Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Their boat was driven to the shore, but lodged on the rocks long enough so all could scramble off. In the struggle, however, the pendant chain broke and the jewel fell twinkling into the dark and stormy sea. Alric would have plunged after to try to get it back for her, but she stopped him. It had blessed them and saved them, but now she knew it had completed its work for her. It was for some other woman, somewhere, sometime, who needed to find her own true love so as to be able to bring peace and harmony to all around her.

  Stella mirabilis, come from afar.

  Stella mirabilis, come where we are.

  Stella mirabilis, shine night and day

  Stella mulieribus, come light one woman's way.

  Smiling at all the bright-eyed women, Hera spoke the ending, the traditional ending of the story, without the drum.

  "And it is said that the Star of the Magi was swallowed by a fish, that symbol of Christ, and that it rests there waiting for the time when it is needed again. A special time of great need, when another woman must light the way for men. This, my sisters, is why we eat fish at Christmastide, especially on Christmas Eve, and most especially on the last Christmas of a century. For that, the story says, is when the Star is most likely to come to bless us all."

  After an appreciative moment, the women applauded. One young woman flushed from the dance asked, "If the Star's most likely to come at the turning of a hundred years, Lady Wulfhera, what of the turning of a thousand?"

  Hera thought it just a charming story, but clearly some of her audience believed it. "Then," she said, "it is a hundred fold more likely, and a hundred fold more powerful."

  Perhaps young Heswith longed for a man who did not see her, for she fervently said, "Then I will eat lots of fish!"

  Chapter Four

  Raef leaned against the wall of the weaving shed, close to a window, both eased and racked. Hera's voice could never do anything but ease him. Another gift he'd taken for granted and thrown away. If he'd been a wise man, he could have had her singing company all his days. At least her gift was back in the world for a while, and not hidden behind a convent's walls.

  He loved the way she told the story, too, in song and words. He wished he could believe it. Had there truly been a time when Christ and His mother could touch the world's pains in such a direct way?

  If so, the sins of Man had driven away that gift, along with so many others. Now the world was steeped in darkness, riven by discord and violence, and a man had no choice but to live in dark and blood-soaked danger until death sent him to hell.

  He could try for a bit of light now and then, however. He pushed straight and went to the door. "Lady Wulfhera, could I speak with you?"

  She was chatting to a group of young women, and turned, suddenly flushing. He thought perhaps she was angry at being interrupted, but she came over quickly enough and stepped outside with him.

  "If you truly wish it," he said, "I will go after Alfrida and bring her home."

  She stared at him, but then shook her head. "It's too late. It was doubtless too late when I first realized. It is her fate. When she returns, though, Raef, be kind to her."

  It stabbed like a rough-edged blade that she might think otherwise. "I was trying to be kind before."

  "I know." Then she frowned in thought. "She seemed to think that the Dane wanted her, but sent her home anyway. Is that possible?"

  The last thing Raef wanted was to peer into Magnus Ravenbringer's foul mind, but for Hera he tried.

  Wanton blindness, he thought, wondering what would happen if he pulled Hera into his arms and kissed her. Kissed her properly, not in the cruel parody he'd wielded like a weapon yesterday.

  That sin he could resist. She was as good as a nun, and he was no longer a man for any good woman.

  "Likely he simply tired of her," he said. "Perhaps she made tiresome demands. Alfrida could tire me."

  "But Alfrida's not a fool. If he did care for her, would he still send her away?"

  "Perhaps he has a wife he tries to be true to."

  "Oh no!"

  "By the Cross, Hera, there can be no question of them marrying!"

  "Better to marry than to burn."

  "Not to a Dane." He couldn't bear this—trapped here with Hera. He needed to escape. "He'll have thrown her out, and there are roving bandits, English and well as Danes. I'll ride out to find her. If we don't, we can stay nearby for when she needs us."

  "No!" She put her hand on his arm. "Raef, there's no point in a few men huddling and freezing in case they're needed, and we need you here."

  Her hand felt like sunshine, and he covered it with his own, trying to trap the bright warmth there. "I want to do something to help you, Hera."

  A strange expression flitted over her face, as if there was something, but she did not want to ask.

  "What is it? What can I do?"

  "Nothing." She pulled her hand free. "Thank you though, Raef. And... Alfrida told me about Edith. I'm so sorry."

  "You didn't know? I assumed you would."

  That had been stupid. It had been recent, and her parents were not here to send messages. He'd foolishly assumed she would know anything of importance about him, and he about her. He didn't. He didn't understand, for example, her strange impulse to the holy life. Her running home fit better, but it seemed she intended to go back.

  "I had no news," she was saying, and now—cruel pleasure—she took his hand. "I know how painful it must be, Raef, but don't let it darken your soul. Especially not now. You were not to blame-"

  He dragged his hand free. "Don't speak of what you do not know."

  "I know this. Christ can forgive any sin, and the blackest sin is to doubt that. Even if you carried Edith to the river yourself and threw her in."

  "I loved Edith," he snarled.

  Her hand was over her mouth. "Raef, I didn't mean that. Not-"

  He walked away, fleeing her words. He'd loved Edith, yes, but not enough.

