Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) Read online

  Word of Honor

  Book 1

  Knights of Valor Series

  By Lauren Linwood

  Windtree Press

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WORD OF HONOR, Book 1 in the Knights of Valor Series

  Copyright 2016 by Lauren Linwood

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Windtree Press except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information:

  4660 NE Belknap Court, Suite 101-O

  Hillsboro, OR 97124

  [email protected]

  http://windtreepress.com

  Cover Art by: http://www.romance-covers.com

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781943601981

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ENGLAND—1351

  CHAPTER 1

  NORTH OF AQUITAINE, FRANCE—1356

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  ENGLAND—November, 1356

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  KINWICK CASTLE—May, 1363

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  EPILOGUE

  Christmas, 1371

  Coming Soon – Marked by Honor – Book 2 in the Knights of Valor Series

  Available July 2016

  Coming Soon – Code of Honor – Book 3 in the Knights of Valor Series

  Available October 2016

  Also by Lauren Linwood

  Medieval Historical Romances

  Western Historical Romances

  Romantic Suspense Novels

  A Note from Lauren

  PROLOGUE

  ENGLAND—1351

  “So you think you can tell me what to do now? Order me about?” Merryn Mantel’s sapphire blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she leaned against the sturdy oak outside the gates of Kinwick Castle.

  Geoffrey de Montfort gave his newly-betrothed a smile. The sunlight fell upon her hair, which spilled in waves to her waist. Usually dark in color, the light brought out burnished red highlights, making it a rich shade of chestnut.

  “I assume you understand that our betrothal is a legally binding contract. That we’re as good as married.”

  Except for the consummation.

  But that would be another few years. At ten and six, he knew he had time to sow his wild oats before making Merryn his.

  “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 hide the smile that threatened to show itself. “I believe that will be a part of our actual vows. 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 lucky in that theirs would be a love match, a rare exception to most noble marriages. He’d known her practically from her birth since their fathers’ estates adjoined one another.

  And looking at her budding figure, it wouldn’t only be his mind attracted to her. When the time came for their true marriage, the physical would play its part in their union. He saw them with many children.

  And many nights of making those children.

  He came and stood next to her. Lifting a curl, he twirled it about his finger. He studied it with interest, dreading to tell her of the long separation ahead.

  “I must return and finish my service to Sir Lovel first,” he explained.

  “Will you go to France again before we marry?”

  He nodded, reveling in the silky feel of the single curl he toyed with. Longing for the day they would be married and he could bury his hands in her hair. “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 page and then squire. I hope I shall 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 does not allow you on the battlefield.” A frown crossed her face.

  “What ails you?”

  She lowered her eyes to the ground. “’Tis nothing.”

  Geoffrey’s fingers lifted her chin till their eyes met. “We have no secrets from one another, Merryn. We never have. ‘Tis nothing but trust that flows between us. I’d know your mind if you’ll but allow me.”

  She placed a hand against his chest. His pulse jumped at her touch.

  “I fear you may not come home to me,” she whispered.

  “You have seen me spar. I’m quick with a sword or mace.” He brought a hand to cup her cheek. “And I know you wait for me. 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 bent and brushed his lips next to hers in their first kiss.

  He broke the kiss and grinned. “We’ll have plenty of time for love play someday.” He reached down and snatched a few wildflowers. Lifting her hand, he placed them in her palm.

  “I know how much you enjoy picking flowers and your herbs. Think of me when you do so each time. Until I return.”

  Merryn set the flowers on the ground. She reached and unclasped the delicate gold necklace she always wore and fastened it around his neck.

  “I know ‘tis suited for a woman, but you can wear this cross under your gypon. Wherever you go, I shall be close to your heart.”

  Her gesture touched him. He brought the cross to his lips and pressed a kiss against it before slipping it under his clothing.

  Geoffrey took her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles before lacing his fingers through hers.

  “I promise I shall come home to be your husband, Merryn.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Who knows? Mayhap I shall serve as your slave instead.”

