Word of Honor

by Alexa Aston

  Better yet, how would he answer the question everyone would ask?

  What happened?

  He’d given his word never to share where he’d been. How could he return to his wife, family, the people who looked up to him—and hide the truth?

  Geoffrey decided to spend the night inside the lodge. He picked a few berries to quiet his rumbling stomach.

  He had much to think about.

  *

  Geoffrey’s eyes swept across the room. He sighed with relief, no longer a prisoner in Winterbourne’s dungeons.

  He’d lain in front of the hearth last night after wandering aimlessly through the lodge, not knowing where to settle. Sleeping in a bed seemed foreign to him. Geoffrey had finally collapsed on the ground and curled into a ball, pillowing his hands beneath his head.

  Today, he hoped to have the strength to make it back to Kinwick and face whatever consequences awaited him. He still did not know how to answer the questions that would come. His lips moved in a wordless prayer as he begged God to show him the way.

  Finding a small cake of soap, Geoffrey decide to bathe again as he left the lodge. His tread was slow but steady as he walked back toward his boyhood home.

  A frog croaking led Geoffrey toward a still pond. He knelt before the water and gasped at his image.

  The man in the reflection looked nothing like the Geoffrey de Montfort he’d known before. A stranger stared back at him.

  One with a heavy beard and long, unkempt hair. The wild look in his eyes made him look like some untamed animal that had escaped with nowhere to run.

  Merryn would be better off never knowing what he had become. He’d been an excellent soldier and son. One day, he would be a fine husband and father, too.

  But now? Shame would follow him the rest of his life.

  Why had he not tried harder to escape? How could he have let Berold cage him like an animal?

  Geoffrey sat by the water for a long time. For the first time, he wished he had died in that cell at Winterbourne.

  He would move on.

  Where?

  Geoffrey bathed his face in the cool water and drank his fill. He didn’t bother to try and wash his body or clothes again. It didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered anymore.

  He walked for hours and finally reached the end of the woods. The familiar meadow, green from the spring rains, stretched before him. Beyond it, lay Kinwick.

  Seeing his home brought strong emotions to the surface. He gazed upon it with intense longing and a touch of bitterness.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there.

  Until a figure came into sight. No, two. A woman and a child.

  Instinctively, he hid behind the tree and peered around it. He could not afford to be seen.

  He watched as they stopped to pick a few flowers. They were too far away for him to hear any conversation, but he could see how the woman paused and held things up to show the child. He now saw it was a young girl.

  Geoffrey smiled as he watched them, remembering how he’d gathered wildflowers for Merryn before he left for Poitiers. She’d always been collecting flowers and various herbs. Her curiosity led her to following Wellbury’s healer about, asking a thousand questions as Sephare taught her medicinal uses for what lay in the fields about their estates.

  The pair came closer. He could now hear the child’s laughter. The woman cocked her head and the girl did the same. They were so alike.

  He froze.

  By the Christ, it was Merryn!

  Merryn with a child.

  It was Merryn’s child.

  His child.

  They’d created a babe together. Merryn had born a daughter while he’d been locked away. Their lovemaking had produced a perfect child, one so like her mother.

  The girl had Merryn’s nose. Her mouth. Her delicate limbs. The sun caught the red highlights in the child’s hair, the same deep chestnut of Merryn’s.

  Everything changed the moment he realized he had a family. Already, he loved his daughter, heart and soul. Hope filled his heart and gave him the courage to live again—no matter the consequences.

  This child was the answer to their future happiness, to his rebirth as a man.

  Chapter 15

  Merryn led Alys from the castle, enjoying the mix of cool air with the warmth of the sun on this mid-May day. Flowers dotted the meadow before them. Bluebells carpeted their way as they ventured about.

  “Take these.” Her daughter handed her more blossoms to place in the basket, then danced away, flitting about like a butterfly.

  Alys had inherited her love of nature. Already, Merryn had taught her about various herbs and their healing properties. She was happy to pass along what knowledge she’d gathered over the years and was delighted by Alys’ interest.

