Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  “Enter,” said a male voice from within the chamber.

  Ignoring a tingle of misgiving, Mary stepped inside then pushed the door closed behind her. The air, warmer than she’d expected, smelled of wood smoke and herbal soap.

  The man from the woods, his hair wet and his eyes closed, stood in profile at the oak table to her right. She’d obviously interrupted him in the midst of a wash, for he was lathering a bar of soap between his palms. He was also half-undressed; naked from the waist up. His cloak, tunic, and shirt lay in a heap on the table.

  Her heart lurched like a fawn in a trap. At Wode, she’d seen knights and men-at-arms washing by the well, but had never seen a torso as tautly muscled and beautifully sun-bronzed as this man’s. He was magnificent.

  Water droplets glistened on his skin, enticing her gaze to linger. Her innards quivered in a most unusual way. Panic flickered, urging her to back out of the room and let him finish his wash…but her legs refused to move.

  “Just leave it on the side table,” he said. With a thud, the soap landed on the tabletop.

  What was she supposed to leave for him? He must have been expecting a servant.

  Go. Now, before he sees you, a voice inside her cried. But again, she couldn’t seem to move.

  When he rubbed soap over his face, her helpless gaze shifted to the purplish bruising down his right arm. Had he’d fallen from a horse in the forest? She hadn’t seen a horse without a rider in the woods, but if he had indeed tumbled from the saddle, his thigh was likely bruised as well. Concerned, her gaze shifted down to his woolen hose that fit snugly to the contours of his legs. His feet were also bare, his black leather boots propped by the table.

  Water trickled into the washbowl; he’d wrung out a linen cloth, which he dragged over his face. His hand moved slowly, as though he found pleasure in the whispered glide of fabric over his skin. Muscles in his chest flexed and bulged, and he made a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan: a sound of pleasure.

  Her throat went dry.

  Leave. Go!

  Spurred by a jolt of alarm, she reached for the door handle.

  He dropped the washcloth and picked up a towel. Wiping his face, he glanced at her.

  Mary froze, caught by his piercing gaze.

  “You.”

  “M-me.” She swallowed hard.

  “I thought you were the healer.” Water glistened at his throat. His eyes narrowing, he wiped it away before tossing the towel on the table and starting toward her.

  Go!

  She pushed down on the handle. “I will come back—”

  Halting, he said, “You are here now.”

  “B-but, you are washing—”

  “Not anymore.” His mouth curved in a roguish smile. “Please. Stay.”

  How she longed to yank open the door and dash down the stairs. Staying, though, would show courage—and so far, she’d utterly failed at being brave. “I would like to stay, but….” Her gaze dropped to his impressive chest before snapping back up to his face. “You are undressed. Naked.” Oh, God. “I mean, partly-naked—”

  Grinning, he reached for the shirt draped over the back of the nearest chair and pulled it on. Once all of his bare, gleaming skin had been hidden from her view, she exhaled a pent-up breath.

  “All right now?” he asked.

  She fought not to blush and nodded. “Were you expecting the healer to tend to your wounds?”

  “She checked my injuries a short while ago. While I may be uncomfortable for a few days, I will not have any lasting afflictions.”

  “’Tis good news,” Mary said.

  “Aye. She said she would make me an infusion, but it has not arrived yet. At least I had a chance to become presentable.”

  Presentable, indeed. However, she still didn’t know if he was Holden.

  What was the best way to find out? Just bluntly ask for his given name? That might appear too forward and might make things awkward if he wasn’t Holden, because she’d have to explain why she wished to know.

  Mayhap she should sit and chat with him for a while and work such an inquiry into their conversation? Or—

  “—we talk.”

  What had he just said? “P-pardon?”

  He chuckled. “I thought I had lost you for a moment.”

  “My apologies. It has been a rather eventful day.”

  “It has. Truth be told, I am glad you came to see me.”

  His words suggested he’d wanted to see her. “Why?”

