My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  Had she not been busy trying to stay in the saddle, Odel would have marveled at the man’s agility as he scrambled up that tree. He was quickly followed by his friends, one after the other, as the boar charged each.

  It would have been the perfect opportunity for Odel or Michel to shoot another arrow into the boar, but neither could get a clear shot from their bucking steeds. Seated sidesaddle as she was, and with her horse dancing on its hind legs, Odel began to fear she could even stay mounted. Feeling herself begin to slide toward the ground, she desperately tightened her hold on the reins. Then, realizing that she was doomed to fall, she let go and concentrated on landing on her feet.

  Now she was a target for the boar. But, unlike the others, Odel knew she couldn’t scramble up a tree—especially not as she was dressed. Not wasting any time, the moment her feet hit the snowy ground, Odel grabbed up her skirts and began to run. Behind her she heard Michel shout, the boar snort, and Tildy’s high-pitched yell, but she didn’t take the chance of looking back. She had no time. Boars with their vicious tusks were deadly—especially when injured and angry. She charged into the woods at full tilt, wishing that skirts weren’t so hard to run in, wishing that the ground were not so slippery with winter snow, and wishing above all that she had stayed home.

  Chapter Five

  One minute Odel was running for her life and the next her legs were pumping uselessly in the air; she had been caught around the waist and lifted off the ground. Michel now held her, and she hung down the side of his horse. Apparently he had regained control of his mount enough to rescue her. Odel had barely grasped that when something tugged at her skirts. Peering down, she cried out in horror. The boar was less than a heartbeat behind her, and one of the beast’s tusks had caught in the hem of her skirts. She felt her stomach roil, but Michel tugged his reins to the side, swerving away from the boar and ripping her skirts free.

  Looking back, Odel saw the beast turn to charge after them, but Michel put on more speed, urging his mount to a gallop. It quickly widened the distance between them leaving the snarling animal behind in the brush.

  Several moments after the boar had dropped out of sight, Michel let his mount slow then come to a halt. Using both hands, he lifted Odel and drew her around before him on the saddle. Seating her sideways, he frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, managing a weak smile. “But that was close.”

  “Aye.” He didn’t smile—in fact, he looked quite grim. He glanced back over his shoulder. There was no sign of the boar now. “You would think those idiots would know better than to charge in like that.”

  Odel heartily agreed, but merely murmured, “Thank you—for saving me.”

  Turning his attention back to her, Michel’s expression softened in a small smile. “It was my pleasure,” he assured her. His voice was husky, and he raised one hand to brush a strand of hair off her cheek.

  Odel covered his hand with her own, but glanced shyly downward. But not for long. Michel immediately tilted her head back up, his lips coming down to cover hers.

  At first, Odel froze under the gentle caress of his lips. Other than Lord Cheshire’s slobbery attempt to drown her, she had never been kissed. And where Lord Cheshire’s mushy ministrations had made her want to wretch, this man’s kiss was heavenly. It was strong, warm, and demanding. Masterful.

  It seemed so natural as he urged her lips apart for an open-mouth kiss, that Odel didn’t think a thing of it. She merely slid her arms around his neck and held on as he invaded her. Her toes curled in her slippers and little moans sounded in her throat, shocking her, but she found herself terribly disappointed when at last he broke away.

  Sighing, Odel opened her eyes slowly. She peered up at him, but he was sitting stiff in his saddle, his head up and alert as he peered over her shoulder. Still, it took a moment before the roaring his kisses had caused in her ears subsided enough for her to hear what had drawn his attention. Something was moving through the woods toward them. Odel leaned to the side to peer over his shoulder just as Tildy came crashing into the clearing on her ungainly little mare.

  “There you are! Well, thank goodness you are all right.” Matilda drew her mount to a halt and peered at the two of them. Displeasure tightened her lips as she noted the way Odel rested on the saddle before Suthtun, her arms around his neck; the way his own held her about the waist. Surely she was annoyed that one of the suitors she had supplied was not in Michel’s place.

