A Knight Before Christmas: Historical Romance Novella

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Stunned, Gabriel stood for a moment watching Michael enter the room. Gabriel shook himself and followed him. Before he reached the room, a cry arose from inside. He stumbled to the doors to find a large crowd around Michael. He was being patted on the shoulder, congratulated. His arms were empty.

  Gabe’s gaze swept the room until he saw another group racing toward the stairway that led to the upper chambers. He caught sight of one of the servants holding one of the girls in his arms. Her dark hair was damp, but it moved from side to side, no longer frozen.

  “Well done, Michael!” Their father was saying.

  Shivering, Gabriel entered the room. A hound rushed up to him and began licking his icy fingers.

  “You will be well rewarded for this!” his father continued.

  Shocked, Gabriel skirted the outside of the crowd until he could see Michael’s face between a thin lord and an armored knight. Why wasn’t he telling them? Why wasn’t Michael telling them he had not found girls?

  Michael shifted his gaze to lock eyes with Gabriel for a moment and quickly turned away.

  Shock and betrayal sliced deep like the sharp tip of a sword to his gut. Disbelief filled Gabriel. Michael was taking credit for finding the girls! He had no intention of telling them the truth. He was going to let them shower him with fake praise and prizes.

  Gabriel should tell them! He should tell them all it was not Michael who had found them, he had! That it was he who had saved the girls!

  Gabriel stood for a moment, his fingers no longer icy, but curled into hot fisted rage. It would serve Michael right to be humiliated and disgraced. He glared at his brother for a moment longer before his shoulders sagged and his chin dropped to his chest. He couldn’t do it. Not to his older brother.

  Disgusted and disappointed, Gabriel turned away and walked from the room, pausing to look toward the empty stairway where the girls had been taken. Gabe only hoped they would recover.

  Chapter One

  14 Years later

  “You did it!”

  The slap on the back caused Gabriel to half spin to see his friend, Henry Lewis, towering over him in full plate armor. He held his helmet in his hand, his dazzling blue eyes twinkling with merriment. His brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat. “You doubted me?”

  Henry chuckled, balking. “Never! Still, Fletcher put up quite a match. He almost had you there.”

  Gabriel remembered the moment Fletcher’s joust had hit his shoulder so hard that he had almost spun completely off his horse. He had teetered precariously, clutching the reins. If Thunder, his horse, hadn’t moved to the side, he might have very well fallen. He rubbed his shoulder still feeling the impact and the soreness in his muscles. “Almost.” It didn’t matter now because in the end, he had sent Fletcher to the ground. He was the champion.

  He weighed the prize pouch in his hand. Well worth it. He tied the pouch to his belt. He cocked a grin at his friend, satisfied with this year’s winnings. “We celebrate tonight!”

  Henry hooked an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “You know how I long for a warm ale and even more, for a willing wench. But there is another little woman that I miss sorely. Have you given my suggestion any more thought?”

  “She’s more important than a pretty girl?”

  Henry smiled. “I have no desire to abandon a wanton wench, but I also have no desire to be caught in the cold.” He put his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders. “The nights are getting longer, my friend. Snow will start soon. We can’t be stuck on the roads when that happens. You must decide.”

  Gabriel patted his friend’s shoulder. “Over a warm ale and stomach swelling meal.”

  Henry swatted his cheek. “If you are paying!”

  “I am!”

  Henry laughed. “You know a way to a man’s heart! Let me get out of this armor. Where is James?”

  Gabriel watched his friend walk around the knight’s tents scattered in the clearing in search of his squire. Gabriel sighed. The last tournament of the season. The thought was bittersweet. He let his gaze wander over the colorful tents. These knights were his friends and he would miss them and the rivalry of the joust. It would be a long, cold winter of practicing and honing his skill for next season. There would be young knights, untried knights, who would think they could beat the eldest and most experienced knights. He would have a lot of competitors next year.

