Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) (9 page)

Merryn led
Alys from the castle, enjoying in the mix of cool air with the warmth of the
sun on this mid-May day. Woodland flowers dotted the meadow before them, the
bluebell carpeting their way as they ventured about.

“Take
these.” Her daughter handed her more flowers to place in the basket then danced
away, flitting about like a butterfly.

Alys had
inherited her love of nature and all within it. Already, Merryn taught her
about various herbs and their healing properties. She was happy to pass along
what knowledge she’d gathered over the years and delighted with Alys’s interest.

“Grandmother
needs more barley water,” Alys informed her as they strolled along. “She said
her head aches from a springtime cold.”

“Help me
remember. What do we put into the sester of boiling water besides barley?”

“I know!”
Alys cried, her smile wide. “We add two parisis of licorice and some figs. And
then let the water boil till the barley bursts.”

“Then we
strain it with cloth and add a bit of what?”

“Sugar.”

“Crystallized
sugar. That’s right. Drinking barley water will help Grandmother’s head cold to
clear up.”

Alys
skipped along then stopped. “Black medick.” She picked a handful and placed
that inside Merryn’s basket. Alys grabbed her hand and took off, tugging her
mother along till she stopped again for more woodland flowers.

“We need to
visit Hugh and Milla soon,” Merryn informed her.

“Oh, we can
take something for Milla’s cough. We’ll need licorice again.” Alys’s face
scrunched up as she thought. “But I don’t know what else.”

“We’ll add
vinegar to the ground licorice.”

Alys
laughed. “And honey. I remember now. Because we put it on the fire and warm it
till the licorice dissolves. Then you put in the honey so it won’t be bitter.”

Merryn
stroked the girl’s hair. “That right, my love. You are certainly learning
quickly. You know more at your age than I did when I was twice that.”

“I get to
be six soon. When, Mother?”

“August.”

“A rabbit!”
Alys took off again, chasing the small animal.

Merryn
thought back to that scorching August day. How huge her belly had swollen
during the summer months. She could scarcely breathe and could only manage
shallow breaths those last two weeks. Then her water broke, and the long labor
began.

Her hand
came to rest on her stomach. She wondered if she would bear more children
someday. If she would marry Sir Symond Benedict. She believed it to be what the
king wanted. He had exercised extreme patience with her, but she knew from his
missive that he intended her wedded and bedded to Sir Symond. And soon.

What would
that be like? Repeating the same vows before God that she’d spoken with
Geoffrey as she looked into the face of a red-bearded man. Speaking the words
that would bind her to a stranger.

Merryn knew
in her heart that the words would be uttered, but she would always belong heart
and soul to Geoffrey. She might grow to like—mayhap even love—this Symond. But
no one would take the place of her first, true love.

She glanced
at her daughter. More love burst from her. Even though Geoffrey was gone, his
legacy lived on.

“Pink
sorrels. And lilacs. Hurry, Mother. We must pick some. Grandmother loves
lilacs. She told me to look for them today, and they’re here. Look at the
blooms.” Alys scampered ahead to the edge of the forest.

Merryn
followed, humming under her breath. She spied some chamomile and bent to pick
it. She liked using it for fatigue and fevers, but it came in most handy to
ease birthing pains. She always liked to keep her store of it full. It seemed a
new babe decided to be born somewhere on Kinwick lands every other week.

“Ancel
skinned his knee this morning. He didn’t tell you.”

“How did he
do that?” Merryn asked.

Alys
wrinkled her nose. “He was showing off. He had the wooden sword Raynor made. He
jumped on a wall and swung it around, pretending to be a knight. I told him a
girl could be a knight, but he laughed at me and ran. And then he fell. And it
looked terrible, Mother. There was blood. And he cried like a baby. Knights
don’t cry. I told him so.”

“I shall
see to it when we return.” She gave Alys an appraising glance. “Did you offer
to tend it for him?”

“No.” Her
bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “I was mad. Can’t a girl be a knight, Mother? I
am brave. Raynor could make me a sword and show me how to fight.”

