A Knight's Honor Read online

  Falcon felt a cup pressed to his lips. Water trickled down his throat. It tasted like the nectar of the gods. When the cup was empty, she lowered his head. He man­aged to peel his eyes open and peer through gummy, swollen slits at the woman bending over him.

  "Am I dead?" he croaked.

  She smiled, bathing him in warmth. This had to be heaven, he thought.

  "You are alive, sir."

  Unless his eyes were deceiving him, which was a dis­tinct possibility, the woman smiling down at him was beautiful beyond belief. Hair the color of a golden sun­rise, held in place by a circlet of silver, cascaded over her shoulders in a spill of pure magic.

  "How can I be alive? Are you not an angel?"

  Mariah's answer was forestalled when Falcon's head lolled against the pillow and he became unresponsive. Seized by panic, she felt for a pulse in his neck, heaving a sigh when she found one.

  Mariah returned to her chair, smiling when she re­called his words. He thought her an angel.

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  The chamber was dark but for the dim light from a single candle when Falcon next opened his eyes. The woman was still with him, sleeping with her head resting on the bed. Who was she? Her bright hair beckoned him. He tried to raise his hand to brush a stray strand from her forehead and failed. What had happened to him? He had struggled awake from a nightmare, where monsters were attacking him, but that was all he recalled.

  He closed his eyes and slept again.

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  It was full daylight when Mariah stirred and lifted her head. She was more than a little startled to see that the man was awake and staring at her.

  "How do you feel?"

  "Like I rode full tilt into a stone wall," he rasped. "Do you know what happened to me?"

  "We think you were beaten and robbed by bandits who travel in groups and live in the forest. They left you for dead in the roadway."

  Falcon closed his eyes, trying to recall the attack that had left him close to death. His mind was blank. No rem­nants of his earlier nightmare remained.

  "Where am I?"

  "Mildenhall Castle. Are you thirsty?"

  "Aye." Mariah held a cup to his lips, and he drank thirstily. She rose. "I'll fetch some broth, you must be hungry."

  No answer was forthcoming. He had fallen asleep again. Mariah tiptoed from the room.

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  Time had no meaning for Falcon. Each time he awak­ened, either the golden angel, an old crone or a manser­vant who saw to his personal needs was in the chamber with him. He recalled being fed water, broth and some­thing vile-tasting. Of all his shadowy visitors, it was the golden angel whose presence he craved—she of the stir­ring voice and gentle hands.

  Falcon's head never ceased aching, even as his body's hurts began to heal. His brain was so scrambled he could recall naught of what had happened prior to his waking up in a strange bed. He didn't even know where he belonged.

  One day, despite his befuddled brain, Falcon decided it was time to get out of bed and test his legs. He sat on the edge of the bed until his head stopped spinning and then pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled, found his balance and took a step. When he didn't fall flat on his face, he took another, and another.

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  While Falcon tested his legs, Mariah sat in her husband's chamber, discussing the wounded man.

  "Is he young?" Edmond asked.

  "I believe so. Though his face is still somewhat swollen, he has the body of a young man."

  "Is he comely?"

  Mariah shrugged. "It's difficult to tell, but I believe his face will be pleasing to look upon once the swelling recedes."

  Edmond's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "How fortunate that he should come to us now."

  Mariah bristled. "Do not even think it, Edmond. We have no idea who this man is. He may have a wife and children awaiting him somewhere. He could be a com­mon criminal."

  "Do you think he is a criminal?"

  "Nay," Mariah admitted. "I would describe him as a fighting man, mayhap a soldier or knight."

  Edmond struggled to his feet. "I wish to see the man who has captured your fancy."

  "Edmond! I have done no more than care for a man near death."

  He resumed his seat. "Forgive an old man's musings, my dear. Find out his name. Perhaps I know his people."

  *****************************************************************************************

  When Mariah entered Falcon's chamber a short time later, she found him leaning against the bedpost, panting as if he'd just run a great distance.

