Her Christmas Knight

by Nicole Locke

  ‘You kissed me,’ she said. ‘You stopped.’

  With effort, Hugh released his hand from her hip. What had he done? He had jeopardized everything for a kiss. For what he craved.

  ‘I did. The music changed.’

  ‘I didn’t hear.’

  Neither had he. It was the shock of pain in his shin from hitting the desk that had jarred him away from what he wanted to do. Sweep the desk’s contents to the floor and unlace Alice’s surcoat.

  ‘We need to go; we’ll be caught.’

  She drew in a shaky breath. The sounds of need she’d made still echoed in her ears.

  ‘I didn’t search the room or the cupboard,’ she said, her voice faint. ‘The candle’s on the floor.’

  ‘I’ll get it; we’ll search the cupboard later,’ he said.

  Straightening, she released her hands from the desk, and he stepped back to give her space. To give himself room so he didn’t take her again.

  He wanted to take her again.

  ‘We’ll be back?’ she said.

  An idea forming, he nodded. ‘I’ll help you search for this seal. I’m invited to the same parties as you. With both of us searching, we’ll find it.’

  ‘Is that what the King sent you to do? To help me?’

  He couldn’t answer her. Too dangerous. Too much risk. All of it.

  ‘We have to go—the music’s stopped,’ he said, though he heard nothing but the roaring in his veins.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 26th

  ‘So how are we to do this?’ Alice said.

  ‘We do this as planned.’

  Hugh looked around. The day was clear, crisp, and an icy wind shivered through the trees. People were gathered in the square. It was St Stephen’s Day, and the wren hunting would soon begin. There was always chaos on Wren Day—mostly because the young boys scrambled to be the first to catch a wren in its nest.

  When caught, the wrens would be skewered on a long pole decorated with holly, so that they could be paraded around with music and drink before the burial. It was a good time for the boys to boast, to show their prowess—and to teach the wren not to chirp the next time St Stephen attempted to escape his execution.

  The irony of the tradition wasn’t lost on him. Hugh had a wren in his own life, and her name was Alice. One word from her to the King, and he’d be sent to execution as well.

  So he had made more plans, devised more lies. All to keep one vow to his friend Robert. To protect him and his family. Never to let King Edward know he was alive.

  So he would keep Alice close and pretend. If he could when it came to her.

  Alice a spy. To this moment he still tried to deny it, but he knew she spoke the truth.

  The King truly had made Alice a spy, had sent her to Swaffham to search for the Half-Thistle Seal. To search for him.

  For the last few days he’d paced his tiny house. There were too many consequences of the truths before him.

  One theory was that the King didn’t trust him to find the traitor on his own and therefore had enlisted Alice to help him. There were several problems with this theory. As a spy, he had been involved with numerous missions; Alice had never done this before. The King had never sent anyone to assist him before, and he rarely worked with others. Thus, there were too many holes in that theory for it to be true.

  The other theory was that the King truly did suspect the Fentons as deceivers, so he had orchestrated some way for Hugh to work with Alice. Convoluted. Far-fetched. If the King suspected Alice’s family then he wouldn’t notify her that he was looking for the Half-Thistle Seal.

  So that left him with the King not trusting him. Because if Edward had sent Alice here to search for the same seal it meant he didn’t trust Hugh to find it. Perhaps because he already believed Hugh had the Half-Thistle Seal. It also meant that the King knew of his relationship with Alice, or at least had guessed there would be a relationship.

  And, relationship or not, it came down to his own life and Robert’s versus Alice’s. He knew the King, and knew he would kill or imprison Alice’s family if she didn’t return with the Seal.

  Hugh was in a trap. The only saving grace was time. Alice didn’t suspect Hugh of being a traitor. He could keep her close, pretend to assist her, all the while thwarting any ability for her to find it.

  If, however, he couldn’t think his way out, he would soon be heading to his execution—as the wrens were today.

  ‘But I don’t like what you planned. I don’t like any of it.’

  ‘As you’ve been saying.’

  He had been arguing the opposite. Clever Alice—of course she would ask questions.

  ‘I had a perfectly good plan to find it. With you by my side I won’t gain as much access to people’s homes. How could I have a suitor—?’

  ‘If I’m one?’ he interrupted. ‘Well, I’m not.’

  If only his body would remember that fact, and not recall with utmost accuracy how sweetly she felt in his arms. When she briefly told him of her plan, to gain access into homes by gaining suitors, he almost kissed her again – a claiming kiss.

  ‘They don’t know you’re not a suitor since we have to spend time together and collaborate.’

  ‘If you keep acting cross with me, they would think we don’t suit.’

  ‘It is easy to stay cross with you.’

  He relished every moment that she was. In spite of the deception that he played, there were moments that were sincere between them. Moments when they could discuss topics with ease. He could see how much she had stayed the same and yet how different she was now. How much he regretted losing these years without her, but how much he delighted in her...like now, as she tapped her toe.

