Merry Medieval Christmas

by Elizabeth Rose et al.

  He spurred his horse forward down the list. It wasn’t until Alexander's lance struck him a solid blow in the stomach that Blaise realized how good Alexander was.

  By the time Alexander finished his joust with D’Sayre and headed back to the castle, it was almost sunset. He paused at his tent to remove his armor and walked back to the castle. The festivities had already begun. In the courtyard, a handful of jugglers tossed their bags about as musicians played and entertained the peasants who were outside.

  Alexander made his way past them and moved into the keep. He knew where Jaclyn would be. With Paul. As soon as he entered the hallway, he heard loud talking and music and laughter coming from the Great Hall. It sounded like a celebration. And after all, why shouldn’t it be? Their beloved Mistletoe Knight had almost won. There was only one joust left.

  As he passed the open double doors of the Great Hall, he happened to look inside. The tables were filled. Servants buzzed through the room delivering venison and duck to the knights, merchants, and peasants.

  Alexander’s gaze moved up the aisle to the dais where the main table was. Paul sat at the head of the table, laughing over something one of the serving wenches said as she leaned toward him, giving him ample view of her firm breasts.

  Alexander’s gaze swept the table. Jaclyn’s chair was empty. She wasn’t there. He continued down the hall to the stairs and took them two at time. Nothing could restrain the joy bubbling within him. He wanted to see Jaclyn.

  He walked down the hall. As he passed Paul’s room, he saw the door slightly ajar. He slowed and peered into the room, wondering if Jaclyn was still there. Paul’s armor was spread out on the floor. He reached out to ease the door open.

  All of Paul’s armor lay on the floor. His chest plate, his vambrances, his gauntlets, his helmet. And then Alexander saw the rerebrace for Paul’s arm. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped into the room. He walked up to the metal piece which lay near Paul’s bed and squatted down before it. He picked it up, studying it. Lines of red ran down the shiny metal. Blood.

  Fear clenched tight in Alexander's stomach. He scanned the stone floor until he saw the pauldron, the piece of armor that fit over the wearer’s shoulders. He picked it up, but there was no blood marring its interior. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

  Then, his gaze was attracted to something on the floor, just to his left, behind a leg of the bed. It looked like a piece of red material. Gingerly, he reached for it and his fingers closed on the material. He tugged. Slowly, the long length of the material emerged from beneath the bed. It was a wrapping of some sort. It wasn’t red material, as he had originally thought. It was white cloth stained red. A grating noise sounded as he continued to pull. The other rerebrace slid out on top of the cloth.

  Alexander’s heart froze in dread. He picked up the rerebrace and turned it over. Inside, the metal armor was tainted with red. Something fell from inside. He looked down at his feet to see a small sliver of wood. There could be no doubt. It was from a jousting lance.

  The door creaked behind him and he whirled.

  Blaise stood in the doorway.

  Alexander clenched his jaw but hurried past Blaise. He had to find Jaclyn. He raced through the hall and down the stairs to the Main Hall. He marched up the main aisle, past troubadours and noisy knights. He paused before the main table, unable to control his concern.

  Paul noticed him and stood, holding an ale high in the air. “Welcome, Alexander!”

  “Where is Jaclyn?”

  Paul shrugged. “She never came to dine. She must be pondering life’s unfairness.”

  Alexander’s gaze swept him, coming to rest on his shoulder. “You seem to have recovered quite nicely from your injury.”

  “Injury?” Paul asked.

  “During your joust.”

  “Oh. Yes. A glancing blow. So much so, I almost forgot it.” He lifted the ale to his lips.

  Alexander reached across the table and snatched the mug from his fingers, fury burning in his veins. “Have you seen her?”

  Paul lowered his empty hand.

  “Since the joust,” Alexander continued, his fingers tightening in anger around Paul’s mug.

  Paul stared at him blankly. “I —I started celebrating immediately after my victory. I can’t be concerned with the whereabouts of my sister.”

