Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  “We can’t let Sir Leonard see us celebrating Christmas!” Chrystabel rushed to the fireplace and began yanking down greenery. “Where can we hide all of this?”

  “Mother, Father, stay here.” Joseph grabbed a couple of newsheets from a rack and tossed them to his parents. “When Sir Leonard shows up, he’ll find you passing a lazy winter morning in your great room. Lady Arabel, Chrystabel, we’ll collect all the trimmings and hide them in the priest hole.”

  Arabel rushed off. Chrystabel pulled the last of the decorations from the great room and ran through the small sitting room, down the corridor, and into the bedchamber with the priest hole. Craning her neck over her armful of greenery, she saw the wardrobe cabinet’s doors were still open, the false bottom raised and still leaning against the side.

  “Watch out below!” she called and tossed it all down the hole, hoping the trimmings weren’t falling on Matthew and Creath.

  All the while, she marveled at Joseph’s ability to take charge during an emergency. He would make her an excellent husband, if only everything could work out.

  When she turned around, Arabel shoved more decorations into her hands. Then Joseph showed up with yet more. “I fear Sir Leonard must be here by now,” he said.

  “I’ll go check,” Arabel said and ran off again.

  When Chrystabel went to fling more wreaths and garlands into the priest hole, Joseph held her back. “They might land on the stairs and create a hazard. Let me take them down. It’s safer.”

  “We need to gather the rest!”

  “This is the last of it. And I doubt Sir Leonard is here to catch us celebrating Christmas, anyway. He wants his bride.”

  Below, Creath whimpered.

  “I’m on my way,” Joseph called to her. His arms full of greenery, he began backing down the steep wooden staircase, his gaze on Chrystabel above. “Wait till I’m down, then toss me your decorations and follow. Watch the third step—it’s broken.”

  Chrystabel leaned into the wardrobe cabinet and glimpsed a room far below. The dim light of Matthew’s candle flickered on walls made of stone. The chamber was surprisingly large for something called a priest hole, and sparsely furnished with a small wooden table, two hard chairs, and a tall, narrow bookshelf against one wall. And a bed. Well, a pallet, really—it didn’t have any bedclothing. She supposed a hiding priest couldn’t expect anything more comfortable.

  Even with his arms full, Joseph descended the long staircase quickly. He disappeared for a moment before stepping back into her view. His hands were empty now. “I’m ready,” he called softly.

  Chrystabel dropped the last of the decorations into the dimness and followed, avoiding the third step.

  No sooner did she reach the bottom than Arabel arrived above. “He’s here! With an ancient priest-hunter, no less! He saw me, so I’m going back to pretend I’m passing the morning with Lord and Lady Trentingham.” With that, she slammed the false bottom into place over their heads.

  Matthew’s candle blew out, leaving them in sudden darkness.

  Creath whimpered again.

  “Hush,” Chrystabel heard Matthew whisper. “It’s going to be all right. We will keep you safe.”

  As Arabel banged the wardrobe doors closed above, Chrystabel imagined Matthew gathering Creath into his arms. She couldn’t see anything, so she didn’t know whether he’d done so. But she wished she could see Joseph’s reaction to Matthew comforting Creath. She was more certain than ever that her brother and Joseph’s friend belonged together.

  Why had she doubted herself?

  She wondered what Creath had told Joseph before they’d come running back into the great room. She wished she could get him alone to ask.

  “Did you hear what Arabel said?” Creath’s whisper sounded panicked. “He brought a priest-hunter. A priest-hunter!”

  “What’s a priest-hunter?” Chrystabel asked.

  “In Queen Elizabeth’s time,” Joseph’s soft voice came disembodied through the dark, “priest-hunters—”

  “He’s going to find me!” Creath interrupted. “He’s going to find me and make me marry him!”

  “Hush,” Matthew soothed again.

  Someone in the priest hole moved—and a shuffling sound followed by a crash indicated whoever it was had stumbled over some decorations and fell.

