Gift of Honor (Knights of Honor Book 8)

Book 8: Knights of Honor Series

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Medieval Romance; historical romance; medieval romance; England; knight; romantic heroines historical; 1300s; falconer; Knights of Honor

Synopsis

Two outcasts come together . . . and find the gift of love....

1387 A.D. – As a royal guardsmen to King Richard II, Sir Hal de Montfort places duty above all else. When a royal rebellion threatens the king's power, Hal is caught up in a political game and ends up losing everything dear to him. Broken in spirit and stripped of all knightly possessions, he begins the long journey to Kinwick, his parents' home.

Because Lady Elinor Swan wasn't the expected male heir, her unforgiving father exiles her from her home of Whitley after her mother dies during childbirth. Elinor is taken in by the estate's falconer and spends years training to be a falconer herself. She rescues Hal when he is injured by highwaymen. As he heals physically and she teaches him about working with raptors, Hal regains his confidence and becomes a better man than the charming, lighthearted knight of the royal court he'd once been.

Will Elinor learn how to fit into a world she's never been a part of—especially after she fears she will be blamed for the death of a noblewoman who bore her a grudge?

Join Hal and Elinor as they learn about each other and what counts most in life.

Each book in the Knights of Honor series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed in any order.

Series Order:

Book #1 Word of Honor
Book #2 Marked by Honor
Book #3 Code of Honor
Book #4 Journey to Honor
Book #5 Heart of Honor
Book #6 Bold in Honor
Book #7 Love and Honor
Book#8 Gift of Honor

Release date: July 17, 2018

Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

Print pages: 242

Sample

PROLOGUE

Whitley Castle—1371

 

Elinor Swan opened her eyes, not sure where she was. She glanced around the darkened chamber and remembered that Eunice had lifted her from her bed last night when the bedclothes around her were wet and cold. The servant told Elinor to stay here and sleep while her mother birthed the new babe.

But no one had come to wake her this morning. Had her mother already given birth?

Elinor wished she understood more about birth but she was only six. Eunice told Elinor when she grew older, her mother would explain everything to her and it would make perfect sense.

Twice before her mother grew large, her belly swelling, along with her face and feet. She’d promised Elinor both times that soon she would have a new brother or sister to watch over. Yet, Elinor heard the servants whispering about the babe being still born. If a babe still wanted to be born, why didn’t it show up? Elinor could tell that it wasn’t hiding in her mother’s belly any longer until it was safe to come out. Maybe that’s what made her mother weep so much.

Last year, Elinor overheard Eunice telling someone that the baroness had lost another babe—but how could a small babe be lost? Where did it go? Was it lost inside and couldn’t find its way out? Her mother’s belly hadn’t even grown large that time. Elinor wondered if her mother might be broken inside because no babe ever appeared.

It was so confusing and no one explained anything to her. Ever. They patted her on the head and sent her on her way, shushing her when she asked a question. She’d learned to keep quiet around their servants because she wouldn’t learn anything from them.

Elinor wished she could ask her father. He knew everything. He was smart. Handsome. Powerful. Elinor couldn’t help but be afraid of him, though. Any time she found herself in his presence, she tried to make herself small and not bring any attention her way. Yet, she longed for him to notice her. Talk to her. Pull her up onto his lap. Tell her stories. Tickle her.

More than anything, she wanted to be loved by him.

She thought her mother might have loved her when she was tiny but each time no babe came, her mother grew weaker and saw her daughter less than before. It was as if the baroness had lost interest in Elinor as time passed. And Father was always with his soldiers—training, talking, drinking—never bothering to glance her way. She couldn’t remember him ever speaking to her or calling her by name. It was as if she didn’t exist for him.

In that moment, Elinor realized how lonely she was. One parent was too sick for her while the other one ignored her. She had no siblings. No one to play with. She angrily brushed away a falling tear and got out of bed. She was a big girl. She could make herself useful. That might gain her some attention. Then her parents might decide they loved her. More than anything in world, Elinor wanted to be loved.

She realized she could start by helping her mother birth this new babe. She would make sure it didn’t get lost or misplaced this time. Everyone would think she was so clever and praise her for helping the babe to come live with them at Whitley. Excited by this idea, she dressed quickly and left the bedchamber. Creeping down the hallway, she stopped in front of the door to the chamber where she slept with her mother each night.

