Love and Honor (Knights of Honor Book 7)

Book 7: Knights of Honor Series

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Medieval Romance; historical romance; medieval romance; England; knight; Canterbury Tales; 1300s; Knights of Honor; painter

Synopsis

Welcome to Book 7 in the bestselling KNIGHTS OF HONOR series!

1385 A.D. – Knighted on the battlefield for extreme bravery, Edward de Montfort accepts an invitation to serve in King Richard's guard at the royal court. When the king sends him on a covert mission to Canterbury, Edward hopes success will allow him to win his freedom so he can return home to a quieter life.

Lady Rosalyne Parry loses her parents when she is an infant and is raised by her uncle, an artist of some renown. Due to his failing health, Rosalyne takes over Templeton Parry's commissions, painting in secret while permitting him to receive the credit since she believes no one would accept a woman as an artist.

Rosalyne meets Edward while he is disguised as a peasant working on Canterbury's wall, and they fall deeply in love. When Edward reveals his true identity to Rosalyne, he convinces her to come to London—and step out from the shadows in order to become recognized as an artist in her own right.
Join Edward and Rosalyne as they navigate the political waters at court and find a deep, abiding love.

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

Release date: May 15, 2018

Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

Print pages: 247

Sample

PROLOGUE

Shallowheart Castle—September 1365

 

Benedict Bowyar rode through the gates of Shallowheart as the sun dipped below the horizon, a calm descending over him. He was home—for good. Nothing would ever entice him to leave again. He had a job to do.

And a child to raise.

Every sight looked familiar to him as they trotted through the outer bailey and then crossed into the inner one. The blacksmith’s hut. The kitchens with their fires lit. The steps leading up to the keep. He had spent the first seven years of his life here, returning each summer from fostering, his brother always by his side. But now Lawrence was dead.

And so was Lara.

Benedict pushed that thought aside and brought his horse to a halt. Shallowheart’s longtime steward awaited him at the bottom of the stone steps. Benedict climbed from his horse and faced the slender man.

“Welcome home, my lord. I trust you had a safe journey from the west.”

He was a true lord now. The Baron of Shallowheart. No longer a second son without a pence to his name, only possessing his armor and his horse. The title and estate became his upon Lawrence’s death two weeks ago. His brother had already been buried even as word was sent calling Benedict home to his inheritance.

Glancing at his wife, he saw Amicia didn’t bother to hide a satisfied smile. He turned back to the steward.

“Greetings, Gershom. ‘Twas a long way to Shallowheart. Lady Amicia is tired and needs to wash away the stains of the road. Have hot water brought to the solar at once. Something to eat, too, since we have missed the evening meal. You and I can speak tomorrow after we break our fast regarding matters of the estate.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Benedict helped Amicia from her horse and briefly spoke with the head of their escort party. The soldiers who had accompanied them east would return in the morning to his father-in-law’s estate. He dismissed them and came back to where his wife stood proudly, her eyes taking in everything around her.

“Come,” he told her. “We will go to our solar.”

They entered the keep and found Gershom had lined up the entire staff of servants to greet the new baron and baroness. After moving down the row nodding when he saw a few familiar faces, Benedict led Amicia upstairs to the solar.

“Would you prefer to eat first or bathe?” he asked, not quite sure of her mood. Then again, he had never been comfortable around this wife of his and only spoke to her when absolutely necessary.

“Food can wait. I wish to remove the clothing I wear and burn it. I hate being on the road. ‘Tis most inconvenient.”

She gave him a pretty smile and Benedict knew to remain alert after their time together. Amicia could be pleasant one moment and lash out in rage the next, all without warning. She finally had what Benedict thought she wanted—to be known as the Baroness of Shallowheart.

Even if the wrong baron stood by her side.

“Mayhap we can go to town tomorrow and select new cloth. I would like to have many new cotehardies made up for me, in as many fabrics and colors that I can find. I want to look every bit the Baroness of Shallowheart.” Amicia cocked her head and studied him a moment. “You, too, my lord. You must dress for the role fate has bestowed upon you. Coin will never again be a problem.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.” Benedict was only too happy to give his wife whatever she asked for since her father had practically made them beg for the very morsels they ate every day. To never worry again about how much food he put in his mouth, much less how much a horse might cost, still seemed foreign to him. Benedict realized it would take time to adjust to his new position. Despite how his heart remained heavy at the loss of his brother, he looked forward to being in control of his life as never before. 

Servants arrived with the bath water, and Benedict decided that he would also like to wash away the travel stains from the past week’s journey. Once both he and Amicia were clean, they sat down at the table and partook of the cold chicken and round of sharp cheese that had been brought to them. Benedict poured wine for them and then refilled the silver goblets several times as they ate in silence. He still found it hard to believe that he sat at the table in the solar as the Baron of Shallowheart, just as his father had for many years, and as Lawrence had for a short time.

