Heart of Honor (Knights of Honor Book 5)

by Alexa Aston

  Alys visibly relaxed. “If you would like to see around the keep, Tilda would be happy to show you. If you want to see the castle grounds, I will see if one of our soldiers might escort you. You might want to watch our men training in the yard.”

  Disappointment sank in when he realized she would not accompany him. “And where will you be, my lady?”

  A blush stained her cheeks. “I have neglected visiting our tenants this past week. I must make my rounds and see to some of our sick and ailing.”

  “Then I will come with you.”

  “Nay. I have far to walk.”

  He snorted. “You think me not capable of keeping up with you? I’m not an invalid, my lady. My bruised body is recovering. Movement will be good for me. As for my broken ribs, I promise not to run giddily about since you are releasing me from my sickbed. As long as I don’t go lifting heavy objects, they will be fine. My legs have carried me many places over the years. I trust they can walk about the countryside with no problem.”

  “But you might become bored.”

  “Bored, you say? Bored is lying abed as I have for a week. The only interesting thing that has taken place is when you have come to tend to me or keep me company. I long to get out in the sunshine.”

  Still, she looked unsure. “It will only be walking to various workers’ cottages.”

  “As you said, the fresh air will do me good. If I tire, I will return to the keep.”

  Alys nodded. “Then come with me to the herb room.”

  “Lady, I would travel to the kitchens if it meant leaving this chamber.”

  She burst out laughing. The sound brought a smile to his face then he, too, began laughing. And hurting. He wrapped an arm about his right side, holding it gently against his broken ribs.

  Seeing what he did only made Alys laugh harder. Tears began to leak from her eyes.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I don’t mean to laugh at you. You are such a large man. I am sure you are fierce on the battlefield,” she wheezed. “But to see laughter reduce you to . . .” She couldn’t go on because she had erupted in peals of her own laughter again.

  “I’m happy to see that I can entertain you,” he said. “Now you laugh at my pain as well as my chess play.”

  His words caused her to double over in laughter again. “You . . . you aren’t a bad player,” she sputtered, “just . . . just one . . .” She sucked in a quick breath. “Sorry.”

  “Aye, my play has been sorry. Thank you for pointing that out, my lady,” he said, teasing her.

  Her giggles dissolved. She licked her lips nervously. The gesture tugged hard on him. He swallowed, his hands falling to his sides.

  Now recovered, she nodded. “Follow me, my lord.”

  He did so, along a long corridor lit with a few sconces and down a sweeping staircase and into the great hall. The large room held trestle tables pushed against three of its sides and smelled of some sweet scent that coated the rushes they walked upon. A servant passed and dipped a curtsey to him. He gave her a nod. The woman eyed him with speculation and gave him a wink as she moved away, her hips swaying suggestively.

  But it meant nothing. In the past, he knew he would have sought the woman out and spent a night with her. He imagined he had spent many nights in the company of such women, women who probably remained nameless to him. Ones he had used to pleasure himself with.

  Now, he was interested in only one woman. Oddly enough, he wanted to pleasure her more than he would receive in return. He knew, in that moment, that something within him had changed. Fundamentally, he thought he had been a selfish man, one who thought only of himself and what others could do for him.

  Yet a single woman with a magical smile and porcelain skin and a long, chestnut braid was making him into a new man. He wanted to be a better man than he had been.

  For her.

  He watched Alys round a corner and cut through the kitchens, already busy with women preparing the noon meal. The food Alys and Lady Merryn had brought to him had been tasty, much better than the fare he was accustomed to, at least that was what he thought. Though if he had fought on the battlefields of France, anything hot would have tempted his taste buds.

  She entered a room and he followed closely behind her. Shelves lined the walls, with jars and many sizes of vessels sitting upon them. A large, rectangular table stood in the middle.

  Alys placed two large baskets upon the table. She began filling one as she said, “This is the workspace Mother and I use. We bring our herbs in here to preserve them. We also blend all of our medicines here, tonics and the like.”

