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

by Alexa Aston

  That’s what made these last few hours before he reached Hartefield special. Tension had built in him for days after they’d parted from the king’s troops and made their way toward Suffolk. Marcus fought the rising panic that seemed to ooze from every pore. Something seemed very wrong the closer he came toward home. He only prayed that these pricklings proved foolish. That he would arrive at Harte Castle and find nothing amiss.

  The first pale streaks of pink tinged the sky as he rode up to the gates. The gatekeeper called out a cheery greeting, which Marcus returned. He informed the retainer that his men would follow later that day and to be on the lookout for them. Riding to the stables, he awakened a slumbering stable boy and asked him to give a double measure of food to Storm and rub the beast down thoroughly.

  At last, he headed toward the keep. No one stirred yet but soon the castle and its inhabitants would spring to life. Marcus pushed open the door and climbed the stairs two at a time, hurrying along the dimly lit corridor toward the solar. Without bothering to knock, he slipped through the door. No candle burned in the outer room. That surprised him. His mother had a fear of the dark and always left a candle burning in the bedchamber and out in this room, as well.

  He left the door open so he could see to reach the inner chamber. Opening the door, only darkness greeted him. His senses went on high alert.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  He slipped carefully into the room, pushing the door wide. Making out the large shape of the bed, he inched toward it, his father’s loud snores reverberating throughout the chamber. He neared the bed and reached out his hand, only to find it brushed the bed curtain. Now, Marcus knew something was amiss. His mother never drew the curtains on her side of the bed, not as long as he could remember. She feared being trapped and always wanted a way to escape quickly should disaster strike in the middle of the night.

  Easing his hand forward, he located a warm lump. He ran his hand up it and found a shoulder, which he gently shook.

  “Mother?” he asked in a whisper, as he caught the smell of milk.

  A piercing scream sounded in the darkness. It was quickly joined by the wail of a babe.

  Had his mother finally given birth to a child who had survived? At her age?

  Movement rippled in the bed as another child somewhere in the room began to cry.

  Two children?

  The snores finally ceased and his father began bellowing. Stunned, Marcus stumbled from the room into the solar’s family room, his heart beating fast.

  Then a tiny female toddled from the bedchamber, her dark hair askew. She came toward him and reached her hands out. Instinct took over and Marcus lifted the child in his arms.

  “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

  “Livia,” the girl said, promptly jamming her thumb in her mouth and sucking loudly on it.

  Movement caught his eye and Marcus turned to the bedchamber door. A young woman barely a score old appeared, a squalling babe in her arms as she balanced a lit candle. She pushed it toward Marcus and he took it.

  “Hush,” she said, guiding the child’s mouth to her bare breast. Greedily, the babe latched on to it and drank, immediately calming.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked, her brow knit in confusion.

  “I am Sir Marcus de Harte. Who are you?” Marcus demanded as he set the candle down on the nearby table.

  The woman gasped. Her eyes widened, shock evident upon her face. Before she could reply, his father appeared in the doorway, his hair much sparser than it had been only two years ago and now totally gray.

  “What is one of your whores doing in your bed? Where is Mother?” Marcus demanded.

  “Your mother is dead,” Lord Charles said, his voice flat. “She died a month after you left for the rebellion in the north.”

  Numbness shot through Marcus, followed by a searing anger. “Why didn’t you get word to me?”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I? You accompanied the king. You represented Hartefield. You and the men in your command had a mission to accomplish. Believe me, I agreed with most of those rebels in the north. The king should not be suing for peace with those French bastards. Not after all the time and effort and money that have been involved in this bloody war. But you answered the king’s call. Even if you had known of her death, you wouldn’t have been free to race home. Your mother would have already been in the ground, so what good could have come by you knowing she had died?”

  Rage boiled within him. “And how long has this whore warmed your bed?”

