Once Upon a Christmas Past Page 43

  Finally, the bedding shifted a little. “Is that what you came to say?” she asked, her voice no longer muffled.

  Not exactly. “Why? Were you expecting something more?”

  A sniffling sound carried from her side of the bed. “I want you to leave now.”

  “I thought we could at least—”

  “Leave. Please.”

  She was crying.

  Helplessness and frustration tore through him as she pulled the blankets in around her again, shutting him out. He’d tried to resolve matters with her. She wouldn’t even grant him the courtesy of a brief discussion. What more could he do?

  The chair squealed on the planks as he abruptly stood. At least other folk saw him as a hero; a person worthy of being acknowledged and respected.

  If Mary couldn’t feel such about him, then so be it.

  Without a backward glance, he strode past the maidservant and headed to the great hall.

  Chapter 4

  The Great Hall of Branton Keep, Moydenshire - December, 1215

  “Kitten, if you ask me to tie ribbon around one more pine cone, I swear, I will do something rash.”

  Smiling, Mary secured one end of a garland of fir branches, gold silk ribbon, pine cones, and red-berried holly to a front leg of the lord’s table on the raised stone dais. Her heart warmed whenever she heard Tye call Claire, his wife who was also Mary’s best friend, Kitten. ’Twas a sweet endearment, especially coming from a big, bold warrior like Tye, but he adored cats, almost as much as he loved his flaxen-haired wife.

  Mary’s thoughts drifted back to January, when a romance between Claire and Tye, the illegitimate son of Geoffrey de Lanceau and also a hunted criminal, had seemed unlikely. Mary had been at Claire’s side on the snowy day Tye had besieged the castle at Wode, where Mary and Claire had been wards. Due to his late mother’s manipulations, he’d plotted to kill his father in battle; taking everyone within the fortress hostage had been part of that plan. However, brave Claire had won his trust and soon after, his love.

  True love had irrevocably changed Tye. There could be no greater proof that he and Claire were meant to be together than the babe born to them four weeks ago—a little girl named Isolde who napped now under the care of a nurse in one of the upstairs chambers.

  Brushing fir needles off her hands, Mary glanced wistfully at Tye and Claire, standing together at a trestle table below the dais. Six years ago at Christmas in this keep, Lady de Lanceau had told Mary that true love was exciting, unlike any other experience, and worth waiting for. Mary could only hope that she’d waited long enough and that soon, she’d be swept up in a romantic relationship as wondrous as Claire and Tye’s.

  Tye’s handsome, sun-bronzed face set in a scowl. “Kitten.”

  Not looking at him, Claire snipped more ribbon. “I heard you. But, you are going to have to be patient. I still need your help.”

  Muffled laugher carried from the three men who were sitting drinking wine by the hearth decorated with some of the festive garland.

  “Why are the others allowed to sit and drink, but I am not?” Tye grumbled.

  Claire put down her shears and faced him.

  “Do not look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” She’d spoken most innocently, but her eyes were sparkling.

  Tye’s gaze narrowed in smoldering challenge. The way Tye and Claire looked at one another…. ’Twas as if they were alone in the hall.

  When Tye reached up and gently smoothed hair back behind Claire’s ear, jealousy flared within Mary. Scooting sideways down the table, she busied herself with tying more of the garland to a middle table leg, while the piquant scent of fir sap rose from her fingers.

  While she’d been courted by a few suitors at Wode, she hadn’t yet fallen in love. In truth, the only man who’d intrigued her had been Holden. He hadn’t been very nice to her that Christmas years ago, but in risking his own life to rescue an infant, he’d shown that at heart, he was good and honorable.

  What might have happened between them if they’d met in different circumstances? Mayhap when they’d both been a little older? Regret tugged at her as she looped the garland around another carved table leg, for after he’d walked out of her chamber at Branton Keep, she hadn’t seen him again. For all she knew, he could have died long ago.

  Enough about Holden. Forget him. Enjoy the visit with Claire and the rest of the de Lanceau family and their friends.

  “There are only a few pine cones left,” Claire was saying. “We did offer to decorate the hall for your parents, and you are very good with the ribbon.”

