, everyone at Leventhorpe had caught on and Nan would see the smiles that these messengers tried to hide.
She entered the keep and went straight to the solar, where she knew her husband would be waiting. Sometimes with cl
othes. Sometimes without.
Nan opened the door and quickly shut it. Tristan was not in sight. She crossed the room and entered their bedchamber.
Her husband sat against the pillows, anticipating her arrival—without a stitch on.
“What took you so long?” he asked playfully.
“I wasn’t sure where you needed to see me,” she teased back.
Growling, Tristan leapt from the bed and captured her in his arms. His kiss was hot and his hands everywhere, stripping her clothes from her. Once she was naked, he carried her to their bed and drew the bed curtains to ensure their privacy. Then they engaged in love play for the next hour. Touching. Tasting. Still hungry for one another as they had been from the beginning.
Lying in his arms afterward, Nan asked, “Do you ever think you will tire of me?”
Tristan brushed his lips against her hair. “I have loved you nigh on a score and ten years, my sweet Nan. I committed my heart, my mind, my body, and my soul to you.”
Turning her so that they faced one another, he added, “Why don’t you ask me that question in another score and ten? Mayhap then I will give you an answer. But until that time? I plan to worship your body each day and never let you go.”
He kissed her tenderly and said, “I understand the power of love and the bond it has forged between us. Nay, my love, I could never tire of you. I will come back again and again to drink at the well of love inside you.”
With that, Tristan kissed her again, making Nan feel like that young woman who’d first tasted his kiss all those years ago.
Life was good—and would be even better tomorrow—thanks to the love of this man by her side.
The End
Return to Honor
Knights Of Honor
Book Ten
Alexa Aston
Acknowledgments
My Knights of Honor series would never have been possible without the encouragement and support of Kathryn Le Veque, the Queen of All Things Medieval and a superb mentor. Kathryn believed in me and gave this series a place at Dragonblade Publishing. I’m so happy to be part of the Dragonblade family.
My editor, Scott Moreland, has left his mark on every page of this series, for which I am grateful. His guiding hand has challenged me to become a better writer and his eye for details is second to none. I wouldn’t want to be on this journey without him.
Kris Newberger’s organizational skills and friendship smoothed the way to publication every single time. She’s a lady who knows how to get things done efficiently and quickly.
Aven Ellis provided invaluable feedback and suggestions and came to love all of my knights and their ladies as much as I did. She always has my back.
Last of all, to my husband—you are the hero of our love story. May it go on for many years to come.
Prologue
London—July, 1376
Gregory de Challon felt the waves of disapproval coming off Sir Rodric Shelley as the two men traipsed silently through the empty streets of London. Today had proven hot and the heat seemed to linger into the night as the midnight hour approached. The streets stunk of waste that had been dumped from windows, reminding Gregory why so many of the nobility left London during the summer months. At least it wouldn’t take long to reach the cottage he’d leased for Celia since the teeming crowds were now tucked into their beds for the night. He needed it that way because he didn’t want to be seen visiting the girl, heavy with child.
His child.
It was her fault for being so damned beautiful. Gregory had been tempted beyond measure when he first spied Celia Achard at court. Only ten and six, she was small in height when compared to most women, but her full breasts and tiny waist had caught his attention, as did her glorious mane of golden hair. But it was her eye color that truly whetted his appetite. The sprite’s eyes were amethyst in color, like two jewels set in a perfect face.
He’d had his share of women—and then some. Growing up, he’d bedded anyone in a skirt, be it a servant or local village wench. When his father brought him to the royal court in London, Gregory had plowed through a bevy of pretty widows before working his way through a dozen or more married lovers, both at court and in the city of London.
That was before Celia arrived. Why a naïve virgin had turned his very experienced head was something Gregory didn’t understand, only that she made his blood sing. He had thought to steal only a kiss from her in a darkened alcove. Mayhap two. Then kisses had turned to touch and touch crashed out of control until she found herself with child. She hid it for as long as she could and then told her father she’d been asked to visit a friend at her family’s country estate. Lord Americ Achard rarely saw his daughter and had only given her a cursory glance when she told him of her travel plans for the summer. Celia said her father seemed relieved that she had somewhere to go so that he wouldn’t be responsible for her.
