Marked By Honor (Knights of Honor Series Book 2)

by Alexa Aston

  “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 Eighteen

  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 as
sume 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.”

  “See? You should have fostered.”

  They both laughed, then he grew serious. “Are you looking forward to your new life, my lady? You will become mistress of a castle one day. Your children will be born there, and your eldest son will one day assume his rightful place. You will have a history and become a part of the fabric of life at Brookhaven.”

  Beatrice hesitated. She wanted the life Raynor described.

  But she wanted it with him. At Ashcroft.

  “Ah, we’re here.”

  She looked up and saw the castle that rose in the distance. The dark, foreboding structure caused her to shiver involuntarily.

  “Are you cold? I can fetch a blanket.”

  Raynor started to reach around to the cart’s bed, but Beatrice put a hand upon his arm and stopped him.

  “Nay, ’tis not the cold. I am frightened,” she admitted.

  He would think she spoke of meeting the inhabitants at Brookhaven or possibly a fear of the marriage bed. Instead, her biggest fear was how she would handle losing Raynor’s trust. Mayhap she deserved to. Beatrice almost wished her lies would be exposed the moment they arrived. Raynor’s rage would quickly drive him away from her. She hoped the anger would remain in his heart so that he could forget her forever.

  But Beatrice would never forget Raynor Le Roux—or his kisses. The thought of his touch would stay with her till her dying day.

  They continued along the road in silence now, past the empty fields where the harvest had been collected. She grew sick to her stomach as they approached the gate. Raynor stopped the cart and called up to the gatekeeper, giving their names and informing him that they were expected by Sir Henry.

  The gates opened and the man on duty gave them directions to the keep. Fury pranced along, taking them through the baileys until they arrived at the stairs leading up to the keep. A thin, balding man met them.

  “Welcome to Brookhaven, my lord, my lady. I’ll see your trunk is brought inside and that your cart and horse are cared for.”

  Raynor jumped down and reached his hands out to her. He clasped Beatrice about the waist and lifted her gently to the ground. Turning, he said to the servant, “I must warn you to be careful. Though Fury usually possesses a mild temperament, he is not a cart horse. I’m afraid he will be quite feisty after a morning of pulling us along.”

  “Very good, my lord,” the man said. “I appreciate the warning.”

  Raynor offered her his arm and they ascended the stairs. Beatrice’s heart beat more wildly with each step. She gripped Raynor’s arm, glad he steadied her.

  The massive door was opened by a tall, lean man. “Greetings. I am Shem, steward to Sir Henry Stollers. What business do you have at Brookhaven?” His tone was friendly but inquisitive.

  “I must admit that I am puzzled,” Raynor told him. “I am Sir Raynor Le Roux. I sent a missive weeks ago to Sir Henry, but I never received a reply from him.” He indicated Beatrice. “With me is Lady Beatrice Bordel. Unfortunately, her grandfather, a friend of Sir Henry’s, recently passed away. I sent word that I was escorting Lady Beatrice to the wedding.”

  “Ah. The wedding,” the steward said, pursing his lips.

  “When may we see Sir Henry?” Beatrice asked, eager to speak to the nobleman.

  A pensive look crossed the steward’s face. He started to speak and stopped.

  “Spit it out, man,” Raynor said. “We have come a long way.”

  “Sir Henry and his son are together. ’Tis easier to care for them.” Shem gave them a glum look. “I am afraid to tell you that both men are dying.”

  Shock reverberated through Beatrice.

  Dying?

  For a moment, she thought this brief reprieve would be welcomed. But if Sir Henry and his son were to pass on, that left only his grandson. She had no link with Edwin Stollers. He would have no reason to keep her on at Brookhaven unless as a companion to his bride. She clung to the waning hope that threatened to disappear.

  Beatrice determined to meet Edwin’s bride as soon as possible. The noblewoman would also be a stranger here. If they could bond—if Beatrice could convince the woman how valuable she could be to her—she had a chance of finding a home at Brookhaven.

  It surprised her when the steward said, “I will take you to them. Follow me.”