  “I am very good at other things, too,” he said, his words becoming a lusty growl.

  Oh, mercy. Her face tingling with a blush, Mary straightened some holly in the garland.

  “I am well aware of your many talents.” Claire leaned in to kiss him on the lips. “’Tis why I love you so much.”

  Aww.

  Tye’s expression changed to one of deep affection, and his arms slid around Claire’s waist to pull her in close. Envy trailed through Mary. As she glanced at the men by the fire, she realized all of them were happily wed as well. She was the only one in the hall without a spouse.

  Ugh. What a sobering thought.

  A sigh drew her focus back to the hearth; to Edouard, the brown-haired son of Lord and Lady de Lanceau. He looked so much like his renowned sire, there could be no doubt he was the de Lanceau heir. A short while ago, Edouard and the other knights, Aldwin Treynarde and Dominic de Terre, had draped lengths of garland from the wrought iron torch holders bolted to the walls.

  To the embracing couple, Edouard said: “One would think you two were married days ago, not months past.”

  Dominic, sprawled in the chair opposite Edouard, chuckled. “Agreed.”

  “No need to use mistletoe on them,” said blond-haired Aldwin, sitting beside Dominic.

  His mouth tilting in a crooked grin, Tye met Edouard’s gaze. “Are you jealous, Brother?”

  “Jealous? Of you?” Edouard snorted and drank more wine.

  Mary straightened part of the garland. How she hoped Tye and Edouard would make an effort to get along, at least until Christmas was over. After reconciling with his father, Tye had been formally acknowledged as a de Lanceau; while Tye and Edouard had both been sired by Geoffrey, and were about the same age, they’d had different mothers. It hadn’t been easy for the half-brothers to accept one another as family, not when they’d been bitter enemies for years. In time, mayhap the rivalry between them would diminish.

  “I still think you are jealous, Edouard,” Tye said with grin.

  The other men chortled.

  Edouard scowled. “I told you, I am not. You must have a problem with your hearing, Tye. Do you have ribbon stuffed in your ears, or bits of pine cone?”

  Oh, dear. The conversation might well end in fisticuffs.

  Tye frowned. “My hearing is fine.”

  “If I may, you seem a bit out of sorts today,” Dominic said to Edouard. “Not your usual charming, good-natured self.”

  Still scowling, Edouard shook his head. “I am not—”

  “He is probably worried what Juliana is buying at the market,” Aldwin cut in. “He fears she will spend a small fortune on toys and sweets for little Rosemary.”

  “I am not worried about my wife’s purchases, and I am all for spoiling our daughter.”

  Dominic playfully smacked Aldwin’s arm. “I know what is wrong. Edouard wanted to go with the others today.”

  Edouard grimaced. “What?”

  Waggling his brows, Dominic added, “We know how much you love shopping.”

  Still in Tye’s embrace, Claire giggled. So did Mary as she moved on to fasten the end of the garland to the right table leg. No doubt Edouard, like the other lords, would rather eat his own toenails than spend the day browsing the noisy, crowded market. Edouard rolled his eyes, but then, as though admitting defeat, he raised his hand, palm up. “If you must know, I am unsettled by wha
t Father told us about Altingstow.”

  Dominic’s expression sobered. “’Twas indeed troubling news.”

  Aldwin shook his head. “Between his taxes and his conniving, the king is going to destroy—”

  “Beware,” Edouard said. “’Tis not the place for such talk.”

  Mary glanced up to find the de Lanceau heir studying her. By now, he must know he could trust her never to share what she’d heard? But, knowing the gallant Edouard as she did, he more likely wanted to protect her and Claire; they were safer if they didn’t know what had been discussed among the men.

  “Right,” Dominic said. “No more talk of our sovereign. No more surliness either, Edouard, or Tye, Aldwin, and I will haul you outside to the biggest snow bank and toss you into it.”

  Aldwin made a disparaging sound. “’Tis not a threat. He would enjoy that.”

  Edouard chuckled. “I would. I might finally win a snowball fight against Dominic. I lost far too many in the years I served as his squire.”

  Dominic grinned.

