Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “It was, and many thanks to you for agreeing to come with me,” Avice replied, her voice warm with pleasure and a little muffled. Her breath clouded before her as she spoke, despite the warm scarf she’d wrapped around her head.

  “I did not agree. You forced me to come with you,” he pretended to complain when in truth he was glad she had insisted. The moment he and his wife-to-be had stepped into the nave of the church, Jos understood that the only way to escape his father’s legacy and be accepted as Freyne’s lord would be through Avice. Although she had looked every inch Freyne’s lady this evening, wearing a heavily-embroidered blue gown over a gray undergown, there was something in her manner that encouraged the common folk to approach. When they did, they received a Christmas greeting in their own tongue from her as well as him. To a one, they retreated smiling, even if their curiosity hadn’t yet been sated. After that, there was nothing to do save immerse himself in the magic of the mass that celebrated the angelic announcement of their Lord’s birth.

  Avice clutched his arm more tightly, almost leaning her head against his shoulder as she continued. “No matter the sanctuary, that mass is always so beautiful, what with all the candles alight. That’s what I love about it. It’s just like standing among the stars,” she sighed, then cast her gaze upward at the dark sky. Gone were the day’s clouds, revealing the frigid heavens streaked by milky starlight.

  As she lowered her gaze, Avice raised a hand and ran a gloved finger over his smooth-shaven cheek. “Indeed, the candles shone almost as brightly as your face, my lord,” she said, her voice filled with the sound of a smile. “You look every inch Freyne’s master tonight. I hope you’ll remember to give your barber a fine gift this Christmas.”

  That made Jos grin. He caught her hand in his and lowered his head to press a swift kiss into her palm, the way lovers did. Despite her glove, she gasped in reaction. Every inch of his body came to life with that sound.

  He straightened, still holding her hand. Dear God, but she was driving him mad with wanting her, and he had never enjoyed deprivation as much. She made a disapproving sound as she gently pulled her hand from his, then guided his arm back into the sling. “Enough of that, my lord. Too much too soon will harm rather than help.”

  Jos stopped in shock to stare at his right arm. Those walking behind him stopped as well, maintaining a respectful distance.

  “I wasn’t thinking. I just moved it,” he breathed in astonishment. “There was no pain.”

  He opened and closed his right hand. His heart took fire with hope. He looked up at her. “There’s still no pain,” he repeated, torn between joy and hope. It was heaven to be free of the never ending ache in his arm.

  Avice nodded and shrugged, as if the miraculous was naught but the everyday to her. “That’s the unguent I applied. I’m glad it gave you some relief, but, trust me. On the morrow, you’ll feel your arm again, probably more than you would like.”

  Then, once more resting her right hand in the crook of his left elbow, she started forward.

  He moved with her, still trapped in the awe and gratitude. “Why didn’t the monks give me an unguent like yours?” he demanded as they started across the planks that spanned his moat.

  She gave a quiet gasp, clutching his arm with both her hands. Only when they were across and safely through the small door cut from one side of the larger gates did she spare breath for words. “Because the brothers are wiser than I, I expect. If you cannot feel the pull of your scar when you use your arm, you might attempt more than you should and add to the damage. I just wanted you to have a little relief.”

  The monks weren’t wiser, just more cautious. Jos was thrilled that his wife wasn’t so sensible. “Well, it’s a marvelous gift and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “That’s three from twelve for me,” she said. By the torch’s flickering light, Jos could see her face was alive with the promise of another taunt. She shot it at him the way he freed a bolt from his crossbow. “As for you, you’ve given me nothing thus far. Where’s my holly?”

  “Nag,” Jos retorted, fighting his urge to laugh aloud. “And you’ve not given me three, but only two.”

  “Three,” she insisted. “I worked your arm, gave you the unguent and served as your barber.”

  From the bottom of the mound to the hall door, they bantered over whether barbering could be a gift. He finally gave way as they stepped inside the hall. “Three, then,” he pretended to grumble, hiding the pleasure he took in chaffering with her.

