Return to Honor (Knights of Honor Book 10)

by Alexa Aston

  Concern crossed her brow. “Should I go with you? I might be of some assistance with my herbs.”

  “Let me see him first. If he looks as if it would be beneficial to bring in a healer, I will come for you myself.”

  Jess laid a palm against his cheek. “Take care.”

  “I will.”

  Marcus bent and kissed her tenderly. He needed this last physical contact with her before he rode into the lion’s den.

  Jess was the one who broke their kiss. “Go,” she urged.

  Marcus went to where the horses were hobbled and found that Rand already had Storm saddled and waiting for him. He mounted his horse and set out for Hartefield with mixed emotions. The last few months had been unlike any he’d experienced. All his life, Marcus had trained to be a soldier and then fought in Northern Scotland and Ireland with the king.

  Something in him broke, though, when he returned home and learned of his mother’s death. When he’d stormed from the keep after his father gave him that news, Marcus hadn’t known if or when he’d be back. He only knew if he remained, his father would wind up dead on the floor by his only son’s hand. It had taken the child who’d innocently come to Marcus and climbed trustingly into his arms to prevent a bloodbath.

  Time away from Hartefield with the mummers had healed his emotional wounds. The life was transient and lighthearted, the people friendly and loyal to one another. Things moved at a different pace and each day proved to be new and different from the one before.

  Most important of all, he’d found Jess. By the Christ, this woman was everything to him now. As Marcus rode toward home, he thought long and hard on his mother’s words, the ones that warned him never to give his heart to another and if he so foolishly did, never let her know. Margaret de Harte had told him to refuse to utter the words of love that would make him weak.

  Had his mother been wrong?

  Marcus didn’t feel weak loving Jess. In fact, he seemed more powerful for it, as if he could move mountains. Mayhap his mother’s bitterness regarding her own situation had colored her view. He had the rest of his life with Jess. Plenty of time to decide if the words recognizing his love for her were important to say aloud.

  But his heart told him they were.

  It amazed him that Jess had given herself freely to him, knowing she’d said she would only wed a man she loved and one who loved her. He would be ever faithful to Jess, daily showing her how devoted he was to her and any children they might have. His decision regarding future declarations of love could wait for the present. More than anything, he needed to see what awaited him at Hartefield.

  Marcus rode through the gates as dusk turned into dark. They were still open, probably at Rand’s urging. Sure enough, he spotted Thomas and reined in his horse. Dismounting, he tossed the reins to a stable boy who ran to take them.

  Marcus clasped Thomas’ hand. “’Tis good to see you, Thomas.”

  “And you, as well, my lord.”

  The two men fell into step and headed toward the keep.

  “I heard the Irish fight dirty,” Thomas said.

  Marcus laughed. “I’m sure the men entertained you with all kinds of stories of our years away.” Then he grew serious. “How is my father? Rand said he was quite ill.”

  “Very ill. Lady Ailith, as well, though from what I know, she suffers from a different ailment.”

  They entered the keep and began up the staircase, passing Sagar, Hartefield’s longtime steward. Marcus gave him a brief nod. Sagar turned and followed them to the solar.

  When they reached it, the steward told him, “From what I know, Sir Marcus, you’ll be our new baron before the week is out. You should know you have my loyalty and that of every soldier and servant at Hartefield. Thomas will confirm that.”

  Marcus replied, “That means a great deal to me, Sagar.”

  “We’ll wait for you here in case you have need of us,” the steward said.

  He prepared himself for what he would find and then opened the door.

  The first room had been changed from a family room into a sick room. The table and all the various chairs had been pushed to the far side of the chamber. A bed had been brought in. A flushed Ailith de Harte lay in it, coughing harshly despite being asleep. Herleva, the head of Harte Castle’s many servants, sat beside her.

  She rose. “Greetings, my lord. ’Tis good that you’ve returned home.”

  “What’s wrong with Lady Ailith?” he asked.