  His father’s glare matched Marcus’ own. “This is your stepmother, Lady Ailith. You will treat her with respect.” Lord Charles shook his head. “I am tired and wish to sleep.” He looked to his wife. “I don’t wish to be disturbed. You can handle my son.”

  With that, the baron returned to his bedchamber and slammed the door.

  “I am sorry about Lady Margaret, my lord,” the young woman said. “I met her briefly when my father and I came to Harte Castle on business.” Her lips trembled. “I was supposed to be . . . your bride. When your mother passed away suddenly, Lord Charles . . . well, he arranged with my father for me to wed him instead.”

  “He must have replaced Mother quickly since you’ve already had two children by him.”

  The child in his arms nestled closer to Marcus. She seemed so fragile as he held her.

  “And do you hold a daughter or a son, my lady?” he asked.

  Lady Ailith looked down at the babe who’d fallen asleep. She covered her breast. “This is Mary. You are holding Livia.”

  “Two girls.”

  “Aye. Other than you, it seems your father can only get girls.”

  His anger began to subside but hurt and emptiness filled Marcus.

  “I must go.” He handed Livia to her mother, her hands now full with both daughters.

  “But you only returned, my lord,” Lady Ailith protested.

  “I came back to see my mother. With her dead . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Will you be gone long?” she asked softly.

  He thought of how adrift he seemed in this moment and replied, “I don’t know.”

  Marcus left the solar and returned downstairs to where servants had risen and started their day’s work. He left the keep and collected his horse, riding out to where all de Hartes were buried. It was easy to find his mother. Marcus silently knelt beside her grave and stayed for several minutes before rising and returning to his horse.

  As he rode away from Harte Castle, he came across Rand and his men. Rand must have awakened them soon after he’d left and urged them to mount their horses and ride home.

  Marcus slowed his horse and the group joined him.

  “Your mother?” Rand asked, instantly picking up on Marcus’ mood.

  “Dead. For almost the entire time we have been away from Hartefield.” Marcus paused, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. “Father has another wife—and two new daughters.”

  “Where will you go?” his friend asked.

  “Anywhere except here.” Marcus nudged Storm and galloped away.

  Chapter 2

  Kinwick Castle—mid-June

  Jessimond de Montfort awoke after a restless night of sleep. She no longer had to contain her excitement, which had grown over the past month. The faire would arrive at Kinwick today, full of peddlers erecting stalls of goods. More importantly, they would be accompanied by the mummers’ troupe, which had come to Kinwick grounds for the past five years and stayed a week. In that time, she had come to know the proprietors, two brothers who had never married, as well as becoming familiar with many of the actors as she’d watched the plays unfold.

  She’d especially enjoyed listening to Bartholomew, the troupe’s troubadour, who had a wonderful, rich baritone and told the most marvelous stories through song, as did Beatrice, Cousin Raynor’s wife. Some of Jessimond’s happiest times in childhood had been spent at Ashcroft in Beatrice Le Roux’s company, learning
new songs as Beatrice taught Jessimond the words to sing and the music to play on her lute.

  This time when the group left to continue to the next stop on their tour, Jessimond was determined to go with them. At least for this season.

  All she had left to do was break the news to her unsuspecting parents.

  Geoffrey and Merryn de Montfort had been the best parents in the world. Everyone thought highly of the pair, who had raised six children and were beloved by their tenants and servants and the knights who served them. To Jessimond, not only were they wonderful parents but shining examples of love. Outsiders thought the couple newly wedded, due to their tremendous affection toward one another. And that was what she wanted for herself.

  Love.

  If she were being honest, she would admit that love rarely played a role within the noble class. Arranged marriages brought strangers together. Most wedded couples hoped for respect—or possibly even friendship—to grow between them, though often, neither of those occurred. Thankfully, Jessimond didn’t have to worry about marrying a stranger for, in a bold decision, her parents had not betrothed any of their children. Geoffrey and Merryn had been a love match and seeing how their love grew more deeply over the years, they wanted their children to have the same opportunity and wed only for love.

