A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  He took his pipe out of his mouth and glared at her. "And what do you know, missy, of men's nightmares?"

  At that moment a number of terrible revelations came to Alice in a flash. She was silent as she struggled to sort through them.

  "Eh, missy!" her uncle barked. "Been up to your old tricks? Eh?"

  Alice was too shocked to be embarrassed. "Mother told you."

  "She did indeed. Fm pleased to see you have some decency and haven't taken your shame to an honest man's bed."

  Alice felt as if her mind was like a blade —clean, sharp and deadly. She easily ignored his words and aimed for the heart. "Why did she tell you?"

  "Eh? What?"

  "You and my mother were not so close. She would not have told you without a reason."

  His eyes slid away, and he made a business of fiddling with his pipe. "She was considerably distressed," he muttered.

  Alice arranged her information like the battalions of an army: her mother's nature and her uncle's; Tyr Norman as she had known him six years ago and as she knew him now; his words as they danced on Christmas night. Major Ewing's description of his military career.

  She waited, absorbing it all, until her uncle uneasily turned to look at her.

  "You tried to kill him," she said.

  His face twitched angrily, and he muttered words too foul for her to truly understand. "I'd have called him out but that your mother feared the talk. Don't know how he survived."

  Alice wanted to scream foul words back at him, to claw at his sharp-boned face, but she was icy as she asked, "Why did you stop?"

  "Wellington!" her uncle spat. "Damned jackanapes took a fancy to the rogue. It was made clear that I was to cease my meddling, so don't screech at me, girl. I did my best. You and your mother near broke me, and none of

  it would have come about if you'd just kept your knees together/'

  He was upset because he'd failed, not because of what he'd done. Alice could see no purpose in talking to him further. She stood stiffly. "He's here," she said.

  Her uncle was goggle-eyed. "What! Tyr Norman?"

  Alice nodded. "He's Lord Ivanridge now. You played billiards with him last night." Some of her anguish escaped. "Didn't you even know what he looked like, this man you were trying to kill?"

  "Why the devil should 1?"

  Alice held his eyes. "If," she said with cool precision, "Tyr Norman has a heart big enough to forgive this family for what they have done to him, I am going to marry him. If you ever harm a hair of his head again, Uncle, I'll kill you myself."

  With that, she left her uncle gaping.

  Alice's urge was to run to Tyr and pour out the whole story, to persuade him that she'd known nothing of the foul plot, but she sensed that would be disaster.

  For one thing, the lvelfth-Day tournament was underway, and the King of the Revels would be busy all day with the arrangements and taking part. For another, it would be better to consider her approach carefully, for there were traps to avoid.

  It would be easy, for example, to slip into upbraiding him for leaving her without a word. It would be equally easy to scold him for his cruelty during this visit, even though she now understood. These things were irrelevant when set beside the horror which had been visited on him.

  She remembered his words, now so meaningful. "It was more the case of seeming to find myself in situations which called for heroics." "My destiny was shaped by some force, malign or otherwise." She wondered when it had dawned on him that the fact he constantly found himself in the most hellish situations of the war was not simple bad luck.

  No, she simply wasn't ready to talk to him yet. Tonight. She would speak to him tonight. On TWelfth Night. It

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  seemed appropriate.

  Before she went down to the tournament, she changed into her most becoming gown, a flowing gold wool worked with brown embroidery. She set a filmy veil of silk gauze edged with gold over her long plaits, fixing it with a gold circlet. She added a gold collar around her neck and heavy gold bracelets of medieval design. "These bracelets had more commonly been worn by warriors, but that seemed appropriate. Alice was dressing for the fight of her life. The fight for love.

  The tournament was held in the large meadow below the east walls, and a stand had been erected for the ladies and the elderly gentlefolk. Around the other three sides, ropes held back the local people who were all cheering for their favorite knights.

