Code of Honor

by Aston, Alexa

  Code of Honor

  Knights Of Honor

  Book Three

  Alexa Aston

  Copyright © 2017 by Alexa Aston

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sandbourne Castle—1350

  As they crested the hill, Michael Devereux gazed with pride as he caught sight of his home. Sandbourne Castle stood in the distance, surrounded by rolling green hills. Cottages dotted the landscape. Animals grazed in the pastureland. A lump formed in his throat. He’d been away from home over a year and had missed his mother more than anyone. He couldn’t wait to entertain her with stories of his first year as a page fostering in Sir Lovel’s household.

  He spurred on his borrowed horse, wanting to reach the keep as soon as possible after three long days on the road in blistering heat, accompanied by a knight Sir Lovel provided to see him safely to his parents’ doorstep. Michael differed from the other boys in this. They all had fathers or other close family members who escorted them home for their summer visit.

  Not Michael.

  The Earl of Sandbourne wrote that he was too busy to dance attendance upon his only son, much less send one of his soldiers to see that the boy reached Sandbourne without any problems. Sir Lovel graciously provided Michael with an escort, much to his embarrassment. It only gave the other pages and squires something new to tease him about. They already taunted him unmercifully because he was so plump. His mother assured him as he grew older and taller, the extra weight would come off. For now, Michael tried to ignore the wicked names the other boys called him to his face and pretend he didn’t know how they talked about him behind his back.

  Thank the Christ Geoffrey and Raynor had put an end to the harshest cruelty. The two squires, both seven years older than he was, had been gone when Michael first arrived at Sir Lovel’s to foster. When they returned, they put a stop to the worst of it, boxing a few ears and bloodying a few more noses to get their point across. Now the other boys simply called him Tol—which stood for Tub of Lard. Michael found it a tolerable nickname and so he endured it. He couldn’t let Geoffrey and Raynor fight all of his battles. He was eight, after all, and needed to learn how to stand up for himself.

  But it still angered him that his father hadn’t spared the days it would have taken to come and bring him home for summer. Michael envied the joyous reunions he’d witnessed between family members as he lurked in the shadows of the great hall. Already, he’d been the only child fostering who hadn’t returned home the previous Christmas. His father told Sir Lovel that his boy needed to toughen up, so Michael had spent the holy holidays keeping mostly to himself. Sir Lovel had graciously included Michael in his family’s festivities, but he’d slipped away at the earliest chance during the many celebrations held between Christmas and Epiphany.

  Why did his father hate him so much?

  From Michael’s earliest memories, the earl never showed him any sort of affection. He never once referred to Michael by name. The nobleman was brusque with his only child, paying him little attention. Only his saintly mother spent time with him. Nurtured him. Taught him to read. Rode around Sandbourne with him and introduced him to its tenants. It was his strong desire for his mother’s company that had him eager to return home now. Without her, life seemed drab. She always invented creative stories to tell him and showered him with attention and love.

  Michael gave a shout to the familiar gatekeeper, who opened the gates at his command. Michael assumed he was expected since Sir Lovel had sent news of his return to Sandbourne, but no one stood to greet them as they made their way toward the inner bailey.

  Turning to Sir Oderic, his escort, he said, “We should ride to the stables. We can have someone care for the horses before we go into the great hall. I know you need to quench your thirst and Cook can provide you with a small meal.”

  He did not miss the look of pity in the soldier’s eyes as the man spoke up after hours of silence on the road. “I’ll see to our horses, young master. I can also find myself food and drink without your help. Why don’t you go and find your mother? I’m sure she’ll be happy to lay eyes upon you after you’ve been away for so long.”

  Michael threw a leg over the saddle and jumped down from the horse Sir Lovel had allowed him to ride on this journey home. He owned no horse of his own, which suited him since he had no fondness for the huge, intimidating animals. That would have to change because part of his training would include caring for horses once he became a squire.

  Gratitude toward Oderic flooded him. The knight had always treated him with a good bit of kindness. “Thank you, good sir. I’m anxious to find Mother and speak to her.” He reached up and took his small bag of clothing attached to the pommel. “Will I see you before you leave Sandbourne? We could sup together tonight in the great hall.”

  Oderic shook his head. “Nay, young man. I’ll wet my whistle and have a bit of bread, but I’ll return immediately to my liege lord’s estate.”

  Michael heard in Oderic’s voice what the knight did not bother to express aloud. That he believed he would not be welcomed by the Earl of Sandbourne. That the nobleman would probably pound away, pumping the soldier for information about how his son’s training progressed.

  And as an honorable knight who upheld the code of chivalry, Sir Oderic couldn’t lie. The answers he would give would not be ones the earl wished to hear. For Michael was the slowest of all Sir Lovel’s pages and lagged behind in every activity assigned to him. His chubby fingers made him clumsy. His thick legs saw that he finished last in every physical task, especially in delivering messages around the castle and its grounds. He was, for all intents and purposes, a miserable failure.

