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

by Alexa Aston

  “You are talented in many areas,” her mother began. “I’m sure you would prove useful in numerous ways to this troupe, but answer me this, Jessimond. Why?”

  Her eyes misted with tears. “Because I need to do something for me. Find out who I am. You and Alys have taught me about the healing arts. Nan has drilled into me how to use a bow and arrow. Hal taught me swordplay and Edward how to ride. Elinor has allowed me to help her with the raptors some. I’ve known how to run a household for years and even set Nan’s up for her when she and Tristan wed.”

  She sighed. “But in knowing all these things, I don’t know exactly who I am.”

  “You’re a de Montfort,” declared Geoffrey, no doubt in his voice.

  “Am I really?” she asked softly.

  When she saw his face fall, she quickly added, “I know I’m loved, Father. Mayhap almost too much. You and Mother wrapped me in love, as did all of my siblings, from the moment you and Nan brought me home from the woods. I may not have come from Mother’s womb but I will always be a de Montfort and know I am cherished.

  “I think it’s time, though, for me to explore who I am. Who I can be. Who I need to be.”

  “And to do that, you wish to be on your own,” her mother said quietly, intuitive as always.

  Jessimond nodded. “Aye. Joining the mummers will allow me to be on my own for the first time, with no family to rely upon. I will be able to make friends with others I might never have come in contact with. Travel and see places I haven’t been. Learn to depend upon my skills and discover what I enjoy most.”

  And find love, she thought—but chose not to voice that.

  Her father appeared so downcast that Jessimond almost changed her mind. She had to force herself to stay seated so that she wouldn’t throw her arms around him and swear she wouldn’t go. Then she looked at her mother. Their gazes met and Jessimond saw approval.

  “This could be good for you, Jessimond,” Merryn said.

  Geoffrey opened his mouth to protest and then glanced from his wife to his daughter and back. “I see I am outvoted in this matter. As usual, ’tis the women who decide matters of importance in this family,” he said lightly.

  He stood and Jessimond did go to him then, embracing him tightly. “I love you so much, Father.”

  Kissing the top of her head, Geoffrey said, “Always know that I love you even more.”

  Merryn rose. “Once the mummers arrive, we will invite Elias and Moss to dine with us. We can discuss whether they will agree to take you on.”

  Jessimond smiled. “I’m a very hard worker. And I’ve decided I’ll work for free. That should entice them.”

  “Nay,” her mother said. “You will work many hours, but you will earn every pence they pay you. I think it’s important for you to have coin of your own and decide how you wish to spend it.”

  She hugged Merryn. “Thank you for understanding, Mother.”

  Merryn sighed. “Understand that I will miss you every moment that you are gone. You are irreplaceable, Jessimond de Montfort. And when your grand adventure is over, I hope you will have new songs to write about these travels. I look forward to hearing you sing them in our great hall.”

  Jessimond left the solar, a weight lifted from her. Now, she had to speak to Elias and Moss Vawdry and win the two of them to her side.

  Chapter 3

  Jessimond answered the knock on her door and saw one of the castle’s young pages standing there, out of breath.

  “They’ve arrived?” she asked.

  The boy nodded. “Lots of wagons, my lady. Couldn’t be anybody else but them.”

  “Thank you.”

  She closed her bedchamber door and removed her yellow, silk cotehardie and the chemise beneath it, folding both carefully and placing them inside the trunk at the foot of her bed. From the trunk, she withdrew some of the new clothing that she had sewn over the past few weeks after she had retired to her chamber each night. She hadn’t wanted anyone asking what she worked on in the great hall, not wanting to explain what she had in mind unless it came to pass.

  Being accepted by the mummers was important to her. Jessimond wanted their approval of her as an individual and not as a noblewoman who needed to be humored. That meant leaving her fine silks and satins behind and dressing as someone not of her class but those far beneath her status.

