Bold in Honor (Knights of Honor Book 6)

by Alexa Aston

  Once she’d helped dress him, they rode to London, Will bringing her trunk in the cart that had been bound for Kinwick only hours earlier. For three days, Thurstan paraded her before various courtiers as they assessed her looks for themselves or their unmarried sons. Margery thought they studied her as they might horseflesh. The new Baron of Highfield emphasized her beauty and good breeding but some of Thurstan’s remarks caused her cheeks to burn in embarrassment. He made it clear that he wanted a substantial financial arrangement that benefited him in order for some nobleman to claim her as his.

  They returned to Highfield, where the new baron read through written offers he’d received for her in marriage. He’d done nothing but complain the past several days, first wishing the offers were larger in nature. Then he narrowed the choice down to four gentlemen and claimed he couldn’t decide between them. Margery ignored his conversation as he spoke aloud, trying to think of ways to prevent a marriage between her and the nobleman Thurstan selected.

  She now worked beside Maud in the kitchen to finish preparations for today’s Christmas feast at midday. Once they’d returned from London, Thurstan ordered her trunk removed from the cart and taken to the solar, telling Margery she was to wear her clothes from before, as well as return to the cleaning and scrubbing she had performed inside the keep in the past. She saw the sorrowful looks pass between other servants as she labored in various rooms but felt no shame in the hard work she performed. She would rather do it and keep out of Thurstan’s sight, for he still frightened her. Margery had caught him looking at her twice since he’d returned, naked desire obvious on his face.

  He did allow her to dine next to him on the dais and she would need to join him in the next few minutes since it was time for the feast to commence. Quickly, she washed her hands and face and dried them. As she crossed the crowded great hall, her heart was heavy. This would be her first Christmas without her mother. Margery missed her more each day, never more so than after Ancel had been banished. She thought of the man she loved at Kinwick, surrounded by his parents and large, loving family, and fought back the tears that threatened to fall. She refused to let her stepbrother see any sign of weakness in her.

  Thurstan awaited her on the dais and even offered her his hand as she stepped up onto it and took a seat next to him. Agnes brought a trencher for them to share and placed a large portion of goose atop it. Margery had coated the bird in butter and saffron to give it this golden appearance after roasting. Though it looked appealing, she doubted she could force a bite of the goose down.

  Her stepbrother leaned close to her ear, his lips almost grazing it. Margery sat frozen as he said, “I am delighted to share today’s special meal with you, Margery. Who knew this time last year ‘twould be only the two of us left at Highfield?”

  She kept her eyes lowered to the trencher and remained silent.

  Course after course came out, some cooked by Maud and others prepared by Margery herself. Thurstan gorged himself on the mince pie, smacking his mouth while licking his fingers clean.

  “Did you make this pie?”

  “Aye.” She pushed another bite into her mouth and chewed slowly, forcing herself to swallow.

  Suddenly, his hand rested on her thigh, clasping it and then kneading it roughly. Margery leaped to her feet and hopped down to the floor.

  “Margery!” Thurstan shouted. “Margery, come back here.”

  She ignored him and lifted her skirts, running across a silent great hall and out the doors of the manor house. Racing away, she heard Thurstan’s boots as he chased her. In her rush, Margery tripped and pitched forward, landing on her hands and knees.

  Strong hands lifted her from the ground. Thurstan’s fingers curled around her upper arms. Anger gleamed in his eyes.

  “You will never insult me again,” he said, his voice low and deadly.

  Margery no longer cared what happened to her. She had lost Ancel and her mother. Gone was the chance for lasting happiness. She spit in his face and took pleasure in the shocked look that appeared.

  “I will never marry anyone you want me to,” she declared. “I refuse to be the golden goose that you sell to the highest bidder. I will flee to a convent before I marry a man of your choice. You cannot force me, Thurstan.”

  Rage glittered in his eyes. “What a splendid idea, Margery,” he said. “I should have thought of it myself. Aye, I do believe I will force myself upon you.”