Merryn
ruffled her hair. “I think you are a very brave girl, Alys. And I will see that
Raynor makes you a wooden sword and teaches you a bit about fighting. But a
woman’s place is not on the battlefield.”

Alys grew
solemn. “Father fought on the battlefield.”

“Yes, he
did. Your father was a man full of courage and determination. He fought bravely
at Poitiers against the French.”

Alys leaned
against Merryn. “I wish I could remember Father.” Her voice was so forlorn.

Merryn set
her basket down and picked her daughter up, trying to bring comfort. Everyone
at Kinwick spoke of Geoffrey in the past tense. It had been decided from the
moment she found herself with child. She didn’t want the babe growing up and
hearing the questions and doubts. She’d made it known that her child would hear
tales of its father. It was important to keep Geoffrey’s memory alive. But she
insisted that all acknowledge that he died before the babe’s birth. She
wouldn’t put up with talk of disappearance and gossip.

“I know, my
precious girl. But I tell you stories of him all the time.” She kissed the soft
cheek. “He would be so proud of you, Alys.”

She set the
child back down and returned the basket to her arm. “We should be heading
back.”

“Wait! Is
that a lark?” Alys scurried off deeper into the wood.

Merryn chuckled.
Alys was easily distracted, especially if it involved a bird or animal. She
could run herself ragged chasing a butterfly, while visits to the stables to
give the horses a few treats could take an hour or more.

“Come
along, Alys,” she called.

A scream
pierced the air.

“Alys!”
Merryn lifted her skirts and ran toward the sound.

Her
daughter met her halfway, running as if a demon chased her. Merryn dropped the
basket. Alys leapt into her arms, crying, her tiny hands clinging to her
mother’s neck. Merryn soothed her.

“Was it
Davy?” she asked.

One of
their aging tenants had grown feeble-minded of late. He wandered about at all
hours on the estate. His wife had died two winters past, and he had no one else
to see to his needs.

Alys kept
her head buried in Merryn’s shoulder.

“Remember
that Davy would never hurt you,” she reassured. She decided it might be time
for Davy to go to an almshouse. He wasn’t mad. No exorcism would be necessary.
But Merryn believed that if he could frighten Alys this much, that they needed
to find a better place for him.

Alys lifted
her head. “Not Davy,” she muttered stubbornly. “A man. He called out to me.”

“A man?”
Merryn looked over her shoulder.

And saw a
man slowly making his way toward them.

Merryn spun
around and clutched Alys more tightly to her. Her daughter caught sight of the
stranger again and screamed. She pushed away from Merryn and scrambled down and
behind her mother, locking her fingers into her skirts and burying her head
into the back of Merryn’s knees.

She didn’t
want to frighten Alys anymore than she already was, so she addressed the man
quietly, yet gave him a scolding all the same.

“What are
you doing on Kinwick lands? You have frightened my poor child half to death. As
lady of Kinwick Castle, I insist that you leave. At once.”

She brought
her hands behind her back, touching Alys, keeping her from sight. Her chin rose
a notch, defying the man to question her authority.

“Merryn?”

He knew
her?

Her eyes
skimmed over the stranger and his ragged appearance. His clothes hung on his
frame in mere tatters. She wondered why they hadn’t fallen apart long ago. His
long hair, greasy and unkempt, spilled well past his shoulders. The thick, bushy
beard disguised most of his face. Who could this be?

He took a
few steps toward her. “Merryn.” He addressed her again, his voice breaking. She
heard longing—almost agony—in his tone.

The
sunlight came through the trees and hit his face. She saw tears brimming in his
eyes. Merryn froze. Her mouth fell open.

Geoffrey’s
eyes. Geoffrey’s hazel eyes.

“Geoffrey?”
she whispered. Instinctively, one hand reached for the brooch nestled on her
breast. “Geoffrey?”

“Aye.” He
nodded, his lips trembling.

Her cherished
husband. Back from the dead. But looking nothing like the man she married.

God in
Heaven, what had been done to him?

She held a
hand out to halt his progress toward them. Despite longing to throw her arms
about him, she must protect her child above all else. And Geoffrey had given
Alys a horrible fright. Merryn turned and gripped Alys’s shoulders.