  Even though the lances and swords were blunt, Alice had her heart in her mouth as she watched her beloved fight. She almost burst with pride at the sheer skill of the man. Roland was fit and trained for this medieval warfare. Major Ewing was a hardened, competent soldier. But iyr had a spark of genius in the way he handled weapons and mount so that he carried all the prizes.

  No wonder Uncle George had found him so hard to kill.

  Rebecca slipped into the seat beside her. "Could I guess, perhaps, why you are dressed so beautifully?"

  Alice took in Rebecca's very fetching blue and cream costume. "Doubtless the same reason you look your best."

  Rebecca blushed and laughed. "But I fear Lord Standon is not cut out for bloody warfare." They both winced as he was neatly unhorsed by Roland.

  Next, Roland fought iyr. Tyr won.

  "Alice," Rebecca said softly, "you're looking at the man as if he were a flaming raisin you want to snap up."

  Alice burst out laughing. "A flaming raisin! Becca, what a thing to call such a magnificent specimen."

  Rebecca smiled and shook her head. Alice looked back to find that Tyr's attention had been caught by her laughter, and he was looking at her. She wished he were the sort of

  man who could be read.

  He had been once, before her uncle and her mother had put him through hell.

  She swallowed tears. The desire to run down and enfold him in her love was almost overpowering, but she controlled it. She must wait. She could never let him go, though. She'd tear her clothes off again, if that was what it took.

  The light was going by the time the last tournament prizes were awarded. Now the huge bonfire was lit—the final celebration of light in this midwinter festival which was as much pagan as Christian.

  Whole carcasses of ox, sheep, venison, and pig had been roasting all day. Now the mulled cider and the wassail bowl came out and a feast began for all —servants, tenants, tradesmen, neighbors. Anyone who cared to attend. There were all ages, from babes to centenarians, and all having a good time.

  Alice kept a longing eye on Tyr, her need to be with him warring with her self-control. It wasn't practical to think of speaking here of meaningful things. He was always the center of a merry crowd, and she had her duties to perform, ensuring that all the guests were content.

  A band of fiddle, pipe, and drum tuned up, and country dancing started. Alice danced with whomever asked as a clear full moon rose up to light the crisp winter landscape.

  Alice noted that Bella Carstairs had finally gotten some sense and dressed herself in a becoming but warm, red woolen gown. She had apparently abandoned hope of Lord Ivanridge and was flirting purposefully with Lord Gar-stang.

  Susan Travis was pretty in a cream and brown outfit from the Conyngham wardrobes and had come out of her shell considerably. Alice saw her dancing with Tyr and looking radiant, but it didn't bother her. She knew it was just the glow of being relaxed and admired and a sign of TVr's kindness.

  Rebecca and Charlie were together more often than not.

  It was not in their characters to be demonstrative, but Alice, who knew them well, could sense the warmth that was comfortably growing between them, and was delighted.

  It was clear that Tyr was deliberately avoiding her.

  After a while this became intolerable and, fortified by a considerable amount of cider, Alice seized her beloved and dragged him into the circle for the next dance. It was just a country dance, but at least they were together and able to touch now and then.

  After a momentary resistance, he di
dn't fight her, but it was as if he were walled off from her by glass. There was a polite smile on his lips, but she couldn't read his eyes. It was frustrating and frightening how little she could read him. It was alarming and exciting how even the fleeting unavoidable touches of his hand against her waist or fingers was turning her dizzy.

  She was going to have to break through this barrier soon, to discuss delicate matters with this intimate stranger, and the thought terrified her.

  He seemed to sense her unease and cautiously lowered his guard. "What's the matter?"

  "I need to speak to you before you go."

  The barrier slammed up again. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lady Alice."

  The dance ended, and he was gone. Alice wondered if she would have to take him prisoner and lock him in the dungeons to speak to him. If that was what it took, she would, though she didn't know how she was going to explain it to her accomplices. And she certainly would need accomplices to overcome Tyr Norman.

  Close to midnight the fire began to die. With the end of the fire, the Twelfth Night would be over. When the Twelfth Night was over, the TWelve Day Festival would be over. Everyone would leave, including Tyr.