  “You have an impressive stockpile of items, my lady. I suppose this is where all my ginger has come from.”

  “Aye. Mother still believes it will aid in your memory being recovered.”

  She finished placing items in the basket and took it in one hand and gathered the empty one in the other. “Let me stop at the kitchens and have Cook fill this one.”

  “You take food to others?”

  “Certain items. Especially to those who might need the extra help.”

  After the Kinwick cook had loaded the basket with breads, cheeses, and fish, he took it from her, waving away Alys’ protests.

  “It’s not that heavy, my lady. I can hold it close so it won’t bother my sore ribs in the least. In fact, let me have your other basket. It will help me build my strength back up.”

  “Nay, I am used to carrying it. Come. Let us go.”

  She led him through the inner bailey and past the training yard where steel swords clanged against one another. Alys waved to two men standing above the others on a raised platform. The taller one jumped down and headed in their direction. His stride held purpose, while his features noted his noble birth. His size and the grace with which he moved spoke of his skill as a warrior.

  “It’s good to see you out and about,” he said. “I am Geoffrey de Montfort, Earl of Kinwick.”

  He shook the offered hand. “I am indebted to you, my lord. Many thanks for retrieving me from the attack I suffered.”

  “I know Merryn and Alys have taken excellent care of you. They like nothing better than to have a patient to fuss over.”

  He laughed. “They have both been most gracious and competent. I am mending fast, thanks to the salves they have applied.” He reached to rub the bump on the back of his skull. “Now if they could only help me find my memory.”

  De Montfort sighed. “I’m sure you will be right in no time, my lord. Until then, our hospitality is extended to you.”

  “I hope I will remember something of myself soon, Lord Geoffrey. I do not want to wear out my welcome.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. When you are ready, you may join my men in the training yard.”

  Excitement filled him. “That’s most kind of you, my lord. I hope I can do so soon.”

  The nobleman looked to his daughter. “I see Alys grows impatient with our conversation. Go, my sweet. I know you have others to tend to.” He looked back. “I hope you will join us for the evening meal tonight, my lord.”

  “It would be my pleasure. Thank you for the invitation.”

  De Montfort excused himself and returned to watching his men. He felt a pang of longing to be where those men were, swinging maces and swords. The sounds and smells of the training yard called out to him. He believed it to be his second home.

  “Does your father always observe his soldiers’ training sessions?” he asked as they continued on their way.

  “He and Gilbert, our captain of the guard, often watch the men from the raised platform, but most times they both wind up amongst them, offering themselves up as training partners or pointing out ways the soldiers can improve their swordplay.”

  “You said Gilbert is the one who helps you train with your sword?” he asked.

  “Aye. Gilbert has been with us since I can remember. He has great patience and skill.”

  “I would love to watch you in action with your sword,” he said. He imagined her braid s
winging as her sword came crashing down. The fire in her eyes. Her heaving bosom after exertion. And more than ever, he wanted her in his bed.

  “My lady, would you look at the smithy’s burn?”

  He watched Alys rush past the stables to the blacksmith’s shed. As he passed the familiar smell of hay, he wondered what had happened to the horse he rode when he was attacked. Seeing that Alys would be busy, he stepped inside the stable and saw a lad toting a pail of oats.

  “Excuse me!” he called.

  The boy hurried over to him. “Yes, my lord?”

  “I was brought to Kinwick when—”

  “Aye, my lord. We all know. ’Twas bad ’uns who set upon you. Lady Alys saved you.” His eyes grew round. “She saves lots o’ people. And animals. Our Lady Alys has a most tender heart.”

  “I have found that to be true,” he agreed. “I wanted to ask if my horse might have been found and brought back here.”

