Word of Honor (Knights of Honor Series Book 1)

by Alexa Aston

“I know the colors, my lord. You have been a visitor here before. But the king is being entertained.”

  “I have a great need to see the king.”

  “Let him in,” a voice called.

  The gatekeeper said, “Aye, Sir Alard.” He motioned to a man hidden from view and the gates began to widen.

  Merryn allowed Destiny to follow Mystery into Southwick. Sir Alard greeted them.

  “I am surprised to see you again so soon, my lord, my lady,” the knight said to them.

  “We have business with the king that cannot wait,” Geoffrey told him.

  “His majesty is supping now in the great hall. I assume ’tis a private matter you wish to discuss with him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then if you and Lady Merryn will come with me, I will escort you to the solar and send word to the king that you await his presence.”

  “May my brother and cousin accompany us?” Merryn asked.

  The knight nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

  The party of four followed the knight all the way to the keep. They left their horses and hurried up the stairs to enter the castle. Sir Alard found a serving wench and ordered her to escort them to the solar while he went to deliver their message in person.

  “Be patient,” the knight advised before he departed. “The king is not in the best frame of mind today.”

  Merryn’s stomach twisted. She had witnessed the swing of the pendulum regarding Edward’s shifting temperament. She hoped he would be happy to learn they were here, but she knew to anticipate the worst.

  They followed the serving maid upstairs. She seated them and offered them wine. Everyone abstained. Merryn knew the men wanted to keep their wits about them.

  The door slammed back against the wall, startling her. She watched the king of England enter, a sour look upon his face.

  Following closely on his heels was Sir Symond Benedict.

  Chapter 35

  Geoffrey rose and restrained himself from going for Symond Benedict’s throat. He rooted himself to the spot where he stood, his hands clenched in fists by his side. Merryn came to her feet and slipped a hand through the crook of his arm. Her touch calmed him.

  But his ire rose at the smirk on Benedict’s face.

  Four more royal guardsmen entered the room behind Benedict and fanned out. Edward glanced at the group gathered in the solar and threw himself into an empty chair. The king looked older than he had at Kinwick. Apparently, the visit at Southwark had not gone well.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, his foot tapping impatiently.

  “Sire, I have a grievous issue to speak to you about.” Geoffrey indicated the knights crowded into the solar. “It’s a private matter that you will wish to hear alone.”

  “So be it,” the king muttered grumpily. He waved a hand in front of him. “Away. To the hall.”

  The knights lost their defensive stance and filed out of the chamber.

  “You may want this one to remain.” Geoffrey pointed at Benedict, the last guardsmen in line.

  Edward frowned. “The man guards me. He’s neither adviser nor confessor. He may take his leave.”

  Benedict hesitated, hatred smoldering in his eyes as he looked at Geoffrey.

  “Your majesty, the matter concerns this knight and his unseemly behavior,” Geoffrey replied smoothly.

  The king studied the red-bearded guardsman a moment, interest sparking in his eyes. “So be it. Close the door and return to my side,” he commanded.

  Benedict did as his liege instructed. He pushed the heavy wooden door shut and came to stand next to Edward’s chair.

  Merryn’s hand tightened on Geoffrey’s arm. He gave her a reassuring glance and broke away from her, moving closer to the king.

  “To understand the significance of the matter, Sire, I must tell you a story. One which you asked of me, but I was not at liberty to speak of until now.”

  The king’s churlish mood instantly vanished. A ghost of a smile appeared upon his lips. He sat forward, eager to hear what Geoffrey had refused to discuss previously.

  “Go on.”

  “Before I continue, Sire, I must ask that what is said not leave this room. The one responsible is gone and no good would come of punishing the children for the sins of the father.”

  The king considered his words and then nodded sagely. “I will grant your request, Lord Geoffrey, because you have aroused my curiosity.” He looked up at Benedict. “Never speak of what you hear.”

  Geoffrey went in for the kill. “Oh, but this knight already knows what I want to share with you, Sire.”