  “I doubt Edouard would enjoy a swim in the icy moat,” Tye said with a smirk.

  “Try that, and you three will be freezing your ballocks off along with me.” As the other lords exchanged glances, Edouard reached for the wine jug on the table beside him. “Very well. In the spirit of Christmas cheer, I will set aside my unpleasant thoughts.” Tilting the vessel, he peered down into it. “We need more to drink. I will fetch wine from the cellar.”

  “You could summon a servant,” Aldwin said.

  Edouard stood, his chair scraping back on the plank floor. “I am in need of a walk anyway. I will bring wine when I return.”

  “Running away, are you?” Tye goaded. “Leaving the rest of us to finish the decorating?”

  Edouard’s jaw hardened. “I am not running—”

  “Enough bickering,” Claire said firmly, stepping out of Tye’s arms. “’Tis the first Christmas we are spending together. We should all try and make it a pleasant one.”

  Dominic nodded. “For Geoffrey and Elizabeth’s sake, I agree. They have talked about naught else but having their children, grandchildren, and closest friends together for the holidays.” He shook his head. “Well, except for your sister, Edouard. ’Tis unfortunate she could not be here.”

  “The sibling that for some reason, I have not yet met,” Tye noted.

  “You will know her when you see her,” Dominic said with a fond smile. “She resembles her mother, and is just as headstrong.”

  “Hopefully next Christmas she will be able to join us.” The de Lanceau heir set his goblet on the table.

  “You mentioned a walk, Edouard,” Claire said. “I believe I will take one too. Tye, while I am gone, please finish the pine cones.”

  “If I must.”

  She smiled. “You must.”

  He sighed in grudging agreement.

  “Thank you. Our little one will wake from her nap soon. Before she does, I need a bit of fresh air.”

  Oh! The secret code. Mary straightened the bow she’d made with the garland’s gold ribbon then rose and crossed to Claire. They’d arranged days ago that if either of them needed a break from the family tensions, they’d use the phrase ‘need a bit of fresh air.’ “I will go with you.” Mary linked her arm through Claire’s. “We do, after all, need more pine cones to make table centerpieces.”

  “True.” Claire patted Mary’s arm, while Tye groaned.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Why am I wondering how much trouble you two can get into on a walk?”

  “I could accompany them,” Edouard said.

  “’Tis a kind offer, but unnecessary,” Claire quickly replied. “We will not get into trouble or be gone long. Once we have gathered the pine cones, we will come straight back.”

  Claire drew Mary over to where they’d left their cloaks and gloves. Envy wove through Mary once again as Tye helped Claire into her cloak; he even fastened the silver and gemstone pin that kept her garment closed.

  As Tye returned to the table of ribbon and pine cones, and Dominic and Aldwin resumed their conversation, Edouard left the hall. Arm in arm, Mary and Claire descended the forebuilding’s stairs then went out the door at the bottom into the wintry outdoors.

  A line of peasant folk ran across the bailey, under the gatehouse, and over the lowered drawbridge. Many of the serfs had brought goats, pigs, and chickens—rents owed at Christmastime to de Lanceau. Others were contributing sacks of grain or lentils, or barrels of ale. The steward was overseeing the receipt of the rents, with the help of men-at-arms.

  “Shall we go through the postern?” Mary suggested. “It might be quicker.”

  “Good idea.”

  They walked to the castle garden, trudging through what was left of the calf-deep snow that had fallen two days past. Some had melted and become muddy slush, but judging by the clear sky overhead, what remained on the ground would likely freeze overnight.

  Mary’s thoughts turned to Lord and Lady de Lanceau, Juliana, nineteen-month-old Rosemary, Dominic’s fair-haired wife Gisela, and the widowed Lady Brackendale who had traveled by carriage to the market several leagues away. No need to worry about their travels yet. His lordship would surely see his loved ones returned to Branton Keep long before the roads became treacherous.

  In the garden, she and Claire passed the fruit trees and snow-blanketed herb and vegetable beds then went through the postern door in the back wall. As Mary pushed the door shut, Claire asked, “Did you remember to bring your dagger?”

