Marked By Honor (Knights of Honor Series Book 2)

by Alexa Aston

  “I’ll be working with the men in the training yard all day tomorrow. I’ve invited soldiers from a neighboring estate to spar with us two days from now. I must make sure Ashcroft’s soldiers are prepared and can best Lord Harper’s men.”

  “What about after that, my lord?” she asked.

  “That’s when we’ll make time for your instruction. I know your days have been busy, but surely you can set aside an hour for me. Plan on it in three days’ time. You can eat a light meal at midday and then we can meet afterward. It won’t take long to show you a few ways to defend yourself, even without the use of a weapon.”

  Beatrice rewarded him with a sweet smile. “Very well. I shall be happy for you to tutor me then.”

  Raynor drank in one last look. “Good night, my lady.”

  He left her, knowing that she would remain with him in his dreams that night.

  *

  Beatrice was pleased with how productive the morning had been. Many of the herbs collected over the past few days had been dried, labeled, and stored. She’d left two servants to finish the job and had gone to supervise the candle making with the remaining women. It would take the rest of today and another one to finish up that task since the Ashcroft supply was dangerously low. Once completed, she would have all the servants begin work on cleaning the occupied chambers.

  She caught sight of Raynor standing in the doorway of the great hall and signaled for him to go upstairs since today had been designated for her defense lessons. Beatrice charged Hilda with directing the women while she was gone and then proceeded to follow Raynor, who waited for her at the top of the staircase.

  “I’d rather we work without others watching,” she told him. “I don’t wish it to be known what I attempt.”

  “I agree. The training yard is the last place you need to be. Your beauty would be a distraction to the soldiers. If we ventured out to the training yard, the men wouldn’t be able to concentrate on their maneuvers.”

  Beatrice tried to brush aside her embarrassment.

  “There are two empty chambers down the hall we can use,” she told him.

  She led them to the larger of the two. Raynor closed the door behind them.

  “Did you bring a dagger for me?” she asked. “I am eager to learn how to use one.”

  He chuckled. “We will save weapons for another day. I will show you many things you can do to ward off a man.”

  He pointed to his face. “A man is most vulnerable ’round his eyes and nose. If you feel threatened, you must strike quickly to weaken him. As for you, my lady, your weapons will be your elbows, knees, and forehead, for they are stronger than you know.”

  Raynor closed the gap between them. “If you are seated next to a man and believe you are in danger, stiffen your neck.” He knelt down so he was closer to her in height.

  Beatrice did as he asked. “But what good will this do, my lord?”

  “Drive your forehead into the center of my face. Not with force, but try it slowly.”

  She kept her neck taut and as if nodding, tilted her head back and then lowered her forehead down to his nose. The minute they connected, she felt a quickening of her heart and drew back.

  “Your forehead is very sturdy,” he continued, “whereas, a nose is not. If you slam your forehead into your enemy’s nose, he won’t expect a vigorous blow, least of all from a woman. He’ll find it difficult to act, especially if you’ve broken it. Try it again, as before.”

  She repeated the motion several times, bringing her forehead down against his nose until she felt comfortable with the movement. Raynor praised her effort.

  “If a man clutches his broken nose, then it’s time for you to run. In fact, anytime you strike a blow, my best advice is to lift your skirts and dash away while your attacker is incapacitated.”

  He cupped her face with his large hands. Beatrice held her breath in anticipation, thinking he was about to kiss her again.

  Instead, he turned his thumbs and brought them toward her eyes. She flinched and closed her lids as his thumbs gently rested atop them. They remained that way until he removed them.

  Beatrice opened her eyes, puzzled.

  “Now do the same to me.”

  She raised her hands to his face and repeated what he had done. As the pads of her thumbs covered his eyelids, Raynor said, “You can blind a man if you gouge his eyes out.”

  She squealed and yanked her hands away. “Nay! I cannot do that!”