The door was closed. For some reason, fear filled her. She raised her hand to open the door but lost the courage to do so. Her hand fell back to her side.

“I can do this,” she told herself, determined to help her mother and gain a brother or sister in the process. Standing tall, she nudged open the door and peered inside as a guttural moan began. It sounded like a wounded animal who’d been caught in a trap for many hours. Then the groaning increased in intensity and turned into a full-blown, bloodcurdling scream. The sound bounced off the stone walls and continued to echo in Elinor’s head even after it died down.

It came from her mother.

The baroness was lying in the bed they shared, surrounded by several women who fussed over her. Her mother’s hair was plastered to her head and her face was unnaturally white. Her bed gown was soaked with sweat. She thrashed around, moaning again, before her scream pierced the air once more. This time when it ended, she collapsed against the pillows, sobbing.

From listening to the servants, Elinor had learned her mother needed to provide Whitley with a son and heir. But it pained her to watch her mother in this effort. She caught the uneasy glances the women surrounding the bed gave one another. Elinor’s chest tightened. Panic set in.

Wordlessly, she closed the door and leaned against the wall, her breath coming in spurts. Her heart pounded viciously, each beat driving the fear that threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t get the awful image out of her mind, seeing her mother helpless and in agony, with no one able to relieve her pain.

Elinor never wanted to have a babe if it meant doing what she had just seen. In that moment, she understood she would never be able to marry. Wives had children—and Elinor wanted nothing to do with that.

Instead, she fled downstairs to the great hall where people were breaking their fast. She sneaked toward the dais and took a seat on the end. Her father sat in the center, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread he tore from a loaf placed before him. She wondered if he even knew his child was being born upstairs and how much his wife suffered.

Elinor only hoped this child didn’t get lost like the others. She wanted to help with the babe. She couldn’t feed it. But she could bathe it. Play with it. Spend time with it. Even love it. If she took care of it and showed what a good girl she was, then her parents would be proud of her. They would want to love her.

No one brought her anything to eat or drink since the meal was almost over, so she sat and watched the others present, not daring to glance at her father. Looking across the filled room, she saw the serfs who worked the land at Whitley. The servants who kept the keep running smoothly and efficiently. The soldiers who guarded the estate and were sworn to protect the Baron of Nelham and the entire Swan family.

Movement near the doorway caught her eye. Elinor saw Eunice and another servant hovering in it, standing close together. One held a bundle in her arms. Eagerly, she sat tall. Was it the babe? Did they bring it to show her father? Mayhap she could also hold it and wash it and dress it.

But the servant scurried away with the bundle, leaving Eunice to enter the great hall. Reluctantly, the old woman made her way to the dais. Elinor held her breath.

“My lord?”

“What?” her father snapped as the servant approached.

Eunice flinched. Swallowed hard. Elinor saw her red eyes and thought Eunice might have been crying. She bit her lip, not wanting to hear what the servant would share.

“My lord, I am here to tell you that—”

He held up his hand to silence her. “Let me guess. My wife failed—again—to give me a son. To give me, the Baron of Nelham, an heir.”

The large room grew quiet at his raised voice. Elinor already winced at his harsh tone.

Eunice sighed. “It was a boy, my lord. But he was stillborn.”

The baron glared at the servant, but she bravely continued. “And my lord, she . . . the baroness . . . she is gone.”

“Gone?”

Elinor heard surprise in his voice even as tears filled her eyes, for she understood exactly what Eunice meant.

Her mother was dead. She would never come back. Ever.

“Gone?” he echoed.

“Aye, my lord,” Eunice confirmed and bowed her head a moment.

Her father slammed his hands down on the oak table in front of him. A thick silence clung in the air.

“So, she is dead. She and the boy. My son.”

Eunice nodded. “Shall I send for the priest?” she asked.

His lips curled in distaste. “I don’t care what you do. I wash my hands of her, a worthless wife who gave me a lone girl child. What good is a girl?” he shouted. “No good at all. I have no need of her.”