  As their youngest child, Jessimond watched for years as, one by one, her brothers and sisters had found their soul mates. Wed them. Begun their own families, binding their children to them in a rich tapestry of love. She’d seen firsthand how love enriched the lives of not only her parents, but also her siblings. Alys and Kit. Ancel and Margery. Hal and Elinor. Edward and Rosalyne. Nan and Tristan. Each de Montfort child had found love and captured it, never letting it go.

  Except for her.

  Everywhere she went, Jessimond had looked for love. Wondered if this was the place she would find her special someone. She’d spent time at four of her siblings’ estates, as well as making extended visits to various cousins. No matter how hard she’d looked, no one stood out. Not a single man appealed to her the way she had supposed he should.

  Fear gripped her heart. Mayhap love would never come her way.

  Because she wasn’t a true de Montfort.

  Jessimond dressed quickly and braided her thick waves of golden hair, so unlike any of the other seven de Montforts. Each of her siblings had variations of Geoffrey’s dark, thick hair or Merryn’s chestnut locks, though gray strands now wove through both of her parents’ hair. Her eyes, too, were unusual in color, a deep violet, which no other de Montfort child possessed. Jessimond was short in stature, almost dwarfed by her three brothers and two sisters.

  Would not being a blood de Montfort keep her from finding lasting happiness?

  She pushed those thoughts aside and hurried from her bedchamber, down the stairs and out the doors. Racing across the bailey, she caught up with Elinor, her sister-in-law, and linked arms with her.

  Elinor gave her a warm smile and squeezed Jessimond’s arm as they entered the chapel for morning mass. Jessimond admired Elinor because Elinor knew exactly who she was—a falconer. Elinor’s father abandoned her to the care of his estate’s falconer. The man became a father to Elinor and taught his adopted daughter all he knew about raptors.

  Now married to Hal de Montfort, Jessimond’s middle brother and captain of the Kinwick guard, Elinor spent much of her days with Joseph, Kinwick’s falconer, as they trained various peregrines for hunting. Besides falconry, she was a mother to three children and spent countless hours with them, as well. Elinor was defined by her devotion to her family—and her raptors. Jessimond admired her greatly and longed to discover who she was, in the same way Elinor had.

  Mass ended and both women returned to Kinwick’s great hall, allowing Hal to hand them up onto the dais in order to break their fast. He brushed a brotherly kiss against her cheek and a tender one against his wife’s lips.

  “You both look most beautiful today,” he said.

  Jessimond smiled fondly at her brother. “And you will continue to charm all females until you have one foot in your grave,” she retorted in a friendly manner.

  “If genuine compliments toward those I love and adore can be seen as charming, then aye—I will happily charm you until my dying day, Jess.”

  A servant brought bread and ale to them. She tore a piece from the small loaf and tried to chew it, but her nerves made swallowing hard. Seeing Elinor in conversation with Merryn, Jessimond touched Hal’s arm.

  “How did you know Elinor was the one for you?” she asked.

  A smile lit her brother’s face. “I just did. I don’t know if I was aware of it when we first met but it crept upon me until it engulfed me. Soon, my every thought was consumed by Elinor’s image. How I could spend more time with her. How I could make her smile. How I could—”

  He broke off, his face flushed with embarrassment.

  “Oh, go on, Hal,” she teased. “It isn’t as if I haven’t noticed the heated looks that pass between you two for years now. And you do have three children, so I know you’ve been up to something in your bed.”

  He had the grace to ignore her teasing. “You will simply know, Jess.” He paused. “Wait. Have you already found someone?” he asked eagerly. “When did you—”

  “Nay. I have been thinking of it lately, though. Every day, I see your happiness. How Elinor completes you. How after decades together, Mother and Father still give each other that certain look and then disappear for hours.”

  Hal took her hand. “And you want that for yourself.”

  Frustrated, Jessimond nodded. “I do. More than anything, Hal.”