  Edward whipped his head around. Confusion wrinkled his brow. “He knows? And yet you have not shared with me?” The king’s face grew red.

  “My story starts back in France,” Geoffrey began smoothly, ignoring the monarch’s rising anger.

  Briefly, he reminded the king of his role in bringing a traitor to justice before revealing the conversation he’d had with Lord Berold after Barrett’s execution for treason. Geoffrey explained how the nobleman told him he would one day make him suffer in a similar manner.

  Geoffrey recounted being pinned to a tree by an arrow and how his bride of less than a day went for help. Then he revealed how Berold’s men seized him and brought him to Winterbourne and how the earl murdered those two soldiers and left their bodies to rot.

  Finally, he shared the living nightmare of being the earl’s captive for over six and a half years.

  Edward slammed a fist upon the table next to him. “To think this occurred in my kingdom! Without my knowledge or consent.” His eyes narrowed as his voice became a low growl. “If Winterbourne were still alive, he’d be flayed and the hot bowels torn from his body and spilled to the ground. I’d remove his head and mount it upon a pike. It would remain atop the wall of the Tower and rot for twenty years.”

  The king sprang from his chair and began pacing the solar. Both Raynor and Hugh stepped back, allowing the path to be open. Edward marched back and forth for some minutes, mumbling to himself.

  Then he halted in front of Geoffrey. “And you do not wish vengeance upon the House of Winterbourne?”

  “Nay, Sire. Young Hardwin brought me food and visited me many times over the years without his father’s knowledge. Once Lord Berold died, Hardwin freed me.”

  Understanding flashed in Edward’s eyes. “But the cost of freedom was your sworn oath of silence regarding what his father did.”

  Geoffrey nodded, not trusting his voice. It had already been hard to describe the unspeakable things that had occurred, in front of family he loved and the king that he served.

  The monarch placed a hand upon Geoffrey’s shoulder. “You are a better man than most, Geoffrey de Montfort. I do not know many who would have suffered in silence as you have, nor one who had the fortitude to hold true to his word.” The king paused, and Geoffrey saw him trying to put the pieces together.

  “But you say my guardsman knows of this? How—”

  Merryn stepped forward. “The new earl confessed everything to me when I cared for his injuries from the joust, Sire. Sir Symond was in the room, guarding the earl as you had ordered.” Her mouth hardened. “But he stood in the shadows. I doubt Hardie realized he was there. I know I did not.”

  The king looked puzzled. “How does this concern me?”

  Geoffrey took Merryn’s hand. As their fingers laced together, he sensed the love and strength pour from her into him, giving him the courage to continue.

  “I came to the solar immediately after Hardie’s confession, Sire. Merryn and I talked of the unfortunate circumstances.” He tossed his head at Benedict. “He would have heard our entire conversation.”

  Edward waved a hand dismissively. “So my royal guardsman is an eavesdropper. Has he spread the news of your tale around? Is this his unspeakable behavior? Gossip?” He looked at Benedict, who remained stoically silent.

  “Nay, Sire,” Geoffrey continued. “He did much worse. Symond Benedict waylaid me and
knocked me unconscious. I awoke—in my own dungeon.”

  The king jumped in reaction to his words. He stumbled to a nearby chair and fell into it, his jaw slack.

  “You had promised Merryn in marriage to this knight, thinking I was dead,” Geoffrey continued. “My return ruined those plans. But Symond Benedict decided he wanted Kinwick—and my wife. He would do anything to obtain the two things he most desired.”

  Geoffrey looked from Symond to the king. “Symond Benedict imprisoned me in my own home and left me to die. Benedict knew if you’d once granted him the right to Kinwick, you would do so again. He assured me he would soon be Merryn’s husband.”

  Silence hung in the room.

  And then Symond Benedict burst out in laughter.

  “You’ve spun a preposterous tale, de Montfort. I have no idea why you hold me in such utter contempt, other than I was to be husband to your lady and run your estates by the king’s command.” Benedict stroked his bushy, red beard. “But to think I would do such a beastly thing and cause Merryn so much suffering? ’Tis impossible.”

