Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) (8 page)

Geoffrey’s
gut twisted, a physical pain as if he’d been stabbed.
Not tell where he’d
been all these years?
Still, if it granted him his release from this
Purgatory, he must agree to it.

“And the
other condition?” he asked.

“That you
will grant a favor to me in the future. You may not know what the favor is now,
but when the time comes and I call it in? You will acquiesce without question.
You must swear to this, Geoffrey de Montfort. Upon your word of honor and your
very life.”

He would
agree to dance with the Devil Himself if he could leave—and live.

“Aye. I
swear I shall never reveal where I’ve been nor why I was taken. And I swear
that I shall agree to whatever request you make without question.”

“Then you
shall leave Winterbourne tonight.”

Geoffrey
waited. Still in chains.

Hardi scurried
away after his promise to free him, hurrying back to life above. He had not
thought to remove the iron bands from his prisoner.

And so
Geoffrey waited. Patiently. Trying to keep his mind a blank. Hoping against
hope that Hardi did play some monstrous game with him.

The food
he’d eaten sat heavily in his stomach. He leaned his head against the wall,
wondering if this truly might be the final hours he spent in this hellhole.

Almost
seven years . . .

He fought
the urge to think about how much had changed at Kinwick. And if anything
remained the same.

Most of
all, he pushed aside thoughts of Merryn.

But Hardi
had said she was beautiful . . .

He must
have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, movement came from the stairs that
led to the bowels of Winterbourne. A faint light grew stronger.

And then
Hardi appeared. Geoffrey noticed how jittery he seemed. Of course, he would
want no one to see them—else explanations must be forthcoming. He hated that
he’d given his word not to speak of what wrong had been done to him, but it was
the only way he could escape from this living death.

Geoffrey
watched as Hardi removed the keys from the ring that hung in plain sight. He
tried several before he hit upon the right one. Slowly, he turned the lock. The
lock which remained in place all these years.

Suddenly,
the door swung open, squeaking on its rusty hinges. His heart raced in anticipation.

Hardi came
forward. He found the correct key and freed Geoffrey’s ankles first, then his
wrists. As the cuffs were tossed aside, he sensed a heavy burden lifting from
him.

“’Tis the
dead of night, Geoffrey. I could chance no one catching sight of us. You must
keep silent as we move through the castle. I will lead you to our postern gate.
A single guard is assigned to it in this time of peace.”

“What will
happen to him?” Geoffrey remembered the earl’s cold-blooded murder of the two
soldiers who’d kidnapped him.

“’Tis
already arranged. I received a sleeping draught from our healer. I told her I’d
had trouble sleeping the past few nights since Father’s death. She handed it
over straight away. I made sure some went into the guard’s ale before he
reported for duty tonight. We should find him fast asleep at his post.”

“And the
healer? ‘Tis the same one who tended me all those years ago?” Geoffrey touched
his scarred shoulder as he spoke.

“Aye. But
she will never tell another you were here. Father made sure of that.” Hardi
looked away as he stepped from the cell.

Geoffrey
sensed the bitterness in Hardi’s tone. “What did he do?” Somehow, it was
important that he know.

The new
earl’s eyes met his. “Before she even tended to you that first time, he cut out
her tongue.”

Horror halted
his steps. He remembered how the woman had gone about her business, never
speaking to him.

Now he knew
the reason why.

Hardi gave
him a pleading look. “I am not my father, Geoffrey. Nor would I ever be a
traitor to king and country as my brother Barrett was. I have many sins of
theirs for which I must atone. Tonight is but the first of many wrongs that I
am trying to right.

“Follow
me.”

Geoffrey
fell in behind his savior. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed other
worldly to him. He had to watch his balance as he moved along, even putting his
hand on the wall for support as they climbed the many steps.

Hardi led
him down several corridors, wall sconces flickering as they passed. They
tiptoed past the Great Hall, where dozens bedded down, and left the keep. After
countless turns, they arrived at a thick wooden door. The postern gate he would
use to finally leave the castle. Hardi unbolted the lock and opened the door
wide.   

A soldier
lay prone in front. His deep snores broke the silence of the dark night. Both
men stepped over him and moved away, keeping to the shadows of the wall that
surrounded Winterbourne.