  “The boar was brought down, and a couple of the others even managed to fell a stag. They also bagged a couple of pheasants, so we shall have a fine feast tonight.” Tildy pronounced this abruptly, then turned to head back.

  “What? How is that possible?” Michel asked. “We just left the clearing.”

  Odel closed her eyes. She knew how it was possible. Tildy’s magic, that was how.

  “Well, some of us were busy while you two were mucking about,” Matilda snapped.

  “We were not mucking about,” Odel said at once, coloring. “I was running for my life and Lord Suthtun saved me.”

  “Hmmph.” Matilda’s lips tightened further. “And I suppose it was luck where he brought his horse to a halt?”

  Michel and Odel shared a perplexed look, then peered about in bewilderment. There was nothing but leafless trees and snow. Then Odel glanced upward, and a small gasp slid from her lips. Mistletoe. The upper branches of the trees sheltering them were laced liberally with the vine. She hadn’t noticed it until now. And judging from Lord Suthtun’s expression, neither had he.

  “Your horse ran for home before anyone could stop him, my dear,” Matilda announced, drawing their attention back to her. “You shall have to ride back with me.”

  Odel turned her dubious gaze to the mare her aunt rode. It was extremely small, and really rather round—like the woman who rode it. Odel had her doubts as to whether the animal could manage both of them. Apparently Lord Suthtun did as well. His arm tightened around her waist. “There is no need for that, my lady. She can ride back with me.”

  Matilda gave a snort of displeasure, then without another word she turned her horse and trotted off, leaving them staring after her.

  “Well,” Odel said uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “It would seem the hunt is over.”

  “Aye,” Michel said. He peered down at her silently for a moment, then glanced up at the mistletoe overhead. “It would seem you owe me a kiss.”

  “Oh?” Odel glanced up as well. “I thought you already took one.”

  “That was for saving your life. This one would be for the mistletoe.”

  Odel blushed prettily, then leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “How is that?” she asked a bit breathlessly. She settled back on the saddle.

  “That was very nice,” he said solemnly. “But there is an awful lot of mistletoe.”

  Feeling heat and excitement pool in her belly, Odel nodded just as solemnly. “Aye, there is, my lord.”

  With a smile he bent to kiss her. It was not the sweet, swift rubbing of lips she had just given him, but another of the long, hot, toe-curling variety. And this time, Odel’s reaction was more violent. She was helpless; arching into him, her body responded of its own accord. Her tongue slid out to join his, her fingers curling almost painfully in his hair, and she shuddered. Surely, this was a Pandora’s box, this reaction that burst to life within her, begging to be opened.

  She wanted more, and that was frightening. It was a hunger she had never before experienced, that swelled within her.

  The years under her tyrannical father had convinced Odel that marriage and children were not for her. She’d had no wish for a husband who might be as cold and dictatorial as her own father had been. But that had left her feeling lonely and empty. Until now. Now the emptiness was being filled, the loneliness abolished. And, she realized in some far-off part of her mind, it wasn’t just the kiss that made her desire him so. It was the chats and chess by the fire, the soft laughter over dinner, his warm arms
that had saved her from the boar. This passion that was licking at her insides had begun some time ago. She was beginning to care for this man, and couldn’t lie to herself about it. She had wanted him from the first moment she’d seen him.

  His presence at Roswald was a dangerous thing; she had known that from the start. If he saw Matilda up to her tricks, there would be trouble. But had Odel approached Tildy about using some of her fairy dust to cure the boy? Nay. Had she suggested he continue home and leave the boy to be nursed? She might have sent Eadsele home with one of her men-at-arms when he was recovered, but nay. Had she encouraged the man to stay above stairs for the evening meal to reduce the risk of danger? Nay. In fact, it was she who had suggested he might enjoy a break; it was she who had insisted he join them.

  Why? Because Odel had enjoyed his presence at dinner, and their shared evenings. Too much to send him away. She had spent the last few days wandering about the keep waiting impatiently for supper to arrive. She had alternated between thinking up excuses to visit him and Eadsele in their room, and thinking up witty things she might say, stories she had heard that might amuse him.