Tears stung Elinor’s eyes. She was the girl child he spoke of so callously. The one he couldn’t bring himself to even name. The one he had ignored ever since her birth.

She was nothing to him. Nothing.

He rose and looked across the great hall at those gathered. “You people can bury my wife and this lifeless babe. I have no use for the dead.”

“And what of Lady Elinor?” asked Eunice boldly. “The poor girl just lost her mother.”

“Well, she lost me, as well,” her father replied. “I have no need to parent a female brat. I don’t care if I ever see her again.”

Elinor began to shake. She felt all the eyes in the room turn to gaze on her in pity.

“She’s your daughter, my lord,” Eunice insisted. “You must do right by her.”

The baron rested his hands on the table and leaned toward the servant. “I have no son. Therefore, I have no child,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “Do something with her. I never want to see her inside my keep again. Do you hear me?”

Elinor knew everyone present had heard. She froze as her father strode from the great hall without a backward glance. Immediately, voices broke out, buzzing in her head as a group of bees. Then her trembling grew out of control. Elinor shook so badly she feared she might pitch from her seat and embarrass herself. Pushing against the table, she stood on wobbly legs as she gripped the table tightly for support.

Her mother was dead. She would never see her again. And that last terrible image of her trying to give birth kept rolling through her mind.

“Eunice?”

Elinor turned and saw a man standing in front of the dais, next to Eunice. Something passed between them. Eunice nodded as if in agreement before facing Elinor.

“Lady Elinor? Come here.” The servant motioned her over.

Elinor was reluctant to release her grasp on the table. She forced her fingers to relax before she took the few steps to the edge of the dais.

The man stepped to meet her. Pale blue eyes in a tanned face the color of leather looked her over. His brown hair had bits of gold in it, as if he spent a lot of his time outdoors. He wasn’t very tall and seemed lean and wiry, so unlike her father and all of his soldiers.

“My lady,” he said softly, “I live here at Whitley. I lost my wife and son years ago.” He gave her a smile. “I always wanted a daughter.”

She looked at him, not sure why he told her this. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry you lost your family.”

“I am sorry, too, for what has happened to you,” he replied. “I could use a hand with my falcons. Would you like to come live with me and help me with my birds? I could teach you to be a falconer.”

Elinor didn’t know what a falconer was. She only saw the same sadness she felt inside reflected in this man’s eyes. He said he needed help and she wanted to make herself useful.

Especially since her father never wanted to see her again.

Elinor nodded.

The man took another step toward her. “I am Jasper.”

“I am Elinor.”

He lightly grasped her waist and lowered her to the ground before taking her hand. As her hand rested in his, she drew comfort—and strength—from their contact.

Looking down at her, Jasper said, “You’ll make a fine falconer, Elinor. Fine indeed.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

The Midlands, England—17 November 1387

 

Hal de Montfort wished he was back at the royal court in London guarding the queen and her ladies-in-waiting instead of sitting at a camp in the Midlands. Waiting. All they seemed to do was wait, as they had for months now. He itched to do something. Go somewhere. Fight someone.

“Your turn, Hal.”

He took the dice from another soldier and tossed them. Cheers broke out when they rolled to a stop.

“You won again, de Montfort,” growled one of the Cheshire bowmen, a member of the king’s royal guard, as Hal himself was. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you cheated us with your run of good luck.”

“But everyone knows I am a de Montfort,” Hal proclaimed smoothly, “and true to my oath of knighthood. I would never resort to loaded dice in order to win.”

The soldiers gathered around the campfire nodded to themselves. Hal had his father to thank for his good name. Geoffrey de Montfort had been known throughout England as one of King Edward’s foremost knights in the wars against France. A man known for his fighting skills as much as his word of honor, Geoffrey had passed along what he most valued to his three sons. Hal absorbed many lessons at his father’s knee and had become a trusted knight in King Richard’s court, guarding the monarch as had his brothers, Ancel and Edward.