  Lord Raneleigh and the farmers went off singing to do homage to the trees and assure good fruiting in the coming year. As the midnight bells rang from the village church,

  gun shots and horns were heard from the orchard as the men saluted the oldest apple tree. The Reverend Herbert studiously ignored this pagan rite.

  Slowly, sated people began to drift home, either to village or castle, still singing as they went.

  It was time. Alice looked around for Tyr.

  He had disappeared.

  In a blind panic, she ran to the stables, imagining that he'd already whipped a team up to speed to carry him away from Conyngham. But when she arrived, she found everything peaceful. She leant against a stall to catch her breath, wondering if she had finally run mad.

  A sleepy groom came to see what the matter was, and she had no sensible answer for him. She merely shook her head and headed up to the house.

  On TWelfth Night everyone was a little reluctant to admit it was the end and go to bed. People were scattered all over the castle—a few in the billiard room, others in the library, some playing instruments in the music room, others playing cards in the Chinese Room. There was even a supper laid out in the Great Hall for the few with an inch or two of space in their bellies.

  Alice could not find Tyr.

  Casting desperately along a first-floor corridor, Alice came across a couple twined together in a window embrasure. Without hesitation, she interrupted them.

  "Rebecca, have you seen Tyr?"

  Rebecca was rosy with embarrassment, and Charlie looked cross. "Damn it, Alice—"

  But Rebecca stopped him with a gentle touch. "He said he was retiring," she said.

  "Oh, Lord," muttered Alice.

  Rebecca looked understanding. "Charlie could go and tell him you want to speak with him."

  After that earlier rebuff, Alice knew that would do no good. "No," she said. "It's all right. Sorry to have interrupted."

  Charlie watched her hurry away. "I'm beginning to worry

  about Alice."

  Rebecca gently regained his attention. "There's no need, love. She'll be fine. Now, before we were interrupted ..."

  Alice progressed briskly towards the chamber she had allotted to Lords Standon and Ivanridge, not allowing herself time to lose her nerve. This all felt eerily like that night six years ago, except then she had been much more tremulous. Tonight she felt like tempered steel.

  At the polished mahogany door she raised her hand to knock but decided that would be a poor tactic. She turned the knob and walked in.

  He was lounging on the bed with only the fire for illumination, cradling a glass of brandy. He looked up sharply, then sighed. "Go away, Alice."

  Alice shut the door and leaned against it. "I need to talk to you."

  "This isn't the time or the place."

  "Last time you left at the crack of dawn."

  He looked down and swirled the spirit. "With the passing of Twelfth Night, the magic fades . . ." He looked up at her somberly. "What do you want? An apology for living?"

  Alice gripped her hands together. "I have come to offer an apology, Tyr. An apology for all that has been done to you by my family."

  There was no reaction. His gaze rested on her steadily. "Accepted," he said at last. "Now go."

  Alice bit her lip. "Tyr, I knew nothing about it!"

  He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the headboard. "Alice, I came here full of bitterness with thoughts of revenge. I've managed to rid myself of it. It's over. Just leave me in peace."

  Alice walked forward until she was standing by the bed. His eyes remained closed. "If you don't listen to me," she said, "if you don't talk to me, Tyr Norman, I'll start tearing my clothes off again."

  Those dark eyes snapped open. "You never did fight fair, did you?"

  "I don't want to fight at all, Tyr. I love you."

  Their eyes held as if locked. "You said that six years ago, too."

  He was frighteningly hard, impervious. Alice could feel minute tremors shake her body and wondered how long she'd be able to stand, what would happen when she collapsed onto the bed. "I meant it six years ago," she whispered, "and it never changed, though I hated you at the same time."

  "That doesn't make much sense."

  "Six years ago you said you loved me. Did the love die when you started to hate?"

  He broke the gaze and looked down. "One tends to displace the other."

  "Which is in you now?" she asked softly.

  He took a swig of brandy. "I am gratefully numb with alcohol."

