by Alexa Aston
His eagerness grew since this would be the last day of his journey. By his calculations, he should arrive at Kinwick in the next hour or two. Once again, he had impetuously set off alone in his travels, though he had taken precautions along the way. Kit scanned the road ahead and saw no one in sight. He cantered along at a steady pace in the warm sunshine, the English meadows he passed full of spring flowers in full bloom on this April day.
As he rode, his thoughts wandered to what he might find when he arrived. He would be interested in meeting Lord Geoffrey and hearing his opinion of the peace treaty since de Montfort was a man who had held the king’s ear for a score or more. Devereux and Fairfax had mentioned that Alys’ mother had taught her the healing arts. He wondered if Alys’ rich chestnut hair was inherited from this mother. How he had fantasized about running his fingers through it after their single meeting.
Again, Kit whispered a fervent prayer to the Living Christ that his mother would be saved by Lady Alys’ ministrations. Berengaria Emory was the strongest influence in his life, and he had learned everything about how to care for Brentwood and its people at her knee. He needed for her to be in his life many more years, keeping Brentwood thriving—and God Almighty willing—seeing her grandchildren play on the estate. Kit knew it would give his mother a reason to live if he could wed again and provide an heir. It would also give him a new outlook on life to bring home a new bride to Brentwood, one he could respect and even enjoy being in her company. And dare he wish for—one that might bring love into his life. After all the fighting and ugliness he’d witnessed in France, he longed for a different kind of life with a woman who could bring him happiness and fulfillment.
Watching his parents, Kit had understood from an early age that their union had never been close, much less joyful. They lived entirely separate lives, with his father at court most of the year. Godwin Emory thrived on all the political intrigue court provided and he relished the power given to him by the king. Many years, his father had chosen to go on summer progress with the royal court and had not even returned home during that season.
His mother had the heart of a lion and the head of the wisest counselor. She ruled Brentwood with a firm yet loving hand, never afraid to make an unpopular decision if it was in the best interest of the estate and its people. She had hired multiple tutors for Kit so he would be well versed in languages and history, but he learned the most from her regarding decision making and arranging priorities, as well as how to manage people and what made a great estate work seamlessly.
That was why he wished for her to stay healthy for years to come. He believed he still had much more to learn from her. Besides, he truly enjoyed his mother’s company.
Suddenly, he spied a large group ahead on foot. Their bedraggled appearance made him wary, though he didn’t spot anyone armed. His daydreaming had caused him to lose focus. Kit decided since none of the men before him were mounted, he would ride quickly by the potentially hostile strangers.
As he drew near the group, they paused as one mass, spreading out across the road. It didn’t matter to him if he injured any of them by barreling through their line of resistance. Nothing would cause him to come to a halt. He refused to play things safe and ride slightly off the road away from the troublesome band, for his horse could step in a hole. If it did, the animal might stumble—or worse—break a leg. That would prove disastrous.
One of the men raised a dolon from behind his back. His face looked all the more menacing thanks to the deep scar that cut across his cheek. At least the stranger threatened him with a mere club and not a mace, which held a metal-tipped end. Kit could easily withstand a blow from the club as he rode by. He glanced at the side of the road as he approached, which narrowed due to the trees on each side. He understood that was why the group halted where it had. He realized even if he’d wished to, he wouldn’t be able to ride to the side of the group since the trees proved far too dense. That route would cause him to slow his horse too much, and he was unwilling to do so and be overtaken.
Energy coursed through him. He dug his spurs into the horse’s side, urging it on and deliberately rode away from the man holding the dolon, aiming to burst through the other side instead. As he reached the haggard group, the line of men he headed toward leapt aside in order to avoid being trampled by his horse. Just before he came even with them, they bent into the dirt as one.
Too late, Kit realized his mistake.
The unkempt band lifted a chain a foot off the ground. There was no time to urge his horse to jump the small hurdle, for he reached it at that very moment. Strung tightly across the path, the horse’s hooves hit it, and the animal stumbled. Kit sailed over its head, relinquishing the reins at the last minute so he wouldn’t be dragged down with the beast.
The horse struck the ground behind him. He heard a loud snap before he also hit the earth and knew one or more of the animal’s legs broke in the fall. The horse screamed in pain. His gut wrenched at the unearthly sound that reminded him of men crying out in pain across the battlefields in France.
But he was already rolling, coming to his feet, drawing his sword.
Slowly, the crew of men—eight in number—fanned out and encircled him. Kit thought he could take out at least half of them if he moved quickly. He turned slowly, noting their positions, then he rushed forward to attack.
He let his sword fly, and two men went down in mere seconds. He slashed at a third, who clasped his throat and fell to his knees, hot blood pouring into the dirt. Another strike, and a fourth man went down.
Then he was slammed from behind with great force. Kit dropped to his knees as shoots of red and gold lightning bolts clouded his vision. Someone ripped his sword away. He tried to stand and retrieve it, but again he was struck in the back of his head. Stars burst before his eyes. Vaguely, he realized the man swinging the dolon had landed the blows. Kit tried to rise, but the ground swam underneath him as another blow connected to the back of his neck. He went down, face first, before the weapon was driven hard into the small of his back. A burst of nausea filled him.
