The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  “Have you been punished before for refusing?” He knew that Orrick could not have mistreated her, but who had? He took a step toward her.

  “Aye, my lord, but, pray, think not that I have suffered ill treatment by Lord Orrick or his people.”

  But someone else had. She gave him more clues to her history even though she said little.

  “Fear not, Elizabeth. I know well that Orrick does not abuse his people. And your decision to leave tonight will not be met with anything save regret on my part.”

  She nodded and turned to the door. He had spoken her choice and so there was nothing else to say. He did not move as she tugged the door open and walked out, pulling it closed quietly behind her. He half expected her to come back, but when several minutes passed by, he gave up any hope of it.

  Unable to waste food, he took a few minutes to wrap the food that remained and could be saved. Then Gavin banked the flames in the hearth and stripped off his clothes. It took a long time for sleep to claim him that night, for his mind was filled with thoughts of her and he realized, as he drifted off, that the expression that filled her eyes called to something within him. Her vulnerability could not be ignored.

  Chapter Five

  Like insects pouring out of their nests in the ground, the inhabitants of Silloth Keep scurried forth into the bright sunlight, anxious to take advantage of the break in the near-continuous winter storms that battered the area. Defenses were strengthened, repairs made to roofs and walls damaged by the recent strong winds, and everyone who’d been cooped up for too long enjoyed the freedom, treasuring it more for not knowing how long it would last.

  And preparations must be made for the upcoming festivities. Although weeks away, holly and ivy needed to be gathered to decorate the hall and, to honor Lord Orrick’s heritage, a large log would be cut, carved and burned from the day of the solstice until Twelfth Night. A yule log, she was told it would be called. Under Lady Margaret’s direction, groups of servants went off into the forest to accomplish those tasks.

  Elizabeth finished her temporary duties under the steward’s watchful eye and made her escape, as well. Her small cottage was set some distance from the keep and she had left it with no chance to prepare it for any lengthy absence. Not that she had many possessions, but she knew she would feel better checking the cottage before she was trapped in the keep once more.

  The cold air knocked the breath from her as she stepped into it, but she relished the freedom from the constant company of the others and did not allow it to chase her back. Pulling her cloak tighter around her, she stepped around the many icy puddles in the yard and trotted toward the gate. The raucous yelling caught her attention and she slowed her pace, curious about what could be causing such an uproar. A crowd grew around one of the practice yards and she walked closer trying to see what was happening.

  Two men, no, two warriors, of a similar size and build, fought to the cheers of the spectators around them. In spite of the cold, they had thrown off their tunics and fought in breeches alone. Sweat covered them as they struck at each other with long, wooden staffs. They were equal in ability, as well, for each spent time on the ground after being upended by his opponent. She managed to make her way closer and then recognized the combatants.

  Lord Orrick.

  And Lord Gavin.

  He was—they were—impressive.

  Although she could tell this was a friendly competition, both men were serious in their efforts. Their muscles strained as they took blows meant to knock them to the ground. Their breathing labored from the temperature around them and from their efforts. Someone in front of her turned and saw her and then moved from her path and Elizabeth was able to approach the fence surrounding the yard.

  ’Twas as she had thought—he was magnificent in battle. He called out his battle cry as he attacked Lord Orrick and she shivered from the fierceness of it. This could not be the same man who met her resistance with little reaction. Then, as though he’d heard her thoughts, he turned and saw her. She could not breathe.

  Lord Orrick used this momentary distraction to his advantage and, before Elizabeth could blink, he struck a blow that landed Lord Gavin in the freezing mud on the ground. Laughing, Lord Orrick declared himself the winner and held out a hand to his friend.

  She had cost him this battle. She had caused a lapse in his focus. How would he react to this very public embarrassment? Surely he could not let it go unnoticed?

  Not willing to wait for his reaction, Elizabeth backed away and turned toward the gate, escape the only thing on her mind. A few minutes at a quick pace took her through the gate and nearer to her cottage. Out of breath when she arrived, she lifted the latch and stepped inside. Unwilling to let the door slam against the wall, she struggled to pull it closed behind her.

  The cottage was as she had left it, nothing looked out of place. First, she loosened the leather flap that covered the small cut window and then, with flint and tinder, she lit a small lamp and made a closer inspection. There were really only two things she needed to check and they were hidden in the wall near the small hearth. With an ease born of practice, she pried a stone free and reached behind it for the small box she kept within. It was still there. Elizabeth was about to take the box out when the pounding on the door came.

  “Mistress Elizabeth?” a voice called out. A man’s voice. “Are you within?”

  Had someone followed her already? Elizabeth pushed the stone back in place. She knew that many were restless from the days and nights of inactivity within the keep, but she had no idea that someone would follow her this soon.

  Going to the door, she held on to it as she opened it a crack to see who stood beyond. The miller’s son. He must have seen her leave the keep and followed her. From his shifting stance and heated glances, she knew his intent. Sighing with resignation, she pushed the door open more to allow him entrance. The loud cracking of dead branches behind him drew their attention. They both looked to see the cause of the noise.

