Now hatred shone from his enemy’s eyes as Barrett came to stand next to him. They both faced with their backs to the field, awaiting the arrival of their judge.
Prince Edward appeared with several of his close commanders surrounding him. He came within a few feet of the pair.
“Do you swear you shall not invoke the aid of demons or evil spirits?” he asked.
“Aye,” they replied.
“Do you understand that your pole shall be your only weapon beyond your physical body, and that no other weapons shall be allowed?”
“Aye.”
“Since my father fights now in Scotland, you will engage in combat before me, Edward of Woodstock, called the Black Prince, eldest son of King Edward III and Philippa of Hainault. I shall be your judge and render my verdict as to which of you proves to be the victor.”
They bowed deeply. Oxford signaled for them to rise and indicated they put their iron caps in place.
The prince seated himself on a raised stand. The accused and accuser strode to the center of the field hand in hand, as required by the rules of trial by battle.
“You will die this day,” Barrett hissed as they marched forward. “I shall not down you and quit. I shall slam you into the ground and place my boot on your throat as I drive the tip of my steel shaft through your eye. You’ll never see England again—nor that pretty little wench which you are betrothed to. In fact, I think I shall take her as my bride. I’d enjoy dipping my wick into her folds.”
Geoffrey kept his temper in check. He knew Barrett tried to rile him.
“You’ll end this day marked a traitor for all time,” he replied evenly.
They reached the middle of the field and separated, moving in opposite directions several paces before they turned and faced one another. They looked to Edward.
The Black Prince shouted, “As judge of this trial by battle, I declare you may begin.”
Geoffrey gripped his pole with both hands and charged. Barrett did the same. He’d participated in stick fighting as a means of training from the time he served as a page in Sir Lovel’s household. Hours upon hours had been devoted to this type of combat. He was comfortable using the weapon—and steadfast in his belief that right would prevail. He had truth on his side. His word had always been of highest value to him. His skills would prove Barrett guilty of treason against England.
Their poles clashed. The fight was on.
He had a couple of inches on his opponent, but Barrett had more years of experience in battle. The two men appeared well matched. Geoffrey knew their encounter might drag on for hours.
Time and again, he fended off blows from his adversary. Then the tables would turn, and he would be the aggressor against his foe. Both landed jabs against the padded jerkins, but no blows knocked either man off his feet.
Several hours passed. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them. No cheers came from the crowd. Only silence as the men watched the lengthy duel continue. Barrett was the first to move away from strictly using the poles. As they struggled, their sticks locked against each other, their bodies close enough to smell the stench of one another’s sweat. His rival drew back his foot and kicked Geoffrey hard in the knee.
He fell back to the ground but kept his pole in hand. As Barrett raised his stick over his head and heaved it down, Geoffrey rolled to his side. His enemy yanked his stick from where it stuck in the ground just as Geoffrey jumped to his feet and thrust the pole into Barrett’s side.
Losing his balance, the older knight fell to the dirt and dropped his pole. He scrambled toward it but did not reach it in time. Geoffrey used his pole to knock his foe away. Barrett landed on his back.
He rested the tip of the steel above the traitor’s heart and paused. Despite Barrett’s earlier threat, trial by battle was not intended to end in death.
Geoffrey looked to the prince, hoping he would render his verdict and declare him the winner. Then Barrett could make his statement as loser and accept his rightful punishment. He already knew from Oxford that the French whore had admitted in the wee hours to being a spy. She provided testimony that Barrett had accepted payment for willingly providing the map that showed English and Gascon troop movements, especially the tactics that would be employed once the Duke of Lancaster’s forces arrived and joined with those of the Black Prince as the combined force marched upon King Jean.
As his eyes met Edward’s, the prince gave an approving nod. Geoffrey started to step away when pain shot up his leg. He looked down to see a baselard embedded in his calf. Barrett yanked the knife out. Before he could inflict another stab wound, Geoffrey brought the steel tip to the other man’s unguarded throat.
