But no matter how he tried, the boy would not consider defying his father to the point of freeing Geoffrey. He’d hinted at it before blatantly coming out and demanding to be released.
He realized that Berold had a stranglehold on his only surviving son. Hardi seemed paralyzed with fear when it came to his father. No matter how much Geoffrey tried, he’d never been able to talk the earl’s son into letting him go and suffering whatever consequences Berold would mete out in retaliation.
He looked out the bars to the spot where he knew the key hung directly across from him, tantalizing him every waking moment, though he could not see it in the inky darkness. Even if by some miracle he could break through his restraints, he still had the bars of his locked cell to get through. And even if he found a way from the dungeon, how would he slink through Winterbourne unseen?
He pushed those futile thoughts aside and went back to going over Kinwick. He walked through the castle daily, from the stores where grain and barrels of ale and wine were kept to the highest turret. He visited the stables and thought of the horses kept in their stalls. He roamed the land, visiting each tenant’s cottage in his mind, holding conversations with them, asking about their children and the needs they had.
Sometimes, he allowed Merryn to go with him. They would walk hand in hand through the castle, exploring various rooms. She would take him to where the healer had gathered different herbs and describe to him what each could do for an ailment. They would go down to the stables and feed Mystery and Destiny some treat before they went riding.
He loved having them ride together through the meadow or woods. Sometimes, he took them to visit Hugh at Wellbury. He even imagined a bride for Hugh and let them witness the wedding. He danced with Merryn in his arms, then raised a cup toasting her beauty and wit.
And on very special occasions, he would allow himself to remember what it was like to make love with his wife. He relived the night of their marriage over and over again. Touching her silken hair. Stroking the smooth curve of her hip. Entering her and bringing her to the heights of pleasure.
Geoffrey never thought of the hunting lodge.
He’d wanted it to be their special place. To have them spend a week at the small cottage. But after what had happened there, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it.
His stomach grumbled noisily. Berold had not come for some time. He couldn’t remember what feast might be celebrated above stairs.
And a part of him feared that the earl might not ever come back. That he would slowly starve to death.
But he would die with Merryn’s name on his lips.
Wait.
The faint noise he’d grown to know so well. Berold—or possibly Hardi—opened the door at the top of the stairs. Within minutes, he would either glare at the earl or enjoy a bit of conversation with the madman’s son.
The footsteps. The growing light of someone holding a torch. Then Hardi arrived. He placed the torch in an empty sconce and moved toward the cell doors.
“Here. I think you will like this.” He tossed something in. Geoffrey caught it.
Goose. He hadn’t had goose in some time. His stomach rumbled in need and approval. Without speaking, he bit into the meat. Though he wanted to devour it, he took his time and chewed slowly, relishing the taste.
Hardi watched him silently. When he’d finished, he tossed an apple and a half loaf of bread into the cell, along with several slices of cheese. It must be a feast day. He rarely ate this well.
He finished the meal. “Thank you, Hardi,” he said simply.
Hardi did not speak. That was unusual. Usually, he was quite talkative. Something must be different. Something had happened.
Finally, the words came. “I’m sorry no one came for a few days. Father . . . Father is gone. He clutched his chest and collapsed. Nothing could be done. He’s dead.”
Geoffrey froze, hearing the words he’d long to be uttered. A mix of joy and fear swept through him.
Hardi was the new earl of Winterbourne. He could choose to free him. Or would he remain a prisoner?
“I am sorry for what Father did to you, Geoffrey. He was wrong. I hope to be a better man in many ways.” He paused. “That’s why I want to do the right thing now.”
Geoffrey tamped down the hope that rose. He couldn’t take any more disappointment. He rested his chained wrists atop his bent knees.
And waited.
He saw Hardi struggled with what he wanted to say. He paced the space in front of the cell, his hands behind his back. Geoffrey let him work out whatever demons he struggled with. He tried to make his mind a blank, thinking of nothing.
And yet everything flooded through him. Images rapidly danced before his eyes. Longing swept through him, piercing his soul.
And still, he waited.
Hardi halted and locked his fingers around the iron bars of the cell. Geoffrey saw that he’d arrived at his decision.
“I cannot honor Father’s memory by keeping you confined any longer. Fortunately, he never made me swear a blood oath to him that I would continue in this duty.” His nose turned up in a sneer. “He never questioned that I would oppose him. He ordered me to keep up the practice after his death. He assumed because he spoke it, I would obey.
“It never crossed his mind that I would dare release you.”
A tiny ray of hope burst through Geoffrey. It were as if he stood in the dark and had caught the first glimpse of the sun as it broke across the horizon.
And yet his mind wouldn’t allow him to rejoice. Not until he set foot on Kinwick lands and had Merryn in his arms would he truly believe this nightmare over.
Hardi mused aloud, “I must help you clean up. I must bring you fresh clothing.”
“No.” Geoffrey stood. He moved as close to the bars as his chains would stretch. For him, ‘twas a matter of pride. His captors had taken everything from him. He would refuse to accept anything in return. Nothing Hardi could offer would make up for the lost years away from Merryn.
“I will be seen as I am.” He hesitated, knowing he must ask the next question. Dreading the answer he would receive.
