Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Radley, sitting in the chair by the bed, was telling of an amusing mistake he’d made while keeping the castle accounts. Tristan lay on his back on the mattress, his right arm folded across his stomach and his left one running alongside his body. A rolled towel lay against his blood-covered thigh. Another towel hid his male parts, while blankets covered him from the upper leg down.

  Her brother noticed her first. “Honoria.”

  Tristan met her gaze. The mattress rustled as he attempted to sit up; no doubt he meant to greet her properly, despite his injury, but the towel over his loins would fall away—

  “Please, be still,” she said.

  He fell back against the pillows.

  Ignoring the wild fluttering of her pulse, she instructed Willow to stay in the passageway and entered the room.

  While she walked to the table, she cast a quick glance over Tristan. Mother Mary, but he was a magnificent sight, all bronzed and muscled against the cream-colored bed linens. His broad chest, an impressive display of honed muscles and gleaming skin, led down to his flat stomach and the trail of dark hairs disappearing under the towel.

  How unconscionable that part of her was curious about the bulge beneath the cloth. She’d seen naked men before, washing in the bailey after weapons practice, so she knew what masculine parts looked like, but still….

  She forced her wayward mind to focus. Thankfully, the servants had already delivered the items she’d requested. Buckets of steaming water waited near the bed, and towels, rags, and bowls had been left on the table, along with a large jug of wine. She set down the box and washed her hands with water and wine, feeling Tristan’s gaze traveling over her back as she did so.

  She faced the bed.

  “Do you need my help, Sis?”

  “Nay, I can manage.”

  Tristan’s eyes were closed now. He must be in discomfort.

  Radley stood. “I have some matters to attend, but will check in on Tristan later.”

  “Would you mind taking Willow with you? I do not want her coming in here while I am working on the wound.”

  “Of course.” Radley left, leaving the chamber door open. He called the wolfhound to him and strode away.

  Honoria carried a bowl of water to the right side of the bed and set it down on the planks. When she knelt beside Tristan, she caught the masculine scent of him; earthy and enticing. Just as she remembered from last night.

  Heat spread across her skin; he’d turned his head on the pillow and was watching her. Unable to deny the impulse, she met his piercing stare.

  She couldn’t look away. As though she’d been entranced, she was suddenly, acutely, aware of the intense quietude, broken only by the crackling of the fire; his measured breathing; the softness of the linen bedding beneath her hand. Her fingers tightened on the rag she held.

  “You do not have to tend me, if you really do not want to,” he said.

  “Oh, cease.” She wasn’t going to retreat now. Like the legendary heroines she admired, she must do what needed to be done.

  “Cease?” Wry amusement shone in Tristan’s eyes. “Do you speak to all of your patients in that manner?”

  “Only the challenging ones.”

  “I did not realize I was being difficult. I thought I was being most obedient, undressing and getting into bed as you had asked.”

  Put that way, her instructions sounded scandalous. A wanton tremor ran through her, and to distract herself, she dropped the rag into the water.

  “If I am too much of a challenge—”

  “You are not.” She wrung out the cloth. “Trust me, you are better off with me than the man-at-arms Guillaume recommended.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The man-at-arms does not see well these days. I would hate for him to sew your arm to your thigh.”

  As she’d hoped, she caught a hint of a smile on Tristan’s lips.

  She studied the wound. “I am going to begin. I will do my best not to hurt you.”

  “I know you will.”

  The genuine understanding in his voice brought a lump to her throat. She gently washed away the dried blood. The boar’s tusks had gouged furrows into his skin, and the area around the wound was turning purple with nasty bruising, but he’d been lucky; the damage could have been much worse. However, a few stitches would help the wound heal faster.

  After thoroughly rinsing the injury with water, she fetched the wine. Tristan had drawn sharp breaths while she’d worked, but otherwise, had remained still, his eyes shut. A lock of dark, shiny hair had fallen over his cheek, and as she knelt again, she yearned to sweep it back off his face. What would the skin of his cheek feel like beneath her fingertips? Was his hair soft, like hers, or coarse, like her brother’s?

