Badge of Honor - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 10)

by Shea,Lisa

  His words echoed in her very core, into the inner reaches of her soul, and suddenly it was as if she were glowing with a warm, radiant light, one which filled her very being. She knew with complete certainty how she felt.

  Her voice was pitched soft and low, but as she spoke she felt as if her words etched the air in crystal relief.

  “I love you.”

  Jack held her gaze for a long moment, and then he let out a shuddering breath. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “It has been a long time since I have heard those words,” he murmured, raising a hand to gently stroke her cheek.

  Catherine’s mouth quirked into a tender smile. “Then I shall have to say them often, to make up for lost time,” she offered gently. “I love you, I love you, I -”

  Jack rolled over with a groan, covering her with his body, kissing her, drawing her body to his. It was a long while before she could speak coherently again.

  As she lay sprawled on his chest, her breathing settling down to normal again, he whispered against her cheek. “You have bewitched me body and soul, my beloved.”

  His eyes shone as he turned to gaze at her.

  “I love you, and will thank God every day that your path led you to me.”

  * * *

  Catherine and Jack spent that night and the next day entwined in each other, with only rare interruptions from Peter who had learned to knock before bringing in food and drink. Catherine found the hours to be the happiest she had known, and a part of her wished this time would never end.

  In the quiet moments, though, when she nestled in the crook of his arm, she remembered the loss of her family, her friends, everyone she had held dear. She knew she could never rest until she discovered who had destroyed her family and found justice for them.

  Soon the preparations were settled for her trip, and she sensed the approaching departure as a billowing black storm. When they finished dinner, she drew Jack out of the keep, out through the main gates. The sun slipped lower through the azure sky as they followed a quiet path through the woods surrounding St. Albans.

  They walked along the remnants of the Roman guard wall from centuries ago, passing ancient buildings with mosaic-tiled floors. She wondered about those days of old, how the people had lived then, how they had felt about residing so far from their warm home by the Mediterranean.

  Jack was a warm presence at her side, and together they drew in the quiet of nature, the freshness of the forest air. An immense sense of peace filled her soul.

  When they reached the collapsed Roman gates by the pond, Catherine found a large rock to sit on, spreading out her green skirts around her legs. The Cathedral staff had been kind enough to provide her with some fresh clothing, and this dress, embroidered with Celtic symbols and dyed the color of cattail greens, suited her nicely. On her chest, as always, she wore the large circular spiral-design medallion of brass and green that seemed to glow with the reflected sunset.

  Jack rested one leg on a nearby stump, gazing down at her with a look of fondness. He waited patiently for her to speak.

  Catherine returned his gaze with tenderness. Jack was everything she could desire in a man; she would want no other here with her tonight. The settling dusk sent warm breezes across the meadow, and a robin warbled softly in the trees.

  She sensed again the distant billowing of storm clouds and took in a deep breath.

  “I am not even sure how to broach this,” she stated truthfully. “I have given it a lot of thought over the past few days. Every way I try to phrase it, it seems to create a challenge that you have to accept for honor’s sake. So I will just say it straight out, and ask you to think about it - truly give it serious thought - before you give me an answer.”

  Jack stilled, and she had a sense of the turmoil of emotions that he was caught in. He still harbored concerns about their differences in station. She was now the Lady of her land, although her holdings consisted of a destroyed, destitute keep with burnt remnants of fields. He was an orphan of a craftsman, and his foster father was now undoubtedly sailing his way toward Ireland.

  She offered him a reassuring nod, then continued.

  “Jack, I love you. I know I will worry about you daily when I am apart from you. I will imagine that something will happen to you and I will not know. In the same way, you will worry about me.”

  She smiled gently. “There is, in fact, a way to help at least alleviate some of this.”

  She put her hand to the spiral medallion at her neck. “You recognize this heirloom I wear?”

  Jack nodded, his eyes moving to the necklace. “Yes, of course, everyone knows about the Bowyer medallions. They are the symbol of your family. Your mother was famous for her golden yellow medallion.”

  A flood of loss cascaded over Catherine at the memory. It was still hard to take in, that her mother, her entire family, had been slain in an instant. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued.

  “When my mother came of age, she had many men who wished to court her. Her favorite - my father - was brought to a special ceremony. He was given a blue medallion as a sign of his right to woo her.”

  She smiled slightly; her parents had been deeply, madly in love with each other from the first time they met at a harvest celebration. Her mother had told her countless stories of how they had ridden together for hours in the ensuing months, shared heartfelt discussions beneath the stars, and pledged their love to each other.

  She drew her eyes up to Jack’s. “My father wore his sapphire blue medallion until the day he died, and she wore the golden yellow. When they traveled separately, the locals would note the medallions as they passed and a communication network would spring up. All my mother had to do is hand a note to any local merchant or farmer, and within no time at all it would have found its way to my father.”