  “Grandmother needs more barley water,” Alys informed her as they strolled along. “She said her head aches from a springtime cold.”

  “Help me remember. What do we put into the sester of boiling water besides barley?”

  “I know!” Alys cried, her smile wide. “We add two parisis of licorice and some figs. And then let the water boil until the barley bursts.”

  “Then we strain it with cloth and add a bit of what?” Merryn prompted.

  “Sugar.”

  “Crystallized sugar. That’s right. Drinking barley water will help Grandmother’s head cold clear up.”

  Alys skipped along, then stopped. “Black medick.” She picked a handful and placed that inside Merryn’s basket.

  “We need to visit Hugh and Milla soon,” Merryn informed her.

  “Oh, we can take something for Milla’s cough. We’ll need licorice again.” Alys’ face scrunched up as she thought. “But I don’t know what else.”

  “We’ll add vinegar to the ground up licorice.”

  Alys laughed. “And honey. I remember now. Because we put it on the fire and warm it until the licorice dissolves. Then you put in honey so it won’t taste bitter.”

  Merryn stroked the girl’s hair. “That’s right, my love. You certainly learn quickly. You know more at your age than I did when I was twice that.”

  “I get to be six soon. When, Mother?”

  “August.”

  “A rabbit!” Alys took off again, chasing the small animal.

  Merryn thought back to that scorching August day. How huge her belly had swelled during the summer months. She could scarcely breathe and could only manage shallow breaths those last two weeks. Then her water broke and the long labor began.

  Her hand came to rest on her stomach. She wondered if she would bear more children someday. If she would marry Sir Symond Benedict. She believed it to be what the king wanted. He had exercised patience with her, but she knew he intended her wedded and bedded to Sir Symond soon.

  What would that be like? Repeating the same vows before God that she’d spoken with Geoffrey as she looked into the face of a red-bearded man. Speaking words that would bind her to a stranger.

  Merryn knew in her heart that the words would be uttered, but her heart would always belong to Geoffrey. She might grow to like—maybe even love—this Symond. But no one would take the place of her one true love.

  She glanced at her daughter. Even though Geoffrey was gone, his legacy lived on.

  “Pink sorrels. And lilacs. Hurry, Mother. We must pick some. Grandmother loves lilacs. She told me to look for them. Look at them bloom.” Alys ran ahead to the edge of the forest.

  Merryn followed, humming under her breath. She spied some chamomile and bent to pick it. She liked using it for fatigue and fevers, but it came in handy to ease birthing pains. She always liked to keep an ample supply. It seemed a new babe was born at Kinwick every other week.

  “Ancel skinned his knee this morning. He didn’t tell you?”

  “How did he do that?” Merryn asked.

  Alys wrinkled her nose. “He was showing off. He had the wooden sword Raynor made for him. He jumped on a wall and swung it around, pretending
to be a knight. I told him a girl could be a knight, but he laughed at me and ran. And then he fell. And it looked terrible, Mother. There was blood. And he cried like a babe. Knights don’t cry. I told him so.”

  “I shall see to his knee when we return.” She gave Alys an appraising glance. “Or did you offer to tend it for him?”

  “No.” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “I was mad. Can’t a girl be a knight, Mother? I am brave. Raynor could make me a sword and show me how to fight.”

  Merryn ruffled her hair. “I think you are a very brave girl, Alys. And I will see that Raynor makes you a wooden sword and teaches you a bit about fighting. But a woman’s place is not on the battlefield.”

  Alys grew solemn. “Father fought on the battlefield.”

  “Aye, he did. Your father was a man full of courage and determination. He fought bravely at Poitiers against the French.”

  Alys leaned against Merryn. “I wish I knew Father.” Her forlorn voice tugged at Merryn’s heart.

  She set her basket down and picked her daughter up, trying to bring comfort. Everyone at Kinwick spoke of Geoffrey in the past tense, yet it was important to her to keep Geoffrey’s memory alive.

