Knights of Honor Books 1-10: A Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Alexa Aston

  He and Raynor continued to speak, discussing men they knew and places they’d been. Beatrice tried to follow their conversation, but the nearby fire and the stew warming her belly made her yawn.

  “I see we are boring your wife,” Sir Thomas noted. “May I ask why you have come so far?”

  “For a wedding,” she answered truthfully. “Sir Henry’s grandson Edwin is to be wed soon.”

  “I doubt his bride could be half as beautiful as you, my lady,” Sir Thomas said graciously. He cocked his head and studied her a moment. “I can see you in pearls. They would look lovely against your throat.”

  Raynor’s fingers tightened painfully on hers at this forward remark. She frowned at him and the pressure subsided. But Sir Thomas’ mention of pearls caused her eyes to mist over.

  “My dear, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” the nobleman apologized, picking up on the change in her. “I meant no harm by my words.”

  “It’s quite all right, Sir Thomas,” Beatrice said, wiping away a tear with her free hand. “My mother owned a beautiful set of pearls given to her by my father.” She smiled at the memory. “Mother said he always told her that they looked lovely against her creamy skin.”

  “Do you favor her much?” he asked gently.

  “Oh, my mother was most beautiful. More so than I ever could be,” she shared. “I only wish I had her pearls to remember her by.”

  “I do not know of these pearls,” Raynor said. “What became of them?”

  Beatrice turned and gazed up at him. “I didn’t mention it to you, my lord. ’Twas after my mother passed,” she explained. “I had to use them to settle some outstanding debts.”

  She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. “I find I am tired,” she announced. “It’s been a long journey from our home.” She looked to her pretend husband. “Mayhap we could go upstairs now?”

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Raynor told their companion. He rose and helped Beatrice from her seat.

  “It was nice meeting you, my lord,” she said.

  “And I will not forget meeting you, Lady Beatrice.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Good luck to you upon the remainder of your journey. I hope you enjoy the wedding. Give my best to Sir Henry.”

  Raynor signaled to the innkeeper and led her from the public room. The owner escorted them up a small staircase and down a hallway, then bid them good evening.

  They entered the small bedchamber. Beatrice spied her trunk in the corner and her lute perched on top of it. She walked over and brushed her fingers lightly against the strings as she heard Raynor lock the door. She concentrated on the lute, remembering the many times she had played the instrument for her mother. Sweet memories overcame her and Beatrice began to weep.

  Raynor came to her and wrapped his strong arms around her from behind. She leaned into the warmth of his chest and drew comfort from the contact that she had sorely missed. His arms snaked about her waist, holding her firmly. She gripped his forearms. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

  They remained together for some minutes, neither moving. Gradually, her tears subsided. Raynor turned her gently in his arms but kept them about her, making her feel safe. She noticed the frown on his face.

  “Tell me again of these pearls, Beatrice.”

  “Why?”

  “Humor me. I want to hear of them and the debts you owed.”

  She shrugged. “Once Tolly and I buried my mother and grandfather, I went to look through Grandfather’s strongbox. My mother had been ill for some time and hadn’t worn the pearls in many years. I figured they were safely stored there and I was right.” She smoothed her palms against his gypon. “I placed them about my neck, wanting to be close to her again.”

  Beatrice laid her hands on his chest. “Moments later, Amfrid arrived.”

  “Who is this Amfrid?”

  “He collected the rents in our neighborhood and claimed my grandfather owed him quite a bit of money.” She dropped her head. “He . . . he demanded the necklace in payment of the debt.”

  Raynor’s fingers lifted her chin until their eyes met. “And you do not believe this was the case.”

  “No.” The word came out a whisper. Tears filled her eyes again. “I felt so helpless. So alone. I told him . . . I told him . . . that I was betrothed. That once I married, my husband would gladly pay off the debt Grandfather owed. But . . . but Amfrid . . . he told me he would keep the necklace until the debt could be paid in gold. I begged him not to sell it . . .”