  “Ouch!” If it were possible to whisper a shout, Joseph had accomplished that. “Holy Hades,” he hissed in evident pain. “Chrystabel, could you get the decorations off the floor and stack them all in a corner somewhere? Creath, you must calm yourself.”

  “He’s going to find me!”

  “There’s a tunnel hidden behind the bookcase.” Joseph sounded somewhat exasperated. “The bookcase itself is a door with a hidden latch. I’m not sure which way I’m facing now, but stand away from the walls and I’ll find it.”

  Shuffling around in the dark in search of the trimmings she’d tossed down willy-nilly, Chrystabel bumped into the table. Now she knew where she was—at least generally. She decided to work her way around the room in a pattern, gathering the wreaths and garlands while avoiding the walls, as Joseph had asked.

  “You never told me there was a tunnel from here.” Creath’s whisper sounded muffled, as though her face might be buried against Matthew’s chest. “We used to play in here all the time, and I never knew.”

  “I suspect there are things you haven’t told me, either,” Joseph murmured a little sourly. “Ah, here it is.”

  Chrystabel heard a click and then the loud screech of a creaky door swinging open. She froze—as did everyone else, if she could judge by the sudden, total silence.

  No footsteps sounded in the room above them.

  “Creath, where are you?” Joseph called after a moment.

  “Here.” The single word was a terrified whisper.

  “Come toward my voice. Now, listen. I’m going to get you out of here, but I don’t want to talk once we leave this room, because I fear any words may echo in the tunnel and find their way out the other end. So here’s what we’re going to do…are you listening?”

  “I’m listening.”

  Chrystabel was listening, too—with her heart in her throat.

  She heard Joseph draw a deep breath. “We won’t be able to stand up in the tunnel. We will have to crawl. I’ll lead the way and you’ll follow—stay close enough to touch me, all right? I want you to touch me every few moments, and if I don’t feel you I’ll slow down. We’ll come out in the well in the well house near the stables, where no one will be able to see us emerge. The well’s water level is below the tunnel exit, and there are metal rungs sunk into the well wall, like a ladder we can climb.”

  “Won’t the priest-hunter look in the well house?” asked Creath.

  “If he does, we’ll hear him coming and go back down the well and into the tunnel. I’m more worried about him finding you here. This way if he finds this priest hole, you won’t be here—all he’ll find is the Trevors with a bunch of Christmas decorations. Do you understand everything I’ve told you so far?”

  “I do.”

  “Very well. We’ll stay inside the well house and keep quiet until we feel it’s safe to make a run for the stables. I’ll take you to Bristol and marry you, and that will be that. We no longer have any time to waste.”

  Chrystabel gasped as her heart plunged from her throat to her knees.

  He was going to marry Creath?

  Now she knew Creath’s answer and wished she didn’t.

  “On Christmas Day?” Her heart had to be in her throat again, because she could barely force the words out. She clutched the trimmings she was holding so hard that pine needles poked into her. “You think you can wed her on Christmas Day?”

  “It’s officially not a holiday, remember?” Joseph sounded calm. Dead calm. Like maybe he was feeling dead inside. “All the shops are supposed to be open. All government officials have been ordered to mind their posts. Including Justices of the Peace. Yes, I think I can wed her on Christ
mas Day.”

  “But—” Chrystabel began and stopped.

  “But what?” he whispered.

  She didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything. And then she realized she wasn’t saying anything because there was nothing she could say. Nothing she could say that would stop Joseph from wedding Creath.

  He’d promised to marry Creath, and he wouldn’t go back on his word, because he was an honorable man.

  And Chrystabel wouldn’t want him any other way.

  His decency was one of the many reasons she loved him.

  More needles were poking into her, and the chocolate she’d enjoyed earlier was threatening to come back up.

  Joseph apparently gave up waiting for her to answer. Chrystabel heard a rustling noise.