  He had turned her words against her. Cold fear nipped at her.

  “I will glide my hands up your silken thighs. Tangle my fingers in your long locks. Drive my shaft into you until you beg for mercy. I will do it over and over until I break your spirit like that of a wild horse. And after you have submitted to me, you will bring gold into my coffers.” His smile turned evil. “Mayhap you will even go to your new husband with my babe in your belly.”

  She struggled against him but his fingers only dug deeper into her tender flesh, bruising her. Then he released her so suddenly, it shocked her. She became rooted to the spot and didn’t move when he drew back his fist and struck her. Nausea flared within her as she crumpled to the ground.

  Thurstan lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder. Each step he took jarred her, making her belly roil. Margery didn’t know where he took her as she watched the ground sway beneath her. Then he threw a door open and crossed a room. By its length, she realized he’d brought her to the solar. He placed her in a chair. She clung to the chair’s arms, trying to stop the wave of dizziness that overcame her.

  Before long, Thurstan returned with one of her chemises in hand. Margery watched him rip the silk apart, tearing it into long pieces. It confused her why he did this. Then she understood as he pinned her arms behind her and wrapped a strip of the material around her wrists. She tried to get up and couldn’t. He did the same to her ankles, bringing them together and tightly knotting the cloth strips around them. He left briefly and brought back one of her new cotehardies from her trunk that he’d had brought to his solar. Ripping it down the center, he wrapped it around her chest and waist several times, tying her to the chair.

  Anger boiled within her as she wrestled against the restraints. “I’ll kill you,” she ground out.

  Thurstan only laughed.

  “I’ll get free somehow and kill myself,” she threatened.

  “I don’t think so, Margery. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  He reached to the ground for another strip of her chemise and gagged her with it, then stepped back to study his handiwork.

  “You always seem so assured and capable,” Thurstan told her. “I rather like seeing you at my mercy.” He sighed. “I have fantasized for years about all the things I wanted to do to you. Finally, fantasy will become reality.” The back of his hand glided along her cheek and slid down her throat.

  Her rage vanished instantly, being replaced by fear. Margery froze, growing still, no longer fighting to free herself.

  Thurstan’s lips replaced his hand, sending a wave of revulsion through her. Without warning, his hands dropped and squeezed her breasts, his fingers digging into the tender flesh as his teeth sank painfully into her throat. She cried out behind the gag. He placed his face close to hers, his breath hot against her cheek. His fingers brushed against her nipples and then began pinching and twisting them cruelly. Margery screamed, the sound muffled by the gag. Thurstan laughed low, his eyes gleaming as they raked up and down her.

  His hands left her breasts and flattened, sliding slowly down her ribs. He pinched her belly, causing her to flinch each time he did so, which made him chuckle. They moved to her thighs. Margery locked her knees together.

  “You think you can stop me from touching you where I wish, Margery?” Thurstan asked, his eyes heating. His hand grasped her throat, his fingers tightening. Gradually, the pressure grew stronger and stronger and she began bucking, trying to get away yet knowing she couldn’t escape. Margery thought she might pass out and dreaded what he would do to her if she did. Finally, the
pressure eased up. She went limp, nausea rising within her.

  “I think I have decided whose offer I will accept,” he told her. “I will pen a missive to Lord Goldwell and tell him to come fetch you. But first, I will finish my lovely Christmas meal that you helped prepare.” His eyes gleamed. “And after I do, we will have plenty of time before Lord Goldwell arrives.” His knuckles grazed her cheek. “You may even thank me, Margery, for initiating you into the marriage act. That way, when fat old Goldwell straddles you, at least you will have known what it is like to be with a real man.”

  She glared at him, loathing the sight and sound of him. Though she couldn’t say the words, she knew her face told him what she thought.

  “First lesson,” he said softly. “You will keep your eyes averted. You will be docile.” He slapped her, hard. Her head snapped to the side, wrenching her neck. Stars danced before her eyes as light and darkness played against one another. Her eyes watered fiercely.

