The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Fair enough,” Ahearn murmured.

  “Where did you sleep?” Reinhard asked.

  “South of the line of silver trees. I headed into the forest and found a hollow that was dry.”

  The Hawk’s gaze brightened but then he dropped his gaze, hiding his interest. Did he know the spot?

  “And did you sleep well?”

  “I might have, but I heard whispers. They were three. I could not see them, but heard their voices. I dared not move to a better vantage point lest I be revealed.”

  “You would not have seen daylight then, were they MacLarens,” Reinhard muttered.

  Quentin nodded. “They spoke of Caillen’s legacy, and that Christmas would be celebrated with him being made Laird of Inverfyre.”

  “Caillen MacLaren?” the Hawk asked, looking at Ahearn. Quentin understood that that man had the best understanding of the Hawk’s opponents.

  “Oldest son of Hamish, who is himself the first cousin of Dubhglas. Hamish has raised his sons with a harsh hand and a lust for vengeance. They are cruel, impulsive and unafraid to shed blood.”

  “All because I killed Dubhglas,” the Hawk murmured. “Yet I have never regretted the deed.” He drummed his fingers. “And so the battle for Inverfyre is renewed.”

  “They said they would slaughter the witch of Inverfyre first,” Quentin said. “I was not certain who they meant, not until their assault.”

  Unease slid around the chamber and the Hawk frowned. “Aileen is no witch,” he said, but he spoke without his usual conviction.

  “Yet, evidently she is believed to be one by the MacLarens,” Quentin said. “They referred to an ally within the walls who would admit them in the night, so they could claim Inverfyre from within.”

  “Who?”

  “They did not say.”

  “When?” Reinhard demanded.

  Quentin shrugged. “They did not say.”

  The Captain of the Guard’s lips tightened in dissatisfaction and his suspicion visibly grew. “You simply tell us only part of the truth, in order to bait a trap,” he said. “You would feed suspicion between us to divert it from yourself. We know each other here! You are the stranger.” The Hawk again waved for silence. Reinhard paced the width of the chamber and back, fairly growling with annoyance.

  “If they have an ally, who might it be?” Nigel asked calmly. “Are there any men at Inverfyre we do not trust fully? Are there any new arrivals within the walls?”

  Reinhard shook his head, resolute. “There is only one newly arrived,” he growled.

  Quentin was aware that they all avoided his gaze.

  They would never trust him. His choice was made.

  “And now your promise is kept,” Reinhard said crisply. “How soon will you depart?”

  Quentin recognized his moment. “I had hoped to stay,” he declared, his tone challenging. “I had hoped to find service here again.”

  “In your maimed state?” Reinhard demanded. “What could you do, Quentin? You are no longer an able warrior, and this tale of yours invites doubt, if not more. I will have no man in service at Inverfyre who I cannot rely upon completely, not when the MacLarens muster outside our very gates!”

  “And you do not trust me so?” Quentin asked, his tone provocative. He rose to his feet, leaning more heavily upon his cane than was necessary.

  “Why should I?” Reinhard asked. “You openly defied the Hawk and were cast out for your audacity. Now you return, bitter, marred and clearly still smitten with the daughter of the house who was too far above you when you were able. Why did you return? It cannot be out of goodwill.” He jabbed a finger through the air at Quentin. “You came for vengeance! You came to steal Mhairi away! And I doubt you would shirk from betraying the Hawk, given what you have endured!”

  Quentin took a step forward. “Then why would I have intervened for Lady Aileen this day?”

  “To pursue your suit!” Reinhard roared, stepped forward so they were toe to toe. “To try to prove your merit. But I know your merit, Quentin, and I knew it seven years ago.” He poked Quentin in the shoulder, hard. Quentin stumbled backward though he could have held his ground. “No warrior of merit defies his lord’s command.”

  “Not even to train a warrior of promise? One who begs for instruction? One with a natural gift that cannot be denied?”