“Do it,” Barrett hissed. “Kill me now.”
“I’d rather see you executed as the traitor you are.”
Suddenly, the king’s guard surrounded them. One yanked the dagger from Barrett’s hand. Another gently pushed Geoffrey and his pole aside. Two more dragged Barrett to his feet, screaming and cursing as they removed him from the field.
Geoffrey saw the Black Prince motion to him. He limped over, concerned about the blood pooling in his shoe.
“You fought bravely and fairly,” the prince praised him. “Unlike your opponent. I thank you for rooting out this traitor, Geoffrey of Kinwick. You have helped keep our enemies in the dark. I shall not forget your courage, nor your conviction. You are an honorable knight.”
The prince called over a man in dark robes and whispered a few words to him. He moved to Geoffrey.
“Come with me, good sir. I am Ellis, healer to the king. I shall look at your leg and stitch the wound closed. You’ll need a poultice on it. We can’t afford to lose good soldiers like you to those who cheat and betray our cause.”
He went willingly with Ellis. He wanted the injury cared for quickly since he did not want to miss what happened to Barrett. The healer understood his rush and handled the wound with little fuss, attaching the poultice to his leg once he’d cleaned and closed the wound.
“Stay off it as much as you can. Do you have a horse?”
“Aye.”
“Then I won’t worry about you marching on it.” Ellis gripped his shoulder. “You were brave to come forward. Treason is not a charge to bring lightly, but I see you are a man who will always seek the truth.”
“I thank you, Ellis.”
Geoffrey made his way through the camp and found it abuzz. The Duke of Lancaster had arrived while the healer had taken care of his injury. Additional troops flooded the area.
It hit him that Barrett’s father, Lord Berold, fought with the Duke. That meant the earl had arrived in time to witness his son’s execution.
He made his way through the crowd gathered. Many recognized him and gave his back a pat or tossed him a word of encouragement as he pushed forward through the throng. Geoffrey arrived near the front and saw Barrett being led up a hastily built platform. His body trembled in fear.
He felt no sorrow for the man. Barrett had betrayed king and country and would suffer a just punishment.
A hush fell as the Black Prince called out, “Barrett of Winterbourne. How do you plead to the charge of treason?”
No words came.
The prince repeated his question. Geoffrey saw his annoyance at Barrett’s cowardice. Edward waited a moment and then called out his question a third time.
“I will never admit to guilt. Never!” Barrett spit into the dirt, defiance radiating from his features.
Edward did not hide his disgust. “By royal decree, I find you guilty as charged. I sentence you to beheading, as a traitor to both crown and country.” He glanced to the knights that supported Barrett. They marched their prisoner across the platform and forced him to his knees.
In the end, the traitor did not go willing. The guards had to hold him down as he struggled. The executioner’s ax landed its blow once. Barrett screamed in agony. A second blow silenced him. His head rolled from his body, caught in a basket by a soldier standing guard at the base of th
e platform.
The crowd dispersed without talk. As it melted away, Geoffrey sensed eyes upon him. He turned and found Lord Berold staring at him. The nobleman came toward him, hatred burning in his dark eyes.
“You. You killed my boy.”
Geoffrey remained firmly in place, his eyes locked on Berold’s. “Your son proved to be a traitor, my lord. Death was the only acceptable punishment.”
The earl stood silently for a long moment. Geoffrey knew no words from him could comfort this grieving father. He turned to go.
Strong fingers latched onto his arm and forced him back.
“I shall be sure you suffer a punishment harsher than death, Geoffrey de Montfort. Mark my words. I will bring you to your knees. You will beg for death. And I shall not grant your wish.”
CHAPTER 3
ENGLAND—November, 1356
Merryn decided to ride to Kinwick and check on Lady Elia. She’d heard her deep chest cough when she visited a few days earlier. It worried her. Elia insisted she would get over it, but Merryn decided to take some cress to her. She’d crushed the small plant and would steep it in hot water. Elia could drink it twice a day over the next sennight. The spicy brew would break up any congestion still left.
