In the galley, a minstrel sang a ballad in sweet tones accompanied by a harp and a dulcimer. Caterina had limited experience, but this was the grandest Hall she’d ever seen. The whitewashed walls covered in banners and shields in bright colors cheered her even on a gray winter day. The large hearth blazed and the oil lamps and beeswax candles lent a soft glow to the massive room. There must be close to fifty people in the Hall, and probably twice or even thrice that many would be here on Christmas. And the dais filled with knights and nobles was...Oh, there he is, staring at me again! I cannot read his features. What is he thinking?
The minstrel reached the end of his song and bowed. A sudden flurry of activity caught her attention. From the screen passage, a troupe of men erupted in piebald clothing in shades of green and red and wearing jolly hats with tinkling bells on the ends. The jugglers cartwheeled and jumped into the center of the room to the applause of the guests. To Caterina’s relief, they blocked Sir Hugh’s view of her. Balls and pins flew up in the air to be caught and tossed back and forth between the five of them as they called out jests to the crowd. They moved apart to increase the distance between them, and there he was again. Sir Hugh, sights fixed on her. The troupe moved together again blocking his face from her, only to part again holding up hoops. The jugglers took turns leaping through the hoops. Hugh had his neck craned to the side looking at her around the entertainment taking place between them.
She decided to return his gaze with a bold stare of her own to call attention to his rude behavior, when Sir John whispered something in Sir Hugh’s ear. Sir John lifted his hand and with a discreet motion, pointed out into the Hall. With that, Hugh’s stare wandered away from her and focused on another spot, where they stayed fixed. Caterina followed the direction of his eyes. Rosamund. Why did her heart sink?
Chapter Six
Caterina stumbled into the Hall carrying a wicker basket. A servant holding a candle had led her through the dark passages, but now as she walked into the Hall, the view opened up. She stepped around the baker and the brewer playing dice on the floor. At this hour, the tables had been taken away and the floor would soon be covered with blanket-shrouded forms, but now people still moved about the large two-storied room in the dim light from the fire in the great hearth and oil lamps. Sounds of activity filled the room: some sang songs accompanied by a flute, the click of stone on stone from chess players, and the hum of many conversations played about her ears. The scent of food still lingered in the air, along with beeswax and the aroma of many bodies—both human and animal—packed into one room.
Thinking the hearth would be a starting point for her mission, Caterina moved in that direction, but halted in frustration when she saw who sat by the fire.
Sir Hugh and Sir John sat cross-legged on mattresses placed on the floor, facing each other in deep conversation. This alone gave her pause, but the sight of the two of them unclothed froze her to the spot. She could see they were in the midst of their daily cleansing, dressed in only linen braies to cover their loins, they rubbed the grime and sweat of the day away with dry squares of linen. Each had their squires behind them, rubbing down their backs, while the knights rubbed the skin of their limbs and torso in circular motions.
Her mouth filled with water at the sight of Sir Hugh’s body. His massive shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. He had a lean body type with every muscle defined under skin. As she watched, he moved to his chest, rubbing circles on the dark patch of hair fanning out there. The sight of it made her feel feverish. His hair hung in loose curls around his shoulders where the firelight brought out its copper tones. A beautiful man.
But the perfect body bore the marks of battle. A scar ran around one shoulder and the knee on the same side looked misshapen and scarred. His limp not my fault at all.
Sir Hugh laughed at something Sir John said, transforming his face. With his arrogance and stern visage melted in mirth, he looked years younger. He looked up at her as if sensing her presence in the room. His face stilled and Sir John, catching his look, cast his eyes on her, as well. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then, Hugh raised his hand and crooked his finger at her. “Come hither, girl!” he shouted, the ghost of deep, rich laughter still in his voice.