But both brothers now led vastly different lives from Hal. Ancel, the eldest of the three boys, had married Margery Ormond six years ago and become the Earl of Mauntell. They lived at Bexley with their young children, Cyrus and Miranda. Ancel would one day inherit the de Montfort home, Kinwick Castle, and become its earl. Edward, knighted on the battlefield near Scotland, had been invited to join the royal guard and remained in it until he’d married Rosalyne Parry two years ago. Thanks to his thorough work on a secret mission for King Richard in Canterbury, the monarch allowed Edward to vacate his court assignment and return with Rosalyne to Kinwick. Upon the death of Rosalyne’s uncle, Benedict Bowyar, Edward would be named Baron of Shallowheart. For now, the couple raised their young son and child-to-be at Kinwick.

Hal knew Rosalyne would have had the babe by now. She’d been due to deliver sometime in August. Hal had been on the road with the king since early summer, though, and no missive had reached him with the news. He missed his family dreadfully and even the life he’d led in the various royal palaces, with a bevy of court beauties to charm and amuse him.

Life had grown dull once the king withdrew from London, angered first by the removal of his favorite, Michael de la Pole, as his Chancellor, followed by Parliament appointing fourteen Commissioners to oversee the Crown’s expenditures. Richard had dragged his army through the Midlands in order to rally supporters loyal to him. They had stopped at both Shrewsbury and Nottingham, where both royal courts had given a resounding reaffirmation of the king’s rights.

“Another round, Hal?”

He started to reach for the dice again when a man stepped in front of him. Hal raised his eyes and recognized one of the Cheshire bowmen.

“The king wishes to see you, de Montfort.”

Hal collected his winnings and rose to his feet, handing the pair of dice to the nearest soldier. He was eager to see what the monarch might want. The group of bowmen from Cheshire had continued to act as the king’s personal guards once they’d left the safety of the Palace of Westminster. Hal and the other knights who had been assigned to the queen’s service and ordered to march with the royal army from London had not been involved with the king in any way. His curiosity grew as he followed the Cheshireman through the encampment. They weaved their way through men and horses till they reached the massive royal tent.

“You may enter.” The bowman gave him a curt nod and retreated.

Hal pushed aside the flap of the tent and stepped inside. The luxurious surroundings made him think he might be back at court. Thick Turkish rugs lay spread against the dirt of the ground. A large table of fine oak sat in the middle, with benches on both sides. He caught a whiff of roasted pheasant from the gold platter sitting on the table. Silver goblets inlaid with jewels rested next to it.

The king looked up from where he sat, a quill in hand and parchment before him. “One moment, Sir Hal.” He dipped the quill in ink and went back to writing as Hal stood patiently.

He thought the royal tent would be filled to the brim with advisors. It always had been when Hal and Edward accompanied their father when the royal army fought the Scots. Geoffrey de Montfort had been one of the king’s military advisors, and he had insisted that his two sons be allowed to witness the strategy sessions as they unfolded. Hal became used to seeing a multitude of men crammed inside the royal tent, as well as several servants scurrying around. Tonight, only one servant sat in a corner, a needle in hand as he mended an item of clothing sitting in his lap.

Looking back, Hal watched the king lightly sprinkle fine sand across what he’d written before he rolled up the parchment after a moment. Placing warm wax along the fold, Richard affixed his personal seal and then set the missive aside.

The king looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes aged him well beyond his twenty years. Hal thought Richard might be missing his wife. The monarch and Queen Anne’s great love for one another was hardly a secret. Hal surmised he had been summoned to discuss bringing the queen north after the couple’s separation of several months. The queen favored Hal among the men who guarded her, and the king would know that—and trust Hal to bring his wife safely from London.

The monarch stood and moved away from the desk. Hal bowed to the younger man and was bidden to rise.

“Sit,” Richard commanded. He motioned to the lone servant, who sprang up and poured them both generous cups of wine, handing one to the king and then to Hal before retreating from the tent altogether.

“Do you know why I asked you here?”

“No, sire.” Hal waited while the king swirled his wine and sipped it thoughtfully.

“Ah. At least the French have learned how to do one thing right.” He took a deep swallow and then continued. “I remembered how your brother did me a great service regarding the wall being built at Canterbury.”

“Aye, your highness. Edward was pleased that he was able to serve you in that matter.”

“The incident unveiled how the Crown was being cheated,” the king said before dabbing his mouth with a cloth. “And Sir Edward negotiated for the wall to continue construction for another dozen years without it costing my royal treasury a single pence.”

