Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  When they reached the lower steps, Tristan, his mouth a grim line, stepped aside to let them pass. The men-at-arms also stepped back. Radley must have signaled for them to do so. She hardly dared to breathe, for the sense of expectation—of simmering violence about to erupt into chaos—hung heavily in the air.

  Her shoes crunched on the dried rushes and herbs scattered on the hall floor. As the man forced her onward, Willow loped over from the hearth. Hackles up, the dog snarled. Honoria had never seen the hound in such a state, but then she’d never been in grave danger before.

  “Call off the dog,” the stranger shouted, “or it dies.”

  “Go, Willow,” she called.

  Radley whistled. “Here, Willow.”

  Snarling, the dog leaped for the man’s right arm.

  The intruder lashed out with the dagger.

  Honoria shoved him, hard.

  With a strangled curse, the stranger staggered sideways, the wolfhound locked onto his arm. Kicking at the dog, the man tried to switch the dagger to his other hand.

  Racing past Honoria, Tristan tackled the stranger. The two men fell to the floor, the dagger flashing as they fought for it. Honoria desperately hoped that Tristan wouldn’t be stabbed; he was at a disadvantage being injured from the boar hunt, and the man with the scarred face was strong.

  Willow barked fiercely, while the men grunted and wrestled, shreds of dried rushes clinging to their clothes. Honoria, now at a safe distance with her mother, Guillaume, and Cornelia, called the dog to her side. Reluctantly, the hound obeyed.

  Her brother and his men-at-arms closed in. “I want the intruder alive,” Radley ordered.

  The man with the scarred face broke free from Tristan and lurched to his feet. The intruder had lost the knife. Honoria cried out in relief.

  The stranger ran toward the forebuilding, but Radley and the guards swiftly encircled him, their swords pointed at his torso.

  Glowering, the intruder halted and held up his hands in surrender.

  The folk in the hall cheered and whistled.

  Radley took the intruder’s bag and handed it to Tristan, before the guards pinned his hands behind his back and tied them with the leather cord Tristan had handed them—the cord that had held his pouch with Odelia’s lock of hair.

  Tristan met and held Honoria’s gaze, and she smiled. He smiled back.

  How grateful she was for his bravery. She couldn’t wait to thank him properly.

  “Who are you?” Radley demanded, once the intruder was secured. “Why did you break into my keep and steal my sister’s book?”

  The man sullenly averted his gaze.

  “I can answer part of that question,” Guillaume said. “I believe he is John Putnam, the youngest of the four Putnam sons.”

  ***

  Tristan stilled, his fingers curling around the pouch of hair. He could not have heard Guillaume correctly. The intruder’s last punch to the head, the one that had made Tristan’s ears ring, must have affected his hearing.

  “Can you say that again?” Tristan asked, while he shoved the pouch under his belt for safekeeping.

  “He is John Putnam, the youngest brother of your former fiancée.”

  “Odelia’s brother?” Tristan hadn’t met all of her siblings; the two youngest had been in Scotland, on missions for the crown. Now that Guillaume had mentioned her name, though, Tristan did see a resemblance between Odelia and this man in the set of his eyes and shape of his mouth.

  “Are you John Putnam?” Radley demanded.

  The intruder remained silent.

  “He will not readily admit his name,” Tristan said; the uncompromising set of the man’s jaw revealed a great deal. “He knows that once we confirm his identity, the reputation of his entire family will be tainted by his dishonor.” How damned ironic that Tristan understood exactly how the man felt.

  “I have only met John a couple of times, but I am quite sure ’tis him,” Guillaume insisted.

  Even as Tristan struggled to grasp all of the ramifications of the revelation, Sydney and four men-at-arms entered the hall, their cloaks dusted with snow. Between them, hands bound, trudged two men Tristan had never met before.

  “Guards discovered these intruders on the rear battlement, milord,” Sydney said to Radley. “They had scaled the wall using an iron hook and rope. They had also subdued the men-at-arms on duty there.”