Caterina bit back the urge to shout back she was not a girl. She trudged forward to their spot by the hearth, dry rushes crunching with every step she took. Up close, she could see his bare skin glowing pink after being rubbed down. She didn’t want to look at his face, but her downcast eyes brought other of his features into her sights. His braies gathered in folds between muscular thighs, which were covered with coarse, manly hair. The heat cast by the hearth made her lightheaded. When she raised her gaze again, she found Sir Hugh watching her take in his body. Humiliation washed over her, seeing the smoldering glint in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort.
She fought to make her words come out in a sensible fashion, all on one string in the right order. “Did you want a pomander?” She held out an orange to him.
His green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Nay, I only wanted to see if you could approach me without inflicting bodily harm.”
Chapter Seven
The cold seeped out of the frozen ground like long, frosty fingers creeping up through his boots and hose, going right to his bones. Hugh wrapped his fur-lined cape closer around his body. He moved closer to the brazier set along the river and stirred the flames, sending sparks into the air.
“Not skating, Hugh?”
“God save ye, John,” he greeted his friend. “The days of tying bones to my feet and gliding around on ice are past.” He patted his knee, which hurt like the devil at the moment.
“Aye, I’m past it, too. They look gay, though, don’t they?”
Hugh looked out at the frozen river. Sounds of laughter filled the brittle air as groups of men and women glided and swirled over the surface. Unbidden, his lips formed into a grin at the sight of Caterina, her hood fallen back exposing black-as-night hair, flowing free in soft curls. Her hat rolled around the ice—of course. The man who marries her will have his hands full keeping that girl in one piece. The cold air tinged her cheeks a deep rose and her eyes crinkled in delight as she spun around at the end of a line of skaters. Her whole body shook with laughter.
That chit of a girl did amuse him. In his mind, he’d begun to call her Catty Catkins. He knew he made her nervous. Mayhap this awkwardness accounted for the times she’d tripped or fallen into him in almost as many days as he’d been here. So far, this day had gone by without incident, he reflected, surprised by the disappointment he felt at the thought.
John nudged him. “How goes it with Lady Hawley?”
Hugh snorted. “I think she instructs the river in the art of freezing. I’ve acted the charmer for a sennight now and she shows no sign of thawing.”
“I did warn you. I think she’s better suited to the covenant. Look at her now.”
Rosamund stood alone on the bank save for a couple of her adherents, lips pinched tight in disapproval. The other ladies shivered and looked like they’d prefer to join the fun but didn’t dare cross her.
“She does look sour as vinegar, but I mean to have her, all the same. I don’t want to end my days in a small knight’s house even if it does have stained glass windows in the chapel. I’m glad to be home, but the things I’ve seen in the East make me hunger for more. The splendor I’ve seen!” He turned and winked at John. “But back to the matter at hand, I’m not deterred by Rosamund’s coldness. There are other ways to win a lady aside from wooing.”
“Do tell?”
“Who is her chief rival?”
“Caterina Glanville.” John said without hesitation.
“Catty Catkins! I don’t believe it.”
“Catty Catkins? What is this nonsense you’re uttering?”
Hugh laughed. “’Tis what I call Caterina.”
John’s eyes widened. “You speak to her in endearments?”
“Nay! Not to her face! ’Tis
not an endearment. I call her that because, like a cat, she is often underfoot.”
“Near to where you like her, I sense, when I spy you with her.”
“Not where I like her. Did you see how she almost went tumbling down the stairs yesterday? If I’d not been there to stop her fall, she would have suffered a grave injury. She’s lucky I was there.” Hugh shuddered at the thought.
“I don’t think luck has much to do with it. We do not think the chair lucky it has legs to stand on, because they always stand together. If not together ’tis only a slab of wood and a pile of sticks. ’Tis by design, not chance they come together. Just as you and Caterina do. You stand near her whenever possible.”
“That girl is only a pup!”
“First, she’s a cat—and now, you have her a dog. You’re trying too hard to not see her as the woman she is, methinks.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hugh said. Then, a thought occurred to him. “Does Catty have prospects?”