  His dark lashes flickered. “I know you.”

  Oh, mercy. “If we do indeed know one another, your name will be familiar to me.”

  “You already know my name.”

  He studied her so intently, she could hardly breathe, especially when the memories of that Christmas years ago flooded her thoughts. No way was she going to get lightheaded and swoon. She forced herself to slowly inhale and exhale.

  “How many years has it been?” he asked.

  “S-since?”

  “Since I locked you in the dungeon, Mary.”

  The lady before him was even lovelier than the maiden of his memories: soulful brown eyes; hair that shone like chestnut-brown silk; ample curves that tempted a man’s touch, although he suspected she had no idea of her physical beauty—as she hadn’t done years ago.

  She was a woman now, not a girl on the cusp of womanhood, but her demeanor was still governed by anxiety and self-consciousness. Anger stirred, for he recalled, too, her overbearing father. Protectiveness wrapped around Holden’s heart, for he’d pitied her years ago, and his feelings for her still ran strong.

  Regrettably, though, he’d been an idiot that past Christmas. Even the goodwill of another holiday season was unlikely to heal the hurt between them, but he’d still try.

  “I did not think you remembered me,” she said, nervously fidgeting.

  “It took me a moment, because I have not seen you in…what? Six years?”

  Astonishment lit her eyes, and she nodded.

  Her attention shifted to the chair near him, as though she’d like to sit but wasn’t sure if ’twas wise. Did she think he might pounce on her or take her hostage? Either option would be rather foolish of him, with armed guards just outside and plenty more on the battlements, as he’d noted when he’d been brought into the fortress.

  Yet, if he were gallant, he could set her mind at ease.

  Heedless of the dull ache in his skull that warned him to move slowly, he strode past her, dropped down on the cot then sat back against the wall. He gestured to the vacant chair. “Please. Your legs must be tired after climbing all of those steps.”

  “There were a lot.”

  “I am obviously a dangerous fellow, to have been given a tower cell rather than a chamber in the keep.”

  She crossed to the chair and sat, smoothing her skirt with an elegance born of refined breeding. “I would not call this a cell. You appear to have all the comforts of the room in which I am staying.”

  With an irritated grunt, Holden crossed his arms, wincing as his fingers touched his bruises. “Are there guards outside your room?”

  “Nay.”

  “Were you warned not to leave your chamber?”

  She shook her head.

  “As I said, I am a dangerous fellow.”

  A faint smile curved her lips—a perfectly-formed mouth that looked made for kissing. Not that that would ever happen between him and her. Startled by the unexpected thought, Holden forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “—so you can hardly blame Edouard and the others for thinking such, after the manner in which you confronted me and Claire.”

  Whatever words he’d missed, Holden was not going to let on that his mind had wandered to kissing her. “I was only doing my duty to protect Norwin, as I explained.”

  “Why did you threaten us with your sword? Did Claire and I appear to be such a menace to the babe?”

  He tried very hard not to chuckle. They’d been as menac
ing as newborn lambs. He could easily have taken their knives from them, if he’d so desired—and if he’d been steady on his feet and sharp of mind. “Mayhap I did not need the sword. I apologize for holding it to your back. I had just fought four mercenaries and had no idea if you were working with them.”

  She nodded, thankfully accepting his apology, but her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “It can be difficult to know who to trust.”

  He sensed she was speaking of more than the encounter in the forest. Guilt pricked his conscience. Damnation, but he didn’t want their first conversation in years to end up in discord over what had happened when they were younger. He also didn’t like to think that mayhap someone else had hurt her. “How are you?” he asked, gentling his tone. “Are you well? Have you been so in the years since we last saw each another?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip before nodding.

  “Your parents?”

  “Both dead now. Father passed on a few years ago.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” ’Twas the polite thing to say, even though he’d never met her mother, and her sire had been a right bastard. “I had heard you were living at Wode, a ward of Lord and Lady Brackendale.” Holden had sent a letter to her at the castle, but had never received a reply; he’d always wondered whether the missive had reached her or not.

