Word of Honor (Knights of Honor Book 1)
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Synopsis
1351 A.D. – Betrothed from a young age, Merryn Mantel and Geoffrey de Montfort are that rare couple—a love match. They spend five long years apart when Geoffrey leaves England to fight against the French. Geoffrey returns after the English victory at Poitiers, and he and Merryn wed. They spend one blissful night consummating their love, looking forward to a promising future together.
Yet Geoffrey vanishes the next day. Merryn is left lonely and confused as she clings to the hope that one day her husband will come back to her. Geoffrey finally returns almost seven years later. This new Geoffrey is a stranger to Merryn. He refuses to reveal where he has been and why he stayed away from the woman he loved.
Will her husband's silence create a rift too large to heal, or can Geoffrey and Merryn recapture the love they once shared?
Join Geoffrey and Merryn as they fight for the love both have held in their hearts despite their years apart.
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
Note: This book has been previously published under the pen name Lauren Linwood.
Release date: October 25, 2016
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Print pages: 238
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Word of Honor (Knights of Honor Book 1)
Alexa Aston
PROLOGUE
England—April, 1351
Merryn Mantel spotted Geoffrey de Montfort as she and her father rode through the bailey of Kinwick Castle. Her heart began beating fiercely. She hadn’t seen Geoffrey since the Christmas season. He’d grown even taller and more handsome. At ten and six, he already possessed a warrior’s strong build.
And this man was to be hers.
Following her father, she guided her horse toward Geoffrey and his parents, who waited to greet them. Merryn had spent many hours at Kinwick throughout her childhood. The de Montforts were their closest neighbors and her father and Geoffrey’s had been friends since childhood. The two men’s wish to unite their families would occur today when the betrothal contracts were signed.
Geoffrey smiled at her as she approached, his white teeth gleaming against his olive skin. They had been friends all of their lives, but during the last year Merryn had become aware of him in a different way. Every time she was in his presence, a dizzy feeling overtook her. Her pulse pounded rapidly. She wanted to dance with joy. Merryn knew she had fallen in love with Geoffrey.
She believed he felt the same about her.
Geoffrey helped her dismount. The feel of his strong fingers encircling her waist sent butterflies swarming in her belly.
“It’s good to see you, Merryn.”
“I’m happy to see you, Geoffrey. How is your training with Sir Lovel going?”
“He tells me that I’m the best squire he’s ever had. Of course, I’m the only squire he’s ever had.” Geoffrey laughed.
Merryn turned to greet his parents. “Good day to you, Lord Ferand, Lady Elia.” She curtseyed and kissed Elia’s cheek.
“Are the contracts drawn up?” her father asked.
“Everything has been prepared,” answered Lord Ferand. “Please, come inside the keep.”
Geoffrey took Merryn’s hand for the first time. His warmth enveloped her, calming her nerves. She gave him a smile and he squeezed her hand in return.
They followed their parents into the great hall. Her father had explained to her that the negotiations between their families had already been completed. Signing the contracts would signify the exchange of property between the two families and set the bride price. As the daughter of a baron, Merryn would improve her station since Geoffrey would become Earl of Kinwick one day. She would be his countess.
Her father and Lord Ferand seated themselves. The contracts had been laid out on the table before them. She watched as Geoffrey’s father dipped a quill into ink and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. Her father followed suit.
The Kinwick priest, Father Dannet, awaited them. They would now exchange verba de future vows. Their promise to wed would be legally binding, as much as when they spoke their marriage vows to one another in the future.
The priest turned to Geoffrey. “You may speak, my son.”
Geoffrey’s fingers tightened on hers. He gazed down at her and said, “I pledge to all present my desire to marry this woman and I will maintain my promise according to God’s laws.”
“Have you provided the bride price to her family and has it been accepted?” the priest asked.
“Aye.”
Father Dannet turned to the men seated. “And have you agreed upon compensation to be paid in the event the bride or groom dies before they are wed in holy matrimony?”
“We have,” their fathers replied.
The priest looked back to Merryn and Geoffrey. “Then you may take your vows.”