  Before Geoffrey could react to the monstrous liar, Merryn darted forward and slapped Symond Benedict. He spun half-around at the angry blow. He turned, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. And smiled.

  Geoffrey caught his wife in his arms and drew her away. She struggled, wanting to attack the dishonorable knight again.

  “Stop,” he whispered in her ear.

  She stilled in his arms. He released her and looked to the king.

  Edward sat, shaking his head. “I know not what to do,” he admitted. He looked at Benedict. “This man has been nothing but loyal to me and has served me well over the years. I have never caught him in a lie nor seen any disreputable behavior on his part. But what you say troubles me. Especially since I have no proof of these atrocities.”

  The king rubbed his chin, frowning as he concentrated.

  “Do you think Geoffrey locked himself in a dungeon cell?” Merryn demanded. “I found him after my son told me he’d seen his father with Symond Benedict. If Ancel had not witnessed this man dragging my unconscious husband along, I might never have gone the way Ancel suggested. I discovered Geoffrey in the dungeon, not a light in sight and no keys anywhere. He would have starved to death, Sire! It took our men several hours to cut through the iron bars to free him.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “You need to punish this man to the full extent of the law.”

  Geoffrey reeled her back in. She began shaking in his arms. He didn’t know if it was from her rage or fear from the way she had addressed the king.

  Edward closed his eyes for some minutes. No one uttered a word. Finally, he opened them and rose to his feet.

  “The only way to solve this is through a challenge. We must hold a trial by battle between the men.”

  “No!” Merryn cried. “You know Geoffrey is a man of honor. Bound by his word as a knight. He would never lie to you. Never! Your own son trusts him beyond measure. I told my son—my son—that both his king and prince held his father’s word in high esteem.”

  She fell to her knees. “Please, your majesty. Do not act in this manner. Hold Symond Benedict responsible for the crimes he has committed.”

  Geoffrey knew of the king’s fondness for Merryn, but he saw that his wife had pushed the man too far. Edward’s jaw tightened as he rose to his feet.

  “’Tis my decision to make, Lady Merryn,” he snapped. “Not yours. I command we conduct a wager of battle at noon tomorrow.”

  A chill ran through Geoffrey. Things had come full circle.

  Chapter 36

  Geoffrey stood in the hot June sun, sweat gathering under his mail coif and hauberk. The king had allowed both combatants to wear heavier protective gear, unlike the time Geoffrey had bested Barrett in France in a simple padded jerkin.

  It surprised him when Edward announced that each man could have the use of two different weapons in today’s duel. When Geoffrey had faced Berold’s oldest son, both men fought with only a pole in hand.

  Approaching the field, Geoffrey noticed Benedict’s second held an arming sword, for thrusting and cutting, as well as a baselard for the knight to use. Geoffrey had almost chosen the short dagger himself. Instead, he’d decided to strap a graffe, a smaller dagger, to his lower right calf. His chief weapon of choice would be the bastard sword that Gilbert now held for him. Its weight took two hands to control, but Geoffrey believed the weapon would be more effective in the long run.

  As before, a battlefield of sixty square feet had been marked off outside the gates of Southwark. Members of the king’s royal guard stood at each corner. The large crowd of onlookers included courtiers in the king’s royal progress, occupants at Southwark, and the two hundred soldiers that had accompanied Geoffrey.

  And Merryn.

  He glanced at his wife, taking pride in her height and graceful posture as much as the chestnut hair that lit up like fire in the bright sunlight. She had grown wise in the years that great responsibility had been thrust upon her. His countess had earned the love of the tenants at Kinwick—and his. By God, she had all of his love.

  As they lay awake most of the night, Geoffrey had enfolded Merryn in his arms, drawing strength from her presence. Losing to Benedict would be unthinkable. If he did, it meant the royal guardsman would take his place as lord of Kinwick. Geoffrey couldn’t stomach the thought of that monster in charge of his people, much less taking Merryn to bed.

  Remembering the knight’s threat of harming Ancel brought fresh waves of anger. Geoffrey realized he must harness it and not let his emotions cause him to become careless during the contest.