  " 'Tis too soon for you to be out of bed," she scolded. "You must remain in bed until Edwina says you are well enough to leave it."

  "I cannot regain my strength if I lie in bed all day. There is someplace I need to be, though I cannot name it."

  "The only place you need to be right now is in bed. Let me help you."

  "I can help myself. Turn away, lady; I am unclothed."

  As if suddenly aware of Falcon's state of undress, Mariah turned her back.

  Slowly Falcon eased his way into bed and pulled the coverlet up to his waist. "You can turn around now."

  Mariah turned. "Are you hungry?"

  "Famished. How long have I been here?"

  "Seven days."

  His eyes widened. "Seven days? Truly?"

  The swelling around his eyes had receded, and for the first time Mariah saw their color. They were golden and compelling, not dark as she had imagined. Distracted by her discovery, Mariah took a moment to recall his ques­tion. "Truly, sir."

  "You called me sir. Do you not know my name?"

  "You have yet to provide one."

  Falcon stared at her. "I was hoping you could tell me."

  Mariah gasped. "What are you saying?"

  His eyes glowed with desperation. "I recall naught be­fore the moment I woke up in this bed. I hoped you could help me remember."

  Mariah shook her head, saddened by his plight. "I have never seen you before you were brought to the castle, grievously injured and near death. Mayhap your head in­jury resulted in a temporary loss of memory. I have heard of such a thing happening. I'm sure you will remember in time. I will consult with Edwina about your memory loss."

  Disheartened, Falcon sank against the pillow and closed his eyes. "Whenever I try to think, my head feels as if a thousand demons are bedeviling me. Of what use am I? I can't even use the chamber pot without help."

  "I'll send a manservant to help you. Do whatever it is you need to do while I fetch you something to eat."

  "Wait! I have a question."

  Mariah turned away from the door. "What is it?"

  "Who are you?"

  "I am Mariah of Mildenhall."

  The door opened. Edmond tottered in, assisted by two servants. They eased him into a chair and left to await him outside the chamber. He studied Falcon for several minutes, then smiled.

  "Edwina said you would live, and she was right."

  "Who are you, sir?" Falcon asked.

  "I am Edmond, Earl of Mildenhall."

  "Forgive me for not rising, my lord. Your daughter tells me I have been the recipient of your hospitality for sev­eral days."

  The old man's eyebrows lifted. "Ah, yes, my daughter Mariah. 'Tis a sad thing to be widowed so young."

  Mariah shot her husband a warning look. "Edmond—"

  Edmond held up his hand. "Please, Mariah, I wish to speak to the young man. What is your name, sir?"

  "I was hoping someone here could tell me," Falcon answered.

  "Can you not remember?"

  "Nay. I feel as if I should be somewhere but cannot re­call where. Do you know me? Can you tell me my name
?"

  Edmond shook his head. "I have never seen you before, so 'tis safe to say you are not from these parts. Do not worry, lad, you are welcome at Mildenhall while you re­gain your memory. Besides, Edwina tells me it will be weeks before you are able to travel. I pray you will accept our hospitality while your mind and body heal. It would be remiss of me to send you away without a memory."

  "Thank you, my lord," Falcon replied in a voice made hollow with despair. Not knowing his name or origins was a humbling experience.

  "Forgive me for cutting my visit short, but as you can

  see, I am not a well man." Edmond held out his hand to Mariah. "Come, daughter, I would have a word with you in my chamber."

  Mariah kept her silence until Edmond was settled in his bed and the servants dismissed.

  "Whatever were you thinking?" she demanded, round­ing on him. "You deliberately lied to ... to ... Oh, I don't even know what to call him."

  "Call him a miracle sent by God to save us, to save you. That young man is a maiden's dream."

  "I am not a maiden. I am a wife. Your wife."

  Edmond shook his head. "I have never been a true hus­band to you. Let me die in peace. Give me an heir to save Mildenhall and carry on my name and title."