  CHAPTER 1

  NORTH OF AQUITAINE, FRANCE—1356

  “I have enjoyed our time together this eve, Sir Thomas. You are a great hero of our battle at Crecy. I thank you for explaining to me this scorched earth policy the Black Prince has chosen.”

  Geoffrey raised his cup to Felton,
a warrior valued by the king and now the king’s son, another Edward and heir to England’s throne.

  “You have a keen mind, Geoffrey de Montfort. ‘Twas time well spent. One can never be too prepared upon facing the enemy. Discussing Crecy and our recent ventures north from Aquitaine help me solidify what strategies we’ve used. And think about what’s to come in the weeks ahead.”

  “Victory, of course!”

  Both men laughed. Geoffrey excused himself, spent from the day’s activities. As he made his way back to his gear, his eye caught a furtive figure in dark clothing slinking along the edges of the camp. It drew his curiosity. He began to follow 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 and not be seen? Having a few whores in camp was common.

  Unless she happened to be up to no good.

  He continued to track her movements. She scurried past the Black Prince’s tent, which Geoffrey knew held all the key players in conference tonight as they firmed up their tactics for when they reached the River Loire and the town of Tours. They’d seen little resistance in their war campaign so far, burning towns and living off the bounty of the countryside to save their supply lines. He had faith in England’s leaders and its young, daring prince.

  But this woman and her 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 advisors. Geoffrey knew the earl would be amongst those leaders meeting with the Black Prince.

  So why was this whore in his tent?

  Mayhap she’d been hired to greet Oxford when he returned. If so, would she not openly walk about if she had nothing to hide?

  He stood and watched the tent for some minutes. He didn’t want to overstep his bounds, but he believed this woman had a nefarious purpose up her sleeve. She might try to harm the earl.

  She might even be a spy.

  Geoffrey pushed his hesitation aside and started for the tent. When he reached its opening, he heard the moans of lovemaking. He stopped. If the earl met with the Black Prince, then who rutted about in his tent?

  He parted the flap and glanced inside. A few candles stood lit at the far side. He made out the silhouettes of a man and woman. The woman, bent over a table, whimpered as the man, standing behind her, pumped away. He started to leave when the man spoke.

  It was Barrett of Winterbourne.

  Five years older than he, Barrett was son to Berold, earl of Winterbourne, which lay to the north of Kinwick. His family had never been close with that of the earl’s, preferring the company of Merryn’s family, whose estate was south of Kinwick.

  Geoffrey knew Barrett had fostered with Oxford, which gave him some reason to be inside the earl’s tent. But rutting away with a common whore?

  “Here is 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 a French whore a map? And of what?

  Geoffrey moved from the entrance to stand some twenty yards away. He wanted to see what happened next.

  He heard voices and looked to his right. A group of men headed his way.

  Including Oxford . . . and the Black Prince.

  At that moment, the woman slipped from the tent and hurried away.

  “Stop!” he called out to her.

  She never slowed and did not turn. Instead, she picked up her pace.

  “Stop her!” he cried. “She’s a spy!”

  Men who’d already bedded down for the night began stirring. One standing up to piss grabbed at the woman and missed. Geoffrey took off running. He caught 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. She dropped to her knees but turned and 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 nodded to one of his guard. The man pulled the woman to her feet. She struggled, but he held her firm.

  And found the parchment tucked into her cote-hardie.

  At that moment, Geoffrey saw Barrett step from the tent, slinking away while everyone’s attention was focused elsewhere.

  “He gave it to her.”

  The crowd gathered turned to where he pointed. Barrett stopped and then haughtily strode toward him.

  “I have no idea of what you speak, de Montfort.”

  Geoffrey refused to capitulate. “I heard you tell her to take the map. What is it of? Our troop movements? Are you not a traitor to provide information to our enemy?”

  Barrett looked over at the woman as if he had never seen her before. “A whore? You think I gave a map to some French whore?” He laughed. “Next thing I know, you’ll venture to say I’m a spy for King Jean.”