  He turned back to his own tent. He loved the joust, the comradery, the contest. But he knew deep down the best thing about the joust was that it took him far away from his home. Now, that the last tournament of the year was over, and the Yule was approaching, he had to decide whether he would be too busy to attend his brother’s wedding.

  Eve stared at the beautiful tapestry hanging on the wall in the hallway. It was the depiction of a tournament, frozen in time when the lance of one of the knights struck the other. But the joust itself was not what enthralled Eve. It was the vibrant colors. The rich reds of the flowers along the bottom, the striking blue of the sky, the pure white of the lances. It was a gift for her wedding from her aunt. It was so beautiful, precise and skilled that she could not wait to hang it. And now that it was hung, she could barely look away from it.

  “I didn’t know you found jousting so fascinating.”

  Eve half turned, without taking her gaze from the tapestry. She knew it was Michael, her betrothed, by his familiar deep voice. “It’s so full of life. So…vibrant.”

  “Hmmm,” Michael mused, staring at the tapestry. “I see it as a warning about how dangerous jousting can be. What if that knight that was hit by the lance…” He pointed to the embroidered knight. “Died from the fall or from injuries he sustained?”

  Eve looked at Michael. His brown gaze was locked on the tapestry, his golden hair hung to his ears in the latest bowl-cut fashion. Was that all he saw? She couldn’t believe he only saw the joust and not the skill of the embroiderer. “There is so much more than just –”

  “I see it as a tapestry of death.”

  Eve’s heart dropped at the thought, her entire being rebelled at the idea. Didn’t he see the color and the life in the tapestry? “But the flowers –”

  “The artist of this tapestry clearly does not focus on flowers. It’s the power and the darkness of the fight. See where the focus of the mural is?”

  Flowers of a multitude of color lined the entire tapestry. Perhaps the focus was on the joust, but there was also a love of color and life sewn into the picture.

  “I can’t fathom what you find appealing.”

  Eve had learned to close her mouth when Michael expressed his views. He didn’t listen to her, anyway. It wasn’t worth trying to get him to understand her opinion.

  “I am going hunting with some of the men, dearest. I trust you will not be bored while I am away.”

  She would never be bored when he was gone. She did things he did not approve of, like read. He believed a woman had no place reading. She did not need to gain knowledge. She only needed to keep the castle in order and have children. But she couldn’t help the interest in history that she shared with her father. One could learn from the past.

  He took her hand into his and bent his head to kiss it, but stopped short. Horror and repulsion widened his eyes and twisted his lips before he could hide it behind disdain. He quickly released her wrist.

  Eve withdrew her hand covered by her sleeve and folded it against her body as he straightened and backed away. He bowed slightly before turning and walking down the hallway, his spine straight, his walk confident. She rubbed her hand. She was certain he didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but she couldn’t help it. Men greeted him with respect, looked up to him with admiration. He had everything. He deserved better than her.

  For a moment, she stood still as the old feelings of unease and inadequacy rose inside of her. She lowered her head and turned back to the tapestry. The colors would cheer her. Instead, all she saw was the knight falling from the horse.

  Michael had ruined the bea
utiful tapestry for her.

  But there was one place he could not touch and did not know about.

  The cool air blew over Eve as she stood before the sun-kissed waters of the pond. Winter was coming. Even the mid-morning breeze had a bite to it. She pulled her cape closed around her shoulders. This was her favorite spot. She felt protected here. This was where he found her, tucked beneath the snow-covered branches of the tree behind her. After all this time, she still remembered one image from that night when she had been saved. She remembered the blue eyes that were haunted with concern for her safety. For her. She had survived that night because of her angel. The angel with the blue eyes.

  They were blue eyes.

  Eve grinned and turned from the pond. A small child with curly brown hair stood behind her. Eden. Her sister appeared to her as the child she remembered. Even as she grew into an adult, Eden never changed, suspended forever in time as the young girl. Eve came here often to visit her sister. It was the only place she appeared to her. As if… as if part of her was still here.