  These moments were only a brief reprieve from his darker thoughts, from his feeling that he was neatly snared and the guillotine was about to drop. And yet, a resolution out of the trap continued to elude him. ‘I think William looks worried,’ Alice said. ‘He keeps looking at his pole and then at the other boys. Do you think perhaps he’s worried he won’t catch anything?’

  ‘Are you asking me about parenting skills?’ Hugh said.

  ‘I think I am.’

  Even if this was a trap, these snippets, these moments when Alice asked him questions on everyday life, made Hugh’s last days worth every sacrifice. Even though it was an illusion, it was life he had never thought he’d get a chance to live with her.

  ‘William’s inspecting the sharpness of the tip. He won’t be catching the wrens on the pole like fish. The wrens are tiny—he’ll have to catch them with his hands. However, if the pole is too thick, or not sharp enough, he won’t be able to tie the wren or the holly to it for the parade later on.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Do we have to talk about the birds?’

  ‘Would you feel better if I scared them all away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For her, he already intended to do so. The wrens were important to the tradition, but not essential. Some tying of wren feathers to the poles would work as well. It was the parading, the music, the reason to drink at the end that was the true sport.

  Wrens were even too small for food so there was no necessary purpose to catching them either. And he’d never forget Alice and her puppies. He knew this wouldn’t be her favourite tradition.

  ‘We’ll see what happens,’ he said instead.

  She gave him a scowl, and then her frown turned contemplative. ‘They’re moving.’

  Hugh brandished his own pole. ‘And so will I.’

  ‘I don’t know how this will work.’

  He wasn’t worried that she wasn’t clever enough to do the job of spy, he was worried that Alice would be too perceptive.

  ‘There will be a parade. Bump into people—feel their purses if nec
essary.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. That this is what has brought us together.’

  He tried not to read too much into the meaning of her words. ‘We’re not together, remember? We can’t discourage your true suitors. Plus, I’m the one having to scramble on my knees to catch the tiny creatures.’ He darted a look at her scandalised face. ‘Or not. You merely have to worry about the parade.’

  ‘I was doing fine before, when I couldn’t share my worries with anyone, but now I seem to be useless. Fretting. I’m never like this.’

  She never had been before, but now her family was threatened. If he could gut the King for putting this burden on her, he would.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll see it through. And you’re not fretting. You’re thinking of all the things you have to do and all the ways you might get caught. All spies have those concerns.’

  She smiled up at him, her hands clenched within her fur-lined cloak for warmth and her feet quickly dancing on the soft dirt to hold back the cold.

  He felt like smiling back. Here they were together and, at least to outward appearances, looking as if they celebrated a tradition.

  Alice was not the King’s mistress. Merely trying to save her family from ruin and hanging. And here he was, trying to protect her soft heart by saving birds. When in truth he’d shatter it, because he was the true threat to her family.

  He had days still—weeks if the weather turned foul. There was time to find a solution, and protect his friend. He had given a vow, a traitorous one, but he would keep it or die.

  He’d faced adversities his entire life. He would prevail against this one as well.

  * * *

  ‘Your pole looks splendid!’ Alice exclaimed.

  ‘I didn’t catch any wrens,’ replied William.

  ‘None of the other men or boys did either.’ She pointed to the top. ‘I think you have the most wren feathers and holly, and your pole looks the heaviest.’

  ‘It isn’t heavy.’

  Alice hid her smile. She could see William’s arms shaking.

  ‘Of course it’s heavy—just not heavy for you because you’re strong.’ She nodded to the other boys. ‘It would be heavy for them, though.’

  William’s grin widened. ‘I’m going to make them lift it!’

  Alice waved as William stumbled ahead to his friends and the rest of the revellers. Somehow she and Hugh were the last in the parade that wound through the town.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ he said. ‘We found no seal today.’

  But for the first time since the King had commanded her she felt a glimmer of hope. If nothing else, she was trying everything she could to find the traitor. She wasn’t good at bumping into people, or feeling the purses around their waists. But at least there was ale being drunk, and her clumsiness was taken as a consequence of the crowds and the drink.

  ‘For saving the wrens.’

  ‘You never saw a thing.’

  No, she hadn’t. He’d been subtle. If she hadn’t been looking she wouldn’t have caught him. A knight, a warrior—but with such an underhanded and subtle skill for scaring wrens. He must have learned it as a spy.

  ‘William certainly has the most feathers tied to his bow. I’ve never seen wrens moult so many before. It’s almost as if someone had plucked them from the birds, or stolen some from other nests.’

  ‘Fanciful thoughts!’

  She glanced at Hugh, caught the teasing light in his eyes that he allowed her to see, but his face was inscrutable.

  He was good at being duplicitous—even in something so simple as a Christmas tradition.

  Had he lived this way since he’d left? When he left Swaffham, he’d been determined, single-minded. He’d pulled himself up with hard work and skill. Not with lies or flattering words.

