Free Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) by Lauren Linwood Page A

as much as he could so that they would not grow weak with disuse. He
prayed—though that was more out of habit and not true belief. He’d long quit
raging against a God that would abandon him in such a manner. A small part of
him thought that his life had been golden as had Job’s. God punished Job for
his arrogance and took everything from him. Only when Job was truly humbled and
contrite did God reward him for his faith and bring riches back into his life. Mayhap
God would restore all he had taken from Geoffrey one day.
    Thus, he
prayed.
    He also spent
long hours reciting passages in Latin and Greek from The Iliad and The
Odyssey . He conjugated verbs in both those languages and French.
    And he
daydreamed. Of a life with Merryn.
    He limited
the amount of time he thought of her. If he didn’t, he might have driven
himself mad long ago.
    At first,
his mind couldn’t comprehend the evil lengths Berold went to in order to hold
him captive. He rejected it, railing against the earl. Against the world. All
that had cost him was his voice, worn hoarse, then finally gone after long days
and nights of screaming at the top of his lungs.
    The earl
appeared almost daily with his food allotment. The times he didn’t, Geoffrey
surmised it to be a feast day. Berold did love his food and drink. He supposed
the monster ate and drank himself into a stupor as he celebrated. Eventually,
he reappeared. Never contrite. But with a bit extra for him to chew upon to
make up for the days he did without.
    Enough of
those occurrences had passed for Geoffrey to know that time marched on.
    That—and
seeing Hardi’s growth.
    The boy had
been ten and two when Geoffrey had been locked away in this prison. Now he’d
grown a few inches in height, but he’d filled out considerably. His limbs and
bearing were that of a man.
    Geoffrey
hadn’t the heart to ask him his age, for it would only tell him how much time
he’d passed in this oblivion.
    He’d done
his best to gain Hardi’s confidence. They’d actually become friends. The boy
sneaked down to the dungeon several times a week, bringing him extra food.
Because of that, Geoffrey always kept his tattered cloak tightly about him. He
didn’t want Berold to see what he looked like. Not that the earl could see in
the dim light from the single torch he brought upon his visits.
    The rest of
the time, Geoffrey existed in darkness.
    Hardi even
brought a blanket every now and then, which Geoffrey used to lie atop. Even in
the warmest of times, the dungeon floor was cold to the touch, while the
dampness seeped into his lungs, making it painful to breathe. He made sure to
hide the blanket behind him during the earl’s daily visit.
    But no
matter how he tried, the boy would not consider defying his father to the point
of freeing Geoffrey. He’d hinted at it before blatantly coming out and
demanding to be released.
    He realized
that Berold had a stranglehold on his only surviving son. Hardi seemed
paralyzed with fear when it came to his father. No matter how much Geoffrey
tried, he’d never been able to talk the earl’s son into letting him go and
suffering whatever consequences Berold would mete out in retaliation.
    He looked
out the bars to the spot where he knew the key hung directly across from him,
tantalizing him every waking moment, though he could not see it in the inky
darkness. Even if by some miracle he could break through his restraints, he
still had the bars of his locked cell to get through. And even if he found a
way from the dungeon, how would he slink through Winterbourne unseen?
    He pushed
those futile thoughts aside and went back to going over Kinwick. He walked
through the castle daily, from the stores where grain and barrels of ale and
wine were kept to the highest turret. He visited the stables and thought of the
horses kept in their stalls. He roamed the land, visiting each tenant’s cottage
in his mind, holding conversations with them, asking about their children and
the needs