  Yet Michael believed he would overcome these obstacles. He didn’t know how or when, but Geoffrey had told him that he, too, had been slow to grasp things at first. Geoffrey shared with Michael that he’d made a terrible page. And look at him now. Geoffrey de Montfort was the finest of all Sir Lovel’s squires. Even the nobleman himself said that Geoffrey was the bravest of them all and would be the first to be knighted amongst their group.

  Michael gave Sir Oderic a curt nod. “Thank you for the safe conduct back to Sandbourne. I’ll see you when I return at summer’s end.”

  The knight gave him a rare smile. “I’ll return for you in six weeks’ time. We’ll have much to discuss on our journey.”

  He watched Oderic head toward the stables. So it had already been decided that his father would not accompany him back to Sir Lovel’s. The knowledge cut Michael to the quick, but he reso
lved to push it aside. He would find his mother and enjoy spending the afternoon with her.

  And push the dread of speaking with his father into a dark corner of his mind. For now.

  Michael entered the keep. He stopped a servant girl unfamiliar to him and inquired where his mother might be.

  “So you’re the young master?” she asked pertly.

  “Aye.”

  “I heard you were coming home.” She studied him a moment. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

  He shrugged. What could he say? He was short. Pudgy. His stained clothes reflected three days of travel without being changed. He knew he looked less an earl’s son than most.

  “You can try—”

  “Michael?”

  He turned and saw his father’s long-time steward coming his way. Alarm filled Michael at having to see his father so soon.

  “The earl is waiting for you. Follow me.”

  Michael reluctantly fell into step behind the man as he mounted the staircase. So much for spending an enjoyable afternoon in the company of his beloved mother. Instead, he prepared himself for the tongue-lashing he would receive. Reaching into his pocket, he stroked his good luck charm, a pink rock he and his mother had found as they walked around the estate one afternoon. He always kept it within reach. His fingertips brushed against it now, as he willed the small stone to bring him courage for the encounter ahead.

  They reached the door to the solar.

  The steward paused. “Go on in. The earl is expecting you. He saw you ride through the gates.” He nudged Michael.

  So his father had seen his arrival. Michael wondered why he hadn’t taken the time to come greet his son in person as he would any guest that graced Sandbourne. It made him question whether his mother even knew her boy was expected for a visit. It wouldn’t surprise him if the knowledge had been kept from her.

  He pushed the door open, throwing his shoulders back and holding his head high. Preparing for the worst. Hoping for the best—though knowing that was unlikely.

  His father sat in his favorite chair, holding a pewter cup, as he nibbled from fruit and cheese which sat on a platter on the table next to him. He glanced up. Already the earl wore a frown on his face, as if merely the sight of his son caused him great disappointment.

  “Close the door,” he barked.

  Michael did so and approached timidly.

  “Don’t be such a mouse. You’re a man. Act like one,” his father commanded, as if simply uttering the words would make it so. In the earl’s world, it did. No one dared cross the nobleman. His orders had to be followed swiftly, without hesitation. And if the Earl of Sandbourne became displeased in any way?

  Pity the soul who drew his wrath.

  “You’re filthy, boy,” his father admonished. “Don’t even think of sitting down and spreading the dust that clings to you.”

  Michael wished he’d had time to wash the stains of travel from his hands and face and change his gypon and cotehardie before this meeting occurred.

  His father’s nose crinkled in disgust. “You haven’t lost any of that fat on you. I’d hoped Lovel would have worked it off you by now.”

  What was he supposed to reply?

  “I do work very hard in service to Sir Lovel, Father.”

  The earl snorted. He stared at Michael without speaking, his eyes roaming up and down in judgment. “God’s teeth, but I believe you’ve actually gained weight!”

  Michael shuffled uneasily. “I can promise you that I put my heart and soul into every task which I am assigned. And I eat no more than the other pages do.”

  “Hmph.”

  Michael hesitated, wondering if he should speak. He decided he would try to be the man his father expected. That would mean taking the initiative in their conversation.

  “Would you like to hear about what I’ve learned so far, Father?”

  “I know what you should’ve learned, boy,” the earl snapped. “How to curb your appetite, for one. How to polish armor till it gleams. How to sharpen a sword. How to deliver a message, quickly and quietly. How to sit a horse. Are you still afraid of horses? Or has Lovel stamped that fear out of you?” The earl’s eyes flashed in interest for the first time.