Richard dropped the cloth on the table and steepled his fingers, studying Hal. “Both your brothers have served me well. My early years as king were difficult ones because of my youth, but Sir Ancel advised me without telling me how I must act. In doing so, he helped me mature and find my own way. Ancel had me use my mind as much as my heart in making decisions.”

He lowered his hands to the table. “And Sir Edward not only was clever enough to save my leaking treasury, he also brought Lady Rosalyne to court to paint my portrait and the queen’s. When one of us eventually passes on, the other will have a precious piece that will allow us to always remember our loved one, thanks to Lady Rosalyne’s ability to bring us both to life.”

The king sighed. “Since your brothers—and your father—have been good friends to the Crown, I’d hoped you would be the same.”

“Name anything you need done, your majesty,” Hal told him. “I will see it happen.”

“Good. ‘Tis exactly what I wanted to hear from you.” He paused. “What you hear now is for your ears alone. ‘Tis why no one else is present at the moment.” Richard rose and brought two rolled parchments back to the table and seated himself again.

Hal recognized one as the one the king labored over when he first arrived. He hadn’t seen the other. Anticipation rippled through him as he waited for what the monarch would reveal to him.

“You know how the Lords Appellant rid me of my Chancellor, waiting until my uncle, the Duke of Lancaster, left the country. They are angry they have fallen from royal favor and that I have appointed new, younger men to help me rule my kingdom.”

Hal was certainly aware of the demands the Lords Appellant had made for the king to remove many of his councilors, claiming since Richard was still a minor by law that they, as a Council of Government, would rule in his stead until he came of age. It was the very reason the monarch fled their presence months ago, turning to the courts to assert his right to rule England as he saw fit.

“They are frightened by the opinions the judges rendered in my favor,” the king continued. “Because of it, I received word that they have brought an accusatio against my allies and demand arrest of members of my royal court—those closest to me.”

Hal had enjoyed his lessons in Latin and knew the king spoke of a formal appeal. And he knew that could mean only one thing between the king and the Lords Appellant.

War.

The sovereign’s gaze remained steady as he met Hal’s eyes. “Before the accusation, I had already sent word to two men, men who are my allies and would lay down their lives for me without question. My closest friend, Robert de Vere, secretly gathers troops for me, as does Sir Thomas Molineux de Cuerdale, the Constable of Chester. You know most of my royal guard comes from Cheshire, and I look to Molineux and his enormous influence in the area to collect additional soldiers who will show their loyalty to me and the Crown in the weeks ahead.”

Hal steeled himself. “Then what do you need of me, sire?”

“I need all the men they have assembled to join me in haste, Sir Hal. I have learned that my uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, has convinced the other four members of the Lords Appellant to mobilize their forces against me.”

That would be a formidable group to face on the battlefield. Besides Gloucester, that meant that men under the command of the Earls of Warwick, Arundel, Nottingham, and Derby would combine their armies to march against the king. Richard had brought a small force with him from London, but de Vere and Molineux would have to persuade many more men to join the king’s side for the numbers to come close to being equal. Even then, Hal doubted those volunteering to fight for the king would be half as well trained as the soldiers marching under the banners of the Lords Appellant.

Richard handed him both parchments. “These are for de Vere and Molineux.” He told Hal the general areas both men would be located near. “De Vere will need to march swiftly and join forces with Molineux before they meet up with my army. Together, I am confident we can defeat these usurpers.”

The king gave Hal a grim smile. “Hide the missives and set out immediately.”

Hal slipped both of the small scrolls up his left sleeve as both men rose. Richard put a hand on his shoulder. “I am counting on you and your loyalty, Sir Hal.”

“I will not disappoint you, sire,” he told the monarch, brimming with confidence.

Leaving the tent, Hal’s smile faded as he made his way through the camp to where his horse stood. The king was a fool if he thought his small army and whatever volunteers his friends could rouse would be able to defeat the soldiers brought to the fight by the Lords Appellant. Each of the five noblemen were superb soldiers in their own right and well respect throughout England, while Richard was counting on his friend de Vere, who had no battle experience and had been accused of treason, to miraculously save him.