  She mentally dismissed the foolish longing. She might startle him with that unexpected touch and thereby increase his pain, or—heaven forbid—cause him to dislodge the towel.

  The piquant smell of wine wafted as she used it to rinse the wound. He flinched, but didn’t cry out. She fetched the bone needle and some thread. Returning to the bedside, she said, “I am going to do a few stitches now.”

  “Fine.” His voice was drowsy, as if she’d lured him from the edge of sleep.

  Her hand trembled a little—she’d stitched Willow’s wounds but never a knight’s before—while she carefully sewed the edges of torn flesh closed.

  Pleased with the way the stitches had turned out, she sat back on her heels. Tristan lay motionless. Silent.

  Had he suffered so much pain, he’d fainted?

  She rose up on her knees and leaned sideways on the bed to study his face. His thick lashes lay against his skin. His lips, as full and sensual as she imagined the most romantic knights’ to be, were slightly pursed.

  “Tristan?” she whispered.

  “Mmm?” he said softly, his eyes remaining shut.

  Was that an admission of pain, or mere acknowledgement that she’d spoken to him?

  “Are you well?”

  His throat moved with a swallow, but he didn’t reply.

  Surely, if he was all right, he’d have opened his eyes and answered her.

  Concern welled up inside her, overruling the voice of reason that cautioned her to move back. She eased closer still, lured by his scent and the warmth of his body. A knight’s body.

  His mouth was a mere breath away. She could steal a kiss and finally know what it felt like to kiss a man.

  She shouldn’t.

  Yet, she wanted to. So very much.

  Never before had she felt such urgency—as if her very soul, her very life, depended upon it. How was it possible to crave so intensely? ’Twas as if she’d been caught up in some kind of magic, and the only way to break the spell was to press her lips to Tristan’s.

  Kiss him, her conscience whispered. Hurry, for it might be your only chance.

  She would not let life pass her by.

  Before she could stifle the impulse, she pressed her mouth to his.

  ***

  His eyes closed, Tristan tried to focus on something other than Honoria. He tallied how many goblets of wine he’d downed last night; how many days were left until he was traveling to London; hell, anything to keep from thinking about the beautiful woman so close by.

  Her floral scent teased him every time he inhaled. The whispering of her gown reminded him of sheets tangling as lovers kissed, caressed, and with impassioned gasps, surrendered fully to their carnal desires. And the gentleness of her fingers on his skin….

  He must be mad, or under that enchantment he’d experienced last night. Even while he was enduring pain, he experienced a stirring of lust. A damned awkward stirring, when all he had to conceal his swelling interest was a towel.

  Ah, God, he’d vowed to be honorable, but his body was betraying him.

  Mayhap she wouldn’t notice?

  And then, he felt the softness of her lips upon his.

  His eyes flew open. Her face was near his, her eyes still shut, as thoug
h she was savoring the sensations elicited by the kiss. She was exquisite, her skin dewy, her lips as red as wild strawberries.

  Had he been her first kiss? The throbbing in his groin intensified.

  Slowly, her eyes opened.

  She blinked, clearly startled to see him staring at her. Her cheeks reddened, and she abruptly drew back.

  “Honoria—”

  “I…I am sorry. I—”

  “Please. Do not fret.”

  “I should not have kissed you.” Fumbling with the rag, she pushed up from the bedside.

  “Wait. Why did you kiss me?”

  She stilled and then sank back to her knees. Her mortified gaze met his and then darted away again. “I thought…. I was worried you had fainted because of the pain.”

  Disappointment coursed through him. “You didn’t kiss me, then, because you wanted to.”

  “Oh, I did want to.” She sighed. “You will think me foolish if I tell you the truth.”

  “Not at all. I really would like to know.”

  She bit down on her lower lip; he longed to rise up on his elbow, sink his hand into her hair, and kiss her, right there where she’d bitten. “I…wanted to be like the damsels in the old tales. I longed to know what it was like to kiss a knight.” She swallowed hard. “Not just any knight, but…you.”