  Alexander grit his teeth. He slammed the mug on the table with enough force to slosh the ale onto his hand. The servant woman near Paul backed away a step. “You have a joust tomorrow,” Alexander snarled. “You should stop your celebration and help me find Jaclyn.”

  Paul swallowed. He looked down at the mug in Alexander’s hand. He nodded. “Of course. Of course.”

  Alexander knew it was a lie to get him to release the mug. Paul would say anything to have his ale. Alexander leaned toward Paul. “What happened to you?” He shook his head and purposely dumped the ale from the mug before shoving it back into Paul’s hands. He was worthless. He knew Paul would only have it refilled. Disgusted, Alexander whirled and stormed from the room.

  “Alexander!” Paul shouted and moved around the table, almost tripping over the two stairs leading down from the dais. He hurried to Alexander, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you find her, old boy.”

  Alexander’s gaze swept him. He looked sincere, but Alexander had to wonder how long it would be before his mind and attention centered on his ale again. Alexander shook his head. “I don’t want to take you away from your celebration. I’ll find her.”

  Paul hesitated for a moment. He glanced back at the servant woman waiting for him by his chair and then back at Alexander. “I’m afraid I’ve disappointed her again. She is always doing what is best for both of us. And I can’t even help her.” Paul shook his head and looked contrite and disillusioned. His gaze, for the moment, was clear and focused.

  Prickles of anxiety peppered the nape of Alexander’s neck.

  “It’s not like it was when we were children. We had some good games. I would play the dastardly villain and you were the glorious knight who saved her from me. It looks like you must play that role again.”

  “She loves you, Paul,” Alexander said.

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t deserve it. I suppose I never have.” He stepped back and a trembling smile spread over his lips. “So go forth on your quest! And I shall stay here and find comfort in my ale.” He turned and swayed back to the table.

  Alexander watched him as he reached for his mug and missed, sliding to the floor. Everyone laughed, even the servant girl who hurried to his aid. Paul laughed. But he locked gazes with Alexander and there was no humor in his eyes. For a moment, Alexander wondered if that was how Jaclyn saw him. Games. Women. As useless as Paul. She had been surrounded by men she couldn’t depend on, from her father to Paul. To him.

  Jaclyn’s arm throbbed painfully. She had wrapped it as best she could, but it had been a chore binding it alone. Alone. Paul had left the room. He knew how much this meant to them. To them. Was she deluding herself? Did it mean more to her than him? True, if she won, it meant she could choose her own husband. But it was more than that! Their lands, their home. They needed the coin the knights paid to participate in the joust for the security of the castle.

  Paul had never cared about the peasants and the lands. He had always been more interested in... Well, lately it had been his ale.

  A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t do it alone. She couldn’t keep their secret if Paul was unwilling. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Even this little movement sent pain shooting down her arm. How was she ever to joust on the morrow?

  She lifted her gaze to the sliver of moon in the night sky. Stars twinkled above her. The clumps of mistletoe were like shadows blocking out the shining stars. This used to be a magical place for her. She had thought that all this mistletoe would bring her good fortune, that the more mistletoe that grew, the more her luck would be favorable. But it had
brought nothing but misery for her. Her father had given her the very first mistletoe. Now he was gone.

  She didn’t doubt that Paul would leave soon, too. In many ways, he was already gone. Soon she would be stuck marrying someone like D’Sayre. A stranger.

  She couldn’t do it alone. She rested her forehead against her knees.

  Paul’s desertion stung like a slap in the face. She had told him how important this was. She couldn’t do it. She closed her eyes on the tears that burned. A sob welled inside of her.

  “Jacie?”

  She looked up. It must have been a dream. How often in the past she had thought of this exact moment. When she was young and punished, locked in her room, for beating Paul at jousting. When she thought it was useless and there was no way she could ever make it through the cold winter with the storage of food they had. He would come. He would come and everything would magically be better.