“We have had a long day,” he told his wife. “My eyes grow weary. ‘Tis time to retire.”

They went into the bedchamber and undressed and drew the bed curtains aside. Lying on the soft mattress and even softer bedclothes, he paused a moment before he relaxed. Lawrence had died in this very bed. His brother had taken his last breaths here, his head resting on these pillows. A dull ache filled him, knowing he would never see Lawrence again. Never hear his laugh or break bread with him.

Gradually, Amicia’s breaths evened out and he knew she had fallen asleep. Yet despite his weariness, Benedict lay awake for a long time. Finally, he slipped from the bed, trying not to disturb her, and returned to the other room with his clothes in hand, carefully redressing.

But he wasn’t fooling himself. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Go see Rosalyne.

Leaving the solar, Benedict moved silently down the hall to where he and Lawrence had slept all their lives, from the time they were babes until they both wed. As he suspected, Rosalyne had been placed in the same bedchamber. He entered the room and saw her in the arms of the wet nurse, who lifted the babe from her breast and placed Rosalyne against her shoulder as she burped her. A loud belch erupted from the babe, bringing a grin to Benedict’s face.

The nurse glanced up and noticed him. She rose to her feet.

“Lord Benedict. I did not expect to see you here so late.”

“I wanted to see my brother’s child.”

Lara’s child.

The servant turned the babe in her arms so that Benedict could see Rosalyne’s face. The first look broke his heart. The babe had the Bowyar blond hair and deep blue eyes, but her nose and mouth were all her mother’s.

Benedict stepped toward the pair and brushed a finger against the babe’s cheek. “She will be a beauty someday. She’s already lovely to look at.”

“Aye, my lord,” the nurse readily agreed. “And she is a sunny child. Never seems to cry. I’ve never been around such a happy babe, and I’ve cared for my fair share over the years.”

“Do you stay with her every night?”

“I do, my lord. Lady Lara insisted. Especially . . . well . . . once she grew ill, that is. Before she and Lord Lawrence fell sick, Lady Rosalyne spent her nights with her parents. But Lady Lara feared the child would catch the fever that caused them both to waste away. As much as she loved Lady Rosalyne, she wouldn’t allow the babe near the solar at the end.”

Benedict realized how much it would have pained Lara—and Lawrence—to be away from their only child, but they had done the right thing. By being selfless, their actions had guaranteed that Rosalyne would live.

“May I?” He reached for the babe and brought her close to his chest. “I would like to spend a few minutes alone with her. You may return in half an hour.”

“Of course, my lord.” The nurse left and Benedict sat with his warm bundle, a warm glow radiating inside him. He studied her face, memorizing it, knowing Rosalyne was the best of both of her parents. She considered him, as well, her eyes gazing at him in curiosity. Her tiny hand reached out toward him, and Benedict gave her a finger. She grasped it and squeezed it, surprisingly strong for one so young. Then she smiled at him, and his heart nearly stopped—for ‘twas Lara’s smile.

Benedict had loved Lara Parry from the first time he saw her. They had never been officially betrothed, but the understanding between their parents led him to believe that Lara and he were destined for one another. The same was true of Lawrence—and Amicia. From an early age, both couples knew they would one day become man and wife.

Until everything changed.

When it came time to wed, Lawrence admitted to Benedict that he only had eyes for Lara. Then Lara told Benedict how strong her feelings were for his brother. Neither of them wanted to hurt Benedict, but they couldn’t hide their love for one another anymore. Lawrence had gone to their father and explained the situation. As the older brother, their father had usually given in to every whim that Lawrence had, knowing he would one day succeed him as baron. Benedict could have fought for Lara—but why do so when she didn’t want him? He refused to stand in the way of her happiness.

Even if it left him miserable.

By default, Amicia became his wife. The brothers married in a double ceremony that was the most difficult day of Benedict’s life, seeing how Lara glowed every time she looked at her new husband. Lawrence became the baron less than a month after their nuptial mass, gaining the title and land and the woman Benedict loved, while Benedict and Amicia returned to her home. He became a knight of her father’s—and lived with his own private heartache—as well as Amicia’s bitterness for having lost out on wealth and position.

Benedict pressed a kiss upon the brow of the babe, whose eyes began to droop. He sang to her softly as she fell asleep in his arms. Rosalyne touched a place inside him because of how special her parents had been to Benedict. He looked upon it as an honor to raise her in their stead. He would make sure he shared stories with her about her parents. Even though she would never see them, Rosalyne would know who they were and how much they’d loved her.

Standing, he placed the beautiful babe in the cradle and leaned over, watching her sleep for a few minutes. The door opened, a slight draft coming in, and he supposed the wet nurse returned to care for her charge. He turned and froze.

Amicia stood there.