  “I am still living at Wode.” Mary fidgeted. “Lord Brackendale died last winter, but I stayed on as a ward to help her ladyship in whatever ways I can. She is like a mother to me.”

  “Ah. Well, she must be missing you, since you are here for Christmas.”

  “She always spends the holidays with her loved ones, so she is here too. This morning, she traveled to the town market with the de Lanceaus and several friends.”

  “Imagine if you had gone with them, instead of venturing into the forest?” Holden winked. “We might never have run into one another again.”

  Her face turning pink, she looked down at her hands again. “Not true. We might have met at a feast, tournament, or some other gathering.”

  He hadn’t expected her to blush. Aye, she was shy…but mayhap she had feelings for him? Questions crowded into his mind, but he cautioned himself not to bombard her with too many. He must work on earning her trust.

  Having met her again, he also couldn’t let Christmas come and go without finally accomplishing what he’d tried to do long ago: make things right with her.

  As Mary pushed wisps of hair back behind her hair and glanced over at the table, he studied her profile: high cheekbones, gracefully sloped nose; generous mouth. His heart acknowledged there was another reason, too, beyond repairing the past. He wanted her, as he had years ago. Wanted to learn what made her laugh, brought her joy, made her feel complete. If there was a chance—any chance at all—of winning her love, he must chase it.

  She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring, but that didn’t mean he could court her. “If I may ask…?” he said.

  Unease touched her features. “That depends what you want to know.”

  “Did you ever become betrothed to what’s-his-name?”

  “Lord Rowell’s son? Nay. He wed someone else. I do not think he and I would have suited, anyway.”

  Hope kindled within Holden. He shouldn’t ask, but he had to. “No lord, then, has yet claimed you for his own?”

  A gasp lodged in Mary’s throat. What a bold question.

  A little voice inside her insisted Claire wouldn’t let him get away with such boldness. Nor should she.

  “Why do you care to know?” How proud she was that her voice wavered only a little.

  He shrugged; the linen of his shirt rasped against the mortared stone behind him. “Just curious.”

  A note in his voice suggested there was more to his inquiry than curiosity. Humiliation and hurt tangled up inside her, for she was all too aware that most of her friends were betrothed or married, while she didn’t even have a suitor. While she’d been courted, none of those lords had ended up being men she wanted to wed. None had intrigued her the way Holden had.

  Even now, God help her, she found him compelling.

  Holden’s steady, unwavering focus remained on her. He clearly expected an answer.

  Be brave, like Claire.

  “With respect,” Mary said, “I have already answered quite a few of your questions.”

  “Not that one.”

  “Are you betrothed?”

  Holden grinned, a lazy uptick of his mouth then shook his head. He winced, as though the movement had caused him pain.

  “Why not? If I may ask.” Ha! Now that was showing bravery.

  “You may ask. Truth be told, I married when I lived in France—”

  Her heart froze.

  “—but I wed for duty, not love. My wife died last autumn.”

  “Did you have young ones?” she dared to ask.

  He shook his head. “I also have not yet found a lady with whom I wish to spend the rest of my days.”

  Astonishing. With his striking features and noble lineage, she’d have thought he’d be able to find another spouse with little effort.

  “You seem surprised,” he said.

  “A little. You are very handsome—”

  His brows rose. “You think me very handsome?”

  Oh.

  Oh, dear.

  The urge to run flared again, but fleeing would destroy any progress she’d made at being brave. Ignoring the fluttering of her pulse, she said matter-of-factly: “I do. Of course, I cannot speak for other ladies, who may feel quite differently about your appearance.”

  “Of course.” He dragged his hand over his jaw, as though fighting a grin.

  Had he just teased her? She frowned, determined not to lose courage. “While finding a husband has been important to me, other commitments have also demanded my attention.”

