Merryn’s mind wandered as the proceedings went on. She wondered if she should have had some kind of mass for Geoffrey. It was so hard. He was neither alive nor dead, almost as if he’d been in Purgatory all these years.
Just as she had been.
Yet, in her heart, Merryn believed she would have sensed his death. Others might call her foolish, but she had faith that, one day, Geoffrey would walk through the doors of the great hall and all would be well again.
She pinched herself, forcing the fantasy to fade. She must prepare herself for the king’s upcoming visit. And make a decision regarding Sir Symond Benedict.
The mass ended. The priest announced there would be food and drink served in the great hall, but Merryn was in no mood to stay.
She leaned toward her brother. “Let us offer our condolences to the new earl and be off.”
He nodded and escorted the women toward Lord Hardwin.
“We are sorry for your loss, my lord,” Merryn said. “It’s never easy to lose a beloved family member.”
“You understand loss, my lady,” the new earl said, his eyes locked on hers.
His words took her aback, but she recovered. “Yes. I do. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish for my husband to be back at my side.” She fingered her brooch absently.
“’Tis a lovely piece you wear,” the nobleman told her. “Are those sapphires?”
“Aye. Geoffrey found it for me in France. ’Twas his wedding gift to me.” Her eyes closed for a minute and she was back in time when he presented the bridal gift to her. She opened them again, forcing herself back into reality.
“We must be off, my lord. Please let us know if there is anything we may do for you.”
His gaze held hers. “Thank you, Lady Merryn. And mayhap, one day, I can return the favor.”
Chapter 12
“Nine-hundred-ninety-nine. One thousand.”
Geoffrey dropped his arm back against his side. He’d finished rubbing his shackled right hand against the stone wall the prescribed one thousand times. He did this each day with both his cuffed wrists and ankles, hoping to wear through the iron.
It never worked.
But it was a part of a routine that helped keep him sane.
He moved his limbs as much as he could so that they would not grow weak from disuse. He had hours to spend with only himself and it gave him time to reflect upon his life.
Though Geoffrey had enjoyed every aspect of being a knight, some of the happiest hours in his life had been when his father sent him to a monastery one summer. Ferand thought it would benefit his son to learn humility and servitude from the monks to better serve the king and others. Not only had Geoffrey learned these lessons, but his thirst for knowledge had been satisfied.
Tutors had taught him Latin as a boy and the monks spoke and prayed in the language. Geoffrey had pored over illuminated manuscripts for hours, soaking in the text. Now in his prison cell, he remembered passages of what he had read and also chanted, something he hadn’t done since that long ago summer. The music soothed him in a way nothing else ever had.
A small part of him thought his life had been as golden as Job’s. He’d lost everything, yet retained an unshakeable faith in God. Geoffrey wished he could be more like that man of the Bible and stand up to the tribulation he now endured. He tried his best to keep from losing faith and prayed for strength and forgiveness. Though he’d been abandoned and left on his own, thanks to Berold’s cruelty, Geoffrey clung to his trust in God.
Some of his favorite things to think about were the stories his father told him as a child. The de Montforts treasured not only learning but an oral tradition, where the father passed down stories to his children. Geoffrey let his mind wander as he relived parts of The Iliad, which had been his favorite as a boy. He became Odysseus and saw countless adventures that helped pass the time.
But most of all? He daydreamed of a life with Merryn.
He tried to limit the amount of time he thought about her. If he didn’t, he would have been driven mad long ago.
The earl brought him small portions of food on a regular basis, usually when light first appeared in the slits above the cell each day. Occasionally, the nobleman skipped a day. Geoffrey believed Berold missed feeding him on feast days as an extra punishment.
That had occurred enough times for Geoffrey to know that time marched on.
That, and seeing Hardie grow.
The boy had been ten and two when Geoffrey had been locked away in this prison. Now, Hardie had grown in height and filled out considerably. His limbs and bearing were that of a grown man.
Geoffrey refused to ask Hardie his age, for it would only tell him how long he’d been in this oblivion.
He’d done his best to gain Hardie’s confidence. They’d actually become friends. The boy sneaked down to the dungeon several times a week, bringing him extra food. That had helped Geoffrey remain healthy. Geoffrey knew to keep his tattered cloak tightly about him. He didn’t want Berold to see he had some meat on his bones. Not that the earl could see much in the dim light from the single torch he brought when he visited.
The rest of the time, Geoffrey lived in darkness.
Hardie even brought a blanket every now and then, and Geoffrey would sleep on top of it. Even in the warmest times, the dungeon floor was cold to the touch. The dampness seeped into his lungs, making it painful to breathe at times. He made sure to hide the blanket behind him during the earl’s daily visit.
But no matter how he tried, the boy wouldn’t defy his father and free him. Geoffrey’s continued pleas fell on deaf ears. He realized that Berold had a stranglehold on his only surviving son. Hardie seemed paralyzed with fear whenever Geoffrey mentioned the earl’s name. The boy wasn’t willing to suffer whatever consequences Berold would mete out in retaliation.