  Talking to Hera he'd realized that he had driven Edith to the river.

  It was so clear now.

  Edith had lost all liking for men.

  Perhaps she'd never like men much anyway. She'd never liked the physical side of marriage, and he'd deluded himself by thinking that she was beginning to get pleasure out of it. But now he saw that once the terrible pain of her maidenhead was over she'd tolerated him, saying appropriate things but gaining no true pleasure. He'd wanted a lusty, enthusiastic bed partner and she'd done her best, but against her nature.

  After the rape all she'd wanted of him was absence. As long as he'd been away, she'd been comfortable with her women companions. But his return, his insistence on spending time with her, on talking to her about the future, on touching her in ways that hinted at bed, had shattered her fragile peace.

  She'd fled him, fled her intolerable duty to him, and found the ultimate peace of death.

  He stopped in a private corner, pressing his hands to his face. Did it count that he had only ever intended good? Was it any excuse to have been stupid?

  Stupid to have married her.

  Stupid to think she'd become the wife he wanted.

  Stupid not to understand her pain.

  He should have placed her in a convent for care. She'd doubtless have stayed there all her life, and could well have found happiness. Instead, driven by his own guilty dissatisfactions, he'd tried to force their marriage back together again with kindness, concern, and flinched-from touches.

  No, good intentions didn't count, and stupidity was no excuse. He looked up at the dark-clouded sky. The end couldn't come soon enough for him.

  Hera watched Raef walk away and for the first time sincerely wished herself back in the convent. He'd loved Edith. She knew it, yet she'd said that terrible thing. She'd not meant it that way, but she'd said it, wounding him grievously.

  There was no dealing with this. No road. No possible accommodation when every time she tried to speak of anything important she made everything worse.

  She saw the
gates open to admit the returning servants carrying strings of fish and sacks of flour. Work! She grasped it with relief and hurried off to supervise the preparation of the evening meal. She'd carry Froxton through these last mad days of the millennium, then when madness passed, and when her mother, or—by the grace of God—her father returned, she'd go back to Herndon, where at least she would do no harm.

  She organized the setting up of long trestle tables outside the kitchen sheds so the fish could be cleaned and prepared. Then she went to make sure the new flour was put into clean bins in the granary and that all the stores were still properly guarded.

  She wondered where Raef was, but knew it was wiser not to know, not to even think of him. To make sure of it, she hurried to help with the fish. Work defended against sin.

  It did help, even if cleaning fish was a task she particularly disliked. An excellent Advent penance, she told herself, and penance for speaking so cruelly to Raef. If anything could teach her to hold her tongue, it was handling cold fish and pulling out their slimy innards.

  Even so, she had to work not to pull a face as she slit the fat belly of the next fish. Years ago, she and Alfrida had come to an agreement that Hera would prepare small animals, and Alfrida would do fish, and she'd forgotten just how much she hated this.

  Even the smell. A sort of wet, muddy smell....

  She hastily turned her mind to other matters. Perhaps her earlier "sermon" as Raef had called it, had done some good, for even those servants who thought the end close by were working hard—with occasional glances at the sky to see if Christ was coming yet.

  It was the solstice, after all, when night and day were equal, and the great wheel of time turned. A likely time.

  Most people, however, had their attention fixed on Old Thorgytha, gnarled hands working with speed and skill, who was telling one of her funny stories—the one about the miller with his foot stuck in a bucket. Hera focused her attention on that, as she slit the fish, and scraped out another disgusting mess, looking at it as little as possible.

  She touched something hard, so had to look down. Sometimes a fish had a stick or even a hook inside, and a person could get hurt. This item seemed quite large, however.

  A coin? She'd felt a point. An arrow head?

  If it was an unusual item, especially a valuable one, it might be seen as a good omen and help raise everyone's spirits even more. Even though she hated to do it, she cut into the stomach and pulled the tissue away from the object.

  Something glittered, and she smiled.

  Gold.

  That would be a find to celebrate. There were many stories of fish with rings and coins in their stomachs, but she'd never found any such thing before. This was bigger than a ring, however, and she saw a hint of blue glass.

  Or perhaps not glass.

  Her heart started to pound and she glanced around, wondering if she'd fallen asleep and was dreaming.

  The Star of the Magi?

  Folly.

  But this didn't feel like a dream.

  Now she looked around to detect if anyone was watching her.

  Thorgytha was coming to the climax of her story, however, and she was a skilled storyteller, so everyone's attention was fixed between their busy hands and her.

  Hera looked down and pulled the object completely free, finding that indeed the blue stone was not glass, that it glittered deep within with a magical light. Concealing it with her hands, she wiped away membranes and blood with her thumbs to reveal a golden circle with star points, and that deeply glowing blue stone in the center.

  What to do?

  She couldn't announce it. She didn't know what would happen then. What people would think. What they'd expect.

  A quick glance showed that still no one was watching her, though the man next to her, waiting for the next fish to stuff flashed her a curious look.

  She had to get away from here to think.

  The pendant was almost too large to conceal in her hand, and she needed her hands anyway to finish the fish. Grimacing slightly, she tucked the still soiled jewel up under the snug cuff of her sleeve and looked down at the fish.