  “God’s blood,” Radley muttered. “I want the whole castle searched for intruders. The outer grounds as well.”

  “The captain of the guard has already begun a search, milord.”

  “Good. I await his report. Any injuries?”

  “The men who were subdued are unconscious, and have been taken to the garrison. Milord, guards identified these men as two of the riders I reported to you earlier.” Sydney’s gaze found John. “He might be the third.”

  “You were right to be suspicious of them. What we do not know is what these men wanted.” Radley glared at the captives. “Who sent you? What were you looking for, and why?”

  The men remained silent.

  “With your permission,” Tristan said, holding up the book, “I will see if I can find out.”

  “Do it.”

  Tristan glanced at Honoria, who was embracing her mother. His heart constricted at the thought of how close he’d come to losing her. They would find whatever was so important in her book. Together.

  “Secure the captives in the dungeon,” Radley said to the men-at-arms. “See if you can get any answers from them. I will join you shortly.”

  ***

  “Are you sure you are all right?” Lady Whitford asked, squeezing Honoria’s hands.

  “I am fine. I promise.”

  “Tristan was magnificent the way he came to your rescue.” Her mother winked. “I knew he was remarkable the moment I met him.”

  Honoria smiled. For once, regarding men, she agreed with her mother.

  When Lady Whitford moved away, Cornelia rushed in, wrapped her arms around Honoria, and hugged her tight. “I was so afraid for you,” the younger woman said. “I am grateful you were not hurt.”

  Honoria hugged Cornelia back. “I am glad you are all right, too.”

  Drawing away to arm’s length, the younger woman shuddered. “When I saw you in your chamber, with that knife at your throat—”

  “’Tis all right. You do not need to say more.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Cornelia’s expression turned earnest. “What Tristan said to me…. His words made me see how wrong I had been, in a great many ways.”

  Honoria had no idea what Tristan had said to the younger woman, but he’d obviously made an impression.

  “When I realized you might be hurt or killed, naught was as important to me as your life. I did not want to lose you. I simply could not. You have been such a generous friend, and I…I am sorry for being so horrible to you tonight.”

  Honoria could hardly believe what she was hearing, but she was grateful for the apology. “Thank you, Cornelia.”

  “I have been selfish and spiteful. Well, no more.” The younger woman’s lips formed a wobbly smile. “I am going to work hard to be a better person. I want to be a brave, clever, honorable lady just like you.”

  “You already are brave. You alerted everyone in the hall to the intruder.”

  Cornelia’s eyes shone. “That was rather brave, was it not?”

  “Just like a damsel from one of my books.”

  “Oh, Honoria.” There was no censure in the younger woman’s voice; only admiration. “Mayhap sometime, I can borrow that book? I have decided I would like to read the old stories.”

  “I would be happy to let you borrow it.”

  As they embraced again, armed guards hurried past, headed for the keep’s upper level, no doubt undertaking the search that had been ordered.

  Tristan approached, carrying the tome. His tender gaze skimmed over Honoria. “You are well? Unhurt?”

  “Aye, I am well.” She wanted so desperatel
y to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Did she dare?

  “Wait just a moment you two.” Cornelia dashed off into the crowd that had resumed mingling.

  Tristan stepped closer. Far too close to be gallant.

  He skimmed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, a touch so gentle, Honoria thought she might swoon. “Tonight, may I dance with you?”

  She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. “You may. Also, I—”

  Cornelia rushed up beside them, her hands behind her back. A little breathlessly, she said, “Honoria, hold out your hand.”

  “Why? And what are you hiding behind your back?”

  The younger woman giggled. “Just hold out your hand.”

  When she did, Cornelia dropped a small object into Honoria’s palm: a mistletoe berry.

  Tristan chuckled and held up another white berry between his thumb and forefinger. “Willow helped me find this one.”

