by Alexa Aston
“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 know 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 t
he 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.”
“Nay, he is not.” Sir Thomas Felton addressed the prince. “I spent most of my evening with this knight, my lord. Nor is he a fool who would make false accusations.”
“Geoffrey of Kinwick serves in my household,” Sir Lovel added. “I have never met a man more honest and loyal. His word is to be trusted. If Geoffrey says Barrett of Winterbourne has committed treason, then I stand by him.”
The Black Prince held out his hand and the guard gave him the map. Edward studied it for a long moment. Then he eyed the men standing around him. Geoffrey knew the prince weighed his next words carefully.
Barrett shifted nervously on his feet when Edward looked at him and spoke.
“An innocent man would never disrespect royal blood in such a manner,” Edward said.
“Compurgation!” Barrett cried. “I demand compurgation.” His eyes wildly scanned the crowd. “As the accused, I can be cleared by the oaths of others. I have many present who will swear to my innocence and deny this outlandish charge.”
No one came forward.
“Then trial by battle!” Barrett demanded.
Oxford pulled the prince aside. Geoffrey stood near enough to overhear their conversation.
Oxford asked, “Would the map aid the French, sire?”
Edward nodded grimly. “It’s one you drew up, Oxford. It shows our next lines of attack and where reinforcements would come from. If the French had gained access to the map, it would have proven devastating to our troops.”
The Black Prince announced, “I will grant this request of trial by battle.” Edward eyed Geoffrey carefully. “As accuser, you, Geoffrey of Kinwick, will do battle against Barrett of Winterbourne.”
Though Geoffrey had heard of trial by battle, he had no idea what, exactly, it involved. He had never experienced one. His expression must have told the prince as much.
“I shall preside as judge. We commence at noon.” The prince signaled his guard and then pointed at Barrett. “Confine him until the trial begins.”
Geoffrey watched as the guard escorted Barrett across the clearing.
“Come, Geoffrey,” Oxford said. “We need to discuss your duties for tomorrow.”
Geoffrey followed. And wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
Get Word Of Honor now in eBook or in paperback!
About the Author
As a child, Alexa Aston gathered her neighborhood friends together and made up stories for them to act out, her first venture into creating memorable characters. Following her passion for history and love of learning, she became a teacher who began writing on the side to maintain her sanity in a sea of teenage hormones.
Alexa’s historical romances use history as a backdrop to place her characters in extraordinary circumstances, where their intense desire for one another grows into the treasured gift of love.
She is the author of The Knights of Honor, a medieval romance series that takes place in 14th century England during the reign of Edward III and centers on the de Montfort family. Each romance focuses on the code of chivalry that bound knights of this era.
A native Texan, Alexa lives with her husband in a Dallas suburb, where she eats her fair share of dark chocolate and plots out stories while she walks every morning. She enjoys reading, watching movies and sports, and can’t get enough of Fixer Upper or Game of Thrones. Alexa also writes romantic suspense, western historicals, and standalone medieval novels as Lauren Linwood.
Alexa loves to hear from her readers. You can connect with her through FB, Twitter, and her website: alexaaston.com.
Facebook:
facebook.com/authoralexaaston
Twitter:
twitter.com/AlexaAston
Newsletter sign-up:
madmimi.com/signups/422152/join
Amazon Page:
amazon.com/author/alexaaston