  Clean, but still damp from the hurried washing he must have taken, Lord Gavin wore his hair pulled back from his face and his tunic lay stuck to his wet skin. And he stared at her with a frightening intensity that she could do no more than meet. And barely that. The miller’s son understood the message. The nobleman was staking his claim. Liam stumbled back, with a tug on his forelock and an excuse to leave, and in a moment they were alone.

  “My lord,” she said, stepping back for him to enter. Elizabeth watched his expression as he passed her, trying to decide if he was angry or not. He had promised last night that he would not take her against her will, so why had he followed her here? Was he angry over her distraction that caused him to lose the battle with Lord Orrick?

  Lord Gavin ducked to clear the low door and crossed the width of her cottage in three paces. It had never seemed as bare and mean as it did now with his presence. He filled the room and her meager possessions shrank next to him. He surveyed the room, taking it in and then turned to her.

  “Did you enjoy the match?” He stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. She listened to his tone and could tell nothing from it. “’Twas good to get some action in with Orrick after so many days within the keep.”

  “You were even in skills, my lord. I have seen Lord Orrick fight before, but not with one who matched him so closely in size and ability.”

  He turned his head and stared out the window, apparently watching the continued retreat of Liam through the trees. “It felt good. ’Twould seem we are all restless.” He looked back. “Orrick said the old ones are predicting the storm’s return.”

  “’Tis the pattern of winters here, or so I’ve been told, my lord.” She gripped her hands together, not certain of what to do. This casual conversation was difficult to maintain. Not that she was not trained to it. Not that she did not have experience in it. But she had put that as firmly away from her as she had the contents of the hidden box. Or, rather, it had been taken from her as so many other parts of her life ha
d been.

  He relaxed a bit in his stance and smiled. “Ah, I forget that this is your first winter in Silloth. How does this compare to your home?”

  Although his probing was gently done, she felt the jab and sting of it. Swallowing to clear her throat, she needed to look away before she could answer. Would the pain be as evident in her voice as it would in her eyes?

  “Silloth is my home, my lord.” His questions were becoming more difficult to evade.

  “’Tis now, but we each come from somewhere else. In my village,” he said as he walked closer to her, “we have the same kinds of storms, but more often in winter ’tis snow instead of this rain.”

  “Is your village in the mountains?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and she fought the urge to touch his lips. Why was something as simple as a smile so attractive and dangerous on this man? In spite of not wearing a cloak and in spite of being wet, heat poured off him as he approached. Not until she felt the wall at her back did she realize she had backed away as he stepped closer. Now, ’twas no place left to move.

  “My village sits in the valley, with mountains surrounding us. Their height protects us from many of the worst storms, but every season there are a few storms that sweep down on us.” He reached out and brushed the hair that had been loosened by the winds from her face. “But we Scots do not coddle our villagers like they are wee bairns. We do not all run for cover as the weak English do.” His voice trailed off to a whisper as he stroked her cheek and then her neck. “Aye, the English are too soft.”

  She knew he was going to kiss her. His hand crept around her neck and he steadied her for his touch. His mouth was hot, his lips firm against hers. He cupped her chin with his other hand and kissed her over and over, slanting his mouth on hers and then tasting her deeply. She thought he was done when he lifted his mouth from hers, but he simply angled it the other way and joined their mouths once more.

  His presence, his body leaning against hers was overwhelming, yet she did not feel threatened. For a moment, a brief moment, she decided to simply let the sensations come. When she would have closed off her mind to what would follow, she stayed with him, staring into his eyes as he made her feel what she never permitted herself to feel.

  An ache built within her at his gentle touch. Her breasts swelled as her body readied itself for what would happen next. Her hands, clenched at her sides, crept up to clasp his tunic and he pulled her closer, his arms moving down to embrace her. Still she did not let her mind run from him. He trailed hot, wet kisses down onto her neck and then to her ear where she could swear he used his teeth on the sensitive skin there. Shivers passed through her and when she felt the urge to surrender to the need within her, she knew it was over.

  Finally, and almost with regret, Elizabeth began the pulling away from within. Her body became a separate thing that he could use without touching her soul. It had to be this way or she would never survive the life she had to face.

  Almost immediately, he released her and stepped away. His expression was intense and his breathing labored. She could smell his maleness, his strength, his desire. He was completely dangerous to her and there was nothing she could do to resist him. His displeasure screamed to her although he said nothing for a few moments.

  “Why did you do that, lass?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Do what, my lord?”

  “Make yourself into that lifeless thing. Why do you bundle yourself up within yourself?”

  Her eyes narrowed and the frown that marred her brow told him he had hit the mark. She drew everything she was inside and left only some lifeless shell there to suffer the touches she could do nothing to prevent.

  “Is it just me or do you do this with every man you lie with?”

  Fear filled her expression and was tinged with something like regret. So, ’twas done apurpose. “My lord, I cannot…”

  “Cannot what, Elizabeth? Lie with a man and enjoy it? Give some measure of response to his efforts? Not allow yourself to be given, but only taken?”

