Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1)

by Lauren Linwood

  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, looking much in pain.

  “Do your ribs continue to ache?” she asked. “I can offer you a sleeping draught. Hobard said tonight you might finally have one.”

  “Nay.” He sighed. “What pains me is my conscience. I must unburden it to you.”

  She started, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. “I’m no confessor, my lord. If you have need of a priest, I will happily fetch Father Dannet, who married you and Johamma but a few days ago.”

  His hand snaked from under the bedcovers and latched onto her wrist. “You must hear my confession, my lady. For ‘tis you who have been wronged by my family. And I must do what I can to set matters right.”

  Not only did his strong fingers hold her too tightly, but the look in his eye caused her heart to skip a beat in fear. Merryn wondered if Hardi had somehow been taken with fever and ‘twas the delirium that spoke. But his fingers only felt warm against her skin. She reached with her free hand and placed it upon his brow. It, too, seemed only warm to the touch.

  “’Tis no fever I possess, my lady. Just a burning guilt. I beg you listen to my tale of woe. You have innocently befriended my wife and me. Stood up for us with the king. Nursed me back to good health these past few days. And I pray by the Blessed Christ that you will forgive me.

  For what was done. To your husband.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Geoffrey settled Johamma and Hobard at a trestle table in the Great Hall. He signaled for Tilda to bring them something to eat since the evening meal had come and gone and for a page to bring drink. The page poured them wine, while Tilda returned with enough to feed half a dozen men. He instructed her to prepare a tray that he could take up and privately sup with Merryn.

  Tension fell from him. Now that he’d been assured Hardi would make a full recovery, he thanked God Almighty. He didn’t know if he could carry the burden of guilt if he had been the cause of Hardi’s death.

  He watched Johamma happily eating, knowing that she almost had been as Merryn had—a bride who’d spent but a single night of wedded bliss with her bridegroom. Thank the Christ he had actually returned to his wife. A different man, yes. But he sensed his confidence growing with time.

  And it was all due to his wife’s loving hand.

  Tilda appeared at his arm with the tray. He thanked her and bid good night to Hobard and Johamma, promising to see them off on the morrow. As Geoffrey crossed the Great Hall, Alys stopped him, latching onto his leg and squeezing it tightly.

  He set the tray on a nearby table and picked the child up, swinging her high, his heart bursting with love at her squeal of delight. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with his children, treasuring simple moments such as this.

  Geoffrey brought Alys back to the ground. She kissed his cheek. He believed himself the happiest of men, with such a lovely daughter that gave him her affection so freely.

  “The king is gone, Father.”

  “Aye, he is indeed. We have had a great many guests at Kinwick. The last depart on the morrow.” He laid a hand on her thin shoulder. “Would you like us to spend time together after we break our fast?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, please, Father.”

  “What would you have us do?”

  Alys thought a moment. “You could help me ride my pony. Gilbert has been teaching us. But you could help now.”

  “That I can do.”

  “And we could pick flowers in the meadow for Mother. She loves flowers.”

  Geoffrey thought of the moment he’d first seen Merryn after escaping from the dark times. Alys had been with her in the meadow. He remembered watching the two together and when he realized Alys was her child.

  Their child.

  He cupped her tiny face in his large hands. “We shall do both, my little love. Riding then flower picking. I cannot think of a more delightful day.”

  The girl clapped her hands together in glee. “Just us, Father. No Ancel.”

  Geoffrey agreed as he reached for the tray. “I need to take this to your mother. She must be famished.” He dropped a kiss atop his daughter’s head. “Good night, my sweet.”

  He watched her skip across the Great Hall. His eyes searched for Ancel and spied him swinging his toy sword, entertaining a group of his men. He wished he could right things with his boy. Merryn cautioned him it might take more time for Ancel to come around. Maybe he could tutor the boy in swordplay or take him hunting. Anything to bring them closer together.