“How long have I been here?”
Hardi looked stricken, as if he’d been slapped hard. He swallowed and then met Geoffrey’s eyes.
“’Tis halfway through May. The Year of Our Lord 1363.”
Geoffrey stumbled back. He fell to his knees. A low, guttural moan bellowed from deep within him. He heard the sound, as if it came from some wounded animal and not himself.
Six and a half years?
God in Heaven. He knew his captivity had stretched endlessly before him. But for so long a time?
His first thought was that Merryn would not even be present at Kinwick. She must have married again. The king would not let such a pretty widow dangle loose for so long. Knowing she had gone to another man destroyed him. Another howl escaped his lips. He screamed again and again, eviscerated by the news.
Spent, he collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.
After some minutes, he raised his head. His gaze met Hardi’s.
“Merryn?” The one word was but a hoarse whisper. He had to know.
“I saw the lady this very morning.”
The words stunned him. “This morning?” he echoed.
Hardi crouched, holding onto the bars for support. “Yes. She came to my father’s funeral mass.”
“You lie,” he growled.
“Nay, Geoffrey. ‘Twas your wife I saw. I remembered her from . . . from when you were first taken. She and others came to Winterbourne, asking about you. If anyone had seen you. Or had word about you. She was so pretty. I found myself tongue-tied around her.”
Hardi paused. “She’s more than pretty now, Geoffrey. She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have laid eyes upon. And she wore the sapphire brooch you told me about.”
“The brooch.” Just thinking of the brooch left him weak. “She wore . . . my brooch.” His voice cracked.
“I know it to be so.
When I commented on it, she told me ‘twas a wedding gift from her husband.”
She still wore the brooch.
“She . . . she still lives . . . at Kinwick?”
“Aye.”
“She has not . . . remarried?”
Hardi frowned. “I don’t believe so. I would have heard that if ‘twere so.” He rose to his feet. “You can go home to her, Geoffrey. But you must hear me out.”
He focused on the boy—no, the man—in front of him. An eerie chill swept through him. Something told him to gain his freedom, he was about to make a bargain with the Devil.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“’Tis said you were a man of your word. Even my father said as much.”
Geoffrey nodded solemnly, knowing his next words might decide if he left this prison or not.
“My word is my honor. I would never dream of breaking it. Ask what you must, Hardi. I shall give you my word, no matter what you wish.”
Hardi relaxed. “I would not have my father’s reputation sullied. He did what he thought he should to atone for Barrett’s death.”
“You mean avenge, don’t you?”
The new earl shrugged. “I ask two things of you. You will owe me these because I have it in my power to grant you your freedom.” He paused. “First, you must never tell what happened to you. I’ll not have Father’s reputation in tatters. No one must ever know what he did to you.”
Geoffrey’s gut twisted, a physical pain as if he’d been stabbed. Not tell where he’d been all these years? Still, if it granted him his release from this Purgatory, he must agree to it.
“And the other condition?” he asked.
“That you will grant a favor to me in the future. You may not know what the favor is now, but when the time comes and I call it in? You will acquiesce without question. You must swear to this, Geoffrey de Montfort. Upon your word of honor and your very life.”
He would agree to dance with the Devil Himself if he could leave—and live.
“Aye. I swear I shall never reveal where I’ve been nor why I was taken. And I swear that I shall agree to whatever request you make without question.”
“Then you shall leave Winterbourne tonight.”
CHAPTER 13
Geoffrey waited. Still in chains.
Hardi scurried away after his promise to free him, hurrying back to life above. He had not thought to remove the iron bands from his prisoner.
And so Geoffrey waited. Patiently. Trying to keep his mind a blank. Hoping against hope that Hardi did play some monstrous game with him.
The food he’d eaten sat heavily in his stomach. He leaned his head against the wall, wondering if this truly might be the final hours he spent in this hellhole.
Almost seven years . . .
He fought the urge to think about how much had changed at Kinwick. And if anything remained the same.
Most of all, he pushed aside thoughts of Merryn.
But Hardi had said she was beautiful . . .
He must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, movement came from the stairs that led to the bowels of Winterbourne. A faint light grew stronger.
And then Hardi appeared. Geoffrey noticed how jittery he seemed. Of course, he would want no one to see them—else explanations must be forthcoming. He hated that he’d given his word not to speak of what wrong had been done to him, but it was the only way he could escape from this living death.
Geoffrey watched as Hardi removed the keys from the ring that hung in plain sight. He tried several before he hit upon the right one. Slowly, he turned the lock. The lock which remained in place all these years.
Suddenly, the door swung open, squeaking on its rusty hinges. His heart raced in anticipation.
Hardi came forward. He found the correct key and freed Geoffrey’s ankles first, then his wrists. As the cuffs were tossed aside, he sensed a heavy burden lifting from him.
“’Tis the dead of night, Geoffrey. I could chance no one catching sight of us. You must keep silent as we move through the castle. I will lead you to our postern gate. A single guard is assigned to it in this time of peace.”
“What will happen to him?” Geoffrey remembered the earl’s cold-blooded murder of the two soldiers who’d kidnapped him.
