O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  A few moments later, Isabella bustled back into the small saloon as though in a hurry.

  “Has Anna gone?” she asked.

  “She went to put on a warmer coat.”

  “Good, then we have time,” Isabella said with a mischievous grin.

  “What are you plotting? Not that I will disprove, mind you.”

  “It was all Lucy’s idea. Edmund and I will take the children out in the sleigh. You may have some time alone with Anna, so do not make a mull of it,” she ordered.

  “I do not intend to,” he replied, very grateful that his sister was so astute.

  “It is obvious she still has feelings for you, Alex, but she needs reassurance.”

  “Understood,” he said with a small salute, as Edmund came in with Lucy and Johnny.

  “The sleigh is waiting! We must hurry or the horses will be chilled,” Johnny said, ushering them out of the door. It was clear all of them were conspirators in this plot.

  Lucy stopped and hobbled over to him, looking up with those wide, blue eyes. “Please make my mama smile again,” she whispered.

  He knelt down to her level so he could look her in the eye. “You would not mind if I was your new papa?”

  “I will only mind if you do not make Mama happy,” she said with more ferociousness in her voice than he would have thought a small girl could produce.

  “I will do my best, Lucy.” He picked her up, planted a kiss on her cheek and handed her to Edmund.

  Edmund winked over Lucy’s head.

  Alex could not help but laugh as the door closed behind them. It felt good to have hope again. He watched through the window as Edmund pelted Johnny with a snowball before they climbed into the sleigh, and little Lucy followed Edmund’s lead and did the same to Isabella. The children squealed with excitement as they climbed into the vehicle and it pulled away. Perhaps it was the magic of Christmas, but he could feel the ice around his heart melting.

  When Anna returned downstairs she peeped through various doorways, but Alex was the only one to be found. How handsome he looked, standing near the fireplace in the family salon! He was watching something outside, and she studied him, storing up every moment for later.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked when he noticed her.

  “I believe they have left us to our own devices.”

  “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “Some devious, perhaps clever, matchmaking efforts on the part of the children and my sibling. The verdict is still in doubt with respect to Edmund.”

  Despite being afraid to hope, to believe, Anna felt a smile tug at her lips.

  “How does that make you feel, Anna?” he asked as he walked towards her.

  “It makes me feel more than I wish to,” she answered honestly.

  “How should I interpret that?” he asked, his eyes full of vulnerability. “Because I very much hope it means you will give me another chance and consent to be my wife. We are adults now, with no father to threaten me into submission.”

  “But we are not the same people, Alex. Whether we wanted it or not, our lives—our characters—have altered. We have both been married to other people and have had children…” Her voice trailed off and she turned away to swallow her emotion.

  “Yes, all of that is true, but it does not mean we cannot have a future together. I can love Lucy– I am fairly certain I already do—and I am also quite certain I never stopped loving you.”

  She closed her eyes, but heard and felt him as he came to stand before her. His hands reached up to cradle her face, and a thumb wiped away a tear.

  “Anna,” he whispered in a reverent voice, moments before his lips touched hers. She could not resist him. She had never been able to. Perhaps it was a dream; perhaps she would wake up with him gone, and feel again the crush of heartache. For now, however, she allowed herself to believe it was real and gave her emotions free rein. Her arms crept around his neck and she kissed him back with the part of her heart which had always been his—the part which had been locked away for eight long years.

  When they stopped, she found she was sitting in his lap on the chair next to the fire. When had that happened? His forehead touched hers and he was watching her intently.

  “I do not believe you answered me.”

  “I did not,” she agreed. “Are you certain? Have you properly considered?”

  “Why must we think so much? The time for consideration is past. There can be no objection as long as you still love me and I love you. We both made marriages work before – that were not our choice – and I think it will be much more agreeable this way.”

  “It sounds too good to be true. Pinch me so I will wake up if it is a dream.”

  He obliged with a naughty pinch to her side, causing her to laugh as she had not laughed in years.

  “Still ticklish, I see.”

  “Unfair, Your Grace. I have no such weapon to use against you. In fact, I can think of nothing wrong with you.”

  “That is not quite true,” he declared, “but if you have forgotten, I will not remind you.”

  Anna wrinkled her brow in deep thought. “You cannot carry a tune!” She remembered. “How could I have forgotten?”

  “I will never forget how you teased me that night when I tried to hum while we danced.”

  She smiled at the recollection of that magical dance on the terrace.

  “Shall we dance again?”

  “Yes.” She held out her hand to him, feeling unbelievably happy, and then withdrew it again. “You are not going to sing to me, are you?”

  “It is Christmas. I did have a carol in mind.” He looked down at her, eyes twinkling.

  She shook her head as he swirled her into his arms.

  “I learned this new dance in Canada,” he said with a devilish smile. Anna was not certain moving in such an embrace could be considered proper in public, but she relished being held closely in his arms while they moved about in circles. She did not want to think, only feel.

  He began to hum off-key and it was a beautiful sound to her ears. If truth be told, the sound was not as bad as he thought, but she would never tell him so. She hummed along and placed her cheek against his chest.