“I might have guessed you would come here,” she hissed. “To moon over that whore’s babe.”

Benedict’s hands balled into fists but he calmly replied, “Lara was no whore. She was my brother’s wife and Baroness of Shallowheart.”

“She stole him from me!” Amicia cried.

“Quiet,” he commanded. “You’ll wake Rosalyne.”

“I don’t care if I wake her. I hate her.” Rage glittered in his wife’s eyes.

“How can you hate a small babe?” he asked. “She is an innocent. Rosalyne has done nothing to hurt you.”

“I’ve had the last of hurt in my life, Benedict Bowyar,” Amicia proclaimed. “I was embarrassed and humiliated when Lawrence rejected me. I could have had all of this, and he took it from me because that woman crooked her finger and smiled beguilingly at him.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you let it all happen. You could have stood up to him. Demanded that we keep to what our parents intended. Nay, like a coward, you backed down and gave into your brother like the weakling you are.”

“I acted honorably and did the only thing I could do,” Benedict said solemnly, ignoring Amicia’s insults. “Just as now the right thing will be to raise Rosalyne as ours, alongside our own children.”

She burst out in laughter that sounded half-mad. “Nay. I will never do that. I want her gone from here.” Amicia walked toward him and placed her hands on his shoulders, her nails sinking into his skin. “I can make your life miserable, Husband. You know I can. If you allow that child to remain at Shallowheart, you will never know a moment’s peace until you are in your grave.”

Fear struck Benedict’s heart. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? Babes die every day. Mayhap little Rosalyne simply stops breathing some night and we discover her dead in her cradle the next day.”

“Are you saying you would murder a child?”

Amicia sniffed. “I am not saying anything.” A smile played about her lips. “But you cannot watch her every moment, my lord. And if something happened? I supposed we would all be so very sad.”

Benedict knew Amicia had it in her to carry through her threats. In the two years since they’d wed, he had found a cruel streak grew within her. She had done things to prove to him that she could not be trusted.

He couldn’t risk anything happening to Rosalyne.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Amicia bit her lip and thought a moment. “Didn’t Lara have a brother?”

“She did. Templeton. But I haven’t a clue where he might be. By the Christ, he was a good dozen years older than Lara. All I know is he took off after their parents’ death. She was left in the hands of a cousin until she married Lawrence. ”

“Find him,” she ground out. “The quicker, the better. I want the brat gone from this estate. I refuse to allow her to share a nursery with our future children. She will not take away time nor love from them. She is to be banished from Shallowheart forevermore. Do you understand, my love?” Her nails dug deeper into his flesh.

Benedict certainly did. Amicia was a vindictive bitch, and Rosalyne would never be safe under a roof shared by the two.

Wearily, he nodded. “I will set about tomorrow finding out Templeton Parry’s whereabouts.”

Amicia gave him a brilliant smile. “Good.” She ran her hands down his chest. “You can accompany me back to our bed, my lord, and make love to me. Tonight might be the night you finally get me with child.”

She whirled around and left the room without a backward glance.

Benedict bent and rested his palm atop Rosalyne’s head, then bent and kissed the sleeping babe’s cheek.

“I love you enough to protect you the only way I know how, sweet Rosalyne.” With that, he returned to the solar and the distasteful task of making love to his vengeful wife.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

Kinwick Castle—July 1385

 

Pride filled Edward de Montfort as he watched his brother Hal standing tall and alert before the altar of Kinwick’s chapel. Hal had spent the previous evening alone in prayer and preparation for today’s dubbing ceremony. Edward glanced to his right and saw his mother Merryn wipe away tears of happiness as she watched her son become a knight of the realm. She had also wept when her oldest son Ancel went through the same ceremony several years before.

Edward had been ten when Ancel had been dubbed a knight, the only time he had witnessed the Oath of Knighthood Ceremony. It made a lasting impression upon him and gave him a goal to strive toward as he completed his service as a page and continued on as a squire to Lord Hardwin at Winterbourne.

The newly-knighted Sir Ancel de Montfort, left Kinwick soon afterward to serve in King Richard’s royal guard, the young royal being crowned upon the death of his grandfather, Edward III. Edward, named after the old king by his parents, who enjoyed a friendship of many years with the Plantagenet monarch, wanted nothing more than to follow in his oldest brother’s footsteps someday.

He wondered if Hal would do the same and go to court, especially since Ancel had recently left the king’s service to take over the management of Bexley. Ancel had become Earl of Mauntell and the owner of Bexley upon the death of his father-in-law four months ago, thanks to the petition granted by King Richard. Ancel and his wife Margery, along with their young son Cyrus, would remain at Bexley until Ancel became Baron of Kinwick upon their father’s death. Hopefully, that would be many years from now. Edward couldn’t imagine Kinwick with Geoffrey de Montfort’s steady hand and larger than life presence.

