Fallen Knight

by Dana D'Angelo

  Fallen Knight

  The Knights Of Honor Trilogy – Book Three

  by

  Dana D’Angelo

  Copyright © 2014 Dana D’Angelo

  http://www.dana-dangelo.com

  Copyright © 2014

  http://www.dana–dangelo.com

  All rights reserved. This book, in its entirety or in parts, may not be reproduced in any format without expressed permission. Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book through the Internet or through any other type of distribution or retrieval channel without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please obtain only legitimate electronic versions of this book and do not engage in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this collection of fictional works are a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Thank You Gift

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  More Titles By Dana D’Angelo

  Prologue

  King Edward’s Court, England, 1354

  The sounds and chatter abruptly ended as soon as Gareth de Mowbrey set foot into the royal hall. His hands and feet were tied to iron shackles, the long chains scraping across the cold stone floor, rattling in his wake. As a knight, he witnessed many prisoners entering the court like this. But now he was the one who would stand before the king, with heavy iron chains weighing him down.

  In the dungeon the night had merged into day; he had no idea how long he had been imprisoned. And when the guard came to get him, he knew his time had come. First, he would face a trial by ordeal, and then his fate would be sealed by that outcome, which was undoubtedly death.

  The two knights Derrik d’Evant and Jonathan d’Abelard were already there, waiting for the trial to begin. A half-dozen men also stood at a distance from the king’s throne. They all turned, silently watching his approach, speculation and judgment already present on their faces.

  Jonathan stood with his back as straight as a rod, his gaze zeroing in on Gareth. The knight had dark shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. His hair was mussed, and the beginnings of a beard shadowed his chin. An image of a fierce hawk was embroidered boldly on his surcoat, and covered the shining armor that he wore. He looked every bit the legendary knight that he was, forceful and forbidding. His presence was commanding, and the surrounding men kept a respectful distance from him.

  He was close enough to see Jonathan’s face. But then he wished that he didn’t witness his friend’s lips tighten with distaste, or how he averted his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of him. The rejection shot to his heart as though an arrow pierced it. But this is what I deserve.

  He hung his head, not wanting to see the disgust in Jonathan’s countenance. He focused on placing one foot over the other. The guard gave him an impatient shove. And when he still didn’t move fast enough, the guard pushed him harder. Gareth stumbled to his knees, the chains around his legs and hands clinking as they made hard contact with the stone floor.

  Gareth slowly got up, and through the slits of his eyes, he examined the men who came to witness his judgment. Most of the faces were familiar to him.

  The warden who officiated the trials, stood back with the others, his hands noticeably empty. Almost with dread, Gareth looked over toward King Edward. The monarch sat on his throne with one elbow propped on the armrest and his chin resting on an open palm.

  “Tell us what has happened,” the king commanded, the expression on his face grim. His advisor stood at his side, the man’s expression as serious as his ruler’s.

  “Your Majesty, Sir Gareth killed the Grey Knight,” Jonathan said, his voice dripping with disappointment and barely concealed disgust. “He killed my bastard brother after giving word that he would bring him safely to the royal court. He did this, Your Majesty, and robbed us all of our right to witness high justice.”

  Gareth stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the cutting accusation. Of course this was useless. The sting of Jonathan’s censure had the ability to puncture through armor. He wouldn’t have cared if the blame came from another man, but this charge came from the Iron Hawk. He was a man who Gareth had traveled with, shared bread with, and who he trusted with his life. In all manner except for blood, Jonathan was his brother.

  “This is a serious charge,” King Edward said, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. “What proof do you have that he did this?” He flicked his eyes over to the young knight. “Sir Derrik, what did you witness? Did you see the murder of Raulf of Blackburn?”

  Derrik stepped forward. “When I arrived, the Grey Knight was already dead, Your Majesty. I had thought perhaps that the death was an accident.”

  “’Twas no accident,” Jonathan interjected. “I heard the confession from his own lips.”

  “Do you deny this, Sir Gareth?” the king asked, his gaze steady and cool.

  “Nay,” he said, licking his cracked lips, his voice low and raspy. “I ended the Grey Knight’s life. But ‘twas what he deserved after all that he did to my brother Reuben, to Lady Amelia,” he glanced over at Jonathan, “and to countless other people.”

  “Aye, the Grey Knight’s life was ended,” Jonathan said bitterly, “but it should not have been by your hands.”

  Gareth sensed all eyes turning toward him. A murmur sounded among the crowd. And the words disgrace and dishonor buzzed around his ears, making them burn.