  He squeezed her hand and released it, taking another long draw from his cup. “You are of age. You will be ten and nine in less than a fortnight.” Hal smiled. “Summer to me always means you coming into the de Montfort fold.” He brushed another kiss against her cheek. “You will find the man you are meant to be with, Jess. Have faith. All de Montforts do, especially when we least expect it.”

  But I’m not a real de Montfort.

  “You haven’t eaten much,” Hal pointed out.

  “I find I am not very hungry. Besides, I need to speak to Mother and Father about something.”

  A gleam lit his eyes. “This sounds interesting. You have something up your sleeve.”

  “I may,” she said cryptically.

  He laughed. “If I can’t get it out of you, then Elinor will. People seem to tell my wife anything and everything.”

  Jessimond’s eyebrows rose in mock indignation. “And you think she would share a secret I told her with the likes of you?”

  Hal shook his head. “Nay. If you confide in her and swear her to secrecy, Elinor would be as quiet as a tomb. But if you don’t ask for her silence, then she would certainly talk it over with me.” He studied her. “Should I be concerned?” A worried look crossed his face.

  “Nay. I hope I will have your support, though, in what I plan.” Quickly, she told him what she wished to do.

  Hal whistled low, thankfully not the shrill whistle he’d taught her and Nan that could bring a room to a halt. “If they give you permission—and that is a big if, Jess—then I think it would be a promising adventure. Why, even I would like to go along with you.”

  She shook her head. “I want to be on my own. No protective brothers hovering over me, especially the captain of Kinwick’s guard. You would frighten everyone away and then I would never get to make any new friends.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I wish you the best of luck when you speak to Mother and Father. You’re going to need it.”

  Rising, he gave her an impish smile as he left the dais and made his way over to the group of soldiers gathered at several tables to their left. Jessimond watched Hal give instructions and the men rose as a group in order to head to the training yard. By now, Elinor also had come to her feet. Giving Jessimond a quick nod, she hopped to the floor. Most likely, she went to nurse her youngest one before meeting up with Joseph, as she was
already dressed in pants and a man’s tunic.

  The time had come. Jessimond looked to her parents.

  “Mother, Father, I would like a word with you.”

  Merryn’s brow wrinkled in concern. “You sound serious, Jessimond. Is anything wrong?”

  “I would prefer privacy while we speak.”

  Geoffrey rose and lifted his wife’s elbow so she stood next to him. “Let’s adjourn to the solar,” he suggested.

  As they went upstairs, Jessimond’s heart beat rapidly. Her breath came in short, nervous spurts. She sent a prayer to the Virgin to guide her in the words to use in order to convince her parents to allow her to leave Kinwick with a band of strangers.

  Her father ushered them into the solar and they all took a seat. Jessimond glanced from one to the other, knowing her words would probably hurt them both.

  Drawing on the courage that her sister, Nan, always seemed to display, she decided not to ask but inform them of her intentions. “I plan to leave Kinwick for a few months,” she began.

  Merryn visibly relaxed. “I thought you were going to tell us something awful by the look on your face. Do you plan to visit some of your brothers or sisters? Or mayhap, will you spend time with Raynor and Beatrice? You know that would make them so happy.”

  “Neither.” Jessimond swallowed and then plunged ahead. “I am going to travel with Elias and Moss when they leave Kinwick.”

  Geoffrey leaned forward, his forearms braced upon his knees, a puzzled look upon his face. “The men who own the mumming troupe?”

  “Aye. They arrive today and will be at Kinwick for a week. When they leave for their next stop, I want to go with them.”

  “Do they know this?” asked Merryn pointedly, skepticism in her eyes.

  “Nay,” Jessimond admitted. “But I know there are many things I could help them with. I’m an excellent seamstress and they’re forever damaging or needing new costumes. Though I have no talent for painting people like Rosalyne can, I could paint backdrops or even create props. And if Bartholomew, their troubadour, ever fell ill, I know enough songs so that I could take his place.”