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

by Alexa Aston

  Another coughing spell erupted. Michael relaxed his fisted hands and sat again, waiting it out.

  “I have much to tell you,” the earl said, weariness lacing his voice.

  “Save it. If it has to do with how to run Sandbourne, I’ll do it my own way in my own time.”

  His father studied him with interest. “You’re more like me than you realize, boy.”

  Michael kept his voice even. “I haven’t been a boy in a very long time—and I am nothing like you.”

  “You’re right. You will run Sandbourne as you wish.”

  “Aye.”

  The minutes ticked by. Michael thought his father had fallen asleep since his eyes remained closed for so long a time. Just as he readied himself to stand, he found the earl staring at him again.

  “You’ll be a better earl than most.”

  “I intend to be a better one than you.”

  “Always such a quick reply. But you’re not as smart as you’d have me think.”

  “I haven’t cared what you thought for many years now. In fact, I don’t think I ever cared what you thought.”

  A crooked smile crossed the earl’s thin lips. “You might believe that, but I still remember the fat, terrified boy you were. The one afraid of me and his own shadow. The one too scared to stand up to me and protect his mother. The one who secretly wished to please me.”

  Michael winced inwardly but knew his father provoked him. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

  “As I said, I’m my own man now. Nothing you say can cause me fear. I’m here merely to witness you come to the end of your wretched days. Then I shall marry and fill Sandbourne with many children.”

  He leaned close to his father. The fetid smell of impending death filled his nostrils, almost causing him to gag. “My children will be loved. Adored. Worshipped by me and my wife. And they’ll never hear a word about you.”

  Michael stared into his father’s eyes. “For you are nothing to me.”

  Michael sat back in the chair, wanting to suck in deep breaths of clean air. He couldn’t wait to leave this chamber of death.

  His father used his left hand to push himself up in the bed. “I’ve sent for your bride. She arrives tomorrow. You’ll wed the day after that. I plan to live at least long enough to witness your marriage. Then you both can dance atop my grave, for all that I care.”

  Confused, Michael asked, “Elysande arrives here tomorrow? How do you even know of her?”

  The earl’s lips curled into a sneer. “I know of no Elysande.” His eyes lit with malevolent interest. “But I told Lord Lambdin that you’d be here to live up to your responsibilities. He and his eldest daughter, Albreda, should reach Sandbourne by this time tomorrow.”

  His father’s words had begun to slur heavily. Surely, Michael had heard things wrong. “Who is Lord Lambdin? And this Albreda you speak of?” Michael demanded as panic surged through him.

  “Why, ’tis your new father-in-law and betrothed, my boy.”

  Chapter 17

  The earl’s cackle ended as another coughing spell began. Michael stumbled from the bedchamber, slamming the door behind him. He wanted to lock away any sight and sound of his father.

  Houdart rose to his feet. “Are you all right, my lord?”

  “He said . . . he said . . . that my betrothed and her father arrive tomorrow. That I’m to be married in two days’ time.”

  The steward nodded. “Aye, my lord. You father wished for you to be married as soon as possible.”

  “But . . . I didn’t know I was betrothed. ’Tis the first I’ve heard of it.”

  Houdart went to the sideboard. The steward poured a full of cup of wine and pressed it into Michael’s hands. He downed it in a single swallow and thrust the empty cup out for more. A second glass was poured. He drank it greedily and then fell into a chair.

  He was betrothed.

  Michael’s head fell into his hands. He reached into his hazy memory for when the event might have occurred.

  *

  The servant had almost finished packing the small trunk that Michael would take with him to Sir Lovel’s. He was excited to foster with the knight. He’d met Sir Lovel once before and remembered how tall the nobleman was. He’d had a ready smile for everyone and a pleasant manner. Michael was sure that boys under his care would be the same. He longed to make friends since he had none. He wanted a new life in a different place.

  Anything had to be better than continuing his existence at Sandbourne. Every day, it seemed his father found a new way to mock him. He was too fat. Too slow. A stupid, empty-headed boy who’d never amount to anything. Michael avoided the earl whenever possible, lurking in the shadows when his father passed, remaining in his room much of the day, left alone to his own devices.

  The door opened and his mother entered the bedchamber. She looked so fragile and lovely. Michael experienced a small wave of regret at having to leave her behind.

  She held up a cotehardie and gypon for his approval. “I’ve made you something new to wear for your final night at Sandbourne. It’s also something for your first day once you reach Sir Lovel’s.” Her eyes glowed with love.

  He took the clothing, which was soft to the touch. Both were in shades of brown, the gypon a light tan and the cotehardie as dark as the bark of a tree.

  “Thank you, Mother. I’ll think of you every time I wear these.”

  She gave him a long hug. “That pleases me.” Looking at the servant, his mother waved her from the room. Once they had privacy, she said, “Don’t be reluctant to leave Sandbourne, my son. Sir Lovel is a fine man and you’ll learn much from him.”

  “I’ll miss you, Mother.”

  “And I will most certainly miss you. Seeing you is the brightest part of my day.” She embraced him again and Michael felt safe in her arms.

