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

by Alexa Aston

  Jessimond started to kneel next to Hamlyn and then found herself rising. Marcus had her elbow and tugged her to her feet.

  “What are you doing? I need to stay with Hamlyn.”

  “Look at him. He’ll sleep for several hours. Come back and watch me in the play. You can check on Hamlyn after it finishes. I’m sure you’ll find him snoring the day away when you return.”

  His hand still held her elbow, causing a wild flutter inside her. She swallowed, unsure whether to stay or go, but she definitely wanted to see Marcus as a mummer. That won out.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “We’ll have to hurry,” he said. “Come on.”

  Marcus’ fingers slid down her arm and caught her hand. He took off in long strides. Jessimond had to trot to keep up with him. The entire time, she was aware of her hand enfolded in his.

  It seemed as if it were made to belong exactly where it rested.

  They pushed their way through the crowds as Bartholomew sang a stirring ballad. Marcus pulled her to the very front and moved her between two men. One gave him a challenging look. Marcus glared and the man’s eyes dropped to the ground.

  “I will see you later,” he told her. “Enjoy the play.”

  The audience applauded at the end of Bartholomew’s song. The troubadour caught her eye and motioned to her. Jessimond shook her head violently, knowing what he had in mind.

  He ignored her protests and said, “My singing companion has just arrived. I know she would love for us to share a song with you. Jess? Come up.”

  Reluctantly, she stepped forward. Bartholomew grasped her wrist and pulled her onto the platform next to him.

  “We’ll do one from the other night. Just follow my lead,” he whispered.

  “I might die before a note comes out of my mouth,” Jessimond said, frightened to her core by the large crowd gathered in front of them.

  “Then close your eyes. Let the music lead you,” Bartholomew advised.

  The troubadour began strumming his lute. Immediately, she recognized the song they would sing but she couldn’t recall any of the words. Panic squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe. Then Jessimond did as Bartholomew recommended and shut her eyes. She listened to the music and then Bartholomew’s mellow voice. The crowd receded from her mind, replaced by the song.

  When the chorus began, Jessimond joined in, harmonizing as they had around the campfire the other night. Even she could hear how well their voices blended together and she started to relax. The second verse began and the words came to her. She sang them and the chorus again. As it ended, Bartholomew nudged her. Jessimond opened her eyes.

  “We’ll do the final verse together,” he said.

  She nodded and decided to bravely leave her eyes open as she continued singing. Her gaze never fell upon one person. It simply skimmed over the crowd. All she saw was a blur of faces in the sea in front of them.

  Then the song ended. The audience roared their approval, clapping and stomping. Jessimond knew her face flamed as Bartholomew took her hand and had them bow, acknowledging the applause.

  “You were wonderful,” he said, his admiration obvious. “We should do a few songs together each performance.”

  “I’m no troubadour, Bartholomew. I’m a seamstress and healer.”

  He gave her a knowing look. “We’ll see about that.”

  Jessimond hopped down from the stage and returned to her spot in the front row. This time, the angry man made ample room for her, complimenting her on what a sweet voice she possessed. She nodded her thanks and focused on the stage, knowing Marcus would appear soon.

  He came out and the crowd’s noise began to die. Marcus caught her eye and winked at her, causing a blush to spill across her cheeks. He had changed from his tunic and pants into one of the Greek togas and a pair of sandals and looked divine. His olive skin contrasted sharply with the snowy white toga. Jessimond became fascinated with his muscular calves and thighs, longing to allow her hand to follow their curves. His bare arms appeared massive, as if he could lift felled logs with no effort. Again, she wished to run her fingers up and down them. He wore some type of crown, composed of gold-looking leaves, though his hair looked as wild and untamed as usual.

  In a word, he was perfection.

  Never had Jessimond been so physically attracted to a man. This knight looked like a god from old, stepped down from Mount Olympus. She wondered again about his odd story of bearing allegiance to a liege lord and yet here he was, a part of a mummer’s troupe. Despite that, she’d found him to be intelligent and caring toward the others in the company, always willing to lend a hand and often taking a leadership role. She wished to unravel the mystery that was Marcus de Harte.

  He began to speak, scanning the crowd, his voice carrying in rich tones across the area. His voice was like his tongue, smooth and commanding. Soon, the audience was spellbound.

  And so was she.

  As Marcus spoke, Jessimond realized that somewhere along the way, this knight had captured her heart. Now, it was up to her. Would she retrieve it from him and hide it away—or allow him to keep it? She feared if she stashed it deep within her that she would be making the gravest mistake of her life. If she let him possess it, though, she was afraid, in the end, all that would remain of it might be shattered pieces.

  His gaze met hers and he spoke to her. Only her. The ocean of people receded. Only the two of them existed. He wove a tapestry of color around her as he told her of the fight she would behold, one between Virtue and Vice. Who would be the victor?

  With a sweep of his hand, the curtain suddenly rose and Marcus faded into the background. The spell had been broken between them.

  Or had it just begun?

  Jessimond slipped from her place and circled around until she could reach behind the stage. Agatha handed a mace to Otto and nudged him toward the stage. He stepped onto it and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Worried about Otto?” Jessimond asked.