  “My lady has both fever and chills,” Herleva said. “She’s started coughing and has difficulty breathing. I moved her out here so that both she and Lord Charles might be able to rest better apart and not disturb one another.”

  He studied his stepmother. “Will she live?”

  “By God’s Grace,” the servant replied.

  Marcus crossed the room and entered the master bedchamber. Inside, he saw Hartefield’s priest and knew that the man of God was present for a good reason. Marcus’ eyes were drawn to the shriveled husk in the bed. His father looked nothing like the man he’d seen in early May. Though Charles de Harte had been thin to begin with, he now looked like skin and bones. He’d also lost all of his hair and trembled visibly. He clenched his teeth as if in pain.

  Father Pious finished the prayer he intoned over the baron and looked up.

  “He hasn’t long, my lord. I heard his last confession just moments ago.” The priest leaned over the living corpse. “Your son is here, Lord Charles.”

  His father opened his eyes and sought out Marcus. “You came.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m dying.”

  “I can see.”

  The nobleman struggled to breathe. Finally, he said, “You must wed Ailith at once.”

  His words took Marcus aback. “Lady Ailith is your wife, Father.”

  “Nay. She never has been. She is yours.”

  Marcus looked to the priest. “How long has he been confused, Father?”

  The priest flushed a dull red. “He’s not, my lord. I’ve seen the betrothal papers. You are the one betrothed to Lady Ailith.” Father Pious looked back to the baron.

  Nausea filled Marcus.

  “Tell him,” rasped Charles. “I haven’t the strength.”

  “Your confession—”

  “Tell him,” insisted the baron.

  Pious nodded. “Lady Ailith’s father brought her to Hartefield only days before your mother’s death. He and Lord Charles signed the betrothal papers, legally uniting you and Lady Ailith. She was to remain here and learn about Hartefield while you were away fighting with the king’s troops. Lord Charles was most taken with the lady. He waited a month and could no longer fight the demons that made him covet his son’s wife-to-be. He . . . he told her that you had been killed in battle. That he would send word to her father and new contracts would be drawn up and signed.”

  Marcus sucked in a startled breath. “My father lied to her? He claimed I was dead?”

  The priest nodded, shame evident on his face. “He did, Lord Marcus. Your father told the lady he’d received a missive that you’d been killed by the enemy. He then told Lady Ailith that the best solution was for him to wed her to ensure her future and said her father had agreed to new proposed contracts.

  “Ones that would make Lord Charles her husband.”

  Marcus could see how the events played out. A naïve young woman, far from home, trusting the always confident Charles de Harte. A pretense of sending papers back and forth. His father being solicitous and caring, earning Ailith’s trust.

  “Did they go through a Church ceremony?” he asked the priest.

  “Nay. Lord Charles stated the papers sufficed and that made them legally wed. He emphasized to Lady Ailith that he did not want to have a large wedding when he had recently lost his own wife and son, and Lady Ailith had lost the betrothed she’d never seen. The poor lady did not know any better, my lord.”

  Rage flowed through Marcus. He wheeled toward his father. “So, you seduced an inno
cent virgin who didn’t know how low you would sink. Got her with child since you’ve wanted more sons ever since I was born. And what did it get you? Two more daughters. Shake any tree around Hartefield and one of my many half-sisters would fall from it.” He spat on the floor. “You disgust me.”

  Charles shrugged feebly. “I always have. You were your mother’s child from the beginning. Never mine. Now, though, you must make things right. I don’t have long left in this world and I’ve grown fond of Ailith. You need to protect her and your half-sisters. She was meant for you. Not me. I was nothing more than an old fool. You must do as I say, Marcus. I am Baron of Harteley. I am your father. You will obey me.”

  His fury boiled over. “Why should I clean up your mistakes?” he seethed. “You are the one who’s ruined this woman’s life. Did you think I’d be eager to take your bloody leftovers? Or even want to raise your bastards by her? No, Father. I refuse to do as you command and wed Lady Ailith. I won’t have her and those children foisted upon me. Soon, you will be in your grave and I will be the new Baron of Harteley. I have my own life to live, not one of your making. I will run Hartefield as I see fit, with a wife that I choose by my side.”