  “It was not your choice!” Reinhard roared. “Your role was to obey!” He gave Quentin a push and Quentin lost his balance on purpose, stumbling into the bench and upsetting it.

  “I regret nothing,” he said with heat. “I made a promise. I returned to keep it.” He turned to the Hawk, who was watching with interest. “If you do not trust me, cast me from your gates, along with all the other refuse within your walls.”

  The Hawk held Quentin’s gaze for a long moment, as if he did not share Reinhard’s view of Quentin’s nature. He nodded once before abruptly rising to his feet, his decision made. “I would ask you to depart in the morning, at first light.” He offered his hand. “You have my best wishes for your future.”

  And so the Hawk would show him mercy again. Quentin refused to be vexed by the courtesy he did not desire.

  Nay, he knew how best to provoke the Laird of Inverfyre, for he had done as much before.

  Mhairi’s curiosity burned with the need to be satisfied. What did Quentin know? Did her father believe him? What would be his fate?

  She waited until Evangeline finally dozed off, even letting her sister claim more of the pelts in their chamber than usual. When Evangeline was cold, she did not sleep and Mhairi wanted her sister to sleep as soon as possible. It was irksome indeed that on this night of nights, Evangeline was talkative. She speculated on Quentin’s intentions and insisted on seeing the knife he had given to Mhairi. She wondered aloud about her own marital prospects, and shared her concerns about their mother. She asked Mhairi how she thought their father would retrieve the Titulus Croce from the priory in time for the Mass on Sunday, and Mhairi did not reply. It was only when she pretended to sleep and was utterly silent that her sister’s chatter finally faded.

  As soon as Evangeline was breathing deeply, Mhairi slipped from her own pallet and moved silently to the door. She went down the stairs as quietly as a shadow, and noted the silence of the hall. If all had retired, she would have to go to the stables to talk to Quentin. Could she manage to do as much unobserved twice in one day?

  She drew the knife that Quentin had given her, liking the weight of it in her hand.

  She paused at the foot of the stairs at the rumble of men’s voices and peeked into the quiet hall. The torches were being extinguished and the food had been cleared. The trestle tables were folded against the walls and the older maid from the kitchens was sweeping the rushes away. A pair of hunting dogs chewed bones by the fire, which had burned down to embers, and Mhairi knew they were only there because her mother was not present to shoo them out to the stables. Ahearn’s sons were still in one corner, playing dice, but the other men had left the hall.

  The voices she heard came from the men emerging from her father’s chamber. Henry was first, carrying a lantern for her father and brother. With a word, they departed for her father’s final inspection of the ramparts, Reinhard fast behind them. They did not even glance back at the rest of the party.

  Her heart leaped when Quentin hobbled into view. Ahearn strode past him without a word, beckoning to his sons. The boys roused themselves and hastened after their father, whose home was in the village.

  Quentin was alone. He surveyed the hall, as if to memorize it, then considered the path that Reinhard had taken with the Hawk and Nigel. When he took a step toward the stairs, Mhairi knew his intent.

  She swallowed and stepped out of the shadows, revealing her presence to him. His expression lit and she was thrilled that he strode directly toward her. It seemed to her that he stood straighter and walked with greater purpose.

  What had her father said to him?

  What had he asked of her father?
>
  Quentin paused before her, scarcely leaning on his cane at all, reinforcing her suspicion that his injuries were less than he let others believe. He glanced down at the knife in her hand and nodded. “So, you like it.”

  “I always liked it.” She swallowed. “I have fine memories of it, and of the man who wielded it. Are you certain you do not need it?”

  Quentin gave her an intent look then lifted his damaged hand. “My days of warfare are over.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No longer,” he admitted and she liked that he was still honest with her. Quentin had never protected her from the truth, even when she might not like it. “I imagine sometimes that I can feel the finger yet, though it is long gone. It is curious.” He nodded. “I miss the eye most, for its loss ensures my vulnerability on that side.” His gaze slid to hers. “And I miss the sense of my own invincibility, though clearly, that was a lie.”