As he mounted his horse and set off to deliver the missives, Hal remembered how only an hour earlier he had been bored by the inactivity and lack of action these past few months. Now, his mission would bring about certain battle.

And he was almost guaranteed to be on the losing side.

Hal sped off into the night, wondering if his days on earth were numbered.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

Radcot Bridge—20 December 1387

 

Hal glanced over at the Earl of Oxford as they road south to reunite with King Richard. De Vere had gathered an army of fifteen thousand, which marched behind them. As always, the earl sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache and was meticulously dressed in midnight blue and gold under his armor. Tall and lean, he rode well in the saddle and had an air of excitement about him. But Hal knew the nobleman hadn’t a clue how to manage a force this large and lead it into battle, much less get along with Sir Thomas Molineux, the other man Hal had visited in secret when he delivered the first of the king’s two missives.

It alarmed him that while Molineux had taken the king’s orders to raise an army to heart and enthusiastically gathered soldiers throughout the area, the five thousand troops Molineux provided for this effort had not all come along on this crusade willingly. After Hal found de Vere’s location and Oxford assembled his army to march and link up with that of Molineux’s, Hal learned that those not immediately agreeing to join in the fight on the side of the king had been forced into service by Sir Thomas.

And men who had no loyalty and were not invested in a cause?

Those men could not be counted upon when swords began swinging and blood was spilled.

Hal discovered there was little leadership and even less experience among the combined armies of men who headed toward Radcot Bridge, the only route available since their scouts had informed them that Earl of Arundel had blocked the most direct course. They would need to cross the bridge in order to rendezvous with the king and his men. Knowing that a good portion of these twenty thousand soldiers might bolt once they engaged in battle, Hal could only hope that he would come out of any upcoming conflict alive. To think that being on the king’s side had suddenly become the wrong side was disheartening. Yet, he’d made a commitment to Richard and would serve him till the bitter end.

But when would that end occur? After more than three hundred years of Plantagenet rule, the strong possibility existed that Richard could die in battle against the armies of the five Lords Appellant. If the king fell, he had no direct heir to take his place since Queen Anne had yet to provide any children in the course of their marriage. Hal imagined chaos ensuing, with a bloody, desperate fight for the throne.

A rider appeared on the horizon, galloping at breakneck speed. As he drew near, Hal recognized him as the last of the scouts sent out days ago.

“’Tis Renfred,” he told de Vere, who looked frightened as the soldier approached. Sir Thomas merely grunted, his lips pursed.

De Vere held a hand up to halt the forward progress of their force. Moments later, the scout reached them, pulling his horse up in front of de Vere’s.

“The Duke of Gloucester has changed direction,” the man panted from exertion. “He’s on the move, headed south, and made Derby his deputy.”

Hal’s gut clenched. This was the worst news possible. Henry Bolingbroke was the Earl of Derby and nephew to the Duke of Gloucester. At only twenty, Derby was cunning and capable. Hal would almost rather fight Gloucester than his daring, reckless young nephew. It also didn’t help that de Vere had recently repudiated his wife—who happened to be a cousin to Derby. The young earl would be out for blood, both de Vere’s and any man who accompanied him.

Renfred drew in another breath and continued. “Derby and Nottingham have blocked off all routes crossing the Thames, my lord. They are camped between the twin bridges near Faringdon. When I left the area a few minutes ago, I overheard that Pidnell Bridge has already been demolished.”

“And what of Radcot Bridge?” Hal asked when de Vere simply stared openmouthed at the scout.

The soldier shook his head. “Derby’s men have Radcot Bridge under guard and were beginning to dismantle parts of it to prevent our troops from using it.”

“What are we to do?” whispered de Vere, his body sagging in disbelief.

Hal seethed as he watched de Vere begin to crumble before his eyes. He glanced behind him and saw the hordes of soldiers listening in, watching Oxford’s courage wilt. A low grumbling began to rise as the closest men to the front began spreading word of the situation to those behind them. Within minutes, Hal was certain refusal to advance—if not outright desertion—would set in.

Wanting to fight but knowing failure would result upon contact, he leaned close to the commander. “My lord, we can find a different route to King Richard. We haven’t nearly enough men to take on Derby and Nottingham, and those present are mostly ill-trained as soldiers. I advise you to turn now, while we still have time, else a slaughter will occur.”

