A Very Medieval Christmas: A Medieval Romance Novella Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Behind him, he could hear Scott’s footfalls as the man made his way over to the crypt that contained his dead wife and children. They were slow and labored steps. Finally, Scott just stood there a moment, staring down at the crypt, and Troy couldn’t even look at him. He had to turn away, realizing his eyes were burning with angry, unshed tears.

  “Greetings, Tee,” Scott said softly, although his voice was tight with emotion. “I am sure you do not wish to see me, either, but I have come nonetheless. Troy is right… you were buried alone. I should have been here for you and the children, but I was not. God forgive me for that. But something caused me to run, something that affected me so deeply that it was as if I no longer had any control over my heart or my mind. Troy has asked me to tell you why I ran away when I should have remained here, strong and tall, so I will tell you. I remember that day very clearly, you see, because I had spoken with you right before you got into that carriage with your sister. Do you recall? I was the one who had the carriage brought around and I was the one who personally loaded you and Bea and Andy into the carriage. I kissed you farewell and I watched you ride off, knowing full well that we’d had terrible rains as of late and that the rivers and creeks between Questing and Berwick Castle were overflowing their banks. You were going to Berwick that day to see Patrick’s new son. I even loaded the baby’s gifts into the carriage with you. I put you in that carriage.”

  There was no reply from the stone effigy. Not that Scott expected that there would be, but after four years of avoiding this moment, now he was here, facing his dead wife and children, feeling those emotions of grief and anguish bubble up again, emotions he had healed from for the most part. But he knew he would never be completely healed until he faced what terrified him most, and this was that moment.

  He was facing the results of his actions.

  “It was me,” he said as he began to break down. “I did it. I put you and Helene in the carriage. I could have stopped you; I could have told you to travel another day when the land was not so soggy, but I did not. I was preoccupied with an errand for my father and I was not as cautious as I should have been. All of this… you and the children, Helene and the girls… all of this was because of me.”

  His voice cracked at the end and the tears began to fall on the stone. Standing at the head of the crypt, Troy couldn’t stop the tears, either. Hearing his brother’s voice, hearing his thoughts and emotions from the past four years, were carving into him like a knife. The pain was excruciating. He was still looking away from Scott, his eyes closed as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  So, the truth had come forth – the guilt Scott had felt at letting the women go on the journey that would ultimately claim their lives. It had never even crossed Troy’s mind that Scott should feel that way, for what had happened had been an accident. At least, Troy saw it that way, but Scott had clearly spent four years shouldering tremendous guilt.

  God, it was horrific to hear.

  “Scott…,” he began hoarsely.

  But Scott cut him off. “I am sorry, Troy,” he wept softly. “I am so sorry that I caused your pain. I am so sorry that I did this to you. If I could have exchanged my life for the lives of Athena and Helene, please know that I would have. But the worst part of all was when I returned to Questing and Papa told me what had happened. As I stood there, unable to believe it, you came out of the keep and fell to your knees. As I watched, the strongest man I’d ever known vomited into the earth and collapsed right before my very eyes. And I watched it all, knowing that it was my fault. Your pain was my fault. Was I a coward for running? I was. God knows, I was. But I was too disturbed to stay, too afraid I would crumble into a thousand pieces of agony that would never be put back together again. If grief had collapsed you the way it did, what on earth would it do to me?”

  Troy had his hand over his face, weeping into his hand. It was the grieving he’d done four years ago, now with his brother’s pain compounding his because Scott felt that he was to blame for everything.

  Now, he was grieving for his brother.

  “It was not your fault,” Troy whispered, wiping at his face and struggling to stop the tears. Finally, he looked at his brother, seeing the man he’d always loved, the man he’d been the closest to. “I never blamed you for what happened. But I did blame you for running from it.”

  “I could not face you.”

  “What else was I supposed to think, if not cowardice, from a man who did not have a cowardly bone in his body? How was I supposed to know you ran because of guilt?”