  “Tonight we’ll have a large feast,” she informed him.

  Her words caught him off guard. “For my last night?”

  She hesitated. “In part. And also because we have guests.”

  Michael should have known nothing special would be done to commemorate his final night at Sandbourne.

  “Come. Change your clothes and let’s go downstairs. I want you to meet Lord Lambdin and his daughter.”

  They went to the great hall. Michael saw his father in deep conversation with another man as they stood near the fire. A girl a few years younger than he was clung to her father’s leg. His mother had them go over and his father introduced him. The nobleman shook his hand, but the girl was so shy that she never even looked up.

  Michael thought it a shame. He would’ve liked to practice making a new friend before he left to foster with Sir Lovel.

  The lavish meal went on for several hours, as if it were Christmas time. Michael ate till he was stuffed, then regretted that he’d done so. It made him dread getting on a horse tomorrow morning, feeling fat and bloated as they journeyed for several days to Sir Lovel’s estate.

  His mother touched his shoulder and indicated for him to follow her. Michael did so, leaving the noise of the great hall and going to a small room that served as the space where Houdart kept the estate’s records.

  As they went inside, Michael saw his father and the visiting lord leaning over a table, concentrating on pages before them. Michael and his mother stood quietly, as did the lord’s daughter, who sat at his feet under the table.

  Then the Sandbourne priest entered the room. His father nodded, and the priest watched both men sign the paper on the table.

  The earl called Michael over and told him to repeat what the priest said. He did so, not understanding why he had to. The girl also had to say a few words but, again, she kept her eyes to the ground, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Still, his father seemed satisfied. He’d touched cups with their guest and both men drank. Michael was told he could leave. He did so, skirting by his mother and retreating to his bedchamber. He was eager for tomorrow to come.

  He
couldn’t wait to leave Sandbourne—and his father—behind.

  *

  Michael now understood that the two men had pored over betrothal contracts. That they’d decided upon the bridal price and exchange of monies and lands. That whatever words he had repeated after the priest, which he hadn’t understood, were the ones that now bound him to a stranger. His duty, by law, would be to marry this woman in a ceremony once she arrived at Sandbourne, her new home.

  Fleeing the solar in despair, Michael returned to the bedchamber he’d used as a child. He would give up the title. The lands. Everything associated with being the earl.

  If it meant he could be with Elysande.

  Yet he knew that to be impossible. The king wouldn’t allow him to break the betrothal contract simply because he’d fallen in love with another woman. Michael must be a man of his word and marry the woman who would show up tomorrow.

  He paced the room for hours, refusing the food that arrived. When he tired, he fell upon the bed but lay awake all night, too restless to sleep. He’d been so eager to come home and begin a new life.

  Now that life would be one of misery—bound to a stranger.

  Of course, he knew of some marriages where the couple came to love one another—or at least learned to respect their mates. Mayhap he and Lady Albreda could share a mutual respect after a time. It was the best he could hope for. For in his heart, he knew he’d never love anyone except Elysande.

  Michael determined he’d never mistreat his wife as his father had. He would be courteous toward her. Honor her position as the countess of Sandbourne and the mother of his babes.

  More importantly, he decided he must hide the hurt in his heart. This wife of his must never know of his deep feelings for another woman. He wouldn’t hurt her physically or emotionally by letting her know that, while married to him, his heart would forever lay with another.

  It struck him that he should call for parchment and ink to write to Elysande. He needed to let her know of the unforeseen circumstances that had occurred. Michael would rather see her in person to do so, yet how could he ride away without explanation from a new bride and a dying father?

  He thought how Elysande would take the awful news if he did stand before her. How he wouldn’t be able to wrap her within his arms and comfort her with his kiss. Being married to another woman would prevent that. And if he did succumb to his feelings for her, he’d only fall into a web of deceit and break his code of honor as a knight and the vows he would have barely uttered to his new wife.

  No, he couldn’t risk seeing Elysande in person. One look and he would be under her spell. And even one kiss between them would be wrong.

  Michael hesitated, unsure of what he should do. He finally decided that he would write to Lord Geoffrey and enclose a letter to Elysande that explained the situation. He would beg Geoffrey and Merryn to decide if they should break the news to Elysande or give her his letter and then comfort her afterward.

  Michael opened the door and caught the attention of a passing servant. He instructed her to bring parchment and ink at once, knowing he must write quickly before he lost his courage.

  As he sat forming the words in his mind and then recording them on the page, he knew this was the hardest task he’d ever undertaken. With each word committed to paper, another piece of him withered and died. He completed his task and pushed the letters aside, his heart broken in two. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried for fifteen years—since the day he’d fled Sandbourne.

  Angrily, he stood and wiped them away. He was a grown man, not some weeping woman. He would soldier on as he’d been taught to do. Going to the basin, he splashed water onto his face and dried it with his sleeves.

  Then he sat in a chair, his thoughts blank. No spark of life showed.

  Finally, he stood. He couldn’t put things off. The sooner Elysande knew, the better. He would go downstairs and use the earl’s seal to close the missive before he found a messenger to ride to Kinwick and deliver the bad news.