  “I wish you had not left Inverfyre.”

  “Because then I would not have been robbed?”

  “And injured, and cheated.”

  “Aye, I thought as much when I was left to die.” Quentin frowned and nodded. “But now, I am no longer sure one leads to the other. I might have been robbed right here, in the forests of Inverfyre, and wounded even more grievously. I was a fighting man and a warrior, Mhairi. Dire injury is very oft a part of that trade.”

  She disliked that he spoke of his occupation as a matter of the past. “And now?”

  “And now I have no good purpose.”

  “But still you have your skills. Still you could teach, or advise on matters of strategy.”

  “But I would have to be trusted for that, and I am not trusted at Inverfyre. If that will be my fate, it will not be achieved here.”

  “You are leaving.”

  “I am leaving. This time, I doubt that I will return.”

  “It is not fair!” Mhairi protested. “Papa should never have cast you out…”

  Quentin shook his head. “He was in the right, Mhairi. Never forget that. I defied him. Twice.” He smiled at her, his gaze alight. “Know that I would do it a third time, for you, but there is nothing to be gained from such a course.”

  “You could offer for me.” Even as she said the words, she knew it was an impossible desire.

  “Your father could not let any man in his service offer for his own daughter,” Quentin chided quietly. “That was true seven years ago and is more true now. Think of the line that would form for Evangeline, then! And what of the life we might have led? A laird should be able to rely upon his daughter’s husband, but to employ him? Nay, it would muddy matters overmuch, and there would inevitably be talk of favor shown where it was not deserved.”

  Mhairi could not help but be pleased that he did not dismiss her suggestion of marriage in its own right. “Then I was not alone in my regard?”

  Quentin surveyed her. “Nay, Mhairi, you were but late to it, and young. I knew my place, and I knew the import of defying your father’s command. Yet I cannot regret that I succumbed to your plea. I could have done nothing else when you entreated me to teach you more.”

  “Because I was a good student?”

  “That, to be sure.” His smile broadened. “But more importantly, because it was you.” Their gazes clung for a potent moment and Mhairi could not draw a breath. Then Quentin averted his gaze and frowned. “And so it was that when the Hawk chastised me, I did not argue with his decision. In his place, I knew I would have done the same—or even been more harsh. I saw it as an opportunity and an invitation.”

  “What happened?”

  “I rode south to earn the coin I would need to ask honestly for your hand.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. I am the fifth son of a younger son and there are no crumbs from my father’s table for me. He saw me trained by my uncle, and ensured that I was outfitted well, and your father granted me a magnificent destrier. I had more, far more, than many other in my place, and I was confident I could succeed.”

  She waited when he fell silent.

  “The tragedy of it is that I did succeed,” Quentin admitted quietly, then raised his gaze to hers. “I had the coin. I had earned sufficient, but I wanted just a measure more. My luck had been excellent, which should have warned me. Instead, it made me think I could not lose.”

  “Your coin was stolen,” Mhairi said quietly.

  “More than that. My coin, my horse, my armor and my sword, my dignity and my hope. I lost all that day on the road to Compostela, and was certain that death would be too good an end.”

  “But?” she prompted when he fell silent again.

  “But a pilgrim found me, a monk, and took me to shelter and tended me. He bade me accompany him and his fellows to Compostela while I healed, and he reminded me that I had more than I realized. I was alive, and while injured, many of those wounds would heal. He taught me to find the merit even in my wretched state.”

  “We could still marry. We could flee together.”

  “Nay.” He must have read her thoughts, for he raised a finger. “And not for a lack of desire on my part. I do not have the means, my lady, and I will never have them again. There was a moment, a short wondrous moment, in which it might have been possible, but that moment is gone and it is gone forever. I have nothing to offer you, and so I will ask only one thing of you. Know that I will not dishonor you.”