  His humor fell flat. Those gathered about shifted uneasily.

  Geoffrey said, “I saw you rutting with her. You told her to hide the map so no one would see it.”

  The nobleman refused to back down. “You’re mad to think that! You must be deep in your cups to make such a foolish accusation.”

  “Nay, he is not.”

  Sir Thomas Felton looked to the prince. “I spent most of my evening with this knight. He is not drunk, my lord. Nor is he a fool who would sling a false accusation.”

  “’Tis many years of service Geoffrey of Kinwick has given me,” chimed in Sir Lovel. “I have never met a man more honest and loyal. His word is his bond, sire. I would trust him with my life. If Geoffrey says ‘tis treason Barrett of Winterbourne has committed, then treason it be.”

  The Black Prince held out a hand. His guard brought the map to him. Edward opened and scanned it. Then he studied each man in turn. Geoffrey could see he weighed what words to speak.

  Before he did, Barrett sputtered, “I refuse to be a party to such nonsense.” He turned and began to step away.

  “An innocent man would never disrespect royal blood in such a manner.” Edward gazed steadily at Barrett, who pivoted and faced the prince, fear evident on his face.

  “Compurgation!” he cried. “I demand compurgation.” Barrett’s eyes wildly scanned the crowd surrounding them. “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 man stepped forward. Silence blanketed the area.

  “Then trial by battle!” Barrett demanded.

  Oxford gestured to the prince and pulled him aside. Geoffrey stood near enough to hear their quiet conversation.

  “The Treason Act of 1351 is clear on this matter, sire. ‘Tis high treason if this man provided aid to our enemies. Would the map help them in attacking us?”

  “Possibly. Or ‘tis petty treason if he betrayed his superior. That would be you, John,” the prince noted. “’Tis unclear what this whore would have done with the parchment.” He glanced at Geoffrey and then at the crowd. “I shall grant this request of trial by battle.”

  The Black Prince eyed him carefully. “As accuser, you, Geoffrey of Kinwick, will do battle against Barrett of Winterbourne.”

  He’d never heard of trial by battle. His expression must have told the prince as much.

  “Oxford will explain the matter to you. I shall preside as judge. We commence at noon on the morrow.” The prince signaled his guard and pointed at Barrett. “Confine him till the trial begins.”

  He watched the royal guard escort Barrett away. Those gathered began melting into the sh
adows, giving him looks that made him uneasy.

  Oxford gestured to him. “Come. I shall explain the rules of trial by battle.” The earl disappeared into his tent.

  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 turned spectators ringed the field designated for the trial by battle. Four knights of the prince’s royal guard stood at each corner.

  He wore a thick, padded jerkin for the contest. The short jacket had no sleeves. He held his iron cap in his left hand and his wooden stave with steel tips in his right. John de Vere told him if the tips broke off to keep attacking with the long pole. He also could retaliate with his fists and feet. Even teeth would be allowed for the length of the contest.

  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 within the time frame, he would be declared the winner and acquitted of the charge of treason—and his accuser charged with perjury. If Geoffrey won, Barrett would publicly proclaim himself guilty of the charged crime.

  Most men convicted of treason would hang and just prior to their death, they’d be removed from the noose, 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.

  Yet noblemen convicted of the same crime suffered the more genteel death of beheading, with their lands being forfeited to the Crown. The earl told Geoffrey if he defeated Barrett, he didn’t know what method of execution the Black Prince would choose. The prince would need to make an example to his troops.

  He’d heard often that the prince was known for his open mind and fair nature, so he assumed Barrett would lose his head.

  If Geoffrey proved successful.

  He watched as William de Ufford, earl of Suffolk, escorted the accused to the field. His eyes met Barrett’s for a moment. They’d known each other as neighbors but had never been friends. Geoffrey had found the older boy arrogant and conceited, much like his father. He was relieved they fostered in different households and had little contact over the years.