“Nay. She is the sixth daughter of six sisters and her father is only a baronet with a small fief. Your little Catty Catkins is only here as she is related to Lady Eleanor and ’tis a favor from the lady. She needs to find a husband willing to take a wife without a fortune attached to her.”
Hugh’s scalp tightened. “Is there such a man courting her?”
John laughed. “With all the younger sons running about, men seeking wealthy brides ’tis more the way of things. You’re very fortunate, Hugh, to be able to choose.”
“Well, that’s too bad about Catty...I suppose. But, how can a girl of her status be rival to Rosamund? Catty is a pretty thing, but—”
“Because Caterina stepped in quick and became Lady Eleanor’s favorite, supplanting the fair Rosamund. But what is it to you who her rival is?”
Hugh laid a finger alongside his nose. “Jealously is a great motivating force—especially jealousy between ladies.”
“You don’t mean you’d use Caterina to lure in Rosamund?”
“I would word it differently, but I suppose that’s what it comes down to.”
Disapproval flashed across John’s face. For an instant, Hugh felt a pang of guilt in his heart.
“I wouldn’t hurt the lady for the world. I only mean to pique Rosamund’s interest…then I’ll leave Catty Catkins be.”
John still appeared troubled, but gave him weak smile. “Anyway, I don’t understand the stipulation the lady must agree to marry you. Since when does a lady have a choice in the matter?”
Hugh screwed his face in memory of the impudent boast he once made to his prince concerning his abilities to woo ladies. “’Twas only a jest. The king said he hopes I one day meet a lady who will make me feel the sting of rejection, so I will have to work to win her heart.”
“Well, I still say you have your arrow pointed at the wrong mark. Speaking of which, are you going on the hunt tomorrow?”
“Of course. We must have a boar. For what is a Christmas feast without a boar’s head on a gold platter?”
“We haven’t caught one yet. We may have to make do with a cake shaped like a boar’s head this year.”
“Pah! Not while I’m a guest. There will be a boar’s head on the plate.”
John chuckled. “Always so sure of your abilities. Still, I’m glad to hear you’ll be in the party. I feared you wouldn’t want to let your beloved out of your sights.”
Hugh turned to his friend in exasperation to ask him whom he meant when a shriek of pure joy cut the air. He looked over to see Caterina let fly from the line of skaters which had whipped in an arc. He spread his legs and planted his feet firmly on the ground ready to receive the body of the lady hurtling toward him. Catrina’s face became a mask of horror when she saw him in her path. He opened his arms.
The force of her body knocked him backward, where his feet slipped on the ice. They both fell like a sack of grain on the frozen ground. They lay there a moment, with their legs entwined, her body almost weightless on top of him. Hugh felt her heart beating like a wild animal even between all the layers of clothing, and smelled the cold air caught in her hair.
“Oh, dear, I thought we were getting better at this,” he said, running his hand over the back of her head.
In that instant, he wished they lay together thus under different circumstances. He also wished his hand wasn’t encased in a heavy leather glove so he could feel the softness of her hair.
Chapter Eight
The almost cloying scent of frankincense and myrrh in the air brought back memories of Christmases past. Caterina fought off the feeling of melancholia at the thought of not seeing her family for the first time this holiday. Instead, she’d focus on what surrounded her. She and the other ladies had decorated the Hall. The nativity set painted in rich tones sat in a prominent place, and bowls of apples and nuts had been scattered around, as traditional, to represent the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus. They hung and placed boughs of greenery wherever possible until the Hall looked like a forest glade. Caterina brightened. Who can be sad on Christmas?
In her survey of the room, her eyes came to rest upon Sir Hugh standing by the hearth. He watched her with a gentle smile on his face. She turned away, unsure how to meet his bold appraisal of her. She couldn’t understand the man. So arrogant one moment, and then stroking her hair with fondness the next. She’d watched him the previous week, courting Rosamund. It galled her, and she wished him gone from the castle.