  Jack’s eyes were intent on her as she took her medallion’s chain up over her head and held it in her hands, looking at it for a few moments. Then, making a decision, she gave the edges of the medallion a sharp twist. There was a slight cracking noise, and suddenly she held two overlapping discs in her hand, each a brass circle with colored glass set within it. Brass spirals adorned both pieces. One disc was a deep blue, the color of the ocean at night. The other was a golden yellow, as the embers of a glowing campfire.

  Catherine finally found the strength to look up at Jack, to meet his gaze. “I am not holding you to any obligation,” she hesitantly whispered. “I am not asking to be courted. I have not that right, considering the situation I am in. I own nothing ... I can offer ... nothing.”

  She took in a long, deep breath. “Even besides that, if we choose to openly wear these emblems, it will make both of us obvious targets. In order for the communication to work, we both have to bear our medallions in plain sight, so that villagers know when we pass through. The risks are great ... immensely great.”

  Her heart constricted. There was so much danger in what she was offering, and yet she craved it with all her heart, with every ounce of her being. She fought to keep her voice steady. “Still, to know that I would be alerted if you were in trouble - and to know that you would be called if I were under attack -”

  Jack was kneeling at her side in a heartbeat. “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes,” he breathed softly. “I understand the risks. I accept them wholeheartedly.”

  He tenderly kissed her hand, then looked back up into her eyes. “I will not presume to hold you to any future obligation. That can be left for quieter times.” His gaze became serious. “But please know this; I would be honored to have you as my wife if you had not one coin to your name or anything but the clothes on your back. I have no desire for wealth or goods. My desire is solely for you to share my life, to be by my side.”

  Catherine’s eyes shone, and with gentle reverence she lay the blue medallion chain over his head, settling it down on his neck. She handed her own chain to him, and lowered her head. She felt him place the golden medallion over her head. His hands rested on her shoulders, and she looked up
to meet his. When he spoke, his voice was low and full of strength.

  “I swear that I will do all in my power to be worthy of this honor,” he pledged in a hoarse voice.

  “Oh, Jack,” she breathed, and then they were in each other’s arms, kissing, drawing strength for all which would come ahead. For a moment the world vanished and it was just her and him, united, immersed in love.

  Finally she pulled back from him, drawing herself to her feet, holding down her hand. He took it and rose to stand beside her. A warm shiver ran down her spine, as she gazed up at his strength, his well-muscled form standing at her side, with her blue medallion shimmering on his chest. She could see the same pride and love shining in his eyes.

  The walk back to the Cathedral seemed almost magical. Catherine found she could not keep from smiling. There were pairs of mallards paddling down the stream, and she spotted a nest of eggs tucked in at the water’s edge. They passed a hexagonal pigeon house, full of cooing and fluffing birds.

  When they passed under an aging stone bridge, Jack pulled her hard to him, turning her to press her against the cool stone and kiss her ... kiss her ... each kiss billowed in the depths of her soul. With an effort he broke off, smiling at her ruefully as he led her on toward the main building.

  Peter met them at the entry gates, and his eyes went immediately to the medallions they were wearing. His face reflected both concern and contentment. “Congratulations,” he offered heartily to Jack, clasping him on the arm. Jack drew him into a warm hug, patting him on the back.

  Peter turned to Catherine, a smile spreading across his face. “I know you two will be truly happy together, and I hope your time together is long and peaceful.” He tenderly held her for a moment, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Although you have the worst timing,” he added with a gentle laugh.

  Catherine looped her arm in his as they walked into the hall for dinner. “The way our lives work, now is always the best time to take action. If we continued to wait until ‘later’, nothing would ever get done,” she explained with a smile. She looked up at Jack with dancing eyes, and he brought her hand to his lips in silent agreement.

  There were many toasts that evening, both to the memories of their fallen friends and to the future of Jack and Catherine. When the two retired back to her room, it was a long while before they fell into a contented sleep.

  When Catherine sat to organize her gear the following afternoon, Jack did not try to stop her. Instead, he helped her go through her belongings, making sure she had key supplies and that she knew the route to take. She knew he struggled with the burden of responsibility to keep her safe. She could see in his eyes what it cost him to let her leave, and she loved him for that.

  It seemed all too soon when her black steed was ready and waiting by the main courtyard. Jack stood with her, just holding her hands for a while. Then, suddenly, he pulled her into a long, passionate kiss, pouring all of his love and strength into the embrace.

  After a while he pulled back to look down at her. “Come back to me soon,” he instructed in a deep voice, his eyes smoky with passion and concern. “Every hour apart from you will be a trial.”

  Catherine touched his cheek gently with her hand, willing herself to memorize his face. “I promise.”

  He boosted her up into her saddle, and after one last glance down, she looked ahead, spurring the horse on the road northwards. The team of soldiers rode in escort. She reined in as they came to the crest of the hill, turning back for one last look. Jack stood by the gate, watching her, and she gave him a last wave farewell. Then, with a shake of the reins, she moved forward toward her goal.

  Chapter 21

  Jack felt as if he was pushing through dense fog. Around him the cathedral swirled with activity, but he could not see the attentive guards or hurrying pages. All of his thoughts were focused on Catherine, on her safety during her trip.