  He laughed. “Your safety is what is important, my lady. If you fear for your life, you must go for his eyes. What does it matter if an attacker can no longer see you? You must do whatever it takes to protect yourself.”

  Beatrice understood that Raynor was only trying to help her, though she doubted she would ever be able to carry through with such violence. “How else might I protect myself, my lord?” she asked.

  Raynor thought a moment. “If you are near enough, you many punch a man’s throat. It is a certain way to render him powerless.” He took her hands in his, causing a ripple of heat to travel down her arms.

  “Place your thumb here, against my Adam’s apple. This is the very spot you would hit.”

  Beatrice removed her fingers from his throat. She wished she could place them on it again. This time, she would stroke it lovingly. She shook her head and told herself to concentrate as Raynor began to speak again.

  “Another sensitive spot on a man is his groin.”

  Her eyes flew to his.

  “I would suggest thrusting your knee into it as hard as you can. A man will double over. In fact, while he’s bent over, lift your knee high and smash it into his nose. He won’t know where to comfort himself.”

  “Then run,” she added.

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Try it. Slowly.”

  Raynor had her practice the move several times. She swung her knee toward him and then pretended to smash his nose as before, her cheeks flaming.

  “Excellent. Now turn around,” he instructed.

  Beatrice did as he asked. Raynor wrapped himself about her, his left arm going firmly around her waist while his right hand covered her mouth. He yanked her tightly against him.

  Her insides lit up. Need throbbed between her thighs.

  His lips grazed her ear, and she shivered uncontrollably.

  “If you’re pinned in such a way where you cannot use your arms or scream and draw attention to yourself, then stomp your heel into your attacker’s foot. Try it.”

  Beatrice heard his words, but she found it hard to react.

  “I know,” he said when she failed to move. “Being trapped in such a way can be terrifying. Raise your foot. No, not that high. Just one fluid motion.”

  She tried again, her pulse beating wildly, and drove her heel into his foot without pretense. She heard him gasp as he released her. She faced him, curious to see his reaction to what she’d done.

  Raynor grimaced and limped a few steps away from her. “That’s good. Your natural instinct to protect yourself came through, my lady.”

  “But I hurt you. I am sorry.”

  He shrugged. “A small price to pay to know that you learned that particular lesson.” He paused. “Let’s try one last thing before we’re done for the day.”

  She felt awful that she’d hurt him—but all she wanted was to be caught up in his arms again.

  Raynor approached her carefully. “I’m going to place my hands around your throat. Is that all right?”

  Beatrice nodded.

  His fingers moved to her throat. Instantly, they burned against her skin. She met his gaze, reading the need on his face.

  “If someone has you by the throat and they are choking you, you’ll faint quickly. If this happens, you must think fast and act accordingly.”

  Raynor applied pressure to her throat.

  “Kick his shins as hard as you can. Grab hold of my arms. That will give you some leverage.”

  Beatrice held on to his arms.

  “When you kick, never use
your toes. You might break them and ’twould be hard to run away if you did.”

  She swung her leg back and then followed through in slow motion, allowing her foot to brush across his kneecap.

  “Again,” Raynor commanded.

  Beatrice repeated the move several times.

  “Excellent,” he told her, smiling down at her.

  Slowly, he began to stroke her throat with his thumbs. Beatrice wanted to melt. Without a conscious thought, she locked her fingers behind his neck and pulled him closer.

  At the last minute, his eyes widened as he realized what she meant to do. But it was too late. Beatrice’s lips brushed against his.

  And the world caught on fire.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The smell of roses invaded Raynor’s nose as his lips pressed against Beatrice’s. He had always thought of himself as a strong man, both physically and mentally. Yet, any resolve he had disappeared when he came near this woman. Everything he knew himself to be changed in an instant.

  There was only here—now—with her.

  He cradled her face as his tongue ran along the seam of her lips. She opened her mouth to him. As desire burned deep within his belly, he drank in her essence.