  The young woman nodded. “He knows his lines until the play begins and then he always seems to forget them. Sometimes, I whisper to him a word or two to get him back on track. He does better with a prop in his hand. Otto grips it tightly and it seems to reassure him.” She paused. “How is Hamlyn?”

  “Sleeping. I left him snoring.”

  “Good. We were all worried when he fell and began speaking gibberish but he seemed to have recovered his senses by the time you arrived. You did an excellent job stitching his injury. I doubt he’ll have much of a scar. I knew you were an excellent seamstress but I did not know you also were a healer until Moss mentioned it and sent Jopp for you.”

  “I know a little about both.”

  “Did you learn about these things at Kinwick?”

  “Aye,” Jessimond said, and decided to press Agatha some about her past. “Has Hamlyn ever mentioned his family? I heard he goes north each winter.”

  Agatha nodded. “He rarely speaks of them. I first learned of his wife and children when I overheard him talking about them to my father years ago.”

  “Your father was a member of the Vawdrys’ troupe?”

  The young woman beamed with pride. “Father was their lead actor. He possessed more talent in his thumb than King Ralph does in his entire body. I watched every performance he gave.”

  “You sound very proud of him.”

  “I am. He was not only a fine actor, but a good father and man. A loyal friend.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We lost him when I was nine. Mother and I remained with the mummers. It was the only life we’d known. Then she passed away, too.”

  “What about your sister, Reba?” Jessimond asked. “I heard she cooked for the company until she left last year.”

  Agatha’s nose wrinkled. “Reba was not truly my sister. She was Father’s daughter with his first wife. He married Mother soon after his wife passed and then they had me. Reba was jealous because Father loved Mother and me so much. He tried to explain to her that he had enough love in his
heart for all of us but Reba didn’t want to hear that. She never forgave him for dying and never accepted Mother or me as her family.”

  Jessimond asked, “Did you go to live with Reba after the troupe disbanded last year? I know she wed.”

  “I would never stay with her,” Agatha said vehemently and then laughed harshly. “Not that she would have had me. The fellow she married had a roving eye. Nay, Reba would not have wished for me to be a part of their merry little household.”

  “Where did you go, Agatha?”

  She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. “I stayed in London. I worked.”

  Jessimond placed her hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Agatha?”

  The girl bit her lip. “It was terrible, Jess. I hated it. I barely survived. I didn’t realize how cruel people could be. I left several jobs because men . . . well, they were disrespectful, that’s all I’ll say.” Agatha sniffed. “When it came time for the troupe to gather in early spring, I was more than ready to return to my family.”

  “Would you like to go to Kinwick with Peter and me once we complete our tour this autumn?”

  Hope sprang to Agatha’s eyes. “Do you think I could? ’Tis a lovely spot of England. One of my favorite places to visit each year.”

  “It is, indeed.”

  “Will you really be able to go back, Jess?”

  “Aye. The countess assured me that Peter and I will have a place there come winter. He’ll return to the smithy’s shop and I will be back inside the keep.” Jessimond simply omitted the fact that she would return as a daughter of the house. She would save that information for a later time.

  “It is a grand castle.”

  “The estate is large and has many workers. If you’ve a mind to work hard and be happy, the earl and countess would be glad to have you at Kinwick.” Jessimond paused. “I think Peter would also be most pleased if you came.”

  Agatha blushed furiously. “You think so?”

  Jessimond was happy her suspicions were true and that Agatha had feelings for Peter. “I do. He is a wonderful man. Who knows? You may find a place to work and a place with Peter.”

  “Oh, Jess! We would be true family then. We’d be sisters-in-law.” Agatha smiled through her tears.

  Suddenly, a dozen mummers descended upon them.

  “The scene is done,” Agatha said, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. “Help me, Jess.”

  Agatha began grabbing various props. Jessimond took and distributed the items to whatever actor reached for them. The chaos calmed as the actors resumed their places. She could hear Marcus transitioning the crowd with his words and then the mummers once more took to the stage.

  Agatha came to her and hugged her tightly. “You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you, Jess, for inviting me to accompany you and Peter to Kinwick.”

  “You’re going back to Kinwick? With Agatha?”

  Jessimond glanced up and saw Marcus standing beside them.

  Chapter 11

  Marcus waited for a response from Jess as she released Agatha.

  “Not now,” she informed him. “I’ve merely invited Agatha to join Peter and me once the troupe disperses for winter.”

  He wanted to sag in relief. Instead, he stood tall, keeping his emotions masked. “I see. It’s a good thing because we would miss having Agatha around. She’s the true heart of the Vawdrys’ company. If not for her organization, backstage would be in constant turmoil. I don’t see how one play could occur without Agatha managing the mummers, their costumes, and props.”

  Agatha glowed at his compliment. “Thank you, Marcus,” she said shyly and added, “You’ve done an excellent job stepping in for Gylbart today.”

  “Thank you. Only one more narration to complete and then I’m off for my exhibition with Rand.”

  Agatha turned to Jessimond. “Oh, Jess, you must go see Marcus and Rand fight. They simply terrify me. All that clanging of steel causes my knees to go weak. It looks as if they are going to kill one another.” She grinned. “But it’s ever so much fun to watch.”