  Alexander ducked beneath the tree branch.

  She couldn’t stop a tear from slipping from her eye. But this was no dream.

  He reached for her.

  And she wanted him to. She wanted him to... save her like he had in their games. She reached for him.

  He pulled her into his embrace.

  She couldn’t stop the sobs, nor the tears, as she clung to him. He had come for her. After all this time he had come back.

  Alexander stroked her hair. He soothed her with soft words. When she calmed, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

  She pulled back to look at him. God, he was gorgeous. So ruggedly handsome. Even in the darkness, the soft moonlight kissed his shadowed face with gentle light. His hands still held her against him. And all she wanted to do was... She lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She had no experience at kissing, except for their last kiss. She moved her lips against his, holding onto him by clinging to his shoulders.

  Startled, he pulled back.

  Her gaze swept his face. She wouldn’t be able to stand it if he turned away. If he rejected her. Not now. Not now!

  His raised eyebrows gave way to a smoldering look. “If you’re going to kiss me, do it right.” He put his hand gently behind the nape of her neck, and pulled her into his kiss. His lips were warm against hers, his breath hot. She pulled him tighter to her, needing him. She parted her lips with a soft sigh and he took advantage, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, sweeping it across her tongue, coaxing her.

  His strength anchored her to him. One hand spanned her waist. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her. Solid. Strong. She wanted him to hold her and never let go. He was a good kisser. He made her forget, spiraling her thoughts into desire, fanning them into passion.

  His hand skimmed her arm and moved down, leaving heated tingles in his wake. Her nipple tightened as his fingers brushed over it. And then his hand engulfed her breast, his thumb caressing her.

  She arched into his touch, filling the palm of his hand with her breast. Her arm ached with every movement and she lowered it to rest against his chest, his heart.

  He dropped his hand to the curve of her waist and separated his body from hers so that their noses were barely touching. “You’re hurt,” he whispered.

  She shook her head, lifting up on the tips of her toes. She didn’t want this moment to end, this magical wonderful moment. She could endure the pain for the pleasure.

  He held her close, kissing her once again, his warm lips moving over hers, working that breathtaking magic. It made her tingle with longing. Longing for his touch. She heard a soft moaning noise and it was a moment before she realized it had come from her.

  As one hand moved across her clothed breast, his other hand expertly unhooked her dress. She hadn’t realized how adept he was at undoing women’s clothing until he eased the dress from her shoulder. His lips followed his touch, skimming the nape of her neck to her bared shoulder, covering it with the warmth of his lips and heated kisses.

  Tingles of pleasure danced up and down her body until her knees gave way.

  Alexander caught her and eased her to the ground. He paused, leaning over her, the large moon haloing his head. His gaze swept over her face. There was a different look in his eyes, a possessive heated stare that matched the anticipation in her soul.

  Jaclyn reached for him, drawing him into her kiss.

  His warm hand slid into her dress, cupping her breast, sending desire pounding through her body. Instinctively, she sought the rugged power and heat of his body, tucking her hands beneath his tunic. His skin was hard with planes and valleys of muscle, with the glorious strength of his body.

  “Jaclyn,” he whispered, pulling back from her touch. “We have to stop.”

  Rejection was like a raw arrow piercing her heart. Of course. Why would he want her? After all the women he had? “Of course.” She sat up, righting her dress.

  Alexander sat back on his heels. “You’re angry.”

  “No,” she snapped, but there was disappointment in her words. “I understand. You have other women. I won’t do.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Won’t do?” he repeated in confused disbelief. “You are lady of Fainsworth. A lady, not some wench to be tousled about in the woods. And possibly another man’s future wife.”

  “I don’t want to be another man’s wife,” she whispered.

  He grabbed both of her arms. “I’m doing this for you. To keep your virtue intact.” He shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Lord, I want you Jaclyn. I’ve wanted you since the day I returned. I’m saving you!”