  The mention of it caused the pit of Michael’s stomach to shrivel as memories flooded him. He’d been put on a horse at a very young age—and promptly fell off. Over and over. One aggravated horse stomped on his foot so hard that the animal broke it. Michael spent weeks off his feet as the bones healed. He’d finally learned to tolerate being around horses during his year away from Sandbourne, but they’d never be his friend. Once again, he had Raynor Le Roux to thank. The squire had spent numerous hours with Michael once he’d discovered Michael’s fear of the large beasts. Raynor’s teaching skills and patience paid off. Michael no longer was ridiculed by the others regarding his lack of finesse upon a horse.

  “I ride as well as any boy that fosters with Sir Lovel,” he said, which was the truth. But he didn’t reveal how he still panicked each time he first sat in the saddle. How his heart raced. How it pounded so violently that he thought it might tear away and jump from his chest.

  Then as he became used to the horse under him, the panic would slowly subside. He’d learned to control the animal with the reins and his thighs. Raynor had taught him that mastering being in the saddle was as much a mental game as a physical effort. Michael was proud of how far he’d come along in the past year. He would show his father how different he’d become. How much he’d grown up in such a short amount of time.

  Summoning every bit of bravery he possessed, he said, “Mayhap tomorrow we can ride out together, Father. I’d love to see the land around Sandbourne and hear about what you’ve done this past year while I’ve been gone.”

  There, he’d spoken up. Ventured to address his father in conversation instead of only waiting to reply to a question. Showed his interest in their property. After all, one day he would hold the title of earl. Geoffrey had told him ’twas never too early to learn about the estate you would inherit.

  His father eyed him with more interest now. “Mayhap Lovel is making something of you. I don’t remember you being so bold in the past.” The stern look the earl wore had Michael wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “However, I am curious as to how you behave around a horse nowadays.”

  The earl stood. “Let’s go to the stables. I want to see you saddle a horse. You do know how to saddle a horse?”

  “Aye, Father.”

  Without further conversation, his father strode from the room. Michael raced to keep up with him, sweat breaking out along his hairline. He knew the basics. What each piece did and where it should be placed.

  But pages didn’t saddle horses—only squires did so. He’d watched Geoffrey and Raynor do it many times. Raynor was kind enough each time he took Michael out to ride to explain over and over what he did as he drew each piece mounted on the wall and affixed it to the horse. Raynor claimed the repetition would do Michael good and that he’d be able to saddle a horse in his sleep when the time came.

  But that time would be sometime in the future. His father wanted to see his progress. Now.

  Michael tamped down the reluctance flooding him and told himself to get control of the emotions rushing through him. He did so when the other boys teased him. His greatest skill had been learning to take their cutting words in stride and let them wash off him as water spilling from a bucket might. As they left the keep, he slowed his breathing so that it became deep and even—another thing Geoffrey had taught him to help calm himself when his nerves threatened to spin out of control.

  I can do this.

  Repeating those words over and over, he hurried after his father. The older man’s long strides kept Michael running as he tried to keep up.

  They crossed the bailey, passing many people hard at work. No one spoke a word to them. ’Twas so unlike Sir Lovel’s, where every person shouted a greeting and rewarded one another with a smile. Sandb
ourne ran efficiently, but Michael understood now that it wasn’t a happy place to live and work. He’d been out in the world a bit now and could see how his father’s oppression blanketed those who lived on the estate.

  Michael swore in that moment that when he finally gained the title, everything would change.

  Everything.

  They approached the stables and entered. He was glad to be out of the strong sunlight. By hurrying across the bailey, he could already sense the sweat gathering in his hair and drizzling down his back. His palms, too, had broken out as if he’d dipped his hands in the horse’s trough. Michael wiped them against his thighs. He wondered how he’d be able to lift a heavy saddle and hoist it on whichever horse his father selected, much less if he could hold on to it without it slipping from his grasp.

  If only Geoffrey and Raynor were here to cheer him on. Their constant support had changed how Michael viewed himself. Others might see him as slow and fat, but Michael had learned he possessed a keen mind and a clever wit. Even Geoffrey told him that he spoke as well as one thrice his age. One day, the fat would melt away as his mother promised and his body would catch up. He would become one of the finest knights in all the land. Why, he might even serve in the king’s guard someday.

  Michael heard voices and pulled himself from his reverie. Laughter came from one of the far stalls. His father stopped a moment and listened, then charged ahead like a foot soldier rushing into battle.

  Alarm exploded inside Michael as the tinkling laughter sounded again. ’Twas his mother’s gentle laugh, which always sounded to him like bells merrily pealing. He ran to catch up to where his father now stood, feet apart, glaring into a stall.

  Michael stopped next to his father and looked inside. The stall held an ebony horse Michael had never seen before. Next to it stood his mother and Sir Thirkell, one of his favorite knights in his father’s employ. Thirkell and his friend, Sir Charles, had told Michael stories about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table from the time he was a babe. Michael had thought back on those stories during the nights he had trouble falling asleep. He used his fascination with the tales to push aside the taunts from that day.