Marked By Honor

by Alexa Aston

  Marked By Honor

  Knights Of Honor

  Book Two

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Southern England—1363

  She couldn’t wait to ride again. She pulled free of her mother’s hand and raced across the meadow. Warm summer sun caressed her back. Blaze galloped through the green grass, carrying her father. She ran in his direction as fast as her legs would carry her.

  He spotted her and smiled, turning the horse toward her. She knew what to do next. Standing as still as she could, she held her arms wide. The beating hooves came her way as she held her breath. Her father scooped her up in one swift motion, seating her in front of him. The scent of leather and horse swirled in the air as his arms encircled her. She loved being close to him. He was a bear of a man who became gentle as a lamb whenever near his daughter or wife.

  “Go fast,” she demanded.

  As always, the horse responded to her father’s wordless commands. Blaze took off full speed. She squealed in delight as the wind whipped her hair about. From up high, she could see the castle in the distance and all their surrounding land.

  They flashed past her waving mother. The world became a blur of colors as the horse went faster and faster.

  Her father’s laughter came from deep within his belly, filling the air around her. She joined in, delighted to spend this special time together. As he gazed down at her with adoration and love, she knew she was his special girl. Then Blaze stumbled.

  Suddenly, she was sailing through the air like a bird. Her father gripped her tightly, but his expression scared her. He managed to twist them around before they hit the ground hard. Fear rippled through her as she hovered above her father, knowing he’d intentionally cushioned her fall. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. It was too hard to suck in a full breath. When she was finally able to breathe, her father’s strong arms fell away, releasing her. She rolled to her side and curled into a ball, trembling—frightened to look at him again.

  A loud shriek sounded and her mother ran toward them. Falling to her knees, her mother ripped at her hair. Did her mother blame her for the accident? She pushed herself into a sitting position and glanced over at her father. His head rested in an unnatural position, but their eyes met momentarily and she could see the panic in them. Fear spiked inside her again. Couldn’t he get up? The light in his eyes faded.

  She screamed.

  *

  Beatrice shot up in bed and bunched the bedcovers against her mouth. The thick material muffled the small scream that erupted from deep within her.

  She fell back against the pillows. Every time she awakened from a nightmare, her body was drenched with sweat. She tried to relax, but the knot in her stomach ached. She forced herself to breathe slowly. Finally, the last remnants of horror began to fade.

  She pushed away the thoughts of her father and the last time they were together. It did no good to think about him. He’d been gone ten and seven years, and her life had changed drastically.

  Beatrice tossed aside the covers and swung her legs to the floor. They still shook, so she didn’t trust standing just yet. Instead, she focused on the day ahead. A day which would be like yesterday. And the one that came tomorrow.

  Every day blended together, from tending to her mother’s needs to mending, washing, and cooking. If it was a good day, her mother wouldn’t be ill-tempered. She would listen quietly as Beatrice played her a few songs on the lute. Hopefully, her mother would manage to eat something without vomiting it back up and then nap for the remainder of the day. Only then would Beatrice get most of the household work done.

  Once evening came, she looked forward to the time spent with her grandfather, who would share stories of the past about his own life and England’s glory. Often, they played several games of tables or read together from the Bible before their nightly prayers.

  Beatrice wondered how different life might have been if her father had lived. Or if her mother had been able to have more children—especially an heir. Instead, she grew up in her grandfather’s rented manor house with no luxuries, isolated from children her own age. As the years passed, her mother lost the will to live and gradually became bedridden. Beatrice became responsible for keeping their small household running and she’d learned to make what little they had last. Life had gone on this way for many years, but now her grandfather’s health was in question.

  She pushed that thought aside, not wanting to deal with it, and dressed for the day in her smock and kirtle. Beatrice unbound the straight, dark brown hair which fell to her waist and combed through it before braiding it again in a single plait. Now ready for the day, she stirred the embers of the kitchen fire and fed more wood into it before going outside to gather eggs from their two hens. After completing those tasks, she joined her grandfather for their morning devotional. The old man already knelt in prayer, his head bowed and gnarled hands wrapped around one another. She joined in the Latin that he’d taught her, the words flowing easily after so many years of practice. As she spoke, she stole a glance at him.

  Over the years, his thick thatch of hair had turned white, but these days Beatrice worried about his trembling hands. Twice this week he’d lost his balance and stumbled into the furniture. Though she’d voiced her concerns, he shrugged them off, saying that she worried too much.

  Their prayers came to a close. Beatrice rose and grasped his arm in order to help him stand. She released her hold on him once he seemed steady on his feet. He rewarded her with a sweet, knowing smile. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of her mother in that smile and it tugged at her heart.