  Beatrice hated the feelings of helplessness the memory brought. She never wanted to be in that position again and remembered her vow to one day reclaim the necklace.

  Her tears flowed freely, knowing the lie had begun that day with Amfrid. She had told him she was betrothed. She had continued spreading the falsehood when she met Raynor in the forest days later. Then, she continued the story with Peter at Ashcroft when he expressed interest in wedding her himself. Now here she repeated it again, to the man she loved. Once, Beatrice had wanted to share with Raynor that she was free, but the web of deceit tightened about her like a noose around a condemned man’s neck.

  Raynor pulled her face into his chest and stroked her back in comfort. Beatrice knew it was the last time he would embrace her in such a tender way. By this time tomorrow, they would be at Brookhaven. Her lies would already be exposed. Raynor, being an honorable man, would never find it in his heart to forgive her for such dishonesty.

  Raynor lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Placing her gently upon it, he softly said, “Sleep, my lady,” as he stroked her hair.

  Beatrice closed her eyes and blocked out the world.

  *

  Raynor didn’t get much sleep. He didn’t want to. Why sleep when he could gaze upon Beatrice?

  She had slept through the knock at the door last night. He answered it and found the innkeeper’s wife on the other side. She asked when the hot water should be fetched for the lady’s bath. He explained how tired his wife was and asked that it be sent up first thing in the morning. The woman looked over his shoulder and saw Beatrice fast asleep. She agreed and said it would be brought upstairs shortly after dawn broke.

  He’d returned to the bed, sitting next to Beatrice as he tenderly caressed her cheek while she slept. He held her hand until the candle burned low. Finally, he extinguished it and reluctantly parted from her, retreating across the room. Sitting on the floor with his back resting against the door, he dozed fitfully—until he heard someone moan. He came to, alert and listening for what had awakened him.

  Beatrice tossed and turned in bed, whimpering in her sleep. Raynor moved to the side of the bed. She murmured words he could not understand. Her breathing was quick and shallow as if she was in distress.

  Her moans turned into a scream. Not wanting the entire inn awakened by the noise, he covered her mouth with his hand.

  He held her down as she thrashed about and fought to sit up.

  “You’re safe,” he said over and over. Finally, she stilled, and he released her.

  “Was it a bad dream?” he asked quietly as he sat next to her.

  “Aye. The nightmares . . . they come . . . every night.”

  Suddenly, he knew what haunted her. “Do you dream of the highwaymen?” he asked.

  “Aye. They chase me. I always search for the ax. I know I need it to protect myself.”

  He touched her cheek and felt the wetness of her tears. It hurt his soul that she awoke from such nightmares each night.

  “You know how to protect yourself, Beatrice,” he assured her. “I taught you myself. You took those lessons to heart. Tell yourself as you fall asleep each night that nothing can harm you. Eventually, your body and your mind will believe your words. The bad dreams will end in time.”

  “I can only hope so.”

  He heard the doubt in her voice. “Trust me.”

  He started to stand, but she caught his hand. “Stay. Just a few minutes. At least until I fall asleep again.”<
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  “All right.” Raynor remained until her breathing evened out. He slipped his hand from hers and returned to his post at the door. But sleep eluded him. Today was the day he would hand the woman he loved over to her betrothed.

  After another hour, he heard footsteps mounting the stairs and stood. He unlocked the door and opened it so the innkeeper’s wife and her servant could bring the hot water in.

  They poured four buckets of steaming water into the tub they’d brought up the previous evening.

  “We’ll be back with more water and a bath wrap,” the servant said, eying him appreciatively.

  Raynor moved to the windows and opened the shutters, letting in the dim light. Beatrice stirred, mumbling something.

  “I know. It’s cold,” he said, feeling the brisk breeze enter the room.

  She sat up. “It’s freezing! Close them.”