  “Please, my lord,” she said, raising a hand to him in a plea to stop. “Please do not make me speak of this…I beg you…” Her voice now shook as her eyes filled with tears.

  ’Twas the first time he knew she felt something deeply. And the conniving, questing part within him knew she would talk to him of other things if he did not force this subject now. Cursing himself for even thinking of the tactic, he asked her the question she had ignored before.

  “So, how does this weather compare with that of your home?”

  She took a deep breath before she replied, and they both knew she would answer him now. Part of him was exultant as she spoke the words he wanted to hear.

  “We have cold and snow in York, my lord, but not so much rain as here in Silloth.”

  He nodded as she revealed this truth about herself. Now he had some piece of her. Was there more? Dare he ask another? He would ask her nothing too personal that would scare her away.

  “When were you last in York, Elizabeth?”

  She looked away from him. “Nigh to two years have passed since I was last in York, my lord.”

  Defeat filled her voice and he knew she had given up resisting his questions. Gavin knew if he asked, she would answer. If he took her, she would…be taken.

  Regret for gaining knowledge of her in this manner burned within him. He was doing the same to her, again, that others did. That this time involved words and not flesh made no difference—and he knew it. He could not carry out this task for Orrick. He knew it now.

  “Come, lass. Gather up what belongings you wish to take to the keep and come with me.” Gavin stepped back and walked away from her. “Orrick has ordered everyone back to the keep until there is a true clearing.” He reached up and pulled the leather covering over the window tightly and secured it with a sturdy knot.

  “And if I do not wish to return with you? If I wish to remain here and wait out any more storms?”

  Her chin rose a bit, showing a hint of defiance. She must not think that showing such to him endangered her. Or did she not know that such defiance shown to other lords in other places would garner a whipping at the least?

  He picked up her cloak from the bench and held it out to her. “Even I quake in fear when Orrick wears the expression he did when he ordered everyone who had escaped back into the safety of the yard and keep. He will not be gainsaid in this order, lass.”

  A different sort of resignation filled her face as she accepted the cloak and threw it over her shoulders. He followed her gaze as it moved over the few furnishings in the cottage and then to the door. He had not realized how empty it was until just then. Did she have need of anything? Was there something he could do to give her ease?

  Where had that thought come from? He shook his head and unlatched the door, holding on to it so it would not slam in the wind. She followed him wordlessly out of the cottage and watched him as he bolted the door with the outside latch. The whole croft had the look that a really strong wind would not force open the door but batter down the whole thing. She needed a home of sturdy stone to protect her from this kind of storm. Another ridiculous thought! Being trapped inside for all these days was making him daft.

  “Come, lass, give me your hand.”

  He thought that holding on to her in the high winds was a good idea. As slight as she was, she could also blow or stumble away. She hesitated only for a moment and then held out her hand to him. Gavin took it in his and began walking toward the keep, tugging her along the path through the trees. When the buffeting of those treacherous winds slowed their pace, he put his arm around her waist, pulled her closer and urged her to move faster. Finally the gate to the yard came into view and he realized that she had dug her heels into a soft place in the frozen mud around them.

  “My lord, please go on without me. I need to catch my breath.” She twisted to free herself from his grasp and he released her as soon as he realized it. He und
erstood something else, as well.

  “Do you fear that others will talk if we are seen together here?”

  “Fear it, my lord? Nay. ’Tis a fact already and a topic of gossip throughout Silloth and its people.”

  “They gossip about us? Why would they do such a thing?” Why would such a thing as speaking to her or having her help with his bath bring them to the center of attention? ’Twas her duties to do so at his request. But he was not so dull witted that he did not know that in the dead of winter, there was not any small bit of activity that went unnoticed or unmentioned in the closeness of living in a keep.

  “Was it not your aim, then? You did not intend to stake your claim of me while you are here visiting Lord Orrick? To keep the other men away?”

  “Nay,” he protested, and it sounded too loud and too fervent to even his own ears. “I did no such thing!”

  “I suspect, my lord, that you are the only one in Silloth who missed the intent of your actions. Or is it your intention to simply toy with me until you tire of whatever draws you to me?” She stood with her hands fisted on her hips and let the anger that had obviously been building within her pour forward. “Then you will take your pleasure and move on to the next woman who catches your fancy. So, tell me, my lord, do I resist too much or not enough for your tastes? Tell me so I may get through these games you play with me.”

  She gasped and a look of horror covered her face as the words escaped her. Gavin knew that even if she had been known as a bold wench, she had just crossed the line to arrogance. And it was a line that should be met with a reprimand or punishment severe enough that she would not think herself better or smarter than those superior to her in standing and in rights. Elizabeth stumbled back a few steps as if she expected him to mete out what her impudence had earned.

  And he was horrified, as well, at her words, but not because they insulted his position. Not even because, as a serf tied to this land and to this lord, she had no right to object to anything her lord’s guest said or did, whether it was to her or to another.