They faced one another. Geoffrey took her free hand. She felt the strength and love that flowed from him into her.
“I, Geoffrey de Montfort of Kinwick, will take you, Merryn Mantel, to wed. This is my solemn vow.”
“And I, Merryn Mantel of Wellbury, will take you, Geoffrey de Montfort, to wed. This is my solemn vow.”
Geoffrey bent and brushed his lips softly against hers in their first kiss. He pulled away and Merryn wished the kiss could have gone on longer.
Her father rose and came toward them. He offered Geoffrey his hand and they shook to seal the bargain.
“I look forward to the day when I will marry you,” the priest told them. He excused himself, leaving only the immediate family in the room.
“Let us toast the happy couple,” Lord Ferand proclaimed.
Wine had already been poured. Lady Elia distributed a cup to each of them.
“We have joined our families,” her father said. “May Geoffrey and Merryn spend many happy years together and fill the halls of Kinwick with children.”
As Merryn drank her wine, she looked forward to the day she would become Geoffrey’s wife.
***
Geoffrey led Merryn from the great hall. Their parents had gone to the solar to visit, but he wanted to spend time alone with his betrothed. He would be leaving this afternoon and cherished the remaining time they would have together.
As he took her hand again, it surprised him how right it felt when he entwined his fingers with hers. Merryn belonged to him now. Nothing could ever change that. He was fortunate that his betrothed was kind to everyone she met and enthusiastic in everything she did. Merryn would make an excellent countess.
“Accompany me to the stables,” he said.
“You’re already ordering me about?” Merryn’s sapphire blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “And to think the ink isn’t even dry on our betrothal contract.”
“Since it’s a legally binding contract, we are as good as wed.”
Except for the consummation. But that would be another few years. He still had time to sow his wild oats before making Merryn his in every way.
“I read the contracts, Geoffrey.” He heard the exasperation in her voice.
“Of course, you did. I would expect nothing less from you, Merryn.”
“They said nothing about obeying.”
He hid the smile that threatened to show itself. “I believe that will be a part of our actual vows on the day we wed. I suppose you still have a little bit of time before you become a slave to my every command.”
In truth, he was delighted his wife-to-be could read, thanks to her indulgent father. Merryn’s intelligence and natural curiosity about the world around her had drawn him to her since they were children. Geoffrey knew he was blessed that theirs would be a love match, a rare exception to most noble marriages.
Her mind only played a part in his attraction to this young woman, who already showed signs of becoming a great beauty. As the sunlight fell on her hair, it brought out burnished red highlights and turned the curls a rich shade of chestnut. One day, he would run his fingers through those long, silky locks. Geoffrey looked forward to the many nights they would spend in bed and the children that would result from their love play.
They arrived at the stables. He led her inside, grateful that no stable hand was in sight.
“Did you bring Mystery a treat?” Merryn asked.
“Nay. My horse is already spoiled. I have a treat for you, instead.”
He watched the blush stain her cheeks and realized she thought he’d brought her here to kiss him. Geoffrey hadn’t planned to do so, but the thought made his manhood begin to stir.
“I want to show you a horse.” He led her past several stalls until they reached their destination. Her eyes lit up as she viewed the dark brown horse.
“Oh, what a beauty,” she exclaimed. She stroked the horse’s nose and scratched him between his ears. “But you already have Mystery, Geoffrey. Is this a new horse your father purchased?”
“Destiny is for you, Merryn.” He gave in to temptation and twirled one of her soft curls around his finger. He studied it with interest, dreading to tell her about the long separation they now faced.
“I must finish my service to Sir Lovel before we can wed.”
She grew solemn. “That means you will go to France again.”
He nodded, focusing on the curl he toyed with. “There are still battles to fight. Crecy is but five years past and though we have captured Calais, France has yet to capitulate to King Edward.”
“The third of his name to grace England’s throne,” she pointed out. “I have become fascinated with our country’s history.”
“I’ve fostered with Sir Lovel for half a score, first as a page and then as a squire. I hope to fight as a knight when I step foot again in France.”