  Beatrice whimpered. The sound pleased him immensely. His hands moved to the nape of her neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest, causing his manhood to stir.

  Raynor broke the kiss. Beatrice gasped for air as his lips glided down her throat and then across to her ear. His teeth teased her earlobe, lightly tugging on it. Her quick intake of breath and low moan brought a smile to his face.

  Gradually, he brought his mouth back to hers, wrapping her in his arms, drawing her near. Time stood still as he feasted upon her. Both of their hearts beat rapidly as their bodies touched. His hand cupped her breast, kneading it before dragging a finger across her nipple.

  Raynor’s heart warred with his mind. It had to stop. This woman belonged to another, no matter how much he wished it could be different. He could go no further. Reluctantly, he dragged his lips from hers, ashamed at how quickly he’d given in to temptation.

  But Beatrice was having none of it. Her fingers locked tightly in his hair and she yanked him back to her. Her tongue invaded his mouth. Raynor clutched her. He would enjoy this moment for what it was, drink it in and treasure it always. On those lonely nights when his need for her burned, he would remember these precious kisses.

  Because it would be all he had of her—of them—and their time together.

  “Enough,” he said gently. He took ahold of her arms and eased her away from him.

  Beatrice’s eyelids could barely stay open. She wore a hungry look, as if she danced on the cusp of satisfaction but had not quite obtained it. More than anything, Raynor wished to be inside her.

  Honor prevented him from acting upon his strong desire.

  “Raynor.” Her voice was ragged, pleading.

  “Beatrice,” he said softly, still holding her at arm’s length. “You must go to your betrothed unspoiled. I have taken far too many liberties with you. We can never do this again.”

  “Never?” The word echoed in the room. It reverberated in his mind.

  “Nay,” he told her. “’Tis wrong in so many ways. You are the most beautiful, most desirable woman I have known—but you belong to another. We must end this, here and now. We must never be alone again.” He gave voice to the plan he had formed only three days ago, the one he had neglected to follow through with. The plan he must adhere to now.

  Tears welled in her eyes. As was her habit, she began nibbling on that full bottom lip. Raynor caught his breath and stopped himself from lowering his mouth to hers once again.

  “I will fulfill my duties at Ashcroft. I would ask that you continue to improve matters within the keep during that time. Then, I will see you safely to Brookhaven as I have promised.”

  Once last time, he cupped her cheek. “But I can no longer be near you in any way, Beatrice. My resolve weakens every time I see you. Smell you. Touch you. Taste you.” His thumb brushed gently against her trembling lips. “You have cast a spell upon me, Beatrice Bordel. I fear I shall never find happiness with any woman.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. Raynor wanted nothing more than to kiss them away. Silently, her brown eyes begged him to change his mind. Instead, he bent and chastely kissed her forehead. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. The feel of her. The scent of roses. The smoothness of her skin.

  Raynor lifted his head. “I can’t speak with you anymore, Beatrice. I don’t trust myself around you. There’ll be no more lessons or conversations. I will take meals in my room.”

  His hands dropped to his side. A coldness, deeper than any winter he’d experienced, filled his soul. “I’ll let you know when the time comes to escort you to Sir Henry’s.”

  Raynor took her small hand in his. He raised it to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss upon it. “Adieu, Beatrice.”

  He turned away from her. It took all his will to put one foot in front of the other. When he reached the door, he fought the urge to look back at her. Raynor opened the door and hurried down the corridor, heading straight for the chapel.

  At this time of day he found it empty, silent as a tomb. Wordlessly, he fell to his knees and then prostrated himself on the floor. Every part of his body called out to return to Beatrice though he knew it was wrong.

  Banishing all thoughts of her from his mind, he humbly asked Christ Almighty’s forgiveness for having been such a weak sinner and poor knight. He prayed for strength in body and in character. He renewed his vow to serve the king, protect all women, and be an instrument of the Church.