  Odel liked this man. She enjoyed his company. She found him handsome when he laughed. And now, she realized with a sense of foreboding as he slowly drew away to peer down at her, she hungered for his kisses and touch like a flower craves sunlight. Odel wanted to pull his head back for another meshing of mouths. She wanted to cleave to him. She wanted to strip off his clothing and feel his naked body against hers. To Odel, all of that was more dangerous than his discovery of Matilda’s magic could ever be.

  Dear God, she wondered with dread, how had she let this happen?

  “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

  Odel blinked at his soft words and felt her fears momentarily dissipate. Did he truly believe that she was beautiful? For most of the last twenty-five years she had been a shadow, her face pale, her limp hair pulled tightly back off her face, her expression as unhappy as she had been. But in the week after her father’s death, since Matilda’s arrival, Odel had felt herself bloom. Her face had regained some color. Her hair now held a healthy shine and even a slight wave. And in the week since Lord Suthtun had arrived, she had even begun to smile.

  “You are beautiful, too,” she whispered shyly. Much to her amazement, he immediately threw back his head and laughed.

  “Nay, my lady. I am an old warhorse. Battle scarred and—”

  “You are not old, my lord,” Odel interrupted abruptly. “Why, you cannot be more than thirty.”

  “Thirty-one,” he corrected gently, brushing a tress off her face. “But I used to feel much older.”

  “Used to?” Unconsciously she tipped her face, encouraging him to stroke her face as if she were a kitten.

  “I find that being around you makes me feel like a boy,” he murmured huskily, then reached for the reins of his mount. Taking them in his hand, he blew a breath out. She found herself staring at those lips that had caressed hers a moment before, and he managed a crooked smile. “I suppose we had best return now.”

  “Aye,” Odel agreed softly.

  Nodding, Michel started to urge his mount forward, then turned it toward the nearest tree. Drawing it to a halt, he reached out and plucked down a sprig of mistletoe. He set it in her hair just above her ear, kissed her quickly, then plucked a berry from the small sprig, and slipped it into his pocket. “A remembrance.”

  Swallowing, Odel smiled weakly, then turned to look ahead as he urged his mount forward again. Remembrance? For when he left and her life returned to the lonely place it had been.

  That thought made her so sad that Odel found herself unable to think of a single witty or amusing thing to say during the ride back to the keep. Instead, they were both silent. It wasn’t until they entered the keep that either of them spoke, and then they both gasped in surprise. The hall had been transformed. Mistletoe, pine bowers, and streams of cloth and ribbon hung everywhere, and the tables were covered with white linen and preparations were under way for a feast.

  “There you are!” Tildy suddenly appeared and bustled toward them.

  “What is all this?” Odel asked in amazement.

  “Why, ’tis for the feast,” the woman exclaimed as if it should be self-explanatory. “And we are going to have wonderful entertainment. A traveling group arrived while we were out. We shall have jugglers and tumblers, and a dancing bear. It will be marvelous!”

  “All of this just to celebrate today’s hunt?” Odel muttered in disbelief.

  “Well, not just that,” her godmother exclaimed. “But Christmas is coming on rather quickly, and that is a time for joy and celebration.”

  “WHAT? NO LORD SUTHTUN this morning?”

  Odel made a face at Matilda’s slightly sarcastic comment and shifted to make room for her godmother on the trestle table bench beside her. It had been several days since the hunt, and there were only three more days until Christmas. Lord Suthtun was still at Roswald.

  Michel had been joining her to break his fast every morning since the day of the hunt. He had still spent a good part of the day above stairs with Eadsele, but he had started to take his meals below, claiming he did not wish to burden the servants with the extra work of carting a meal up to him. But today he had not come down. Eadsele was again very sick.