  Then he led her around the corner of the screen. “And I now have one,” he added.

  Avice gasped. Jos eyed the high table in satisfaction. The boys’ kin had done well, more than earning the coin he’d offered. The table he and Avice shared was draped in swags of glossy green holly dotted with bright red berries. Strands of ivy were bunched in either corner, while laid out along the edge of the table were the fir boughs she’d requested.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled up at him. “Now it feels like Christmas. My thanks.”

  She rose to her toes to press her lips to his cheek. Jos wasn’t content with that. He wrapped his free arm around her, bringing her closer still as he took her mouth with his. The feeling of her breasts pressed against him was glorious. Behind them, their new servants laughed at this show of affection, although their amusement was muted.

  Just as had happened when they’d kissed earlier today, she softened against him as he moved his mouth atop hers. It said she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and that was yet another gift she was giving him.

  Aye, it definitely felt like Christmas.

  Unable to sleep, Avice sighed, then rolled onto her side to watch the flame on the night candle dance. With Milly definitely ailing, Bertha was Avice’s sleeping companion for the night. The girl, the sister of the youths attending the fire, gave a quiet snort at her lady’s movement. Lina’s new assistant for the season was only a year younger than Avice and a cheerful thing as well as a hard worker. But more importantly to Jocelyn, she bore no resemblance to him. That meant she wasn’t one of his many relatives from the left side of the blanket.

  Thinking of Jocelyn made Avice smile. It had definitely felt like Christmas all day, from the relief she’d managed to give him, to the mass where she met the folk who were bound to Freyne and its lord, to presiding over the hall from Jocelyn’s side, just as if they were already Freyne’s lord and lady, wedded and bedded. Their tiny household had made merry, toasting each other over Lavendon’s traditional Christmas Eve meal of fish stew.

  Then, after the servants had finally left the table to retire, Avice and Jocelyn had lingered a little longer, sharing another posset, Lina’s gift to them. This one hadn’t been quite as tasty as the previous night’s brew. Instead, there’d been an odd hint of bitterness to it. That hadn’t prevented them from emptying the mazer of every last drop. Avice yawned, wondering what Lina had done differently and if whatever had been added was why she couldn’t sleep.

  A man’s raging shout rang out. Avice threw back her blankets. Nay, it wasn’t what she’d consumed that kept her awake. She had been listening for Jocelyn.

  Bertha gasped and sat up on their shared pallet. “My lady! What’s happening?”

  “Nothing, sweet,” she told the girl, then almost giggled. She’d just used the same tone and words that her mother did when soothing servants. “Lord Jocelyn is dreaming. He’ll quiet once I wake him.”

  “Oh,” the girl sighed, and was asleep again by the time she settled back upon their pallet.

  This time Avice grabbed her cloak from where it was draped over a coffer, then padded swiftly from the solar into the hall. One of the youths was starting to rise from where he slept near the hearth. A swift motion of Avice’s hand told him there was nothing amiss. He nodded, and returned to his rest.

  Entering Jocelyn’s chamber, she hurried to his bedside. By the time she slid back the bed curtain, he had gotten to the part of his d
ream where he made that heartbroken sound.

  “Jocelyn, you’re dreaming,” she whispered, thinking her words would be less startling than a touch. They weren’t.

  Jocelyn jerked as if she’d stabbed him, then shot up to sitting. The night candle’s uncertain light showed her that his mouth was set in a grim line. He reached for a weapon he didn’t wear. There was no cursing this time, not with the unguent still easing his pain.

  Her heart pounding, for she had no idea how he might react, she touched a finger to his hand. “Jocelyn, it’s only me, Avice,” she told him, her words so low that she could barely hear them.

  He blinked. His right arm dropped to his side. “Avice,” he said on a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. Then he grimaced and shook his head. “Fie on me. Once again I have awakened you.”

  “Nay, I wasn’t yet asleep,” she told him.

