Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  More muffled noises and a thump…and the baby was still crying.

  Something wasn’t right.

  His body growing tense, he grabbed the burning torch from the wall and pushed the door open.

  At first, he saw only darkness. Then, as he moved forward and the torchlight spread into the room, Mary holding either Norwin or Isolde, her eyes wild with terror.

  She didn’t scream or say a word, because she couldn’t. A cloaked man, his hand over her mouth and a knife near her throat, pulled her backward toward a door in the wall: one of the castle’s secret passageways.

  “Do not move.”

  When the man spoke behind her, and the weapon pressed against her skin, Mary held very still, her heart slamming in her ribcage. What did he want? Was he responsible for the attempt to kidnap Norwin today? He might intend to take the boy from the keep now.

  She couldn’t let him.

  Norwin mustn’t be taken from his parents or his uncle who loved him. If the man took Norwin away, the infant might never be reunited with his family, and she couldn’t bear for that to happen, either.

  But, she also didn’t want to die. Not when she’d only just had her first kiss. Not when she still didn’t understand exactly what she felt for Holden.

  She fought a sickening wave of lightheadedness. Again, her life was under someone else’s control. One nick from her captor’s knife, and she’d bleed to death. Her friends wouldn’t even know she’d been in peril. No one would hear her screams even if she cried for help, because of the revelry in the hall.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her words barely audible over the baby’s wailing.

  “You do not know me,” the man grated.

  That might be true. His voice didn’t seem familiar.

  “Why are you here? What do you want—?”

  “Pick up the boy.”

  Nay! She didn’t want to be a part of whatever he’d planned. If she delayed him, mayhap she’d have a chance to draw her knife, tucked down her bodice.

  Oh, God, if she ever had to be brave, ’twas now.

  “’Tis dark.” She hated that her voice wobbled. “’Tis hard to see—”

  “The boy is crying. Pick him up,” the man growled. “Move slowly, or I will cut you.”

  Mary fought another rush of dizziness. Her left hand settling on the cool, carved end of the closest cradle, she shifted sideways, small step by small step, the intruder right behind her. He smelled of night air and musty stone. A draft swept across her feet, and as she dared a glance at the darkness across the chamber, she saw the chest of drawers that usually stood against a tapestry hanging on the wall had been pushed aside. The tapestry had been pulled back to reveal a door, standing partway open.

  Whoever the man was, he’d known of the hidden passageway. Was he a servant of Lord de Lanceau, or had he lived at the keep in the past? Mayhap he’d been paid to smuggle the child out of the castle.

  She reached the side of the cradle.

  “Lift him out,” the man ordered, the knife easing away from her neck. She thought to grab for her dagger, but as if reading her thoughts, the intruder pressed his blade against her lower back, the tip sharp through the silk of her gown.

  I am sorry, Norwin.

  Mary leaned in and scooped the bawling baby into her arms. She murmured, trying to comfort him, but his wailing and squirming didn’t stop. He was probably hungry.

  “Now,” the man said, “you will—”

  He abruptly fell silent.

  And then she heard it: the tread of footfalls on the landing. Someone was approaching the passageway. Someone who could help.

  Scream!

  Before she could make a sound, her captor’s hand clapped over her mouth. Rough calluses on his palm scraped her lips as he pulled her back against him, the knife once again at her neck.

  She breathed frantically through her nose.

  “Stay still,” the man hissed.

  The footfalls were near now. Soon the person would be passing by the chamber. Her pulse raced with fear, but she had the baby in her arms; the infant the man wanted. He’d be stupid to hurt her and risk her dropping the child.

  Ignoring the press of the intruder’s dagger, she cried out against his hand.

  The man dug his fingertips into her face. Ignoring the pain, she cried out again.

  She could only pray the person in the corridor had heard the muffled sound.

  The man forced her head back and up, the base of her skull now against his shoulder. Pain shot down her neck, as well as a trickle of warm wetness. He’d cut her skin.

