Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She’d only ever met King William once, for two minutes. The Duke of the Normans had come to their castle to discuss the proposed invasion with her father. She was a nuisance, shooed away soon after being formally presented.

  Her memory was of a tall, gruff, travel-worn man. The richly-garbed nobleman who lounged before her on an ornately carved wooden throne looked like a powerful king. Her heart sank. He probably didn’t even remember her.

  To her surprise, Dervenn stood below the dais, arms folded.

  The king smiled.

  The disfigured knight did not, yet it was strangely comforting to see his familiar face. A shaft of sunlight suddenly angled down from a high window and he turned his ruined features away from its glare. She tried to imagine how difficult it must be for a proud man…

  But the king was speaking. She’d been preoccupied with the arrogant Breton and had no notion of what her guardian had said.

  She watched in confusion as Guerlaine curtseyed and glided across the small hall to curtsey again in front of a knight who had stepped out of the shadows. He bowed and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  What was going on?

  The king picked up a parchment from his lap. “Lady Micheline de Courcy is betrothed to Sir Raoul de Brun.”

  It was a betrothal ceremony!

  She tucked an errant curl behind her ear, mortified she hadn’t been given the opportunity to prepare herself adequately for the first meeting with her future husband.

  Micheline joined her bridegroom on the other side of the hall. Victorine breathed a sigh of relief. Raoul de Brun was at least twenty years her senior and reminded her too much of her cruel father. Dervenn de Roure would be preferable.

  She glanced at him, irritated by a strange half smile that, annoyingly, made him look almost handsome. The still-bright shaft of sunlight lingered like a halo over his blonde head.

  She fidgeted with the sleeves of her gown, sweat trickling down her spine as one by one the other girls were paired off.

  When only she and Marie remained, she peered into the shadows where the unmarried knights had stood. It was apparent the only unwed knight left in the chamber was Dervenn de Roure. Anger tightened her throat. Surely he was not her intended husband.

  She couldn’t breathe, wondering what dire punishments might befall her if she refused the king’s choice.

  “I regret,” the king intoned, “that you are yet too young to become betrothed, Lady Marie, and Lady Victorine de Toeni…”

  Non! Non! Non!

  “…your father’s death has caused me immeasurable personal grief.”

  She clenched her fists as the King of the English lavished praise on her late father’s contribution to the great victory. Did he even know her brothers had died?

  “I regret that my recent coronation has delayed some of our yuletide celebrations which we will make up for on the morrow. All these festivities have interfered with arrangements regarding your betrothal.”

  She quickly shut her mouth when she realized she was gaping like a floundering fish.

  “I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

  She curtseyed, then smiled smugly at Dervenn. A king had humbly begged her forgiveness, and if the ugly knight thought he had a chance at her hand… “Of course, Majesté.”

  The monarch glanced at Dervenn. “However, we cannot allow you to be the only honored guest without an escort at the celebrations on the morrow.”

  An icy hand gripped her windpipe.

  “Accordingly, Sir Dervenn de Roure will accompany you, and Lady Marie.”

  She had an urge to scream that the father whom the king had purported to lament would be outraged that his only daughter was being treated like a seven-year-old. Then she remembered he’d never shown the slightest interest in her.

  It was difficult to say if Dervenn was pleased or annoyed. The shaft of sunlight had moved on to bathe the king and a thousand dust motes in its light.

  However, one thing was for sure. She intended to wipe the snicker off Guerlaine’s face if she got a chance.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  UNEXPECTED COMFORT

  There was a time Dervenn would have liked nothing better than to accompany a beautiful woman to a grand party. Indeed, he loved to join in merrymaking and women had been known to compete for his favor.

  Things were different now. He had planned to spend the last day of December alone, with several tankards of ale.

  It was obvious from the pained expression on Victorine’s face she didn’t welcome his company. Marie would likely prove a more pleasant companion.

  The king’s revelation that several knights had expressed a keen interest in marrying Victorine was worrisome. The prospect of fending off suitors stuck in his craw, especially since it would rile her further. After the royal slight, he got the feeling she would agree to marry anyone but him.

  She’d taken the humiliation well. For a brief moment it seemed she was going to treat the monarch to a display of her temper, but she’d kept her disappointment under control. Her future husband would be a fortunate man. She had beauty and a strong backbone, attributes a conquering knight would need in a wife if he planned to establish himself in this new land.

  The king appeared bound and determined Dervenn should consider her as his bride and had tasked him with finding her a suitable chamber. All he wanted was to slink off to some remote corner of England, mayhap Northumbria, and…

  An unexpected reverie of lying naked with Victorine before a smoldering peat fire somewhere in the wilds of the northern moors confused his thoughts.