  “I always have it with me. I learned that from Tye’s attack on Wode.”

  Claire nodded and slipped her arm into Mary’s again as they resumed walking. “We should not need our weapons. The local town is among the safest in Moydenshire, but ’tis still best to be prepared.”

  Mary sighed, her exhalation a white mist in the frigid air. “Truth be told, if forced to either stab an attacker or swoon, I am still more likely to swoon.”

  “I vow you would use your knife,” Claire said.

  “I am not, and never shall be, as courageous as you.”

  “You, my dear friend, are far stronger and braver than you know.”

  A warm glow settled within Mary, for she’d missed spending her days with Claire. After Tye’s capture and reconciliation with his father, Mary had stayed on at Wode with Lady Brackendale. Claire and Tye had lived for a short while with the de Lanceaus at Branton Keep, and then had moved into a castle granted to them by his lordship.

  While Mary and Claire had exchanged letters and seen each other a few times at gatherings, Claire had been bedridden in the last months before her babe had been born. Lady Brackendale had also slipped and hurt her arm, and had needed extra help with her daily routines. Her ladyship had recovered well, though, and thankfully, Claire had given birth to Isolde without any complications.

  When Mary had been invited to spend Christmas at Branton Keep, she’d accepted right away, in part so she could assist Lady Brackendale, who usually spent the holidays with the de Lanceaus. Moreover, Mary had longed to see Claire. Mary’s parents, after all, were both gone now. Her father had died suddenly after a brief illness four years ago.

  Just the memory of him—the way he’d controlled all aspects of her life—sent chills racing through her.

  “Did you just shiver?” Claire asked.

  “I am a bit cold,” Mary lied, “but I am warming up.”

  Mary pushed the unpleasant memories aside; she would not let recollections of her father overshadow this happy outing. She and Claire went down a side road into the town built up around Branton Keep. The narrow dirt streets were crowded, no doubt because only a few days remained before Christmas.

  “That way.” Claire tipped her head toward another street, and they soon reached the main road. Grit crunching under their boots, they sloshed through churned-up snow until they reached the edge of a small forest.

  Claire wiped her brow and sat on a log not far from where fallen pin
e cones lay scattered on the ground. “I need to rest a moment.”

  “So do I.” Mary sat as well. Shutting her eyes, she breathed in the earthy scents of loam, vegetation, and damp bark. Twittering robins darted between the leafless boughs of nearby trees—

  The breeze brought a faint sound.

  Mary glanced at Claire. “Did you hear that?”

  The sound came again: a baby wailing. Then, the clang of swords.

  Claire stood. “The sounds are coming from the forest.”

  Mary rose as well, her palms sweating inside her gloves. “What do you think is happening?”

  Anguish glistened in Claire’s eyes. “I do not know, but I cannot bear to hear the baby crying.”

  “We should go back into the town. Find the sheriff.”

  “Nay. We must find the child. The babe’s life could be in danger.”

  Mary’s stomach whined. Their lives could also be at risk if they ventured into the woods, for the ring of clashing swords continued. “It could be a trick. Ruffians could be using the infant to lure us into the forest. They will attack us.”

  “’Tis unlikely. Lord de Lanceau pays the sheriff well to keep the roads and wooded areas around Branton Keep safe.” Worry etched Claire’s features. “By the time we found the sheriff and brought him here, it could be too late for the babe. ’Tis a chilly day and growing colder. As a mother of a little one, I could not bear such a death.”

  Mary wasn’t a mother, but she couldn’t bear for the infant to perish, either.

  “I am the daughter-in-law of de Lanceau. If we are threatened, that should protect us.” Claire reached inside her cloak and drew her dagger. “Come on.”

  Fear clutched at Mary.

  “Courage. Aye?”

  “I will do my best.” Ignoring the anxious voice inside her, Mary drew her knife and hurried alongside her friend into the woods.

  Shadows enveloped them. Over the hiss of the wind through the boughs overhead, Mary strained to hear the infant’s cries. They were coming from deeper in the forest.

  The road curved ahead. The sword fight seemed to be happening on the part hidden from her and Claire’s view. The baby’s cries, though—