  The baron licked his cracked lips. “I regret taking Ailith to wife under false circumstances. I have confessed to Father Pious. I know I shall burn in the fires of all Eternity for the man I’ve been.” Charles paused. “Be a better man than I was, my son. Take Ailith to wife. I beg you, my son. Now.”

  “You can plead until no breath is left in you, Father, but I will not wed her. Not now. Not ever.”

  His father’s eyes fluttered shut. Marcus hoped the bastard was dead. He’d been a terrible father and worse husband. The fact Charles de Harte had deceived an innocent such as Lady Ailith only proved what a bastard he truly was. The fires of Hell were too good for him. Marcus hoped God would find an even greater punishment for his father. One where he suffered beyond Eternity.

  As his fury cooled, Father Pious placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Lord Marcus, I understand how angry and hurt you are by your father’s actions.”

  “You have no idea, Father. I abhor him and everything he’s done.”

  “I understand, my lord. Time will heal you. Forgiveness will come.”

  Marcus doubted it ever would but he kept silent.

  “You do realize you’ll have to do as he requested,” the priest continued.

  “I will never take Lady Ailith to wife, Father.”

  Father Pious gazed at him sadly. “You already have.”

  Marcus paused, going over the conversation in his mind. Realization struck him as a physical blow and he fell to his knees.

  Though he hadn’t spoken vows in a wedding ceremony, by law he was already a husband to Ailith.

  Which meant he couldn’t be one to Jess.

  Chapter 19

  Marcus awakened with gritty eyes due to lack of sleep. It had eluded him for most of the night as his mind whirled in circles, all his thoughts centered on Jess. The life he’d planned for them, with their children playing throughout the estate as they worked together for the good of their people.

  All gone in an instant.

  He worried that she might carry his child. They’d only coupled once but Marcus knew it was a possibility. He couldn’t send her away, not when he would want to love the child that resulted from their night of passion. Yet, he didn’t believe Jess would stay with him under the present circumstances.

  How sick was Ailith? The noblewoman hadn’t awakened when he’d come into the solar last night. Marcus had never wished anyone ill but his hopes must be pinned upon his stepmother not surviving whatever illness gripped her body. He would gladly care for Livia and little Mary in the case of Ailith’s death and bring them up as daughters of the house. He believed Jess would be generous in her time and affection for these girls, mothering them as her own.

  Marcus rose, looking about the familiar bedchamber. Many times, his father had told him that he would one day share it with his brothers. As the years passed, that never occurred, despite his mother’s many efforts to provide more sons to her husband.

  He returned to the solar. Opening the door, he froze. No one occupied the bed.

  Had Lady Ailith died during the night?

  Guilt washed over him at his deepest desire already coming to pass.

  He sensed a presence behind him and turned. Herleva stood there.

  “Where is Lady Ailith?” Marcus demanded.

  “I had her moved across the hall,” the servant told him as she began stripping the bed and bundling up the bedclothes.

  “Why?”

  Herleva stopped her task. “She has the measles. The spots appeared late last night. It explains the symptoms she had before. I plan to burn these bedclothes.”

  Measles were easily spread. Marcus could understand Herleva isolating Ailith from others within the keep.

  “What of her children?”

  “Lady Livia is fine. I will keep her from her mother.” She paused. “Lady Mary, though, has been infected. Lady Ailith nursed the child up until two days ago when she fell ill. The babe is with her mother now. I’ve found a kitchen girl who contracted measles as a child. She is with them and will handle their care.”

  Marcus knew once a person survived the disease, they never got it again. He himself had measles as a boy while he was fostering. It spread like wildfire among the pages and squires.

  Just under half the boys who came down with the fever and spots had perished within a week.

  “Have you seen the baron this morning?” Herleva asked.