  “I’ll do so another day, Agatha,” Jess said. “I need to tend to Hamlyn now.”

  “Wait until I finish my final piece,” Marcus said. “I need to go back to the tents to retrieve my sword. I’d like to check on Hamlyn when I do so.”

  She agreed and they stood in the wings until the scene played out. Marcus went before the audience for a last time. This was the most he’d been in front of crowd, saying lines. He found it came rather easily to him, as if he were born to act. He finished with a flourish and knew that he preened a bit in order to impress Jess.

  Gathering his clothes and boots, he set off with her. The crowds had died down at the stalls. Most of the faire goers attended the play now. They headed toward the tents and found the way deserted.

  “It’s kind of you to take Agatha with you when the season is over,” he began, wanting to learn more about her plans when their tour ended.

  “She’s a lovely young woman. I feel sorry that she was abandoned last year when everyone went his own way. Besides, she and Peter are sweet on one another.”

  “They are?”

  Her words didn’t surprise him. Marcus had caught the couple staring at one another repeatedly, turning away in embarrassment and then stealing furtive glances when they thought the other wasn’t aware.

  “Aye. No one has a sweeter nature than Agatha and Peter is quite protective. I think he would make her a good husband.”

  “What about you, Jess? Have you thought of taking a husband yourself? You seem older than Peter.”

  She shrugged. “The opportunity has never presented itself.”

  “I doubt that. Kinwick is a large estate and must be filled with men.”

  “It does have its fair share.”

  “I cannot believe that not one man has offered marriage to you,” Marcus pressed.

  “I didn’t say I had never received any offers,” she quickly replied, a faint smile playing about her lips.

  The thought of another man wanting to wed Jess had him seeing red.

  That’s when Marcus knew beyond a doubt that he had to have her. He couldn’t bear to think of another man touching her satin skin. He certainly didn’t see himself with any other woman. He would have to be careful and guard his heart, but he intended to make Jess Gilpin his.

  “Then you’ve refused these offers?” he asked.

  “I intend to marry for love.”

  Her simple statement drove a nail into his heart. Love was something to be avoided at all costs. Marcus didn’t want his world turned upside down by it. His mother had loved his father and look what that had gotten her. A one-sided wound that festered painfully the more he berated her and pushed her away. Already, it was difficult enough that Jess tempted him beyond measure. He would enjoy worshipping her body with his but he refused to offer her love.

  Marcus stopped and decided to end this nonsense. He needed to plant the seed in her head that what they had between them would be more than enough for a happy marriage without the notion of love being involved.

  “You do realize love is a myth,” he began. “It doesn’t exist. Oh, I know some couples are fond of each other. Some are ruled by passion. But love isn’t real, Jess. I do believe love can exist between a parent and child. I loved my mother tremendously and she returned my affection but love is something ethereal. You might think it lives and then it vanishes without warning.”

  “You actually believe what you just said.” She looked at him in astonishment. “That love—true love between a husband and wife—cannot exist. I feel sad for you, Marcus.” Sighing, she walked away.

  Marcus watched helplessly as she trod on. How was he to convince her that the passion between them would be more than enough? That he would also add respect for her, guaranteeing them a successful union. Yet, Jess said she wanted love. He’d found her inexperienced. That would help. He would show her that he cared for her. Desired her. Needed her.

  If s
he wanted to call that love, so be it.

  He raced to catch up with her and they went to Hamlyn’s tent. The mummer’s loud snores echoed as they entered. Jess placed her palm against his cheek.

  “No fever. ’Tis a good sign.”

  Marcus exited the tent and she followed.

  “Thank you for escorting me back,” she said politely. He sensed a vast gulf spreading between them.

  “Jess.”

  He placed all he carried upon the ground and grasped her upper arms. Her eyes widened as he stepped to her. “I may not believe in love but I believe in you—and me—together.”

  Marcus held back. He wanted to crush her to him. Tangle his fingers in her long tresses. Take her mouth by storm. Instead, he softly pressed his lips to hers. He realized his earlier declaration had frightened her. He didn’t want to see her spirit broken. He would lure her in gently, like a feral cat. He would build trust between them over the next few weeks and finally ask her to be his. She wasn’t ready to hear that now, having foolish, girlish dreams of love.

  But he could make her want him. Fan that flame of desire until she needed it like the very air she breathed.

  Gently, he skimmed his hands along her shoulders and up her neck until he cupped her face. He kissed her lightly. Softly. Then pressed his brow to hers.

  “I must go.”

  Releasing her felt like cutting off one of his limbs. She’d already become an essential part of him. Marcus quickly turned away, scooped up his things, and made for his tent. He shed the toga and rid himself of the uncomfortable sandals that were too small for him, replacing them with his gypon, pants, and boots. He didn’t need his armor today. He and Rand only wore it when they jousted. They’d learned their audiences liked to see their faces and bodies while they fought with swords and had even discovered the crowd enjoyed them bantering back and forth with one another. Fortunately, they knew each other well enough to coordinate their moves. So far, neither of them had suffered even the slightest nick.

  And if they did?