by Alexa Aston
Word Of Honor
Knights Of Honor
Book One
Alexa Aston
Copyright © 2016 by Alexa Aston
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
England—April, 1351
Merryn Mantel spotted Geoffrey de Montfort as she and her father rode through the bailey of Kinwick Castle. Her heart began beating fiercely. She hadn’t seen Geoffrey since the Christmas season. He’d grown even taller and more handsome. At ten and six, he already possessed a warrior’s strong build.
And this man was to be hers.
Following her father, she guided her horse toward Geoffrey and his parents, who waited to greet them. Merryn had spent many hours at Kinwick throughout her childhood. The de Montforts were their closest neighbors and her father and Geoffrey’s had been friends since childhood. The two men’s wish to unite their families would occur today when the betrothal contracts were signed.
Geoffrey smiled at her as she approached, his white teeth gleaming against his olive skin. They had been friends all of their lives, but during the last year Merryn had become aware of him in a different way. Every time she was in his presence, a dizzy feeling overtook her. Her pulse pounded rapidly. She wanted to dance with joy. Merryn knew she had fallen in love with Geoffrey.
She believed he felt the same about her.
Geoffrey helped her dismount. The feel of his strong fingers encircling her waist sent butterflies swarming in her belly.
“It’s good to see you, Merryn.”
“I’m happy to see you, Geoffrey. How is your training with Sir Lovel going?”
“He tells me that I’m the best squire he’s ever had. Of course, I’m the only squire he’s ever had.” Geoffrey laughed.
Merryn turned to greet his parents. “Good day to you, Lord Ferand, Lady Elia.” She curtseyed and kissed Elia’s cheek.
“Are the contracts drawn up?” her father asked.
“Everything has been prepared,” answered Lord Ferand. “Please, come inside the keep.”
Geoffrey took Merryn’s hand for the first time. His warmth enveloped her, calming her nerves. She gave him a smile and he squeezed her hand in return.
They followed their parents into the great hall. Her father had explained to her that the negotiations between their families had already been completed. Signing the contracts would signify the exchange of property between the two families and set the bride price. As the daughter of a baron, Merryn would improve her station since Geoffrey would become Earl of Kinwick one day. She would be his countess.
Her father and Lord Ferand seated themselves. The contracts had been laid out on the table before them. She watched as Geoffrey’s father dipped a quill into ink and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. Her father followed suit.
The Kinwick priest, Father Dannet, awaited them. They would now exchange verba de future vows. Their promise to wed would be legally binding, as much as when they spoke their marriage vows to one another in the future.
The priest turned to Geoffrey. “You may speak, my son.”
Geoffrey’s fingers tightened on hers. He gazed down at her and said, “I pledge to all present my desire to marry this woman and I will maintain my promise according to God’s laws.”
“Have you provided the bride price to her family and has it been accepted?” the priest asked.
“Aye.”
Father Dannet turned to the men seated. “And have you agreed upon compensation to be paid in the event the bride or groom dies before they are wed in holy matrimony?”
“We have,” their fathers replied.
The priest looked back to Merryn and Geoffrey. “Then you may take your vows.”
They faced one another. Geoffrey took her free hand. She felt the strength and love that flowed from him into her.
“I, Geoffrey de Montfort of Kinwick, will take you, Merryn Mantel, to wed. This is my solemn vow.”
“And I, Merryn Mantel of Wellbury, will take you, Geoffrey de Montfort, to wed. This is my solemn vow.”
Geoffrey bent and brushed his lips softly against hers in their first kiss. He pulled away and Merryn wished the kiss could have gone on longer.
Her father rose and came toward them. He offered Geoffrey his hand and they shook to seal the bargain.
“I look forward to the day when I will marry you,” the priest told them. He excused himself, leaving only the immediate family in the room.
“Let us toast the happy couple,” Lord Ferand proclaimed.
Wine had already been poured. Lady Elia distributed a cup to each of them.
“We have joined our families,” her father said. “May Geoffrey and Merryn spend many happy years together and fill the halls of Kinwick with children.”
As Merryn drank her wine, she looked forward to the day she would become Geoffrey’s wife.
*
Geoffrey led Merryn from the great hall. Their parents had gone to the solar to visit, but he wanted to spend time alone with his betrothed. He would be leaving this afternoon and cherished the remaining time they would have together.
As he took her hand again, it surprised him how right it felt when he entwined his fingers with hers. Merryn belonged to him now. Nothing could ever change that. He was fortunate that his betrothed was kind to everyone she met and enthusiastic in everything she did. Merryn would make an excellent countess.
“Accompany me to the stables,” he said.
