Her Christmas Knight

by Nicole Locke

  ‘I think it’s time...’ she began.

  ‘Time for what? Do not be coy with me. You know I cannot stand it.’

  She had expected Elizabeth to interrupt. In fact she needed her sister to interrupt so she would have time to prepare each sentence.

  ‘You know how you are always saying that one day I’ll be over Hugh?’

  Elizabeth’s hands flew to her chest. ‘You are not making some cruel joke?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Or at least a part of her was telling the truth. And her anger at him made the lie easier.

  ‘I think that day has come.’

  Elizabeth sat down hard on the edge of her bed. ‘I am speechless. I never thought I would hear you say those words. Even if you felt that way, I never thought you would actually say it. How did it happen? You have met someone? Were you introduced?’

  Oh, she’d met someone. She met the man she had foolishly fallen in love with, and he’d thought her a whore. Simply the memory of him tightened her guts and coiled her innards with irritation.

  ‘Nothing like that!’

  Her sister’s brows rose and she gave her a knowing look.

  Needing to be calm, Alice forced her mind to erase Hugh. She wouldn’t tell her sister of seeing Hugh again. There would be no point. It wasn’t as if he would ever return to Swaffham. He hadn’t returned to the town in years. Here, she was safe from his presence.

  If only her thoughts were safe from thinking of him.

  ‘I have met many men,’ she amended. ‘It was difficult not to at Court. There was eating, dancing and games. I could hardly go to London and not meet someone.’

  ‘Well, then, who was it that took your eye? Please tell me. Do I know him? You know I always thought Mitchell would be a fine match for you—especially now he’s returned from his travels.’

  Mitchell was close to her age, and as sensible as her sister’s husband. He was indeed a perfect match for her. If only she could force her heart to agree to such a bargain.

  She’d have to tell a truth.

  ‘No one in particular took my eye.’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘None ever do. You have always been this way. Ever since that ridiculous incident when you were six.’

  ‘It wasn’t ridiculous!’

  ‘You defend him again?’

  ‘I can hardly not defend him. I broke his nose!’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘You did not break Hugh’s nose; Allen broke his nose.’

  ‘I’m the one who swung my fist.’

  ‘But Allen and his friends lowered you into that empty well.’

  ‘I hate the dark to this day. And if not for Hugh, where would I be?’

  ‘Happily married to a suitable man instead of pining away for years in vain hope. I thought you were over him?’

  Alice slipped out of her shoes and placed them closer to the fire. ‘I am.’

  ‘Then why are you defending him?’

  She raised one foot to the fire and revelled in the warmth seeping into her toes. ‘Because, despite what he has done, and despite the fact I’m no longer in love with him, he does deserve some bit of kindness.’

  ‘Truly?’

  It was all lies—lies, lies. She was in love with him and he didn’t deserve kindness, but she had to continue her story.

  ‘I was scared witless after being left in that well. When Hugh came and fought them off—’

  ‘Getting his nose broken in the process,’ Elizabeth interrupted.

  ‘I was so relieved.’

  ‘And that relief manifested itself into some strange infatuation until you thought yourself in love with him.’ Elizabeth stood and paced the room. ‘It was childish, making that vow to marry him.’

  ‘I was six!’

  ‘But you made a vow. It didn’t matter what age you were. You were always stubborn, always headstrong. You have never broken a vow, never backed down from a challenge. I always feared the moment you vowed to marry him you would stick to it even if you did not love him. Or that maybe you would fool yourself into loving him simply to fulfil your vow.’

  Alice looked down. Steam rose from the bottom of her dress. This was not the conversation she’d wanted. Defending Hugh was a mistake, and had only alerted Elizabeth to her true feelings. She needed to change the subject or else she’d never fool her sister.

  ‘Aren’t you curious what happened to me at Court?’

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded her head in agreement.

  ‘I noticed men and women talking...laughing. Together. It reminded me of you and John. It was...painful.’