  Eve also came here to remember those eyes. Her angel’s eyes. As time had passed, so had her memory of them. She couldn’t really recall if they were blue or brown. Perhaps she had been wrong all this time and the angel eyes were brown. Like Michael’s eyes. Maybe it had been Michael who had saved her.

  Who else could it have been?

  “I don’t know. It had to have been Michael.”

  Then why do you come here?

  “I come here to visit you!”

  You come here to see if you can find the angel.

  Eve shook her head. She no longer believed she had seen an angel.

  Eden clucked her tongue.

  “Father said it was probably a shooting star,” Eve said, looking at the grey sky.

  Eden grimaced. What does Father know?

  Eve looked at Eden with longing in her soul. Her father still blamed her for Eden’s death, for taking her into the cold that night.

  It wasn’t your fault.

  Eve didn’t want to talk about it. Not ever. She carried the guilt of her twin’s death heavily on her shoulders.

  Fine. Eden sat down in the grass. Then tell me of Michael.

  Eve shrugged her shoulders. She bent and picked up a fallen leaf. “What is there to tell?”

  He didn’t like the tapestry.

  Eve knew that Eden was with her always, even though she only saw her here. Eden knew everything she knew and there was no use hiding anything from her. “No. But it was beautiful.”

  He doesn’t see beauty.

  “He is a practical man. He will make a good husband.” She crumpled the fragile leaf in her hand.

  When the incident had happened, and her father told her that Michael had saved her, she had been excited to see him. But they wouldn’t let her because she was so weak. They told her when she was stronger she could thank him. And she had held on, wanting to see her angel again. She held on that horrible day when they removed her thumb and part of her forefinger. Frostbite had killed them, they told her. She had cried. But now, she saw it as her penance, for Eden.

  Part of you is with the angel.

  Eve didn’t reply. She had grown used to Eden knowing her thoughts. She hung on then to see her angel, and she grew stronger. And then she had learned that her father had betrothed her to Michael. She was his, after all, he had saved her. And still, she was excited. Then, they let her meet him.

  She would never forget that day. Ever. He didn’t have the blue eyes of her angel. He had brown eyes. She had screamed and cried. Her father chastised her. But it was her mother who told her that she must be mistaken. Michael had brought her back. Michael had saved her.

  Over time, she had come to terms with marrying him. He would visit every summer and sometimes more. And it was only occasionally that she saw his repulsion with her hand. Usually, she could keep it tucked beneath her sleeve, hidden from all.

  I don’t like Michael.

  Eve looked at Eden, shocked. “Why? He is kind to me. He –”

  Because he looks at you as if you are not whole.

  “Eden, please. He is right.”

  Show it to me.

  Repulsed and horrified, Eve shook her head and tucked her hand behind her back. “No.”

  There’s nothing wrong with it. You are whole, Eve.

  Eve slowly moved her hand in front of her and looked down at the green velvet sleeve covering her hand. She insisted that all her dresses be made with a very long sleeve to cover her hand. She wasn’t whole. People looked at her differently.

  That is in your head. Let me see how ugly it is.

  Eve hesitated a moment, but she knew Eden would continue to ask until she showed her. Slowly, she pushed her arm forward, out of the sleeve and lifted the stump before her. Her thumb was gone, as was part of her first finger. It was horrible, a deformity. Ugly.

  You can still wear a ring.

  “Never. I would never call attention to it. It’s monstrous.”

  No. It’s a battle scar. You should be proud of it.

  “What?!”

  You had the courage to track an angel. And all you lost was a thumb.

  Courage? Foolishness. She looked at Eden. She had lost so much more than just a thumb. She had lost her best friend.

  Eve tucked her hand back inside the sleeve and quickly approached her tree. The branches were barren of its leaves which had fallen to the ground and lay scattered beneath it. Her slippered feet crunched on them as she drew near. She ran her hand against the bark in greeting and sat, leaning against the trunk. The snow would be here soon. She always imagined that the tree was going to sleep to keep warm in the winter.