Merryn smiled up at him. “You are already as tall as any of Father’s knights, Geoffrey. You are broad of shoulder and think quickly on your feet. Sir Lovel would be a fool if he doesn’t allow you on the battlefield.” A frown crossed her face.
“What ails you?”
She lowered her gaze to the ground. “’Tis nothing.”
Geoffrey tipped her chin till their eyes met. “We have no secrets, Merryn. We never did. Tell me.”
She placed her palm on his chest. His pulse jumped at her touch.
“I fear you may not come home to me,” she whispered.
“You’ve seen me spar. I’m quick with a sword or mace.” He cupped her cheek. “I will return to you, Merryn. Nothing could keep me from your arms.”
Geoffrey slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and held her steady. He touched his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.
Breaking the kiss, he told her, “We’ll have plenty of time for love play in the future. But for now, I hope that you’ll ride Destiny each day. He is my gift to you beyond what the betrothal contracts call for.”
“Thank you, Geoffrey.” Merryn stroked the horse. “You are generous to me.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, Merryn. Nothing.”
Geoffrey longed to shower her with passionate kisses that would show her how much he desired her. Yet Merryn was only three and ten. He didn’t want to frighten her. He would complete his service to Sir Lovel and return to wed her. She would be a woman then and more ready to understand the ways of love between a man and a woman.
He led her from the stables. They walked hand in hand, no words necessary between them. They strolled through the gates of Kinwick and over to the meadow. Merryn loved being out in nature. He wanted to remember her this way—standing in a field of flowers, the sun setting her hair afire.
Geoffrey knelt and gathered a few wildflowers from the grass. Lifting her hand, he placed them in her palm.
“I know how much you enjoy picking flowers and herbs. Think of me when you do so. Until I return to you.”
Merryn stared at the flowers a long time and then placed them on the ground. She unclasped the delicate gold necklace she always wore. Standing on her toes so she could reach him, she fastened the chain around his neck.
“I know ‘tis suited for a woman, but I hope you will wear this cross. Wherever you go, I shall be close to your heart.”
Her gesture touched him. He brought the cross to his lips and kissed it before tucking it under his gypon.
Geoffrey captured her hand and kissed her knuckles before lacing their fingers together.
“I promise I shall come home to be your husband, Merryn.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she promised. “As long as it takes.”
CHAPTER 1
North of Aquitaine, France—1356
“I have enjoyed our time together this eve, Sir Thomas. You are a great hero of the battle at Crecy. I’ve learned much from your explanation of this raiding strategy of chevauchée that the Black Prince has chosen to use. It makes sense to weaken our French enemies through burning and pillaging and destroying their livestock.”
Geoffrey raised his cup to acknowledge Felton, a warrior valued by the king and his son.
“You have a keen mind, Geoffrey de Montfort. It was time well spent. One can never be too prepared when facing the enemy. Discussing Crecy and our recent ventures north from Aquitaine helps me solidify what strategies we’ve used. And to plan for what’s to come.”
“Victory, of course!”
Both men laughed.
Geoffrey excused himself, exhausted from the day’s activities. As he made his way back to his gear at Sir Lovel’s tent, he spied a figure in dark clothing slinking along the edge of camp. Curious, he followed at a discreet distance.
As he came closer, he saw it was a woman. Nothing odd about that. French whores serviced the English and Gascons who’d come to fight in France at every stop along the way. As long as they received payment, it didn’t seem to matter which side offered them coin.
So why was this one doing her best to blend into the background?
Unless she happened to be a spy for the French.
He continued to track her movements. She scurried past the Black Prince’s tent, where Edward’s key advisers now met to firm up their tactics for when they reached the River Loire and the town of Tours. They’d seen little resistance in their campaign so far and had been able to live off the bounty of the countryside to conserve their supply lines. He had faith in England’s leaders and its young, daring prince.
But this woman’s odd behavior troubled him.
She paused and looked around before she entered a nearby tent. He knew it to be that of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, one of Edward’s most trusted advisers. The earl would be at the meeting with the Black Prince—so why was this whore in his tent?
