Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Alfrida smiled, a secretive, powerful smile. "I don't think so. I think he threw me out because he wanted to keep me. But men have short memories. I have to return to him before he leaves."

  Hera knew common sense about the man's feelings was powerless at this moment, so she tried common sense about the situation. "Since he's found comfortable winter quarters, I don't suppose he'll be going anywhere until the spring. You have plenty of time."

  "Hera! What if Christ does come on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day? Or even on the solstice tomorrow?"

  "I thought you didn't believe such nonsense."

  "But He might."

  "Oh, Alfrida...." She was thinking like a child, and Hera only wanted to keep her safe. "If Christ comes, He must find you on your knees in prayer, not in fornication."

  "If Raef asked you to his bed, you'd change your tune."

  "I would not! He's a married man."

  Alfrida stilled, mutinous anger fading from her face. "Didn't he tell you?"

  It was like a wolf-howl, harbinger of desolation. Hera wanted to run and hide, wanted to find a burrow in the earth and be like an animal, with no thought more complex than food and safety. But she also had to know. "Tell me what?"

  Her sister sat on the other bed, hands clasped in front of her. "Edith's dead."

  "What? How?"

  "She drowned herself."

  Hera shook her head. "No. Why?"

  "She was raped. Really raped. Raef thinks it was Magnus, but it wasn't. I know him. He wouldn't."

  Before Hera could argue that, Alfrida swept on. "It was after Magnus took Acklingham. Edith was trapped there but escaped. She made her way here. But it had already happened. We cared for her, but her mind wouldn't heal. When Raef returned, that's what he found. Not long after that, she went to the river."

  "He blames himself," Hera whispered. "I see that now. But for no reason. It wasn't his fault."

  "Perhaps he said the wrong thing. Men do, about things like that."

  "Raef would never be cruel. He wouldn't!"

  "And Magnus wouldn't rape Edith." With a cynical twist to her lips, Alfrida asked, "Are all women blind to the men they love? Anyway, he hit me."

  "Magnus? Then-"

  "No! Raef!"

  Hera looked for a bruise, but her sister was unmarked.

  "All right," Alfrida said. "A slap. Still, he had no right."

  Hera didn't even try to argue—she couldn't summon words—but surely even Alfrida had to see how this must affect Raef. Despite her sister's besotted fondness, it doubtless had been this Magnus who'd raped poor Edith and then, as with Alfrida, thrown her out. Edith wouldn't have the spirit to escape on her own.

  She said a quick prayer for that uncharitable thought.

  And here was Alfrida, raped and liking it, wanting to run back to the Viking monster who'd seized Raef's home and raped his wife. No wonder Raef thought Alfrida mad. No wonder he'd locked her up.

  But poor, poor Edith. Hera could imagine Alfrida surviving even true rape as long as the physical damage was not too great. She thought perhaps she could herself. But she knew Edith never could have.

  Doe-eyed Edith could hardly bear to see animals slaughtered for food, never mind hunt and kill them herself. She hid her body even from other women, and covered her ears when people told naughty riddles or jokes. Truth was, Hera had thought her a silly sort of woman, and that had made Raef's choice the more painful.

  As if picking up her thoughts, Alfrida said, "He'd have been better off married to you."

  "Are you wishing me raped?"

  "No, but it's the truth. And I wish you well bedded by a good man before the end. It's not something to miss."

  "A good man? Magnus Ravenbringer, Danish Viking and pirate?"

  Her sister tightened her lips. "He is. Good. In truth, there's little difference between him and Raef except that Magnus is better looking."

  That proved the madness of love. No one was better looking than Raef.

  "He's even Christian," said Alfrida, adding a thoughtful, "More or less. The prow of his ship has a cross instead of a dragon. And he doesn't kill or destroy where he doesn't have to. He hopes to settle here peacefully."

  "On Raef's land. Alfrida, that makes him a mortal enemy."

  "Of Raef's perhaps. Even of yours. But not of mine. He's the man I want, and I intend to win him." She bounced up from the bed. "Which I cannot do stuck in here! He probably has some other woman in his bed now."

