Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The old retainer hobbled out, tsking loudly and shaking his head. “I feared it would come to this,” he mumbled.

  “Light fires in every hearth, beginning with her chamber,” Dervenn ordered as he dismounted and lifted Victorine down. She opened her eyes, but the spark was gone, and she still trembled.

  Jumelle hurried along at his side. “There is no hearth in my lady’s chamber. Only a brazier. The old man lit it not long ago. I told him it was too warm but he insisted.”

  When Dervenn stepped into the chamber he thought for a moment the maid had opened the wrong door. Praise be to the saints Victorine wouldn’t be spending her life in this meager hovel. He set her down in front of the brazier and removed his cloak. “Get her undressed,” he told Jumelle. “Quickly.”

  He tore off his gambeson and wet tunic and shirt then strode over to the bed and began pulling the linens off the mattress, growing more impatient when he noticed Jumelle staring at him. Victorine swayed, water forming a pool around her feet. “Get her clothes off,” he insisted.

  “But my lord, you must leave.”

  “I’ll leave when I am sure she is warm and on the way to recovery, now do as I say.”

  When the maid obeyed, he perched on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. Tempted to risk a glimpse of Victorine’s nakedness, he nevertheless turned his back and fashioned a Roman toga with one of the linens.

  Satisfied the maid was busy rubbing her mistress dry, he removed his leggings and braies, then held out the second linen and the bedspread. “Wrap her in these,” he told her. “Tell me when she is covered.”

  She took the linens from him.

  He dragged the shabby armchair close to the brazier, and stood behind it, waiting.

  “I am—you can…”

  Relief flooded him as he turned quickly. At last Victorine had recovered sufficiently to speak, but she was as pale as death. His intention had been to have her sit in the chair until the brazier warmed her, but he had no patience for that now.

  She needed heat. He had plenty to spare. He lifted her, sat down in the chair and cradled her to his chest. “Get the cook to make a tisane,” he said to Jumelle who dithered beside the bed, wet drying cloths clutched to her breast, her face blotchy from crying.

  She nodded and scurried off, leaving him alone with her mistress. It was highly inappropriate, but he no longer cared. Victorine was destined to be his wife, of that he was certain. She’d come to trust him. Mayhap one day she might learn to love him.

  ~~~

  Cocooned in Dervenn’s strong arms, warmed by the heat of his body seeping into her chilled bones, Victorine had never felt so cared for, so loved.

  Gradually, the numbing fear was replaced by a startling realization. Or perhaps her heart had known all along. Only the stubborn pride inherited from her father had prevented her from admitting the truth. She loved Dervenn de Roure.

  She basked in the glow of that love, and her heart leapt when he began to hum a lullaby. She’d done nothing to merit the regard of the gentle giant who rocked her, but she thanked her patron saint for it.

  She opened her eyes.

  He smiled, but quickly clenched his jaw when she reached up to touch his scar. He grasped her wrist. “Non.”

  “Please,” she murmured, “let me touch you.”

  He gazed at her and she hoped he saw the love she bore him. “Please.”

  He loosed his grip and she traced the jagged flesh from brow to lip, overwhelmed by the trust he placed in her. The reality of how close he had come to losing an eye constricted her throat, but it was pride that surged in her heart, not pity. “My Breton warrior,” she whispered.

  His eyes widened as he shifted his weight. Her brothers’ talk of male parts hardening when they were aroused suddenly made sense. “My lady,” he growled, cradling her more tightly.

  A need to taste him rushed through her veins. It seemed natural to part her lips. “Kiss me.”

  “Gladly,” he growled.

  His mouth on hers was demanding, not gentle. His tongue asserted its right to mate with hers. He breathed for her. He tasted of the sun and his skin still carried the tang of the river. His growl of need echoed in her womb as he cupped her breast. Her nipples screamed for his touch and he obliged with a light brush of his thumb that brought blissful delight. She surrendered completely to the euphoria of being loved and needed by this worthy knight.

  What a fool she’d been to judge him unkissable. She would remember their first kiss for the rest of her life.