  Scott shook his head, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face. “You could not think anything other than what you did,” he said. “It looks like cowardice. It was. But in my defense, I saw it as self-preservation, I suppose. I saw it as removing the cause of everyone’s anguish.”

  Troy took a deep breath, fighting down the tears and struggling for calm. All of the anger and resentment he’d been feeling was melting away as he began to understand Scott’s perspective.

  In truth, he should have suspected it all along, but he’d been too hurt to try. Now, he understood a great deal and the hate, the bitterness, was gone. He couldn’t keep it up, not when Scott was hurting so badly. He went to his brother, a man he loved so deeply, and put his hand on the man’s face. He just stood there a moment, looking at him, feeling as if all of this was some kind of dream. Scott was really here, in front of him, and it was time for him to say everything he’d been wanting to say to the man.

  He’d waited long enough.

  “It was not your fault,” he said, more firmly. “It was a terrible accident. It could have been any one of us putting the women in the carriage and seeing them off. It just happened to be you. And it never occurred to me, in all these four years, to blame you for that. I do not, nor have I ever, blamed you for what happened. But I have missed you every single day of the past four years, Scott. I thought you decided you did not want to be my brother any longer.”

  Scott smiled weakly, seeing the light of forgiveness in his brother’s eyes where only moments before, there had been animosity and rage. “I thought, mayhap, you did not want me to be your brother any longer,” he admitted.

  Troy shook his head. “You are part of me and I am part of you,” he said. “But I am sorry you felt as if you had to stay away. I am sorry you did not feel as if we could draw strength from one another in this time of sorrow.”

  Scott reached up, gripping the hand that was on his face. His brother’s touch was incredibly comforting, more than he’d ever realized. “I was a fool,” he said. “It took me a long time to come to terms with my grief and with my guilt. It was just easier to try and shut everything out so it did not consume me. The longer I stayed away, the more difficult it was to face it.”

  Troy understood that. Sometimes, men had moments of weakness that they lived to regret. He gripped his brother’s hand tightly.

  “Tell me that you will not disappear again, then,” he said. “Tell me that you have come home to stay and that we shall never again be without each other.”

  Scott was nodding his head even before Troy finished his sentence. “That is why I came home,” he said. “It was time. When I received the missive regarding James’ wedding, I knew I had to come. My wife encouraged me to come.”

  Troy smiled faintly. “Papa said you had married again.”

  Scott smiled in return. “Avrielle is her name,” he said. “She is a remarkable woman of great wisdom and I considered myself blessed. You will like her, Troy. I know you will.”

  “I am sure of it.”

  “Papa tells me that you have married again, too.”

  Troy nodded. “Rhoswyn is Scots,” he said. “A finer woman you will never meet.”

  “Papa also says she terrorizes you.”

  Troy broke down into a laugh. “When you meet her, see if she does not terrorize you, also,” he said. “She is the only child of Red Keith Kerr and he raised her like a son. She fights like a warrior, Scott.
Do not tangle with the woman, for you will lose.”

  Scott was warming to the conversation, so incredibly glad to be speaking to his brother again, as if he’d never left him. The warmth, the bond, was still there. It hadn’t been completely destroyed, and he could feel it strengthening by the second.

  “Red Keith Kerr, you say?” he repeated. “Of Sibbald’s Hold?”

  “The same.”

  “I did not even know he had a daughter.”

  “Nor did I until it was too late.”

  Scott laughed. Troy laughed. Suddenly, they were throwing their arms around each other, embracing one another tightly. All of the hurt, guilt, and resentment was gone in that instant, never to come between them again.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” Troy said, his throat tight with emotion. “Swear to me you will not leave me again. When you left, I felt so abandoned.”

  Scott clutched his brother tightly. “I swear I will never leave you, not ever,” he whispered. “Forgive me for leaving you, Troy. Forgive me for not being strong enough to stay.”