  He fought a proud smile. “I see.”

  “I was wrong to have done so. You trusted me to treat your wound, and….”

  “Honoria.”

  “I acted on an impulse I should have ignored, as I have ignored it ever since you arrived.”

  Astonishment ripped through him. “You have wanted to kiss me since we first met?”

  Her blush intensified, making her cheekbones even more pronounced. She nodded. “My yearning for you…. I cannot explain it, but I cannot deny it, either.”

  She was experiencing the same intense feelings for him as he was for her?

  “I should not have told you,” she whispered.

  “I am glad you did.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded against the pillow. “’Twas a very nice kiss.” If she glanced at his lower body, she’d see just how enticing it had been. He stifled his annoying conscience reminding him of his promise to be honorable and said: “If you like, we can kiss again. A bit longer this time, so you can fully experience what ’tis like.”

  With a soft plop, the rag landed in the bowl of water. She seemed both eager and uncertain.

  “You will have first-hand knowledge, then, to draw upon when reading the tales.” He couldn’t let her go now; he was starving for her kiss, even more than he’d been last night.

  “What if someone sees us?” She sounded breathless, as if she’d just run up a long flight of stairs. “Cornelia will be bringing some items—”

  “Then we must be quick.”

  His conscience cried out again; ’twas overruled by his hunger. He carefully lifted his right arm, curved it around her upper body, and urged her toward him. He half-expected her to resist, but she moved easily, allowing him to slide his hand up her back and into her plaited hair. How silky her tresses felt against his fingers.

  She leaned down, her essence flooding his senses, and kissed him.

  The touch of her lips sent heat racing through him. As her mouth pressed to his in the most innocent of kisses, he moved his lips beneath hers, encouraging her to explore him. If she was willing, he’d teach her all the nuances of kissing. She exhaled against his mouth, and her lips followed his, matching his kisses, becoming caught up in the sensual exploration.

  Ah, God, but he’d never been this aroused from kissing a woman.

  Desire became a demanding, fiery need within him. As they kissed, he slid his tongue between her lips to taste her. She shuddered and then slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he groaned at the pleasure. His fingers tightened in her hair. He wanted her, far more than he dared admit.

  He should stop kissing her. He should stop touching her—

  Her breath fanned his damp lips, and she caught his bottom lip with her teeth. She suckled, nipped, and kissed as if she couldn’t contain her rising passion any longer, and with such incredible skill, he groaned again. Helpless to resist, he opened his mouth to her, and their tongues clashed, slick heat to slick heat.

  She moaned in awe.

  He couldn’t fight his desire any longer. He kissed her hard, fast, their breaths mingling.

  Over their muffled gasps, he caught a faint sound.

  Someone was drawing near.

  Stop, his conscience cried. Now!

  The warning tore into the haze of need fogging his mind. Before he could wrest his mouth away, Cornelia cried: “Honoria! How could you?”

  ONE KNIGHT’S KISS

  CHAPTER TEN

  Honoria froze. Beneath her, Tristan stilled too, his mouth still touching hers.

  She pulled away from him, her lips tingling. She’d been soaring on the most incredible pleasure; it had shattered the instant she’d realized they weren’t alone.

  Cornelia stood at the end of the bed, holding a tray with the salve and poultice ingredients Honoria had requested. The younger woman looked angry enough to drop the lot on the floor.

  “Honoria,” Cornelia shrilled.

  Shame taunted her as she pushed to standing. “Please, I was—”

  “I know what you were doing. I saw.”

  Honoria took the tray and set it on the bed, all the while scrambling to think of a reasonable explanation for what she’d done. She didn’t want to speak falsely, not to a friend. Not when kissing Tristan had been the most thrilling experience ever.

  The bed rustled behind her. “’Twas my fault,” he said. Somehow, he’d pulled the blanket up to his waist. She might have scolded him for straining his wound, but sensed he’d had a reason for adjusting the bedding—and ’twasn’t that he’d been cold.