“Alys,
love. I need to help this man.”

Her
daughter leaned around and stared at the stranger a moment before she met her
mother’s eyes. “Is he sick?”

“He needs
our help, my precious. And I need your help, as well, my big girl.”

Alys
brightened. She’d loved responsibility from the time she came out from the
womb. “What can I do, Mother?”

“Go back to
Kinwick. Find Raynor. Tell him to come here. To this spot. Speak to no one
else.”

“Not even
Ancel?”

“Especially
not Ancel. Just tell Raynor where I am and that I require his assistance.” She
handed the basket over. “Then you can take the herbs we’ve picked and put them
in the storeroom to dry.”

“And give
Grandmother her lilacs? They need water, Mother.”

“Of course,
my love. Send Raynor here. Take the herbs to the storeroom. Then go stay with
Grandmother.”

Alys
glanced back at the man, doubt in her eyes.

“I shall be
fine, Alys. Remember. Send Raynor. Leave the herbs. And take Grandmother her
flowers. You two must put them in water so they’ll continue to bloom.”

“Shall I
gather what we need to make the barley water for Grandmother?”

Merryn
kissed the top of her head. “That would be lovely. Now run along and fetch
Raynor. I will see you shortly.”

Alys took
the basket and skipped off, happy to be given tasks to perform.

Merryn
eagerly turned back, her heart racing. “’Tis truly you? After all this time?
You’ve come home.”

He nodded.
And looked as if he might sprint away at any moment.

“I prayed
you would come back to me one day.” She brushed away the tears that cascaded
down her cheeks. “No one believed you would. But I had faith. I would have
sensed if you had died. And now you’re here. Returned to me.”

A thousand
questions ran through her mind. His ragged appearance and reluctance to move
from the spot he was rooted to frightened her to the depths of her soul. She
longed to envelop him in her arms, yet she hesitated, seeing his unwillingness
to approach her.

“Oh,
Geoffrey. Where have you been for so long?”

Geoffrey
winced. Pain laced Merryn’s voice. This beautiful woman that stood before him—
his
wife
—had endured years of not knowing what had happened to her husband of a
single day.

He wanted
to answer her. He owed her an explanation.

But he’d
given his word to Hardi. His solemn oath that he’d never share with anyone what
had taken place at the hunting lodge that long-ago November day.

And the
nightmare of years that had followed.

He
hesitated to meet Merryn’s eyes. He’d never lied to her in his life, in the
many years they’d known one another, from childhood till their wedding and the
blissful night in their marriage bed. Never mislead nor misinformed her about
anything.

And yet he,
a man of honor, a man of his word, must now look his beloved in the eye . . .
and
lie to her
.

Knowing
Merryn, this would not go well. Though usually the sweetest-natured person he
knew, when something angered her, the red in her hair spiked a hidden, volatile
temper.

Geoffrey’s
gaze met hers. The pity he’d first seen on her face when he spoke to her died
away. As he remained silent, he saw her frustration build. A fire appeared her
eyes. The agony of those years of doubt were about to explode in anger. He
could not blame her.

She
narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. “I expect an answer, Geoffrey de
Montfort,” she ground out. “Where have you been? More than six years have
passed since that day I was forced to leave you stranded—immobile and injured—and
ride for help. Arriving again to find you gone without a trace. Missing. For a
day, which became two, and then a week, a month. A year. Then another and
another.”

Her hands
fisted. “Do you know how lonely the nights were? My fears? The doubts? And then
to discover I was with child—your child. To give birth. To bring life into this
world, all the while lingering in a Purgatory where I knew not where you were
nor what had taken you from me.”

Merryn
shook her head. “We told them from the beginning that you were dead. ‘Twas
better that way than telling them their father ran off or was abducted or God
only knows what else.”

His mind
swirled at her accusations. And then something she said triggered an incredible
surge of the impossible.

“Them?”