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  The room blurred on a rush of panic and pain, but she fought to maintain focus. If she was destined to die, she’d do all she could so save Norwin. The man had restricted her ability to speak, but she wasn’t completely helpless. Gathering her strength, she kicked the empty crib.

  Thump.

  Please! Whoever you are, you must have heard that noise.

  The footfalls stopped.

  Thank God. Come into the room. Just a few steps—

  The man holding her hostage tensed as a shadow fell in the doorway. The light out in the corridor shifted, and then the door swung inward. Torchlight flickered into the room.

  Cursing under his breath, the intruder hauled her backward, just as bright light fell upon them.

  Holden was holding the torch.

  He must have come after her, after what had happened in the hall.

  Relief washed through her. As their gazes met, his expression hardened with fury. He shoved the torch into a holder and strode toward her.

  “Stay back,” the intruder commanded, continuing to pull her toward the passageway door.

  “Release her,” Holden snapped. “Now.”

  She dug in her heels, resisting.

  As the man struggled to propel her backward, Holden neared. A sob broke in her mouth, still covered by the intruder’s hand.

  “’Twill be all right,” Holden said softly. “Give me the baby.”

  “Do not,” the intruder snarled. “Or I will—”

  Be brave. Save Norwin.

  She bit the palm of her captor’s hand. Hard.

  As he bellowed in pain, she pushed the child into Holden’s arms.

  Holden swiftly backed away with Norwin. Reaching the chamber doorway, he shouted: “Guards!” He could only hope someone upstairs or in the hall had heard him.

  The man holding Mary hostage swore again and forced her even nearer to the passageway. He wouldn’t release her; he’d use her to bargain for his freedom, which meant she was in terrible danger.

  Holden drew in a breath to yell again, but a moan snapped his gaze to the nurse, who was stirring. Straightening in the chair, she touched her head, her expression dazed.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  “I…think so.”

  He helped her to her feet then handed Norwin to her.

  “What happ—?”

  “Go to the landing. Warn de Lanceau.”

  As he spoke, the nurse saw Mary and the intruder disappearing into the passageway. She gasped.

  “Go,” Holden roared. “Now.”

  The nurse hurried out, while Holden retrieved the torch. If his suspicions were correct, he knew the intruder. Mayhap the acquaintance they’d once shared would convince the man to let Mary go.

  Scuffling noises came from within the passageway, barely wide enough for a broad-shouldered knight to traverse. The air within held a wintry bite, confirming that the corridor opened out into the bailey.

  Ignoring the cobwebs brushing against him, Holden entered the low-ceilinged, cramped corridor. He caught up with the intruder pulling Mary along with him, the knife still dangerously near her neck. Because of the way he maneuvered her, the man’s face, regrettably, was hidden from Holden’s view.

  “Do not come closer,” the intruder snarled.

  Holden held Mary’s frightened gaze, even as he said, “De Lanceau will stop you—”
>
  The man grunted.

  “Selden,” Holden added.

  The intruder didn’t answer, but his grip tightened on the dagger.

  “You have betrayed his lordship with your actions this day,” Holden said, maintaining his distance from Mary as he jammed the torch into a gap in the wall and drew his knife. “Why would you do so?”

  Again, the man didn’t respond.

  “Why kidnap a child? ’Tis a rather cowardly thing to do.”

  The intruder’s head turned.

  “Just as holding a lady hostage shows cowardice.”

  As the man glanced back down the corridor, a brief distraction, Holden lunged. He shoved the intruder’s arm and knife up and away from Mary. The back of the man’s hand hit the stone wall. He yelped, and his fingers flew open. The dagger fell to the ground.

  As the intruder swore and his other hand slid from Mary’s mouth, Holden turned sideways to press his back to the wall, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him. “Go past me. Run!”

  She squeezed by in a rustle of silk but halted a few steps on. “Holden?”

  “We will speak later.” He raised his weapon to confront the intruder. “Go!”

  “Be safe,” she whispered, before hurrying away.