  Elizabeth bit hard on her lip, her hands tightly clenched in her lap. ‘I did not know you felt that way.’

  She didn’t. She had always been happy for her and John. If there had ever been an occasional wish that she could be as happy, it had been quickly pushed away so she could concentrate on her projects.

  She turned her back to her sister and thrust her feet and hands towards the fire. ‘I didn’t know I felt that way until I was at Court.’

  ‘Curious that you should feel that way in London. It’s not as if loyalty and love are in fashion there.’

  ‘Maybe they seemed happy. Maybe I simply saw what I wanted to see. Maybe I want to be married.’

  The squeak of the bed ropes and the flutter of her sister’s dress notified her that Elizabeth was moving closer. Alice rubbed her hands and hunched her shoulders forward to hide her features. She felt Elizabeth’s eyes trying to prise the truth from her profile, but she didn’t dare look at her.

  ‘You could borrow a gown of mine if you are so cold.’

  Did Elizabeth suspect? She couldn’t, shouldn’t look at her sister. ‘No, I’ll warm up in a while.’

  ‘You’ve turned down so many proposals...’

  ‘I know.’

  Elizabeth turned her attention to the fire and rubbed her hands briskly. ‘But I believe there are a few of those men still available.’

  Alice nodded her head. Even if Hugh hadn’t been behind her reason for refusing those marriage proposals, she wouldn’t have married any of the men who had applied for her hand. But they were the ones she needed to gain information from.

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘Alice, are you serious about this? Is this how you truly feel? Look at me.’

  Concern creased Elizabeth’s brow and troubled her grey eyes. Alice would have to make her performance more convincing if she was to get those invitations.

  She smiled. ‘It is how I feel.’

  ‘Because I do not want you trying to placate your family into thinking you are happy. You know Father would be overjoyed if—

  ‘Do not talk to me of Father and relationships. He’s hardly one to talk about the raptures of love.’

  Their father was overtly kind and generous with everyone. He loved their mother very much. Unfortunately, he loved many other women as well. It had only been a slight relief that he’d always tried to be discreet on his trips to London, but since their mother had died all discretion had vanished.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Elizabeth frowned. ‘This is not one of your projects, is it? You are not doing this out of some warped sense of setting a wrong to rights?’

  She kept her eyes on her sister’s. This, at least, wasn’t a lie. ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘It’s not some silly vow you made while you were away?’

  ‘No.’

  It wasn’t a vow—or a project. It was an enormous promise to the King. She felt the weight of it heavily on her shoulders. Or maybe it was all the lying she was doing.

  Elizabeth’s hands went to her face and wiped the tears under her eyes. ‘I cannot tell you what this means to me.’

  Alice grabbed her sister’s hands. ‘Don’t cry.’


  ‘All this time...’ Elizabeth’s voice broke. ‘All this worry. I did not think you would even attempt to find someone you deserve.’

  ‘Please don’t cry. Please. I can’t take your tears.’

  Waving her hands in front of her face, Elizabeth beamed. ‘I am happy for you!’

  Alice clasped her sister’s hands firmly together and willed Elizabeth to stop her happiness. Such sisterly joy pressed upon her more heavily than the lies she’d told. She still had more lies to tell, and it wouldn’t do if she failed this early in her mission.

  ‘I know you’re happy for me, but it means nothing if I don’t actually have a husband.’

  Elizabeth shook her hands free. ‘That is easy to remedy. St Martin’s Day is mere days away, and Christmas will soon be upon us. In fact, I can think of many upcoming affairs that John and I have been invited to. I’ll simply secure an invitation for you as well.’

  Such invitations were exactly what Alice both dreaded and needed. Lies and deceit pricked sharply in her heart, but she’d do anything to save her family.

  ‘I knew I could count on you for help.’