Kit struggled as they rolled him over. Booted feet stomped hard, holding his wrists down. He sensed his cloak being stripped away and tossed aside. He caught a few words of conversation and knew the men would sell it. Next, they ripped his coin purse from him. Then blows rained down upon him. Fists and kicks pummeled him till he heard ribs crack. White-hot pain shot through him.
Then half-conscious, his cotehardie and gypon were torn from him, followed by his pants. More blows struck him as men kicked his back and chest. Kit drew himself into a ball, the pain unbearable, as a loud whack against the side of his head caused his teeth to vibrate. Waves of pain shot through his head, causing his vision to go blindingly white, before a whooshing sound occurred.
Everything went pitch black.
Chapter 4
Alys left mass with Ancel by her side. They returned to the great hall to break their fast.
“I don’t see why Father insists on escorting us back to Winterbourne,” her twin complained. “It’s only an hour’s ride to the north. Surely, I can manage my own two brothers for that short a time, even if one of them is Hal.”
She took a sip of her ale and set it down on the trestle table. “He isn’t questioning whether or not you can handle Hal and Edward. But times are different, Ancel. Even when we travel to Wellbury to visit Uncle Hugh and Aunt Milla, a group of soldiers always escorts us.”
“But you don’t even have to use a road to reach Wellbury,” Ancel said, surprise on his face. “Our properties are adjacent.”
“Aye, but it’s a long way through the fields and then the forest before you reach the meadow and catch sight of Wellbury. You have been gone from England, Brother. Just as things are troubled abroad, so are they here in the kingdom.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “But surely not here at Kinwick. Nor with our neighbors. We are fortunate to have good harvests and hardworking tenants. I cannot see our roads as dangerous. You
’re exaggerating, Alys.”
“Yet you heard Father speak his mind yesterday. Prosperity slips away. Gangs of robbers infest the countryside now, roaming far and wide. They hide in forests in order to ambush travelers, placing fallen trees in the roads to bring a traveling party to a halt. Though Winterbourne seems like a short ride from Kinwick, Father is wise to take precautions.”
Ancel shook his head. “I had no idea violence lay at our back doorstep. I thought I had left all of that behind in France.” He tore a piece of bread from the loaf before them and chewed it thoughtfully.
“Do you think of the war often?” she asked, remembering his reluctance to discuss it yesterday.
A faraway look came to her brother’s eyes. He seemed lost in thought. Then he reached and sliced a bit of cheese from the small round on the table, breaking the spell that had come over him.
“I dream of it,” he admitted. “I hear the cries of the wounded. I can smell the blood pooling in the dirt under fallen men. I fought because it’s what I have been trained to do all of my life. To defend England and her honor.” Sadness crossed his face. “I hope you never have to see the things I saw for they can never be unseen. I have killed, Sister. Numerous times. I watched the life ebb from men whose names I will never know. My nightly prayer to the Virgin Mary is a plea for this fighting to end. For good.”
Alys understood his anguish, for anything Ancel felt, she seemed to, as well. Any time he had suffered, be it a physical wound or one deep within his soul, immediately she knew something was wrong. The connection forged between them in their mother’s womb had only grown stronger through the years. One morning several months ago, she had shot up from her bed, her heart pounding like the thundering hooves of a galloping horse. Her belly clenched as nausea overtook her for several minutes. Then it eased, though she still experienced discomfort the rest of the day. She had no doubt that Ancel had made his first kill on the battlefield that morning.
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it sympathetically. “I’m glad you have returned home, Ancel, even if you’ll remain at Winterbourne instead of Kinwick. I will be more at peace knowing you are close by.”
He sighed. “Mayhap Father is wrong and the truce England and France signed will hold.”
Alys had never known their father to be wrong, especially when it came to matters regarding politics. She could only pray that he, her brothers, and cousins by marriage would remain home for the foreseeable future.
“When do you leave for Winterbourne?”
“Father said directly after we broke our fast.” Ancel brightened. “Would you like to ride with us? I’m sure Lady Johamma would enjoy seeing you. The boys, too. You know they adore you.”
“Hmm. Mother did say she needed to deliver some herbs to replenish the stock she had given Johamma.” She smiled. “I think I will. Let me check with her as to what I should bring with us.”
“Meet me in the bailey as soon as you can. I’ll have your horse saddled for you.”
Alys went upstairs and found her mother in Hal and Edward’s chamber, packing a few new gypons for them to wear. She explained to her mother that she would ride to Winterbourne and take whatever herbs Johamma needed.
“I will gather what I promised to her,” Merryn said, “and meet you downstairs.”
Within a quarter hour, the assembled group was ready to ride out from Kinwick.
Edward endured his mother’s kisses without comment, but Hal began to protest when she fussed over him.
“Don’t cover my face in kisses, Lady Mother,” he begged. “It’s unseemly for a boy my age. Edward and I will return in less than two months’ time for our summer break.”