  “You killed Raulf,” Jonathan continued, his voice quiet, although there was fury in it. He then raised a finger, pointing it to the center of Gareth’s chest, his hand trembling slightly from the force of his reproach. “You did this when I explicitly told you not to harm him. And you denied me the one thing that was most important to me. Now I will never see the Grey Knight hanged for what he did to my betrothed.” His voice cracked and his eyes brightened for a moment as if he was overcome with emotion. “And you lied about killing him.” He paused, heaving in a heavy breath, his nostrils flaring slightly. “How could you do this to me, Gareth? After I took you in and treated you as kin. You knew that I had waited ten years to see the Grey Knight punished.” He blinked rapidly a few times before he buried his head in his hand. But when his hand dropped away from his face, and he looked up again, there was loathing in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was as hard as steel. “You took an oath to be truthful at all times, to be honorable at all costs. But you have failed in your duty. You have failed me.”

  Gareth closed his eyes, unable to look at his friend. He couldn’t deny that he took the vows. Nor could he deny that he broke them.

  “You sire,” Jonathan continued, his voice ringing throughout the court, “are not fit to be a knight.”

  A hush descended upon them, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fire at the far end of
the room.

  I robbed him of his vengeance. For a fleeting, almost desperate moment, Gareth felt sick to his stomach. Never had he witnessed so much hatred from his friend. And all that hatred was directed at him.

  “We have heard enough,” King Edward said, breaking the silence. He lowered his hand from underneath his bearded chin and settled his dark gaze onto Gareth. “You have put us in a difficult position, Sir Gareth. A crime of this magnitude must be punished. When you take your oaths to become a knight, you cannot treat these vows lightly. And for you to withhold the truth — this act seriously undermines your integrity as a man and as a warrior.” He paused for half a beat, allowing his words to sink in. “However, we cannot forget that you are a good and loyal knight, a knight sympathetic to our cause. Nor can we forget the faithful service that you and your brother have given to the state.”

  A low hum went through the crowd, and a few people nodded their heads in agreement. The king held up his hand for silence and almost immediately the noise dwindled.

  “Make no mistake, the man known as the Grey Knight was a menace to the state,” the king continued, his voice echoing with authority. “He terrorized the people of this kingdom for ten long years. ‘Twas only a matter of time before he was caught and killed.” He nodded to the guard. “Release his chains.”

  “But Your Majesty —” Jonathan began.

  “We are not finished,” the king interrupted, pinning a glacial stare at the knight.

  Jonathan snapped his mouth shut.

  The guard unlocked the chains and tugged at the links, causing the metal bonds to slither to the floor. With his burden gone, he felt light. He rubbed at the raw area where the iron chains chafed at his skin, but the abrasion was a small price to pay. At least now he knew that the king had no intent to kill him. However his relief was short-lived.

  The king shifted his eyes back to Gareth. “For your crime of breaking the sacred vows of knighthood,” he continued, “you will be banished to the outer reaches of the realm.”

  A gasp sounded from the group that surrounded them, and the men turned to one another, whispering their astonishment.

  Jonathan slapped his gauntlet on his armored leg, the metal clanking against metal. He seemed almost unable to contain his objection, but he didn’t dare speak up again.

  Was Gareth supposed to be relieved or dismayed? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that torture, whipping and death were the usual punishments for a crime of this scale, and he wouldn’t be subjected to any of it. But the king’s decree made him feel numb. He would be banished outside the kingdom. And even though he wasn’t stripped of his title, he could no longer be a knight since his reputation was now in shreds.

  The guard bent down to gather the chains on the ground just as the king’s advisor spoke quietly into his ear. The man handed a parchment over to the monarch.

  “You are dismissed,” King Edward said, waving his hand in the air. Taking the parchment, he broke the seal and began to read it.

  Gareth could feel the hostility emanating from Jonathan. The king’s punishment was too lenient it seemed. He glanced over at his friend, and when their eyes met, Gareth felt the other man’s loathing go straight to his gut.

  “I’m sorry —”

  “Don’t speak to me,” Jonathan said, his teeth clenched. “Your words are meaningless. I will forever regret that I had put my trust in you.” With that, he pivoted on one foot and stalked off.

  As Gareth watched his friend leave, an abject sensation flooded his body and gathered in his heart. His shoulders slumped slightly and he started to move forward. But then a hand touched his arm, stopping him. He turned to find Derrik at his side.

  “I tried my best to convince them that ‘twas an accident, Gareth,” he said.

  “You have my gratitude.” He shook off the other man’s hand. “But as I’ve told the Hawk, I meant to kill the Grey Knight, and that’s what I did.”

  Chapter 1

  Outside the town of Wykeham, England, 1359

  “Boy, get me a drink,” Gareth de Mowbrey said, sitting up on his pallet. The familiar smell of pottage and herbs filled his senses. His page had opened all the shutters, and while the light streamed in, smoke and dust circulated within the room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before yawning and stretching his arms into the air. The sound of birds chirping seemed loud enough to be right next to him.

  The boy paused in his task of throwing wood into the open hearth and turned his head toward his master. His narrow face was red from the heat of the fire, but there was no mistaking the serious, disapproving look on his visage. He lifted his forearm to push aside the shaggy lock that fell over his eyes.