She shook herself. Her hands held the last rope of holly and evergreens to hang, and she saw the perfect spot to hang the prickly garland. Still feeling his eyes on her, Caterina pulled a three-legged stool under the wall bracket meant to hold a torch.
She stepped on the stool while her mind ran to the episode earlier today when she’d collided with him on the ice. As she careened toward him, Sir Hugh held out his arms ready to embrace her like a lover. When he caressed her hair, she could scarcely breathe for the intimacy of his touch.
The stool clattered on the floor as she shifted her weight. If she stood up on her toes, she could just reach the bracket.
Suddenly, two strong arms encircled her waist and lifted her up into the air. She looked over her shoulder to see Sir Hugh beaming up at her. “Hang the holly, girl. I can’t hold you up forever.”
With trembling fingers, she hung the rope of greenery over the bracket. She felt herself being lowered to the ground. Still, the arms stayed around her. Caterina spun around to find herself looking up at that handsome face craning downward—so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Gramercy, Sir Hugh, but I could have managed without your aid,” she said in a cool tone.
“You could have managed to break your neck. What were you thinking, perching like that on a wobbly stool?”
“You may release me. I’m safe on solid ground now.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Safe. Do you feel safe now?” He bit his lower lip.
She looked into the depth of those amazing emerald eyes, feeling anything but safe. The blood pounded in her ears and her bosom heaved. She pushed at his chest and he released her.
“’Tis the second time I’ve had to ask you to unhand me,” she snapped at him.
“And yet, somehow you keep ending up in my arms.”
“Pray forgive me, I have work to do,” she said, ready to take her leave. He unnerves me so.
“Stay a moment. I want to compliment you on the beauty you bring. To the Hall, I mean. I haven’t seen such a festive sight in a long time, and it gladdens my heart.”
“I didn’t do it alone.” She glanced over his shoulder at the room behind him, unwilling to meet his eye. Save but Cecily, all the other ladies watched her with interest. Cecily and Sir John only had eyes for each other, of a sudden. They stood now conversing, heads bent toward each other.
“You did more work than any of the others. I watched you. You’ve made it a place of wonder. I wanted to let you know I appre
ciate your efforts.” He spoke in a soft tone which made her wary.
“Thank you. I love Christmas more than any holiday.”
Caterina noticed Rosamund had stopped filling bowls with nuts and stood staring at her with Sir Hugh. She had her nose up in the air, and even from this distance, Caterina could see her nose twitching. Rabbit.
“’Tis evident on your face. You look joyful. Tell me, what is your favorite Christmas tradition?”
The words, which had been clamped tight in her mouth now spilled out of her with ease at the thought of Christmas. “Oh, I think bringing in the Yule log is my favorite!”
He studied her with a smile in his eyes. “Really? Why?”
Caterina thought about it. “Well, I suppose because when they bring in the log all decked in ribbons and greenery, it means Christmas Day is on the morrow. When the log is brought in and all doff their hats to it like ’tis a great person, it makes me laugh. And when they light the new log with the end of the old log, all past wrongs go up the flue. I always think of the past holiday and all the days that have come in between the two. It pleases me.”
“You are young. Mayhap the day will come you won’t be pleased to see another year gone.”
She tilted her head and looked up at him. “You’re very broody. And you hardly seem ready for the Chair Day yourself, I might add.”
He chuckled and looked away. “No, I’m not quite ready to view the rest of my life from a chair. I’m not enfeebled yet. Broody? Is that how you see me? I’ve seen a lot—not all good. Mayhaps that colors my thoughts, at times. I don’t have your sunny outlook.”
She glanced down at his shoulder, knowing under his tunic ran a scar like a crescent. No, she didn’t want to view the world through a knight’s eyes. He inclined his head and regarded her with a gentleness that made her want hold him in conversation longer, so changed was he. “And, you, Sir Hugh, what is your favorite part of Christmas?”
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