  He laughed. “I’ll see that they bring candles. Hot water has already arrived for your bath,” he informed her.

  The women returned with additional buckets of water and a cake of soap. He asked for more candles, which they brought.

  “Do you need help, my lady?” the innkeeper’s wife asked.

  “Nay, I can manage myself.”

  After the women left, Raynor turned to Beatrice. “I will leave you to your bath. Come lock the door behind me. I plan to stand guard in the hall and see that no one interrupts you. The innkeeper will deliver our food within the hour.”

  Beatrice climbed from the bed and walked to the door. “Thank you,” she said. “A bath is a special treat after being on the road for so long.”

  “I know you want to look your best for when we reach Brookhaven.”

  A shadow crossed her face. He wondered if she worried about what the day would bring.

  Raynor stepped into the corridor and Beatrice shut the door. He heard the lock thrown and her footsteps moving away. Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms.

  Soon, he heard faint splashing through the door and a soft melody. He closed his eyes and imagined her naked in the tub, singing as she lathered up the soap and glided her hands across her smooth, ivory skin. The thought made him grow hard. He retreated to the other side of the hallway, trying to think of anything else but Beatrice.

  Finally, he heard her walking about as the wooden boards on the floor creaked. A few minutes later, Beatrice opened the door. She wore the cotehardie she had on when he’d rescued her. Her damp hair tumbled to her waist.

  “Do you think we might break our fast downstairs? I would like to dry my hair by the fire.”

  “As you wish.” Raynor offered her his arm.

  They descended into the public room and found themselves the only ones there at this early hour. He led her to a table by the fire and signaled the serving wench. She immediately brought ale and bread to their table, giving him a sly smile.

  They ate in silence—or rather, he ate. Beatrice simply tore her bread apart and then pulled it into tiny pieces.

  “You should eat, my lady. You don’t want to grow weak and faint upon our arrival at Brookhaven.”

  She nodded wordlessly and ate several bites, sipping ale in between. Finally, she pushed it aside and withdrew a comb from her pocket. Raynor could see it was missing several teeth as she began to run it through her hair.

  “What’s this? Your comb is a sorry sight,” he proclaimed.

  “Mine was lost in the fire,” she told him. “I found this one in your sisters’ room.”

  It appalled Raynor that she was using a broken castoff. He supposed Edwin Stollers would gift her with a jeweled comb. Immediately, the thought angered him.

  “Here. Let me help you,” he said as she struggled with a snarl in her locks. He took the comb from her and she offered him her back.

  Raynor drew the comb through the length of her hair. He forced his fingers to keep from trembling. Finally, he worked out the tangles and had no more excuse to touch her.

  “I should return this to you.”

  She took the comb from him and then ran her fingers through her hair. “I think it’s now dry enough for me to braid. I need to return to the room. I left my hair ribbons upstairs.”

  Raynor nodded and followed her back to their room. He watched in fascination as she arranged and twisted the strands until a single braid fell down her back.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Beatrice looked up at him, her face devoid of emotion. “Aye.”

  “I’ll collect the cart.”

  Raynor lifted the trunk to his shoulder and took it to the stables, where he told the departing Timothy and Bobbit farewell. He set the trunk in the cart and attached Fury to the vehicle. The horse looked at him as if he had gone mad.

  “I know you’ve never pulled a cart in your life, but you must for Lady Beatrice’s sake,” he told the animal. “Now be on your best behavior, Fury. The lady is skittish.”

  He drove the cart around to the front of the inn. Beatrice awaited him outside, holding her lute. Raynor had already paid what he owed the night before, so they were free to depart.

  Beatrice eyed Fury warily. She surprised Raynor when she said, “You may secure my lute in the back. I think I will ride next to you.”

  Doing as she asked, he lifted her to the bench and came around to climb up next to her. The seat was narrow and their thighs nestled against one another’s as he took up the reins.

  “To Brookhaven,” he said. He popped his wrists and Fury took off at a trot.