  His eye caught Raynor’s, who sat in the group watching Ancel’s antics. They nodded at one another. He also hoped he could right things with his cousin. After he’d heard Raynor’s declaration of love to Merryn, it brought him anguish to look upon him.

  Yet could he blame Raynor? Everyone—even the king of England himself—was a little in love with her. And why not? She was the most beautiful, desirable, intelligent woman in all the land.

  And she belonged to him.

  Geoffrey left the Great Hall and ascended the staircase, moving to the bedchambers on the second floor. The solar lay at the far end of the long corridor. He entered and placed the tray upon a table. He lifted the carafe of wine provided by a thoughtful Tilda and poured out two cups. He wondered if he should fetch Merryn or if he should wait for her to leave the bedchamber and Hardi’s side.

  Before he could make up his mind, he heard a crash. Merryn stumbled from the room blindly, a look of horror upon her delicate features.

  She knew.

  His gut told him so in an instant. Hardi had spoken to her of his father’s wrongdoing. It shocked him. If the earl had been on his deathbed, Geoffrey could see him spilling the secret, not wanting to go to God with such a burden upon his conscience.

  Yet Hardi had pulled through. Though serious, his injuries had not been life-threatening. And still he had shared the story with Merryn. He was certain of it.

  Geoffrey felt the kinship he’d once experienced with the boy who’d kept him company all those years, secretly defying his father. Mayhap the young earl would be a much more honorable man after all. And now that Merryn knew, a peace washed over him, unlike none he had known since his return to Kinwick.

  “Geoffrey!” Merryn caught sight of him and ran to him.

  She threw herself in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. He did the best he could to offer her comfort, holding her closely, whispering nonsense to her, trying to calm her. He finally realized he must let her cry it out, and so he did. As far as he was concerned, his wife could remain in his arms forever, drawing strength and solace.

  While he held her, Geoffrey sensed a load lifted from him. His oath to Hardi, which had caused a rift in their marriage, had been lifted. No longer would he ever keep a secret from Merryn.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he swept her off her feet and carried her to the nearest chair. He sat and cradled her upon his lap, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

  When she finally relaxed, Merryn gazed into his eyes. He saw hers filled with concern for him. He held his palm to her face, his thumb brushing slowly across her lower lip.

  “Hardi told me. Everything.”

  Geoffrey only nodded, not sure if words could come.

  “’Tis true?”

  He sighed. “I am sure what he told you was true.”

  She got the familiar, stubborn look in her eye. “I would hear it from you. I would know if he spoke falsely of anything.”

  “Need I repeat it, my love?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I must hear it from your lips.”

  Geoffrey sat silently for a moment. He supposed since Hardi had confessed all that had occurred to Merryn, it freed him to speak of the matter plainly to her.

  He settled back into the chair, drawing her head down to his chest. He could tell her, but he didn’t know if he could look at her as he did.

  “’Tis a long tale, but I shall be brief in presenting it to you.”

  He explained of that day long ago i
n France. What he had witnessed. How he had taken his concerns to the Black Prince and his advisers. How Barrett denied the charges even though proof of his treason was produced for all to see. Of their trial by battle and his victory, which signaled Barrett’s death.

  “The Duke of Lancaster arrived with his troops to reinforce those of the Black Prince just before Barrett’s execution.”

  Merryn stirred in his arms. “And I know Lord Berold fought with Lancaster.”

  “He did. And witnessed his son’s beheading.” Geoffrey paused, his mouth gone dry.

  “Hardi told me his father confronted you after his son’s death.”

  “I shall never forget his words.” Pain at recollecting the scene almost overcame him. “Berold told me he would bring me to my knees. That I would long for a death which he would keep from me.” He shuddered, caught back in time. “I tried to brush it off, mad words of a grieving father.”

  “But he acted upon them,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “At the hunting lodge.”

  “That he did.”

  Geoffrey stroked her hair gently, not wishing to relive the time of horror, but knowing he must bring their conversation to a conclusion.