Mayhap, she’d been hired to greet Oxford when he returned, but it concerned Geoffrey enough to investigate further.
Geoffrey trusted his instincts and rushed to the enclosure. When he reached its opening, he heard the moans of lovemaking. He stopped. If the earl met with the Black Prince, then who dallied with the whore in Oxford’s tent?
He looked inside. A few candles were lit, allowing him to make out the silhouettes of a man and woman. The woman was bent over a table and whimpered as the man pumped inside her from behind. He started to leave when the man spoke.
Geoffrey recognized the voice of Barrett of Winterbourne, the son of Lord Berold, whose estate lay north of Kinwick. Geoffrey knew Barrett had fostered with Oxford, which gave him some reason to be inside the earl’s tent.
“Here’s coin for your effort,” Barrett said. “And remember, hide the map. No one must know you have it.”
Map?
What game did Barrett play? Why would he give the woman a map? And of what?
Geoffrey moved away, out of sight. He wanted to see what happened next.
Then he heard voices. A group of men headed his way. He spied Oxford and the Black Prince among them.
At that moment, the woman slipped from the tent and hurried away.
“Stop!” he called out to her.
She ignored his command.
“Stop her,” he ordered. “She’s a spy!”
A soldier taking a piss tried to grab her cloak as she ran by, but he missed. Geoffrey raced after the woman. He caught up with her and locked his fingers around her arm. He dragged her back to the earl’s tent, where the Black Prince and his party had stopped. He shoved the woman down and she dropped to her knees. She gazed up at him, a frown on her face, then spit on his boots.
De Vere gave him a questioning look. Geoffrey looked to the prince, who nodded his encouragement.
“Your highness, I believe this woman took a map from the earl’s tent. Search her. You’ll find it.”
Edward gestured at one of his guards. The man forced the whore to her feet, but she resisted as he searched her body for the map. He found the evidence tucked in her cotehardie.
Barrett exited the tent, hoping to avoid attention as he tried to slip away.
Geoffrey wouldn’t let that happen. “He gave it to her.”
The crowd turned to where he pointed. Barrett stopped and then haughtily strode toward him.
“I have no idea of what you speak, de Montfort.”
Geoffrey scowled. “I heard you tell her to take the map. What is it? Our troop movements? Are you a traitor, providing information to our enemy?”
Barrett assessed the woman as if he had never seen her before. “You think I gave a map to some French whore?” He laughed. “Will you next accuse me of being a spy for King Jean?”
“I saw you bedding the whore. You told her to hide the map so no one would find it.”
The nobleman continued to deny his involvement. “You’re mad or drunk enough on French wine to make such a foolish accusation.”
“Nay, he is not.” Sir Thomas Felton addressed the prince. “I spent most of my evening with this knight, my lord. Nor is he a fool who would make false accusations.”
“Geoffrey of Kinwick serves in my household,” Sir Lovel added. “I have never met a man more honest and loyal. His word is to be trusted. If Geoffrey says Barrett of Winterbourne has committed treason, then I stand by him.”
The Black Prince held out his hand and the guard gave him the map. Edward studied it for a long moment. Then he eyed the men standing around him. Geoffrey knew the prince weighed his next words carefully.
Barrett shifted nervously on his feet when Edward looked at him and spoke.
“An innocent man would never disrespect royal blood in such a manner,” Edward said.
“Compurgation!” Barrett cried. “I demand compurgation.” His eyes wildly scanned the crowd. “As the accused, I can be cleared by the oaths of others. I have many present who will swear to my innocence and deny this outlandish charge.”
No one came forward.
“Then trial by battle!” Barrett demanded.
Oxford pulled the prince aside. Geoffrey stood near enough to overhear their conversation.
Oxford asked, “Would the map aid the French, sire?”
Edward nodded grimly. “It’s one you drew up, Oxford. It shows our next lines of attack and where reinforcements would come from. If the French had gained access to the map, it would have proven devastating to our troops.”
The Black Prince announced, “I will grant this request of trial by battle.” Edward eyed Geoffrey carefully. “As accuser, you, Geoffrey of Kinwick, will do battle against Barrett of Winterbourne.”