  “Willow?” Oh, mercy.

  With the rustle of greenery and ribbon, Cornelia drew the kissing bough out from behind her back. Radley, who must have seen what she was doing, strode over and lifted her up, sitting her on his shoulder so that she could hold the bough over Honoria and Tristan’s heads.

  “I guess this means we are going to kiss,” Honoria murmured.

  “What an excellent idea.” Tristan’s strong arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her flush against him. She lifted her chin and his mouth descended upon hers.

  Oh, God. Oh, good heavenly gracious….

  Her mind went blank as she surrendered to the incredible pleasure. His lips moved gently, skillfully, but with definite purpose, as in his chamber: He was teasing her into craving more. And she did want more. Her whole body sang with the joy—the rightness—of kissing him…. He made her feel cherished. Complete. As if they belonged together, now and forever, like the knights and damsels of lore.

  She became aware of cheering and whistling. When the kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, she saw they were surrounded by castle folk, including her mother and Guillaume.

  Tristan pressed his forehead to hers and grinned down at her. “That was some kiss, milady.”

  “’Twas the perfect kiss under the kissing bough, milord.”

  “One more, and we will go inspect your book. Radley wants to find out why ’tis so important.”

  “We could do that now.”

  Tristan growled. “Kiss me again, or I swear, I will—”

  Laughing, she rose on tiptoes and crushed her mouth to his.

  Moments later, Honoria surfaced to hear a renewed burst of revelry. When she drew back from Tristan, though, she realized Cornelia no longer held the kissing bough above them.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Honoria found the younger woman in her brother’s arms. They were kissing!

  “You were incredibly brave,” Radley said, gazing into Cornelia’s eyes.

  “So were you,” she whispered.

  Smiling, Honoria leaned in against Tristan’s broad chest. Cornelia might have found a lord to love her, after all.

  ONE KNIGHT’S KISS

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tristan studied the tome lying open on the lord’s table. Guillaume, Lady Whitford, and Cornelia stood close by, while he and Honoria examined the book from cover to cover. Before Radley returned from the dungeon, Tristan hoped to have the answers they all wanted.

  The top right corners of the tome were battered, likely damaged when it had hit the wall in Honoria’s chamber, but the rest of it was as he remembered.

  Tristan turned more pages. He did not see aught suspicious; not unless the lady’s writings contained some kind of secret code. That would require taking the book to London, to be passed on to an expert who—

  “Wait.” Honoria leaned in closer, her finger trailing along the back cover. “This section that was repaired.”

  Tristan turned to the back cover. Several of the stitches had torn.

  His mind buzzed. “Mayhap John was not worried about what was written in the book, but what might fall out of it.”

  Honoria’s eyes widened.

  He pulled out more of the stitches and drew the pieces of leather apart. Honoria gasped, reached in, and took out a folded sheet of parchment, which she flattened out on the table between them.

  “What is it?” Guillaume asked, moving in with Lady Whitford to better see.

  “Aye, do tell us,” Cornelia said excitedly.

  The parchment bore a list of dates, some less than a sennight away; names of crown officials and lords, including John Putnam’s; descriptions of specific bends and parts of forest roads—

  “God’s blood.” Tristan’s innards grew cold.

  “What does it all mean?” Honoria asked.

  “If I am reading this correctly, these are instructions for ambushes.”

  “Ambushes?” Guillaume echoed.

  Tristan nodded grimly. “This man”—he pointed to a name on the parchment—“is responsible for gathering taxes in this part of England. He is good at his job, and as you can imagine, he is despised by many. With him dead—”

  “The King would appoint another to take his place,” Honoria said.

  “Aye, but ’twould take days or even sennights. Moreover, if the attackers stole the collected tax money that would have ended up in the crown’s coffers, they could use it to pay men to rise up against the King in armed revolt.”

  “Mother Mary,” Lady Whitford whispered. “My dear Lewis always feared there would be such an uprising.”

