Read A Dishonorable Knight Online

Authors: Michelle Morrison

A Dishonorable Knight

BOOK: A Dishonorable Knight
4.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dishonorable Knight

 

by

 

Michelle Morrison

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Text Copyright 2012 Michelle
Morrison

 

 

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

 

Chapter
1

Chapter
2

Chapter
3

Chapter
4

Chapter
5

Chapter
6

Chapter
7

Chapter
8

Chapter
9

Chapter
10

Chapter
11

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

Epilogue

About
the Author

Chapter 1

 

One thousand candles lit the great
hall of Middleham Castle for the King was in residence and shadows had no place
in his court.

Servants stumbled over each other in
their haste to bring heavy trays of food to the thick wood tables. Nobles from
England, Wales, and even Scotland gathered ‘round those tables and they could
not want for so much as a morsel of venison or a joint of goose. The wine
flowed ceaselessly and the rich aroma of fresh-baked pies and thick stews
competed with the smoke from the great fireplace and the sweat of men who had
ridden hard hours to break bread with their sovereign.

At the head table, King Richard III's
closest advisors and most powerful allies jested with each other and drank to
his health.

Richard surveyed the assembly with
pleasure. A well run court and a sumptuous feast would do much to assure those
gathered that he held the throne securely; that no man, least of all some Welsh
bastard who had been in exile for a decade, could challenge him. Still, would
that he could be sure of support from the man sitting next to him. The smile on
his face quickly faded and Richard turned to the man seated at his right,
Edmund, Earl of Brackley.

"Know you not that I reward my
supporters well?" the king asked, his voice tight. He sought the earl’s
unqualified pledge of support should the Earl of Richmond, Henry Tudor, try to
take his throne.

Brackley laid down the bone upon
which he had been gnawing, but did not bother to wipe the grease from his
florid face or thick hands. Stout as well as heavily muscled, the earl’s dark,
hooded eyes peered from a harshly sculpted face. The earl was once handsome,
but cruelty was stamped in his features, leaving them coarse and unappealing.
That and the mutton grease glowing wetly on his chin contrived to squelch any
comeliness the earl might have had. "What need have you to reward
me?"

Richard's right hand fumbled with the
hilt of his jeweled dagger, sliding it halfway out of its sheath before shoving
it back in its golden casing. Deliberately, he grasped his right hand with his
left under the table to still its nervous movements. "That hell-spawned
Richmond will surely try to invade England again and I would have your pledge
of troops to crush him. It is but what you owe me as my vassal."

Wiping his mouth on the back of his
hand, Brackley leaned forward and grasped his goblet, taking a deep draught
before turning back to Richard. "Of course it is. But my men wish to be
home, working their fields. It will take much to pull them from their families.
Should I manage to persuade them, how would I be compensated?"

Richard knew Brackley employed a
force of mercenary troops who had never touched a plow, but he was not in a
position to argue. He had received word just this day of another defection from
one of his marsh lords to the west. He thought frantically for a title or
property he could bequeath the earl, but his resources were heavily tapped,
having given away many crown lands to ensure the cooperation of other powerful
lords. He tugged on the high velvet collar of his fitted cotehardie and
smoothed the fur lining of his cloak--for all outward appearances, a calm,
powerful sovereign.

"Tis said you are seeking a
young wealthy wife as your last was a sickly woman."

Brackley laughed heartily, holding
his goblet out to be refilled by a
passing serving
maid. "Nay, she lasted barely two years and her fortune even less. But
I've seen naught at this gathering to catch my eye. A wealthy wife is
important, but that she be comely is just as important."

And strong, thought Richard,
considering the rumors he'd heard of the earl's physical abuse of his two past
wives, both of whom died a few short years after wedding the man.

Glancing back at the earl, Richard
saw the man’s goblet pause halfway to his mouth as he stared across the great
hall. Turning, Richard spotted Elena de Vignon, one of his ladies-in-waiting
standing at the top of the staircase leading into the hall. She was a beautiful
and amusing woman and Richard had decided to keep her with his retinue after
his wife had died some months back. She had a sharp wit, which she cleverly hid
behind her comely face and delightful figure. She now served his niece, the
Princess Elizabeth, who was visiting Middleham.

"Now she might be enough to keep
a man loyal to Satan himself," Brackley murmured.

Richard quickly calculated the
benefits of offering Elena to Brackley. She was one of his favorite court
ladies and he had been prepared this very night to betroth her to Lord Edgeford,
a handsome young fop who would inherit a fortune as soon as his sickly father
passed away. Richard knew that the girl had been eyeing the young nobleman for
months, carefully enticing him. Richard was amused and slightly impressed with
the determination and shrewdness with which she pursued the insipid lordling.