  Easing to the side, he patted the edge of the mattress, inviting her to sit. “That’s fortunate for you, I suppose, but what of the rest? Have you got an unguent to stop dreams, for they cannot continue this way.”

  “Why do you say that?” Avice asked as she settled on the bed as she’d done the previous night, raising her feet to the mattress and tucking the hem of her cloak beneath them for warmth. Once again, she leaned her cheek on her knees so she could look at him.

  Jocelyn shook his head. “The servants need their rest and my dreams will disturb them. That won’t do at all once we have a full house.”

  Avice caught her breath. “We?” she breathed in wonder.

  Even in the dimness she could see his confusion as he cocked his head and studied her. “Aye, we. Do we not live here? Is this not our hall?”

  Sudden moisture filled her eyes. He was mistaken—it was his house and would still be his even after they were wed—but not for the world would she correct him. “So it is,” she whispered.

  “Aye, so it is,” he agreed, “and although you’ve only been here two days, we’re already halfway to full. At this rate, you’ll have the hall overflowing with folk by Twelfth Night.”

  His tone was teasing, making his complaint toothless. Still, Avice gave a half-hearted laugh and a guilty shrug. “My pardon. I cannot help it. I like my comforts, such as a warm fire that burns all day and a tasty meal. But in pleasing myself I’ve cheated you of your solitude.”

  “Hardly so,” Jocelyn replied on a harsh breath. “You’ve saved me. A good thing that, for I needed saving. I am an idiot.”

  This time when she laughed it was in pure amusement. “An idiot, are you?”

  “Absolutely,” he told her, then paused. “Marry me, Avice. Marry me now, before your father returns.”

  “What?!” she cried out, certain this was another taunt of some kind. “Jocelyn, how can you ask this when two days ago you would have banished me from your hall if you could have?”

  “Jos,” he replied. “You of all people should call me by my right name. And what sort of answer is that? It’s ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ I need to hear from you.”

  Her heart took flight even as tears again pricked at her eyes. He was as mad as her father and she thanked God for it. “That is two more gifts for you,” she told him.

  He grinned. “It’s a good thing you’re so easy to please.”

  “Indeed it is,” she agreed, then shook her head. “Tell me, for I must know. What changed, Jos?” she asked again, liking the way this shorter version of his name felt on her tongue.

  “You came,” he replied simply.

  “But I thought you didn’t want me,” she whispered, unable to speak the words any louder. “You postponed our wedding and I was certain you meant to dissolve our betrothal.”

  Jos sighed at that, then pulled back the bedclothes to his left. He extended his arm in invitation. “Come. Sit with me. I need you next to me while I explain.”

  Avice hesitated. To accept was dangerous, yet to refuse was impossible. Jocelyn of Freyne was her destiny, and she would not lose him a second time, not now that she knew just how much she wanted him—him, not his home or his lands or even her childish dreams of who she’d thought he was.

  All pretensions of right and wrong and modesty fell away. She let her cloak slide from her shoulders, then crawled over his legs to slip beneath the bedclothes. As she pulled them up to her waist, he wrapped his arm around her and shifted her closer to him. She sighed in pleasure as she leaned against him, her arms wrapped around his waist. He was wondrously warm.

  “You said it yourself the other night,” he started, “when you remembered me as a lad always in search of the most dangerous game.” As he spoke his gaze drifted away from her until he stared into the darkness that filled the end of the curtained bed. “Until August past and this”—he carefully lifted his right shoulder to indicate his injury—“I think I believed myself invincible. After all, that fall should have killed me. And that made me reckless and a fool. Last year that fool wasn’t ready to be locked into a union with a child he barely remembered and a woman he didn’t yet know.”

  Jos brought his gaze back to meet hers. “As I said, I’m an idiot,” he told her again. “Aye, you’ve only been here two days, but they’ve been the happiest two days I think I’ve ever known. Why would I not want to marry the woman who makes miracles happen in my life?

  “Be warned. If you do not say me ‘aye’, I will bar the gates and imprison you here until you agree.”