  Troy stopped hugging his brother long enough to look the man in the eye. “You did what you had to do in order to keep your sanity,” he said. “I suppose I understand that now. Everyone was trying to tell me that, but it was difficult to swallow. But as Papa has said all along, every man grieves in his own way. My way was to remain here and to suffer through the agony. Your way was to try to forget about it. But I am so sorry you felt as if you were responsible for everything. It was not your fault.”

  Scott forced a smile at his beloved brother. “I will come to accept that someday.”

  Troy patted him on the cheek again. “I hope you do,” he said. “Now… I suppose we should go back to the hall. Everyone will want to see you, you know. Already, it is probably killing Mother to give us this time alone.”

  Scott’s grin broadened. “Papa is probably having to tie her down somewhere.”

  Troy snorted. “Then we had better go back to the hall and spare them both the agony.”

  Scott nodded, but his gaze moved to the crypt containing his wife and younger children. “Go ahead,” he said. “I need to spend a few moments with Tee and the girls, as I should have done before.”

  That gave Troy pause. “Will you be okay?”

  “I will, I swear it.”

  “As you wish,” Troy said. His eyes lingered on the man for a moment. “I am so glad you’ve come home. It is the best Christmas gift I could have hoped for.”

  Scott gave him a lopsided grin. “A Christmas miracle is more like it. The miracle is your forgiveness, Troy.”

  Troy simply shook his head. “It is the bond of brotherhood that goes deeper than any common bond,” he said. “Whatever happened four years ago… remember that we are stronger together than apart.”

  “Agreed.”

  Giving his brother another hug, Troy wandered from the vault, leaving Scott alone in the shadowed, cold depths. Once he heard Troy’s boot falls fade, he turned to the beautiful effigy of the woman he once loved.

  Reaching out, he put a hand on her cold, stone face.

  “Mayhap if Troy can forgive me, you can, too,” he murmured. “Mayhap someday, I will feel as if you have. But I do want to tell you that I have remarried, Tee. I know you would like her – she is kind and generous, and I love her. I never thought I would find love again, but I have. I hope – nay, I know – that you are happy for me.”

  It made him think of Avrielle, his wife, and all of his children, both living and dead. He’d suffered through some terrible tragedies in his life, but he was home again now. He would be stronger for it. Reaching out, he touched the effigy one last time.

  “I thought you would want to know that I am happy again,” he whispered. “I hope you are, too.”

  There was no answer, of course, but Scott smiled at the effigy just the same. He’d been dreading this moment, the moment when he would face his wife’s crypt. But it was becoming easier as the moments passed. He was coming to grips with it and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he came to visit Athena and the children. In fact, returning to Castle Questing felt as if he’d never left. Wherever he lived, Questing would always be home to him. As much as he loved his new wife and his life with her in the wilds of Cumbria, Questing was where his family was.

  As difficult as it had been, he was glad he’d come home.

  Very glad.

  Bending over the crypt, he kissed Athena, Beatrice, and Andrew’s effigies, feeling that some larger part of him was now complete. No more guilt, no more missing his family, no more trying to shut out a part of his life that could not be forgotten. He didn’t want to forget about it any longer.

  Someday, he’d bring Avrielle to Questing and then, the healing process would be complete. He would come full circle. But until that time, he intended to enjoy the family he’d not seen in four long years.

  Finally, the Prodigal Son had returned. Peace had been made.

  On a dark and cold December night, the de Wolfes had the most joyous Christmas of all.

  THE END

  A DE RUSSE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

  A Medieval Romance

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  Author’s Note

  I have such fun writing these little holiday stories! It’s so much fun to bring together some of my favorite families, seeing them all in one place, interacting. This particular tale is meant as an extended epilogue to DARK MOON and DARK STEEL, set in the year following Dane and Grier’s story in DARK STEEL. You don’t have to read those two stories to know what’s going on, but it would help orient the reader.