  Raynor wished the horse would get lost on the way so he could sit next to Beatrice forever.

  Chapter 18

  Beatrice closed her eyes for the first few moments of the ride so she wouldn’t be able to see the horse. She became accustomed to the rhythm of Fury’s hooves clopping along the road. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  The horse truly wasn’t as close to the seat as she had thought. Her fear of horses seemed such a small thing now when compared to her fear of losing Raynor, which was much stronger. It was why she chose to ride beside him now. Beatrice needed to be near him for the last hours that they had left together.

  Awareness of their legs rubbing against each another as the cart jostled over the road caught her attention. She enjoyed the warmth of his body as their shoulders now brushed. Raynor was a large man and he took up much of the bench seat. Though he made her seem small, Beatrice also felt protected sitting next to him.

  As they moved along, she took in the beauty of the early November day. The sun shone brightly, while the cold air smelled crisp and clean. Leaves in an array of colors lined their path.

  If only they could continue on this road forever.

  Beatrice wondered what would greet them once they arrived at Brookhaven. Her goal was to find a way to get Sir Henry alone and discuss her situation without Raynor overhearing or demanding to be a part of the conversation.

  And what of the bride that would be arriving at Brookhaven—was she already there? If not, could Beatrice somehow suppress talk of the wedding until after Raynor left? If she could, he need never know about her lies.

  “What were you like as a child?” Beatrice asked, breaking the silence between them.

  Raynor’s deep laugh was his answer.

  “Please tell me.”

  He eyed her. “I would say I was a most curious boy. That got me into frequent trouble, but my father praised my inquisitiveness. I asked questions of everyone at Ashcroft—Cook and the smithy. The steward. The miller. I would ask about what they did. How and why they did it. I got into everything, everywhere, all the time.” He chuckled. “It was probably a relief to my parents when I was sent away to foster.”

  “I am curious about that practice.”

  “What?”

  “Fostering,” Beatrice said. “What is the point of a child leaving behind the very loved ones who could teach him or her? I never went anywhere and learned everything I needed to from my mother and grandfather.”

  Raynor shrugged. “It’s tradition—the
way things have always been. I still loved my family, but being raised by another nobleman allowed for him to be more objective in my upbringing. Sir Lovel taught me without favoritism.”

  “Was it hard being away from home? Weren’t you lonely?” she asked.

  Raynor smiled. “You would think so, but I thought of it as a grand adventure. My cousin, Geoffrey de Montfort, also was sent to foster with Sir Lovel. We are the same age. We trained together. Went to war together. We are as close as brothers can be.”

  “Where was your own brother during those years? Did Lord Peter also foster with you at Sir Lovel’s estate?”

  “Nay. Peter stayed closer to home. He made more frequent trips back to Ashcroft since he would assume the title of baron one day. I know Peter didn’t make a good impression on you, but he wasn’t always the way he is now.”

  “I’m glad you had your cousin with you. I assume not everyone is lucky enough to know someone where they foster.”

  “True. I wish you could have met Geoffrey. And Merryn, his wife.” He shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. “You two would get along famously.”

  “Why?” Beatrice asked, curious about this woman who could cause Raynor to smile.

  He glanced at her. A warm feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, then his eyes turned back to the road ahead.

  “You both know your minds and are good with others.”

  She sat a little taller upon hearing him praise her. “I am flattered you think so. You sound as if you know me well when we’ve only shared a handful of conversations.”

  This time when he looked at her, she saw the heat in his eyes. “Some people have an instant connection when they meet. I admit that I felt one with you.”

  Beatrice looked down at her folded hands in her lap, not daring to acknowledge what lay behind his words. “I wouldn’t know of this. My life has been an isolated one, with only Mother, Grandfather, and Tolly, for the most part. Grandfather took me to the village on rare occasions, but I never really knew many people. I doubt I would be a good judge of character.”