With a flick of his nervous fingers,
the king batted away the young woman’s wishes. Clever favorite or no, the
safety of his crown was of greater importance than the marital whims of one
young woman. Richard turned back to Brackley with a careful smile, his fingers
alternately ruffling and smoothing the fur at his cuffs.

"Yes, but would she keep you
loyal to the King of England?" he asked in a low, harsh voice.

The earl glanced sharply at Richard
and then slowly leaned back to consider Richard's hasty offer, his bulk causing
the dried wood of the chair to creak in protest.

"She's got ties to the
Lancasters, but she has a tidy dowry set aside which I would be willing to
pad." Richard warned himself not to appear too desperate, but he was not a
man to underestimate his enemies and he wanted to guarantee that the Earl of
Richmond had a force to reckon with should he have the nerve to invade England.

Richmond was a distant relative of
the Lancasters, the rival branch of Edward III's descendants who had been
battling with the York household for England’s throne for generations. Richard
stood confident in his claim to the throne, but Henry Tudor's popularity
continued to grow, especially in that troublesome region of Wales. For the earl
was Welsh and that infernal tribe clung to its own. No, he would not
underestimate his enemy. Richard glanced to the young woman on the landing and
then looked back to the earl.

Brackley watched the girl descend the
staircase, and the king knew what he was thinking as if the earl had spoken the
words aloud.
What a rash fool you are,
Richard
, the king read. The earl no doubt realized that the girl had family
who would be more than happy to have connections to an earl—he didn't
need Richard's permission to wed her, not really. Richard bit the inside of his
lip and prayed Brackley would overlook that fact. Richmond's claims were
ludicrous and his chances of actually winning the crown from Richard were next
to nil. The earl really had nothing to lose.

"I accept, Your Grace."

Richard ran his hand along his
forehead, grimacing when he discovered the cold sweat there, but as he watched
Brackley, relief filled him and his confidence returned. He
would
be victorious, regardless of the
cost! Rising to seek out the other men whose loyalty—and troops—he
would need to keep the throne should Richmond invade, Richard scanned the room.
Spotting a man he had not expected to attend the hunting and feasting
activities, he stepped off the dais and made his way to the fireplace.

***

Across the huge room, a man Richard did not count
among the important and powerful, Sir Gareth
ap
Morgan, stared moodily into his mug. His grey eyes cloudy, he ignored the
drunken laughter of his childhood friends, Cynan and Bryant. A scowl marred his
forehead, but was partially covered by the dark brown hair that fell in an
unruly wave across his brow. His full mouth pursed in a grimace and his strong,
square jaw was hidden behind the hand in which it dejectedly sat.

What was he doing with his life?
he
thought disgustedly. Since he had become a knight nearly
a year before, he had milled about Richard's court, hoping for a noble
assignment which would put his courage and skill to the test. But the most
important task he had as yet received was to deliver a missive to the dead
Queen's cousin. Gareth rode to Bedford, carefully protecting the document
thinking it to be a matter of state only to discover it contained an invitation
to join the King here at Middleham to enjoy the hunting. Taking a deep pull
from the strong ale, he did not pay attention to the jest Cynan made regarding
his dark visage.

"He keeps scowling as such and
'twill soon be me fetching the maids to him instead of the other way
around!"

Bryant, slight of build and fair of
skin but with inky black hair, burst out laughing at the image his friend
evoked: that of the craggy faced Cynan wooing young women. Though the same
coloring as Gareth, Cynan's face showed the evidence of too many boyhood
brawls. On more than one occasion in their youth, Gareth had wooed a serving
wench with his good looks into a dark corner where Cynan had taken over with
whispered flattery, the woman never the wiser.

"If that be the case, he'd best
be joining the monastery at Dolwyddelan!" said Bryant with a laugh as he
nudged Gareth.

Jostled out of his reverie, Gareth
shook his head in mock reproach at the ale-sodden wits of his friends. The
three had been close since they were but young striplings in the mountains of
Gwynedd in northern Wales. Their fathers were herdsmen and both Cynan and
Bryant had been content to follow in their fathers' footsteps. But Gareth had
always thirsted for adventure and grew up convinced that his destiny
lay
elsewhere. After much badgering, his father agreed to
call upon an old family friend with some influence among England’s nobility who
had placed him in the service of a lord for knightly training.

BOOK: A Dishonorable Knight
4.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Mortgaged Heart by Margarita G. Smith
Adrift in the Sound by Kate Campbell
Monstrous Beauty by Elizabeth Fama
Seducing Peaches by Smith, Crystal
Double Play at Short by Matt Christopher
The Kidnapped Kitten by Holly Webb
The Rock Season by R.L. Merrill
The Place of Dead Kings by Wilson, Geoffrey