  ~~~

  Dervenn’s instinct was to carry Victorine to the bed and join their bodies, before she recovered her wits and realized what she’d done.

  But the passion in her kiss was a reassurance her feelings were genuine. He’d regret not treating this complicated woman with the respect she deserved, so he resolved to stifle his baser urges, much to the disappointment of his rampant cock.

  However, he had to be sure. He stood, sat her in the chair and went down on one knee. “I have only my love to offer, Lady Victorine de Toeni, but if you will wed with me, I will dedicate my life to your happiness.”

  Tears welled. “You love me?”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  “I was an arrogant bitch.”

  He chuckled. “That you were, but I like feisty women.”

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I have lived in a grand house and enjoyed great wealth, but I was never happy in that life. I love you and consent to our marriage.”

  The wounds suffered at Hastings lost their power over him. Victorine had brought light to his darkness, hope to his despair. The playful Celtic spirit of the old Dervenn de Roure bubbled up. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Mayhap we’ll have to wait until the prophecy is fulfilled.”

  She arched her brows. “Prophecy?”

  “A maiden who refuses a kiss beneath the Kissing Bough is fated not to wed for a twelvemonth.”

  The linen wrapped around her had fallen open to reveal the swell of her breasts. His blood heated when the blush spread from her face, down her long neck to those tempting globes.

  “I was a fool,” she admitted with a smile. “If I’d known you could kiss like that…”

  He got to his feet and pulled her up against him, pressing his arousal to her mons. “We’d best leave at the earliest for Westminster. Another minute looking at you in this outfit and I might have to have my way with you. However, I don’t want our union to begin in a cupboard.”

  He feared he’d been too blatant, but he’d forgotten he was marrying a woman with spunk. She put her hands on his shoulders and peeled the linen toga down to his waist, then stood on tiptoe and pushed her breasts against him. He cupped her bottom and lifted her, elated when she entwined her legs around him. The heat of her desire penetrated the flimsy linen.

  He’d long suspected that beneath her prickly veneer lurked a woman of passion.

  His heart stopped when the door slammed.

  Jumelle sauntered into the chamber bearing a steaming bowl. “Perhaps you won’t be needing this now,” she said with a grin. “Seems you’ve warmed up.”

  Victorine still clung to him. “Cheeky servant,” she replied, though there was no anger in her voice.

  “I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses,” the maid replied.

  Dervenn quickly recovered his wits. He set Victorine back on her feet. “Help your mistress dress,” he instructed, gathering up his own still wet clothing. “I’ll see about an escort back to Westminster.”

  He strode off to find Adrian and his friends, feeling like a triumphant Caesar after crossing the Rubicon.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  LOVE AT LAST

  Baptiste, Constant and Georges seemed only too glad to leave Adrian’s estate. They quickly changed into dry clothing and had their horses saddled in short order.

  Still soaking wet, Adrian bid them farewell. He bent the knee befor
e Victorine. “My lady, a thousand apologies for what happened. I would never have forgiven myself if…”

  She was tempted to reprimand him, but perhaps he’d learned his lesson. “You are a fine knight,” she said. “Some day when you are ready to wed you’ll find the right bride. Mayhap even one who likes fishing.”

  He smiled weakly as he rose. “I always sensed you really wanted Sir Dervenn.”

  She pecked a kiss on his cheek. Perhaps he was more insightful than she thought. He’d seen what she’d refused to admit. “Fare thee well, Sir Adrian.”

  As Dervenn lifted her into the saddle, a peaceful certainty settled in her heart that she had found her soul mate, a man whose dark, smoldering eyes ignited feelings of desire she’d never experienced before. Love had found her at last.

  “Stay close by me,” he said as they set off.