  "Do not push me into this, Edmond, I beg you. If I did what you asked, I could have a daughter, and then where would I be?"

  "That young man I just saw will give you a son."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Some believe Edwina is a witch. I do not believe in witches, but I do believe she can see things others cannot. She knows how desperately I need an heir, and told me the nameless man in the bed will give you a son."

  "No one but God can determine that," Mariah insisted.

  "You know Edwina's predictions have proven true in the past. Why are you being so obstinate about this?"

  "Because what you suggest is a sin."

  Edmond closed his eyes. "Leave me," he said wearily. "I will die soon and cannot bear the thought of Osgood forcing you from your home or into an intolerable mar­riage with his son."

  Mariah hesitated a moment before taking her leave. In-

  stead of returning to the sickroom, she went to the chapel to pray for guidance. She had never disobeyed her hus­band in all the years of their marriage, but what he wanted her to do went against God's law.

  The chapel was a peaceful place this time of day. Mariah knelt on the wooden kneeler, folded her hands and began to pray. To her dismay, her mind kept wander­ing to the man with no memory, the man whose golden eyes were filled with confusion and pain. Little by little his face had returned to normal, revealing a ruggedly handsome visage that would turn any woman's head.

  His body proclaimed him a fighting man. Was he a knight? Was someone he loved even now looking for him? Did he have a wife? A betrothed? She had to admit he was magnificently put together, and wondered what it would be like to have a man like that in her bed. Looking at him set off all kinds of wicked thoughts inside her head. She stirred restlessly, her body making her aware of feelings that were strangely arousing. Strange because she'd never had them before.

  She prayed harder.

  "You seem troubled, my child."

  Startled, Mariah looked up at Father Francis, the resi­dent priest. "I didn't hear you, Father." She concentrated on her clasped hands, embarrassed to be caught thinking impure thoughts in a holy place.

  "You were lost in prayer, my lady." He gazed at her, as if he himself were deeply troubled.

  Father Francis had come to Mildenhall many years ago; he was here when she had arrived to live with Edmond. Though he was old and not as spry as he used to

  be, his keen intelligence and sharp eyes missed naught that went on at Mildenhall.

  "I just spoke with Lord Edmond, Lady Mariah."

  Mariah's attention sharpened. She watched him with trepidation as he began to pace back and forth in front of her. "Is something wrong, Father?"

  "Lord Edmond told me about the stranger Edwina is nursing back to health."

  "What did he say?" Surely Edmond didn 't tell him what he wants me to do, did he?

  "We discussed the possibility of Lord Edmond's dying without an heir, and what it would mean to you."

  She clutched her throat. "Dear Lord, what did he tell you?"

  The priest swung around, his brown robes swirling about his skinny legs. "Everything."

  She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, no. You must for­give Edmond! He is worried about me and Mildenhall. I did not for one moment countenance committing such a grave sin."

  Father Francis continued his pacing. "Edmond is right about many things. Osgood is a cruel man. Our people will not fare well under his guidance." He whirled to face her. "Mildenhall will fall into ruin."

  He fell to his knees beside Mariah. "God forgive me," he implored. "Never have I been so challenged in my faith. What Edmond suggests is a sin, yet I cannot con­demn his reasoning or fault his judgment, for it is sound. Mildenhall needs an heir to survive, and Edmond cannot give you one."

  Mariah leapt to her feet. "I must go."

  "I will pray on this dilemma," Father Francis said, waving her off.

  Mariah all but ran out the door. Had the world gone mad? How could a man of God condone adultery? Yet... yet, the priest had all but encouraged her to se­duce the nameless man who had come to them. A laugh caught in her throat. As if she knew how to seduce a man. Her steps slowed. Would he welcome her attention should she offer it?

  Edwina hailed Mariah in the great hall. Mariah stopped and waited for the healer. "What is it, Edwina? Is there a problem with your patient?"