Geoffrey looked out the bars to the spot where the key hung, tantalizing him every waking moment. Even if by some miracle he could break free of his restraints, he still had the iron bars of his cell to contend with. And if he found a way from the dungeon, how would he get through Winterbourne unseen?
He pushed the futile thoughts aside and envisioned Kinwick, instead. He walked through the castle daily, from the stores where grain and barrels of ale and wine were kept to the highest turret. He visited the stables and thought of the horses kept in their stalls. He roamed the land, visiting each tenant’s cottage, holding conversations with them, asking about their children and the needs they had.
Sometimes, he allowed Merryn to go with him. They would walk hand-in-hand through the castle, exploring various rooms. She would take him to where the healer had gathered different herbs and describe to him what each could do for an ailment. They would go down to the stables and feed Mystery and Destiny some small treat before they went riding.
He loved riding together through the meadow or woods. Sometimes, he took them to visit Hugh at Wellbury. He even imagined a bride for Hugh. He danced with Merryn in his arms at Hugh’s wedding, then raised a cup toasting her beauty and wit.
And on very special occasions, he would allow himself to remember what it was like to make love with his wife. He relived the night of their marriage over and over again. Touching her silken hair. Stroking the smooth curve of her hips. Entering her and bringing her to the heights of pleasure.
Geoffrey never thought of the hunting lodge.
He’d wanted it to be their special place. But after what had happened in the clearing, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine the place.
His stomach grumbled noisily. Berold had not come for three days. He wondered what feast day might be celebrated above stairs.
And a part of him feared that the earl might not ever come back. That he would slowly starve to death.
But he would die with Merryn’s name on his lips.
Wait.
The faint noise he’d grown to know so well sounded then. Berold—or possibly Hardie—opened the door at the top of the stairs. Within minutes, he would either gl
are at the earl in silence or enjoy a bit of conversation with the madman’s son.
Hardie arrived. He placed the torch in an empty sconce and moved toward the cell doors.
“I think you will like this.” He tossed something in. Geoffrey caught it.
Goose. He hadn’t had goose in some time. His stomach rumbled in need and appreciation. Without speaking, he bit into the bird. Though he wanted to devour it whole, he took his time and chewed slowly, relishing every bite.
Hardie watched him silently. When Geoffrey had finished, he tossed an apple and half a loaf of bread into the cell, along with several slices of cheese. It must be a feast day. He could not remember ever eating this well.
“Thank you, Hardie.”
Hardie still did not speak. That was unusual. For the most part, he was quite talkative. Something must be different. Something had happened.
Finally, the words came. “I’m sorry no one came for a few days. Father . . . Father is gone. He clutched his chest and collapsed. Nothing could be done. He’s dead.”
Geoffrey froze, hearing the words he’d longed to be uttered. A mix of joy and fear swept through him.
Hardie was the new Earl of Winterbourne. He could choose to free him. Or would he remain a prisoner?
“I am sorry for what Father did to you, Geoffrey. He was wrong. I hope to be a better man in many ways.” He paused. “That’s why I want to do the right thing now.”
Geoffrey tamped down the hope that rose. He couldn’t take any more disappointment. He rested his chained wrists atop his bent knees.
And waited.
He saw Hardie struggled with what he wanted to say. He paced the space in front of the cell, his hands behind his back. Geoffrey let him work out whatever demons he struggled with. He tried to make his mind a blank and think of nothing.
Yet, everything flooded through him. Images rapidly danced before his eyes. Longing swept through him, piercing his soul.
And still, he waited.
Hardie halted and locked his fingers around the iron bars of the cell. Geoffrey saw that he’d arrived at his decision.
“I cannot honor Father’s memory by keeping you confined any longer. Fortunately, he never made me swear a blood oath to him that I would continue in this duty.” His nose turned up in a sneer. “He never questioned that I would oppose him. He ordered me to keep up the practice after his death. He assumed because he spoke it, I would obey.”
Hardie turned his eyes to the wall above Geoffrey. “It never crossed his mind that I would dare release you.”
A tiny ray of hope burst through Geoffrey. As if he stood in the dark of night and had caught the first glimpse of the sun as it broke across the horizon.
And yet his mind wouldn’t allow him to rejoice. Not until he set foot on Kinwick lands and had Merryn in his arms would this nightmare be over.
Hardie mused aloud. “I must help you clean up. I should bring you fresh clothing.”
“No.” Geoffrey stood. He moved as close to the bars as his chains would stretch. For him, ’twas a matter of pride. His captor had taken everything from him. He would refuse to accept anything in return. Nothing Hardie could offer would make up for the lost years away from Merryn.
“I will be seen as I am.” He hesitated, knowing he must ask the next question. Dreading the answer he would receive.
“How long have I been here?”
Hardie looked stricken, as if he’d been slapped hard. He swallowed and then met Geoffrey’s eyes.
“’Tis halfway through May. The Year of Our Lord 1363.”
Geoffrey stumbled back. He fell to his knees. A low, guttural moan bellowed from deep within him. He heard the sound, as if it came from some wounded animal and not himself.
Six and a half years?
God in Heaven. He knew his captivity had stretched endlessly before him. But for so long a time?