  “I was about to visit him.”

  “Don’t tell him about the baroness or his daughter,” she urged. “It would only hurt him, knowing they suffered.”

  “I agree.” He nodded and entered the bedchamber. Father Pious sat next to the bed where the baron lay, his eyes closed, his face bloodless.

  “He’s almost gone,” the priest said.

  Marcus went to stand on the opposite side of the bed. The labored breathing coming from the bed gave him pause. Though his father had never shown him any outward sign of affection, Marcus took his hand, hoping to bring him some small comfort at the end of his life.

  “I am here, Father.”

  Lord Charles struggled to open his eyes. A smile crossed his lips when he caught sight of his son. “Thank you,” he wheezed.

  Slowly, over the next several minutes, the life ebbed from the baron until his breathing ceased. Marcus released the hand he held and placed it back on the bed.

  “I’d like to gather the servants and serfs and have you say mass for him this morning.”

  Father Pious studied him. “I will do as you wish, my lord. Will you now wed Lady Ailith? Your father would want you to honor his wishes now that he’s gone.”

  “She has the measles. She may not live much longer herself.”

  “Herleva told me. It matters not. I can marry the two of you now. We’ll need witnesses, though.”

  “I’ll find some.”

  Marcus departed the solar and went downstairs. He sent a servant to find Sagar and Thomas. Within minutes, both men arrived.

  “Follow me,” he said, leading them upstairs. He paused in front of the bedchamber Lady Ailith now occupied.

  “Have either of you contracted measles?”

  Neither man had.

  “My father requested that I wed Lady Ailith upon his death. Now that he has passed, I wish you to witness the ceremony. Stand at the door but come no closer,” he warned.

  Father Pious joined them and he and Marcus entered the bedchamber. A servant no more than ten and two sat with the baroness and her babe.

  “Have you been here all night?” Marcus asked the girl. When she nodded, he said, “Go. Break your fast and then return.”

  The girl stood and placed the sleeping babe in her arms next to the baroness and left. Marcus saw how feverish the two were. Bright red spots covered both of them.

  The priest shook Lady
Ailith’s shoulder lightly. “My lady?” he said several times.

  The baroness finally opened her eyes. “I’m so parched.”

  Marcus took a pewter cup sitting next to the table and filled it with ale from a pitcher. He brought it to the noblewoman’s parched lips and she drank greedily. He could feel the heat coming off her.

  “My lady,” he said gently, “I must give you some bad news.”

  Her eyes, glassy and wide, frightened him. He’d seen men dying on the battlefield who looked no worse. He thought she might pass at any moment.

  “Is it my husband?” she asked. “Has he gone to God?”

  Marcus seriously doubted God would have anything to do with Charles de Harte but he said, “Aye. Just a few minutes ago.”

  Ailith sighed. “I’m sorry I could not be with him. He was very good to me. Especially after he received word of your death, my lord. The baron wed me so that I would be under his protection. He dearly loved Livia and Mary, too.”

  Marcus brushed the hair back from her face. Despite his allegiance to Jess, he couldn’t help but have tender feelings for this trusting woman who’d held his father in high regard.

  “I plan to take care of you and your daughters now, my lady. Are you ready to wed me as you were supposed to?”

  She looked startled. “Now? Shouldn’t I mourn for my husband first?”

  “’Twas what Lord Charles desired, my lady,” Father Pious interjected. “He was thinking of you and your welfare until the very end.”

  Lady Ailith sighed. “If that is what my husband wanted . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “He did,” Marcus assured her, looking to the priest. “Begin the ceremony,” he ordered.

  Father Pious did as Marcus asked. As they recited their vows, Mary awakened and began to wail. Marcus scooped up the feverish babe and held her close to his chest, quieting her.

  Once they finished, the priest told him to kiss his bride. Marcus briefly touched his lips against his new wife’s, again feeling the fever’s heat radiate from her.

  “I promise I will be well soon, my lord.”