  Chapter Four

  Hugh stormed through his old house—such as it was. The three-room residence was smaller than he remembered, the furniture rougher and the linens course. Abrasive, just like Swaffham. A small town with sparsely cobbled, cramped streets and not enough amenities where a man could get lost. Or, better yet, not be seen when he didn’t want to be.

  He had never intended to return to this town of his childhood. A town he had been forced to travel to when his dying mother had written to his errant father and begged him to care for his son.

  And so, at the age of five, Hugh had been carted off by travelling strangers. He had left Shoebury knowing he was leaving his mother, knowing he would never see her again. Knowing he was travelling to the care of a man who had never wanted him in the first place.

  His father, Clifford of Swaffham, a knight impoverished, had been an abusive drunk. Many a night Hugh had dreamed he still lived in Shoebury with his mother—only to awake to cold and hunger. Many a time he’d thought it would have been better to be left alone in the streets without a parent.

  Why his father had agreed to take him, he had never known. To this day Hugh didn’t know if he hated his father or Swaffham more. The tiniest comfort he hoped for upon his arrival was Bertrice’s food, and that held no flavour.

  He rubbed the grit from his eyes. Even with her ankle healing from a recent break, Bertrice’s food was better than fine. It was his mood that wasn’t. He wanted to crack the clay cup in his hand, but he tipped it to his mouth and downed the ale instead.

  Had nothing changed? Even his need to drink remained the same. He knew from experience that there wasn’t enough ale in all the land to hide his thoughts from himself, and if he drank much more he’d wouldn’t be able to keep his thoughts to himself.

  Maybe if he poured out all his secrets he’d be rid of their poison.

  The thought of finally being free of their crushing weight sent a mad euphoria through him—before hard reason dropped like an axe.

  Laughing bitterly, he poured more ale into his cup. Pouring out his secrets would never happen. If it did, he’d be free—but only of his own head.

  He renewed his pacing, stifling walls and bitter memories assaulting him from every cobwebbed dusty corner. At Edward’s court he shared his room with four other knights, but his suite was generous, its linens and wall coverings fine and warm in colour and purpose.

  He kicked one of the thinly plastered wooden walls and a shifting of dust hit his shoe and hose. There wasn’t a scrap of colour or warmth in this hovel.

  He shook the dust off in disgust. He regretted telling Bertrice not to clean the rooms. She had been insistent, but his bitterness at returning had tainted everything. Now he could see that if he was to spend time here, he’d have to make this hovel hospitable. Pampered soft bastard that he was.

  Not that courtly pampering had made him any kinder, or any more of a gentleman. He was an unscrupulous man in a merciless predicament.

  He’d been ordered by King Edward to find the keeper of the Half-Thistle Seal. Because private information had been leaked from the King’s chamber, Edward had lost a military surprise he’d been strategizing for months.

  The Scots had not come as quickly to heel as the King had demanded since he’d won at Dunbar, and Balliol was now at the Tower of London. Since July, the King had relentlessly ordered nobles and clansmen to swear him fealty. Adamantly established sheriffs and governors to enforce his rule.

  But that wasn’t all Edward had done. He’d also launched spies to infiltrate and report that his orders were being completed.

  Hugh was such a spy. His skill with sword and strategy had been noted, but not exemplified.

  Hugh had had the honour of gaining the King’s attention earlier this year, in April, after the death of the King’s favoured knight, Black Robert.

  Secrets. Hugh was good at keeping and discovering them. He was good at reporting to the King. He had all the information Edward could ever need, but not everything he wanted to know.

  For one, Black Robert was not dead, and was in fact Hugh’s closest friend and currently living on Clan Colquhoun’s Scottish soil while married to a Scot.

  As for the second secret—Hugh didn’t need to travel anywhere to find the keeper of the Half-Thistle Seal. Hugh merely needed to look in a mirror or in the purse strapped tightly to his waist. The small seal had been pressing heavily since it had been hidden on the inside of his tunic. A metal thistle cut in half. One for him. One for Robert. Made so that Hugh could inform Robert of the King’s whereabouts and of any royal decrees that might affect Clan Colquhoun.