  “Is that so?” Avice asked, not certain if she wanted to laugh for joy or weep for the same reason. “Well, before you close our gates on my sire, know that I won’t live here without a laundress or two. I’ve seen your shirts. They are in dire need of whitening.”

  He grinned at that. “Answer me. Promise that you will marry me,” he demanded. “Speak the words now or face my consequences.”

  “Aye, I will marry you,” she replied, making her tone heavy as the idea of wedding him was a terrible burden to her. Then she raised her face touched her lips to his. “Jocelyn of Freyne, you are the only man I would ever have as my husband.”

  Christmas morn found Avice curled against Jos, her back pressed to his front, his arms around her. She drew a deep breath as she awakened only to be startled that she’d been sleeping. The last thing she remembered was Jos telling her the tale of his time at Bec Abbey, how he’d nearly died before he reached the monks and how much he’d hated their infirmary.

  He stirred behind her, his arms tightening around her. Then he touched his lips to the place where her shoulder met her neck. Avice shivered and caught her breath. He laughed at her reaction, his amusement so muted she more felt it against her back than heard it.

  “I think I will enjoy sleeping with you,” he breathed against the skin of her nape. Then he pulled her closer to him, fitting her body against his. “You see? You suit me well, Avice of Lavendon.”

  She gave a quiet gasp as she felt the press of his manhood against her back. “And you suit me well, Jocelyn of Freyne,” she replied, then shifted forward until there was a wee bit of space between their bodies. She looked over her shoulder at him, chewing her lip in consternation. They’d left the bed curtains open. Day’s light was beginning to lift the heavy darkness in the room. Between that and the guttering night candle, she could see his face. He was smiling at her, his grin wide enough that small creases formed at the corners of his eyes.

  “Where are you going?” he taunted gently.

  Avice made a face at him. “You know very well that I cannot give myself to you until we have traded vows. There must be blood on the sheets the morning after. Without that, folk will think me a lightskirt.”

  “I won’t think you a lightskirt,” he told her, still laughing at her, or so said his tone.

  “You of all folk will think me lewd and worry that what I give so freely to you, I might also give to another,” she retorted, repeating what her mother had told her for all of her life. “Nay, you’ll wait.”

  He groaned, burying his head against her shoulder. “I can’t. Marry me today, Avice,�
� he begged, his plea muffled.

  She smiled, loving him with all her heart in that moment. If he pressed her, she might well give way. The Lord knew she wanted to, but he would not press. Nay, he was treating her as an honored, respected wife.

  “I will marry you, Jos, but not today,” she retorted, laughing, her heart full of him. Prying open his arms, she escaped across the bed already missing his warmth. It was so cold in the chamber that she could see her breath cloud before her.

  Shivering she wrapped her cloak around her, then turned to bid him farewell. As she did she caught sight of the bed post and freed a startled “oh!”. It was the first time she’d actually seen the piece. Reaching out a hand, she traced the carving that marked the wood.

  “How beautiful this is,” she breathed in awe.

  Jos came to sit on the side of the bed. Reaching out with his left arm, he embraced her, urging her closer to him. She bent toward him without thought, still appreciating the amazing tracery that decorated his bed.

  “It’s ours,” he said, “a wedding gift from my mother, given before the fact. You see? The gifts are already coming. Marry me tomorrow if not today.”

  That brought Avice’s attention back to the man she loved. She smiled at him. “Tomorrow, perhaps,” she said. “Today we celebrate Christmas. I brought a boar’s head and chestnut pudding with me, and there’ll be mince pies and elderberry wine.”

  “You see! We can marry today. We even have a feast fit for a wedding,” Jos told her.

  “But no musicians for dancing. I must have dancing at my wedding,” she retorted, and broke free of his embrace to show him the steps of her favorite dance. “I love to dance.”

  “If I find musicians, will you marry me today?” he asked hopefully, his dark eyes almost golden in desire for her.

  “We shall see,” she replied over her shoulder as she danced her way to the door of his chamber.