“’Tis already arranged. I received a sleeping draught from our healer. I told her I’d had trouble sleeping the past few nights since Father’s death. She handed it over straight away. I made sure some went into the guard’s ale before he reported for duty tonight. We should find him fast asleep at his post.”
“And the healer? ‘Tis the same one who tended me all those years ago?” Geoffrey touched his scarred shoulder as he spoke.
“Aye. But she will never tell another you were here. Father made sure of that.” Hardi looked away as he stepped from the cell.
Geoffrey sensed the bitterness in Hardi’s tone. “What did he do?” Somehow, it was important that he know.
The new earl’s eyes met his. “Before she even tended to you that first time, he cut out her tongue.”
Horror halted his steps. He remembered how the woman had gone about her business, never speaking to him.
Now he knew the reason why.
Hardi gave him a pleading look. “I am not my father, Geoffrey. Nor would I ever be a traitor to king and country as my brother Barrett was. I have many sins of theirs for which I must atone. Tonight is but the first of many wrongs that I am trying to right.
“Follow me.”
Geoffrey fell in behind his savior. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed other worldly to him. He had to watch his balance as he moved along, even putting his hand on the wall for support as they climbed the many steps.
Hardi led him down several corridors, wall sconces flickering as they passed. They tiptoed past the Great Hall, where dozens bedded down, and left the keep. After countless turns, they arrived at a thick wooden door. The postern gate he would use to finally leave the castle. Hardi unbolted the lock and opened the door wide.
A soldier lay prone in front. His deep snores broke the silence of the dark night. Both men stepped over him and moved away, keeping to the shadows of the wall that surrounded Winterbourne.
Once they’d gone a good distance, Hardi stopped.
“This is as far as I go.” He held out his hand. “No apology will ever be enough. Nothing can ever repay the years you’ve lost. I only hope those to come will be kind to you.”
Geoffrey took the offered hand. His emotions got the best of him. He could voice no words. He gave a curt nod as he shook and then released it.
And began walking away. Back to his old life.
But could anything be as it was before?
He moved ahead without a backward glance. Sparse moonlight shone as the clouds drifted across the night sky. Geoffrey took his time, carefully watching each step. He reached the forest and continued on.
Fear gripped him without warning. He’d experienced it on the battlefield, but Sir Lovel told him all men did. It was taming that fear and forging onward that separated the courageous from those who turned coward.
Yet fear became dread with each step he took. The noises of the night caused his heart to race. Everything once familiar seemed alien now. His world had shrunk to an isolated few feet for many years. These wide spaces and nocturnal sounds now made his stomach churn.
Geoffrey tripped as an owl hooted, startling him. He pitched onto the ground and stayed, rooted to the spot, his hands digging into the dirt. He crawled a few feet to the trunk of a massive tree. He wrapped his arms about it and wept.
Free . . . but not.
He still felt as if he were trapped in that Purgatory. He feared continuing on.
Geoffrey leaned against the tree and slept.
***
Warmth flooded him. He stretched lazily and yawn. Then sat up.
Afraid.
Geoffrey looked around him. He was in a wood. Sunshine cut through the covering of trees and shone upo
n him. He brought fingers to his face and touched it. His skin felt warm to the touch. Warm after so long of being chilled, both within and without.
He looked about. Strong light let him know that daybreak had come hours ago. He squinted as the sun struck his face. It almost pained him to feel it. He wondered how long he’d slept.
At least his body felt rested. For the first time in years, sleep had been deep and uninterrupted by a scurrying rat nibbling on his fingers. He held his hands out in front of him. Years of dirt clung to his nails. His hands. His arms. Embedded so thick that he might never feel clean again.
But what turned his stomach most were the scars surrounding his wrists. The shackles had left their mark upon him. Branded him so that he would never escape the memory of them being about him. Restraining him. Keeping him from life itself as he’d fought against them each day of his captivity.
Geoffrey looked down and saw his clothes were little more than rags. His cloak might break apart at any moment. How would he seem to the people of Kinwick, their lord apparent coming through the gates looking worse than the lowest of beggars?
The least he could do was rinse the filth from him the best he could. He knew of several nearby streams where he could attempt to bathe before returning home.
Home.
The world thrilled him—yet brought a sense of dread. He feared what he would find when he returned.
He set off slowly, his balance still a bit suspect. Everything caused him to jump, though. Birds that flew from a tree branch. A squirrel that scampered along the path. Stepping on a twig that snapped.
He’d never been more unsure of himself.
Geoffrey reached a brook. He heard it before it came into view. Eagerly, he hurried to it, falling again and bruising his shins. He realized he was like a babe learning to walk. He mustn’t rush. He must take his time.
He knelt and cupped his hands, bring the cold water to his mouth. He drank deeply, scooping it up again and again. He forced himself to stop before he made himself sick.
Knowing he was alone in the forest, he slipped from his clothes and left them on the bank. As he looked down, his olive skin seemed so pale. All those years of being hidden in darkness. At least he hadn’t wasted away. He was leaner than before but not gaunt, thanks to the extra food Hardi sneaked his way and his insistence in exercising his limbs.
Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) Page 7