  As the sound of her footsteps faded, Holden locked stares with the intruder, who’d retrieved his knife. Aye, ’twas definitely Selden. His features, lined and hardened by misfortune, showed the past years had not been easy ones.

  Still, that did not forgive what he’d done or the bad choices he’d made.

  “Did you hire the mercenaries?” Holden growled. “Did you arrange to kidnap Penley’s son?

  Selden’s stare sharpened. Holden expected Selden to turn and bolt without saying a word, but then his mouth flattened. He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Not all of us have been as lucky as you and Penley,” Selden muttered.

  “So you abandoned chivalry?”

  Selden shrugged, not a trace of guilt in his eyes. “I was supposed to inherit. If I accomplished what the crown asked me to do—”

  “For God’s sake! How could you agree to abduct Penley’s son?”

  “’Twas agreed that if I helped the sovereign, he would reward me.”

  “King John is corrupt!”

  “He does what he believes is best for England.”

  Holden struggled to contain his rage. “What kind of sovereign would try and coerce a lord by abducting his infant son?”

  “Would you rather he killed the father? At least taking the child meant little or no bloodshed—”

  “’Tis wrong.”

  “To you, mayhap.”

  “To anyone in his right mind.”

  Selden glared, while shouts from the nursery carried into the passageway. No doubt some men-at-arms would guard the entrance to the secret corridor, while others would venture into it.

  By now, de Lanceau and his guards would be in the bailey, surrounding the passageway’s exit. Selden would never escape.

  “Surrender,” Holden said. “’Tis the wisest choice.”

  “Surrender to you?”

  “Aye.”

  Resentment etched Selden’s features.

  He took two backward steps, turned, and ran.

  Chapter 12

  “You must have been terrified!” Claire said, clearly in awe after hearing Mary’s account of what had taken place upstairs.

  Sitting near the great hall’s hearth, Lady Brackendale, Odette, Juliana, Lady de Lanceau, Gisela, and Leona murmured their agreement. Rosemary, curled up on Juliana’s lap, seemed glad to have her mother’s arms around her.

  “I was indeed frightened.” Mary winced as the healer pressed a wet cloth to her neck and gently washed away the blood. The nurse, after having her wound inspected, had accepted some ointment from the healer and had gone to lie down; Odette was holding Norwin, sound asleep in her arms, while Penley, furious and determined to capture the intruder, had gone to the bailey with the other lords. “I thought I was going to die,” Mary added.

  “Thank God Holden decided to go talk to you,” Lady de Lanceau said.

  “I know. If he had not come into the room….” Mary shuddered.

  “Do not even think about that.” Juliana reached out and caught Mary’s hand. “You cannot torment yourself, or you will never move past what happened tonight.”

  Mary nodded, for Juliana spoke from experience. She’d endured terrible circumstances before finding love with Edouard. In truth, all of the women gathered around had gone through ordeals, but they’d survived and their lives were better now. Hopefully ’twould be the same for Mary, too.

  The healer set the cloth back in the bowl of herbal water. “The cut is not deep,” she said. “I have a good ointment that should help it heal quickly.”

  “Thank you,” Mary murmured, suddenly feeling tired.

  “I fear your beautiful gown may be ruined, though,” the healer murmured.

  “’Tis only a gown,” Lady Brackendale said. “It can be replaced. I am just very glad Mary is going to be all right.”

  “As am I,” Claire murmured, tears in her eyes.

  Mary smiled, tears welling in her eyes, too. She was indeed grateful for the support of the other ladies and that she’d escaped harm. But, even stronger was her need to see Holden, to know he hadn’t been hurt or killed by the intruder. How she longed to tell him he was her hero—for tonight, he’d been the most gallant of knights. For his bravery this day, he would always hold a special place in her heart.

  Yet, none of the men had returned to the hall yet. No servants had come in to share any news yet, and not knowing… ’Twas agonizing.