  “Shall we break our fast, Granddaughter?” He offered her his arm.

  She slipped her hand through the crook and led them to the kitchen, glad that he allowed her to help support him. As he took a seat at the small wooden table, she pulled out the bread she had baked yesterday afternoon and retrieved some cool ale for them to drink.

  “Have we any raspberry jam?” he asked hopefully.

  “For you and your sweet tooth? Always.” Bringing the crock to the table, she watched him liberally smear his bread with the fruit preserve.

  They ate in companionable silence, content in one another’s company. Beatrice noticed that the tremors seemed worse this morning as he brought the pewter cup to his mouth.

  He caught her eye. “We need to talk, child.”

  His serious tone made her wince. She worried the discussion would involve their lack of coin.


  “We talk all the time, Grandfather.”

  He squeezed her hand. “And I am happy for that. You have been a blessing to me in my old age, Beatrice, though I regret the circumstances that brought you to me. I appreciate you as my blood relative, but you’ve always been an interesting companion.” He paused. “But it’s time that we speak of important matters.”

  Beatrice bit her lip. Somehow, she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what he wanted to share with her.

  “I know you’ve been concerned for my health. I am willing to admit that I fear my time draws near.”

  She protested. “But Grandfather, I—”

  “Nay. Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “We must face reality, Beatrice. I need to see you are cared for once I am gone. I have written to my oldest friend about the situation. You’ve heard me speak of Sir Henry Stollers many times. I hope to hear from him soon.”

  His words aroused her curiosity. “What might Sir Henry have to do with me, Grandfather?”

  He brushed her words aside. “Not now, child. We will speak of the matter once I’ve received his reply. I only wanted you to know that I am preparing for your future.” He rose gingerly from his seat. “Tolly and I are going to hunt this morning while you care for your mother. I hope we’ll find good meat to put on our table.” He brushed cool lips against her forehead and left the room.

  Beatrice pondered his words. He’d spoken of Sir Henry often over the years and how they were the two Henrys who fostered together, inseparable as brothers while they trained as pages, then squires, and, finally, as knights of the realm. Beatrice wondered if her grandfather had asked Sir Henry to make her his ward once he passed.

  Because they had no money, no betrothal had been arranged for her. Without a bride price, she’d resigned herself to a life without a husband or children. At two and twenty, she already felt old beyond measure.

  Wearily, she washed their mugs and wiped the crumbs from the table. She ladled out some broth that had been warming while they ate and placed it in a bowl before cutting a slice of bread from the loaf and smoothing jam on it. Placing both items on a tray, she took it to her mother’s chamber.

  Beatrice pushed open the door and brought the tray to the bed. Her mother grew thinner by the day and would probably eat only a few spoonsful of the broth, much less try any of the bread. Beatrice wished now that she hadn’t put the jam on it. The bread would only grow soggy—and she knew it would need to be eaten later. Nothing went to waste these days.

  “Good morning, Mother.” She set the tray down and helped her mother from the bed and to the chamber pot. Arms and legs as thin as twigs poked out from her mother’s dressing gown. Beatrice tried not to dwell on her mother’s sad appearance as she got her back into the bed.

  “I am so tired.”

  At least Beatrice heard no bitterness in her mother’s voice and took that as a good sign. She plumped the pillows and brought her mother to a sitting position.

  “Let me feed you some of this broth. I hope you’ll try to eat a few bites of the bread, too. Grandfather was especially fond of the jam this morning.”

  Her mother glanced at the food with disinterest. “I’m not hungry.” She closed her eyes.

  Should she insist that her mother eat? Beatrice knew it would cause cross words between them if she did, but how was her mother supposed to stay alive when she continually refused every meal?

  Before an argument started, her mother started to cough violently. She gasped and wheezed as Beatrice thumped her on the back. As the hacking finally eased, Beatrice was able to feed her mother some of the broth, hoping it might help. Her mother fell back against her pillows in exhaustion.

  Beatrice studied the shell of a woman before her. She remembered how breathtakingly beautiful her mother had once been when she was married to her father. Beatrice wished she possessed half of her mother’s beauty from the old days. She tenderly stroked her mother’s hand as memories flooded her.

  “I miss your father.”

  Startled by her words, Beatrice met her mother’s eyes. “I do, too.” Her throat constricted. Anytime she thought about him, those last few moments unfolded. He’d sacrificed himself to keep her safe. She could still see her mother drop to her knees next to his still body, weeping as if she would fill the seas with her tears.

  “We loved each other so much. I . . . never . . . wanted to look at . . . another.”