“You’re already ordering me about?” Merryn’s sapphire blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “And to think the ink isn’t even dry on our betrothal contract.”
“Since it’s a legally binding contract, we are as good as wed.”
Except for the consummation. But that would be another few years. He still had time to sow his wild oats before making Merryn his in every way.
“I read the contracts, Geoffrey.” He heard the exasperation in her voice.
“Of course, you did. I would expect nothing less from you, Merryn.”
“They said nothing about obeying.”
He hid the smile that threatened to show itself. “I believe that will be a part of our actual vows on the day we wed. I suppose you still have a little bit of time before you become a slave to my every command.”
In truth, he was delighted his wife-to-be could read, thanks to her indulgent father. Merry
n’s intelligence and natural curiosity about the world around her had drawn him to her since they were children. Geoffrey knew he was blessed that theirs would be a love match, a rare exception to most noble marriages.
Her mind only played a part in his attraction to this young woman, who already showed signs of becoming a great beauty. As the sunlight fell on her hair, it brought out burnished red highlights and turned the curls a rich shade of chestnut. One day, he would run his fingers through those long, silky locks. Geoffrey looked forward to the many nights they would spend in bed and the children that would result from their love play.
They arrived at the stables. He led her inside, grateful that no stable hand was in sight.
“Did you bring Mystery a treat?” Merryn asked.
“Nay. My horse is already spoiled. I have a treat for you, instead.”
He watched the blush stain her cheeks and realized she thought he’d brought her here to kiss him. Geoffrey hadn’t planned to do so, but the thought made his manhood begin to stir.
“I want to show you a horse.” He led her past several stalls until they reached their destination. Her eyes lit up as she viewed the dark brown horse.
“Oh, what a beauty,” she exclaimed. She stroked the horse’s nose and scratched him between his ears. “But you already have Mystery, Geoffrey. Is this a new horse your father purchased?”
“Destiny is for you, Merryn.” He gave in to temptation and twirled one of her soft curls around his finger. He studied it with interest, dreading to tell her about the long separation they now faced.
“I must finish my service to Sir Lovel before we can wed.”
She grew solemn. “That means you will go to France again.”
He nodded, focusing on the curl he toyed with. “There are still battles to fight. Crecy is but five years past and though we have captured Calais, France has yet to capitulate to King Edward.”
“The third of his name to grace England’s throne,” she pointed out. “I have become fascinated with our country’s history.”
“I’ve fostered with Sir Lovel for half a score, first as a page and then as a squire. I hope to fight as a knight when I step foot again in France.”
Merryn smiled up at him. “You are already as tall as any of Father’s knights, Geoffrey. You are broad of shoulder and think quickly on your feet. Sir Lovel would be a fool if he doesn’t allow you on the battlefield.” A frown crossed her face.
“What ails you?”
She lowered her gaze to the ground. “’Tis nothing.”
Geoffrey tipped her chin till their eyes met. “We have no secrets, Merryn. We never did. Tell me.”
She placed her palm on his chest. His pulse jumped at her touch.
“I fear you may not come home to me,” she whispered.
“You’ve seen me spar. I’m quick with a sword or mace.” He cupped her cheek. “I will return to you, Merryn. Nothing could keep me from your arms.”
Geoffrey slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and held her steady. He touched his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.
Breaking the kiss, he told her, “We’ll have plenty of time for love play in the future. But for now, I hope that you’ll ride Destiny each day. He is my gift to you beyond what the betrothal contracts call for.”
“Thank you, Geoffrey.” Merryn stroked the horse. “You are generous to me.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, Merryn. Nothing.”
Geoffrey longed to shower her with passionate kisses that would show her how much he desired her. Yet Merryn was only three and ten. He didn’t want to frighten her. He would complete his service to Sir Lovel and return to wed her. She would be a woman then and more ready to understand the ways of love between a man and a woman.
He led her from the stables. They walked hand in hand, no words necessary between them. They strolled through the gates of Kinwick and over to the meadow. Merryn loved being out in nature. He wanted to remember her this way—standing in a field of flowers, the sun setting her hair afire.
Geoffrey knelt and gathered a few wildflowers from the grass. Lifting her hand, he placed them in her palm.
“I know how much you enjoy picking flowers and herbs. Think of me when you do so. Until I return to you.”
Merryn stared at the flowers a long time and then placed them on the ground. She unclasped the delicate gold necklace she always wore. Standing on her toes so she could reach him, she fastened the chain around his neck.
“I know ’tis suited for a woman, but I hope you will wear this cross. Wherever you go, I shall be close to your heart.”
