He started to refuse, but she looked up at him and her watery eyes crushed his rising resistance. God, this woman made him feel like a fool at times. He sighed heavily.
“I am not a woodsman, Kelli,” he grumbled.
“Nor am I, but I was still going to cut some branches.”
He looked at her as if she’d just made the most ridiculous statement in the world, but that was as far as it went. He didn’t fight her on it. He considered it time well spent if it would make her happy and keep her from going out and overexerting herself. He sighed again, but it all came out as an unhappy growl.
“And you’ll go inside and rest?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at her.
She nodded seriously. “I will, I swear it.”
By this time, Kellington’s women were starting to head to the keep, too, realizing their foray into the snowy forest had been cut short. It was too cold, anyway, and a storm was coming, so secretly, they were pleased.
“Come along, Kelli,” Lavaine said, pulling her away from Jax. “Let us go inside. I brought cards with me and we can play games.”
But Kellington wouldn’t be pulled around so easily. She turned to look back at her husband even as Lavaine pulled her towards the keep.
“Get lots of them,” she said. “I want the hall full of them.”
He nodded, waving her off as she headed into the keep. “Not to worry.”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
Kellington’s gaze was on him a moment longer, giving him a little smile right before Lavaine pulled her into the door that led through the kitchens and into he keep. Once she was gone, Jax grunted in frustration and headed out of the kitchen yard and towards the bailey.
He was a man with a mission.
Even though the usual horde of generals were off on new adventures, Jax still had a fairly large and powerful army at Pelinom and he intended to utilize that manpower. As he headed into the bailey with its berms of muddy snow and puddles of freezing water throughout, he spied Lavaine’s husband near the stables.
Jax and Denedor had an odd and interesting association. They went from fighting one another at the beginning to becoming strangely good friends. Denedor was level-headed and moral, a man with great honor and wisdom, and Jax had come to see that since the beginning of their association. He was the Earl of Northumberland’s captain, his premier knight, and given that Jax had sworn fealty to the earl when he’d married Kellington, Jax and Denedor had been forced by the sheer nature of their positions to interact frequently.
They could have turned their association into a daily battle, considering their differences in background, outlook, and the world in general but, instead, Jax had found the man an intriguing balance of traits and Denedor had the patience of Job. He’d also decided long ago that it was better to befriend the Devil than to be in his path.
Hence, an odd friendship had been born.
Denedor had been bending over the leg of a warhorse that Jax was trying to sell him, inspecting the beast, and happened to lift his head as Jax was crossing the bailey. Standing straight, he slapped the big-boned horse affectionately on the shoulder as Jax approached.
“I can tell by your walk that you are not pleased,” Denedor said. “What is amiss and how may I help prevent a coming calamity?”
Jax knew he was jesting somewhat, but not entirely. An angry Dark Lord was never a good thing for anyone. Therefore, he took a deep breath as he came near Denedor, trying to put his frustration into words. That was new for him; he’d never known such frustration until he’d married Kellington, and he spent a good deal of time learning how to deal with feelings he’d never experienced before.
“No calamity,” he said. “At least, none that I am planning. It’s simply that Kelli wants to cut limbs from trees and pile them into the hall and call it festive. Why do women want to do such a thing to mark this season?”
Denedor started to laugh. “It is tradition, Jax,” he said. “Do you know nothing of the Christmas season and all its traditions?”
He eyed the man. “Considering the first time I set foot in a church in twenty-five years was months ago when I married my wife, I will admit I’ve not paid much attention to the Christmas season over the years.”
Denedor stopped laughing for fear that Jax would think he was laughing at him. No one laughed at The Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale. But still, he found Jax’s confusion at something so common to be somewhat comical.
“It is a season of peace on Earth and goodwill towards men,” he said. “It is a season of gratitude and generosity. Does that make sense?”
Jax folded his arms across his chest, a habit he’d gotten into long ago because it showed the size of his arms. It was meant to intimidate, but now it was simply a routine he couldn’t shake.
“I understand the basics of this season,” he said. “I simply haven’t celebrated it since I was a lad. My mother would do things to mark the season but, after she died, my father never marked it again. It is not a tradition with me.”
Denedor suspected as much. “It is a tradition with your wife, and with all men of faith,” he said. “Even if you do not understand what she is doing, you must tolerate it. Mayhap, you will even grow to enjoy it.”
Jax scowled. “Cutting up trees and littering them all over the hall?” he scoffed. “It will become dirty and dry, not to mention the potential for fire. I’ve seen rushes go up like a torch with the smallest spark, and now my wife wants to throw trees all over the floor and walls? We shall all burn to a fiery death.”
Denedor was back to laughing again; he simply couldn’t help it. “I do not know why we celebrate with boughs,” he said. “But I do know that I heard a priest say once that the fresh green of the boughs represents Christ and life everlasting. It is God’s promise of eternal life and is therefore meant to represent Christ as we celebrate his birth. In the olden times, I’ve heard men tell tales of the Northmen hanging war trophies from trees to give thanks for their prowess in battle.”
“What kind of war trophies?”
“Heads, mostly.”