  Much like “A Joyous de Wolfe Christmas”, this story is meant as a focus on one particularly thing – in this case, the illness of Gaston de Russe (THE DARK ONE: DARK KNIGHT). Gaston’s illness was introduced in DARK MOON, and elaborated on in DARK STEEL, so now we have it as the focus of the story. As much as I hate to see my heroes and heroines get old, the truth is that they do, and especially if I’m writing about the children and grandchildren of original heroes and heroines. That’s a fact of life. But I promise I will never actually write their death scenes – that’s something I can’t bring myself to do.

  Something fun to note – there is another Father de Tormo in this tale, the younger brother of Father de Tormo from THE DARK ONE: DARK KNIGHT. Interestingly enough, I never gave the original Father a first name in the book – and I had to go back into my VERY old notes to find it. So, the Father de Tormo in this tale is a brother, and it was fun to bring the de Tormo name back into a de Russe story.

  I don’t normally write religious-themed stories, and I don’t consider this one, but I do consider it a story of faith. Faith in love, faith in family, and faith in a higher power. It brings about the question – are there miracles? Or can everything be scientifically explained away? That’s something Dane and Trenton and Remington have to figure out for themselves.

  You be the judge.

  Love,

  Part One:

  A Bright and Shining Star

  Wiltshire

  December, Year of Our Lord 1520

  It was bright enough, with a winter-white landscape spread out before them like the frosting on a sweetcake. White as far as the eye could see, but in the sky above, the blue was the most vibrant of blues. It was the holiday season, and Dane de Russe, Duke of Shrewsbury, and his lady wife, Grier, were traveling south to Deverill Castle to celebrate the season with Dane’s family.

  The seat of the Duke of Warminster, Gaston de Russe, was a vast complex of buildings, men, and animals, and even now, Dane knew it was stuffed to the gills with his brothers, sisters, and their families. All told, there were more than two dozen of them, as he’d been trying to tell his wife on the ride south.

  Grier was bundled up against the cold, wrapped heavily in furs and wool, and her beautiful face was pinched red from the cold. But she was radiant, happier than Dane had ever seen her. She had been talking up a storm for most of the trip, too, which had tak
en seven days so far because Dane had wanted to take it slow. He didn’t want his pregnant wife jostled around, but Grier was made of iron. Nothing bothered her, and she didn’t care if the road was muddy or icy and they were forced to take a precious hour to go around it.

  She was joy personified.

  “Tell me again,” she said, her head sticking out of the heavy carriage she was riding in as Dane rode alongside on his big-boned rouncey. “Your eldest sisters and their families?”

  Dane signed heavily, an exaggerated gesture. “Again?”

  “Again.”

  “But I told you not two hours ago,” he pointed out. “I swear, you do not remember anything I tell you these days.”

  She grinned and sat back in the cab, her hand on her belly. At six months along, she was healthy and rosy. “This child sucks all of the thoughts straight out of my head,” she said. “I cannot remember anything that anyone has told me, so do not feel as if you are special in that regard.”

  He cocked a droll eyebrow at her. “One more time,” he said. “If you do not remember this time, then I shall not tell you again and you can fumble your way through your first conversation with my family and look like an idiot. Everyone will say what a beautiful dolt I have married.”

  She giggled. “I will remember. Go on.”

  He growled again, which just made her giggle more. “My brother, Trenton, is married to Lysabel Wellesbourne,” he said. “You already know that.”

  “I do.”

  “You know that Lysabel has two daughters from her first marriage, and she gave birth to my brother’s firstborn son during the summer.”

  “Aye, I remember. His name is Rafael.”

  “Correct,” Dane said. “My sisters, Adeliza and Arica, are twins, and Adeliza is married to Gaspard de Ryes, a knight in the service of King Henry. I cannot imagine Gaspard will be at Deverill, as Henry keeps him quite busy, but Adeliza will be present, no doubt. They have six girls – do you remember their names?”