  “My name is Leofwin,” he grumbled, his lips curved downward, making him seem older than his fourteen years. “And ‘tis too early for drinking.”

  “You dare refuse me, boy?” Gareth’s brows snapped down in irritation.

  Leofwin straightened his spine. “Aye,” he turned back to grab a stick that leaned against the wall. “My sire drank all the time, and my mum says the drink killed him. So for your own good, I’m telling you nay.” He poked at the fire with the stick.

  Turning his back on Gareth, he picked up a bowl of leeks and onions that he chopped earlier. He dumped the contents into the iron pot that hung over the fire, almost as if he had dismissed his master’s command.

  Gareth slapped a palm to his forehead and shook his head in disgust and frustration. For the hundredth time, he questioned why he took the boy in. He had shown up at Gareth’s door three months ago. Standing out in the rain, he stood at the threshold with his hair plastered to his head, and his tunic and leather boots covered in mud. If anything, he looked like a drowned feline.

  “I came to take you up on your offer,” the boy said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gareth growled, moving to close the door.

  The boy stuck out a small hand, and placed it firmly on the wooden panel, stopping it from closing. For a young boy, he possessed surprising strength and an even stronger determination.

  “Please, I traveled all the way from Blackburn to see you.”

  “Who sent you here?” he asked suspiciously.

  “No one, sire. I heard that you were in Wykeham. But when I got to the town, they pointed me in this direction. It’s been several hours before I found you.”

  “You’ve seen me; now go away.”

  “But sire, you told me five years ago to look you up when I’ve grown.” He stretched so he appeared straight and tall. “Well, I’m grown now.”

  “What do I care if you’ve grown? I don’t even know who you are.”

  The boy blinked rapidly, his eyes suddenly bright. “I — I was the one who threw a rock at the Iron Hawk…”

  Gareth peered down at the boy, and a vague memory began to form. It had been a long time since he was at Blackburn — a time when his world had not crashed down over his head. “What do you want from me?” he said finally.

  A cautious, hopeful look appeared in his eyes, and he folded his hands together in front of him as if he was trying hard to contain his excitement.

  “I want to be a knight,” he said. “But I’ll need you to teach me first.”

  At another time, he would have refused the boy, but the hopeful eagerness of the youth reminded him too much of when he was young. Against his better judgment, he relented, and allowed the boy to stay with him in his rundown farmhouse.

  And now he regretted his moment of weakness. Even before allowing the boy to stay, he knew that he was better off on his own. He twisted his lips as a new thought occurred to him. He didn’t have to take this from Leofwin. If anything, he still had the option to cast him out on his ear. He opened his mouth to voice his threat when a pounding sounded at the door.

  “Who can that be?” Leofwin glanced over at Gareth, a spark of interest lighting his blue eyes. He slowly set the bowl on the ground. “We rarely have visitors here.”

  “If ‘tis ano
ther boy seeking work, tell him to go away.” Gareth got up and let out another yawn. “I don’t want, or need another servant like you.”

  “I’m a page,” Leofwin reminded him. He clutched the stick in his hand, the frustration clear on his voice. “I’m not a servant.”

  “Page, servant — what’s the difference?” He waved a dismissive hand in the air.

  “The difference is that I’m going to be a knight,” he said, an unhappy look crossing his face. “That is why I’m here,” he turned to answer the door.

  Gareth walked slowly across the room to the common table. His legs felt heavy, as if they were weighted down by rocks. And each step he took seemed to rattle his brain. He drank enough wine last night to knock himself into a dreamless sleep. A few more rounds of wine now would make him forget the dull ache that sat in the middle of his forehead, and kill his painful memories. He raised his arms and stretched as the boy spoke to the stranger at the door. His farmhouse was in the middle of nowhere, and few people ventured this far. The ones that made it this distance had a reason to see him. Not that he cared for what those reasons were.

  When he was about to sit down, Leofwin stepped aside, and allowed the stranger inside. Gareth squinted, trying to make out the stranger’s features. Unfortunately he could only see the silhouette of the man. When the stranger stepped closer, he dropped his forearms on the table and leaned forward, surprised.

  Derrik d’Evant.

  Since the last time he visited, the knight looked older, as if he carried more burdens on his young shoulders. But Gareth had to remind himself that this knight was no longer the youth that had shadowed him five years earlier. Here was a rising warrior who was well-respected and revered by peers and enemies alike.

  A few months ago, Derrik and the king’s men captured the mastermind who plotted to overthrow the king. But even though the traitor was captured, the king’s brother had escaped from his royal prison, and was now roaming free, his sights remained firmly fixed upon the throne. But none of that had anything to do with Gareth. Before he could demand why Derrik had returned to his home, the knight spoke up.