Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) (7 page)

“Nine
hundred ninety-nine. One thousand.”

Geoffrey dropped
his arm. He’d finished rubbing his shackled right hand against the stone wall
the prescribed thousand times. He did this each day with both his cuffed wrists
and ankles, hoping to wear through the iron.

He never
did.

But it was
part of his routine. Routine helped keep him sane.

He moved
his limbs as much as he could so that they would not grow weak with disuse. He
prayed—though that was more out of habit and not true belief. He’d long quit
raging against a God that would abandon him in such a manner. A small part of
him thought that his life had been golden as had Job’s. God punished Job for
his arrogance and took everything from him. Only when Job was truly humbled and
contrite did God reward him for his faith and bring riches back into his life. Mayhap
God would restore all he had taken from Geoffrey one day.

Thus, he
prayed.

He also spent
long hours reciting passages in Latin and Greek from
The Iliad
and
The
Odyssey
. He conjugated verbs in both those languages and French.

And he
daydreamed. Of a life with Merryn.

He limited
the amount of time he thought of her. If he didn’t, he might have driven
himself mad long ago.

At first,
his mind couldn’t comprehend the evil lengths Berold went to in order to hold
him captive. He rejected it, railing against the earl. Against the world. All
that had cost him was his voice, worn hoarse, then finally gone after long days
and nights of screaming at the top of his lungs.

The earl
appeared almost daily with his food allotment. The times he didn’t, Geoffrey
surmised it to be a feast day. Berold did love his food and drink. He supposed
the monster ate and drank himself into a stupor as he celebrated. Eventually,
he reappeared. Never contrite. But with a bit extra for him to chew upon to
make up for the days he did without.

Enough of
those occurrences had passed for Geoffrey to know that time marched on.

That—and
seeing Hardi’s growth.

The boy had
been ten and two when Geoffrey had been locked away in this prison. Now he’d
grown a few inches in height, but he’d filled out considerably. His limbs and
bearing were that of a man.

Geoffrey
hadn’t the heart to ask him his age, for it would only tell him how much time
he’d passed in this oblivion.

He’d done
his best to gain Hardi’s confidence. They’d actually become friends. The boy
sneaked down to the dungeon several times a week, bringing him extra food.
Because of that, Geoffrey always kept his tattered cloak tightly about him. He
didn’t want Berold to see what he looked like. Not that the earl could see in
the dim light from the single torch he brought upon his visits.

The rest of
the time, Geoffrey existed in darkness.

Hardi even
brought a blanket every now and then, which Geoffrey used to lie atop. Even in
the warmest of times, the dungeon floor was cold to the touch, while the
dampness seeped into his lungs, making it painful to breathe. He made sure to
hide the blanket behind him during the earl’s daily visit.

But no
matter how he tried, the boy would not consider defying his father to the point
of freeing Geoffrey. He’d hinted at it before blatantly coming out and
demanding to be released.

He realized
that Berold had a stranglehold on his only surviving son. Hardi seemed
paralyzed with fear when it came to his father. No matter how much Geoffrey
tried, he’d never been able to talk the earl’s son into letting him go and
suffering whatever consequences Berold would mete out in retaliation.

He looked
out the bars to the spot where he knew the key hung directly across from him,
tantalizing him every waking moment, though he could not see it in the inky
darkness. Even if by some miracle he could break through his restraints, he
still had the bars of his locked cell to get through. And even if he found a
way from the dungeon, how would he slink through Winterbourne unseen?

He pushed
those futile thoughts aside and went back to going over Kinwick. He walked
through the castle daily, from the stores where grain and barrels of ale and
wine were kept to the highest turret. He visited the stables and thought of the
horses kept in their stalls. He roamed the land, visiting each tenant’s cottage
in his mind, holding conversations with them, asking about their children and
the needs they had.

Sometimes,
he allowed Merryn to go with him. They would walk hand in hand through the
castle, exploring various rooms. She would take him to where the healer had
gathered different herbs and describe to him what each could do for an ailment.
They would go down to the stables and feed Mystery and Destiny some treat
before they went riding.

He loved
having them ride together through the meadow or woods. Sometimes, he took them
to visit Hugh at Wellbury. He even imagined a bride for Hugh and let them
witness the wedding. He danced with Merryn in his arms, then raised a cup toasting
her beauty and wit.

And on very
special occasions, he would allow himself to remember what it was like to make
love with his wife. He relived the night of their marriage over and over again.
Touching her silken hair. Stroking the smooth curve of her hip. Entering her
and bringing her to the heights of pleasure.

Geoffrey never
thought of the hunting lodge.

He’d wanted
it to be their special place. To have them spend a week at the small cottage.
But after what had happened there, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it.

His stomach
grumbled noisily. Berold had not come for some time. He couldn’t remember what
feast might be celebrated above stairs.

And a part
of him feared that the earl might not ever come back. That he would slowly
starve to death.

But he
would die with Merryn’s name on his lips.

Wait.

The faint
noise he’d grown to know so well. Berold—or possibly Hardi—opened the door at
the top of the stairs. Within minutes, he would either glare at the earl or
enjoy a bit of conversation with the madman’s son.

The
footsteps. The growing light of someone holding a torch. Then Hardi arrived. He
placed the torch in an empty sconce and moved toward the cell doors.

“Here. I
think you will like this.” He tossed something in. Geoffrey caught it.

Goose. He
hadn’t had goose in some time. His stomach rumbled in need and approval.
Without speaking, he bit into the meat. Though he wanted to devour it, he took
his time and chewed slowly, relishing the taste.