He glanced toward his father as Geoffrey now rose to take part in the knighthood ceremony. At two score and ten, his father’s dark hair had more streaks of gray in it than the dark black it had once been, but Edward thought it only made him look more distinguished. His father’s cousin and closest friend, Raynor Le Roux, along with his mother’s brother, Hugh Mantel, joined Geoffrey as they solemnly walked toward the altar where Hal and Father Dannet stood waiting. Cousin Raynor and Uncle Hugh would act as sponsors for Hal’s dubbing.

The sponsors handed over the sword and shield to Geoffrey as Hal took his oath of honor, pledging loyalty to his father and the de Montfort name and promising to fear God and maintain His Church, fight for the welfare of all, and at all times speak the truth.

For once, his brother wore a serious look on his face. Hal was known for being lighthearted and mischievous and had been a wild child, but even Edward saw that Hal realized the solemnity of this occasion. Hal knelt before his father as Geoffrey tapped his son on the neck with the flat side of the sword.

“I admonish you to conduct yourself at all times with courage, bravery, skill, and loyalty.” His father paused and with a smile added, “I dub thee Sir Hal de Montfort, knight of England and loyal servant of King Richard the Second.”

Hal remained on his knees while Raynor and Hugh placed a pair of spurs on his boots. He rose as they girded his sword on him before they stepped back. Then Father Dannet led those present in a closing prayer to complete the ceremony.

Those in attendance applauded as a grinning Hal embraced his father, then his uncle and cousin. Hal went to his mother and knelt for her blessing before kissing her cheek. Hal looked around and sought Edward. He joined his brother and best friend, clasping Hal and pounding him on the back in congratulations.

“You did it,” he told Hal. “I was impressed, for you looked quite grave up there. I wasn’t sure you had it in you,” Edward teased.

“I felt the weight of the moment,” Hal confessed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sober in my life.” He smiled. “I tried to emulate you, Brother.”

“You rose to the occasion,” Edward complimented him, glad that Hal had given his dubbing ceremony the proper regard. The two brothers had been inseparable as children and remained the same as they fostered together and grew toward manhood, but Hal forever seemed cheerful and untroubled, while Edward served as the more sensible, earnest one.

Suddenly, all of his sisters surrounded them. Edward stepped aside so they could praise Hal.

A weeping Alys said, “I never thought I would see you so restrained, Hal. To think I used to chase after you as you got into trouble every minute of the day when you toddled about. ” She smiled. “I’ve never been more proud of you than when you took your oath of knighthood now.”

Nan, younger than Edward by three years, added, “I rather like this new Hal. Mayhap he will take his oath seriously and look after the welfare of ladies.” She gave Hal a pointed look. “That means you must put an end to your merciless teasing of me, of course.” Her brows rose haughtily, and then she laughed heartily.

The smallest de Montfort, nine-year-old Jessimond, wrapped her arms around Hal’s waist. “I thought you looked lovely, Hal, all dressed in white and scarlet.” She frowned. “But I suppose you will leave Kinwick now to serve the king.”

Hal picked her up and smacked her cheek noisily. “I may. I may not. I have yet to decide.” He placed Jessimond back on the ground, as others came up to congratulate him.

Edward moved further away, studying the scene as he was want to do. Suddenly, he realized someone was at his shoulder.

His father said quietly, “We must talk before the feast. Come to the solar at once. Bring Hal, Ancel, and the men in the family. Hardie, as well. I need to have a word with them all. Recent events bear sharing.”

“Aye, Father.”

Edward signaled Ancel over. “Father wants to speak to all of our male relatives. We are to gather in the solar immediately. Help me round everyone up without alerting the women to what we are doing.”

He and Ancel parted and worked their way around the chapel, giving a quick word to those his father wanted included in the meeting. Edward wondered what serious matter would be discussed. As the de Montforts and their relatives headed inside the keep, the women entered the great hall as the men made their way upstairs to the solar and seated themselves around the large oak table. A jug of wine made its way in a circle as cups were filled to the brim.

Edward knew he was in the company of some of the best knights in all of England. Besides his two older brothers and uncle, the group included Kit Emory, Alys’ husband; Michael Devereux and Kenric Fairfax, husbands to Geoffrey’s nieces; and his father’s confidant, Raynor Le Roux. Geoffrey had also invited Lord Hardwin, Earl of Winterbourne and the man Edward and his brothers had fostered with, to the table.

“Thank you all for coming,” Geoffrey said. “You know that Hal’s dubbing ceremony had to be delayed because I was at court advising the king on the Scottish problem. I should say the French and Scottish problem,” he amended.

“Not the Auld Alliance again,” Ancel complained. “I have fought in skirmishes along the Scottish border several times over the last few years. If the rebels have support from France’s treasury or even French soldiers, it will not be good for England.”

