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

  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?”

  CHAPTER 16

  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.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Merryn tamped down her nerves and entered the Great Hall, empty except for their guest.

  Sir Symond Benedict stood next to the fire, a contemplative look upon his features. He was much as she remembered him. Fair-skinned, with a beard and head full of red hair, which now glowed a fiery orange in color as the firelight played against it. Where Geoffrey was tall and broad-shouldered, Symond stood several inches shorter. More wiry and compact.

  He caught sight of her, so she went to join him. As she journeyed the length of the Great Hall, she realized she couldn’t reveal her husband’s presence to him yet. Geoffrey wanted to return to Kinwick in secret. If he cherished his privacy so much, she was loathe to expose him before he even entered the gates. She would have to determine a way to break the news to this suitor that he longer had a claim to press.

  “Lady Merryn.” He bowed, his eyes meeting
hers and then looking away. She remembered how shy he’d been on his last visit here a few years ago.

  “Sir Symond. ‘Tis a surprise to find you at Kinwick. We were not expecting you until the king’s arrival in June.”

  He nodded, a reluctance in his brown eyes. “The king sent me ahead. He wished for me . . . that is, for us . . . to spend some time together.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “He thought I might enjoy seeing the castle and lands and . . . getting to know you.”

  “I see.” Merryn looked about. “Have you received food? And drink?”

  “Aye, my lady. Your servants have been most accommodating.”

  She had not the faintest idea what she should say next. He stared at his boots. The silence stretched on.

  “We must prepare a room for you,” she proclaimed, glad to have an activity to focus on.

  “Your servant has readied one for me,” he shared. “But I have yet to see it.”

  “Ah, that is good.” She hesitated. “Have you come from very far?”

  He nodded. “’Twas a good ways I rode.”

  “Then I insist that you rest this afternoon.”

  “Nay, my lady. I’m not one for being idle.”

  What was she supposed to do with him? She needed to gather food and clothing for Geoffrey and take it to him. She had no time—nor inclination—to entertain a surprise visitor.

  Especially one that assumed he would soon marry her.

  At that moment, fate intervened. Ancel came dashing in, running full speed till he reached them. He waved about the sword that Raynor had whittled for him.

  “Mother! I—”

  “Are you supposed to run with a sword in your hand?”

  “No, but—”

  “Cousin Raynor has told you ‘tis not a toy, Ancel. You must treat it with care. You don’t want to fall and hurt yourself or others with it. ‘Tis an important tool to learn from.”

  Her son hung his head. “I am sorry, Mother.” He raised his eyes. “Who is this? You look like a knight, good sir.”