  “Why are these lords plotting attacks?” Guillaume asked with a frown. “Why do they not write up their grievances and request an audience with the sovereign or his ministers?”

  “From all I have heard, some have tried, and have had little success. By slaying crown officials and lords who are loyal to King John, the discontent nobles hope to sway the balance of power in England.”

  Her thoughts racing, Honoria found John Putnam’s name again on the page. “This man who wanted my book—”

  “Is in charge of the attack planned for the seventh day of January.”

  “I am guessing he intended to buy the tome to get his instructions, except I purchased it first?”

  “Exactly. He couldn’t get the book from you in the market without attracting unwanted attention or being arrested, so he waited until he could get inside the keep and steal it.” Tristan scowled. “I expect he was the main contact in this area. He would pass on details of the ambushes to other lords, including the two who accompanied him this eve, who would also carry out attacks.”

  “What about the peddler?” Honoria asked. “Was he involved too?”

  “Mayhap, but I doubt it. I suspect he had no knowledge of the missive or the ambushes. Someone likely gave him the book and paid him to sell it in the market, where John was to buy it. The peddler agreed because he needed the money.”

  “We must get this document to London,” Guillaume said, “as swiftly as possible. There must be other lords involved in this treachery whose names are not on the parchment. They must be identified and captured, before ’tis too late.”

  Tristan nodded. “Radley will reach the same conclusion.”

  A sickening realization made Honoria press her hand to her stomach. She hardly dared to speak the words, for they would upset her mother, but she must. “Father died after an ambush. He was accompanying a crown minister. Do you think…?”

  Tristan’s gaze held hers. “If you are asking whether the men on this list might be responsible for your sire’s death—”

  “Aye.”

  “I expect so. If they are not, they will know the men who are.”

  ONE KNIGHT’S KISS

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Late afternoon, six days later

  Cornelia raced into the great hall. “They are back! Radley and Tristan are back.”

  Sitting by the still-decorated hearth with Willow and her mother, who was dozing with her embroidery in her lap, Honoria set down her book. Happiness s
wirled up inside her, for she’d missed Tristan so much.

  They’d all attended the traditional Shepherd’s Mass at dawn on Christmas Day. However, before the gift-giving, the magnificent feast, the Mass of the Divine Word, and the rest of the merrymaking, Radley had sent missives to the local sheriff as well as the lords and crown officials who, according to the parchment, were going to be ambushed. The following day, with the snow beginning to melt, Radley, Tristan, and eight heavily-armed guards had taken the document and the three captured men to London, to be handed over to the King; no other intruders had been found in the search on Christmas Eve. With luck, all of the attacks that had been planned had been thwarted.

  Disquiet gnawed at Honoria as she set aside her tome and stood. What if in their days apart Tristan had decided he didn’t love her as much as he’d thought? He’d told her before that he was going to start a new position in London. He might want to remain unattached so he could start afresh in the great city.

  If that was so, then their love wasn’t destined to be after all. She would let him go. Regardless of any commitment that had been forged by their kiss under the kissing bough, she cared for him too much to force him to wed her.

  Honoria went with Cornelia to the bailey. The younger woman had changed so much since Christmas Eve; she was a much happier person altogether.

  “Cornelia.” Radley handed his destrier’s reins to a groom, threw his arms around her, picked her up, and twirled her around. She squealed in delight before kissing him.

  “Good afternoon, my love,” Tristan murmured.

  My love. How Honoria loved that endearment. He leaned down and kissed her, a long, slow, most tantalizing kiss that made her want to be his forever.

  “Your journey went well?” she asked, trying not to think of the important conversation they must have later.

  “Better than we had hoped.” Tristan slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. “The King granted us both special commendations for bringing the men and the parchment to him.”

  “How wonderful!”

  Smiling, Tristan kissed her again. “I am hoping my sire will be impressed when he hears of it.”