  Where along the way did his cynicism come from? He’d been so angry when he’d arrived. His manners had been smug, suspicious, spiteful. But since then he’d changed. It was more than his helpfulness with the barn restoration. Now he was almost attentive.

  She should be more cautious when it came to him, but he’d shown other sides to him, and she needed his help. And she knew, somehow against all evidence, that she could trust him.

  What a strange connection of events to bring them here now. Both of them spies. Both celebrating a winter tradition with a comfortableness she’d never had with him before.

  ‘Tell me something of your spying.’

  His brow rose. ‘It isn’t wise.’

  ‘Then tell me something else.’

  ‘That isn’t wise either.’

  He slowed his pace. They were out in the open, their conversation could be heard, and yet there was no other time.

  ‘Pretend we’re at dinner and we’re exchanging idle pleasantries.’

  He gazed at her, taking in all her features. A brief glance...a warming glance, before he looked away, his brows drawn.

  He took a few more steps while she walked beside him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Anything between us is hardly “idle”, Alice.’

  His comment, spoken so calmly and in a low voice startled her, and she missed her step. He grasped her elbow and brought her close.

  Rain, steel... Hugh. She felt off kilter, like a distaff with lopsided wool, like she’d slammed into him again as she did at the Tower.

  He released her suddenly. ‘Tell me something of your life.’

  She shook her head, gathered herself, and continued to walk. Her legs were feeling more unsteady than that brief touch warranted.

  ‘Other than that one fateful trip to London, I’ve been in Swaffham all my life. Except for the upcoming journey when I tell my monarch if I have succeeded or failed, I don’t plan to leave again. Not much else has happened to me.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  Another glance. It wasn’t his gaze that warmed her, but his words. Attentive. She truly needed to be cautious with him.

  ‘Tell me of those years,’ he said. ‘Tell me what projects you’ve been doing.’

  ‘I have had no projects.’

  ‘You always have a project, or a cause, or someone to fix.’

  His words scraped uncomfortably. Didn’t anyone understand her need to help? If she didn’t help, what else was left for her? She’d thought he understood since he had worked, if not beside her, at least with her.

  ‘You know of the barn restoration with Mitchell.’

  ‘Yes...’ Hugh turned his face away.

  Silence as they took slower steps, falling further behind the crowd, the children and their poles. Away from the revelry and happiness.

  What did she have at this moment? Questions...a tentative trust between her and Hugh. Threats against her family. And yet she wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

  Because of her vow or her childhood infatuation? No. Because this Hugh—the one with his silence and suspicions and cynicism—she wanted to know more of.

  ‘I know you say it isn’t wise, but—’

  He looked at her then. ‘Do you know why?’

  Blue eyes, their storm never ceasing. She’d thought she knew the Hugh from her past, and though she’d seen glimpses of him, she knew he had changed. But the years apart had changed her as well. She would withstand the King threatening her family. She wouldn’t run away again.

  ‘Would you have me share my life and give me nothing in return?’

  ‘It’s safer that way.’

  ‘I have my monarch after me—I’m far from safe.’

  Hugh tilted his head, as if contemplating her words. ‘I went to Edward’s Court to train as a knight. It wasn’t until many years later, and quite recently, that he asked me to find information for him.’

  ‘Why?’r />
  ‘It’s trying times for him. There is much deceit and many secrets. I’m constantly needed.’

  ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Almost always.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘He doesn’t ask every knight under him to do such tasks. Most knights come from royal lineage and have families to return to, or families of their own making. I have none of those. Therefore, I can travel to where he requires me to be.’

  To most, it would be exciting. To her, it sounded lonely.

  ‘Can you ever decline the tasks?’

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You have met him—can you imagine such a scenario?’

  She shook her head. At first she’d been overawed at the power emanating from Edward, but then there had been that moment with the horn. When he had reflected on the importance of kings versus lovers.

  ‘When he asked me he didn’t need to threaten my family. I... I wanted to help him.’

  ‘He’s the King—he has his flaws, but he is a good man.’

  Kings, spies, traitors...and walking with Hugh in Swaffham during Wren Day. Far different from the way she had expected this time of year to be. Far more than she’d hoped for.

  ‘It’s never been this way before.’

  Hugh could feel Alice glancing his way as they walked. Luckily it was easy to avoid her questioning gaze as he manoeuvred them around the town, kept them far enough away from the others, but not too far that they would look suspicious or cause Alice’s reputation to suffer.

  ‘What hasn’t?’ he said.

  ‘You and I. We’ve never talked like this.’

  Because he had avoided her since the time he’d seen her with those puppies. When he hadn’t been able to avoid her she’d been breaking his nose or asking for a kiss.

  That kiss.

  Clumsy with desire for her—that was all that had stopped him in Lyman’s house. His arms had been full of her, of her responses to his touch, to his lips. He’d been blind to the room, to the danger, to everything except her. He wanted to sweep everything off that desk, and take her as he’d dreamed a thousand times before.

  And then what? Then he’d be tortured at the memory of it. Just like now. Probably worse.