His first thought was that Merryn would not even be at Kinwick. She would have married again. The king would not let such a pretty widow dangle loose for so long. Knowing she had gone to another man destroyed him. Another howl escaped his lips. He screamed again and again, eviscerated by the news.
He collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.
After some minutes, he raised his head. His gaze met Hardie’s. He had to ask. No matter what the answer was.
“Merryn?” The one word came out a hoarse whisper.
“I saw the lady this very morning.”
The words stunned him. “This morning?” he echoed, not understanding.
Hardie crouched, holding onto the bars for support. “Aye. She came to my father’s funeral mass.”
“You lie,” he growled.
“Nay, Geoffrey. I saw your wife. I remembered her from . . . from when you were first taken. She and others came to Winterbourne asking about you. Searching for you. She was so pretty. I found myself tongue-tied around her.”
Hardie paused. “She’s more than pretty now, Geoffrey. She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have laid eyes upon. And she wore the sapphire brooch you told me about.”
“The brooch.” Just thinking of the brooch left him weak. “She wore . . . my brooch.” His voice cracked.
“I know it to be so. When I commented on it, she told me ’twas a wedding gift from her husband.”
She still wore the brooch.
“She . . . she still lives . . . at Kinwick?”
“Aye.”
“She has not remarried?”
Hardie frowned. “I don’t believe so.” He rose to his feet. “You can go home to her, Geoffrey. But you must hear me out.”
He focused on the boy—no, the man—in front of him. An eerie chill swept through him. Something told him that to gain his freedom, he was about to make a bargain with the Devil.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“It’s said you were a man of your word. Even my father said as much.”
Geoffrey nodded solemnly, knowing Hardie’s next words would decide the future.
“My word is my honor. I would never dream of breaking it. I will give you my word, no matter what you wish.”
Hardie relaxed. “I would not have my father’s reputation sullied. He did what he thought he should to atone for Barrett’s death.”
“You mean avenge, don’t you?”
The new earl shrugged. “I ask two things of you. You will owe me these because I have it in my power to grant you your freedom.” He paused. “First, you must never speak about what happened to you. I’ll not have Father’s reputation in tatters. No one must ever know what he did to you.”
Geoffrey’s gut twisted, a physical pain as if he’d been stabbed. Not tell where he’d been all these years? Still, if it granted him release from this Hell, he must agree to it.
“And the other condition?” he asked.
“That you will grant a favor to me in the future. You may not know what the favor is now, but when the time comes, you will act without question. You must swear to this, Geoffrey de Montfort. Upon your word of honor and your very life.”
Geoffrey would agree to dance with the Devil himself if he could leave—and live. With Merryn.
“Aye. I swear I shall never reveal where I’ve been nor why I was taken. And I swear that I shall agree to whatever request you make without question.”
“Then you shall leave Winterbourne tonight.”
Chapter 13
Still in chains, Geoffrey patiently waited for Hardie to keep his word.
The new earl had left quickly after his promise to free Geoffrey, hurrying back to life above.
He could only hope that Hardie did not play some monstrous game with him invented by Berold to torment him.
The food he’d eaten sat heavily in his stomach. He leaned his head against the wall, wondering if these truly might be the final hours he spent in this hellhole.
Almost seven years . . .
He fought the urge to think about how much had changed at Kinwick. If anything remained the
same.
Most of all, he pushed aside thoughts of Merryn.
Hardie appeared at the door, finally. Geoffrey noticed he seemed on edge. The new earl would want no one to see them—else explanations must be forthcoming.
Hardie removed the keys from the hook. He tried several before he chose the right one to free Geoffrey. Suddenly, the door swung open, squeaking on its rusty hinges. Geoffrey’s heart raced in anticipation.
Hardie then removed the shackles from Geoffrey’s wrists and ankles. As the cuffs were tossed aside, a heavy burden lifted from him.
“’Tis the dead of night, Geoffrey,” Hardie said. “You must keep silent as we move through the castle. I will lead you to our postern gate. A single guard is assigned to it.”
“What will happen to him?” Geoffrey remembered the first earl’s cold-blooded murder of the two soldiers who’d kidnapped him.
“I made sure a sleeping draught went into the guard’s ale before he reported for duty tonight. We should find him fast asleep at his post.”
“And the healer? Is she the same one who tended me all those years ago?” Geoffrey touched his scarred shoulder as he spoke.
“Aye. But she will never tell another you were here. Father made sure of that.” Hardie looked away as he stepped from the cell.
Geoffrey heard the bitterness in Hardie’s voice. “What did he do?” Somehow, it was important that he know.
The new earl’s eyes met his. “Before she tended to you that first time, he cut out her tongue.”
Horror halted his steps. He remembered how the woman had gone about her business, never speaking to him. Now he knew the reason why.
Hardie gave him a pleading look. “I am not my father, Geoffrey. Nor would I ever be a traitor to king and country as my brother was. I have many sins of theirs for which I must atone. Tonight, I try to right the first of many wrongs.
Follow me.”
Geoffrey fell in behind his savior. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed other worldly to him. He had to watch his balance as he moved, putting his hand on the wall for support as they climbed the many steps.
The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection Page 39