Once they’d
gone a good distance, Hardi stopped. 

“This is as
far as I go.” He held out his hand. “No apology will ever be enough. Nothing
can ever repay the years you’ve lost. I only hope those to come will be kind to
you.”

Geoffrey
took the offered hand. His emotions got the best of him. He could voice no
words. He gave a curt nod as he shook and then released it.

And began
walking away. Back to his old life.

But could
anything be as it was before?

He moved
ahead without a backward glance. Sparse moonlight shone as the clouds drifted
across the night sky. Geoffrey took his time, carefully watching each step. He
reached the forest and continued on.

Fear
gripped him without warning. He’d experienced it on the battlefield, but Sir
Lovel told him all men did. It was taming that fear and forging onward that
separated the courageous from those who turned coward.

Yet fear
became dread with each step he took. The noises of the night caused his heart
to race. Everything once familiar seemed alien now. His world had shrunk to an
isolated few feet for many years. These wide spaces and nocturnal sounds now
made his stomach churn.

Geoffrey
tripped as an owl hooted, startling him. He pitched onto the ground and stayed,
rooted to the spot, his hands digging into the dirt. He crawled a few feet to
the trunk of a massive tree. He wrapped his arms about it and wept.

Free . . .
but not.

He still
felt as if he were trapped in that Purgatory. He feared continuing on.

Geoffrey
leaned against the tree and slept.

***

Warmth
flooded him. He stretched lazily and yawn. Then sat up.

Afraid.

Geoffrey
looked around him. He was in a wood. Sunshine cut through the covering of trees
and shone upon him. He brought fingers to his face and touched it. His skin
felt warm to the touch. Warm after so long of being chilled, both within and
without.

He looked
about. Strong light let him know that daybreak had come hours ago. He squinted
as the sun struck his face. It almost pained him to feel it. He wondered how
long he’d slept.

At least his
body felt rested. For the first time in years, sleep had been deep and uninterrupted
by a scurrying rat nibbling on his fingers. He held his hands out in front of
him. Years of dirt clung to his nails. His hands. His arms. Embedded so thick
that he might never feel clean again.

But what
turned his stomach most were the scars surrounding his wrists. The shackles had
left their mark upon him. Branded him so that he would never escape the memory
of them being about him. Restraining him. Keeping him from life itself as he’d
fought against them each day of his captivity.

Geoffrey
looked down and saw his clothes were little more than rags. His cloak might
break apart at any moment. How would he seem to the people of Kinwick, their
lord apparent coming through the gates looking worse than the lowest of beggars?

The least
he could do was rinse the filth from him the best he could. He knew of several
nearby streams where he could attempt to bathe before returning home.

Home.

The world
thrilled him—yet brought a sense of dread. He feared what he would find when he
returned.

He set off
slowly, his balance still a bit suspect. Everything caused him to jump, though.
Birds that flew from a tree branch. A squirrel that scampered along the path. Stepping
on a twig that snapped.

He’d never
been more unsure of himself.

Geoffrey
reached a brook. He heard it before it came into view. Eagerly, he hurried to
it, falling again and bruising his shins. He realized he was like a babe
learning to walk. He mustn’t rush. He must take his time.

He knelt
and cupped his hands, bring the cold water to his mouth. He drank deeply,
scooping it up again and again. He forced himself to stop before he made
himself sick.

Knowing he
was alone in the forest, he slipped from his clothes and left them on the bank.
As he looked down, his olive skin seemed so pale. All those years of being
hidden in darkness. At least he hadn’t wasted away. He was leaner than before
but not gaunt, thanks to the extra food Hardi sneaked his way and his
insistence in exercising his limbs.

Geoffrey
sank a foot into the running water. An icy chill raced up his leg. He brought
the other one in and stood, allowing the running water to rush over his feet. The
simple action filled him with joy. He stepped several feet in front of him,
till the water came mid-chest. Then he fell back, letting the water cover him
entirely.

He broke
the surface, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Then he leaned back into the
water until all but his face was covered and ran his fingers through his hair
again and again, roughly scrubbing his scalp with his fingertips. He did the
same with his bearded face, his trunk, and every limb. He longed for a bar of
soap, but he made do with a few stones, using them to try and cut through the
layers of filth.