  He looked puzzled. “Nay. No horse returned with you. Them thieves probably rode off on it. Or sold it at market, they did.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

  He left the stable. He couldn’t remember his horse’s name or any attachment to one. Then a swift picture clouded his head. His war horse. He could feel the beast as he sat atop it. Feel his thighs pressed into its muscled sides. Look down and see the crinet protecting the destrier’s neck. Feel the hard flanchard protecting the animal’s flanks. His destrier was a dappled gray. He couldn’t recall its name, but a tremendous sense of sadness overwhelmed him at once.

  The horse had died in battle. He heard the swift swoosh of an arrow that flew through the air. The sound of it penetrating the destrier’s flesh. The faltering step. The horse beginning to fall. His leap away so as not to be pinned under hundreds of pounds of horseflesh and the bard that the horse wore.

  Cold sweat prickled along his spine, breaking out along his hairline, as well. The memory had been repressed, but now he would never forget it. He had loved the horse, which had been with him many years.

  Slowly, he made his way toward the smithy’s shed. He saw Alys bandaging the man’s arm as the wife looked on in concern. Alys pulled a small jar from her basket and instructed them both on how often to apply it.

  “I’ll need to look at it in a week’s time to make sure it hasn’t festered.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” the couple said together.

  “Take care.” She gave a wave of her hand and rejoined Kit.

  “You didn’t make it far before your first patient appeared,” he noted.

  “Fortunately, I carry all kinds of herbs and medicines with me. I never know what I might come across.”

  They managed to make it through the gates of Kinwick without another interruption. The open road lay before them, with green farmland to each side. He saw workers pruning and weeding as small children ran about, scaring the birds away.

  “It’s April,” he murmured.

  “Aye. And you know this how?”

  “By what the workers are doing.” He glanced up to the sky. “By the feel of the weather. It’s warm but not overly so.”

  “You must be familiar with what happens on an estate, my lord. Not every nobleman would recognize what tasks workers did in the fields by the time of year.”

  “Most were pruning. A few weeding. The weeding will continue into May. Then come June, shearing and harvesting begin.”

  Alys gave him a smile. “You might not remember your name, but you do know about farming an estate. That’s definite progress.”

  He hoped the progress would continue more rapidly than it had. But he had remembered his destrier. And now he knew about farming. Mayhap he had helped run his family’s estate.

  They walked for some minutes before Alys turned onto a small path.

  “Our first stop will be to see Davy.”

  Before he could ask who Davy was, he saw a small cottage to his left. And a man running about in front of it—without a stitch on.

  Alys sighed. “I suppose you will be seeing more of Davy than I expected.”

  Chapter 9

  Alys braced herself, wondering if she would be meeting Good Davy or Bad Davy.

  “Old Davy worked for many years at Kinwick,” she explained to Kit. “When he began to grow feeble, both in mind and body, Father gifted him and his wife with this cottage.”

  She watched as the older man ran wildly in the open space, waving his arms as he called out.

  “His wife passed away well over a dozen years ago.”

  “And Old Davy continues to live,” said Kit drily.

  She grinned. “Aye. He seems to have regained some of his strength over the years, but he has gone blind.”

  As she revealed that, Alys watched Old Davy sail through the air.

  “He must have tripped on something.” She moved closer to help the cursing man.

  “Wait.” Kit held her elbow. The heat from his fingers seared into her skin. Alys did her best not to react to his touch. “He could be dangerous.”

  “To you. Never to me.”

  “But he is raving like a madman, my lady. He could hurt you.”

  “He could. But he won’t. Stay back and watch.”

  Alys had calmed Davy many times before. She knew the best way to reach him was through song. Though her singing voice was atrocious and she could never stay on key, somehow when she hummed, the melody sounded as it should. Girding herself, she began to hum. Softly at first, then gradually increasing the volume as she approached Davy.

  Instantly, he stilled and then looked about. His angry face, red and frustrated, went slack. Davy remained frozen to the spot as she approached him. She knew all was well once he joined in, though instead of humming, he began to sing the words. She let her own voice fade as Davy’s rich tone filled the air. Alys let him finish the song, knowing completing it served as part of their ritual and would calm him.

