by Alexa Aston
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Heart of Honor
Knights Of Honor
Book Five
Alexa Aston
Copyright © 2017 by Alexa Aston
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Marked By Honor
Code of Honor
Journey to Honor
Heart of Honor
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The Wishing Well
Isolated Hearts
Sentinel
Heart of the Corsairs Series by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Captive of the Corsairs
Also From Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Dark Heart
Knight Everlasting Series by Cassidy Cayman
Endearing
Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle
Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4
Second Chance Series by Jessica Jefferson
Second Chance Marquess
Imperial Season Series by Mary Lancaster
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster
The Wicked Baron
Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin
Child of the Night Guild
Thief of the Night Guild
Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
Rulers of the Sky Series by Paula Quinn
Scorched
Ember
Viking’s Fury Series by Violetta Rand
Love’s Fury
Desire’s Fury
Passion’s Fury
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The Sons of Scotland Series by Victoria Vane
Virtue
Dry Bayou Brides Series by Lynn Winchester
The Shepherd’s Daughter
The Seamstress
The Widow
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
Windsor Castle—August 1369
“I simply do not understand why you are not betrothed, Alys. You are already ten and two. Why, I have been betrothed to Christopher since I was seven years of age.”
Alys de Montfort took a deep breath and continued grinding the herbs in front of her. This new girl who’d only been present at the royal court for three weeks might drive her to madness.
Especially if Alys had to listen to her speak about this Christopher person. Again.
“A girl who is not betrothed by the time she arrives at court must find herself a future husband soon after her arrival or be subject to gossip,” Richessa continued. “’Tis her parents’ responsibility as members of the nobility to ensure the most advantageous match.” She sighed. “And I could not be more pleased to wed Christopher Emory when the time comes. He is so handsome and well spoken. Father says it’s a match that will benefit both the Giffard and Emory families.”
Aggravated, Alys pushed harder with her pestle, crushing the rosemary leaves lying in the wooden mortar until they were finely ground.
Yet she knew her mother would urge her to be gracious in such a trying situation, so she said, “You are fortunate, Richessa, to find yourself betrothed to such an outstanding choice.”
The younger girl set her pestle down and gazed at Alys earnestly. “You should demand that your father take care of the matter for you. He is being remiss in his duties.”
She stifled the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the thought of Geoffrey de Montfort being negligent. Honor and respect were woven tightly into his character, as was the deep love he had for his wife and children. Her father was the best man she knew—and Alys had met hundreds of them during her time spent at the various royal palaces throughout England.
“I can take care of myself,” she assured her new acquaintance. “Besides, my parents are close with the king and queen. They have entrusted Queen Philippa to find my betrothed for me.”
Richessa’s eyes widened in surprise. “I am sorry. I did not know.”
“Talk less—and listen more. You will learn much if you do.”
Hurt filled the girl’s face as tears welled in her eyes.
A pang of guilt struck Alys. She tried to repair the damage she had caused by softening her tone. “I apologize, Richessa. I did not mean to tread upon your feelings. I merely offer advice to you since I have been at court longer.”
“How many years have you been in service to the queen?”
“Five years now,” Alys replied. “The king and queen came to my family’s home on summer progress a few times. The queen asked my parents if I could foster with her, so my father brought me to London at her request.” She thought a moment. “’Twas probably best to separate me from my twin brother. Ancel fosters with the Earl of Winterbourne, an hour’s ride from my home of Kinwick. Being apart will allow us to forge our own identities.”
Richessa’s brows knit together. “What does that even mean?”
She saw true puzzlement on the young girl’s face. Oh, Richessa Giffard would be a good wife to this all-knowing Christopher Emory. She would do everything her husband asked and let him do her thinking for her—which was the exact opposite of who Alys had come to be. Her mother, Merryn, had raised Alys to be a strong woman. When she did wed, her husband would soon find out his new wife had opinions and a purpose in life—if he did not already know beforehand.
Alys grew wistful. She missed her mother so much. While she realized fostering with the queen was a unique opportunity that few shared, she wished that she could be back home at Kinwick. Each time she returned for Christmas or a summer visit, Merryn de Montfort taught her more about herbs and remedies. As Alys’ knowledge grew under her mother’s tutelage, so had her reputation at the royal court. Even the king and
queen requested she prepare powders for them when they suffered from a headache or loose bowels. Courtiers came to her seeking remedies for everything from sprained joints and queasy bellies to toothaches and bruises. She had even delivered a few babes when a midwife couldn’t be located quickly enough.