  “I know, my precious girl. But I tell you stories of him all the time.” She kissed her soft cheek. “He would be so proud of you, Alys.”

  She set the child back down and returned the basket to her arm. “We should head back.”

  “Wait! Is that a lark?” Alys raced off deeper into the wood.

  Merryn chuckled. Alys was easily distracted, especially if it involved a bird or animal. She could run herself ragged chasing a butterfly.

  “Come along, Alys,” she called.

  A scream pierced the air.

  “Alys!” Merryn lifted her skirts and ran toward the sound.

  Her daughter met her halfway, running as if a demon chased her. Merryn dropped the basket. Alys leapt into her arms, clinging to her neck. Merryn soothed her.

  “Was it Davy?” she asked.

  One of their aging tenants had grown feeble-minded of late. He wandered about at all hours on the estate. His wife had died two winters past and he had no one else to see to his needs.

  Alys kept her head buried in Merryn’s shoulder.

  “Remember that Davy would never hurt you,” she reassured.

  She decided it might be time for Davy to go to an almshouse. He wasn’t mad. No exorcism would be necessary. But Merryn believed that if he could frighten Alys this much, that they needed to find a better place for him.

  Alys lifted her head. “Not Davy,” she muttered stubbornly. “A man. He called out to me.”

  “A man?” Merryn looked over her shoulder and saw a man slowly making his way toward them.

  Merryn spun around and clutched Alys more tightly to her. Her daughter caught sight of the stranger again and screamed. She pushed away from Merryn and scrambled down and behind her, locking her fingers into her skirts and burying her head into the back of Merryn’s knees.

  She didn’t want to frighten Alys any more than she already was, so she addressed the man quietly.

  “What are you doing on Kinwick lands? You have frightened my poor child half to death. As lady of Kinwick Castle, I insist that you leave. At once.”

  She touched Alys, keeping her from sight.

  “Merryn?”

  He knew her?

  Her eyes skimmed over the stranger and his ragged appearance. His clothes hung on his lean frame in mere tatters. She wondered why they hadn’t fallen apart long ago. His long hair, greasy and unkempt, spilled past his shoulders. The thick, bushy beard disguised most of his face. Who could this be?

  He took a few steps toward her. “Merryn.” He addressed her again, his voice breaking. She heard longing—almost agony—in his tone.

  The sunlight came through the trees and shone upon his face. She saw tears brimming in his eyes. Merryn froze. Her mouth fell open.

  Geoffrey’s eyes. Geoffrey’s hazel eyes.

  “Geoffrey?” she whispered. Instinctively, one hand reached for the brooch nestled on her breast. “Geoffrey?”

  “Aye.” He nodded, his lips trembling.

  Her cherished husband, back from the dead. But looking nothing like the man she’d married.

  God in Heaven, what had been done to him?

  She held a hand out to halt his progress toward them. Despite longing to throw her arms about him, she must protect her child above all else. And Geoffrey had given Alys a horrible fright. Merryn turned and gripped Alys’ shoulders.

  “Alys, love. I need to help this man.”

  Her daughter leaned around and stared at the stranger a moment before she met her mother’s eyes. “Is he sick?”

  “He needs our help, precious. And I need your help, as well, my big girl.”

  Alys brightened. She was a thoughtful, mature child and enjoyed being given a task to complete. “What can I do, Mother?”

  “Go back to Kinwick. Find Raynor. Tell him to come here. Speak to no one else.”

  “Not even Ancel?”

  “Especially not Ancel. Just tell Raynor where I am and I require his assistance.” She handed the basket over. “Then you can take the herbs we’ve picked and put them in the storeroom to dry.”

  “And give Grandmother her lilacs? They need water, Mother.”

  “Of course, my love.”

  Alys glanced back at the man, doubt in her eyes.

  “I shall be fine, Alys. Remember. Send Raynor. Leave the herbs. And take Grandmother her flowers. You two must put them in water so they’ll continue to bloom.”

  “Should I gather what we need to make the barley water for Grandmother?”