  Pulling on the rough, hemp undertunic, she knew she would miss wearing a soft, silk chemise against her skin each day. The undyed undertunic had long sleeves and a low hemline that perched just above her ankles. She had already washed it several times, trying to soften the material, as well as the other undertunic she’d created.

  Next, she pulled a blue wool tunic over her head and fastened the wide neck hole closed with cloth ties that she’d attached. Jessimond had crafted it with slits up the sides to afford her more freedom of movement. This tunic struck her mid-calf, unlike all of her cotehardies, which fell to the ground. She knew from observing Kinwick’s servants and farmers that many of the woman shortened their tunics at times, based upon the chores they did. She’d learned she could tuck the ends of it up in her belt and had even watched one woman tuck and fold the excess fabric in order to create a pouch to carry chicken feed while another did the same to carry fruit.

  Jessimond made sure that the wool she’d used was finely woven but lacked the quality of one a noblewoman would wear. She’d noticed blue was the most common color worn by peasants, who used woad to dye their cloth. Two of the three tunics she’d sewn were shades of blue, while the third was a dark green in color. She knew the dyes she’d used would cause the colors to fade over time since average laborers couldn’t afford more expensive ones. To make hers look worn, she’d left the material out in the sun for several days.

  Last, she slipped on a cheap, leather belt that she’d bought in the nearby village, cinching it so that her shapeless clothes now hugged her body better instead of hanging lifelessly around her.

  The one thing she refused to compromise on was giving up her boots. She’d had the pair several years and they would last many more, thanks to their fine craftsmanship and her good care. Not only would her feet remain comfortable until she returned home in the autumn, but the boots also afforded her a place to hide her baselard. Her brothers always insisted she carry one for protection. All three of them at one point over the years had given her lessons in how to use the dagger, each sharing different ways of how she could not only protect herself but attack another who threatened her. Jessimond never left her chamber without the blade tucked into her boots. Leaving the safety of Kinwick made it even more important for her to have the small weapon with her at all times.

  She’d wondered about how to explain the expensive boots if someone asked why she didn’t wear shoes typical of a peasant, ones made of calfskin or goatskin, with leather shoelaces. She’d even practice her story until it sounded believable to her ears and she thought anyone asking would believe her.

  Touching her hands to her hair, she knew the single, unadorned braid would suffice. She glanced down and, for a moment, felt naked. The amethyst brooch she always wore attached to her cotehardie had remained in place when she’d placed the gown inside her trunk. It wouldn’t do for a poor country girl to go about flaunting a jewel of such value. Still, it seemed a part of her was missing with the brooch not in its usual place.

  Smoothing down the skirts of her new, simple clothing, Jessimond left her room and hurried down the stone staircase, exiting the keep without running into anyone. She crossed through the inner bailey and then the outer one and went through the open gates. The vendors always set their booths up in the large meadow adjacent to the castle’s walls and the mummers would construct a couple of stages for their plays in the same area. The troupe would pitch their tents on the far side of the meadow. Already, she saw the line of wagons in the road and dozens of people milling about like worker bees.

  Jessimond shielded her eyes from the strong sun and skimmed the meadow and road but did not
see either Vawdry brother. She decided to ask the two men unloading a wagon near her where the owners might be. As she approached, she noted both men were tall and stripped to the waist, their torsos gleaming with sweat from their endeavors.

  The one on her left was lean and wiry, with dark blond hair on both his head and chest. His companion’s shoulders were broad and his chest heavily muscled. A fine matting of dark hair on it matched the hair of raven’s black atop his head. Both men slowed their activity, watching her with curiosity as she came toward them.

  The blond greeted her with a charming smile that must have melted the hearts of most women who received it. “How can we help you?”

  For a moment, it took her aback that his question hadn’t ended with the inevitable my lady. She smiled, knowing at least that she looked the part. Now, she simply had to play it.

  “I need to find Elias and Moss,” she explained.