Hardi
watched him silently. When he’d finished, he tossed an apple and a half loaf of
bread into the cell, along with several slices of cheese. It must be a feast
day. He rarely ate this well.

He finished
the meal. “Thank you, Hardi,” he said simply.

Hardi did
not speak. That was unusual. Usually, he was quite talkative. Something must be
different. Something had happened.

Finally,
the words came. “I’m sorry no one came for a few days. Father . . . Father is
gone. He clutched his chest and collapsed. Nothing could be done. He’s dead.”

Geoffrey
froze, hearing the words he’d long to be uttered. A mix of joy and fear swept
through him.

Hardi was the
new earl of Winterbourne. He could choose to free him. Or would he remain a
prisoner?

“I am sorry
for what Father did to you, Geoffrey. He was wrong. I hope to be a better man
in many ways.” He paused. “That’s why I want to do the right thing now.”

Geoffrey
tamped down the hope that rose. He couldn’t take any more disappointment. He rested
his chained wrists atop his bent knees.

And waited.

He saw
Hardi struggled with what he wanted to say. He paced the space in front of the
cell, his hands behind his back. Geoffrey let him work out whatever demons he
struggled with. He tried to make his mind a blank, thinking of nothing.

And yet
everything flooded through him. Images rapidly danced before his eyes. Longing
swept through him, piercing his soul.

And still,
he waited.

Hardi
halted and locked his fingers around the iron bars of the cell. Geoffrey saw
that he’d arrived at his decision.

“I cannot
honor Father’s memory by keeping you confined any longer. Fortunately, he never
made me swear a blood oath to him that I would continue in this duty.” His nose
turned up in a sneer. “He never questioned that I would oppose him. He ordered
me to keep up the practice after his death. He assumed because he spoke it, I
would obey.

“It never
crossed his mind that I would dare release you.”

A tiny ray
of hope burst through Geoffrey. It were as if he stood in the dark and had
caught the first glimpse of the sun as it broke across the horizon.

And yet his
mind wouldn’t allow him to rejoice. Not until he set foot on Kinwick lands and
had Merryn in his arms would he truly believe this nightmare over.

Hardi mused
aloud, “I must help you clean up. I must bring you fresh clothing.”

“No.”
Geoffrey stood. He moved as close to the bars as his chains would stretch. For
him, ‘twas a matter of pride. His captors had taken everything from him. He
would refuse to accept anything in return. Nothing Hardi could offer would make
up for the lost years away from Merryn.

“I will be
seen as I am.” He hesitated, knowing he must ask the next question. Dreading
the answer he would receive.

“How long
have I been here?”

Hardi
looked stricken, as if he’d been slapped hard. He swallowed and then met
Geoffrey’s eyes.

“’Tis halfway
through May. The Year of Our Lord 1363.”

Geoffrey
stumbled back. He fell to his knees. A low, guttural moan bellowed from deep
within him. He heard the sound, as if it came from some wounded animal and not
himself.

Six and a
half years?

God in
Heaven. He knew his captivity had stretched endlessly before him. But for so
long a time?

His first
thought was that Merryn would not even be present at Kinwick. She must have
married again. The king would not let such a pretty widow dangle loose for so
long. Knowing she had gone to another man destroyed him. Another howl escaped
his lips. He screamed again and again, eviscerated by the news.

Spent, he
collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.

After some
minutes, he raised his head. His gaze met Hardi’s.

“Merryn?”
The one word was but a hoarse whisper. He had to know.

“I saw the
lady this very morning.”

The words
stunned him. “This morning?” he echoed.

Hardi
crouched, holding onto the bars for support. “Yes. She came to my father’s
funeral mass.”

“You lie,”
he growled.

“Nay,
Geoffrey. ‘Twas your wife I saw. I remembered her from . . . from when you were
first taken. She and others came to Winterbourne, asking about you. If anyone
had seen you. Or had word about you. She was so pretty. I found myself
tongue-tied around her.”

Hardi
paused. “She’s more than pretty now, Geoffrey. She’s beautiful. The most
beautiful woman I have laid eyes upon. And she wore the sapphire brooch you
told me about.”

“The
brooch.” Just thinking of the brooch left him weak. “She wore . . . my brooch.”
His voice cracked.

“I know it
to be so. When I commented on it, she told me ‘twas a wedding gift from her
husband.”

She still
wore the brooch.

“She . . .
she still lives . . . at Kinwick?”

“Aye.”

“She has
not . . . remarried?”

Hardi
frowned. “I don’t believe so. I would have heard that if ‘twere so.” He rose to
his feet. “You can go home to her, Geoffrey. But you must hear me out.”

He focused
on the boy—no, the man—in front of him. An eerie chill swept through him.
Something told him to gain his freedom, he was about to make a bargain with the
Devil.

His eyes
narrowed. “What do you want?”

“’Tis said
you were a man of your word. Even my father said as much.”

Geoffrey
nodded solemnly, knowing his next words might decide if he left this prison or
not.

“My word is
my honor. I would never dream of breaking it. Ask what you must, Hardi. I shall
give you my word, no matter what you wish.”

Hardi
relaxed. “I would not have my father’s reputation sullied. He did what he
thought he should to atone for Barrett’s death.”

“You mean
avenge, don’t you?”

The new
earl shrugged. “I ask two things of you. You will owe me these because I have
it in my power to grant you your freedom.” He paused. “First, you must never
tell what happened to you. I’ll not have Father’s reputation in tatters. No one
must ever know what he did to you.”