  The insistent shaft of sunlight seemed to have addled his brain.

  ~~~

  As she left the audience, Victorine’s anger was heightened by Marie’s insistence on holding her hand and enthusing about the fun they would have with Sir Dervenn. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word fun. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been many occasions for laughter in her own life, though she had to admit the sojourn in Milton Regis…

  Servants came to collect the belongings of the other girls. Victorine paced, hands fisted in the skirts of her gown. His Majesty had said nothing about a more suitable chamber and she doubted anyone involved in the feverish preparations for the festivities would give her a second thought.

  Jumelle fussed, clucking in agreement at her loudly voiced frustrations, but then tapped her shoulder. Marie had fallen strangely silent. Victorine followed her maid’s gaze. The child sat on the edge of her pallet, sobbing quietly.

  The maid sat beside her. “What’s wrong, ma petite?”

  Victorine pressed her fingers to the pulse throbbing at her temples. She should have been more sensitive to Marie’s sorrow. It was difficult enough for a young woman to lose her whole family in one horrific day, but for a child—

  Circumstances had thrown them together and now she was Marie’s only source of comfort. She had failed the girl, yet her feet seemed fixed to the planked floor. She’d never had a sister, older or younger.

  The sobbing turned to a mournful wail. “Mama.”

  It struck a chord in Victorine’s heart. She had cried out her dead mother’s name into the silence of her dark chamber, but the echo had offered no comfort. Her brothers had been forbidden to exhibit sorrow at their mother’s passing.

  She fell to her knees beside the pallet and gathered the child into her arms, finding unexpected comfort in their shared grief.

  Only Jumelle heard the knock and opened the door.

  Victorine turned to see Dervenn de Roure on the threshold. For once she was relieved to see him. She wasn’t having much success calming the child’s upset and he seemed to have a way with her. His smile turned to a frown when he espied Marie. He strode into the chamber, picked her up and rocked her in his arms. He said nothing, but the little girl gradually calmed.

  Victorine got to her feet with Jumelle’s help, her indignation at his brusque actions nudged aside by relief that he’d soothed the orphan’s sorrow. The errant th
ought occurred that he would be a good father. Her own sire had never hugged away her hurts. As she gazed at Dervenn’s broad back, an irrational desire to find comfort in his strong arms flooded her.

  When he turned to face her, his smile took her breath away. It lent a rugged beauty to his chiseled features. Her shoulders sagged; her mouth fell open.

  He frowned. “What’s amiss?”

  She gritted her teeth, ashamed that she was beginning to have feelings for this crude knight. “Nought.”

  “Bon! Jumelle, gather up your mistress’s belongings. I have procured a chamber for these beautiful ladies.”

  Marie giggled and hugged his neck.

  Victorine’s gratitude almost caused her to rush to his side and do the same; but decorum prevailed. “Do as he says, Jumelle,” she ordered. “Hurry.”

  Dervenn chuckled as he set Marie on her feet. “You’re welcome.”

  The child held his hand as he led them along innumerable dingy corridors. The two chattered with a familiar ease that made Victorine envious, but she was pleasantly surprised when he thrust open the door to a chamber. Though it was windowless, it smelled fresh, and the bed was certainly large enough for her to share with Marie. A servant’s pallet lay near the hearty fire burning in the hearth. “This will be adequate,” she conceded.

  He made a mock bow. “I’m glad your ladyship approves. Now I must be off to secure my own lodgings.” He perched Marie on the edge of the bed, and pecked a kiss on her cheek. “Until the morrow, my fair lady.”

  She kissed him back, watched as he strode to the door and sighed wistfully when he left.

  Victorine growled with annoyance when she realized she and Jumelle were both gazing at the door. “Unpacking,” she reminded the maid.

  Marie curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. The unsettling events of the day were suddenly too overwhelming. Exhaustion swept over Victorine. “Work quietly,” she said with a yawn.

  She climbed onto the bed and buried her nose in the bolster. An aroma tickled her nostrils that reminded her of Dervenn de Roure. He had evidently given up his own chamber. She should insist the linens be changed, but the lingering smell of him was strangely familiar and comforting.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  GALA

  Dervenn escorted them to the king’s feast on the last day of December.

  The child complimented his black tunic, which Victorine had to grudgingly admit made him look dashing. Marie held his hand and skipped along, until they came to the immense hall of Westminster Palace. Suddenly, she cowered against his leg, clearly intimidated. Unseen musicians played. Servants rushed here and there. The excited voices of hundreds of noblemen and women echoed off the stone walls.

  Dervenn stooped to pick her up.

  Victorine understood the impulse to flee. Her best gown brought from home felt like peasant garb compared to the stunning elegance of the clothing worn by the women. Indeed the girls who’d accompanied her from Normandie stood out as being underdressed for the occasion. Some smiled and looked content with their new husbands-to-be, others pouted and cast furtive glances here and there as if searching for an avenue of escape.

  The de Toeni family was rich. Victorine’s father was proud of his wealth and took every opportunity to display it. He provided his children with clothing fashioned from the costliest materials. His sons rode the finest horses and wielded swords forged of the strongest steel. Visitors to their castle were regaled with sumptuous feasts and lodged in splendidly furnished chambers.

  Victorine was no stranger to opulent extravagance, but she gaped in disbelief at the amount and variety of food laid out for the king’s guests, many of whom walked away from the groaning sideboards with trenchers piled high. She recognised the aroma of venison, and certainly there was roasted chicken, and goose, but other dishes were a mystery. “So much food,” she whispered.

  Dervenn set Marie on her feet. “This mob will make short work of it. You’d think they hadn’t eaten for days. Watch over the child and I’ll charge our trenchers.”

  He strode off and elbowed his way into the crowd of men swarming around the tables au bufet. One or two protested his intrusion—until they saw his face.

  Marie slipped a hand in hers. “I hope there are oysters.”

  Victorine admitted inwardly she would like to taste the sea creatures again, but she shrugged. “Sir Dervenn said they are a delicacy, so they probably disappeared first.”

  She scanned the hall. Men, women and children sat at tables eating and drinking. She supposed these were families. Other men wandered about, almost all carrying a goblet from which they sipped as they meandered. Small winged creatures fluttered in her belly. These must be bachelors. Mayhap one of them…

  Occasionally they stopped and exchanged hearty conversation with a group then moved on to another. The din grew louder by the minute, the hall hotter. The braziers glowing around the perimeter seemed unnecessary.

  Banquets at home had always been sedentary affairs, with servants bringing food. This was a different experience and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Standing alone with Marie in the midst of the chaotic hubbub made her feel conspicuous. She fidgeted with her hair, willing Dervenn to return.

  One fellow sauntered up to them and raised his goblet. “To you, beautiful maiden, health and prosperity.”

  She was at a loss as to how to respond. Her father had never allowed young men to speak to her directly. Indeed, this man’s gaudy yellow tunic and overlong hair would have excluded him from being invited to the de Toeni castle.

  He raised a brow. “Cat got your tongue?”

  She gathered up her courage. This was a new land with new ways of doing things. Her father was dead, and the young man was quite handsome. She needed a husband…

  She was about to reply when Dervenn shouldered him aside. “Be gone, Fortescue.”

  The young man glared as wine sloshed over the side of his goblet and onto the front of the hideous yellow garment. “Take care, de Roure.”

  She was afraid an altercation might erupt but Fortescue glowered at Dervenn before slinking away.

  “Bravo,” Marie declared, clapping her hands.

  Victorine was relieved to see the back of the dandy, but if Dervenn interfered in every conversation, she’d never have a chance to meet eligible young men at the party.

  He held up two trenchers laden with food. “You’re welcome. Now to find a place to eat.”

  She pursed her lips and followed him to the tables, unsure whether to return the admiring smiles that came her way. It was an undeniable truth she was ill-prepared to relate to men, but their attention was flattering.

  All the seats at the trestle tables were full. Dervenn glowered at a group of four men who had obviously finished eating and they immediately surrendered their places on the bench.

  Perhaps there were advantages to having him as an escort.

  He bade them sit and placed one trencher in front of Victorine. “The other is for me and you, demoiselle Marie, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  She preened and tried to return the wink he sent her way.

  Victorine laughed at the child’s comical expression, then felt her face heat when Dervenn stared at her. “You’re beautiful when you smile, Lady de Toeni.”