He saw
understanding dawn in her face. “Yes. Them. You have seen Alys.” She paused. “I
also gave birth to a son. Ancel.” She shook her head. “He’s very image of you,
from his wild, dark hair and olive skin to his impish smile and happy demeanor.
Every day, I have looked into my boy’s face. Every day, my heart has shattered
into a thousand pieces, never healing, because I could never be allowed to
forget you.”

Merryn
slowly crumpled onto the ground, bringing her hands to her face. No sound came,
but her shoulders heaved. Geoffrey knew she cried as she must have cried every
day since his disappearance. His strong, brave wife. She would not want anyone,
least of all their children, to know of her massive heartache.

He wanted
to comfort her. He wished to place his arms about her and reassure her. But he
remained rooted to the spot. He deemed himself unworthy of her and her love.

Merryn
composed herself and rose, glaring at him. “So you’ll not tell me where you’ve
been for over six years?”

Geoffrey
began pacing in a tight circle, feeling he’d been thrust back into that prison
cell. He couldn’t hide his agitation as he wrung his hands over and over.

“Merryn, I
. . .” His words trailed off.

He finally
decided upon his course of action. He hadn’t known what he would say in order
to keep his word to Hardi. He stopped and met her eyes.

“I cannot
remember what happened. Where I’ve been. How I came to be here.”

He sank to
his knees and lowered his head. Inside, he screamed, ready to go mad. He loathed
lying to her. Yet it seemed the only way at the moment.

Geoffrey
sensed her drawing near. For some reason, he couldn’t imagine her gentle touch
trying to soothe him. She should be disgusted by him, by his appearance and his
obvious falsehoods. She should not try and comfort him.

He leapt to
his feet and stepped away. Her outstretched hand fell away. He saw shock. Disappointment.
Hurt. All at once, they raced across her oval face.

“Geoffrey?”

He turned.
His cousin Raynor stood a few feet behind Merryn. Larger than life, he’d grown
even more handsome since he’d served as his best man on their wedding day. His
features had matured. Raynor had an assurance about him, a confidence.

That
Geoffrey himself had once possessed.
Before his life was ripped to
shreds by a mad earl bent upon his wicked, groundless revenge.

“’Tis truly
you?” Raynor took a few steps till he came to stand next to Merryn. “By the
Christ, where have you been these many years?”

“I don’t
know.”

Geoffrey
witnessed how his reply shocked Raynor to his core. His cousin looked to Merryn
and back at him before his eyes returned to Merryn.

In that
moment, Geoffrey knew that Raynor loved Merryn. Loved her deeply.

He wondered
if Merryn returned the feelings.

Merryn
recovered first. “Come,” she said softly. “Let us return to Kinwick. We shall—”

“Nay!” he
cried. “I prefer to wait. Till dark.” He felt the flush creep up his neck. “I
do not want others to see me in this state.”

Once again,
his wife and cousin looked at one another. “I see. I will return for you once
night has fallen,” she promised. “I will see you safely within the gates of
Kinwick.”

“You do not
need to be about in the dark, Merryn,” Raynor protested. “I shall stay with
Geoffrey here in the forest until night falls. We can wait till everyone has
bedded down to avoid any . . . uncomfortable conversations.”

“I don’t wish
to be seen,” Geoffrey reiterated. “By anyone.”

“Then I
shall return and bring a cloak for you. You may cover your head and most of
your face with it,” she promised. “I’ll bring food, too. Raynor, you will stay
with him till I return?”

Geoffrey
supposed she thought he might bolt if they both left. It wasn’t far from the
truth.

“Aye. I
shall remain with my cousin. But let me escort you till you reach the open
meadow,” Raynor suggested. He took her elbow and looked back over his shoulder.
“You will wait here, Geoffrey?” he asked politely.

He nodded,
not trusting himself to speak. He watched them depart.

And then
followed noiselessly at a distance.

They
remained silent until they reached the edge of the forest. Once there, they
halted. Geoffrey moved close enough to hear what they said.

“How did
you even know him, Merryn? By the ever-living Christ, he is unrecognizable in
those rags and his wild hair and long beard.”

“He
frightened poor Alys to death.” She hesitated. “Do you think . . . do you think
he’s gone mad?”