  “And what would a pretty girl like you want with those two ugly brothers?” the dark-haired man asked casually as he eyed her appreciatively.

  Coolly, she responded, “The earl and countess would like to speak with the Vawdrys before the faire opens tomorrow.”

  “So you work in the keep at Kinwick?” the blond man asked. The look in his eye told her that his interest was growing.

  Jessimond did her fair share of work and so she honestly replied, “Aye.”

  “I’ll show you where they are,” the dark one volunteered. He lowered the trunk that had rested on his shoulder to the ground. “I’ll be back soon,” he told his fellow worker.

  “I’m sure you will be,” the man muttered and returned to unloading the wagon.

  The dark-haired worker came to her and pointed. “The Vawdrys’ll be this way.”

  Jessimond began walking in the direction the man indicated. He fell into step beside her. She kept a quick pace, as usual. Once she spotted the brothers, she would need to send this man on his way. She wanted to join the troupe without anyone other than the owners knowing who she was, hoping it would lead to enjoying her time more. If anyone knew she was a de Montfort, though, the word would spread like wildfire. She’d never have a chance at making friends on her own terms because others would hold her at a distance.

  She thought she had a decent chance of remaining anonymous. Though the mummers had come to Kinwick five years in a row, Jessimond had been gone for the last three. One summer had been spent with her cousin, Cecily, who’d given birth to her last child, a most welcomed girl. Both Cecily and William had been grateful for Jessimond’s help with their other five, all rambunctious boys who adored Jessimond. The other two summers she’d been away from Kinwick, first visiting Edward and Rosalyne at Shallowheart and then Nan and Tristan at Leventhorpe.

  That meant no one in the troupe had seen her for a while and hopefully, she wouldn’t be recognized. She didn’t know how much she’d changed in the four years since she’d seen the mummers, much less how much turnover had occurred within the troupe itself.

  “I’m Marcus de Harte,” her companion said. “What’s your name?”

  “Jess. Jess Vernon.”

  She’d decided Jessimond sounded too formal for a group such as this. A peddler by the name of Vernon used to call at Kinwick over the years until he passed a year ago. She liked his friendly face and his name and had decided to take it as her own for this summer of adventure.

  “So, Jess Vernon, do you plan on attending our faire?”

  She thought his gaze far too bold and curtly replied, “Mayhap.”

  “I would love to show you around the stalls.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Why, I’d even buy you a sweet or two. What say you?”

  This man was far too inquisitive—and far too attractive. Already, she felt her pulse quickening as he studied her with sideways glances while they walked. She needed to concentrate on what she would say to the Vawdrys and not worry about a flirtatious mummer.

  When she didn’t answer, his fingers grasped her upper arm and brought her to a halt. For the first time, Jessimond looked into his eyes, which she’d avoided.

  For good reason.

  They were a piercing blue in color—and seemed to see right through her. She swallowed and tugged hard, forcing him to release her arm. Even though his fingers were now absent, she still felt them searing her skin.

  Moving quickly away, she saw a thatch of wild red hair and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I see Elias now,” she said curtly. “You needn’t accompany me further.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “But I do,” Jessimond said, her eyes narrowing. “Thank you for escorting me to his tent. Good day.”

  She turned and kept an even pace though, for some odd reason, she wished to run away. She wouldn’t give this handsome stranger the satisfaction of knowing he’d flustered her. As Jessimond widened the distance between them, she sensed Marcus de Harte’s eyes drilling into her spine.

  Elias entered the tent. Jessimond saw the flap was opened and followed him inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the glare of the summer sun to the dim interior.

  “Elias Vawdry?” she asked.

  The tall, redheaded man turned, a puzzled look on his face. She also caught sight of his brother, Moss, who studied her a moment and then smiled.

  “Lady Jessimond, I’ll wager, though I wouldn’t have guessed by your clothes,” Moss said. “We haven’t seen the likes of you in a few years. My, you have certainly grown up.”