  Father Berram’s newly assigned personal guard stayed by the frail man’s side, but there was no sign of danger as the elderly priest and his friend, Father Oswold, immersed themselves in long discussions in the study. Peter and John spent much of the day in sparring practice, John throwing himself into the activity with fervent focus.

  Jack sighed as he watched the two. Both religious men seemed vastly unlikely to have plunged a dagger deep into Michael’s chest. The watch would be kept, but it seemed more and more certain that only Walter’s death had been part of the initial attack. There had been no other reports of any murders after that one fateful night.

  He turned from the courtyard, walking into the main building with resignation. He knew he would not take five steps before being drawn into a heated discussion of what all of the recent events signified. Nobles from all corners of England were descending on the cathedral to gain news and make wild conjectures. The fury with King John over the schism with the Pope was rising to new heights. Many were certain that the wholesale slaughter of the Bowyers was only the first bloody step toward nation-wide chaos.

  After a few days the cathedral was bursting at the seams and little progress had been made. Father Oswold finally called Jack and Peter into his study. Father Berram sat to one side, his elderly face still heavy with grief.

  Father Oswold nodded to the two, waiting for them to be seated before he spoke. “This business with King John, the Pope, and the Bowyers is setting brother against brother,” he warned the pair, his face tense. “The meeting that Lord Epworth held was a noble enough attempt, but after this wholesale slaughter people want stronger action taken. I have to say I agree.”

  Jack leant forward. “What do you suggest?”

  Father Oswold glanced at Father Berram, then back at the pair of men. “A more official enclave should be held, in London, with all ranking officials present. That way their decision can hold weight. Also, if each man uses every resource at his disposal, perhaps we can finally get to the bottom of just what is going on here.”

  Peter nodded in understanding. “If this panic continues to grow, there may be more fighting as people see threats where there are none. We have to rein this in as quickly as we can.”

  Jack’s heart pulled in two directions. From a logical sense, he agreed with the men. It was critical that the growing chaos be stemmed as quickly as possible. But he could not bear the thought of moving further away from Catherine, not now, not when the threat was still imminent.

  “When would we need to depart?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  Father Oswold glanced at Father Berram. “It would take us several days to set the wheels in motion. Something of this magnitude will require messengers to be sent to all corners of England.”

  Jack nodded. As soon as he was able, he enlisted one of the messengers to run a message up to Catherine, laying out the plans.

  It was a long four days before the messenger came riding in through the front gates of the curtain wall. Jack turned from his sparring practice, his heart rising as he took the scroll from the young man and pulled it open.

  His brows creased in puzzlement. Catherine’s response was short and cryptic.

  * * *

  Jack -

  Your course seems to align with mine, for London is where I must head next as well. I promise to be there by the evening before Easter. Probably sooner, not later. Watch for me. I will be with you again soon.

  Love,

  Catherine

  * * *

  Jack re-read the message several times, wondering why she had not been more detailed in her response. Was she that concerned about someone intercepting the message? What had she learned that she feared others might overhear? Was she intending to be in London for the enclave, or was there another purpose which drew her there?

  His shoulders tensed in frustration, and with effort he rolled them, keeping them limber. She had a good escort of soldiers, and the road to London was a well-traveled one. He would need to be patient until she once again was by his side.

  Now that he knew she would be waiting for him in London, he
was eager to get into motion. He worked with the staff to get all final preparations done, and by the next morning the wagons were stocked. Father Berram climbed into the wagon to take his usual spot, and John was at his side in an instant. A handful of local nobles joined their party, and Father Oswold insisted that ten of his own guard accompany the group for added protection. Jack did not mind the extra manpower. He and Peter, their gaze ever vigilant, brought up the rear of the group.

  The road between St. Albans and London was a steady stream of merchants, pilgrims, soldiers, and other travelers. The group moved at a slow but steady pace, stopping at the numerous pilgrim’s inns that were laid out in easy succession along the trail.

  Jack found that his blue medallion was attracting a wealth of attention. He maintained a mental checklist of who made those looks, if they seemed friendly or hostile. Some seemed merely curious, while others nodded their head as if in salute. A few averted their eyes or slid into a shadow, and these were the men he committed to memory.

  He fully prepared for trouble along each leg of the journey, coordinating with Peter so that as little time as possible involved only one of them being awake. They slept in inns with stout doors and a low number of rooms, taking all of the rooms for their party as a precaution. Jack and Peter slept in the room with their two charges, and rarely let either man out of their sight.

  Jack even had the servers take a bite of each meal brought, and a sip of each ale. While all reported deaths until now had been violent - in some cases it seemed unnecessarily so - Jack did not wish to take any chances.

  Despite the concerns, Jack made no effort to press hard to reach their destination. The priest and boy were in double grief over the deaths of their friends. Father Berram was finding it harder and harder to move about, blaming his old bones for his lack of energy. He took a while to get going each morning, and asked to stop when it was barely mid-afternoon. While the roads were in better care as they approached London, the slow pace dragged on further with each passing day.