  “Are you not going to tell me to hush?”

  She shook her head. “No sound you make could sound ill to me at this moment, Alex.”

  “I am sorry for the pain I caused you, Anna, but I do think this… reconciliation… is sweeter for our having lost and now found each other again.”

  “You are absolutely certain, Alex?” She raised her face to look into his eyes.

  “I have not felt such a sense of peace since the last Christmas I held you in my arms like this.”

  Anna felt the same, even though it seemed disloyal to her husband to say so.

  “And you are certain about Lucy, too?”

  “I would hardly take a child from her mother.”

  “That is not what I meant,” she chided.

  “She has already given us her blessing, you know. We get on quite well and I am already indebted to her.”

  “You are?” Anna asked in confusion. “Have you been teaching her to wager behind my back?”

  He laughed, a deep, hearty rumble that ran through his chest. She could feel it in her own.

  “I meant that she brought us back together. I consider her our Christmas miracle.”

  Anna smiled. “Yes. I suppose she is.”

  “Now, will you allow us take advantage of this moment they have so graciously conspired to give us? Lord willing, it will not be long before we have an heir to keep Lucy company.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she managed to say before he silenced her with some toe-curling kisses. Anna could not believe her good fortune—’twas a Christmas miracle indeed.

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Elizabeth Johns

  Gentlemen of Knights Series

  Duke of Knight (Book 1)

  Black Knight (Book 2)

  Knight and Day (Boo
k 3)

  About the Author

  Like many writers, Elizabeth Johns was first an avid reader, though she was a reluctant convert. It was Jane Austen’s clever wit and unique turn of phrase that hooked Johns when she was “forced” to read Pride and Prejudice for a school assignment. She began writing when she ran out of her favorite author’s books and decided to try her hand at crafting a Regency romance novel. Her journey into publishing began with the release of Surrender the Past, book one of the Loring-Abbott Series. Johns makes no pretensions to Austen’s wit but hopes readers will perhaps laugh and find some enjoyment in her writing.

  Johns attributes much of her inspiration to her mother, a former English teacher. During their last summer together, Johns would sit on the porch swing and read her stories to her mother, who encouraged her to continue writing. Busy with multiple careers, including a professional job in the medical field, author and mother of two children, Johns squeezes in time for reading whenever possible.

  Her Christmas White Knight

  Elizabeth Keysian

  Chapter One

  21st December 1585, London

  A biting north wind whipped around the corner, chilling Mistress Julia Wentworth to the bone. If ever a subject of Good Queen Bess had reason to be aggrieved, that one was Julia. No one was buying her garlands, the rent was due, and Christmas but a few days hence. Yet she had not a farthing to her name.

  So, this was all the reward she’d earned for denouncing that murderer Walter de Glanville, was it? To be cast out of her home and her village, deprived of status and possessions? Walter had ruined her, but her revenge had been too public, and when her father had learned of the affair, he couldn’t bear to look at her.

  Then insult had been added to injury. The wagon in which she’d fled to London, in the hope of finding employment, had been held up on Hampstead Heath. Her baggage and hanging pocket had been stolen. Were it not for the fact that she’d sewn some gold chains and pearls into her petticoats, she would have arrived in the metropolis with nothing.

  “Are those garlands the only thing you’re selling, wench?”

  Glancing up, she saw a pair of youths smirking down at her. She knew instantly what they meant—but selling her body was the last thing she’d ever do. Walter de Glanville had bedded her, she’d lost the child that she’d conceived, and the pain in her soul was so intense, she’d sworn no man would ever trespass beneath her skirts again.

  “What price is the holly with the red ribbon? Are your lips as red, I wonder?”

  She got to her feet. It felt safer, being able to deal with customers eye-to-eye. Even if it did expose more of her chilled body to the merciless midwinter wind.

  “Thruppence, Sir. And the mistletoe posies are but tuppence.”

  Curse it. She shouldn’t have mentioned mistletoe. Both young men were leering at her now.

  “Mistress—is it suppertime yet?” Hal, the orphaned boy who lived with her, bounced cheerfully around the corner. He shot the two “customers” a winning smile.

  Damn the boy. She knew that smile—if they refused to buy any of her festive greenery, he’d be helping himself to their purses. She shot him a warning frown.

  “Come now, Mistress. The lad wants his supper. We’ll buy a hot pie for both of you, in exchange for a few minutes’ privacy with you.”

  “Nay.” She let her anger show, and Hal was beside her instantly, his little frame stretched to its tallest, fists clenched in front of him.

  The shorter of the dashing young blades laughed mirthlessly. “Come, Nick—we’re wasting our time on this hag. Let’s be gone.”

  The other fellow—Nick—rested his foot on the edge of her basket. “Aye. ’Tis too cold to dispute with a bawdy bitch. Blessings of the season, Mistress.”

  He tipped the basket over, and both youths strode off, laughing uproariously.

  “I’ll set the constables on them, I will!” growled Hal.