She’d promised Geoffrey that she would watch over his parents during his absence. Five long years had passed since their betrothal. She’d been but a child of ten and three. Now she was a woman who longed for her man to return from his service in the wars against France.
The news reaching them led her to believe that her prayers would soon be answered. Each day she asked the Blessed Lord to keep Geoffrey safe from harm and return him to her so they could be wed and live as husband and wife.
She missed him. He’d been her friend and confident for as long as she remembered. When their fathers decided to unite them as a couple, happiness filled her.
If it weren’t for the dreaded fighting with France.
Merryn wondered why men fought in the first place. She didn’t see the point of battle. Blood spilled for land across the sea? Why couldn’t the king be happy with what he had? England was a grand, beautiful place. Edward should be thankful for his blessings.
She knew to keep such thoughts to herself, though. As a woman, she wasn’t expected to have an opinion—especially regarding politics. But she had a questioning nature and was interested in the world around her. And with her father and mother dead and buried, she managed Wellbury as well as any man, despite her youth.
At least the Black Prince, only a score and six but a master at the game of war, had led their troops to a huge victory at Poitiers. Rumor had it that he’d captured many prisoners, including the king of France himself. Surely, that would mean a break in the war, as France would need time to raise the ransom asked for their king’s return.
Merryn longed not only to see Geoffrey but her brother Hugh, who fought with King Edward in Scotland. She hoped he would return happy and whole and choose a bride. Wellbury needed children running through its halls. Hugh would make a fine father and husband, and she could leave the care of their ancestral home in his capable hands and move to Kinwick upon her marriage.
She mounted the saddled horse and thanked the stable boy. He gave her a cheeky grin and wished her a good day.
The early November day proved overcast and damp. Merryn was happy she’d chosen to ride and not walk since it looked like rain might occur. She galloped across the meadow, taking her favorite shortcut. She spent many hours in the meadow and surrounding forest, gathering herbs and flowers. Before she passed on, their healer Sephare had taught her all she knew about herbs and which ones could be used for various ailments. Merryn took the lessons to heart. Her reputation as a knowledgeable healer grew every year.
She drew close to Kinwick and stopped to take in the castle and its beauty. One day she would serve as its mistress. Pride swelled within her. Though Wellbury was a wonderful estate in its own right, Kinwick Castle and its surrounding lands had some of the best farmland in the south. Merryn smiled, happy to be a part of Kinwick, even if in name only.
Betrothal was such a curious custom. She legally belonged to Geoffrey and his family, but she wasn’t his lady. Many girls who became betrothed moved from their own family homes to live in the house they would marry into. Her father and Lord Ferand had decided against that action. With her mother dying in childbirth only three years after Merryn’s own birth, the men thought it best for her to remain at Wellbury and use her woman’s touch to help maintain the estate. Geoffrey’s mother could see to the running of Kinwick until her son returned and they married.
As she started to nudge Destiny on, she heard hoof beats approaching in the distance. A rider topped the hill and stopped. She watched as his head turned to drink in the view.
Geoffrey!
Her heart sang as she kicked her heels. Destiny took off like the wind, bringing her closer to her beloved.
“Merryn!”
She heard his call and watched him gallop toward her. Her heart beat fast. Would he be the same? Would he still care for her? She’d loved him since she was a child. She knew that love had been returned before he left. The one, chaste kiss they’d shared had been her sweetest memory these past five years.
They reached one another. He leapt from his saddle as she dropped her reins. Before she could dismount, he grabbed her waist and pulled her from her horse.
His mouth crashed down on hers. In hunger. In longing. In need. Merryn gave up to his kisses willingly. She wrapped her arms about his neck. He parted her lips and plunged in, his tongue mating with hers, his mouth dominating her, his arms tightening about her.