  “Ah. Such as? If I may ask?”

  Aye, he was definitely teasing her. But, he could only fluster her if she allowed him to do so. Relaxing the clasp of her fingers a bit, she said, “You have no doubt heard of Tye’s siege of Wode last January, which led to a battle and eventually, reconciliation with his father.”

  Holden nodded. “I have heard the chansons.”

  “I was at Wode when Tye attacked. I became his hostage, along with Claire.”

  Shock etched Holden’s features. “Did you, now?”

  Pride stirred within her. “I even had a pivotal role.”

  “You did? Do tell.”

  She smiled, for ’twas thrilling to see Holden so enthralled. “I had to swoon at a critical moment, to provide a distraction.”

  “Did it work?”

  Her belly clenched. “Not as well as we had anticipated. But, all resolved in the end.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  “I was, but—”

  “You could have been killed.” He’d almost growled the words.

  “Mayhap,” she agreed, “but I also knew others’ lives depended upon me.”

  After a silence, in which his expression revealed both concern and dismay, he nodded once and eased away from the wall to lean forward and rest his arms on his knees. “I do understand that sense of responsibility.”

  “’Tis one that all knights of the realm bear, I vow, being protectors.”

  He studied the worn planks beneath his feet. “When we fail in our duty—above all to those who have put their faith in us—’tis utter torment.”

  A lump settled in her throat. “If you are referring to what happened in the forest—”

  “I am. I failed to protect my nephew.”

  “You did what you could.”

  “If Norwin had been hurt….”

  “But, he was not. He is safe.” When Holden’s pained gaze rose to meet hers, she smiled, hoping to offer reassurance. “I held him not long ago, after he had been fed. He was content and slept soundly.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Well, I do not—”

  “Please.” The raggednes
s of his voice revealed the torment of which he’d spoken. So did the anguish in his eyes.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Holden exhaled a harsh breath. “Come in.”

  Mary rose as the door opened, admitting a maidservant holding a mug.

  “From the ’ealer,” the woman said. “She said ye’re ta drink it all at once.”

  “All right.” Holden motioned for the woman to set the drink beside his saddlebag on the table.

  “I should go,” Mary said; she’d been brave enough for one visit.

  Holden stood. “Thank you for coming to see me, Mary. My nephew—?”

  “I will see what I can do. But, I cannot make you any promises.”

  Chapter 7

  Holden startled awake at the sound of knocking. He blinked to clear his vision while pushing up on his elbows.

  He remembered drinking the infusion, feeling drowsy not long afterward, and then lying down on the cot. He’d shut his eyes as his headache had started to subside and must have fallen asleep.

  The knock came again.

  If only Edouard and Tye hadn’t confiscated his wooden comb when they’d taken his weapons. If he was about to meet his former liege, he’d like to look respectable.

  “Enter,” Holden said. As the door opened, he sat up, raked a hand through his hair, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Mary walked in, holding Norwin, wrapped in a blanket Holden didn’t recognize. The baby, alert and sucking on his fingers, was definitely his nephew; Holden had looked for, and found, the mole on the boy’s chin, and his blue eyes were the same color as Holden’s and his sister’s.

  Holden swallowed hard. How grateful he was that Mary had managed to win him a visit with Norwin. He must be sure and thank her—

  The baby’s gaze found Holden’s. Norwin’s face crinkled into a chubby-cheeked grin that showed his two bottom teeth that had only recently broken through the gum.

  “Look,” Mary whispered. “He recognizes you.”

  “I should hope so,” Holden said, his tone gruff with joy. “I am his favorite uncle.”

  “Then you must hold him now.” When Holden started to rise, she shook her head. “You are wounded. Stay sitting, and I will hand him to you.”

  His masculine pride resisted, for he didn’t take orders from women. But, she was hardly commanding him in battle or in the presence of fellow warriors, and he did want to hold his nephew.