  Wearily, Julia set about plucking her beribboned decorations out of the gutter. Everything must be washed and dried now, or she’d never be able to sell it. Could she get the filthy marks out of the silk ribbon? She’d had to cut up her only decent gown to make the ribbons, and she’d almost run out of the cloth.

  “Nay, Hal, let’s not get into any trouble. You know we can’t stand up to such as they. Now, help me with this.”

  “But you were a great lady, and your blood is as good as theirs.” Hal was fuming, although any who didn’t know him would find it hard to tell. Both his eyebrows had been singed off in the house fire that had killed the rest of his family. His emotions were hard to read from his expression unless one knew him as well as she did.

  She should never have taken the street urchin under her wing when she had naught to offer him, but the truth was that she’d have liked a child of her own. She’d been so proud when she’d found herself with child by Walter de Glanville—and she’d expected him to marry her. But she’d lost the babe before Walter had time to seek her hand. The cur had then turned his attention to Mistress Clemence Fitzpayne. Julia had risked her life—albeit unknowingly—to win him back.

  Her father had been furious about the clandestine affair. He hadn’t forgiven her when she’d informed the authorities that Walter was a closet Catholic. Father had shown her no mercy when he found out she’d been unwittingly involved in a murder plot. She hadn’t even regained his favor when she’d saved the neck of Clemence’s true love, the irksome Hector de Glanville. A forgiving act, considering the knave had once thrown her in a horse trough.

  Forgiveness was evidently a virtue lacking in the Wentworth family. In her case, doing the right thing had backfired like a faulty gun, and her father had disowned her and thrown her out. All she’d wanted was a child and a husband’s love. Wasn’t that what every woman craved?

  “We’d best go home, Hal.” She tousled the boy’s hair affectionately. “I can’t sell these now. There’s a crust of bread and a scrape of cheese awaiting us, so long as none of the other lodgers has stolen it.”

  When they reached the boarding house that they shared with ten other souls, she decided it was time to give Hal a wash, as well as her decorations. Maybe she could persuade the nearby baker to heat up some water over his fire. Just because they were paupers, it did not mean all her standards must be abandoned.

  The yard attached to their dwelling was open to the street because it housed the only well in the area. But when she went to draw a pail of water, she discovered that that morning’s frost had turned to ice and immobilized the beam handle. No amount of heaving and shoving with her numbed, reddened hands could budge it. She’d have to wait until the morrow to rinse her wares and hope they’d dry out in time for her to make some sales.

  “Take my basket indoors, Hal. I’ll have one more try at this.” She’d just gotten what she hoped was a good grip on the handle when something grey and aggressive hurtled into the yard, flapping its wings and hissing.

  A goose, by all that was sacred! Scenes of Christmases past flashed through her mind and, suddenly, she could recall the rich, oily taste of roast goose with plum sauce. Without hesitation, she flung herself at the creature, battened its wings down, and held it still. The hissing face was inches from hers—if she wasn’t careful, it could have her eyes out. But she’d not had such bounty in her hands in months, and a God-given goose was a prize not to be scorned.

  “You’re mine now, Master Gander, or Mistress Goose.” She grinned, looking the beast in its beady eyes, ensuring it understood she was its master.

  Nay, surely such good fortune could never happen to her? The bird would turn out to belong to her landlord, or a watchman, or a soldier built like a brick wall. It would belong to someone who could make her life a misery or who’d turn her over to the constables as a common thief. She’d lose a hand, or an ear, or be branded, or suffer some other ghastly punishment.

  If anything happened to her, what would become of Hal? She’d been teaching him to read, so he might better himself and
start an apprenticeship, but without her influence, he’d return to his old criminal ways. Nay. She might as well throw herself into the Thames right now rather than appropriate the goose.

  She heard a shout and the sound of heavy footsteps running toward the yard.

  “Come back, you devil-spawned beast!”

  It was a man’s voice, one that sounded oddly familiar. Faith! It must be the goose’s owner. Could she really afford to part with it? It would keep them fed for days, or if she kept it alive, they’d have eggs—presuming it was a female. It was a desperate decision to take. But she was desperate. She’d just have to make sure she was never caught. Thrusting the bird between her knees, she crouched on the ground, and covered it with her skirts.

  The man puffed into the yard. “Goodwife—did you see a goose?”

  All thoughts about the rectitude—or otherwise—of keeping the bird were forgotten. Her voice—nay, her very breath, was stolen from her.

  She had recognized the voice. She did know him. Myall Farrar. Memories of drunken caresses on a star-lit beach heated her face.

  She cast her eyes down, hoping he wouldn’t equate this pitiful pauper with the once beautiful—and much sought-after—Mistress Julia Wentworth. “Nay, Sir,” she croaked.

  She glanced up as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you certain?”

  The goose wriggled, and she had to press its head down before its form became apparent beneath her skirts. It felt as if she were riding a miniature horse—a very silky but decidedly angry one.

  The bird could provide so much bounty for her and Hal. Not just its flesh, but there was its grease to use for ointments, its fluffy down for stuffing a pillow, and its feathers for making quill pens. She’d be a fool to give it up.

  “I’ve seen nothing, Sir. Best hurry if you want to catch it.”