Though Geoffrey had heard of trial by battle, he had no idea what, exactly, it involved. He had never experienced one. His expression must have told the prince as much.
“I shall preside as judge. We commence at noon.” The prince signaled his guard and then pointed at Barrett. “Confine him until the trial begins.”
Geoffrey watched as the guard escorted Barrett across the clearing.
“Come, Geoffrey,” Oxford said. “We need to discuss your duties for tomorrow.”
Geoffrey followed. And wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
CHAPTER 2
Geoffrey stepped to where Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, indicated he stand. The sun blazed high in the sky. Soldiers ringed the field designated for the trial by battle. Four knights of the prince’s royal guard stood at each corner.
Geoffrey wore a thick, padded jerkin for the contest; it had no sleeves. He held an iron helmet in his left hand and a wooden stave with steel tips in the other. John de Vere told him if the tips broke off to keep attacking with the long pole. He also could fight with his fists and feet—even his teeth if that’s what it took to win.
As the accuser, Geoffrey must down Barrett of Winterbourne before the stars appeared in the night sky. Considering the fight commenced at noon, he could be in for many hours of brutal conflict.
If Barrett stood undefeated, he would be declared the winner and acquitted of the charge of treason. His accuser would then be charged with perjury. If Geoffrey won, Barrett would publicly proclaim himself guilty of the crime.
Most men convicted of treason were sentenced to hang, removed from the noose right before their deaths only to be drawn and quartered. Betrayal of the king was kin to blasphemy under English law; the king having been duly anointed by God to sit on the throne.
Instead of hanging, noblemen convicted of the same crime suffered what was considered a more dignified death by beheading, their lands forfeited to the Crown. The earl told Geoffrey if Barrett went down in defeat, the Black Prince might choose either method of execution in order to make an example to his troops.
He’d heard the prince was known for his open mind and fair nature, so he assumed Barrett would lose his head.
If Geoffrey succeeded.
He watched as William de Ufford, Earl of Suffolk, escorted the accused to the field. Geoffrey’s gaze met Barrett’s for a moment. They’d known each other as neighbors but had never been friends. Geoffrey found all the inhabitants of Winterbourne arrogant and conceited. He was relieved they’d fostered in different households and had little contact over the years.
Now, hatred shone from his enemy’s eyes as Barrett came to stand next to him. They didn’t speak as they awaited the arrival of their judge.
Surrounded by his entourage of commanders, Prince Edward finally arrived at the field and stood directly in front of the pair.
“Do you swear you shall not invoke the aid of demons or evil spirits?” the prince asked.
“Aye,” Geoffrey and Barrett replied.
“Do you understand that your pole shall be your only weapon beyond your physical body?”
“Aye.”
“Since my father fights now in Scotland, you will engage in combat before me, Edward of Woodstock, known as the Black Prince, eldest son of King Edward III and Philippa of Hainault. I will serve as your judge and render my verdict as to which of you proves to be victorious.”
They bowed.
Oxford signaled for them to rise as the prince walked to the dais and seated himself. Both men placed their helmets on their heads and strode to the center of the field hand-in-hand, as required by the rules of trial by battle.
“You will die this day,” Barrett hissed as they marched forward. “Don’t think I’ll merely down you and quit. I plan to grind my boot into your throat as I drive my pole through your eye. You’ll never see England again or the pretty little wench you are betrothed to. In fact, I think I’ll take her as my bride. I’d enjoy bedding her.”
Geoffrey struggled to keep his temper in check. But he knew the errant lord tried to rile him.
“You’ll end this day marked as a traitor,” he replied evenly.
They reached the middle of the field and separated, going to their respective sides, then faced the prince.
“As judge of this trial by battle, I declare, you may begin.”
Geoffrey gripped his pole with both hands and charged his rival at full speed. Barrett did the same.
Geoffrey had participated in stick fighting as a means of training from the time he served as a page in Sir Lovel’s household. Hours had been devoted to this type of combat. He was comfortable with the weapon—and steadfast in his belief that truth would prevail.
Their poles clashed.
He had a couple of inches in height on his opponent, but Barrett was a more seasoned fighter. It would take all Geoffrey’s skill and wits to defeat the treasonous bastard.
The minutes dragged as Geoffrey slammed his pole constantly into Barrett, smashing it against his enemy’s body. The padded jerkin softened his blows, so Geoffrey began jabbing lower, battering Barrett’s legs. He knocked the pole into his opponent’s unguarded arms, spinning Barrett around.
Barrett kept his head, though, and soon Geoffrey fended off heavy blows from his adversary. A few times, Geoffrey knocked his enemy to the ground, but Barrett’s quick reflexes allowed him to spring to his feet.
Several hours passed. Sweat dripped into Geoffrey’s eyes, stinging them. No cheers came from the crowd. Only silence as the men watched the lengthy duel continue. Barrett was the first to move away from strictly using the poles. As they struggled, their sticks locked against each other, their bodies close enough to smell the stench of one another’s sweat. Barrett drew back his foot and kicked Geoffrey hard in the knee.
Geoffrey fell but kept his pole defensively positioned over his body. As Barrett raised his stick over his head and brought it down, Geoffrey rolled to his side, avoiding the blow.
Barrett’s stake was buried deep in the ground.
Geoffrey jumped to his feet as Barrett struggled to free his weapon and thrust the sharp end into his opponent’s side.
The older knight grunted and lost his balance, dropping his pole as he collapsed from exhaustion. Desperate to recover his weapon, Barrett crawled toward it, but he didn’t reach it in time. Geoffrey rained down a steady stream of crippling blows with his pole that knocked his foe away. Barrett landed on his back. He raised his arms protectively over his face.
Knowing he could end this now, Geoffrey let honor prevail and rested the sharp end of his weapon above the traitor’s heart, then paused. Despite his strong desire to end the bastard’s life, trial by battle was not intended to end in death.
Geoffrey looked to the prince, hoping to be declared the winner.
Oxford had already informed him that the French whore had admitted to being a spy. She confirmed that Barrett had accepted payment for providing a map that showed English and Gascon troop movements, especially the tactics that would be employed once the Duke of Lancaster’s forces arrived and joined the Black Prince to march on King Jean.
The prince gave Geoffrey an approving nod.
Geoffrey raised his pole and stepped back when pain shot up his leg. He looked down to see a baselard embedded in his calf. Barrett yanked the knife out. Before he could inflict another stab wound, Geoffrey brought the steel tip to the other man’s unguarded throat.
“Do it,” Barrett hissed. “Kill me.”
“I’d rather see you hang for the traitor you are.”
Suddenly, guards surrounded them. One yanked the dagger from Barrett’s hand. Another gently pushed Geoffrey aside. Two more dragged Barrett to his feet, screaming and cursing as they removed him from the field.
The prince called Geoffrey over.
Bleeding and in pain, he limped to his leader.
“You fought bravely,” the prince praised him. “Unlike your opponent, you are a fair man. I thank you for defeating this traitor, Geoffrey of Kinwick. I won’t forget your courage. You are an honorable knight.”
The prince leaned over and whispered in the ear of a man in dark robes. Then the stranger approached Geoffrey.
“Come with me, good sir. I am Ellis, healer to the king. I will cleanse and stitch your wound. We can’t afford to lose good soldiers like you to those who cheat and betray our cause.”
Geoffrey gladly went with the healer. He wanted the injury cared for quickly since he didn’t want to miss what happened to Barrett.
Sometime later, after his leg was bandaged, the healer released him. “Stay off it as much as you can. Do you have a horse?”
“Aye.”
“Then I won’t worry about you marching on it.” Ellis gripped his shoulder. “You were brave to come forward.”
“I thank you, Ellis.”
Geoffrey left the healer and spotted Sir Lovel, who slapped him on the back.
“You made me proud today,” the knight told him. “You fought with tenacity and skill. Come. Let’s make our way to the traitor’s execution.”
As they walked through the camp, Geoffrey found the number of men present had doubled. That meant the Duke of Lancaster had arrived with the expected reinforcements. Barrett’s father, Lord Berold, had arrived with the duke’s reinforcements. He would witness his son’s execution.
Geoffrey arrived in time to see Barrett being led to a hastily built platform.
Fear showed on the guilty man’s face.
But Geoffrey felt no pity for the criminal. Barrett had betrayed king and country and would suffer a just punishment.
A hush fell as the Black Prince addressed the crowd. “Barrett of Winterbourne, how do you plead to the charge of treason?”
No answer came.
The prince repeated his question and still received no response.
Edward repeated the query a third time, his face reddening in anger.
“I will never admit to guilt. Never!” Barrett spit into the dirt, defiance radiating from his features.
Edward’s murderous glare ended the traitor’s rebellious attitude. Barrett’s body began trembling uncontrollably.
“I find you guilty as charged, you despicable coward,” the Black Prince declared. “I want your blasted head displayed on a stake. Let every man here witness what happens to a Judas who betrays my father and England.”
The prince motioned to the knights that detained Barrett. They marched the prisoner to the block and forced him to his knees.
In the end, the traitor did not go willingly. The guards had to hold him down. The executioner’s ax landed once and Barrett screamed in agony. The second blow silenced him forever. His head rolled from his body, caught in a basket held by a soldier standing guard at the base of the platform.
The crowd dispersed. As it melted away, Geoffrey sensed someone staring at him. He turned and found Lord Berold.
“You. You killed my boy.”
Geoffrey remained firmly in place, his eyes locked on Berold’s. “Your son was a traitor, my lord. Death was the only acceptable punishment.”
The earl stood silently for a long moment.
Geoffrey knew no words could comfort this grieving father. He turned to go, but the earl latched on to his arm.
“You will suffer a punishment harsher than death, Geoffrey de Montfort. Mark my words. I will bring you to your knees. You will beg for a quick death, but you will find no mercy, no relief.”
CHAPTER 3
England—November, 1356
Merryn finished crushing the small plant with her mortar and pestle and wrapped the pressed leaves in a linen cloth. Lady Elia’s deep chest cough concerned her. Geoffrey’s mother had insisted it wasn’t serious, but Merryn wanted to bring the woman a remedy to vanquish the cough before it turned into something more severe. Elia would need to allow the cress to steep in hot water to extract the herb’s healing flavor and then drink it twice a day over the next sennight.
Five years ago, she’d promised Geoffrey that she would watch over his parents during his absence, never dreaming they would be separated for so long. Merryn had grown from a child of ten and three into a woman while the war against France dragged on. In constant prayer, she asked the Blessed Lord to keep her beloved safe from harm.
She missed him more with every passing day. He’d been her confidant for as long as she remembered. Their betrothal had brought happiness to them both. Merryn longed for the day they could live together as husband and wife.
Recent news from London revealed that the Black Prince had led his troops to victory at Poitiers, demolishing the French army and capturing many prisoners. Even the king of France was now in English custody.
Merryn hoped it meant a long break in the war. France would need time to raise the ransom asked for their king’s return.
As she left the room off the kitchen where she prepared and stored her herbs, Merryn headed toward the stables. She’d never understood the point of battle. Why couldn’t the king be happy with what he had instead of spilling blood for land across the sea? England was a vast, beautiful country. Edward should be thankful that he ruled such a bountiful land.
She knew to keep such thoughts to herself. Women weren’t expected to have an opinion—especially regarding politics. But her curious nature caused her to be interested in the world around her. And with both her father and mother dead and buried, she managed Wellbury as well as any man, despite her youth.
Merryn longed to see her brother, Hugh, who fought with King Edward in Scotland. She hoped Hugh would return soon and choose a bride. Her brother would make a fine father and husband.
Wellbury needed children running through its halls again. With Hugh’s return, she could leave the care of their ancestral home in his capable hands and move to Kinwick once she married.
At the stables, she asked a stable boy to saddle her horse. She mounted Destiny with his assistance and he wished her a good day.
The early November day proved overcast and damp. Merryn was glad she’d chosen to ride and not walk since rain might fall soon. Her horse galloped across the meadow, taking her favorite shortcut to Kinwick. She spent many hours in this meadow and surrounding forest, gathering herbs and flowers. Merryn had first come here with Sephare, the healer at Wellbury. Sephare had passed on her knowledge of herbs and plants to Merryn and taught her which ones could be used to cure various ailments.
Merryn took the lessons to heart. Her reputation as a knowledgeable healer grew every year.
She reined in Destiny and came to a halt as she approached Kinwick. The castle’s beauty always moved her. One day she would serve as its mistress. Pride swelled within her. Kinwick and its surrounding lands had some of the best farmland in the south of England. It would be a privilege to live there as a de Montfort.
Though many betrothed girls moved from their own family homes to live with the family they’d marry into, her father and Lord Ferand decided against that action. Merryn’s mother had died in childbirth when Merryn was three years old. The men thought it best for her to remain at Wellbury during Geoffrey’s absence abroad and use her woman’s touch to help maintain the estate as she grew older.
The skies darkened. Before Merryn could nudge her horse on, she heard hoof beats approaching in the distance. A rider topped the hill and stopped. She would know him anywhere. His profile. The way he sat on his horse.
Geoffrey had finally come home.
Her heart sang as she heeled her mare forward. Destiny took off like the wind, bringing her closer to her beloved.
“Merryn!”
She heard her name and watched him gallop toward her. Her heart beat fast. Would he be the same? Would he still care for her? She’d adored him since she was a child. The sweet memory of their kiss had sustained her these past five years.
They reached one another. He leapt from his saddle as she dropped her reins. Before she could dismount, he grabbed her waist and pulled her from her horse.
His mouth crashed down on hers, with hunger and longing. In desperate need. Merryn wrapped her arms about his neck. He parted her lips with his tongue and plunged in, his mouth dominating hers, his arms tightening about her.
Her knees weakened as he left her breathless. Suddenly, he swept her off her feet. His mouth never left hers as he twirled round and round, joy evident on his face.
Merryn grew dizzy.
Geoffrey finally slowed and broke the kiss. He set her back on her feet. He gazed at her so lovingly, she knew nothing had changed.
Except it had.
Her entire body vibrated with need. His kisses had awakened something within her.
“I thought you’d never come home,” she said breathlessly.
“I thought I’d never be here.” He laughed. “But I am.” He pulled her close.
Her breasts pressed against his broad chest. They seemed so sensitive beneath her smock and kirtle.
Warmth flooded her as she rested her cheek against his chest. Finally, Geoffrey pulled away.
“I am home for good, my love. And I have so much to tell you.”
“What? Tales of war?” Killing did not interest Merryn, but she sensed his need to speak of it. “Tell me,” she urged, wanting to be supportive.
“You should have seen the action at Poitiers. Our archers fired arrows in a dizzying shower at our enemy.” His hazel eyes lit with excitement. “They couldn’t penetrate the invincible French armor, so they went for the flanks of the horses.”
She stiffened. “They shot the horses?”
“Aye, in their flanks. We stopped their cavalry charge that way. As their horses fell, so did their battle lines. It devastated their troops. The French bastards never penetrated the protective hedge we used to our advantage.”
It saddened her to think of so many slaughtered animals, as well as the men.
“Our infantry decimated them after that in fierce combat. Our infantry moved in. Combat proved fierce. The Black Prince’s strategy counted on a large reserve of soldiers concealed deep within a nearby wood. While Englishmen attacked from the front, these hidden soldiers circled around and attacked the French from the sides and their rear. The Dauphin and two of the king’s other sons fled, while King Jean and his son, Philip, remained and fought.”
“We have heard that King Jean was captured. That he will be held for ransom in London.”
“Aye, indeed.” He kissed her hard. “’Tis why I’m here. The war is over.”
Joy filled her. “And we can marry now?”
He grinned. Though he was a battle-hardened man full of experiences she might never understand, he had come home, to her.
“As soon as possible, my love.”
Geoffrey captured her mouth with his again. Merryn returned the kiss with enthusiasm. She never realized when the rain came.
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