  Merryn had argued that the king should have put Benedict through an ordeal by fire or water, but Geoffrey told her that process was most often used for commoners. In truth, Edward could have called for a trial by jury if he did not want to punish Benedict himself or render a verdict. But it might set a bad precedent for any member of the king’s royal guard if they were accused of a crime. Geoffrey understood why Edward decided to go with a judicially sanctioned duel in front of a field of witnesses.

  The time had come. Geoffrey went and stood in front of the king. Benedict joined him.

  The king inspected each man at length. In a loud voice that carried across the field, Edward said, “We will commence a wager of battle.”

  This was a different term than the Black Prince had used when Geoffrey had engaged Barrett. When the king uttered the phrase last night, Geoffrey’s heart sank since he knew what it entailed.

  “Lord Geoffrey de Montfort, Earl of Kinwick, will battle Sir Symond Benedict, member of the king’s royal guard. The fight will be to the death.”

  The crowd gasped to hear such harsh terms spoken by their liege. Geoffrey avoided Merryn’s eyes though he felt her gaze burning into him.

  Edward continued. “If either man utters the phrase Craven, the contest will end at once.”

  Geoffrey vowed never to speak the French word, which translated as broken. If he did, it would signal he was vanquished and the fight done. Benedict would not only claim victory, but by law, Geoffrey would be deprived of his legal rights. Any man might kill him on sight.

  Without doubt, Symond Benedict would take advantage of that.

  They went through the same familiar ritual. Both declared they had nothing to do with witchcraft or sorcery. Their seconds handed them their weapons of choice. Both men marched side by side toward the center of the field.

  As they moved away from the others, Benedict told him, “Your land and your lady will be mine for the taking, de Montfort. I cannot wait to couple with Merryn and hear her scream my name in pleasure.”

  Geoffrey ignored the bastard’s bold words. He focused on one thing alone.

  Killing Symond Benedict.

  They came to a halt at the middle of the field and turned. Each took ten steps away and then faced one another as they had been instructed. Geoffrey glanced down to make certain his graffe was in place as he
gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands. Benedict held his sword in his right and the dagger in his left. Hate poured from his eyes.

  “Let the contest begin!” the king’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence which blanketed the area.

  Geoffrey had the advantage of height. He was several inches taller than Benedict. His arms would reach longer and his sword could move more closely to the red-bearded knight. Yet he knew being taller and more broad-shouldered could be a disadvantage because there was more of him to attack. He had speed on his side, for he had always been quick with a sword and his feet. His biggest advantage was the burning need to protect his loved ones.

  The summer day’s peace shattered as their swords clanged against one another. Geoffrey paced himself, knowing they might war against each other for hours. The chances of him tiring first were greater because of the weight of his weapon. He still believed the bastard sword would prove more deadly in the end.

  They dipped and thrust at one another. Geoffrey sliced Benedict’s lower thigh twice in a row. He took pleasure in the loud grunt that came from the man as blood spurted from the wounds. Twisting, he made contact a third time with a deep slash against Benedict’s other thigh.

  In a weakened state, the other knight seemed unsteady on his feet. Geoffrey took full advantage, managing a deep gash on his enemy’s upper left arm. Shock radiated from the royal guardsman. He growled like an animal and charged at Geoffrey. Though Geoffrey spun away, he suffered a gash on his left forearm.

  After that lone injury, Benedict didn’t come close.

  Geoffrey continued to slash and nick his opponent at every opportunity. The summer heat burned through him and his hands began to drip with sweat. He feared losing his grip on the sword’s hilt. Sweat also poured from under the mail coif into his eyes, burning them. He backed away from his opponent and wiped it away with a brush of his arm. Still, it continued to stream from his head, disrupting his concentration.

  With a quick parry, he whipped to his left and as he took a few steps away from Benedict. Geoffrey used his left hand to tear the mail coif from his head and toss it aside. The crowd gasped. True, his head would be more vulnerable now, but the slight breeze of the day cooled him and helped him to regroup.