Spent, he
exited the water and lay on the bank, basking in the sunlight. After a few
minutes of enjoyment, he took his clothes and dunked them. He didn’t think he
could scrub them lest they fall apart, but at least he could let the water run
over and through them. He spread everything out on the bank to dry.

And slept
again.

When he
opened his eyes, the light faded. The thought of darkness brought back the
fear. He began to tremble. He couldn’t show up at Kinwick shaking like a leaf.
He would return on the morrow, if possible. Without a horse, he was a fair
distance from home.

But the noises
that grew as daylight became faint caused terror to spread. He walked as
quickly as he could, away from the water.

And then
knew where he must go.

The hunting
lodge.

Geoffrey
halted as he saw it. The small building rested closer to Winterbourne than it did
Kinwick. His eyes searched the premises as he kept a tight rein on his
emotions.

The lodge
had an unkempt, forlorn look about it, as if it had been abandoned. His gut
told him no one had used it since the day his captors spirited him away from
here. He couldn’t blame his family. It hurt him to see it now, but he had to
confront the demons of the past. This scene brought him many nightmares over
the years, despite his attempts not to think of the place. He must stand tall
and face the past.

Especially
since it was here that the last happy moments of his life had unfolded.

He stepped
into the clearing and paused. He could see himself riding through that grove of
trees on Mystery, Merryn following on Destiny. They’d tethered their horses and
went in to explore the lodge. Geoffrey remembered her delight and how he’d
suggested they come stay for a week, just the two of them, lost in a world of
love.

He moved
with hesitation till he stood in front of the tree. It was here they’d spread
out the small feast he’d had Cook prepare for them. They’d dined and then
Merryn napped, exhausted from their night of constant love play. He’d planned
to return inside the lodge and light a fire that would welcome them. He would
make love to her in front of the firelight, watching it turn her hair into
shades of flame.

But he’d
fallen asleep.

And that
had changed everything.

A sudden
thought came to him, making his pulse jump erratically.

What if he
hadn’t fallen asleep? What if he’d slipped out from under her and gone inside
to prepare? What if Berold’s men had come across Merryn, alone and unguarded?
The earl’s plan was to make Geoffrey suffer in the worst way.

What if he’d
returned outside and found his wife gone?

The
soldiers could have easily taken her as well as him. It could have been Merryn
locked away all these years in that dank cell. He shuddered violently. Fell to
his knees. Vomited what little remained in his stomach.

Geoffrey
knew in that moment a small portion of the suffering his young wife had
endured. If the roles had been reversed. If he had lost her that November day,
without a trace. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what existing without her would
have been like.

It
frightened him what life would be like now.

As much as
he yearned for her and his former life, he realized nothing would ever be the
same.

He wondered
if he should even return to Kinwick.

They would
think him dead by now. Eventually, everyone would have moved on. Crops would
have been planted and harvested. Babies born and the elderly buried. Seasons
changed.

And his
absence finally accepted. Even by those who loved him most.

How much
would his return disrupt life at Kinwick? Would it bring more heartache than happiness?

Better yet,
how would he answer the question that would be on every lip?

What
happened?

He’d given
his word never to share where he’d been. How could he return to his wife, his
family, the people that looked up to him—and hide the truth?

 Darkness
began to fall. Geoffrey decided to return to the lodge and spend the night
inside the house. He picked a few berries to quiet his rumbling stomach.

He had much
to think about.

***

Geoffrey’s
eyes swept across the room. He sighed with relief. He knew these surroundings.
He knew where he slept. He was no longer a prisoner in Winterbourne’s dungeons.

He sat up.
He’d lain in front of the hearth last night. He’d wandered aimlessly through
the lodge, not knowing where to settle. Sleeping in a bed seemed so foreign to
him. He’d finally collapsed on the ground and curled into a ball, pillowing his
hands beneath his head.

Today he
would stop being afraid of his own shadow and return to Kinwick. He must face
whatever consequences awaited him. He still did not know how to answer the
questions that would come. His lips moved wordlessly as he begged God to show
him the way.