She felt her knees weakening as he left her breathless. Suddenly, he swept her off her feet. His mouth never left hers as he twirled round and round. She grew dizzy.
So must he, for he slowed and set her back on her feet. He broke the kiss and gazed at her so lovingly, she knew nothing had changed.
Except it had.
Her entire body now vibrated, humming with tension. His kisses had awakened a sleeping giant within her. She’d watched animals mating in the woods. She was ready to do the same. Desire for him flooded her.
“I thought you’d never come home,” she said breathlessly.
“I thought I’d never be home.” He laughed. “But here I am.” He pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against his broad chest. They seemed so sensitive beneath her smock and kirtle.
They stayed in an embrace some minutes, happy in their very nearness. Finally, Geoffrey pulled away.
“I am home for good, my love. You should have seen the action at Poitiers. Our archers fired arrows every five seconds in a dizzying shower.” His eyes lit with excitement. “Though the French armor proved invincible, with arrows sliding off or shattering, their horses’ armor was another story.”
She stiffened. “They shot the horses?”
He gave her an odd glance. “Yes, in the flanks. We stopped their cavalry charge that way. A falling horse destroys the cohesion of enemy lines. It devastated their troops. They never penetrated the protective hedge we used to our advantage.”
It saddened her that so many animals had been slaughtered as well as men in order to win such a great victory. She knew at that moment she would never understand war.
“Our infantry moved in. I won’t lie to you, Merryn. Combat proved fierce. But at the right moment, the Black Prince brought out his mobile reserve hidden deep within nearby woods. They circled around and attacked the French bastards in their flank and rear. The dauphin and two of King Jean’s sons fled, while the king and his son Philip remained and fought.”
“We have heard that King Jean was captured. That he will be held for ransom in London.”
“Aye, indeed.” He kissed her hard. “’Tis why I’m here. For now, our war is over.”
Giddiness filled her. “And we can now marry?” Merryn asked.
He grinned. “As soon as possible, my love.”
Geoffrey captured her mout
h with his again.
CHAPTER 4
Merryn tried to tamp down her excitement and then decided it unnecessary. ‘Twas her wedding day, so she should be allowed to appear joyful. She went to a new life with the husband her father had chosen for her. A small shadow of grief passed through her, knowing he would not be present today to witness the joyful occasion. But he lived in Heaven with her mother, and now Lord Ferand and Lady Elia would become parents to her.
Geoffrey’s father always seemed a bit gruff toward her, but Lady Elia had mothered her from the time she was small. She looked forward to living in their household.
But most of all, she couldn’t wait to start her life with Geoffrey. She’d waited five long years for him to come home from France. He’d arrived more man than the boy she remembered. Taller. More handsome than before. Now a full score and one to her ten and eight years. His dark hair, still thick, curled at the nape of his neck. Oh, she would love playing with that tonight. Running her fingers through it. Touching his hard-muscled body.
She understood love play. Sephare had taught her not only about the use of herbs as medicines but also what passed between a man and woman. Merryn wasn’t sure if she quite understood how everything worked, but her heart would show her the way. She only knew Geoffrey’s kisses enflamed her with need.
Tonight that need would be met.
A knock sounded at her chamber door. Tilda entered. In her arms she carried the blue dress Merryn would don for the ceremony.
“Let’s get this on ye, girl. Blue be for purity, ye know.”
She did. It matched the blue garter she wore on her leg, another symbol of bridal purity. She’d shown it to Geoffrey, who’d teased that her sapphire blue eyes would turn green once they’d wed—since green was the color of love.
Merryn blushed at that thought. She had daydreamed of him often while he fought the king’s wars in France, lingering on that beautiful kiss before they parted. Yet upon his return, the kisses he’d smothered her with were nothing like that first one. They told her how much he desired her. In the two weeks since his return, they’d shared many of those kinds of kisses.
Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) Page 2