“But how will I reach my dearest Richard?” de Vere wondered aloud, not seeming to care what happened to the gathered mass of soldiers behind him.

Sir Thomas glared at the earl through narrowed eyes but kept silent.

Before Hal could intervene further, de Vere straightened his shoulders, determination filling him as he came to a decision. “Give the command to storm the crossing,” he ordered.

Knowing the move to be a dreadful mistake, Hal reluctantly issued the order, listening as it was passed along the ranks. Hoping to encourage those around him, he made ready to charge ahead but halted when a loud roar came from his left. Turning, he saw Derby’s colors flying in the wind, as a large group of reinforcements from the north now surrounded the fledging army. The men in front assembled quickly in close pike formation and surged toward the royalist group.

Before the action even began, de Vere and Molineux’s men broke ranks. Some rushed toward the marsh that they had just marched around. Others fled in the direction of the river, thinking to swim it. The remainder froze, ready to surrender without a blow being struck. De Vere turned his horse in circles, panic written across his face. He gave a shout and took off in the direction of Pidnell Bridge.

Hal didn’t bother to follow. Even if he could convince the young earl to return to his troops, the cobbled together royal army had decided not to stand with the king’s representative. He glanced at Sir Thomas, who looked determined to fight despite the circumstances. Yet moments later, Molineux also took off like a bird in flight, racing toward the Thames.

Screams filled the air as those who’d run for the marsh began sinking in its mire. Men called out in terror as they began to be sucked under and drowned. Hal knew they were lost, as did those who had remained behind, not engaging with Derby’s men.

Those left now faced Derby’s army without a leader. Hal spied Henry Bolingbroke riding in his direction and realized it would be up to him to surrender in shame to the earl.

As Derby approached, Hal rode out toward the youngest of the Lords Appellant. They met halfway and halted their horses.

“My lord.” Hal bowed his head in submission.

“De Montfort.” Derby studied him. “So you were the king’s errand boy, sent to gather this rabble.” The handsome earl’s smug words cut Hal to the quick. The nobleman was wholly in control of the situation and arrogant enough to be enjoying it.

“I don’t suppose you would allow us to retreat,” Hal ventured. “There are few of us left. We would pose no threat to you and your men.”

“Nay, my lord,” Derby responded. “You are canny enough to still find a way to lead these men to my cousin and unite with the royal army. I think not.”

Hal thought the earl looked bored—and disappointed—that no bloodshed had occurred.

“What would you have us do?” he asked, staring down the newest member of the Lords Appellant.

Derby met his eyes for a long moment then looked at the line of troops still standing there. “Lay down your arms, all you that are left. Strip away any armor that you wear.” The nobleman’s voice carried across the cold, windless day.

At that command, Hal noted every man immediately responded to the authority and leadership before them. All forms of weaponry and armor began being tossed to the ground, the thud of steel and metal hitting the hard ground sounding like thunder rumbling in the distance.

When it finally grew quiet, Derby addressed the group again, shouting, “Return to your homes. I order you never to take up arms again in the king’s name.”

Disgust filled Hal. Without a single blow, the new army dissipated as men turned their backs and shuffled away from the scene.

Hal asked the nobleman, “And what should I do, my lord? You are aware that I am a member of the royal guard. I must return to see to the king’s safety—even if he is to be locked away inside the Tower of London.”

It surprised him when the earl dismounted and indicated for him to do the same. Hal threw a leg over and landed on the ground. He took a few steps toward Derby, who pulled his helm from his head. Hal followed suit. Up close now, he could see the nobleman’s high cheekbones and calm brown eyes. Though he wore a beard, Hal still saw traces of the skin disease that disfigured a portion of Derby’s face.  

With an almost fatherly look, the earl said, “Nay, I cannot allow you to return to the king.”

“What?” Hal had sworn an oath. Just because he had acted as the king’s messenger, it was imperative for him to return to his duty.

