Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She nodded and obeyed, curling into his neck, sucking her thumb. It occurred to Victorine that many battle hardened warriors would resent having to escort two orphans to a grand celebration. Dervenn, however, seemed content to carry a tired little girl. It was a pity he had no children of his own.

  He put a reassuring hand on her elbow and guided her towards a group of four young knights. “You’ll be safe with these men,” he whispered.

  Alarm bells went off in her head. It became difficult to breathe. Surely he wasn’t going to leave her alone with them?

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Relieved as she was, it was bothersome that she’d become so dependent on him.

  “Messeigneurs,” he declared, “may I introduce Lady Victorine de Toeni.”

  The tallest of the four bowed and took her hand. “Condolences on the loss of your brothers,” he said softly. “We were proud to call them friends.” He brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “I am Adrian de Caulmont.”

  One by one the others followed his lead.

  “Baptiste d’Ambray.”

  “Constant du Buisson.”

  “Georges de Croismare.”

  Impeccable manners had been drilled into Victorine by her father, but suddenly she couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say in reply. She’d never been surrounded by so many handsome young men.

  They eyed her curiously, which wasn’t surprising given that her face was on fire. They must think her a tongue-tied idiot. What had happened to the de Toeni poise bred into her from birth?

  Dervenn scowled, shifting his weight and repositioning his burden. She supposed he was getting impatient with carrying the child, but then Marie suddenly stuck out her hand. “Lady Marie de Monluc,” she announced haughtily.

  Dervenn smiled broadly.

  To their credit, the knights didn’t mock the child. Each kissed her hand in turn, bowing politely as they introduced themselves once more.

  It gave Victorine time to recover her wits. “I thank you for your kind words about my brothers. I’m afraid I didn’t know any of their friends in the army.”

  “Brave men,” Constant said hoarsely.

  “Indeed,” the others echoed.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice that they’d said nothing about her father, but there was no point belaboring that omission. “Marie too lost all her family at Hastings.”

  The four mumbled their condolences, glancing wistfully into the goblets they held. They’d come to celebrate, to forget the horror of battle and she had reminded them of it. She made an effort to lighten the mood. “Marie and I are the only two of the king’s wards not yet betrothed.”

  Dervenn may have groaned.

  De Croismare excused himself abruptly and hurried away.

  De Caulmont frowned. “Surely Demoiselle Marie, you are too young to be betrothed.”

  “You’re correct,” the child announced, twirling a finger in the fastenings of Dervenn’s tunic. “Victorine is the one looking for a husband.”

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  THE KISSING BOUGH

  Dervenn deemed it time to take Marie back to her chamber. He admired her spunky nature and the resilience of a child who’d lost everyone dear to her, but it was evident she was over-excited.

  The remaining three knights scanned the hall, seemingly searching for an escape route.

  Red-faced, Victorine glared at him, as if Marie’s remark was his fault, but he didn’t want to jeopardise her recent softening towards the child. The young orphan would need female guidance in the months and years to come.

  Still, what became of his charges in the future wasn’t his concern. Better to have done with the escapade. He had no intention of playing matchmaker for either of them. Let the king find a husband for Victorine. He didn’t want to marry, though if he was to take a wife…

  Such thoughts were folly. “Time for us to bid these gentlemen goodnight,” he declared.

  Marie patted his cheeks. “Can’t we stay a little longer?” she cajoled.

  It was tempting to give in, but he resolved to be firm. “Non, mignonne.”

  To his surprise, Adrian de Caulmont spoke up. “Perhaps demoiselle de Toeni can stay with us while you take the girl to her chamber.”

  Victorine’s chin quivered.

  Dervenn prided himself on his ability to discern what was in a person’s mind, but Victorine had his instincts muddled. Did she want to stay or was she relieved they were leaving?