“The Scots are still angry about the Duke of Lancaster’s attack last year,” Michael said. “He pushed north as far as Edinburgh.”

“And only stopped after the burgesses bought him off,” Kit added. “Though he did destroy Haddington before the coin went into his pocket. Somehow, Lancaster always seems to earn a profit no matter what venture he undertakes.” His look of disgust was shared by all.

“I don’t see why the Scots would be gullible enough to trust the French again,” Kenric noted. “The bastards reneged on their previous agreement with Scotland to send assistance two years ago.”

“And don’t forget that France entered into a temporary truce with England around the same time,” Raynor said. “The fact that the Duke of Lancaster negotiated the truce would not be lost on the Scots.”

“Nevertheless, they have united again despite misgivings on both sides,” Geoffrey said. “Our English spies recently learned that three weeks ago a force of twelve hundred French soldiers sailed to Scotland from Flanders, under the command of Admiral de Vienne. They landed in Leith with a gift of fifty thousand gold francs for the Scottish nobility and joined in a campaign with the Earl of Douglas and two of King Robert’s sons to march on England. Although they’ve taken the castle at Wark in Northumberland, quarreling is rampant among the commanders on both sides.” His father paused. “Because of that, King Richard is now calling for a feudal levy in order to invade Scotland. As we speak, messengers are being sent throughout the country in order to bring an army to London and march upon the border in order to secure it.”

Excitement filled Edward. Because of the halt in fighting against France, he had wondered if he would ever participate in battle as the older men in his family had in previous years. The king’s levy guaranteed that he would see action.

As he looked around the table, though, grim faces stared back as those present pondered Geoffrey de Montfort’s words. Edward realized that except for Hal and himself, every man seated here had a wife and children. Going to war and leaving their loved ones behind would be hard.

And there was always the possibility that injury or death might come to pass. It occurred to him that the next time they gathered, it might be for a funeral mass for one or more of the men present. The thought weighed upon him heavily.

“We already have troops that will fight with our Portuguese allies soon regarding Castile and Lancaster’s claims there, which is why the king has decided to use the levy to summon knights to fight the Scots,” his father said. “I wanted all of you to know so that you could make your decisions.”

Lord Hardwin sighed wearily. “We could send others to fight in our place, but I’ve never found that to be effective, Geoffrey. My men look to me as their leader. I will send soldiers to the king because he makes the request, but I plan to accompany them and do my part as their liege lord. I would not ask of any man what I would not do myself.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Edward looked to his father, wondering if he also meant to fight.

“I support your decision, Hardie,” Geoffrey said. “I, too, will send the required knights to our king and plan to ride with them for the very reason you mentioned.”

“At your age, Father?” Hal asked. “Surely, you are of more value to King Richard as a military adviser than a soldier on the battlefield.”

His father’s eyes narrowed as he studied his second son. “I am in excellent health, Hal, and I will have my sword in hand in order to help the king deal once and for all with these miserable Scots. Not to mention the French bastards who are foolish enough to ally themselves with them.”

Edward hid a smile. He might have known nothing would stop Geoffrey de Montfort from riding into battle. His father had always seemed larger than life, and Edward grew up hearing stories of his father’s prowess as a warrior against the French.

As a group the men rose, cups raised in their hands.

“To England—and the defeat of our enemies,” Geoffrey declared.

Edward and his relatives echoed the words, each downing the remainder of his wine.

“Let us be off to the feast in Hal’s honor, for he has earned our respect this day,” Ancel declared. “We should wait and tell our wives of our upcoming absence after today’s celebration. Especially Mother.”

Geoffrey grimaced. “Believe me, I would rather face an army of French and Scottish soldiers than tell Merryn that I ride off again to war.”

The assembled group filed from the solar. Edward held back so he could walk with his father to the great hall.

As they fell into step together, his father said, “I want you and Hal to stay near me the entire time we are gone from Kinwick. ‘Tis important for you to accompany me to the meetings with the king and other advisers, for you will learn much by observing the proceedings. You two will stand in the background and be my eyes and ears. You may see something I or the king will need to be aware of. Remain silent while there, but we will speak after every strategy session with King Richard.”

“As you wish, Father.”

Being allowed to accompany his father to meetings with the king and gain battle experience?

Edward couldn’t wait to ride from Kinwick to fight.

***

Edward bit his tongue to keep from speaking out as he and Hal stood back from the table King Richard’s council surrounded, looking at maps of the local area. He glanced at his brother. Hal rolled his eyes and looked away, disinterested in the proceedings before them. Hal was all about the fight and not the politics or strategy behind it.

He listened as his father made a suggestion, one of many Geoffrey had offered since the English army rode out from London in August. Again, Geoffrey de Montfort’s idea was pushed aside, as other noblemen who had military experience discovered during this campaign. The king seemed only to have ears for what came from the lips of his favorite courtiers, many barely older than the king himself, and none with the background necessary to offer advice in this situation.