  “I’ll be back soon. Then our fun can begin.”

  Thurstan left the room. In the stillness, Margery began to quake with fear.

  What if she was already with child? Would what Thurstan did to her hurt Ancel’s babe or cause her to lose it? More than anything, she had wished Ancel’s seed did grow within her so she would always have a part of him. And what if her womb was empty now but Thurstan filled it? Would this Lord Goldwell, whom she couldn’t even remember from the many suitors Thurstan had spoken with, know what had been done to her? What if this nobleman realized the babe she carried was not his? Would he beat her and reject the child?

  Knowing the kind of man her stepbrother was, it frightened Margery what Thurstan would do to her when he returned. Hot tears poured down her cheeks.

  Margery wished she was dead.

  *

  As they drew near Highfield, Ancel hoped the earl would stay true to his word and claim Margery as his daughter. After he explained how Thurstan Vivers had returned and put a halt to Ancel’s plans to marry Margery since he was her closet living male relative, the nobleman still seemed reluctant to acknowledge his daughter outside the walls of his own solar. Ancel argued that Lord Myles no longer had a wife who might berate him for his youthful folly and that many men at court had fathered bastards. Ancel hated using such an ugly word to describe Margery but he needed for Peveril to understand how important it was to ride to Highfield immediately.

  Finally, the man had acquiesced at Ancel’s insistence and sent for his captain of the guard, who designated a dozen soldiers to accompany them. They had ridden all yesterday afternoon until the sun set and risen at daybreak to continue their journey from Kent into Essex. Ancel heard a few of the men grumbling about missing their Christmas dinner today but he knew they could not afford to waste any time. He’d been gone long enough for Vivers to have already betrothed Margery to another man, if not outright married her off for the money he so greedily wanted. Ancel prayed to the Living Christ that they weren’t too late and he would find Margery free to leave with them.

  They turned onto the familiar road to Highfield, one he had patrolled himself. Though Ancel would have enjoyed becoming lord of this large estate, the land and title meant nothing to him next to the woman he loved. With each hoof beat that sounded, he heard the name Margery echoed in it.

  Reaching the gates, the soldier on duty greeted him by name before he could identify himself.

  “Sir Ancel, you are a sight for sore eyes. Hold on a moment.” The main signaled down below and the gates slowly swung open.

  Ancel acknowledged the man with a wave and encouraged those in his party to follow him as he galloped through the outer bailey and into the inner one. Arriving at the manor house, he leaped from his horse and turned while Lord Myles did the same.

  “Wait here,” the nobleman instructed his knights. “I’ll send if I have need of you.”

  The two men marched to the door and pushed it open, not bothering to wait for a servant to answer a knock. Ancel thought it odd that no noise came from the great hall. Surely, all of the people of Highfield would have gathered to celebrate the holy day of Christmas with a massive feast. He stepped toward the open doors to the room and saw every table full but no one said a word as they ate.

  Before he could rush inside and confront Vivers, Margery’s friend, Sarah, passed by, a pitcher in her hand. Ancel called out to her.

  The servant turned, her eyes widening in surprise as she caught sight of him. She slipped from the room and took his arm, pulling him away from the doorway.

  “Oh, Sir Ancel, you must find Lady Margery,” she proclaimed, her eyes welling with unshed tears.

  “Has something happened to her?” he demanded, as Lord Myles moved closer to them.

  “Lord Thurstan is the Devil himself,” Sarah said. “He’s demanded that Lady Margery return to wearing rags and cleaning and cooking like a common serf. Something happened between them during the meal a few minutes ago. She ran from the room and the baron chased after her.” She swallowed. “I saw him carrying her up the stairs, slung over his shoulder. She was limp. I fear he’s struck her again.”

  “Again?” Ancel asked, rage exploding inside him.