Jax lifted his big shoulders. “Hanging a man’s head from a tree makes sense,” he said, “but the rest is nonsense.”
Denedor was amused by his grumbling. “The trees smell fresh and the women like them,” he said. “But if I were you, I would not hang any heads in the hall. I have a feeling your wife would not like it.”
“Mayhap not, but that is the only thing out of everything you have said that makes sense to me.”
Denedor tried again. “Look at it this way, Jax,” he said. “The Christmas season is not about heads hanging from trees or even the green boughs that smell fresh. Those are all symbols. The season itself is about kindness and forgiveness as well as gratitude. You have married a good woman. She will make a fine home for you and the sons she bears you will be strong. Is she alone not something to be grateful for during this season of thanks?”
Jax was seriously considering what he’d said. “Of course she will bear me strong sons,” he said. “She is a strong woman.”
“And you should be grateful for her.”
“I showed my gratitude by marrying her. She should be grateful for me.”
“I think you are missing the point.”
Jax probably was, but the whole idea of kindness and gratitude wasn’t something he was accustomed to. Feeling frustrated again, he simply waved Denedor off.
“I cannot be bothered by such nonsense,” he said. “My wife was determined to cut boughs to bring into the hall, but I sent her back inside with Lavaine and told her I would bring the boughs to her. Are you coming with me or not?”
Denedor shook his head at the stubborn warlord. “I think I should,” he said. “Where are we going?”
Jax pointed to the stables. “Have my horse prepared. I will muster some men to help us.”
Denedor watched him walk away, realizing he hadn’t answered his question. He didn’t have a very good feeling about this
bough-gathering venture.
As he soon discovered, it was for good reason.
Part Two: This Bliss of Season, Which Does Not Last
“I do not want your riches. I want your boughs!”
That booming command came from Jax as he sat upon his fire-breathing warhorse in the town square of the village of Kelso. Situated along the River Tweed, it was one of the larger villages on the borders. It was now the nooning hour and it was starting to snow, a light dusting to cover the frozen land. However, the powder that fell from the sky didn’t seem to matter to Jax.
He was doing what he did best.
Raiding a village.
The shrieks and screams of the villagers were like music to his ears, in truth. He’d missed those comforting cries. He’d brought his men to Kelso to raid them for their Christmas décor, their boughs and holly and decorated trees, anything else he could get his hands on.
Unfortunately, Denedor hadn’t realized that until they’d arrived in the town and Jax lifted a hand, a silent command that the fifty men with him seemed to know the meaning. They’d swarmed into the village, ripping boughs from eaves, holly from windows, and anything else they fancied. Even now, Denedor sat on his warhorse alongside Jax, his mouth hanging open at what he was seeing.
“Jax,” he finally managed to hiss. “What on earth are you doing?”
They both watched as one of Jax’s men emerged from a house, carrying a cooked ham under one arm and eating a mince pie, oblong shaped to look like the manger that Jesus was born in. It was a traditional dish. Behind him, a shrieking woman tried to take her food back as he pushed her to the ground.
“I am obtaining boughs,” Jax said simply.
Denedor looked at him. “You told me we were going to bring boughs back for Kelli,” he said. “I thought you meant we were going into the forests around here to find them. You never said we were going to steal the boughs.”
Jax was unmoved. “I came through this town last week from business at Morebattle Castle,” he said. “I saw how festive everything was. They do not need all of this festivity.”
“So you are simply going to take it?”
“They can make more festivity.”
“And you can cut your own boughs.”
Jax looked at him pointedly. “Yet, I am not,” he said. “They can share what they have with me and be grateful for it.”
He was quite serious and Denedor looked at him in utter disbelief but, on the other hand, he had a point. The Jax de Velt of old would have, indeed, burned the town and killed everyone in it, so Denedor supposed this was progress, however misguided.
“Jax,” he finally said, “this is not what I meant when I spoke of the reason for the season. I spoke to you of kindness.”
“I am being kind. No one has been killed.”
Denedor rolled his eyes. “I spoke of gratitude and generosity.”
“And I am being generous. In fact, my gift to them is that I am not burning their town and putting them all on poles to rot. Is that not reason enough for these people to be thankful?”
Children suddenly ran past them, screaming, with their arms full of what looked to be pies. They were being chased by a pair of soldiers. Denedor watched the children disappear into an alleyway with the soldiers in pursuit. He sighed heavily.
“What do you think your wife would say if she knew what you were doing?” he asked. “Would she be pleased to see this?”
Jax lost some of his confidence. “I am obtaining her boughs,” he said. “And my men deserve some spoils of the town. I told them no killing and no stealing valuables, but food stuffs are not part of that directive.”
“Would she be happy to see this?”
Jax sighed sharply. “She will not know about it if a de Vesci knight we both know keeps his yap shut,” he said. “I am doing the best I can to make her happy. Why are you fighting me on this?”
Denedor simply shook his head, realizing that Jax wasn’t merely being stubborn about this. It seemed as if he genuinely didn’t understand what he was being told. He was so used to conquest and death that something like this seemed incredibly tame by comparison. Perhaps, he really was doing the best he could, given who he was and his past. Denedor tried to keep that in mind.