  Alice grabbed the glass and sent it crashing to flare in the fireplace. "Talk to me! 93

  His eyes flashed and he grabbed her, pulling her down to his lap. "What of, Miranda? Love? War? What the hell do you want from me?"

  Alice knew she should be scared, but she felt as if she was finally back where she belonged. "I'm asking you to marry me," she said.

  His grip relaxed in astonishment.

  Alice grasped the initiative and placed her hands on his shoulders. "I fell in love with you six years ago, Tyr, and it seems to be a permanent affliction. I can't bear to let you go without using every weapon I have."

  "Do you know you have a very warlike turn of phrase?"

  The muscles beneath her hands made no movement, gave her no indication of his feelings. She tightened her hold. "Do you know you are the most shielded, guarded person I have ever met? Show me something of yourself, Tyr, before I lose my nerve!"

  His mouth came down on hers, hot and spicy with brandy. He wasn't gentle, as he had been six years ago. Instead he crushed her to him and seared her with a passion

  capable of destroying both of them.

  When the kiss ended, Alice looked up at him, shaken almost to fainting. "Thank you," she whispered.

  With a crack of laughter, he pushed her aside and leapt off the bed to stand by the window. He rested his head on his hands there. After what felt like an endless silence, he said, "Tell me exactly what went on six years ago, as you know it."

  With wisps of hope and considerable fear that heaven might yet escape her, Alice obeyed. When she'd finished she added, "I have to admit that I started this by telling my mother what happened." There was no response from that broad back, and so she carried on, determined to get it over with. "I must also confess that I didn't quite tell her the whole story."

  He turned then, a touch of humor in his shadowed face. "I suppose you omitted little details such as declaring your undying love and tearing your clothes off."

  Alice nodded ruefully. "But I never imagined she would seek revenge. I feared Roland or my father might call you out, but Mother . . ."

  He leaned back against the window frame arms crossed. "First rule of life. Never underestimate a woman."

  His protective s
hell was cracked, but Alice was far from sure of success. She still couldn't tell what was in his head. "Don't you believe me?" she asked.

  "I just wonder why you had this insane urge to confess to your mother at all."

  Surprise brought her up to her knees. "You abandoned me! I needed to talk to someone. I was terrified I was going to have a baby!"

  He stared at her blankly. "You thought—For God's sake, Alice, you couldn't be that naive." He walked over until he stood by the bed. His gaze was both searching and disbelieving. "Miranda," he said gently, "I never even took my breeches off."

  Alice gaped. "You never . . . ?" She searched her memory, seeking detail amid dizzy ecstasy. "It was all rather

  hazy : . ." She felt hot color flood her cheeks and hid them in her hands. "Oh heavens, I fear I was just that naive." Then she looked up again, wide-eyed. "You mean there's more?"

  He started to laugh. He leaned against one of the solid bed posts and laughed; there was more than a little wild-ness in it. At last he regained control of himself but kept his head against the post. He shook it now and then.

  Alice swallowed. "Is there any point in saying I'm sorry?"

  He looked at her, his eyes still damp with mirth. "It's always worth saying you're sorry. I should have realized, I suppose. You were such a darling innocent. But how could you think I'd leave you without a word if I'd taken your maidenhead?"

  Alice was swamped with guilt for that lack of faith. She hesitated then put the question. "Why didn't you . . . ?"

  He sat on the bed, leaning against the post, arms around one raised knee. Ghosts of humor still relaxed his features. "I had my orders, Alice. I sailed for Lisbon on the tenth. You enchanted me from Christmas Eve on, but I had to keep my 3vits for both our sakes. Not only were you a Con-yngham while I was nothing, but you were engaged to marry a fine, wealthy, titled man. The only thing I could do for you was to spare you my inappropriate devotion." He smiled wryly. "I'd have done it too, if you'd behaved like a proper maid."

  "I fell in love," she said softly, sending words across a gap she didn't quite dare to bridge. "I couldn't bear the thought of you leaving me. How could you bear the thought of leaving?"