  “I have been visiting various family members during your recent stops,” she explained. “I’m sorry I missed the faires. ’Tis something I always looked forward to.”

  “We always enjoy coming to Kinwick,” Elias said. “Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn are most generous to us and local support of our shows is strong.”

  “Mother and Father would like to have you come to their solar and dine now,” she told them.

  Elias said, “Why, we’d be delighted.”

  “Before we go, I have something to ask of you,” she said.

  Immediately, both men’s faces shone with curiosity.

  “Go ahead, my lady,” Moss encouraged.

  “I have a favor to ask. Nay, more than a favor. I have a proposition for you.” She paused and then plunged ahead. “I would like to travel with your troupe the remainder of the season. Work for you as a member of your company.”

  Elias frowned. “Doing what?”

  Quickly, Jessimond explained how she was skilled with a needle and could not only repair costumes that needed it, but whip up new ones.

  “We haven’t had a seamstress since last year,” Moss pointed out to his brother. “We’ve been having to make do and patch when we can.” He looked at her. “But why, my lady?”

  “I want to see something of the world. In a different way than others do. Besides my needle, I know much about the healing arts and can minister to anyone who falls sick. I also am a fair shot with a bow and arrow and a crossbow and could run a booth where others demonstrate their skills. I promise that I could be a valuable member of your troupe.

  “But I would ask one thing in return,” she continued. “I don’t want to be known as Lady Jessimond de Montfort. I will be plain Jess Vernon, one of your workers. Would you agree to hire me—and keep my secret?”

  Moss scratched his chin in thought. After pondering it a few moments, he looked to his brother. “I don’t see why not. Do you, Elias?”

  The large man shrugged. “I can be happy with that arrangement. But are you sure, my lady?”

  Jessimond frowned at him.

  “Are you sure, Jess?” he corrected and gave her a sheepish grin.

  “I am. I’ve always traveled well on the road and can cook a bit. I work hard and will do whatever you ask of me.”

  “Is this why Lord Geoffrey wishes to see us?”

  She nodded. “He will probably scare you to death and demand that you keep me safe.”

  “Of course, you’ll be safe,” Moss proclaimed. “We take ca
re of all our troupe members. We are a family.” He gave her a smile. “I hope you will come to look upon us that way, Jess.”

  “Excellent. Can you accompany me to the keep now?”

  “Lead the way,” both brothers responded in unison.

  They crossed the field. Already, several booths were taking shape, with wares being displayed. Elias, the more outgoing of the two, pointed out workers by name to her, while Moss merely waved a greeting to all. Reaching the end of the line of wagons, Elias noted the two men Jessimond had already encountered.

  As they passed them and turned toward the gates, Elias said, “Those are our newest additions. Marcus de Harte and Rand Trammel. They joined with us almost two months ago.”

  “Are they mummers?”

  “Sometimes. They’re very strong and load and unload most of our wagons and set up the backdrops. Marcus has acted some, with a few lines here and there. Rand has only stood in the background of a few scenes. But they also know how to fight as well as knights do.”

  “How do you know this?” Jessimond asked.

  “’Tis part of our shows this season,” Moss said. “They duel with their swords before some of the plays or sometimes in a separate area. They also do a bit of jousting.”

  “Jousting!” she exclaimed. “That can be very dangerous.”

  “The crowds love them,” Elias confirmed. “Especially the women.”

  Jessimond could understand that, especially having seen both men up close. In fact, she thought the two men were knights. Probably knights-errant, attached to no liege lord. Ones who traveled about, seeking adventure and ways to show off their prowess with weapons.

  That didn’t sit well with her. All three of her brothers had fostered for years, first becoming pages and then squires before they took their sacred oaths of knighthood. The knights at Kinwick were all loyal to the de Montforts, as well as the king. Jessimond didn’t think she could trust men who refused to commit and swear allegiance to a single liege lord. It didn’t speak well for their characters.