He left the
lodge and decided to try and bathe once again. Dirt was so ingrained into his
pores, he knew he must be a wretched sight. He began walking back toward his
boyhood home, his tread slow but steady.

Geoffrey
reached water again, this time a still pond. He could hear a frog croaking as
he approached. He knelt before the water, reaching out to scoop some to rinse
his face.

And gasped.

The image
reflected in the still water was that of a stranger. Another man. He literally
did not recognize himself—and this was after trying to cleanse himself
yesterday.

A heavy
beard had grown in, hiding his familiar features. His dark hair, once thick and
cropped short, now hung lank and long. A wild look in his eyes made him seem
like some untamed animal that had escaped with nowhere to run.

Nothing had
scared him more than catching sight of himself.

Geoffrey
decided in that moment to disappear. He would never fit into life at Kinwick.

Much less
the life Merryn had created without him.

She would
be better off never knowing what he had become. He’d been a merry man, full of
fun and stories. A good soldier and son. He thought one day he would even be a
fine husband and father.

But now? He
was but a ghost of himself. Frightened of every little noise in the surrounding
forest. He had no gaiety left in his soul. He was ashamed of what had been done
to him.

Why had he
not tried harder to escape? How could he have let Berold cage him like an
animal? Why didn’t he use everything in his power to convince—no, demand—that
Hardi release him?

Geoffrey
sat by the water a long time. Wishing he had died in that cell at Winterbourne.
Then his misery would have been his own. He couldn’t make the lives of those he
loved most miserable.

He would
move on.

Where? He
didn’t know. But he must leave the area. He could no longer remain in the
vicinity, knowing his old life was so close, and yet so far away.

But he
would continue on. Look upon Kinwick Castle once more. See it a final time.
Revel in its glory. Then escape into oblivion.

Geoffrey
bathed his face in the cool water and drank his fill. He didn’t bother to try
and wash his body or clothes again. It didn’t matter.

Nothing
mattered anymore.

He stood
and continue his trek, walking for several hours, trying not to focus on how
quickly Mystery would have returned him to the castle. Hoping the horse had a
master that treated him well.

At last, he
reached the end of the woods. The wide meadow, green with the spring rains,
stretched before him. And beyond it, in the distance, lay Kinwick.

Geoffrey
gripped the tree trunk next to him for support. A lump formed in his throat.
Seeing his home brought strong emotions to the surface. He gazed upon it with
longing and a touch of bitterness.

He didn’t
know how long he stood there.

Until a
figure came into sight. No, two. One tall and one small. A woman and a child.

Instinctively,
he scurried behind the tree and peered out from it. He could not afford to be
seen.

He watched
as they stopped and picked a few flowers. They were too far away for him to
hear any conversation, but he could see how the woman paused and held things up
to show the child. He now saw it was a young girl.

Geoffrey
smiled as he watched them, remembering how he’d gathered wildflowers for Merryn
before he left for Poitiers. She’d always been collecting flowers and various
herbs, for her curiosity had led her to following Wellbury’s healer about,
asking a thousand questions as Sephare taught her the medicinal use for what
lay in the fields about their estates.

The pair
came closer. He could now hear the child’s laughter bubble forth. The woman
cocked her head, and the girl did the same. They were so alike.

He froze.

By the
Christ, it was Merryn!

Merryn with
the child. Merryn picking herbs and flowers and placing them in the basket.
Merryn explaining what she did and why to the girl.

And it was
Merryn’s child.

His child
.

In that
moment, Geoffrey knew with certainty that his wife had born his child while he
was locked away. That they’d made a baby sometime on their wedding night or
that next morning. That their lovemaking produced this perfect young girl, so
like her mother.

She had Merryn’s
pixie nose. Her mouth. Her delicate limbs. And as the sun came from behind a
cloud and shone upon them, the girl had his wife’s hair. He’d always loved
Merryn’s hair. A dark brown indoors, outside when it caught the light, the deep
chestnut radiated a dark red.

Geoffrey
decided in that moment he must return from the dead. Already, he loved his
daughter with his entire heart and soul. Hope sprang in his breast.

He had a
family.

This child was
the answer. This daughter would help him to heal.