  It would take but a few minutes to deliver Marie into Jumelle’s capable hands. However, there was a little too much lust in de Caulmont’s eyes, and he’d never hear the end of it from the king if he left her with three young knights and something untoward happened. He knew them as honorable men, but she was a naive innocent and…

  A chill raced over his nape at the all too real possibility of Victorine being violated in the dark halls of Westminster.

  He gritted his teeth. “If you are of a mind to see either of these ladies again, you must seek the king’s permission since he is their guardian,” he declared.

  Visibly relieved, they bowed politely and took their leave.

  Victorine watched them go. For the first time he detected on her pale face signs of the raw loneliness she usually kept carefully hidden. If ever a woman needed a strong, loving husband…

  Dervenn doubted he would have been deemed worthy by her late father. Yet she drew him.

  He proffered his arm. “It’s late, and you’re tired.”

  Still pouting, she accepted his offer of escort.

  It became difficult to make headway as they approached the entry. The crush of merrymakers trying to exit the hall had slowed. Some clung to half-filled goblets, laughing when spills occurred.

  He was concerned they might become separated among the largely inebriated crowd. Marie was getting heavier by the second. “Keep a firm hold on my arm,” he advised Victorine as folk jostled each other.

  She pressed closer to him without hesitation, looking about nervously. His body reacted predictably when she crushed her breasts against his bicep. Marie squirmed in his arms, trying to see what was happening at the exit.

  “What’s the delay?” he asked another knight.

  The fellow hiccuped. “The kissing bough.”

  Victorine frowned. “What?”

  Their neighbor warmed to the subject, eyeing her with sudden interest. “It’s a Celtic tradition the king has taken a fancy to. When a knight and a lady pass beneath the bough made of mistiltan they must kiss.”

  Marie swiped her wrist across her mouth. “Kiss! Ugh! I never heard of mistiltan.”

  “It’s a plant with white berries,” the knight replied, pursing his wine-reddened lips. “Mayhap I’ll kiss this lovely maiden.”

  Dervenn’s hackles rose. “Mayhap I’ll be obliged to kill you in that event,” he said softly.

  The fool backed off. “No need to take offence.”

  Perhaps he’d overreacted, but Victorine pressed more closely. “Thank you,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to kiss him.”

  Holding his goblet high above the increasing crush of the crowd, the knight stuck out his bottom lip. “Beware,” he warned. “A maiden who refuses to be kissed ‘neath the bough is fated not to wed for at least a twelvemonth thereafter.”

  The taunt roused the blood of Celtic ancestors that flowed in Dervenn’s veins. Here was his chance to taste Victorine de Toeni with no strings attached—probably the only opportunity he would ever get. She couldn’t refuse if she wanted to marry. He feigned a serious demeanor and cleared his throat. “Pagan peoples regarded Mistiltan as a representation of divine male essence.”

  When a pretty flush stole up Victorine’s neck, he risked a wink.

  She averted her gaze.

  The sensible Breton in him knew he was on dangerous ground, but the mischievous Celt urged him on. He lowered his voice to a whisper for her ears only. “When you have male essence, you have fertili
ty and vitality.”

  He wished he could see her face as they were carried along with the crowd, but she avoided looking at him.

  Marie clung to his neck. “What’s fertiltee?”

  He might have known the perceptive child would overhear.

  The drunken knight tittered and sipped more wine.