  “Creath, do you feel that?” Joseph’s voice still sounded dead. “It’s my surcoat—have you got it? I don’t want you freezing on the ride to Bristol. Put it on now. Once we make a run for the stables, we won’t have time to do anything but jump on two horses. We’ll need to be well gone before they realize what’s happened and try to follow us.”

  “All right.” Creath sounded petrified, but she obeyed. Chrystabel heard more rustling as she donned the surcoat. “It’s too big on me.”

  “It will keep you warm.”

  “Won’t you be cold?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Joseph said. “Are you ready?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then let’s go. Grosmont, close the bookcase door very slowly behind us. Hopefully that will make less noise.”

  “No,” came Matthew’s voice.

  “What? You don’t think it will make less noise?”

  “I don’t think you should go with her. I will go with her, and you can close the damned bookcase.”

  A stunned silence filled the dark room.

  “Creath,” Joseph finally whispered, “when I asked you—”

  “I must go,” she whispered back fiercely. “Before they find me. Come on, Matthew—you lead.”

  Twenty-One

  IN THE PITCH-BLACK, standing who-knew-how-many feet away from him, Chrystabel would swear she could feel Joseph’s shock.

  She waited for him to say something. Instead she heard him close the bookcase door very, very slowly. The protracted screech it made wasn’t as loud as when he’d opened it, but it was still noisy enough that they both stood rooted in place, not daring to even breathe until it was certain they remained undiscovered.

  And then he still didn’t say anything for a long while.

  “She wanted him to go with her,” he finally whispered. “After she’d just told me she wanted to marry me. Why would she say she wanted to marry me if she wanted to marry him?”

  It was doubtless a rhetorical question, but Chrystabel thought she knew the answer. “She’s scared. And young. She was probably unsure of her feelings until the time came when she had to make a decision. And maybe she didn’t want to risk offending her best friend.” She moved toward his voice. “It appears I was right.”

  “It does appear so.” She heard no sounds of him moving toward her, making her think he was still in shock. “I guess they’re in love,” he added. “I guess she’ll be marrying him, after all.”

  Chrystabel wanted to scream with joy. But that didn’t seem appropriate, as they were all still in danger. So instead she said, “I hope they won’t be too cold out there,” and waited to hear him whisper again so she could find him.

  “I think they’ll be all right,” he said. “Unlike me, your brother still has his surcoat. The ride isn’t too long—only twelve miles to Bristol. It’s warmed up a bit, and they can stay in the tunnel if they want to keep each other warm there.”

  “Will you keep me warm here, Joseph? I’m scared.”

  She wasn’t, not really—or at least not too much. How bad could it be to be found in a priest hole with Christmas decorations? They didn’t hang people for that. She’d usually managed to talk her way out of tough spots in the past, and she expected that would also be the case here.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use a bit of comfort. Especially from a man like Joseph. The more she saw of him, the more she saw to love. His composure and ingenuity down here had impressed her again. He’d taken responsibility, come up with a plan quickly, and would have carried it out had Matthew not intervened. Chrystabel had no doubt he would take good care of her over the years.

  He was taking a long time to answer her. “Joseph?”

  “I’ll be happy to keep you warm,” he said at last, sounding less than happy.

  Why was that? She wished she could see his face.

  Moving toward his voice, she stepped forward and nearly stumbled over a chair.

  “Stop,” he said. “I’ll come to you. I think I know where you are now.”

  A moment later she felt him reach out and touch her, and then he gathered her into his arms. For a long while they just stood there in the dark, holding each other. He felt warm and smelled of greenery and spicy wood smoke again—that mouthwatering scent she wanted to bottle. She wished she could stay in his arms forever.

  She wanted to kiss him, but he still seemed too shocked. It seemed too soon.

  “So what’s a priest-hunter?” she asked softly to break the silence.

  “A man who hunts priests.”