  "Nay, he is progressing well, milady. I just left him. He asked about you. He wanted to know how your husband had died."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "Naught. Tis for you to decide whether or not you will make the sacrifice for Mildenhall."

  "Aye, it is my decision, my sacrifice," Mariah agreed. She walked away, her mind in turmoil. Without realizing where she was headed, she found herself climbing the stairs to the solar and entering the injured man's chamber.

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  Falcon was restless. He had asked Edwina for a looking glass. She had brought him a silver tray, polished to a high sheen. He had gazed upon his face for the first time and seen a stranger—a man with no past and no future.

  Earlier today, a manservant had scraped the hair from Falcon's face. He had hoped he would recognize his face without hair. A familiar feature, mayhap. He had seen naught but a man with odd golden eyes, dark hair, twin slashes of black eyebrows and generous lips. Though his

  nose was somewhat long, the dimple in his chin softened his harsh features.

  He had found a scar above his left eyebrow and another to the right of the dimple. And he didn't remember how he'd come by either of them! Earlier he had discovered scars on his left thigh and right knee. The only thing he could deduce from his findings was that he was a fighting man, which would also account for his muscular build.

  Falcon had never felt more alone or desperate, or at least he thought he hadn't. And then Mariah entered the chamber, bringing sunshine and wamtfh, chasing away the fear that threatened to consume him.

  "Edwina said you were asking questions about me."

  A corner of his split lips lifted into a half smile. "Whenever you are with me I feel better," Falcon said. "Stay awhile and talk to me. Tell me about yourself."

  Though she feared she was making a mistake, Mariah sank down into a chair. "What is it you want to know?"

  "Your father said you were a widow. How long ago did your husband die?"

  Mariah should stop this charade now. "A few months ago."

  "How did he die?"

  How? "A ... hunting accident. Please, I don't want to talk about him."

  "You must have loved him very much."

  Mariah sought a way to change the subject and found it. "We sh
ould give you a name until you can remember your own. Do you have a preference?"

  His brain scrambled for memory, found only terror and empty spaces. He shook his head.

  Mariah cocked her head and tapped her lips with a fin-

  gertip. Falcon felt a stirring he knew was not new to him. Aye, this golden-haired, blue-eyed angel stirred him, made him feel alive and eased his fear.

  "You are beautiful, lady," he murmured, unable to help himself. "Your husband was a lucky man."

  "I... I suppose. We were talking about your name. What shall I call you?"

  A sense of angry impotence filled him. He didn't know! His mind was as blank as a newborn babe's. He sent her a look fraught with terror.

  Mariah's heart ached, unable to bear his pain. "Until you regain your memory, I shall call you Sir Knight. Now you should rest, and I have duties to attend."

  He grasped her hand. "Nay, do not go. When I am alone, I am consumed by demons."

  How could Mariah refuse? "Very well. I will stay for a little while."

  Chapter 2

  Mariah perched on the edge of the bed. Who was this man? She knew he was feeling terror—anyone would in his situation. It must be frightening to look at your own face and see a stranger, or to have your memory com­pletely erased. Though she felt attracted to him, that attraction hadn't lessened her sense of right and wrong.

  "What are you thinking?" Falcon asked.

  She blushed and looked away, relieved that he could not read her mind.

  His gaze swept over her. She was wearing a blue gown today, a color that closely matched her eyes. The neckline was modest, but it did naught to disguise the lush curves of her breasts.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" Mariah asked.

  "You are fair to look at. Are you sure we have never met before?"

  "Aye, Sir Knight, I never set eyes on you until you were brought to Mildenhall. Perhaps I resemble your mother, or wife."

  Falcon looked away, as if searching for something fa-

  miliar. "Nay, I am sure my mother is not fair like you, and I feel no connection to a wife. Although ..."

  "What?"

  He shook his head. "I am confident I am not wed."

  Reaching out, he stroked her cheek. She pulled back as if stung.

  "Forgive me, I had no right."