  I know. It’s going to get cold. You will come to visit me for as long as you can.

  “I don’t like to leave you alone.”

  Eden smiled. I’ve told you before. I’m always with you.

  Eve was so afraid that one day she would come to the pond and Eden would not be here.

  I’ll be here with you until you find your angel.

  Good. Since she no longer believed in angels, that should be forever. And then, she heard a musical whistling. It was so off key that it made her smile.

  Eden giggled.

  At first, Eve thought it might be someone strolling by, cutting through the forest on the way home from the castle. A merchant perchance, or a farmer. “Shh,” she told Eden.

  As they listened, the off-key whistling continued. Eden’s twittering was contagious. Eve pressed her fingers to her lips to try to stay silent.

  Instead of moving away, the whistling came closer. Humor left her. She straightened away from the tree; her gaze swept the clearing, searching for the intruder.

  As the whistling grew closer, she heard the crunch of footsteps echoing across the lake and she couldn’t tell where the intruder was coming from. She slowly rose, glancing at Eden to find her sister had vanished. That was not a good sign. Eve pressed her back against the tree, waiting.

  And then, he emerged from the forest, onto the grass, to her right. He wore the clothing of a traveler, a brown cloak and hood which he dusted from his head to reveal shoulder length dark hair. He wore black boots that were soundless as he crossed the grass to the bank of the pond. From the back, the sword he wore in a sheath at his side was very apparent. He wore it beneath his cloak, which she imagined was open in front, tied at the neck.

  He stood for a moment, staring out over the pond, much the same way she had. His hands were on hips when a gentle breeze fluttered by rippling though his hair and cloak.

  Eve gasped at the teasing glimpse of power she spied beneath his cloak. She could gaze at him all day. He was mysterious and gorgeous. But, she didn’t know this man and it was dangerous. She was going to sneak away, better to be safe than sorry.

  “Are you lost?” His thick, deep voice echoed through the air.

  She turned back to him. Was he speaking to her? Maybe if she stayed silent he would not know she was there.

>   “I grow weary of rescuing maidens in this spot, so I hope you are not lost.”

  She swallowed. He was speaking to her. He must be. There was no one else here! She lifted her chin. “You rescue maidens here often?”

  He dropped his head and turned toward her. “Every time I visit, it appears.”

  He was still too far away for her to clearly see his features. But she wanted to see him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “It is almost winter, and I smelled roses. I also saw your footprints.” He signaled the ground.

  Ahh. That made sense. Come closer, she silently willed. “And why would a knight come to this spot?”

  He came toward her. “Perchance to meet a maiden. Why would a maiden come to this spot alone?”

  His walk was confident, the air about him more so. Tingles danced through her body, but she was not cold. “It’s peaceful,” she admitted.

  “Dangerous.”

  “Never in all my years have I felt danger here. Are you threatening me?”

  “I do not threaten maidens. I was only pointing out the obvious. I could be a robber or a brigand.”

  “There is nothing to steal here.”

  He stopped before her. His gaze moved slowly over her. “I would dispute that.”

  The way he looked at her sent tremors through her body. She scowled. There was something about him. She peered closer. His strong chin, aquiline nose. He was like a Greek statue, carved to perfection. “Do I know you?”

  “I would remember if we met before.”

  His eyes. So blue. Like the painting of oceans. Her mouth dropped open and she inhaled. She knew those eyes! She recognized them. It seemed so long ago, in a dream. “Who are you?”

  “Sir Gabriel Bedford.”

  Her heart did a little drop as she realized why she must recognize his eyes. It wasn’t as she thought. It had been no dream, no angel. She had met him before. He was her betrothed’s brother.

  A crest-fallen look claimed her bright eyes before she looked away. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “I am Lady Eve. Betrothed to your brother, Michael.”