His father had told him he would learn much. All Edward had discovered was that sycophants surrounded the king, telling Richard only what he wanted to hear. Edward thought most of them idiots. So far, the king’s army of fourteen thousand men, a quarter provided by his uncle, the Duke of Lancaster, had done very little fighting, experiencing only a few encounters with pockets of Scottish troops. Spies and scouts had revealed that the French leaders could not settle their differences with their Scots’ brothers and many had already left for the continent. With not enough men to match England in a fight, the Scots refused to be drawn into battle and kept retreating.

Time also was running out. The king’s call to arms under the feudal levy only required soldiers and knights provided by medieval noblemen to fight for a limited period. His father had told Edward usually the time span amounted to forty days, though under certain circumstances it could be increased to ninety. Edward and Hal counted as men under his father’s provision, and Geoffrey had been required to provide trained men, including the soldiers’ weapons and clothing. With the deadline approaching, the troops present would return to their liege lords’ estates to ensure that the land would not suffer from neglect or attack.

The strategy session ended. Edward and Hal allowed the council members to withdraw from the tent before following them outside. Hal immediately took off, probably to throw dice or swap tales with fellow soldiers. Edward decided to eat something and made his way to a line of men who awaited stew and a bit of bread. Once he had his food, he settled on the ground and observed those around him.

“Mind if I join you?” his father asked, dropping to the ground with a bowl in hand.

They ate in companionable silence. When finished, Geoffrey asked, “So what do you make of the council and this campaign?”

Edward glanced around. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Saying I am bitterly disappointed in the advice the king accepts would be putting it mildly. In truth, I am horrified at how the king handles his council, much less the men who sit upon it. I know you aren’t a permanent member, Father, but you have military experience—which most of the others sorely lack. I cannot understand why the king seems to ignore what you have to say.”

“Richard is not the man his grandfather, your namesake, was. I fear our young king let his success in the peasants’ rebellion four years ago go to his head. Ever since then, Richard has become arrogant and insensitive.”

“He acts as if he knows everything, when he is only eight and ten. That is a year younger than I am.”

His father chuckled. “Ah, but you were born an old soul, Edward. At least that is what your mother has always said about you.” Geoffrey looked out over the army camp. “Richard will cut his losses here by week’s end. He’ll burn the border abbeys and depart with little gain.”

“So what was the point to this campaign?” Edward asked.

Geoffrey sighed. “I wish I knew. Only that between the two of us, the king and I have spoken of making peace with France.”

Shock ran through Edward. “What? The old king is probably turning in his grave at such blasphemy.”

“I agree. But Richard isn’t interested in war because his group of friends aren’t.” Geoffrey’s expression grew grim. “I think this is the last time I will be advising our king, much less pursuing men in battle. I envision the next few years to be ones where our monarch completely believes everything those gathered around him say. He won’t want an old man such as myself around.

“And because of the change in the wind, Edward, I hope you will stay far from court. Hal, too. I plan to speak to your brother about this, as well. Richard’s vanity only seems to grow. His hubris could bring a swift downfall, and I wouldn’t want you or Hal to be caught up in that. I am only grateful that Ancel has left the royal guard.”

Edward hesitated and then asked, “You think rebellion might occur, Father?”

Geoffrey chose his words carefully. “Not outright rebellion, as when the peasants rose up. But I see the older nobles uniting, much as they did in King John’s day, and confronting the king. ‘Twould be best if the de Montforts avoid court—now and in the future.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Father. I am content to stay and serve you at Kinwick. Hal, on the other hand, has looked forward to the possibility of coming to London. He longs to serve in the royal guard as Ancel did. He will be disappointed if you forbid him to do so.”

“Hal can learn to live with slight disappointment,” his father said, his eyes bleak. “Better that than lose his head.”

The sentiment shocked Edward. He didn’t understand all the machinations of the court, but if his father believed an uprising would take place, Hal should accept that warning. England had been stable for the fifty years the old king sat on the throne, but cracks had appeared with his grandson’s reign. The fact that his father had decided to no longer go to court spoke loudly. Unfortunately, ‘twas a warning the young king would more than likely neglect.

His father excused himself. Edward wandered the camp for an hour, walking off nervous energy. Tomorrow, if the Scots refused to be engaged again, the burnings would begin. He dreaded it would come to that. Already, in the few clashes between the two armies, Edward had hated running his sword through men wearing little to no armor and possessing few weapons. He had envisioned war to be glorious and grand. What little he’d seen during this campaign left him disillusioned and ready to return to a quiet life in the country. The dawn would tell if a decisive battle would occur or if the fight would be brought to the border towns themselves, with innocent people losing their homes—if not their lives. The king would burn everything in sight, including the abbeys, to send Scotland and its people a message before returning to London.