  “One of his soldiers aimed the shot which pinned me to the tree. He and another of Berold’s men freed me after you left for help. They brought me to Winterbourne. After they placed me in the dungeons, Berold killed them with his own hand. He did not want anyone to know he had taken me.”

  “Except Hardi,” Merryn said dully. “And he was but a boy.”

  He nodded against her. “The earl wanted me to suffer as he had. He pulled Hardi from where the boy happily fostered and told him of the blood feud between our families. Once Berold passed away, he instructed Hardi to continue holding me prisoner till my own death, feeding me only enough to exist upon and never addressing me by name.”

  Merryn sat up and faced him. “My God, Geoffrey! What a heinous act. To keep you in darkness, feeding you only enough to keep you alive. How you must have suffered! I am horrified by the evilness of it all.”

  She broke away from him and stood. As she paced the room, her anger grew. He knew better than interrupt her. He would let it run its course instead.

  “The king must be told. At once! And I want Winterbourne gone from under our roof. This instant!” She thought a moment. A wild look appeared in her eye. “God in Heaven. He wanted our children to foster with him. Our children! By the Christ, I would never let my babes live under such wickedness. Never! I shall call in that favor he said he would gift me with. Ancel and Alys will never cross the threshold of Winterbourne. Ever, ever!”

  Geoffrey hated to see her in distress. He rose and captured her in his arms.

  “Calm yourself, my love.”

  “I will not!” she declared, her face flush with anger. “He allowed almost seven years of your life to be stolen from you. Years we were torn apart. When I did not know if you were alive or dead. Years in which your children grew without you. Nothing could ever replace that debt. Nothing he could ever do would make me forgive him.”

  He shook her. “Merryn. Stop.”

  She whipped her head around and glared daggers at him.

  “Listen to me. Please. I know you and the twins were wronged. I was, too.”

  Geoffrey drew her into the chair and knelt beside her. Merryn perched on the edge, looking as if she might bolt from it at any moment.

  “’Twas Berold who committed these sins upon us. Berold. Hardi was but a boy. An innocent boy. Hardi defied his father. He was never to enter the dungeons again until the earl perished, then he was to take up the task of keeping me in that living death.

  “He did not do that.”

  Merryn frowned. “What mean you?”

  Apparently, Hardi had not told her all of the truth. “He visited me several times a week without his father’s knowledge. Brought me extra food. A blanket. We had many talks over the years. If not for Hardi, I shudder to think what would have come of my sanity.”

  “He could have freed you,” she whispered.

  Geoffrey looked knowingly at her. “In truth? If he released me, how would he smuggle me from Winterbourne? And if that had happened by some miracle and I’d returned to Kinwick, what would have happened to Hardi himself? You know Berold to be a hard man. Hardi was the only soul who knew I endured in Winterbourne’s dungeons. I would not have put it past the old man to kill his son in a rage once he learned I was missing from that cell.”

  He paused. “Yes, what Berold did to me was inhumane. But ‘tis over, my love. Hardi chose to free me. I would still be a prisoner if not for his actions. He did have me swear an oath never to reveal where I had been and what his father had done to me. Whether he was shamed by the man’s actions or thought to protect his own family name?” Geoffrey shrugged. “‘Tis beside the point. Hardi. Freed. Me,” he emphasized.

  “And you came back to me.” Merryn slid from the chair and held fast to him for some minutes.

  “Hardi is innocent in the matter. Johamma is blameless, too. I doubt he revealed to her what was done to me.” He sighed. “And the twins are to foster in King Edward’s household. He took a liking to them, and he was going to persuade Hardi to grant him the privilege of having them foster with him and the queen. He was to do so at the feast after the jousting. I have every faith that the king will keep his word.”

  Merryn sniffed. “But London is so far away. And if ‘tis true that Hardi saved you, mayhap I have judged him too harshly.”

  “I believe Hardi wants to be a much better man than his father ever dreamt of being. Having Ancel and Alys foster with him and Johamma could be his way of making up for the sins of the past. He’s acknowledged the wrongs done to both of us. Mayhap we should give him a chance.” Geoffrey smiled at her in hope. “‘Twould allow the twins to be close to us. We could see them often if they fostered next to Kinwick.”

