Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1)
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Authors: Lauren Linwood
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
Cover Art by:
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Published in the United States of America
ISBN 9781943601981
Contents
NORTH OF
AQUITAINE, FRANCE—1356
.
1
Coming Soon
–
Marked by Honor
– Book 2 in the Knights of Valor Series
.
1
Coming Soon
–
Code of Honor
– Book 3 in the Knights of Valor Series
.
1
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.”
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 shadows,
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.