Alys watched as her mother ignored his words and gripped Hal’s chin in her hands. She kissed his forehead. “I will miss you every day that you are gone, Hal. Edward, too.” Her eyes gleamed at her young son. “And the day will come when you will long for a woman to cover your face in kisses,” she teased.
Hal turned crimson and hurried to mount his horse as those gathered had a good laugh at his expense.
The traveling party rode through the inner and outer baileys and sailed through the open gates. They passed workers weeding in the fields, waving as they cantered by.
“I adore spring,” she told Ancel. “I’m sorry you will miss the upcoming May Day activities.”
His eyes lit up. “We always had good times at the festivities,” he agreed. “So how are you keeping yourself occupied besides learning from Mother?”
“Her knowledge is vast. I continue to learn something new from her every day,” Alys replied. “But I do visit the workers on the estate and help tend to their needs. Especially Old Davey. He’s gone blind now. I also serve as midwife and have delivered over a dozen babes this year.”
“You told me you started doing that while at court.”
“Aye. I only helped in birthing a few babes in London, but it was good experience. Mother comes with me when she can, but she has been busy with estate matters while Father spent time in Belgium negotiating the truce.”
“It reminded me how Father told us that the king asked for him to come to court and serve as one of his advisers,” Ancel shared. “’Twas many years ago. Soon after he returned from . . . you know.”
They never spoke of that dark time—even amongst themselves. Geoffrey de Montfort had gone missing the day after his wedding, only returning when his twins were almost six years of age. When he came home to Kinwick, he was a stranger to them all. It had taken time to know him. Trust him. And love him.
“But he didn’t go.”
“Nay,” her brother said. “He turned down the king.”
“Who does that and keeps his head?” she marveled, already aware of this from what her mother had revealed.
“Apparently, Father did because he wanted to stay home with us. He told the king he was happy at Kinwick and did not want to raise his family at court. In turn, he agreed that King Edward could call upon him when necessary. The king has done so several times over the years. This truce with the French is only the latest example of Father’s service.”
“I admire that he stood up to the king. You know how mercurial his temper is, Ancel. Father took a great risk by demanding he be allowed to remain at Kinwick.”
“I know. It makes me proud of him.”
Alys was happy to hear her brother say so. She had come around to her father’s presence more quickly than Ancel had. Her brother, though sunny in nature, was more cautious in placing trust in others. He and Geoffrey had mended the fences between them long ago, but it still warmed her to hear how Ancel took pride in their father’s actions on their behalves.
They traveled in silence after that, basking in the sun as they rode through the countryside toward Winterbourne on a day that had turned cool. Alys was happy she had decided to accompany her brothers back to Winterbourne, even if it only meant another hour in their presence. Though she enjoyed the time she spent with her sister, Nan, Alys always looked forward to seeing her brothers, especially Ancel. Being twins, the two would always share a special bond.
Riders pulled up in front of them, so she slowed her horse and brought it to a halt. Her father whipped a hand, finger pointed, and Hemmet rode out from the group.
Alys leaned around and saw something in the road ahead.
Bodies . . .
Her throat tightened as her pulse pounded fiercely. She watched the men of Kinwick fan out and encircle the de Montfort children, their steeds facing outward. She wondered if the wandering thieves she had warned Ancel about watched them from the surrounding woods. She turned to observe her father as he assessed the situation, his eyes moving in all directions as he walked Mystery around the outside of the circle.
She focused on Hemmet as he inspected the fallen. The soldier squatted and reach a hand down. He remounted his horse and rode back in their direction and was admitted inside the circle. Her father followed, and the guard closed ranks again.
“Looks
like a man was attacked on the road, my lord. I believe he cut four of them down before being overwhelmed. He’s alive. Barely.”
“Then we must come to his aid,” Alys said. “I implore you, Father. Let me go to him.”
He surveyed the area once more.
“Don’t think it’s a trap, my lord,” Hemmet added. “I saw no one about.”
“Nor I,” Geoffrey agreed. “Come,” he ordered. “Let us see to this fallen man.” He glanced to her. “No rushing ahead, Alys,” he warned.
She tamped down her impatience. The guard trotted to where bodies littered the road. As Ancel helped her dismount, Alys saw two had been cut down with a sword. Another had a gashed throat, his head almost severed from his body. A fourth faced the dirt, blood pooled beneath him. A downed horse whimpered softly. Her eyes met her twin’s. He strode off in the horse’s direction, and she knew Ancel would mercifully put the suffering animal down.
But it was the last man who drew her attention.
He lay curled in the road, his arms raised protectively about his head. The thieves had beaten him severely. His swollen, bloodied face was covered in dust. Fresh bruises appeared over a majority of his muscular body. She could see them because they had stolen not only his sword but the very clothes from his back.
Alys knew for him to cut down four strangers so quickly, the injured man must be a knight. Or a talented soldier, at the very least. The clothing he wore would fetch a high price at market, as would any weaponry he carried.
She bent and touched the man’s throat. A weak pulse greeted her fingers. She worked her fingers through his dark brown hair and found a knot on the back of his head. Though unconscious, he moaned as she tenderly felt the goose egg. This blow could have killed him. He was lucky to have survived it.