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

  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.

  CHAPTER 14

  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 en
d 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.

  CHAPTER 15

  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 a
nd 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.”