  He saw her contemplate his words. Finally, she spoke. “We have much to consider. I believe we shouldn’t be hasty. Let us think upon things, Geoffrey. No decision is required for some time.”

  “I agree.” He brought his lips to hers. The kiss held his promise of love and that he would do whatever it took to protect his family.

  “Hardi and Johamma will be gone on the morrow,” Merryn said after many minutes. “We shall have our solar back.” She grinned. “And our own bed.”

  “And all the time in the world,” he said, catching the twinkle in her eye. “Let me return you to your room, my lady. You look as if you could use some rest.”

  She linked her arm through his. They traveled across the hall and paused in front of his mother’s door. Merryn wound her arms about his waist, reluctant to part from him.

  “Plan on getting plenty of rest tonight,” Geoffrey advised her. “And do not overtax yourself on the morrow. For tomorrow, I plan to love you all the night long and show you how much you mean to me.”

  Merryn smiled at him. “You are the love of my life, Geoffrey de Montfort.”

  She gave him a sweet, lingering kiss which he wished could go on forever. Instead, he opened the chamber door and escorted her inside. His mother lay asleep on the bed. Geoffrey kissed her once more, soundly, and then moved to the door.

  Merryn blew him a kiss as he stepped into the corridor. He eased the door shut and turned.

  A huge fist came from nowhere and smashed into his face.

  CHAPTER 32

  Geoffrey fought to open his eyes as pain exploded along his temple and nose. His hand came up to touch his face. Sticky blood met his fingers. He knew what had to be done and viciously wrenched his nose back into place before he could change his mind. A loud crunch sounded with the twist, but he gained immediate relief. He moved to his temple and located the goose egg of a knot that caused his head to pound so.

  He searched his memory, trying to recall the last thing that occurred. He had spoken with Merryn about Berold’s treachery. Left her. Then someone had attacked him. He knew the first blow
had landed square in the nose, causing him to stagger off-balance. Another few rained down upon him.

  Then a blank.

  He concentrated and forced his eyelids open. The ache in his head gnawed hungrily at him, but he needed to see where he was and who had assaulted him. A flickering torchlight caught his eye, but something obstructed his view.

  “No!” he cried.

  A wall of iron bars stood before him. He was in a dungeon.

  Again.

  Geoffrey fought the rising hysteria to scream, else he feared he’d go instantly mad. He pushed against the dirt he lay upon and rose unsteadily to his feet, using those very bars to support himself.

  “So, you finally awaken. I did not hit you that hard, de Montfort. You have become a weakling. Worse than an old man. But then again, being locked away for as long as you were might have broken lesser men.”

  He squinted and saw the outline of a man leaning against the wall opposite him, just below the torch. His face lay in the shadows, but he recognized the voice.

  Symond Benedict.

  The royal guardsman strolled toward him, remaining just beyond his reach. He studied his prisoner, his lips pursed in thought.

  Geoffrey remained silent. He would not feed into the man’s ego, nor would he beg for his freedom.

  Symond crossed his burly arms over his chest. “I heard everything, you know. Winterbourne unburdened himself to Lady Merryn. Blubbered like a babe, he did. I stood guard in the shadows as the king charged me to do. And I heard of the wicked earl and the punishment he meted out to the man who destroyed his son.”

  The knight smirked. “’Twas quite an entertaining tale. The young earl promised he would right things, but you and I know that that could never occur. A man could not experience what you did and come out the same man. The man Merryn Mantel fell in love with.”

  Hearing his wife’s name uttered by this bastard caused Geoffrey to tighten his grip on the bars. He refrained from spitting upon Symond Benedict, not wanting to antagonize his captor.

  Yet.

  “And then I was treated to the touching conversation you held with your wife in the solar. My, how you do love the lady. But you do not deserve her.”