  Merryn kissed the top of her daughter’s sweet head. “That would be lovely. Now run along. I will see you shortly.”

  Alys took the basket and ran off, happy to complete her tasks.

  Merryn eagerly turned back, her heart racing. She had dreamed of this moment for so long. Now it was here and she didn’t trust her own eyes. “Is it truly you after all this time? You’ve come home?”

  Geoffrey nodded. Yet, he looked as if he might steal away at any moment.

  “I prayed you would come back to me one day.” She brushed away the tears that cascaded down her cheeks. “No one believed you would. But I had faith. I would have sensed if you had died. And now you’re here. Returned to me.”

  A thousand questions ran through her mind. His ragged appearance frightened her as much as it had Alys, yet she longed to envelop him in her arms.

  Closing the distance between them, Merryn fell into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, overcome by emotion. His arms enveloped her. For a moment, the lonely years fell away as she experienced the joy of Geoffrey’s return. His hand stroked her hair.

  Then his fingers lifted her chin. Their eyes met. His held a longing that her own heart knew. Geoffrey lowered his lips to hers.

  The kiss began gently, in sweet tenderness, as her husband brushed his mouth softly over hers. The missing years melted away, and Merryn’s lips parted in invitation. Geoffrey deepened the kiss and a thrill rushed through her. The image of the ragged stranger fled as she responded to the familiar man she’d wed. Tongues mated as if no time had passed. Merryn knew utter bliss for the first time in years. Love for her husband had never perished. It had survived and now that he’d returned, it could flourish.

  Without warning, Geoffrey broke the kiss and staggered back from her. Once more, the shy stranger stood before her, looking as if he might bolt at any moment. Merryn’s heart ached.

  “Oh, Geoffrey. Where have you been for so long?”

  Chapter 16

  Geoffrey winced at the pain that laced Merryn’s voice. This beautiful woman had endured years of not knowing what had happened to her husband of a single day. He wanted to provide answers to all the questions he knew she had.

  But he’d given his word to Hardie. A solemn oath to never share the truth with anyone.

  The years-long ni
ghtmare must remain a secret.

  He hesitated to meet Merryn’s eyes, especially after the passionate kiss that they’d shared. He’d never lied to her before. And yet he, a man of honor, a man of his word, must now look his beloved in the eye . . . and lie.

  Finally, he braved a look. The happiness he’d seen on her face as she’d embraced him had disappeared. As he remained silent, he saw her frustration build. A fire appeared in her eyes. The agony of those years of doubt were about to explode in anger and he could not blame her.

  “I expect an answer, Geoffrey de Montfort,” she ground out. “Where have you been? More than six years have passed since that day I was forced to leave you wounded by the lodge. I returned with help only to find you gone. Missing for a day, which became two, and then a week, a month. Now, years.”

  Her hands fisted. “Do you know how lonely the nights were? My fears? The doubts? And then to discover I was with child?”

  Shame engulfed him.

  Merryn shook her head. “I told them from the beginning that you were dead. ’Twas better than telling them their father ran off or was abducted or God only knows what else.”

  His mind swirled as she lashed out. And then something she’d said caused him to ask, “Them?”

  “Yes. Them. You have seen Alys.” She paused. “I also gave birth to a son, Ancel.” She shook her head. “He’s the very image of you, from his wild, dark hair and olive skin to his impish smile. Every day I have looked into my boy’s face and my heart has shattered into a thousand pieces. It could never heal because it was impossible to forget you.”

  Merryn slowly crumpled to the ground. She covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook violently, but she didn’t utter a sound. Geoffrey took in his strong, brave wife. Is this the way she mourned him all this time? In silence? Keeping her heartache to herself?

  He wanted to comfort her. He wished to place his arms about her again and reassure her that all would well.

  Geoffrey started toward her, but she must have sensed his approach. The look she gave him caused him to stop in his tracks.

  Merryn composed herself and rose, glaring at him. “So you’ll not tell me where you’ve been for over six years?”