  She saw that he would not be swayed and his honor made her mourn what would never be theirs. “My father…”

  “Has done more than enough,” Quentin said. “He has done far more than I would do in his place, to be sure.” He leaned forward and covered his hand with hers for a thrilling moment. “He will wed you to a man of merit, a man who can care for you as you deserve, and he will ensure your future as I cannot.”

  “I would wed you.”

  “And you would regret it,” Quentin whispered. “Let me remember you, looking at me as you do now, not with disdain or regret.”

  Mhairi’s tears fell and she could not utter a word for her throat was tight. “What is this one gift you would have of me?” she whispered, for she would have given anything.

  Quentin smiled slowly and she sensed that there was more to his request than he would confess to her in this moment. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then grant me one kiss, Mhairi, one kiss to heat my blood for all the rest of my days.”

  He wanted her to say farewell.

  “One kiss,” she whispered. “It is all I desire and yet so much less.”

  Quentin’s gaze danced over her features with new intensity, then he dropped his walking stick and caught her face in his hands. His hands were warm, strong and gentle, his grip sure. He certainly did not waver on his feet. His gaze was steady, his scar not so fearsome as she might have thought, and the satisfaction in his smile made her heart thunder.

  “Warrior maiden,” he murmured. He gave her no opportunity to speak, but claimed her lips with his own. He slanted his mouth over hers and drew her close, deepening his kiss in a most satisfactory way.

  Mhairi surrendered to his touch, reveling in this one moment. Quentin’s touch felt strong and right, both possessive and gentle. She ran her hands over his shoulders, then slid her fingers into his hair, drawing him nearer, wanting more. She felt a molten heat inside herself and arched against him, wishing they might touch skin to skin. His tongue touched hers, sending fire through her, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to take all he desired of her.

  She hoped Quentin’s kiss would never end, but end it did and all too soon.

  “Fiend!” her father cried, and Quentin released her abruptly. Mhairi glimpsed the satisfaction in his smile and the twinkle in his eye before he turned.

  Had he anticipated this?

  “Guards!” her father roared. “Cast this vermin from the gates with all haste!”

  “Nay, Papa!” Mhairi cried, but Quentin moved away from her.

  Nigel appeared fr
om behind her father and grabbed her arm, holding her back when the mercenaries seized Quentin. They dragged him from the hall, having no care for his walking stick which was still at her feet. Quentin never glanced back, nor did he fight them. Mhairi bit back a cry.

  “What will happen to him?” she whispered.

  “Only what he deserves,” her brother said. “You will remain here,” he instructed, granting her a hard glare. Only when Mhairi nodded, knowing that resistance was futile, did he pick up the walking stick and march after the guards.

  Or perhaps it was only because her father approached her. The Hawk came to stand beside Mhairi, his features as impassive as ever. “Your mother left you in the hall untended?” he asked.

  “You know she did not,” Mhairi said and spun to climb the stairs. “I wanted to see him again.”

  “And now you have,” her father replied mildly.

  Mhairi did not reply. She tasted Quentin’s kiss again. There was nothing for it. She could not appreciate what she had and be content.

  Why had he asked whether she trusted him?

  Why had he been pleased to be interrupted?

  Or had he been pleased to be thrown into the night? It made no sense, but Mhairi could not suppress the sense that Quentin had possessed a plan and she had aided him in its pursuit.

  “And so you banished him, after all,” Aileen said when the Hawk stepped into the solar. “Despite the fact that he saved my life this day.”

  There could be no question as to who she meant. The Hawk smiled a little, having expected no less of her than this challenge, and noted the answering flash in his wife’s eyes. It was a blessing beyond compare that this woman was his partner and his love, and that the passion between them had only grown since they first had met. Her presence in his hall, her good sense in consultation, and the pleasure they found abed made the Hawk feel that he could conquer any challenge so long as his lady wife was by his side.

  It shook him that he had nearly lost her this day, but he strove to hide his fear from her.

  “I gave him what he desired of me, no more and no less,” he said mildly.