  Spent, he rose slowly—determined to stay the course and continue on a path of honor.

  *

  Beatrice sat in her chamber, awaiting the meal that Hilda would bring her on a tray. She had tried to eat in the great hall, but sitting by herself was lonely. Raynor never took a meal in her presence. They had only passed each other in the corridor twice in the weeks since he had given up all contact with her. Both times she received a curt nod as he went by, but no words had been spoken between them. She had also caught glimpses of Peter from time to time, but he never acknowledged her presence.

  Her rare conversations with anyone had been with Gobert, the steward. Needing coin for goods in order to refurbish the various bedchambers, she’d gone to him on a few occasions.

  Beatrice’s gaze went to the lute that sat in the corner and she picked it up. She hadn’t played the instrument once since the deaths of her loved ones. That seemed so long ago, though only two months had passed.

  She’d had a silly fantasy since Raynor began avoiding her. In it, she took her lute down to the great hall to sing and play for the people. Raynor would walk by, drawn to the music. At other times, she fancied that she would be playing the lute in her room late at night. He would stop, listening outside her door. Rapping lightly, she would admit him and sing and play as never before. Her musical skills would capture his heart. He would sweep her into his arms and kiss her as she longed for him to do.

  No. ’Twould never happen—thanks to her lies.

  The last time they had been together, his kiss had convinced her that she must finally tell him the truth. Explain fully why she had lied. There had been no time to do so. He pushed her away and told her he could no longer be in her company just as she’d been ready to confess her sins and beg for his forgiveness.

  And now? Weeks had passed, so it was much too late to share the truth with him now. He might even think that she lied again. If he finally believed that she had no betrothed awaiting her at Brookhaven—even if he could forgive her deceit—she knew they couldn’t wed. His brother had expressed an interest in her, wanting to somehow break her imagined betrothal and take her for his wife. In the hierarchy of the nobility, Raynor would be obligated to step aside and allow Peter to lay claim to her. As the eldest son and Baron of Ashcroft, Peter retained all the power.

  That was the last th
ing Beatrice wanted, for it would drive Raynor away from Ashcroft forever.

  She learned from Gobert that Raynor had sent a messenger to Brookhaven. Beatrice knew of no reply that had been received and she felt certain the steward would’ve shared with her if one had come. She wondered how Raynor had worded the missive to Sir Henry and if he mentioned more than escorting her north. Had he referred to her as the betrothed of Edwin Stollers?

  Beatrice sank onto the bed, setting her lute aside. She feared after her arrival at Brookhaven, she would be trapped by the lies and then humiliated once the truth came out. Would Sir Henry be willing to help a liar?

  More importantly, Raynor would feel so betrayed.

  Where would she go?

  Bitterness and guilt filled her. A convent would take her in. She could donate the few gold coins she had, sell her lute, and give them her mother’s ruby ring. Then she would spend the rest of her life hoping God would forgive her.

  Beatrice needed forgiveness. She had killed a man. Nightmares of that night still haunted her. She dreamed of holding the ax in her hands as the robber brutalized her. Each night, she killed him over and over as the flames surrounded them, the screams of the other thief burning to death echoing in the distance.

  Beatrice would wake, drenched in sweat and shivering with fear. The images continued to haunt her and they prevented her from falling back to sleep. Because of that, she found herself listless at mass each morning and her appetite had dropped off. Hilda encouraged her to eat each time she brought a meal to her bedchamber, but she only picked at the food.

  A knock sounded at the door. Beatrice admitted Hilda, who brimmed with energy.

  “My lady, tonight is the harvest home celebration. Would you care to join in?”

  “Nay. I need to pack for my journey north. Gobert gave me word today that I leave tomorrow morning.”

  Hilda set the tray down. “Do you need any help? I’d be happy to stay.”

  “It’s not necessary. I don’t have much to gather. Go and enjoy yourself. I want to get as much rest as I can.”