  ~~~

  Dervenn’s concern for Victorine grew. She was too naive, too beautiful to be left at the mercy of the jackals in attendance at the gala.

  Dressed in a simple yet exquisite gown she was a beacon of elegance and good taste among earls and barons and their ladies who’d obviously spent vast sums on ostentatious clothing—money pillaged from confiscated Saxon estates.

  William had sworn to bring good government to England and Dervenn was resolved to do his best to hold him to that promise. The merciless persecution of the defeated Saxons churned his gut.

  Across the table from him, Victorine poked at her food.

  “Are you not hungry?”

  “Marie may need a guard, but I don’t,” sh
e pouted. “I’m perfectly capable…”

  “Fortescue is married,” he interrupted.

  She gaped.

  He chewed and swallowed a chunk of venison, enjoying the flush that reddened her cheeks and probably spread to her breasts judging by the way her nipples pouted against the fabric of her gown. However, such thoughts led to physical reactions he’d prefer remained caged. “But that wouldn’t deter him.”

  “Deter him from what?” Marie asked with her mouth full.

  He arched his brows and stared back at Victorine’s irritated gaze. “Nothing, ma petite. Eat.”

  Marie chattered on as they ate. Watching Victorine’s furtive glances around the hall it occurred to him that one way to protect her from her own naiveté was to introduce her to worthy men. She didn’t have the experience to separate the wheat from the chaff, but he did. He knew more about some of the scoundrels present than they might acknowledge about themselves. The cowards, the rapists, the thieves, the sadists; they were here, but so too were honest, honorable men who might provide Victorine with security and fidelity.

  The venison suddenly stuck in his throat.

  ~~~

  Victorine worried Dervenn was having trouble swallowing something he’d eaten, but he recovered quickly as he stood and announced his intention to introduce her to one or two knights of good repute.

  She was surprised, but grateful, confident he would never put her at the mercy of unscrupulous men.

  Marie yawned. “I’m tired.”

  Victorine’s hopes sank. If Dervenn decided to take Marie to the chamber, she would have to follow. He would never let her stay at the gala without his protection, not that she would want to after what she’d learned about Fortescue.

  Dervenn picked up Marie. “We cannot return to your chamber just yet. Rest your head on my shoulder and we’ll help Victorine socialize for a little while.”