  She looked at Raynor. He gave her an encouraging nod. They followed Shem up the broad staircase. It surprised her that they hadn’t seen a servant inside the keep.

  They walked down a long hallway, one much longer than the one at Ashcroft. In fact, Brookhaven dwarfed that castle, though Beatrice had thought Ashcroft was enormous. After some minutes, they came to the end of the corridor. Shem opened the door to the solar without knocking and ushered them inside.

  Much like Ashcroft, the outer room contained the same type of furniture and would be a retreat for the family in residence. She noted the size and grandeur of everything within it and determined that Sir Henry had done quite well for himself.

  Shem said, “Sir Henry fell ill nigh on six weeks ago. One minute he was joking with me, the next, he clawed at his chest and collapsed.”

  Beatrice’s thoughts flashed to her grandfather and how similar the two men’s circumstances turned out to be. Dread filled her.

  “Sir Guy, his son, has been bedridden for years. He suffers from apoplexy. His right side is paralyzed. He was always frail as both a boy and a man, unlike Sir Henry, who has enjoyed robust health his entire life. But Sir Guy has a fever now. The healer has tried everything, but she said ’twill probably do him in. And Sir Henry grows weaker by the day. It’s only a matter of time before they both pass.”

  “What of the grandson, Edwin Stollers? The one who’s getting married,” Raynor inquired.

  A strange look crossed the steward’s face. It seemed to Beatrice that the man wanted to confide something to them but then chose to be discreet.

  “Master Edwin fears illness. He is not currently on the Brookhaven grounds. Instead, he’s gone to stay at the family’s hunting lodge. I’m to send word if either his father or grandfather improves or if one or both dies.”

  “What kind of man would leave his kin at such a time of crisis? Who’s running the estate?” Raynor turned to Beatrice. “Who could wed such a man as this? I have half a mind to return you to the cart and head back to Ashcroft in haste.”

  She agreed with Raynor. Edwin Stollers’ actions were inexcusable.

  The steward shrugged. “Master Edwin has never tolerated weakness in others. His mother also died of a fever when he was young. He worried as a boy that he would catch one and do the same. Master Edwin rarely spends time with his father.
He has said it is hard to see Sir Guy so helpless and needy, having to be fed and attended to by others. Despite present circumstances, I feel certain he will return in time for the wedding next week. After all, the contracts have been signed.”

  “Could we see Sir Henry now?” Beatrice asked, trying to take focus away from the upcoming marriage ceremony.

  “Aye. I merely wanted to explain the situation to you before you proceeded inside,” the steward said. “You’ll find Sir Henry through that doorway. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Beatrice moved toward the door and started to knock but thought better of it. She did not want to disturb either man if they happened to be asleep. Instead, she pushed the door open and stepped inside the room.

  The bedchamber was twice the size of the one at Ashcroft. A large fire burned in the grate, heating the room, though the chamber still felt chilled. Her eyes fell to the bed closest to the door. In it lay a gaunt man, with thinning, mussed hair and a feverish glow. He was asleep. A woman sat in a chair next to the bed. Beatrice thought that this might be the healer that Shem mentioned.

  On the far side of the room, the other bed held an elderly gentleman. Several pillows propped him up in the bed, and she could see he stared at them. He raised a shaking hand and motioned for them to come closer. She glanced at Raynor, who nodded and began to walk the old man’s way. Beatrice fell into step beside him.

  When they reached the nobleman, she tried to mask the emotions that flooded her. His color was a pale gray, as if he were a fish left to rot in the sun. Watery blue eyes blinked at them in curiosity.

  “Who are you?” he rasped.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I am Raynor Le Roux, Sir Henry. I was charged with bringing Lady Beatrice Bordel to Brookhaven after her grandfather passed away suddenly.”

  Sir Henry’s face crumpled. For a moment, Beatrice thought the old man might cry. Then he seemed to draw from some inner reserve of strength.

  “Henry Bordel was a fine man and an even better friend,” he shared. His face softened as he looked up at her. “Come closer, child. Let me see you.”