Raynor
considered her question. “No. But his reluctance to come into Kinwick surprises
me. Why would he not want a prodigal son’s welcome from his people?”

“I have witnessed
something similar before. I know no name for it. But ‘tis something that
happens that causes a person to lose all memory. A stable boy suffered a severe
blow to the head when I was young, no more than half a score. He did not know
who he was for several days, not even what his name was. He did not recognize
his parents or anyone from Wellbury.”

“But he did
remember eventually?”

“Yes, after
mayhap a week’s time. He still could recall how to groom a horse and feed
himself. Father allowed him to continue working in the stables. And then as if
he’d been struck by lightning, he suddenly remembered who he was and those
about him.”

“And you
believe Geoffrey may have suffered such a blow?”

“Or
something like it. But to lose so many years? And to turn up looking like a
beggar?” She shuddered. “I know not what to say, Raynor. Only that he’s
skittish as a newborn colt. My Geoffrey had nerves of steel. This man is but a
shadow of the one I knew and married.”

Geoffrey
watched Raynor put a hand on Merryn’s shoulder. “I will stand by you through
this, Merryn. We shall see if the old Geoffrey is buried somewhere within this
man. If not? If he’s gone mad? Then we will deal with that. Together.”

Raynor
wrapped her in his arms. Nausea rose in Geoffrey as he watched his cousin
embrace his wife.

“I shan’t
be long,” she promised. “I shall bring clothes for him to wear and a cloak.
Food, too, enough for both of you to dine upon until dark falls.”

Geoffrey
hurried back into the woods.

***

Merryn’s
heart raced as she journeyed across the meadow toward the castle.

Where could
Geoffrey have been?

He was like
her husband—but not. He seemed apprehensive. Shy. Fearful. Like some family pet
who’d been locked away for too long and finally escaped. It had happened to a
cat of hers once. She and Hugh had played hide and seek. The cat must have
followed her and then remained behind once the game ended, trapped once she’d
closed the door to the little-used room.

She found
the animal a week later. Locked away. Half-starved. A wild look in its eye. The
tabby never had been the same after that, forever growling and angry, no longer
the loving kitten she’d raised from birth. One day, it simply vanished.

And Merryn
had not been sorry to see it go.

She had
mixed emotions now. On one hand, her beloved husband had returned from the
dead. But he had the same look as her cat from long ago. Whatever he had gone
through, whether he remembered it or not, the experience had profoundly altered
him.

What would
their life together be like with him so changed?

She had so
many things to tell him. First, he must know that his father had passed away
nigh on three years ago. Geoffrey would now be lord of Kinwick.

If he could
assume such a duty.

She had
made all the decisions regarding Kinwick and its lands and people since Lord
Ferand’s death, acting on behalf of Ancel, the heir to Kinwick, whom they’d
thought held the title. Till now. She rendered the verdicts on Judgment Days.
She decided what crops to plant. She ran everything without question, allowing
Lady Elia to manage the household since she was far too busy to consider those
domestic duties.

Would
Geoffrey be able to take over such a monumental task in his fragile state of
mind?

And first
and foremost, she must consider the twins. How should she introduce them to a
father that they’d been told from birth was dead? How would they respond to
such news? Alys already feared him. How would Ancel react?

It hit
her—the king must be told. At once. All his plans for creating a union between
her and Sir Symond must be shuttled. For how could she consider marriage with a
man in the king’s guard when she already had a living husband?

This
worried her. Edward was far too mercurial to take news such as this in stride.
She must word her missive to him delicately, especially since she knew so
little about the situation.

Merryn
waved to the gatekeeper and entered the outer bailey of Kinwick. She would gather
food and clothing and get it to Geoffrey as soon as possible.

Then she
would return to the castle and write the most important letter of her life.

“My lady?”

She turned
and saw Tilda coming toward her. “Yes?”

“You have a
visitor. He arrived not an hour ago.”

“A
visitor?” The news baffled her. No one was scheduled to arrive at Kinwick until
the king and his court, but that was not until next month.

“Yes, my
lady. ‘Tis Sir Symond Benedict. He’s awaiting you in the Great Hall.”