Page 1 of The Knight’s Reward

Chapter 1

Windsor Park, August 1274

Neill blocked out the murmurs and shouts of the crowd, concentrating on the position of his opponent’s lance. Making a slight adjustment to his shield, he vowed to defeat the Flemish champion in one pass. For his surrogate mother and father. For the Waryn family name.

For the king’s honor.

This was his chance to make a difference, to do his part to silence the murmurings of trouble along the border between England and Scotland.

Waiting for the knight marshal’s signal, he loosened his grip on his own lance just slightly, adjusting his stance as needed so he could take down both man and horse. The fact that no other knight had managed such a feat even once in the past three days meant nothing to him. He had decided he would do it, and so he would. When the horn blasted and he spurred his destrier forward, Neill held his position steady despite the movement under him. Despite the hundreds of pounds of horseflesh hurtling toward him.

One chance.

Lance straight over the horse’s head. Hit first. Hit hardest.

He repeated the words over and over in his head until the deed was done, his opponent unseated.

Slowing his mount, still breathing heavily from the effort that had lasted only seconds yet nearly shattered the bones in his hand, Neill tore off his helm and then his gauntlets. Handing both to his squire, he finally allowed the roar of the crowd to penetrate his ears.

Turning toward the stands, he searched the bright blues and greens, ladies’ gowns clashing against the red and yellow banners that hung on all sides. Finding Cora, Neill raised his hand and was acknowledged with a wave in return. She knew what he was about to do. They both did. And so, after accepting his opponent’s payment—his horse and armor, which Neill would give to a young knight in need of both—he joined the marshal in front of the most important man in the crowd. The one who stood in front of his makeshift throne in the stands, towering over his companions, and silenced the rowdy audience with the simple raise of his hand.

The king of England tended to have that effect.

“Sir Neill Waryn,” the marshal called out, “son of the late Lord Thomas Waryn of Bristol Manor and ward of Sir Adam Dayne and his wife, Lady Cora Maxwell.”

The latter Neill had insisted on adding despite the marshal’s protestations to the contrary. If his dead father would be acknowledged, then so too should the man and woman who’d helped raise him from a petulant young boy to the man that he’d become.

“Your Tournament of Peace champion,” the marshal finished.

Neill dropped to his knees and waited. When King Edward finally indicated that he should stand, Neill did so, bracing himself for the question he knew would come.

“Congratulations, Sir Neill. Your boon?”

The boon. The crowd remained quiet despite their numbers, each person leaning forward to hear what was said. Until this day, the Tournament of Peace had been the one tournament Neill had not yet won. Of them all, it offered the biggest prize—a boon from the king of England.

Neill darted a glance at Adam, who stood near the stands, before giving his full attention back to the king. Proud and unapologetic, King Edward was exactly as Neill remembered him from the last tournament. Power exuded from him—from the way he held his head to his upright posture. Damn if he wasn’t the only man Neill could remember intimidating him in a long, long time.

“My thanks,” Neill said, his voice strong and loud. “It has been a pleasure to serve my king and my country, a privilege bestowed on me by the grace of God,” he started, acknowledging his very pious leader. “But if you would grant me a boon beyond that privilege, I will gladly ask for it.”

More than one in the crowd gasped. Rightly so. Although he and Adam had agreed on this course of action, Neill almost regretted the words now that they’d left his mouth. By acknowledging the pleasure of serving his king as his prize, he was taking a huge risk. Edward could very well accept the offering and forgo the greater request he intended to make.

Reminding himself regrets served no purpose, he waited for the king’s response.

“Your answer pleases me,” King Edward said. “Your adherence to the very chivalric code I have vowed to uphold prevents me from accepting this”—he gestured to the list on which Neill still stood—“as your prize. Ask for your boon and you will have it.”

Had he pleased the king enough by that gesture to see his unusual request granted? He was about to find out.

“If it pleases Your Majesty, I ask that Lord Caxton be removed from his position as Warden of the Middle March.”

Neill’s previous comment had stirred the crowd, but his request inflamed them. When his words finally penetrated, the low murmur of conversation burst into loud chatter. Everyone was staring at the king and the young knight who’d petitioned him, but Neill didn’t pay them any mind. He never shifted his gaze from the one man who possessed the power to protect his family.

Lord Caxton seemed intent on breaking the peace at the border rather than upholding it, as was his job, and each day he served as warden brought the situation closer to a breaking point. The monthly Day of Truce, which had staved off battles along the border, had fallen apart under his rule. The Scottish wardens refused to attend the meetings until he was removed. Without the Day of Truce, reivers and murderers met with no justice as long as their crimes crossed over the border.

In other words, anarchy reigned, just as it had before the Treaty of York drew the first line between England and Scotland some thirty years ago.

Although Neill now resided in the south of England, the politics of the borderlands were never far from his mind. His two brothers and sister all resided along the border. The disintegration of the Day of Truce affected his family directly.

The king did not so much as flinch. Watching him, unwavering, Edward leaned over to speak with his second in command. Although Neill longed to glance at Adam and Cora, he didn’t dare look anywhere but directly at the king.