  “Always,” she replied.

  ~~~

  It was growing dark as they approached the environs of Westminster, but there could be no mistaking the banner flying from the flagpole in the stiff breeze.

  Dervenn’s spirits rose. “William is here.”

  “You’re right,” Baptiste replied. “Two golden lions passant. His Majesté must have returned from Normandie.”

  “If he ever went,” Georges added.

  Dervenn looked to Victorine who rode at his side. Even in the darkness her eyes mirrored his own excitement. As the king’s ward, she needed his permission to wed. She didn’t know of his wish for Dervenn to marry her. Still, the monarch’s presence in London would make things easier. “I will request an audience on the morrow.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “What if he refuses? What if he insists I marry someone else?”

  He decided to keep her in suspense a while longer. Just a small sweet revenge for refusing his kiss under the Kissing Bough.

  Ostlers came to take care of their horses when they dismounted. “Never fear, Sir Dervenn, Haritz is in good hands,” one of them assured him.

  Victorine laughed. “They know you.”

  He put an arm around her waist. “They should. I slept in their stables when I had to give up my bed for an orphan.”

  She pouted as they made their way into the keep. “Surely you won’t sleep in the stable this night?” she said seductively.

  “Probably. If William has returned with his army there’ll be no empty chambers to be found, and Haritz is good company. In any case Marie will want you all to herself. Now, let’s see if there is still food to be had in the Great Hall. I am famished.”

  She cast him a sideways glance, as if she understood his double meaning. He laughed and linked arms with her as they walked into the hall.

  He was taken aback by the number of people still at table, but understood the reason when William bellowed his name. “De Roure!”

  Every head swiveled to the entryway as the king left the dais and strode towards them. Dervenn bowed. Victorine sank into a deep curtsey and studied the planking.

  “I heard you’d gone off to Sir Adrian’s demesne,” the king said, clamping a hand on Dervenn’s shoulder. “Yet here you are.”

  He proffered a hand to Victorine. “How is my lovely ward? Is this rascal taking good care of you? You look happy enough.”

  She rose with his help, glanced at Dervenn and blurted out, “Yes, Majesté, he is, and I wish to marry him.”

  The king frowned, but Dervenn knew him well enough to recognise it was an act. Victorine’s face was beet red, but she seemed pleased with herself. He admired her willingness to incur the king’s wrath for him.

  William braced his legs and fisted his hands on his hips. “Is this true, de Roure? If so, we must adjourn to my solar.”

  The entire assembly rose quickly when the king marched out of the hall, his bodyguards scurrying to keep up with his abrupt departure.

  Dervenn took Victorine’s hand. “No choice but to follow.”

  ~~~

  The prospect of arguing with her king and guardian was daunting, but somehow Victorine had to convince him Dervenn was the right man for her. Now she’d found happiness she wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

  The Conqueror turned abruptly once they entered the private solar. “Are you certain this landless knight is the man you want, child?”

  She resolved not to wilt under his stern gaze. “I am certain.”

  “Despite that he is a Breton?”

  She glanced at Dervenn. “It’s of no import where he is from.”

  “Your father wouldn’t approve.”

  “My father is dead, Sire.”

  The king folded his arms across his chest. “There are many knights at court who are more pleasing to the eye than my scarred friend.”

  “Sir Dervenn is pleasing to the heart, Majesté.” She deemed it prudent not to mention other parts of her body that found him pleasing.

  Her belly clenched when the king laughed out loud. “Congratulations are in order then, Earl and Countess of Avon. I wish you every happiness in your married life.”

  Dervenn gasped, evidently as surprised as she.

  King William tapped his bearded chin. “I suppose we’ll have to have a ceremony on the morrow. For the earldom, I mean. And a betrothal to boot!”

  Dervenn bent the knee. “You honor me greatly, Sire, and you have made me a happy man in granting me Victorine’s hand in marriage.”

  “No more than you deserve, my friend, now rise so I may embrace you.”

  As she watched her future husband and her monarch embrace, she understood the strength of the bond between them. King William wanted to be sure she was worthy of his Breton champion.