“I am not fighting you,” he said patiently. “I am trying to explain to you that stealing boughs and food from the village is not right. As a benevolent lord, you should be giving them food and comfort and protection, not stealing from them. Does that not make sense, Jax?”
“But their town is intact. I have not touched it.”
“Yet you steal what they have worked so hard for. Is that fair?”
Feeling frustrated again, Jax tipped his helm back and scratched his forehead. He eyed Denedor menacingly for a moment, but it was clear that he was trying to process what he’d been told.
“Then what would you have me do?” he demanded.
Denedor watched a soldier and a woman play tug-of-war with a big, braided loaf of bread, which quickly crumbled under the strain.
“Tell your men to give back what they’ve stolen,” he said. “Put the boughs and the holly back. We shall go into the forest to the north and find your own boughs and holly, but leave these people what they’ve worked so hard for. It would be the kind and generous thing to do.”
Jax frowned. “But their town is intact, Denedor. I did not destroy it. There are no dead in the streets. I do not understand what more you want from me.”
“Give them back what you have stolen, Jax. Or I tell Kelli everything.”
“If you do, you will live to regret it.”
“Mayhap that is true, but you will live to regret it first.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “I have killed men for less.”
Six months ago, a threat like that would have had Denedor drawing his sword, but not this time. The sword remained in its sheath.
“If you do, how will you explain that to your wife?”
Jax sat back on his horse, contemplating his next move. This was becoming like a chess game with Denedor, one he intended to win.
“I realize now that I am finally feeling something for this season and for you,” he said. “Unmitigated hatred. I want to cut you into a thousand pieces and feed you to the pigs. Consider this my kindness and generosity towards you that I am not.”
Denedor struggled not to smile. “I accept your kindness and generosity,” he said. “But somewhere beneath that fearsome warlord beats the heart of an honorable man who will gladly give back what he has stolen.”
“Or you’ll tell my wife.”
“Exactly.”
He had Jax cornered and they both knew it. After a frustrated growl, Jax emitted a piercing whistle between his teeth, one that had both warhorses jumping at the sound. It was, in fact, a signal to Jax’s men, and they came running from the corners of the village, most of them laden down with greenery and food.
The looks of confusion on their faces when Jax told them to return everything where they found it was something Denedor would never forget.
Mostly, they were ripping branches from the trees.
There was nothing neat or organized about the actions of Jax’s soldiers. A grove of trees to the north proved to have an array of evergreens, Scots pines and more, so Jax put his men on tearing down branches since they hadn’t brought any axes with them that weren’t used for battle. No one wanted to dull their blades on wood chopping, so the sounds of tree branches being pulled from the trunks echoed among the canopy.
Fifty men were pulling off more branches filled with fresh, green pine needles than they could ever use at Pelinom, so an hour into their adventure, Jax started sending men home, their horses laden with greenery. Some trees that they came across were mostly dead but for clumps of green leaves with white berries growing on them, and Denedor seemed to think those were important, so they, too, were sent back with the rest of the greenery.
The snow was falling heavier now and the wind was beginning to pick up, cre
ating big gusts of white powder that whistled through the trees. In fact, with the freezing temperatures, there were clusters of frozen ice and snow on the tree branches and when the wind would blow particularly heavily, sounds of snapping branches could be heard as the rock-hard clumps fell to the ground. It was becoming a game of dodging those falling ice clumps and Jax’s men had, so far, been spared, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
It was time to end it.
“I think we have enough greenery to make my wife happy,” he said as he and Denedor watched the activity from an elevated position nearby. “She cannot possibly want for more boughs.”
Denedor nodded, watching some of the men as they secured the green branches to their saddles. “I would suspect you will bring her more than she could ever want for,” he said. “You may very well have bough bonfires in the bailey with all of this foliage you are bringing her.”
Jax shrugged. “She wanted boughs and she shall get boughs.”
“You are bringing her an entire grove of trees.”
“I would rather bring her too much than not enough.”
That was something Denedor couldn’t argue with. “You are learning how to please your wife,” he said, approval in his tone. “That is a good thing. And you are doing it without terrifying others. Your wife will be proud of you.”
Jax resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Deep down, he knew that Denedor was trying to help him, to guide him in this strange new world that he was part of, but the brutal warlord in him was having a difficult time reconciling what he’d always known versus the life he was living now. As he watched his men load up the last of the boughs, he began to shake his head.
“This is all so odd to me,” he said.
Denedor looked at him. “What is?”
Jax cocked his head. “Everything,” he said. “It is difficult to put it into words, but the best explanation I can come up with is that the life I lead now feels like the life I led when I was a lad, before my mother died. It was living a peaceful life that did not involve death and destruction. That came from my father, you know. He taught me that compassion is a weakness, but when I think back on my life, I never saw that side of him before my mother died. I was very young when that happened, mayhap five or six years of age, but I remember how it tore my father to shreds. Her death left him an angry and bitter creature.”
A Very Medieval Christmas: A Medieval Romance Novella Bundle Page 11