  "Well, then..."

  "I don't care for that, except that it should be me!"

  Hera gave up. Truly, this season was driving everyone mad, but if they survived, then with the turning of the year, everyone would awake as if from a bad dream, and sanity would return. It was her task to prevent irreparable damage in the meantime.

  She pushed to her feet. "I won't bar the door again if you promise not to leave." She looked at her sister's rebellious face and found a compromise. "Alfrida, night's settling and it's bitter out there. Promise to stay at least until morning, until we've had time to talk. We'll see then what can be done. Anyway, I need you." She rubbed at her weary head. "Everything's in such disorder. The hall's not fit for humans, and I don't know where half the servants are."

  "They've been seeping away since father fell. To their family homes to be there when Christ comes. Or just inland, away from the Danes."

  "All of them?"

  "No, but of those still here, half are in the chapel, waiting Christ's coming, and the new age of milk and honey. They don't see any purpose in work anymore. The other half—the ones who reckon they're damned anyway—are enjoying the things they've been deprived of all their lives."

  "They're eating the winter stores," Hera pointed out. "That will make life hell on earth if the world doesn't come to an end. You should have stopped them."

  "Well!" Alfrida glared at her with real affront. "I did waste a day or so grieving for Father, and then we had Edith here like a living ghost. But I tried. I went after a party who were sneaking off. That's when I was taken. As soon as I returned, Raef tossed me in here!"

  Hera went to hug her. "Alfrida, I'm sorry. That was unjust. Forgive me."

  Her sister gave her a short, fierce hug. "Of course. This is a terrible time. But it's a time to break free. I'm so glad you've left the convent."

  "I haven't left," Hera said. With Raef free but still uninterested in her, she'd have to return. "I felt called here. And see, I am needed. So are you. We have to put Froxton into good order. If Christ comes, He should find us doing our duty."

  "You don't understand anything, Saint Wulfhera," Alfrida said, swishing toward the open door. She paused there, however, and turned to ask, "What do you think it will be like? The apocalypse. If it happens. Will Christ appear in Rome or Jerusalem as a man, as He was a thousand years ago? Will word then spread out slowly? Or will He be everywhere, a hundred, a thousand of Him? How can that be?"

  Hera had never thought to ask. Trust Alfrida, the practical one, to consider the matter so clearly.

  "With God, all things are possible," she said.

  "I know. But I can't make it make sense. Perhaps we'll all be swept to Him for judgment."

  "Perhaps-"

  "But then it won't matter where we are when it happens, or the state of our homes!"

  "God sees everything and knows everything. He hears and sees us now. He knows even our most secret thoughts."

  "I don't see how anyone can control their secret thoughts." Alfrida frowned. "Perhaps the world really will come to an end—will become dust beneath our feet—and we'll drift like the stars in the sky either to heaven or to hell."

  Hera shuddered. "I don't like that."

  "Nor do I. But it makes me all the more determined to have some very solid, earthly pleasures before the end. But not till tomorrow. I give you my word." She swung open the door. "Come sister. I'll even labor hard by your side in the hope of gaining a pinch of God's mercy for my judgment day."

  If salvation cam
e through hard work, Hera thought when she collapsed into bed hours later, then she deserved a place with the angels. And they'd hardly started.

  There'd been little hope of sobering the drunk, so she and Alfrida had sealed up the ale and mead and put two reliable soldiers to guard it. Hera had gone to the chapel and found that indeed a number of the Froxton people were in the small stone building. Some were praying, but most were sleeping, placidly awaiting the coming glorious day.

  With Raef's help, she and Alfrida had driven the servants still capable of work to rake the foulest rushes out of the hall, and cart them off to the midden. They'd scattered what clean stuff was available over the floor, then supervised the scrubbing of the benches and tables.