Mayhap she was not meant to marry, she realized. Instead, God might be calling her to dedicate her life to healing others. Not as a good sister, though. Alys would never wish to be locked away in a convent, but she might serve Him in another capacity. She enjoyed helping the people at court who had various ailments. Permanently serving as a healer in the royal household might be an option to consider, but she would require far more training.
Hilith rushed in, her cheeks flushed a bright pink. “I am happy I located you, Alys. You are needed. Bring your case.”
Alys reached for the case that contained the various herbs and medicines she used. It proved her constant companion and was never far from her reach.
“Finish what you are doing, Richessa,” she instructed, “and place the herbs in the containers I have shown you. Clean the bowls thoroughly with hot water and then let them air dry. I thank you for your help this afternoon. You did well. Now, please excuse me.”
She left with Hilith, who linked an arm through hers and led Alys down the corridor.
“Am I truly needed,” she asked, “or are you rescuing me from hearing more tales about Christopher the Great?”
Her friend giggled. “By the Virgin, I swear that girl can speak of nothing but her handsome betrothed. I have almost gone mad listening to her nonsense about a man she barely knows.” Hilith gave her arm a squeeze. “But the queen did ask for you, Alys. That is why I sought you out.”
“Is she in pain again?”
Hilith shrugged. “If so, she is good at hiding it from everyone.”
As they wound their way to the Rose Tower, Alys worried about Queen Philippa’s condition, which had baffled the royal physician. Alys had even written to her mother for advice on how to treat the royal, whose feet and ankles continued to swell each passing day. The condition now affected her legs and had spread up to her hands. The queen found it hard to bend her fingers these days and could not do any needlework. Not one to complain, she had grown quieter than usual in recent weeks. Usually talkative and gay, Philippa now spoke little and suffered in silence.
They reached the queen’s rooms. Her ladies-in-waiting sat in a circle. Some sewed as Agnes, the chief lady-in-waiting, read aloud to those gathered.
The noblewoman closed her book as they entered. “She is waiting for you, Lady Alys.”
Alys saw the concern written on Agnes’ face. She nodded and went to the bedchamber door. Rapping lightly, she heard a voice call for her to enter.
It surprised her that Philippa was alone, reclining on the bed. Her shoes and stockings had been removed and her skirts pushed up. Pillows rested under her legs and feet. But what surprised Alys more was the swelling about the woman’s eyes and cheeks. Usually, this puffiness only occurred in the mornings after the queen had reclined all night in sleep. Alys came to attend the royal each morning, giving her Petty Morel boiled in water and reduced down, which the queen drank before she arose. She had also begun to create an extract of the leaves and stems, combined with Horehound and wine, for the queen to drink in the evenings before she retired to bed. The concoction proved a strong painkiller and aided the queen as she went to sleep since it made her drowsy.
Alys closed the door and curtseyed. “Greetings, your grace. How may I help you?”
“Come closer, Child. Sit.”
She did so, drawing a chair next to the bed as she set her case down beside her. She waited for the queen to speak but could not help noticing how swollen her lower extremities were. It was the worst Alys had seen since the queen’s decline had begun.
“How old are you now, Lady Alys?”
“I just turned ten and two last week, your grace, but you know that. You remember everything you are told—and then some.”
Philippa smiled, looking pleased at Alys’ answer. “I do. And I think it’s time I should arrange a betrothal for you. Before I die.”
The queen’s bold words caused panic to flare within her. Alys dug her nails into her palms and calmly replied, “I hope you will see many more years, my queen. I would hope that you would dance at my wedding feast.”
The queen frowned. “Alys de Montfort, you have never been untruthful with me. Do not start now.”
Alys felt her cheeks burn and lowered her eyes.
“Does anyone at court strike your fancy?”
She met the queen’s eyes. “Nay, your grace. In fact, I may be destined to remain alone.”
Philippa snorted. “I will not allow such a thing. You are compassionate and nurturing. You need to care for a great estate as your mother, Merryn, does. Take care of its people. Your husband. Your children.”
Alys sighed. “I fear I shall never find love, your grace, and I do want to fall in love with my future husband.”
The queen chuckled and then drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, that hurts.”