  Cornelia glowered. “How is what happened your fault, Tristan?”

  “I asked her for a kiss. One to help me heal faster.”

  Honoria shook her head. Tristan was being most gallant, but she couldn’t let him accept responsibility. “Tristan is not to blame for the kiss. I am.”

  Anguish filled the younger woman’s gaze. “Why would you do such a thing, when I told you…?” Her words died on a furious sob.

  “I am sorry,” Honoria said softly. “I could not help myself.”

  “Could not help yourself? He was to be mine.”

  “Wait just one moment,” Tristan said firmly. “Not once did I—”

  “I thought we were friends.” Cornelia wiped away tears running down her cheeks. “I trusted you.”

  Guilt twisted up inside Honoria. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

  “But you did. That you would be so deceitful at Christmas makes it all the worse!” Wailing, the younger woman dashed from the chamber.

  Honoria pressed her hand to her still-tingling mouth. How would she ever make matters right with Cornelia?

  A bone-deep chill settled within her. If the younger woman told any of the castle folk about the kiss, Honoria’s virtue would be in doubt. No lord would want to marry her if he believed she was ruined.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured.

  “Oh, God, indeed.”

  Her traitorous heart quickened at the fetching sight Tristan made, his hair spilling like ink against the pillow, his eyes soulful. She longed to sit beside him and kiss him again, consequences be damned…but she mustn’t.

  She picked up the items she’d used to treat his wound and carried them to the table.

  “If there is any question as to what happened between us, I am prepared to accept all of the blame.”

  She couldn’t let him do that. She’d initiated the kiss; thus, she must take responsibility. There had to be a way to resolve the situation, if only she knew what ’twas.

  “Honoria,” Tristan insisted.

  Determined to keep a firm hold on her desires, she returned to the bedside, picked up the sal
ve from the tray, and lifted back the edge of the bedding to check he hadn’t torn any stitches. Thankfully, he hadn’t.

  “If you want to go to Cornelia, I will be fine.”

  “I will visit her shortly.” Honoria pulled the cork stopper from the pot, releasing a strong herbal scent. “I promised to care for your injury, and I will.” She leaned down and dabbed salve on his damaged flesh.

  He laughed roughly. “You regret kissing me.”

  The bluntness of his words hurt, but she wouldn’t lie to protect herself. Applying more of the thick, greenish salve, she said, “I do not regret our kiss.”

  “Good, because I sure as hell do not.”

  Surprise flickered inside her, along with a poignant flare of joy. “You cannot mean that.”

  “I meant every word. I enjoyed kissing you. If the choice were mine, I would be kissing you again. Right now. Until you begged me to stop.”

  Oh, mercy. He shouldn’t say such wicked things. She wanted to respond, but heard someone drawing near.

  A small wine cask tucked under his arm, Radley entered the chamber. “How is—?”As his focus shifted from Tristan to her, his expression sobered. “What is going on?”

  Honoria’s grip tightened on the pot. “I—”

  “I kissed Honoria,” Tristan said. “I am clearly not as honorable as you and I expected.”

  ***

  “Tell me what happened,” Radley demanded.

  Tristan ran his hand over his face. A short while ago, Honoria had set the salve on the trestle table and left, and Radley had shut the door behind her so he and Tristan could speak in private.

  “As I said, I kissed your sister.”

  Pacing the space between the bed and the table, Radley asked, “By accident?”

  Tristan stifled a brittle laugh. They both knew ’twas not possible to kiss a noble lady, of all women, by accident. “Nay.”

  Radley halted, his eyes blazing. “On purpose, then.”

  Tristan weighed his words carefully. “I wanted to kiss her. I have done since I first met her.”

  “Why did you not tell me before?”

  “I never imagined I would have the chance to kiss her, outside of the quick, meaningless kisses that are part of holiday revelry. I had vowed not to become involved with another woman—”