Edward knew he would get no sleep tonight.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Anticipation crackled in the early morning air as men readied themselves for battle, putting armor into place and gathering weapons and horses.

Edward finished assisting Hal don his armor and his brother returned the favor afterward since no squires had accompanied them from Kinwick. Geoffrey de Montfort did not like to bring children near battle, even if they saw no action. Though he had a reputation as a great warrior, Edward knew how much his father truly despised war. He glanced around and saw other soldiers who’d come from Kinwick also aiding one another as they prepared to make war on the Scots and French bastards today.

His father had shared with the members of his family that today’s fight in the northwest of England would most likely be the last stand de Vienne and his French contingent would make in Scotland on behalf of the Auld Alliance in the foreseeable future. According to reliable spies, de Vienne would lead his men in an assault on Carlisle, a town directly on the Anglo-Scottish border. If the attack proved unsuccessful, as both sides expected, de Vienne would cut his losses and fall back into Scotland before making his way east with his men to his ships and returning the fleet to Flanders.

“Ready?” Hal asked, his expression solemn. Though his brother seemed forever lighthearted in life, Hal could always be counted upon to rise to an important occasion.

Edward nodded and walked to retrieve his horse. He scratched Sirius between his ears and offered him an apple. Sirius quickly downed the fruit, spitting the core to the ground and looked to see if his master would offer him another treat.

“’Tis all you get from me now, boy,” he told the horse. “I’ll see what I can do for you once this day is done and the bloodshed over.”

He turned Sirius in the direction where his father now mounted his own war horse. Looking around, Edward saw the men of Kinwick settling into their saddles, alert and ready to follow their liege lord into battle. To their right, he spied Raynor and the soldiers he had brought with him from Ashcroft. On the left of the de Monfort group, Lord Humphrey Gardyner climbed into the saddle.

Gardyner had been designated to lead today’s charge. Edward liked the gruff nobleman, who had little time for nonsense. Twice while observing tactical sessions, Edward had to stifle his laughter when Lord Humphrey barked at different royal advisers regarding fighting strategies. The man’s shaggy eyebrows took on a life of their own as he dressed down courtiers half his age who sorely lacked military experience. Edward thought if Gardyner and Geoffrey de Montfort had been solely in charge of the king’s army and its battle plans, the fight would already be done, with the Scots crawling back to their lowlands and highlands and the French sailing home with their tails between their legs.

That feeling of nervous energy soared through Edward again as it had each time he’d ridden toward the conflict over the last few weeks. He harnessed it and focused on the field ahead and the town of Carlisle to the north of it. Then the troops received the signal, and he nudged Sirius into action. As the army galloped toward their enemies, Edward hoped this would be the final time the two sides would clash and that their enemies would have sense enough to lay down their arms and return home.

Riding closer, he unsheathed his sword, gripping the hilt as he swung and made contact with the first opponent in his path. He pushed away any pity he felt at the poorly equipped man as his blade tore through the foot soldier. The man collapsed of what Edward knew would be a mortal wound. He never looked back as he rode on.

Minutes later, he’d made a dozen kills, mindless of whether they were Frenchmen or Scots that fell under his sword. He swung Sirius around for another charge in the opposite direction and saw Lord Humphrey’s horse fall when an arrow struck just below the crinet that protected the horse’s neck and slightly above the peytral, which guarded the horse’s massive chest. The arrow had found the tiny gap between the protective armor, a lucky shot that a bowman might never make again in his lifetime. The nobleman slipped from the saddle and yanked himself partly up into it again as the war horse veered and then collapsed, pinning Gardyner to the ground. Immediately, two Scots ran in the lord commander’s direction, swinging their swords in glee as a war cry escaped from each.

Edward dug his heels in and raced across the field. Reaching the first threat, he arced his sword with a fluid motion and beheaded the man in a single blow. The head went sailing as the legs propelled the body another few steps before it crumpled to the ground. Edward whipped Sirius around again as the second attacker, who’d watched his comrade fall, now moved to strike a death blow against Lord Humphrey, who flailed helplessly, trapped by his horse’s great weight.

The Scot sensed Edward coming and wheeled. Edward feared the man would thrust his sword into Sirius, so he leapt from the horse’s back as Sirius avoided injury by galloping away.

Now his enemy raised his sword against Edward, and the two men began their fight to the death. The sounds of the battle surrounding them faded as only the clang of their two swords reverberated in Edward’s ears. He blocked out the warm sunshine of the September day and the tinny smell of blood as he focused on his opponent and parried and sliced. Edward made contact twice, cutting into the man’s shoulder and again ripping through his thigh. As the blood loss weakened the Scot, Edward delivered a final blow. The soldier fell to the ground, hitting it hard as blood bubbled from his mouth. His lips moved silently and then stilled.