  As the healer rubbed ointment onto Mary’s neck, a loud bang—the sound of the door being shoved open—and voices carried from the forebuilding. Lord de Lanceau, Dominic, Edouard, Tye, and Aldwin emerged in the hall, followed by men-at-arms and servants.

  The ladies and Mary rose. She searched the crowd, but didn’t see Holden. Worry gathered inside her.

  “The intruder was captured?” Lady de Lanceau asked her husband.

  “He was. I will decide his fate once he has yielded what I want to know. For now, he is in the dungeon.”

  “As he deserves,” Gisela said.

  “Aye,” said Juliana.

  “Holden?” Mary asked. “Is he—?”

  Holden strode out of the forebuilding. His clothes were streaked with dirt, but to her, he’d never looked more handsome.

  Longing blossomed inside her as she started toward him.

  He saw her. His expression shadowed with concern as he hurried to her.

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. She halted close to him and brushed away a cobweb stuck to his upper arm.

  When his gaze shifted to her wound then her bodice, his expression turned anguished. “Are you all right?”

  “I am.”

  His hand shook as it pushed hair back behind her ear. “You were so bloody brave.”

  She smiled, appreciating his words but trying hard not to weep. “Not as brave as you.”

  “I am so sorry he threatened you. I wish….” A sigh rushed from him. “Come here.” Before she could say a word, Holden’s arms went around her, drawing her in close.

  Her cheek pressed against his tunic, and she breathed in the scents of frosty air, stone, and him. She closed her eyes, savoring the strength of his embrace, the feeling of being wanted. Treasured. Warmth spread through her, tingling through her lower belly and bringing the most thrilling anticipation.

  One thing would make this moment perfect.

  One thing that in this hall, with everyone watching, finally felt right.

  As he eased her to arm’s length, she held his gaze. She refused to look away, refused to let her attention waver. His astonishing blue eyes widened slightly.

  She pushed up on tiptoes. His startled breath warmed her lips an instant before she pressed her mouth to his.

  Oh, mercy.

  Oh, goodness, ho
ly gracious.

  Clapping and cheering erupted.

  “Finally!” Tye bellowed.

  “It only took six years!” Lord de Lanceau said with a laugh.

  Mary giggled against Holden’s lips. As she drew back, though, his arms locked around her, and he pulled her in against him, kissing her so boldly, so passionately, her toes curled.

  When at last the kiss ended, she sighed happily, pressed her cheek again to the middle of his chest, and listened to the strong, steady thump of his heart; the life pulse of the man she’d grown to love. “I think this is going to be a wonderful Christmas,” she murmured.

  Holden kissed the top of her hair. “I know it is.” His hand slid under her chin to nudge it up, so she looked into his eyes. “Marry me.”

  The ladies nearby squealed.

  “Brother,” Odette whispered.

  “Oh, Mary,” Claire said with a sniffle.

  Shock kept Mary’s focus upon Holden. “W-what?”

  He kissed her again, so tenderly. “I do not want just your kiss. I want all of you, Lady Mary Westbrook.”

  “All of—”

  “Marry me. Please.”

  “You truly want me?”

  “Of course I do.” He looked puzzled. “Why would I not?”

  She gnawed her lip. “I am not slender, like other ladies.”

  “I care not.”

  “I am not beautiful—”

  He kissed her, silencing the rest of her words. “To me, you are perfect, just the way you are.”

  Perfect?

  “Oh, Holden,” Mary whispered. “I think I love you.”

  “I know I love you,” he said, and proved it with a kiss.

  About Catherine Kean

  Catherine Kean is an award-winning, Kindle Unlimited All-Star author of medieval romances. Her love of history began with visits to England during summer vacations, when her British father took her to crumbling medieval castles, dusty museums filled with fascinating artifacts, and historic churches. Her love of the awe-inspiring past stuck with her as she completed a B.A. (Double Major, First Class) in English and History. She completed a year-long Post Graduate course with Sotheby’s auctioneers in London, England, and worked for several years in Canada as an antiques and fine art appraiser.