Her gesture touched him. He brought the cross to his lips and kissed it before tucking it under his gypon.
Geoffrey captured her hand and kissed her knuckles before lacing their fingers together.
“I promise I shall come home to be your husband, Merryn.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she promised. “As long as it takes.”
Chapter 1
North of Aquitaine, France—1356
“I have enjoyed our time together this eve, Sir Thomas. You are a great hero of the battle at Crecy. I’ve learned much from your explanation of this raiding strategy of chevauchée that the Black Prince has chosen to use. It makes sense to weaken our French enemies through burning and pillaging and destroying their livestock.”
Geoffrey raised his cup to acknowledge Felton, a warrior valued by the king and his son.
“You have a keen mind, Geoffrey de Montfort. It was time well spent. One can never be too prepared when facing the enemy. Discussing Crecy and our recent ventures north from Aquitaine helps me solidify what strategies we’ve used. And to plan for what’s to come.”
“Victory, of course!”
Both men laughed.
Geoffrey excused himself, exhausted from the day’s activities. As he made his way back to his gear at Sir Lovel’s tent, he spied a figure in dark clothing slinking along the edge of camp. Curious, he followed at a discreet distance.
As he came closer, he saw it was a woman. Nothing odd about that. French whores serviced the English and Gascons who’d come to fight in France at every stop along the way. As long as they received payment, it didn’t seem to matter which side offered them coin.
So why was this one doing her best to blend into the background?
Unless she happened to be a spy for the French.
He continued to track her movements. She scurried past the Black Prince’s tent, where Edward’s key advisers now met to firm up their tactics for when they reached the River Loire and the town of Tours. They’d seen little resistance in their campaign so far and had been able to live off the bounty of the countryside to conserve their supply lines. He had faith in England’s leaders and its young, daring prince.
But this woman’s odd behavior troubled him.
She paused and looked around before she entered a nearby tent. He knew it to be that of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, one of Edward’s most trusted advisers. The earl would be at the meeting with the Black Prince—so why was this whore in his tent?
Mayhap, she’d been hired to greet Oxford when he returned, but it concerned Geoffrey enough to investigate further.
Geoffrey trusted his instincts and rushed to the enclosure. When he reached its opening, he heard the moans of lovemaking. He stopped. If the earl met with the Black Prince, then who dallied with the whore in Oxford’s tent?
He looked inside. A few candles were lit, allowing him to make out the silhouettes of a man and woman. The woman was bent over a table and whimpered as the man pumped inside her from behind. He started to leave when the man spoke.
Geoffrey recognized the voice of Barrett of Winterbourne, the son of Lord Berold, whose estate lay north of Kinwick. Geoffrey knew Barrett had fostered with Oxford, which gave him some reason to be inside the earl’s tent.
“Here’s coin for your effort,” Barrett said. “And remember, hide the map. No one must k
now you have it.”
Map?
What game did Barrett play? Why would he give the woman a map? And of what?
Geoffrey moved away, out of sight. He wanted to see what happened next.
Then he heard voices. A group of men headed his way. He spied Oxford and the Black Prince among them.
At that moment, the woman slipped from the tent and hurried away.
“Stop!” he called out to her.
She ignored his command.
“Stop her,” he ordered. “She’s a spy!”
A soldier taking a piss tried to grab her cloak as she ran by, but he missed. Geoffrey raced after the woman. He caught up with her and locked his fingers around her arm. He dragged her back to the earl’s tent, where the Black Prince and his party had stopped. He shoved the woman down and she dropped to her knees. She gazed up at him, a frown on her face, then spit on his boots.
De Vere gave him a questioning look. Geoffrey looked to the prince, who nodded his encouragement.
“Your highness, I believe this woman took a map from the earl’s tent. Search her. You’ll find it.”
Edward gestured at one of his guards. The man forced the whore to her feet, but she resisted as he searched her body for the map. He found the evidence tucked in her cotehardie.
Barrett exited the tent, hoping to avoid attention as he tried to slip away.
Geoffrey wouldn’t let that happen. “He gave it to her.”
The crowd turned to where he pointed. Barrett stopped and then haughtily strode toward him.
“I have no idea of what you speak, de Montfort.”
Geoffrey scowled. “I heard you tell her to take the map. What is it? Our troop movements? Are you a traitor, providing information to our enemy?”
Barrett assessed the woman as if he had never seen her before. “You think I gave a map to some French whore?” He laughed. “Will you next accuse me of being a spy for King Jean?”
“I saw you bedding the whore. You told her to hide the map so no one would find it.”
The nobleman continued to deny his involvement. “You’re mad or drunk enough on French wine to make such a foolish accusation.”