Scanning the area, Edward saw the enemy retreating. He hurried to Lord Humphrey, who groaned softly under the immense weight of the now-dead horse.

Hal appeared, galloping toward them as he led Sirius by the reins. His brother dismounted. “What should we do?” he asked, assessing the situation.

“We need to get the horse off him quickly,” Edward said. “Else he’ll be crushed to death.”

He explained to Hal what they needed to do and quickly rigged rope that he always carried around the fallen horse, knotting it tightly and attaching it to their own beasts.

“Come on, Sirius, pull!” shouted Edward, as he also yanked on the rope with all his strength.

Hal did the same, tugging from the other side. With the strength of the two men and their huge war horses, they dragged the dead animal from the suffering nobleman.

“Care for the horses,” Edward instructed Hal. “I’ll see to the lord commander.”

He knelt next to Lord Humphrey and removed the man’s helmet. The nobleman sweated profusely. Pain dulled his eyes as he inhaled in shallow breaths.

“I need to remove your armor, my lord, so we can tend to any wounds or broken bones you might have suffered.”

“What about the damned Scots? And their French comrade-in-arms?”

“Both retreating as we speak. You led a successful charge, my lord commander.”

Gardyner mumbled something Edward didn’t understand, and then his eyelids fluttered and closed. Edward removed the unconscious man’s armor as gently as he could as men loyal to Lord Humphrey gathered around to assist him. Edward only wished his mother or sister Alys could be here. Both were renowned healers and would have known what to do to relieve the nobleman from his suffering and help set him on a swift road to recovery.

With so many hands, they made quick time stripping the nobleman down. Edward felt along his limbs, remembering this was something Alys used to do as she practiced the healing arts on her three brothers. Both arms and one leg seemed to be fine, but the commander’s left leg and hip had borne the brunt of the weight of the horse when it collapsed. Deep bruising already occurred. From the awkward angle, he surmised the leg must be broken, if not the hip itself. Edward’s fingers continued their search, skirting the injured man’s ribs. He moaned, leading Edward to believe several had been broken.

Suddenly, the soldiers around them parted, and the king himself stood next to them.

Edward rose from where he knelt and bowed low.

“Rise,” the king commanded. He studied Edward a moment. “You’re one of de Montfort’s sons. I have seen you as we have planned our war against the enemy.”

“Aye, your majesty. I am Edward de Montfort, the youngest boy.”

“Hmm.” The king motioned and men flew into action. The monarch’s personal healer directed Lord Humphrey’s removal to a litter.

As a group of the king’s guard lifted the nobleman from the ground, his eyes opened. He scanned the crowd gathered around him until his search proved fruitful.

“You,” he said, pointing to Edward. “Come here.”

Edward stepped to the litter. “Aye, my lord?”

“You are one of de Montfort’s men?” asked Lord Humphrey.

“Aye, my lord. I am his son, Edward.”

“And the other who freed me?”

“My brother, Hal.”

“Bring him here.”

Hal came to stand next to Edward as Lord Humphrey told the king, “Edward de Montfort saved my life, your highness. He struck down two Scots who would have murdered me as I lay trapped beneath my horse. Then he summoned his brother and they lifted the dead animal away before the beast could crush the life from me.

“If they are not knights, they should be.”

“I underwent my knighthood ceremony before this campaign began,” Hal said. “But Edward has yet to do so.”

Lord Humphrey looked at Edward and said, “If a soldier fights with notable bravery, he can earn the right to knighthood on the battlefield. You deserve this honor for your actions today.” He looked to the king. “I am afraid, your majesty, that I haven’t the strength. Would you do the honors?”

King Richard smiled. “Of course.” He pulled his sword from his side. “Kneel,” he ordered.

Stunned, Edward did as told, his knees quaking.

The king placed the flat of the sword against first one shoulder, then the other. “For the bold courage and daring fearlessness you showed this day against the enemies of Mother England, I dub thee Sir Edward de Montfort. Rise!”

As if in a dream, Edward pushed himself to his feet. A sea of faces surrounded him, but he picked out his father and Raynor among them. A beaming Ancel lifted his sword high above his head in recognition.

“For your outstanding actions this day, Sir Edward, I would like to invite you—and your brother, Sir Hal—to serve in my royal guard.”

Edward turned back to the king, remembering his father’s words and how the last place Geoffrey de Montfort wanted his sons was at court, much less in the king’s guard. Yet how could he refuse such an offer in the midst of so many?

He saw elation on Hal’s face, and his brother nodding encouraging, telling him to accept the generous offer for them both.

Edward’s gaze met that of the king’s. “We would be honored to become your most obedient servants, your highness.”

As a cheer went up from the soldiers encircling them, Edward wondered what his future now held.