  Though for the past several days the boy had appeared to improve—yesterday Lord Suthtun had even brought the boy below to sit by the fire and announced that tomorrow they might risk continuing on—during the night, Eadsele’s fever had suddenly shot back up. This morning he was as ill as he had been the first night. Returning home was now out of the question, of course, two-hour journey or not, and Michel had decided to remain above stairs with the boy to see if there was aught to be done.

  Odel missed him already. She had grown quite used to having the man around, a fact that was just as awful for her as his absence. Her feelings for the man had only continued to grow these past days, along with her desire. There had only been a few opportunities for stolen kisses since the hunt, and after every one, Matilda had shown up, eyeing them with disapproval. She was making it more than obvious that she was truly displeased with the time Odel spent with Michel. But then, Matilda had been displeased with the man’s arrival right from the first. Odel supposed that her godmother considered his presence a fly in her ointment. The goodhearted but damnably stubborn woman still wished to marry Odel off to one of the rich, handsome suitors she herself had provided.

  Odel paused. Now that she realized that her feelings for Michel had reached a point where his leaving would be painful, Odel found herself wishing that Matilda had found a way to remove him. In fact, it suddenly seemed odd that the old woman hadn’t.

  “I am sure Lord Suthtun is a very nice man,” Tildy was saying, “but he isn’t nearly as handsome or wealthy as the suitors I have provided. I wish you would waste less time on him and spend more with a lord like Beasley. Or perhaps Lord Trenton, he is—”

  “Explain something to me,” Odel interrupted. Matilda’s eyebrows rose.

  “What dear?”

  “Why have you not simply cured young Eadsele and seen Lord Suthtun out of here? That would have left the way clear for the others.” As she made the observation, Odel stiffened as her own words sank in.

  “What is it?” Tildy asked warily.

  “My God,” Odel breathed, then shook her head. “Nay. It cannot be.”

  “What?” Matilda was suddenly looking wary.

  “Nothing.” She forced herself to ignore the brief thought that struck her. Had Matilda not cured the boy because she did not really wish Odel to fall in love with one of her supposed suitors? Had Michel been the man Matilda was really trying to get her to fall in love with all along? After all, it was rather odd that Lord Suthtun had chosen to stop at Roswald to rest only two hours’ journey from Suthtun. And it was rather odd that the boy’s illness had come on so suddenly. But, no. This was all just coincidence, she assured herself. Wasn’t it?
r />   “Why did you not cure the boy?” Odel repeated.

  “Oh. Well, my magic does not work on humans,” Matilda assured her, but she was staring downward as she said it, reluctant to meet her gaze. Odel felt her stomach clench slightly; her godmother was lying.

  “This was your plan, wasn’t it?” she said quietly.

  Matilda’s expression closed. “What?”

  “You never intended that I should fall in love with one of the others,” she accused. “You knew I could not fall in love with any of those vain, silly, shallow men. You gave me a castle full of them, then presented me with Lord Suthtun in the hopes that I would fall in love with him.”

  “Now that is just silly. Whyever would I do a thing like that?” Matilda gave a nervous laugh and Odel exhaled in angry disappointment.

  “I should have realized that was what was going on sooner,” she said sadly. “You were so rude to him.” Odel shook her head. “But that was all just part of your plan. You were rude, so I was extra nice. Then, too, my fear that you might perform some magic trick around him meant I would spend an awful lot of time trying to keep him away from you and the others, which would constantly throw us together.”

  “Oh, really, my dear.” Tildy gave a strained titter. “You give me far too much credit. I could never be so devious.”

  Tildy was a horrible liar. She wasn’t very convincing at all. Odel almost wished she were. Then she could believe that Michel’s interest in her was real. But like all those handsome, wealthy lords that were sniffing about her like dogs around a bitch in heat, Lord Suthtun’s interest was induced. She was not foolish or vain enough to imagine that any of their attraction was real. In fact, that was part of the reason she had found their presence at Roswald so annoying. Aside from the fact that she wasn’t interested in a single one of her suitors, she had suspected that their interest in her had to be a result of Matilda’s magic. And yet, she had thought Suthtun was different. Tildy had seemed to dislike him so much, Odel had thought—