  He came to her and pecked a kiss on each cheek. “You’ve chosen well,” he whispered.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  COMPLETION

  Easter Sunday, 1067AD

  On her wedding night King William’s words echoed in Victorine’s memory. Lying abed in the richly furnished and carpeted chamber the Conqueror had provided, she savored the warm weight of her husband’s body. His hair glowed in the light of flickering candles.

  He’d collapsed on top of her after growling out his euphoria. His magnificent manhood had sparked a moment of panic when she’d first set eyes on it, but now her sheath pulsed on him in happy delight. The fleeting pinch of pain when he’d entered her was of no matter. Indeed she relished it as a rite of passage into womanhood.

  She had learned much about her own body this night, as well as his. He had taught her that a man’s clever tongue on her most intimate parts could carry a woman into an abyss of bliss.

  She traced her fingertips in the sheen of sweat on his broad back and knew for certain the king had been right. It was ironic that a knight she’d taken a disdainful dislike to upon first meeting was the one destined to banish the past and carry her to a brighter future. Of course, she’d been raised to shower contempt on people her father considered inferior.

  Things would be different when she and Dervenn took up their responsibilities at Avon. He’d already spent a fortnight there and returned optimistic about the castle and the Saxon inhabitants. She was determined to be a good countess and support him in his sworn resolve to treat his people with dignity and fairness.

  The time spent apart had only confirmed her need of him, the loneliness compounded by the constant monotony of fish on the Lenten menu in the hall.

  As she felt his manhood slowly withdraw from her body he raised up on his forearms and kissed her breasts. “What are you thinking of?” he asked, his deep voice echoing in her womb.

  She gazed at his beloved face and wondered how she could ever have thought him ugly. “I am thinking it’s not every bridegroom who has a king as his second.”

  He rubbed his nose against hers. “Liar.”

  She smiled. “I am thinking we should ask the Conqueror if we can take Marie with us to Avon.”

  He suckled a nipple, causing the delicious pulsing to start anew. “It’s a good thought, and I love you for it. I was go
ing to broach the subject. But you’re still not being truthful.”

  She arched her back feeling like a contented cat. “I was thinking I love you.”

  He grinned before turning his attentions to the other nipple. “Now we are getting somewhere.”

  She raked her fingers through his golden hair. “I was also wondering how often a man and his wife are permitted to enjoy joining their bodies.”

  He chuckled. “You enjoyed it, did you?”

  “Immensely. Couldn’t you tell?”

  He levered himself off her and turned onto his side. She missed his warmth but when he stroked a finger over the wetness between her legs, heat spiralled up her thighs.

  “Well, in answer to your question,” he purred, curling her hand around his manhood, “as long as simply looking at you arouses the need in me, there’s no limit to the number of times.”

  The touch of his finger, the hardening of his intimate flesh beneath her hand, the male scent of his body, the taste of mead in his loving kiss, all stoked the fire of her desire.

  “You know,” he rasped in between pecking nibbles along her neck, “I was resolved to wait the whole year for you after the Kissing Bough incident.”

  Aroused to the point of barely being able to speak, she managed to whisper hoarsely, “But how did you know I wouldn’t marry someone else?”

  “Trust me,” he replied, “I’d have put paid to any plans of that sort.”

  She silently thanked the Lord God Almighty for the patient determination of the worthy knight who was about to carry her once more into euphoric ecstasy.

  HISTORICAL FOOTNOTES

  FISHING

  Fly fishing was popular even in Roman times. The description of Adrian’s fly is taken from a treatise written about 250AD by Claudius Aelianus. "They wrap dark red wool round a hook and tie on to it two feathers which grow under the wattles of a cock and resemble wax in colour. The fishing rod is six feet in length and the line the same. When the tricky fly is lowered a fish is attracted by the colour and rises madly at the pretty thing that will give him a rare treat, but on opening his jaws is pierced by the hook, and is given poor enjoyment of the feast when he is captured."