“I am sorry to have made you laugh,” she apologized.
Philippa studied her a moment.
“A love match is not unheard of, my dear, but love can grow between a man and wife. Look at the king and me for no greater example. The bishop came to Hainault because a marriage between England and Belgium would be favorable to both of our countries. He was to choose one of Count William’s daughters. The bishop selected me, he said, because I was tall and pretty. He thought Edward would be pleased with this choice.”
The queen took a stuttering breath before finishing her story. “I came to England and married the king,” she continued. “We grew to respect one another, and that admiration eventually turned to love. That love has matured over our decades together, through many children and many victories over our enemies.”
“Oh, everyone knows how the king loves you,” Alys said.
“And I fear he will miss me when I am gone.”
“The king adores you,” Alys insisted. “He would be despondent without you as my father would be if he lost Mother.”
Philippa looked at her and smiled. “And your parents have loved each other since childhood. I know their story well.”
Alys shrugged. “’Tis how things are in my family. My cousin, Raynor, told me that when he first caught sight of his Beatrice, he knew they were destined to wed. He said by the time they did marry, they knew they’d fallen in love with one another.”
“And your cousins, Elysande and Avelyn? They, too, made love matches, I recall.” The queen shook her head. “I have had this exact conversation with Lady Avelyn, my dear, when she attended me at court several years ago.”
“Avelyn and Lord Kenric are most happy, your grace. As are Elysande and Lord Michael.” She paused. “I know that you allowed your eldest son, the Black Prince, to marry for love. So it’s not unknown even in your family, I suppose.”
The queen shook her head. “I thought that boy would never marry,” she confided. “But he—like you—wanted to wait for love. He was one and thirty before he wed his cousin, Joan. An old man,” she teased.
“But a happy one because he married his soul mate,” Alys pointed out.
“Still, though your family has a history of falling in love with their spouses, I promised Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn that I would arrange a betrothal for you.”
“You will, my queen. I promise that I will look more carefully at the men at court.” She sighed. “There’s bound to be someone I could love, I suppose.”
Philippa laughed again, wincing at the pain it brought. “You do entertain me, Lady Alys. Only you would pass over men with wealth, good looks, and old family names in the elusive hunt for love.” She paused. “But I must rest, Child.”
“Would you like more of the—”
“Nay. In fact, I think I would like to speak to the king. Will you fetch him here for me?”
“Of course, your grace.”
Alys rose as the queen shut her eyes. She picked up her case and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her. As she glanced up, she saw a stranger pacing on the far side of the room. Her insides fluttered in an unusual way as she felt herself grow warm.
He looked to be a handful of years older than she, with dark brown hair and a tall, lean frame. He possessed an energy about him that would draw others to him.
He glanced over at her and called out, “Are you Lady Alys?”
“Aye.”
He crossed the room and told her, “The king has need of you, my lady. Come with me.”
She followed him from the queen’s rooms to the other side of the Rose Tower, where the king occupied a series of rooms for his private use.
As the young man escorted her, Alys found herself tongue-tied. She wondered what ailed her, as she never proven shy with others.
“Are you new at court?” she finally managed to get out.
He looked down and grinned at her, causing her heart to skip a beat. “Aye. My name is Kit. My father was recently named chamberlain to the king. He has been the Chancellor for the Exchequer after working in the treasury for many years. He sent for me to assist him and I arrived at Windsor Castle a sennight ago.”
“I see.”
They cut around a group of courtiers standing in the hallway. Alys nodded at Lord Sewell Talbot. He had helped guide her cousin, Avelyn, when she served in the queen’s household, and the nobleman had also taken an interest in Alys when she arrived in London. She had learned that Lord Sewell knew everyone—and their business.
“Watch that one,” Talbot mouthed to her as they passed, nodding his head in Kit’s direction.
They rounded a corner and she stopped. Kit took a few steps more and then turned, impatience on his face at her delaying them.
“Why would Lord Sewell warn me about you since you are newly arrived?” she boldly asked.
His sheepish grin intrigued her. He returned to her side. “I thought I could make a new start at court, but if Lord Sewell is a friend of yours, he will tell you all that he knows.”
“Are you implying that he is indiscreet?”
“Nay, my lady. He would only be telling you the truth.” Kit took her hand and pulled her into a dim alcove mere steps from where they stood.