  Victorine faltered. Dervenn put his free arm around her waist to make sure they passed beneath the waiting bough together.

  ~~~

  Swept along by the sea of excited revellers, Victorine was drowning in conflicting emotions. She was more than grateful for the solid strength of Dervenn’s arm. The heat of his palm pressed firmly on her waist penetrated the fabric of her gown and gave her a reassuring sense of protection.

  But the notion of a relationship with a man such as de Roure was unacceptable for the daughter of the great Seigneur de Toeni.

  She glanced at him briefly and feared from the impish glint in her champion’s dark eyes that he intended to request a kiss. Surely not! Yet there was something appealing about his sensuous mouth and ruined features that set her heart racing in a very unladylike manner.

  And if she refused—which she must—she risked remaining unwed for a twelvemonth. Absurd! A superstition of ignorant peasants if ever she’d heard one.

  Her gaze became fixed on the beribboned branch of cedar fronds with mistiltan poking out here and there. It loomed like a giant bird of prey hovering in the entryway. A pulse thudded at her throat as Dervenn tightened his grip on her. Evidently he had no intention of allowing her to sidestep the bough.

  Suddenly they were next in line, watching a knight who held his lady in a fond embrace, all the while kissing her lustily as loud laughter and cheering filled the air.

  Oh to be kissed with such…

  She trembled when the tipsy fool they couldn’t seem to get away from wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  The kissing couple swept on, arm in arm, lost in each other’s gaze.

  Dervenn set Marie on her feet under the bough, bent the knee and took her hand. “Will you grant me the honor of a kiss, demoiselle?”

  She beamed a broad smile, bobbed a curtsey and pecked a kiss on his cheek.

  Applause resounded around them. Victorine breathed more easily.

  But then he stood and turned to her and she was lost in the depths of his dark eyes.

  A dizzying desire to be kissed by this man seized her. She wanted to taste his lips, find strength in his embrace. If he didn’t ask, she would die of a broken heart.

  But if he did…

  He took hold of her hand. The heat of his skin sent tendrils of warmth spiralling through her body. “Lady Victorine, will you grant me a kiss?”

  There was no mention of honor. He knew what he wanted and he’d asked for it. He was daring her to refuse him.

  “Kiss him,” the dandy urged.

  “You want to,” another shouted.

  “Give him a kiss,” echoed off the stone walls.

  The superstition reared its ugly head. The prospect of twelve more months of unbearable loneliness was intolerable.

  Her father’s angry face loomed in her mind’s eye, reminding her she was a de Toeni. She inhaled deeply in an effort to calm her racing heart and thrust out her chin. “The only man I intend to kiss is my betrothed,” she declared loudly.

  The crowd fell silent and everyone gaped at her in apparent disbelief. Evidently she had disappointed them, but Dervenn de Roure’s hooded gaze betrayed nothing of his emotions.

  ~~~

  Dervenn laughingly shrugged off the insult and the crowd quickly resumed the fun. He left the hall and watched Victorine scurry away, dragging the protesting Marie by the hand. His body and his heart told him it was useless to deny his desire for the haughty woman. She had somehow insinuated herself into his blood.

  However, to his surprise, he’d seen his own longing reflected in her green eyes. She’d refused him, but she wanted his kiss. The possibility that a beautiful woman was drawn to him despite his disfigurement renewed his hopes for the future.

  He came to a decision. He would accede to the king’s wishes and take her to wife, but only when she was ready to admit she had feelings for him. He ached for love, not resentment or pity.

  He hastened his pace to follow, only making his way to the bed of straw in the stables when he was sure they were safe in their chamber.

  On the morrow he would speak to the king.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  THE GUARDIAN

  Summoned by the king shortly after dawn, Dervenn was surprised to find his monarch dressed in full armor, pacing the antechamber. He hadn’t received any marching orders yet William was evidently off on some military excursion. He’d lain awake all night, carefully planning details of the campaign to win Victorine’s heart, but if he had to accompany the king, it would all be for nought. He bent the knee. “Majesté.”

  Scowling, William ceased pacing and waved him to his feet. “Vite, de Roure. I must have your decision quickly regarding Victorine de Toeni. It’s likely I shall be away many sennights dealing with rebellion in the northern reaches of my realm, and young Adrian de Caulmont has requested permission to court her.”

  Dervenn’s throat tightened. It was a relief that he apparently wasn’t expected to aid the king against the rebels, but he’d assumed incorrectly that the young knight had no interest in marrying. Once again his instincts had been proven wrong. The pursuit of a woman had unsettling effects on a man’s ability to think.

  This news necessitated a change of plan. “He is a worthy suitor, Your Highness, honorable, but landless.”