  Sarah nodded, misery evident on her face. “He’s punished her a few times since he banished you and your parents from Highfield. Everything has changed for the worse, my lord. I am afraid he will kill her before he can marry her off.”

  “Return to the great hall,” Ancel instructed. “Tell no one that you’ve seen us.”

  Sarah nodded and scurried inside the room.

  “’Tis worse than I thought,” Lord Myles murmured. “You were right to convince me to come. We must remove my daughter from this dangerous situation at once.”

  “Follow me.”

  Ancel rushed up the stairs and down the corridor to the solar, the only place Vivers would have taken Margery. He flung open the door and entered, looking around. Then he stopped abruptly, his eyes barely comprehending what he saw.

  Margery. Shivering. Secured to a chair. Her face bruised. One eye swelling.

  Ancel reined in the wrath that poured from every pore. He wouldn’t direct his anger at her. She needed comfort and reassurance from him now. He approached her slowly and saw tears glistening on her cheeks.

  Then he watched her eyes change from dull and lifeless. They filled with hope—with love—for him.

  Ancel eased the gag from her mouth. His hands cupped her face as tears filled his own eyes. He tenderly pressed his lips against hers, wishing he could take away all the horrors she had experienced since they’d parted.

  “Let me free you, love,” he said gently.

  Fresh tears cascaded down her porcelain cheeks. “Thank you for coming,” she said, “but there is nothing you can do, Ancel.”

  “You’re right about that, sweetheart. But he can.” Ancel turned and motioned his companion forward.

  Pain laced the nobleman’s gaze as he said, “I am your father, Margery.”

  Chapter 24

  Margery stared blankly at the stranger standing before her. Wait. Somehow, she remembered seeing him before yet she could not remember where. Then Ancel’s words sank in.

  This was her father.

  The eyes that looked down on her in pity mirrored her own, warm brown rimmed in amber. Then she saw the pin fastened onto his cloak. The silver stood out against the black wool. Garnets studded the piece. Its unique designed resemble the one on her silver pendant.

  “Father?” Her voice broke, thick with emotion. She continued to stare at him as Ancel used his blade to free her from the restraints Thurstan had placed around her limbs and body. Margery sucked in a quick breath as her hands and feet began throbbing painfully.

  Ancel rubbed her bruised wrists with his strong fingers. “’Tis the blood rushing back and through your limbs, sweetheart. It won’t hurt for long.” He did the same to her ankles as her eyes never left those of the stranger who gazed down at her kindly.

  Margery stood on shaky legs, with
Ancel holding fast to her elbow to steady her.

  But the nobleman—her father—pushed Ancel aside and wrapped Margery in a long embrace, swaying back and forth with her as he tenderly stroked her hair. Finally, he released her but captured her hands.

  “I am Lord Myles Peveril, Earl of Mauntell,” he told her. “Lady Marian, your mother, was the love of my life.” He paused. “I am so sorry that she is gone.”

  “She gave me your necklace moments before she died,” Margery said.

  Her father lifted the pendant that hung around her neck, a smile playing about his lips. “I had this made for her shortly before we parted. Margery, you must know how very much we wished to wed but our parents had pledged us to others. I will tell you about the past later but ‘tis imperative that we leave Highfield now.”

  “Not until I confront Vivers and what he has done,” Ancel said.

  “Nay. I don’t want you to challenge him,” Margery pleaded. “I only want to leave this place for good.”

  “But he—”

  “He is a fiend. I know this. As dishonorable as any man can be.” She placed her palm against his cheek. “But he isn’t worthy of a moment of your time. Ignore him, Ancel. That will enrage him and be punishment enough. Please. Do this for me.”

  She saw him wrestling, wanting to bring justice to the man who had hurt her yet wanting to honor her wishes at the same time.

  “Do as my daughter asks,” her father urged. “Let us leave this place and never return.”

  Ancel’s hand covered hers. “Only for you, my love. And if I see Thurstan Vivers outside the gates of Highfield, I make no promise of what might occur between us.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed.