Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) (10 page)

Merryn
tamped down her nerves and entered the Great Hall, empty except for their
guest.

Sir Symond
Benedict stood next to the fire, a contemplative look upon his features. He was
much as she remembered him. Fair-skinned, with a beard and head full of red hair,
which now glowed a fiery orange in color as the firelight played against it.
Where Geoffrey was tall and broad-shouldered, Symond stood several inches
shorter. More wiry and compact.

He caught
sight of her, so she went to join him. As she journeyed the length of the Great
Hall, she realized she couldn’t reveal her husband’s presence to him yet.
Geoffrey wanted to return to Kinwick in secret. If he cherished his privacy so
much, she was loathe to expose him before he even entered the gates. She would
have to determine a way to break the news to this suitor that he longer had a
claim to press.

“Lady
Merryn.” He bowed, his eyes meeting hers and then looking away. She remembered
how shy he’d been on his last visit here a few years ago.

“Sir
Symond. ‘Tis a surprise to find you at Kinwick. We were not expecting you until
the king’s arrival in June.”

He nodded,
a reluctance in his brown eyes. “The king sent me ahead. He wished for me . . .
that is, for us . . . to spend some time together.” He shuffled uncomfortably.
“He thought I might enjoy seeing the castle and lands and . . . getting to know
you.”

“I see.”
Merryn looked about. “Have you received food? And drink?”

“Aye, my
lady. Your servants have been most accommodating.”

She had not
the faintest idea what she should say next. He stared at his boots. The silence
stretched on.

“We must
prepare a room for you,” she proclaimed, glad to have an activity to focus on.

“Your
servant has readied one for me,” he shared. “But I have yet to see it.”

“Ah, that
is good.” She hesitated. “Have you come from very far?”

He nodded.
“’Twas a good ways I rode.”

“Then I
insist that you rest this afternoon.”

“Nay, my
lady. I’m not one for being idle.”

What was
she supposed to do with him? She needed to gather food and clothing for
Geoffrey and take it to him. She had no time—nor inclination—to entertain a
surprise visitor.

Especially
one that assumed he would soon marry her.

At that
moment, fate intervened. Ancel came dashing in, running full speed till he
reached them. He waved about the sword that Raynor had whittled for him.

“Mother! I—”

“Are you
supposed to run with a sword in your hand?”

“No, but—”

“Cousin
Raynor has told you ‘tis not a toy, Ancel. You must treat it with care. You
don’t want to fall and hurt yourself or others with it. ‘Tis an important tool
to learn from.”

Her son
hung his head. “I am sorry, Mother.” He raised his eyes. “Who is this? You look
like a knight, good sir.”

Symond
smiled, all visages of shyness gone. “’Tis exactly what I am, my boy,” he
stated, pride evident in his voice and bearing.

Merryn saw
he visibly relaxed in the child’s presence. It gave her an idea.

“Sir Symond
Benedict, allow me to introduce my son Ancel. Ancel, Sir Symond is a knight in
our king’s royal guard.”

Ancel’s
eyes lit up in excitement. “I met the king. When I was a little boy.” He puffed
up as a peacock. “And he’s coming again to Kinwick.” He waved his weapon about.
“I shall show him my sword.”

“Don’t
challenge him to fight, Ancel,” Symond warned. “Our king is a fine warrior. The
best I have seen with a sword. Just because you’re a mere boy, he would not go
easy on you.”

Ancel
thought on his words. “Could you teach me to fight? My cousin made me this
sword, but he’s only shown me a little bit.”

Symond
nodded thoughtfully. “I could do that.” He looked to Merryn. “If your mother
approves.”

“Oh,
Mother, please.
Please.
Sir Symond is an important knight. I’m sure he’s
fought in all kinds of battles, just as Father did. I want him to teach me.”

Merryn
knelt and put her hands on her son’s shoulders. “I trust that if Sir Symond
decides to act as your tutor in swordplay, you will listen carefully to him.”

“Yes!”

“And no
matter what he says, you will do as he asks?”

“Yes!”

She gave
him a squeeze. “Then why don’t you take him to the training yard where the
exercises occur. He can show you some of—”

“I want to
learn swordplay, Mother,” a voice called out. “May I go?”

Merryn
stood as Alys eagerly ran to join them. “Sir Symond, this is my daughter Alys.
She voiced her interest to me earlier today in learning to defend herself.”

“You don’t
have a sword,” Ancel taunted.

“I can
share yours!” she cried.

“No, ‘tis
mine,” her brother said stubbornly. “Raynor made it for
me
. Not a girl.”

“But Mother
said he can make me one. And I can share yours till he does. Isn’t that right,
Mother?” Alys’s blue eyes pleaded her case as much as her words.

“I think
‘tis a fine idea for a girl to know how to defend herself,” Symond interjected.
“And I can tell Ancel is a good boy who will be a decent sort and allow his sister
to learn alongside him. ‘Tis the way of brothers, to look out for their younger
sisters.”

“I’m older
than Ancel,” Alys informed him.

“By a
minute,” Ancel said.

“But I’m
still
older.”

“Children,”
Merryn said sternly. Both quieted immediately. “Sir Symond is our guest.
Neither he nor I will put up with arguing of any kind. Is that clear?”

“Yes,
Mother,” the twins mumbled.

“If Sir
Symond agrees to take you both on, you will follow his instructions without
question?”

They
nodded, their eyes hopeful.

She looked
at their guest. “Are you capable of handling them both, sir?”

He gave her
a smile. “Indeed, Lady Merryn. I handled the French, and they were more
argumentative than these two.” Symond looked down at the twins. “You may show
me the place where we can train. And we shall walk. No running allowed.”

Immediately,
the twins each took one of his hands.

Merryn
laughed. “I think mayhap in an hour you might choose to take a bit of that rest
I recommended.”

“I may, my
lady.”

She watched
the children lead him off, chattering away.

Now she
could see to her tasks at hand.

***

Merryn’s
nerves were on edge as she slipped down the steps leading away from the keep.
She pulled her cloak more tightly about her. The evening air chilled her as she
headed through the inner and outer baileys and toward the gate.

It had
taken her longer to return to Geoffrey and Raynor than she anticipated since
she’d been interrupted several times, but she’d finally been able to rendezvous
with them in the woods. She hadn’t stayed to see Geoffrey dressed and fed,
begging off for duties at Kinwick that needed her attention.

Geoffrey
hadn’t seem to notice her distress. He fell upon the food she had brought like
a starved animal. Raynor knew her well and noticed that something was amiss,
but she didn’t want to explain the complicated situation with Geoffrey present.
She’d excused herself and returned to the castle.

Merryn ate
with Symond Benedict by her side, sharing her trencher. He did not make much
conversation, of which she was thankful. Ancel and Alys made up for the lapse
of talk by telling her of their lesson with Sir Symond. She’d told him how
grateful she was for his interest in the twins.

“I am
interested in everything about Kinwick,” he’d murmured softly, sending dread
through her.

She hadn’t
time to worry what a mess was being created. And she hadn’t found a spare
moment to pen a letter to the king, informing him of Geoffrey’s remarkable
return. That would have to wait. She needed to see him safe within the walls of
Kinwick.

Now Merryn
waited in the darkest of night. For her husband and Raynor’s return.

She heard a
voice call out and the response from the watchtower. After a moment, the gates
began to open. Merryn moved to meet the two men.

They
appeared next to one another as they hurried through the opening. Geoffrey kept
his face buried deeply in the folds of his cloak. Raynor had pushed his aside
so the gatekeeper could easily recognize him and grant them entrance. They
walked quickly as she motioned them to come with her. She wondered what ran
through her husband’s mind as he ascended the steps of his home after so long a
time.

They
entered the keep. All were fast asleep as they passed the doors leading to the
Great Hall. Out of a long ago habit, Merryn reached and took Geoffrey’s hand.
She sensed him stiffen at her touch, but he did not shake it away. She felt a
small victory that he allowed her to touch him since he’d shied away from that
in the forest.

But even
better, she hoped he noticed the spark still between them. Her fingers tingled
as they nestled against his. Surely, he experienced the same feelings she did.

She led him
upstairs to their chamber and sensed when Raynor stopped in the hallway. Merryn
looked over her shoulder. He inclined his head to her and opened his own door,
disappearing into his room. She tightened her grip on her husband’s hand.

They passed
the solar, where Elia still slept. Her mother-in-law had tried to give her the
room once Ferand passed, but Merryn wanted to remain close to Geoffrey and
chose to stay in the chamber they’d shared on their wedding night, which had
been his since birth. Now that Geoffrey held the title, they might take Elia up
on her offer and switch places with her. All in good time.

She opened
the door and stepped through. She realized Geoffrey had stopped in his tracks.
She tugged on his hand so he would join her inside the room.

Merryn got
him all the way in and closed the door behind them. A cheery fire warmed the
chamber. She’d placed a flask of wine and two pewter cups upon the table, along
with some fruit and cheese. It echoed what Geoffrey had done the night he
escorted her here after their wedding feast.

He dropped
her hand and moved to the fire. He leaned close, basking in its warmth. She
watched him unlace the cloak and drop it to the floor as he squatted down, his
hands in front of him, fingers spread, soaking up the heat.

She came to
stand behind him and was shocked at how filthy his outstretched hands were,
dirt embedded like a second layer of skin. His nails, broken and cracked,
looked as if he’d dug in harsh soil for years. She hadn’t thought to bring
water for him to wash. That would be the first thing she did in the morning,
which was but a few hours away. She would get him into a steaming tub of hot
water and help scrub the grime from him.

“Are you
tired?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Then let
us ready ourselves for bed.” Filthy or not, she had waited years to lie next to
him. She would not be robbed of the pleasure of his weight in the bed, his head
pillowed next to hers.

He turned
and faced her, his eyes wide, a look of horror upon his face. 

“I cannot
sleep with you,” he said quietly. He swept his hands up and down. “I would ruin
the bedclothes.”

Though the
chamber was lit only by the fire, Merryn bit her tongue as her nails dug into
her palms. His sleeves had ridden up as he motioned. Even in the faint light,
she saw the deep scars encasing his wrists.

Oh, Sweet
Jesu. Who did that to him?

“I shall
lie here.” He indicated the hearth. “Next to this welcoming fire.”

“I have food
and drink for you.”

“Nay. I had
my fill with what you brought in the woods. I . . . I am not used to eating
much. I shall partake of that on the morrow.”

So mayhap
he did remember something, whether he realized it or not.

Geoffrey
looked at her solemnly. “Thank you. For not . . .  running from me.” He paused.
“I caught my image reflected in a pond as I came close to Kinwick. I realize .
. . I realize I am . . .  not the man you remember,” he said, sorrowing tinging
his voice. “You have been most kind to me, my lady.”

It was if
he spoke to her as a stranger might, one that she had shown a particular kindness
to.

Merryn
blinked back the tears that formed.

“I shall
get you—”

“Nothing
for me, my lady. I’m quite used to sleeping on the floor.” He bent and pulled
the cloak over him. He then turned toward the fire, facing away from her. He
curled into a small ball and did not move.

“Merryn,
Geoffrey. My name is Merryn.”

“I know,”
he whispered.