  When his voice died down, she spoke. “Hello, Davy. It’s Lady Alys come to see you.”

  A smile lit up his face as he turned in her direction. “Did you bring me bread?”

  “I did. And soup.”

  “You haven’t come ’round lately.” He frowned.

  “I know. I had to care for someone who was very sick. But he is better now. I brought him to see you.”

  “A visitor?” He grew flustered, wringing his hands. Davy did not take well to most people, much less strangers.

  “He is very shy,” she warned. “So shy that I don’t even know his name.”

  That caused the old man to drop his hands. “I’m shy.”

  “I know you are. I thought that’s why you might get along with him.” Alys gestured for Kit to join them. “You could reassure him that he will be well taken care of at Kinwick.”

  Kit reached them, stepping gingerly instead of his usual stride. He stopped several feet short of them and waited.

  Old Davy turned his head in Kit’s direction. “Be you there, friend?” he asked.

  “I am. Might I shake your hand?”

  Davy thought about it. “I suppose.”

  Kit advanced carefully. He paused in front of Davy. “I would like to put my hand on your shoulder. May I?”

  “You may.”

  Alys watched Kit gently rest a hand on Davy’s shoulder. With his free hand, he reached down and bumped Davy’s.

  The old man grasped it and turned to Alys. “I made a friend, Lady Alys. Not you. A new friend.”

  “I see. Why don’t we go inside your cottage? I can cut some cheese from the round I brought.”

  “And the bread. Can we have some of the bread? You know how I love bread.”

  “I know, Davy. Come.” She went to his other side and took his hand. She and Kit led him back inside his cottage.

  “Are you cold, Davy?” Kit asked.

  “A little.”

  “I can find you something to put on,” Kit volunteered.

  “All right,” Davy said, far more agreeable than he usuall
y was.

  Alys prepared the food for him and set it on the small table. She watched as Kit helped the old man into his clothes.

  “You look good,” he told the old retainer.

  Davy snorted. “I haven’t looked good in a score of years, young man. But I don’t worry ’bout that no more. Being blind does have some advantages.”

  Kit led him to the table and helped seat him. “’Tis probably better.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I might frighten you.”

  “You sound like a nobleman. I doubt you would frighten me, my lord.”

  “But I am a mass of healing bruises. Lady Alys calls them my colors of the rainbow.”

  “I remember rainbows,” Davy pointed out.

  “I am very much like one now,” Kit told him. “You see, I had some men beat me. They robbed me and left me for dead. And then Lady Alys came along and rescued me,” he confided.

  Davy grinned as he searched the table for a slice of cheese and brought it up to his lips and began to nibble. “Lady Alys does bring home her fair share of strays.”

  Kit laughed. “I hadn’t thought of myself as a stray.”

  “Be it yea or nay, she brought you back to Kinwick. She will fix you up good and then send you on your way.” Davy frowned. “Are you shy around people because they beat you?”

  “A little,” Kit told him. “And because they hit my head. I don’t remember who I am.”

  Davy slammed a fist on the table. “Well, you’re my friend. That’s who you are. And Lord Geoffrey’ll let you stay at Kinwick. He’s a good man.” A grin crossed the old man’s face. “You could stay at Kinwick and visit me. Why, you could marry Lady Alys. She has no husband, and you sound like a fine fellow. You could visit me together. And bring me bread.”

  Alys sensed the blush that fired her cheeks. She avoided Kit’s eyes though she knew he stared at her.

  “So what did you search for when we first arrived, Davy?” she asked.

  He chewed a piece of bread thoughtfully, trying to remember. “My hen. I went to gather eggs, and she danced up my arm and came out of her coop.”

  Kit stood. “Then leave it to me to retrieve this errant hen.” He strode from the cottage.