  How had Edward discovered the Seal so soon? Only a few messages had been sent. Necessary to warn his friend of the King’s movements. Secretive, but innocent, and certainly not enough to start a war. Merely enough to save lives.

  So many lives. The English...the Scots. How long could he protect both? Did it matter?

  Ah, yes, it did—and that brought him to his third and definitely most perilous secret: Alice.

  A joke on him since he was ordered to pay close attention to the Fenton family. Of all the families in all the land that the King had ordered him to spy on it had to be—

  Three sharp blows to the weakened door had pieces of chipped plaster falling to the floor. Turning sharply, Hugh sloshed the ale in his cup as he watched the inconsequential door withstand the pounding. His sole concern was who might be visiting this time of night.

  Only Bertrice knew he was in the town. He wanted it that way—wanted to give himself at least a day before he had to face everyone. Face what he had to do.

  Another bang on the door...another swirl of dust.

  ‘Hugh, open the damn door—it’s freezing outside.’

  Hugh recognised the voice, unlatched the door and stepped away as a tall, thick giant of a man stormed into the tiny house and stamped his feet to dislodge the snow that had settled on him.

  Blowing on his hands, the man turned. ‘It’s not much warmer in here.’

  ‘I can open the door for you to leave and find warmer accommodations,’ Hugh replied, latching the door and turning to Eldric, a man he had known since they’d fostered at Edward’s court.

  ‘I think I’ll take my chances in here,’ Eldric replied.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Hugh replied, assessing one of his oldest friends—one he had not seen for many years.

  Many young squires had been shoved into the same room back then. There had been nothing to differentiate Hugh from the rest of the boys Edward fostered, but even then Eldric had been huge. Everyone had wanted to be his friend and his partner.

  Having known too many tormentors in the past, Hugh had steered clear
—which had only got him noticed by Eldric.

  It hadn’t taken long for Hugh to realise that Eldric wasn’t like the children in his past. For one, his friend had whistled—a habit that would have been mercilessly mocked if Eldric had been a hand span shorter. The other thing was that he was always at ease with his place and with everyone around him. From a lowly servant to the King, Eldric took every meeting with a happy outlook.

  Such an outlook on life had intrigued Hugh. Growing up in Shoebury and then in Swaffham he had thought his life sheltered though he’d always known his family’s past darkened him. He knew it for certain when he heard Eldric laugh with an ease he could never manage.

  However, there was nothing at ease about his friend now—and he guessed it wasn’t only the cold that caused the certain tenseness to his friend’s shoulders and expression.

  ‘What are you doing here, Eldric?’

  Eldric pointed to the flagon still on the table. ‘Is there any left?’

  Hugh knew better than to turn his back to fetch another cup. ‘Not much.’

  Eldric’s gaze took in Hugh’s dust-covered boots, his travel-worn breeches and wrinkled tunic. ‘I can tell that.’

  Hugh knew he was hardly in courtly dress and had drunk deep. But that was his own business, not this town’s nor his childhood friend’s. Years had passed since he’d seen him, and yet even though Eldric had scarcely been in his presence, he knew exactly how to challenge him.

  In these small confines, there was only one way to accept such a challenge.

  Turning his back, Hugh fetched another cup and flipped it over in front of Eldric, so that dust, plaster and insect remains fell to the ground.

  Without so much as a telling tic, Eldric accepted the cup and poured the rest of the flagon’s ale into it.

  Hugh’s humour lifted. Regardless of the unanswered question of why Eldric was in Swaffham, there was some of the same man he had known. Eldric was indeed still at ease with his world.

  ‘As to why I am here...’ Eldric shrugged. ‘You have to know news of your presence in this town has spread.’

  Gossip. He might have underestimated the power of the small town. ‘I arrived today. I thought myself alone for tonight, but that’s not what I meant.’