  Once the place was bearable, Hera had prepared a simple meal, mainly for herself and her sister. Alfrida had not been fed in her prison, and in these days before Christmas the convent fasted. In preparation for the journey, she and the others had eaten something this morning, but it had only been gruel, and she was famished. Even Advent food of stewed vegetables and day old bread was ambrosia.

  Raef came to lounge nearby. He didn't mention Edith, so neither did she. She didn't know what to say, or whether what she said would come out right. She didn't know if he wanted to talk of it, but surely his drinking, and even his edged bawdiness, was an attempt to cover pain.

  Anyway, she was too weary and soul-sick to try, so the talk was all practical.

  "Do you think the Danes will attack us here?" she asked.

  "Why should they when they have a cozy, well-stocked winter home?"

  She wanted again to ask how Acklingham had been taken, but his bitter tone stopped her. "So it would be safe for people to go out looking for food. To fish."

  "I don't see why not."

  "Perhaps we could send messages to the local hamlets, encouraging people to come back."

  "So close to Christmas? Leave them to find what peace they can."

  "We're short of servants," she pointed out, "and now we have extra men-at-arms to feed and clean up after."

  "My men are extra defense, too."

  "You should have guarded the stores, not pillaged them. You should have enforced the Advent fast." She heard her voice turn sharp but couldn't seem to control it. "You locked up the only member of my family who might have been able to control things and let people eat or drink as they pleased!"

  His cheeks turned ruddy. "What point in stores when the world will shortly end?"

  She leaned over the table and grabbed his tunic. "And what are you going to eat if it doesn't?"

  Suddenly, true humor glinted in his eyes, and she realized she'd fallen back into older ways, when she was always scolding him for this or that.

  Humor faded, and his words were bleak as her last thought. "One way or another, I'll be past caring long before winter is out."

  Her hand was still tight in his woolen tunic, the warmth of his chest so close to her fingers. Carefully, she let him go and leaned away. "Don't talk like that."

  "It's fate, Little Wolf. No man can fight his fate, and mine is death and damnation. But I'll not mind hell's flames if I can take Danes to hell with me, especially Magnus Ravenbringer."

  Hera saw her sister stiffen to respond but she flashed her a look. Nothing would be gained by a screaming match except Alfrida locked in her room again.

  She'd kept the peace throughout the rest of the meal, but couldn't claim to have brought Raef to his senses.

  Now, lying in her bed, exhausted as she was, she fretted over him. He seemed to have turned pagan, which would damn him for sure, and a death wish could lead to death, even though a love wish didn't seem to lead to love.

  Raef's wife's death, and such a death, must be a terrible wound, making death appealing.

  She sighed and acknowledged her own wound from that.

  Raef's devastation spoke of a love that went soul deep. Ah, that hurt because it said there had never been, would never be, anything for her. She admitted now that she'd comforted herself with the thought that Raef had made a mistake. That he hadn't really wanted Edith. That he'd realized too late that Hera was his true mate.

  She grimaced wryly in the dark. The mind could make a fool of anyone. Despite everything, Alfrida's words itched. If Raef invited her to his bed....

  There'd been a time when the idea would have made Hera giggle. Raef? Raef had been like a brother to her, and she could count off all his many faults any time she was asked, just as she could for her three noisy, squabbling, bullying brothers.

  The change had crept up on her like a hunting dog, then pounced one day as they rode out with falcons, she, he, Edmund, and Alfrida. She'd watched Raef loose his bird in the sunshine, comfortably admiring his skill. Then, without warning, she'd been transfixed by his physical beauty—by his fine healthy body, his even features, and his good white teeth shown in a typical enthusiastic smile. Spilling after, like beans from a slit sack, had come lust, admiration, adoration, and a terrifying impulse to silliness.

  She'd been harsh with him that day—cold and rude so he'd commented on it and tried to tease her into good humor. She hadn't let herself be teased because she'd feared that the slightest relaxation would make her do or say something revealing, something that would have them all laughing at her.

  For days, it seemed, she'd hidden, being alone as much as she could, causing her mother to fret and make strengthening potions, some even with precious sugar in them. Slowly, however, she had settled into the new view of the world and found it precious.