  “I don’t want you to save me this time. I want you to make me yours.”

  Alexander growled deep in his throat and pulled her against him. He kissed her with all the pent up passion he was caging. There was a savage desperation to his touch, in his kiss.

  He yanked her dress back down, revealing her breasts, and lavished kisses over their mounds.

  Jaclyn encircled his head with her hands, holding him against her heart.

  His lips found hers again, cushioning her back as he eased her to the ground. His body covered hers like a hot blanket. His leg straddled one of hers, pushing up against the part of her body that needed him.

  She groaned softly, pushing herself against him.

  “Patience, love,” he whispered, lifting himself from her and pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it aside.

  Jaclyn only got a quick glance at his body, hard and magnificent as it was. Her breathing came in deep, excited pants. She touched his side as he lowered himself to her, claiming her lips again while his hands slid down her body. A shudder shook her as his firm hot body pressed against her naked breasts.

  She opened her legs and he positioned himself between them. She held him cradled against her, his touch, his kiss sending her mind and body soaring. His hand seared a path down her thigh as his tongue swept deep into her mouth. All her senses were hot and desperate for him. For his touch, his kiss.

  And then he touched her where she needed him to touch her. Where she wanted him to touch her. She gasped with shock and with excitement.

  “It will hurt,” he whispered. His voice was thick. “But only for a moment.” He lifted up to release his breeches.

  She felt his hardness pushing against her core.

  He stared down at her; her hands rested on his shoulders. He brushed a kiss against her lips.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  He pushed in hard. Pain filled her as he did and she stiffened.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. Over and over. He didn’t move for a long moment and the agony lessened.

  He brushed his lips against hers. And slowly drew himself out and then moved back in. Slowly, tentatively. Again and again he slid in and out of her wetness until his kisses and touches heated her body again. He began to move quicker inside of her while caressing her skin with burning fingers, rekindling her desire. Passion pulsed through her body and she yielded to him, giving all of herself, allowing him to bring her higher and high
er with each thrust.

  She moved, meeting his growing tempo, soaring as a growing passion built inside of her until the world exploded around her with brilliant light and claimed her body. It lasted for only a moment before the light faded. She gently drifted back to the ground and couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped her lips.

  Alexander smiled. He waited only a moment more before shuddering and stiffening, releasing himself into her. Then, he easily rolled over and gathered her to him.

  Together, they lay sated and pleasured beneath the mistletoe.

  Jaclyn stared up at the clusters of leaves in the branches. “I guess it really did bring me good fortune.”

  Alexander rumbled with laughter. “You and me.” He stroked her arm and then his feathery touch stopped. “You’re hurt.”

  Jaclyn knew it was time. She had given him her heart, and it was time to give him her trust. “I have something to tell you.” She sat up. “I should have told you long ago.”

  “I know.”

  She scowled. “You know?”

  “About the Mistletoe Knight.”

  Jaclyn’s scowl grew deeper. He sat up and took her arm in his hand. He lifted it so he could begin to unwrap the cloth on her wound. Jaclyn pulled away. “You knew?”

  “There was only one time where Paul and I let you play a knight. Didn’t you ever ask yourself why?”

  She remained quiet, thinking back to the time they had played knight. “I thought Paul didn't like me wearing his clothing.”

  “No. Paul didn't like how good you were. He didn’t like that you knocked him from his horse.” Alexander shrugged. “I was shocked. But Paul was angry.”

  Jaclyn sat back, staring at the ground. “After you left he let me practice with him.”

  “That would explain how he knew you were so skilled.” Again, Alexander took her arm and lifted it, pulling at the cloth. “I knew it wasn’t Paul the first time I saw the Mistletoe Knight joust. Paul was never that good.” He wound the cloth from her arm.

  She inspected the wound with him. “You knew all this time and didn’t say anything?”