“I have great respect for you, Sir Hal. The de Montfort name stands for loyalty. Bravery. The best of what England has to offer.” A frown creased his brow. “I will confide in you that ‘twill get ugly in the weeks ahead for my former playmate. I will do all I can to see that Richard keeps his head, for I have a deep and abiding love for my cousin. We spent a great deal of our childhood together since our fathers were brothers. I feel as close to Richard as a brother could, especially since we were admitted together to the Order of the Garter. Our bond is one which is unbreakable.

“But charges of treason will be issued by my uncle Gloucester and the other Lords Appellant. Executions and exile will occur for those closest to our king. You are a good man from what I know. I wouldn’t wish to see you caught up in the nastiness of court politics.”

“Are you saying there’s to be a new king?” Hal demanded, wondering if the Lords Appellant would have the audacity to depose Richard. If they did, Henry Bolingbroke, the Earl of Derby, would be a strong contender to become that new ruler. Young, yet seasoned. Intelligent. Fearless. First cousin to the present king. If so, ‘twould mean a new royal house and a new day for England.

Hal had always thought Richard foolish to play favorites and alienate the old guard at court. He wondered if it would come to the monarch losing not only his throne—but possibly his life.

“Let me protect you,” Derby continued. “You—and my cousin—as best I can.”

“You would do what?” Hal boldly asked, not wanting any favors from this enemy.

The young nobleman gave him a sad but determined look. “I will ask you, too, to lay down your weapons and not fight your way back to the king. As of this moment, you are no longer a member of the royal guard, Sir Hal. You have escaped that fate as your two brothers have.”

When Hal failed to move, Derby said firmly, “Strip off your armor. Leave your weapons and even your horse. Go home, Hal. Go home.”

Anger mixed with humiliation filled Hal as he proceeded to do as commanded, thousands of Derby’s soldiers watching him silently from afar. He had dreamt of the very day he could leave the king’s service, but never thought it would happen in shame and disgrace. Defiance filled him as he told Derby, “I swore an oath to protect the king,” and slammed his cuirass to the dirt.

“I tell you that time has passed. I will be the one to keep Richard safe from the other Lords Appellant.”

“You would challenge your own uncle who leads this pack?” Hal shook his head. “Gloucester is more than twice your age, with plenty of courtiers in his corner.”

“True,” Derby admitted, “but above all you must remember—I am my father’s son. And not only the king’s cousin,” he said softly, “but also his friend.”

Derby gave him a long look. “Despite what you believe, I ask that you trust me, de Montfort. Let the Lords Appellant draw their blood. Rid themselves of Richard’s favorites, whom they consider their enemies. I will see my cousin is kept safe from harm.” He paused and added, “I have already sent word abroad so that my father will return and help remedy this situation. You know in all these years since the old king’s death, the Duke of Lancaster has stood by his nephew, the king. I promise you Father plans to do so again. And no matter what you think? I, too, still stand by Richard’s side, despite having joined the Lords Appellant.”

Hal considered Derby’s words. Lancaster had never tried to usurp the throne during the ten years Richard had ruled as king. He had remained loyal while keeping the king’s critics at bay. From what Hal knew of Derby, the young nobleman was also a man of his word, as his father Lancaster had always been.

Still, Hal chafed as he removed the last bit of armor and dropped it at his feet. He glanced at his sword lying forlornly on the ground, hating that he must give up the elegant steel that had been presented to him during his Oath of Knighthood Ceremony.

He bent and handed the sword to the man before him as his final concession.

“I pledge to return this to you one day, Sir Hal. For now, go home to your parents. When the time is right and our king returns to court, I will tell him to send for you. Your sword will await you, though I cannot guarantee that your place in the royal guard will.”

“May I keep the baselard that rests within my boot? I am loathe to undertake a long journey by foot with no protection from highwaymen.”

Derby nodded. “You may.” He placed a hand on Hal’s shoulder. “I admire your courage and conviction. Please give my regards to Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn.”

With that, the earl replaced his helm and remounted his horse. He reached for the reins of Hal’s mount and rode toward the cheering troops. Hal stood and watched as orders were issued and the army turned from him and marched away. Though he longed to rush to the king’s side, he had given his word to the earl. Above all, his own father had taught Hal that a man’s word of honor must always take priority. His heart heavy, Hal turned south. Toward Kinwick.

Toward home.