  A knock at the door startled him. He quickly pushed the parchment under his pillow and went to open the door.

  The same servant he’d seen earlier stood there. “Your betrothed has arrived, my lord.”

  Michael nodded, his throat thick with emotion. He closed the door behind him and followed the girl down to the great hall. The vast room was empty except for the pair sitting at a trestle table that had been pulled from its place against the wall. As he approached them, he vaguely remembered the nobleman from so many years ago.

  But it was the woman that drew his eye.

  She sat very straight, as if her back had been attached to a board. She stared out across the room but seemed focused on nothing. Her dark clothing was simple but elegant in its cut. A light-colored caul covered her head and hid her hair, with a transparent veil pulled across her face.

  Michael came to stand before them. He bowed and greeted them. “My lord. My lady. Welcome to Sandbourne. I am Sir Michael Devereux.”

  Lord Lambdin stood. “Many years have passed since we have been here. And the boy has become a man.” He inclined his head slightly. “Daughter? Rise. Greet your husband-to-be.”

  Lady Albreda sat motionless for a moment. Michael wondered if she did so in hesitation or defiance. Then she came to her feet. She was a good foot shorter than he was.

  Slowly, her head fell back until their eyes met. In them, he saw pain.

  And rage.

  She offered her hand and he bent over it. He brushed a quick kiss upon her fingers before he released it.

  Albreda blinked and she seemed like a different woman. Her eyes now appeared dull in her face. Her lips neither smiled nor frowned. Her placid expression gave away nothing.

  Yet he sensed something churning inside her. His curiosity grew.

  “Would you care to visit a few minutes with my father, Lord Lambdin?” Michael asked. “He’s very ill, but I’m sure he would like to acknowledge your presence and welcome you to our home.” Michael glanced at his betrothed. “Mayhap Lady Albreda and I might remain here and become reacquainted while you do so.”

  As if Houdart read his thoughts, the steward appeared at his elbow. He greeted Lord Lambdin and said, “Lord Sandbourne would like a word with you, my lord. May I escort you to him?”

  The nobleman nodded and excused himself, following Houdart from the great hall.

  Michael turned to the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, holding his tongue. He wouldn’t blurt out that he didn’t want to marry her. That his heart belonged to another. He would make the best of their situation, as so many before him had done. She would be mother to his children. Sandbourne would forever be her home.

  Before he could speak, Albreda said, “I will not marry you, my lord. Not tomorrow nor any other day. You must help me put a stop to this ceremony. No matter what the cost.”

  Chapter 18

  Elysande awoke and blinked several times, surprised that she had fallen asleep. She sat up, still fully clothed from yesterday, her cotehardie damp from her tears.

  Yesterday. The worst day of her life. The day she discovered her beloved was betrothed to another. And today—and every day after it—would only bring more misery to her soul.

  Could it be true? That Michael had no idea he was betrothed?

  She knew of the lengthy estrangement with his father. How the break had occurred many years ago when he was but a small boy. She thought back to herself at that age and found, even with a happy childhood, her memories were hazy at best. Just vague impressions of running about the keep, playing dolls with Avelyn, and spending time with the horses. That made her realize how, without being around any family to remind him, he truly might have forgotten about his betrothal—or not even understood the brief ceremony when it took place. He would have repeated a few words and then gone out to play, no wiser as to the significance the words he’d uttered had upon his future.

  She swallowed and found her throat remained swollen from the many tears s
he’d shed. As much as the situation pained her, at least she’d been able to cry at length and have Merryn comfort her.

  Michael would have no such opportunity. By now, his father would have told him of the upcoming marriage. She could see Michael now—stoic, unspeaking, keeping his face a mask as his thoughts churned inside. He had no one at Sandbourne in whom he could confide. No one who could listen to him rage against the unfairness.

  So he would suffer in silence. That caused a fresh flood of hot tears to escape. Elysande fell back onto the bed and buried her face into the pillow, allowing herself to wallow in a last bit of misery.

  Then she decided she must push it aside. Though she would ache for Michael’s touch all the days of her life, no good would come from moping around. She would have to build a life without him. It would be expected for her to marry. She would do as she was told and try her best to honor her husband as best she could.

  But her love and her heart would always belong to Michael Devereux.

  A sudden thought panicked her. What if she were with child?

  Part of her was thrilled by the notion, believing that she would always have a piece of Michael with her. That any child born of their single coupling would be lavished with love. She would want it to be a boy who looked just as his father did, dark-haired and handsome, full of kindness and good cheer. He would be the light of her life. The child would give her a small bit of her beloved to cherish over the years to come.

  Then reality set in. She was unwed. If she did find herself with child, who would marry her? By the time she arrived at court in service to the queen, the babe might already have grown within her to a point where it would be hard to hide. How long could she keep something like that a secret—especially in close quarters with so many other women?

  Elysande was torn. Should she seek her uncle’s help and find a husband at once, the better to hide the fact? If she hurried and wed quickly enough, mayhap she could convince this man that he was the father of her child. She’d heard some babes did come early, especially first ones.