  William shook his head. “I’ve granted him a small estate in Sussex. One of Harold Godwinson’s former holdings.”

  Another change of tactics. “Might I suggest, Majesté, that I be appointed demoiselle de Toeni’s temporary guardian in your absence? I foresee interest from many young knights and she is still young and inexperienced.”

  The king eyed him curiously. “Sounds to me you are beginning to care for her.”

  William, Duke of Normandie and Conqueror of the English was astute. Lying was pointless and would serve only to alienate him from the king’s affections. He’d sacrificed too much for that to happen. “If I were to take a bride,” he conceded, “she is the one I would choose.”

  This admission earned him a hearty slap on the back.

  “However,” he continued, “I envy you your wife, Matilda. I too want a marriage with love at its core, not resentment.”

  As he’d hoped, William preened, his hand still on Dervenn’s shoulder. “My brave friend, you deserve such a union, although you know Matilda was at first unwilling to wed with me. We must hope Victorine is woman enough to see your battle scars for what they are, badges of honor.”

  Dervenn smiled. “I suspect she is equally concerned that I am Breton.”

  “Nonsense! Without you and your Breton cavalry, none of us would be here now.”

  The king spoke the truth, though many Normans avoided acknowledging it. However, they didn’t have time to debate the issue now. “Am I granted guardianship?”

  “Of course. I’ve sent for her, but I must be off. You can inform her of my decision when she arrives.”

  ~~~

  Victorine dropped into a full curtsey, her heart careening wildly when the king burst abruptly through the doors of the antechamber and swept past her.

  He was gone before she had the opportunity to apologise for her tardy arrival, though she had come as soon as she received the summons.

  She stared after him until she became gratefully aware of a hand extended to help her rise. She recognised the unique scent of Dervenn de Roure even before she looked up at the scarred features. “I was to meet the king,” she said hoarsely once she was on her feet. She held on to his hand when her knees threatened to buckle.

  “Affairs of state,” he explained, drawing her into the antechamber. “He has appointed me your guardian in his absence.”

&
nbsp; It was an insult—a mere knight, a Breton at that, guardian to the daughter of Berenger de Toeni; and yet it was a relief. Dervenn might be disfigured and bold, but the king trusted him. Truth be told, so did she, despite the kissing bough episode. She’d thought long and hard on the matter and deemed it a momentary lapse of judgement on his part. “I see,” she replied.

  He bade her sit in one of the row of seats that lined the walls of the room. “Sir Adrian de Caulmont has asked the king’s permission to court you.”

  It was good news, yet she felt no excitement. She gripped the wooden arms, worn smooth by years of use. “Oh. Very well. I suppose.”

  The corners of his mouth edged up in an intriguing half smile. “He was the tallest of the four knights we met yestereve. Do you wish to reject his suit?”

  Sir Adrian was handsome, if a little thin. She’d never had to make a decision and was beginning to realize she wasn’t good at it. All the more reason to rely on Dervenn’s judgement. “Non. If you approve.”

  He frowned. “You should perhaps question if he has the income to support you in the manner to which you are accustomed.”

  She hadn’t thought of that, which was strange because her father wouldn’t have approved of a man of inadequate means. “Er, does he?”

  The enigmatic smile returned. At their first meeting she had found it annoying, but now she was glad to see it reappear.

  “The king has granted him an estate in Sussex that belonged to King Harold.”

  “Then it must be large and prosperous.”

  He arched his brows. “Small was the term William used, but I’ll discuss the matter with de Caulmont.”

  There it was again. The use of the king’s given name. She meshed her fingers together in her lap, grateful to be relieved of the burden of ascertaining the size of Adrian’s fortune, or lack thereof.

  It was as though Dervenn had stepped into her father’s shoes.

  She stifled a giggle at the absurd notion. She was more at ease with de Roure than she’d ever been with her father, an incredible truth considering she’d known him only a few days.