  Raef. She and Raef. What could be more perfect? They were friends. Acklingham lay close by, so she wouldn't have to move far from home when she married. Her parents would be delighted to marry a daughter to him. His family already liked her.

  She and Raef.

  Perfect.

  She emerged from hibernation like a butterfly from a chrysalis—and found Raef bewilderingly unchanged. Once assured that she was well again, he treated her with exactly the same brotherly affection as before. She'd always been a tomboy, but now she began to select her clothes with more care, to rinse her pale blonde hair with essence of marigold in the hope it would turn more golden, to pamper her neglected complexion with violet water. She even made up a herbal mixture supposed to capture a lover's heart and wore it in a bag around her neck.

  Nothing had brought about any change. Knowing she was in danger of being ridiculous, she'd told herself that it would take more time, that she'd have to be patient. She was fourteen, and he but eighteen. With great care, she'd returned entirely to their earlier ways, waiting for the idea of marriage to come to him.

  Waiting for years.

  Then, a wary look in her eye, her mother had broken the news that Raef had asked to marry Edith of Tildwold, and all was arranged. Even then, in the first deadly shock, Hera had been grateful to her mother for telling her in private. And for not commenting on the obvious.

  After a while, she'd found the strength to be polite, to smile, and to offer her own exciting news—her decision to enter the convent. Most people had not been surprised. After all, why else wasn't she married by twenty if not because she was called to the holy life?

  Had Raef been shocked by her decision? In the face of his happiness, his belief that Edith was the most perfect woman ever created, the effort to hold to her own part had been so ferocious she'd hardly been able to see his reactions at all.

  And now he was free again, but she'd learned something surely? He didn't feel that way about her now any more than he had then. Look at how he'd handled her legs as if she were a... a horse! Or at best, a comfortable old friend. Even if he showed interest, she'd not be taken out of pity, or by a man seeking comfort for the terrible loss of another.

  Would she?

  The feel of his hands on her skin still burned in her mind. The feel of his strong thighs heating her feet. That kiss, unpleasant though it had been. Their first kiss....

  Exhaustion is sometimes is a blessing. Despite it all, sleep saved he
r from further foolish, betraying thoughts.

  Raef spent most of the night, as he spent his nights these days, blighted by wakefulness, lying watching the low night fire. It hadn't felt right to take over the family rooms here, so he and his men slept in the hall. All around, people snored and snuffled, shifted and turned. At least the lovers over in the corner had finally stopped their gasping and groaning and gone to sleep.

  The black nights were full of Edith, and lovers made them worse.

  What had he done wrong?

  She'd been shy, but he'd expected that. Though it had taken longer than he'd expected, he'd enjoyed coaxing her into accepting him, and even into coming to enjoy lovemaking.

  A bit, at least.

  Over time it would have come completely right.

  They hadn't been given time.

  God knows why, but in the darkest hours of the night he always found himself trying to imagine what had happened to her, what it had been like for her. He didn't know who or how many, though apparently the physical damage hadn't been too bad. One lusty, unwanted man would have been enough to destroy Edith, however, and she had certainly been destroyed.

  He blamed himself for not protecting her, but was sane enough to realize there was nothing he could have done. He blamed himself more for not understanding her wounds.

  When he'd returned, her woman had said she was healed. She appeared much the same, though she'd lost weight and her eyes had been vague, as if she looked elsewhere. She certainly never looked at him for more than a fleeting moment. He'd only wanted to help her heal, but she'd flinched from his simplest touch and not seemed to want his company at all.

  He'd asked nothing of her. He'd simply offered her the comfort of hand, arm, or voice and of the promise of his loving constancy. And after two days of his loving care, she'd risen early in the morning and walked down to throw herself into the icy river.

  What had he done wrong?

  How had he failed her?

  Thinking over it did no good. It brought neither enlightenment nor healing. Yet this seemed to be his private hell—to revisit these thoughts and questions nightly for the rest of his life.