  Was this a sacred fish that should be treated with reverence? She couldn't see how unless she announced her find, and fish were surely created to be eaten. After a moment, as Thorgytha ended her story and everyone laughed, she finished cleaning it and slapped it down in front of the waiting servant.

  Then, with a word about other duties, she left the line of workers. No one would think it strange, but she felt as if everyone was staring as she washed her hands and hurried into the hall. Once out of sight, she almost ran to the maidens' room, where she slammed the door and slid the piece of jewelry out.

  It hadn't changed. It was still, she was sure, the miraculous Star of the Magi. She went to her leftover washing water and cleaned it properly, scrubbing away all trace of fish.

  Cradled in her hand, it was certainly a very valuable piece of gold jewelry worked with the highest skill. Finer skill than anyone had today, even though there were many fine goldsmiths. She tried to tell herself that the stone in the center was glass, but she'd seen no glass with such depth, or with the magical effect of light trapped within.

  Stella mirabilis, shine night and day….

  She hadn't invented that line. It was part of the original legend, linking the jewel with the Christmas star which had led the wise men to Bethlehem, the star in the sky which had shone by night and day.

  She rubbed the stone, as if rubbing would wipe away that mysterious light trapped inside. Of course it didn't. This was the fabled Star of the Magi, brought to her by a fish, now, close not only to a century, but to ten centuries.

  She trembled with awe-struck fear. This jewel had been touched by the hand of Christ!

  Stella mirabilis!

  Wondrous star.

  Come light one woman's way.

  Her breath caught.

  Light her way to what?

  These were dark times, in truth, but....

  But other thoughts danced in her head. She was trying to be reverent, but all she could think of was Miriam attracting the man who did not see her in that way, the man she loved.

  This must mean that finally Raef was to be hers!

  She sat with a thump on her bed, clutching the piece of jewelry to her heart and saying a fervent prayer of thanks, and not just for Raef. If ever a world needed healing, it was the one around her, and perhaps now she could do it, and heal Raef at the same time.

  She and Raef.

  She and Raef.

  How long had it been since she had allowed herself to think that?

  With trembling hands she found a piece of leather thong and threaded it through the ring on the jewel. Then she tied it around her neck, tucking it down under her clothes, next to her skin. She half expected it to burn with magic power, but it just lay there, slightly heavy, hard against her chest.

  She couldn't wait. A faint tremor running through her—she felt like a hunting hound on a hot scent—she went to find Raef, to test the jewel's power.

  For panicked minutes she thought he'd left the manor, but then she heard he was in the stables. She entered to see him watching as a horse was treated for a swelling.

  "Raef?"

  He turned, not evidently pleased or displeased to see her. Not struck by magical change.

  "Is there a problem?" Then he stepped closer. "Hera? What is it?"

  She couldn't imagine what she looked like, but she tried to seize control of herself. What had she expected? Instant, magical adoration? Of course it took time. "Nothing in particular," she said. "I just suddenly felt a need to talk to you."

  He moved closer and touched her arm.

  Did she shudder?

  "This is a bad time, I know. Your father, and now Alfrida. Truly, it's better that we make no fuss over her."

  "Why?" She had to say something.

  Were his eyes warmer?

  "If he sends her home, she'll be safe. If he keeps her, the
n when the king's forces come and we take back the place, she'll be free. If he thinks she's a valuable hostage, however, he could demand a huge ransom."

  "Oh, that makes sense."

  It did. Even her tangled mind saw that.

  He suddenly drew her into his arms.

  Precious Baby Jesus, it's working!

  "What is it, then? Some other trouble?"

  She rested against his strong chest, breathing in his scent, feeling as if their bodies were two parts of a whole, split and now rejoined. "Nothing special," she muttered. "Just everything."

  "True." He rested his head against hers.

  If she turned her head up, would he kiss her?

  Properly this time.

  "I wish...." he said, but then felt silent.

  She did look up at him then, at lines that hadn't been there six months before, at beauty that was eternal.

  "You wish?"

  Kiss me, Raef.

  He gazed at her a moment, but then he firmly put her away from him.

  "Wishes are for children, and we're neither of us children any more. Anyway," he said with a twisted smile, his eyes sliding away from hers, "we've worked so well to lessen the fear and panic here. We don't want people seeing us clutching one another like that."

  Hera saw the stablemen watching, grinning. "I don't think they think we're clutching one another out of fear."

  "What else?"

  It was flat, absolute, and blocked any response. It shouted that he still didn't see her as anything but a friend.

  Feeling fifteen again, with her hair in ribbons and her best dress on and still ignored, Hera tried to rescue her pride. "They don't know that," she said with a joking smile. "But you're right. Can't show any panic or fear."

  "That's my wolf." He turned and went back to the horse.

  Hera very carefully did not watch him, and turned to stroll casually toward the hall, willing tears to stay inside, and lips not to tremble.

  She never cried!

  In the first private corner, she leaned against a wall and squeezed her eyes tight against impossible tears that threatened anyway. Why did she never learn? Raef thought of her as a sister, and that would never change.