  Had suitors courted her mother after she became a young widow? Beatrice couldn’t remember that far into the past since she’d only turned five the day of his death.

  She gently squeezed her mother’s hand. “I remember that he was a good man.” Tears stung her eyes as guilt laced her heart. She always believed she’d caused her father’s death and wished it had been she who had died instead. Then her mother would have lived in better health with the man she worshiped by her side. Mayhap they would have had other children—though her mother had lost two babes after Beatrice’s birth.

  “Oh!” Her mother’s eyes widened as she looked across the room, then a smile graced her lips. “I am ready, my love,” she said softly.

  Beatrice looked over her shoulder, wondering who her mother spoke to.

  “Do you see him?” her mother rasped.

  Before Beatrice could answer, her mother’s fingers tightened painfully around her hand. Then the pressure lessened and her mother’s hand fell to the bed as she sighed, not in pain—but in relief. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small, secret smile.

  Beatrice placed her palm against her mother’s cheek. The life had gone from her body. She glanced around the room.

  Had her mother actually seen the ghost of her husband?

  At least she had been happy at the end. That was what mattered.

  Though Beatrice believed that she’d prepared herself for the day her mother would finally pass away, hot tears still poured down her cheeks. She wept as she held her mother’s hand for some time, appreciating these last moments together. Sadly, her grandfather had lost his only child, and she had now lost both of her parents. All the death around her made her feel weary.

  She heard a noise outside. Going to the small window, she saw Tolly approaching in the distance, driving the cart home from the morning’s hunt. She caught sight of a large stag in the back as the servant headed up the pathway. She returned to the bedside and kissed her mother’s cheek before she drew the covers over her.

  Beatrice went to greet her grandfather, thinking about how to break the sad news to him. When she opened the front door to the manor house, he was nowhere in sight. She stepped out into the sunny day, shielding her eyes with her hand, and saw Tolly scrambling down from the driver’s seat.

  “Oh, my lady. ’Tis awful.” He ran to her, his red eyes brimming with tears. “Sir Henry felled the stag and was so proud. We dragged it to the cart. And then . . . he cried out. Grabbed at his chest and collapsed. I hurried home as fast as the horse would come. You’ve got to help him, my lady.”

  Panic filled Beatrice as she raced to the back of the cart. Her grandfather was stretched out next to the stag. His ashen face made her think that he’d already died. She scrambled into the cart. Relived to feel a weak pulse in his neck, she closed her eyes for a moment.

  The sound of her grandfather moving made her open them. He gave her a feeble smile. Beatrice decided not to tell him his daughter had passed. She saw no need to cause senseless heartache when he had so little time left.

  “Wait for . . . Henry’s . . . reply. I . . . want . . . marry . . . not worry . . .”

  “Hush,” she told him, stroking his wrinkled cheek. “Save your strength.” Beatrice pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Grandfather.” Tears rolled down her face.

  “Strongbox . . .”

  She rested her forehead against his, waiting for the dreaded moment he’d take his last breath. Just as she feared . . .

  Beatrice raised her head. Her mother and grandfather had died
within minutes of each other. It was more than she could take. She collapsed against his chest, sobs racking her body as grief swallowed her whole.

  Chapter Two

  “My lady?”

  Beatrice wearily looked up and saw Tolly standing in the doorway. She had just finished washing and dressing both bodies for burial while Tolly dug two side-by-side graves.

  “Has the priest come?”

  “No, my lady. He should be here soon. But a rider has arrived.”

  “A rider? What does he want?” They rarely received guests, though they occasionally offered shelter to the few travelers that came their way. Since the manor house was set far from the main road, most passed by, not knowing it was there.

  “The man has brought a missive from Sir Henry Stollers.” Tolly handed over a rolled parchment with a wax seal.

  Sir Henry?

  The conversation she’d had with her grandfather only this morning came to mind. This must be the message that he’d anticipated from his friend.

  “Ask him to stay in case I need to send a reply. Give him something to eat and drink, Tolly. You know where everything is.”

  “Aye, my lady. I’ll offer him our hospitality and see that his horse is watered and fed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beatrice found her legs suddenly unsteady and took a seat in the wooden chair next to the bed where her grandfather’s body lay. She stared at the parchment resting in her lap, not wanting to open it. Too much had already changed in her life today. The contents of this missive could bring even further heartache and transformation.

  She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.

  Henry–

  I was delighted to hear from you. You’ve always been the brother of my heart. It has been far too many years since we have seen one another. I can shut my eyes and think back to our younger days, full of swordplay and flirting with pretty young maidens as we walked boldly through life, never backing down from any challenge. I think of you often, my friend, and those times we shared before our lives took such different directions.