That had allowed Gregory to rent the tiny cottage in the heart of London while Celia’s time to deliver drew near. He’d stolen away from the palace to visit her a few times, not nearly as much as either of them would have liked, but that had to end. Today.
When he broke her heart.
Oh, she wouldn’t know right away. He would make gallant promises tonight and cover her in sweet kisses. She would deliver the child and Sir Rodric would take her back to Nesterfield. She had no mother and her two younger brothers had come to court for their summer break to spend time with their father, a man heavily involved in court politics and the royal treasury. Once he’d taken a few days to show his sons London, Americ and the boys left to join the court’s summer progress. Because of that, Celia could recover from childbirth alone at home, with no one the wiser.
Except for the babe.
As they drew near their destination, Gregory paused. His companion halted and looked at him with wary eyes.
“Today is the last day I will see her,” he promised the knight, who’d gotten Gregory out of more scrapes that anyone could imagine.
“And I’m to take her to Nesterfield after she gives birth. To your babe,” Sir Rodric said, his tone even but accusing Gregory all the same.
“Aye. Offer to pay the midwife to take the child away.”
“If she refuses?” the knight asked boldly.
Gregory swallowed. “Then get rid of it on the way.”
Sir Rodric’s brows rose. “You want me to kill it. A babe. Your babe.”
He steeled himself. “Do whatever you have to do, Rodric. But Celia is not to arrive home with a child in her arms.”
“What should I tell the lady happened to her babe?”
“Whatever you wish.”
Gregory turned away and strode off, knowing the loyal knight would follow. He’d been in service to the de Challons his entire life and would do his duty, no matter how much he despised the outcome.
They reached the cottage and Gregory opened the door, leaving his soldier outside to make sure no one else entered behind him. A single candle glowed in the one room. Celia lay atop a pallet on the floor, fast asleep. He went and knelt beside her.
In sleep, she looked even younger but she still resembled an earthly angel. Her face had grown slightly fuller. He placed a palm against her rounded belly. A moment later, he felt a strong kick against it. He jerked his hand away, not wanting to think about the child they’d made together. Lowering his mouth to hers, he pressed a kiss against her soft lips.
She awakened and opened her mouth to him. He accepted the invitation, kissing her deeply, knowing it would be the last time their lips met. Breaking the kiss, he helped her sit up, her back supported against the wall behind her. Gregory pulled a small, velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to her.
“A gift?” Celia’s face lit up.
“A little something to remember me by,” he said lightly.
She loosened the strings and reached inside, withdrawing an amethyst brooch. It had taken going to three jewelers until he found what he wanted but the smile that lit her face made his tro
ubles worthwhile.
“’Tis the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she swore.
“I thought the gems matched the color of your eyes. Here, let me pin it on you.”
Gregory opened the clasp and slid the pin through the material of her nightdress. Celia fingered the brooch lovingly.
Cupping her face, he said, “I have to go away for a little while, love.”
“To Egelina?” she asked, her mouth turning down.
“Aye. She is my betrothed and we are to wed in three days’ time.”
“But you will stop it, won’t you, Gregory?” Her large eyes pleaded with him.
“I will do what I can, Celia,” he said, knowing he would never dream of halting the marriage between him and the homely cow whose bridal price was large enough to ensure she would be taken off her parents’ hands for good. “To do so, I must convince both her and her parents—as well as my father—that we should not marry.”
“But you are so good with words, Gregory. You are intelligent. You will be able to reason with them. Make them see why you cannot marry Egelina.” Her mouth set in determination.
He shrugged. “I cannot predict what will happen, love. A betrothal is as good as being wed. Persuading all parties involved will be difficult.”
“But not impossible.” She gave him a tender smile. “I believe you can do anything, Gregory. Even guarantee that we will always be together.”
“Not for a while,” he reminded her. “If they knew of you and the babe, that would not be reason enough to break our arrangement. I must find a way that appeals to all sides. Try not to worry. You and the child will be safe at Sturnwick. Your father and brothers will be gone for a few months and then most likely, Lord Achard will return them to where they foster before he arrives back at court. By then, I hope I will have worked out a solution to our problem.”
Celia’s eyes misted with tears. “You think of me—and the babe—as a problem?” Her lips trembled and he knew she was on the verge of breaking down.