  She reached up to playfully hit his shoulder with a fist. “I want to know. You said something about Queen Elizabeth?”

  He tightened his hold on her. “Elizabeth wanted to wipe out Catholicism, fearing she might be overthrown in favor of her Catholic cousin, Mary Queen of Scots. During her reign, it was considered high treason for a priest to even enter England, and anyone found aiding and abetting one would be severely punished. Priest-hunters were hired to find hidden priests in homes like this one.”

  Against her ear pressed to his shirtfront, his words seemed to rumble around in his chest. She smiled in the darkness. “What do you mean by homes like this one?”

  “Homes built by wealthy Catholics. The duke who built Tremayne secretly belonged to the old church, so he planned this room to hide his priest—and their candles, crucifixes, and other Popish things—in case a priest-hunter came around. This priest hole is part of the cellars, actually. We were beside it when we made the mulled wine. But it’s inaccessible from down there. The opening below the wardrobe cabinet is the only way in. Well, that and the tunnel.”

  His voice calmed her in the darkness. She wanted him to keep talking. “How did the priest-hunters hunt?”

  “They would knock on walls to see if they were hollow, or measure the outside of the house and the rooms inside, to see if the measurements matched. They would count the windows inside and out, to see if any windows weren’t included in accessible rooms. They would pull up floors and look underneath. Or they might stake out a home for days or weeks, just waiting for a Catholic priest to emerge. Sometimes priests died in the holes for lack of food and water while waiting for the priest-hunters to leave.”

  “That’s terrible. But surely no one died here. You have the tunnel.”

  “I doubt a priest was ever hidden here. Tremayne’s original owner was beheaded for treason before he finished building this castle. The Crown confiscated the property and eventually sold it to my great-great-grandfather. It’s been ours ever since, useless priest hole and all.”

  “It’s turned out not to be useless,” Chrystabel pointed out. “Here we are in it, with a priest-hunter looking for us.”

  “Looking for Creath, really. But it’s a wonder there are still priest-hunters around. Elizabeth’s been dead for forty-eight years.”

  “Arabel said the priest-hunter was ancient. Perhaps she wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “I’d guess she wasn’t.” She felt him tense. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s in the cellar next door.”

  Listening hard, she thought she might be hearing footsteps, barely audible through the
stone wall. Then a distinct bang. She jumped, and Joseph’s arms tightened around her.

  “Is he knocking on the wall to see if there’s a room on the other side?” she asked in her smallest whisper.

  “Probably. But he won’t be able to tell. These stone walls are too thick.”

  To her embarrassment, she was shaking. Her knees were threatening to give out. “Can we sit down?”

  Still holding on to her, he began shuffling them toward the table.

  “No,” she whispered. “The bed, not the table. I want to sit beside you, not across from you.”

  “I don’t think we should be on a bed together.”

  “You’re sounding like your father.”

  “I am not a fust-cudgel.” The words sounded like they came from between clenched teeth, and she felt him take a deep breath before he continued. “It’s just that…I’m not sure I can trust myself on a bed with you.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.” His whisper dropped, becoming lower, deeper. “I’ve never felt anything like what I feel with you, Chrysanthemum. I cannot be near you without wishing to rip your gown off.”

  Knowing she’d turned as red as the strawberry tart, she was glad for the darkness. She’d never heard such talk from anyone…but she wanted him to rip her gown off. She wanted that more than she would ever have thought possible.

  And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

  She needed to fix that.

  Picturing where the bed was in her mind, she began moving them toward it. And recognized the moment he gave in. He knew the room better than she did, and he had them on that bed in a flash.

  Not wanting to alarm him, she sat primly beside him and slipped her hand into his. “Are you still worried?” she asked, staring straight ahead into the blackness.

  “Of course I’m still worried. Are you not?”

  “Just a little.” Mostly she was worrying about how to get him to kiss her. “Maybe we can help each other. What are you worrying about?”