She feared she would never see him again.
She was certain she would never forget him.
It was four days before the Yule itself when a trio of horses arrived unexpectedly at Inverfyre’s gates. Like the others drawn by the sound of hoofbeats, Mhairi left the bailey for the village. Three horses of Ravensmuir’s breeding, as black as midnight, pranced through the gates, nostrils flared and flanks gleaming from their run. Their necks arched proudly, and their manes flowed long.
Her cousin, Malcolm Lammergeier, the Laird of Ravensmuir, led the group, his stallion the darkest of them all. His companion rode a dark mare, only slightly smaller than Malcolm’s stallion. Malcolm led a third stallion, almost as tall as his own. The horse’s mane had been cropped shorter, as was his tail, but his breeding was evident. There was a tiny white star upon his brow and Mhairi caught her breath in recognition.
It was Quentin’s destrier!
“Is it Tyr?” she asked when Malcolm halted before her, unwilling to even delay her question by greeting him.
Malcolm laughed. “I believe it is, but would have someone identify him here.”
“Tyr!” the Hawk exclaimed as he joined them. Malcolm winked at Mhairi as her father and the ostler ran their hands over the stallion. Tyr nuzzled the ostler and nibbled his hair, then exhaled and stamped one foot.
“I know what you want, you old troublemaker,” the ostler murmured and the stallion nickered. “Lucky for you, there is a good store of apples and I am sufficiently glad to see you again that I will find you a few.”
The Hawk looked up at Malcolm. “Will you be lingering, my lord?”
“Aye, I will stay the night, with your indulgence, and give the horses a rest before riding home again.”
“So soon?” the Hawk asked as Malcolm dismounted. “You know you are welcome to stay.”
Malcolm smiled. “I would be glad to spend time at Inverfyre, and hear all your tidings.” He shook hands with his uncle. “But Catriona is with child.”
“You should have brought her.”
“She does not yet have a confidence in the saddle for long journeys, and she has been unwell with this pregnancy. I do not wish to leave her alone for long, but I had to see this horse restored to his rightful place.” Malcolm nodded to his companion who dismounted and helped the ostler to lead the horses to the stable.
“There has been a cut on Tyr’s flank that was not quickly tended,” the Hawk noted with a frown as they watched the horses depart. “It mars his coat.”
“But not his gait,” Malcolm said. “It was only a nick, sufficient to startle him.”
“From the assault upon Quentin,” Mhairi said. “The thieves compelled the horse to bolt.”
Malcolm looked between them. “Then this horse was given to one of your men? I knew only that Tyr had been sent to Inverfyre.”
“Tyr was a gift to my Captain of the Guard, many years ago,” the Hawk said. “To commemorate his loyal service. I am glad to see that the steed is healthy and returned.”
“Then you will keep him here?”
“Of course. Thank you.” The Hawk eyed his nephew. “How did you find Tyr?”
“I did not. It was my comrade Rafael. He was much impressed by the steeds of Ravensmuir when he visited Scotland. When he spied Tyr for sale, he guessed his ancestry immediately and bought him just to send him home.” Malcolm’s smile was rueful. “I owe Rafael good coin for this favor.”
“And Elizabeth will ensure that you pay your due,” the Hawk teased, referring to Malcolm’s sister who had married Rafael. “How does she fare?”
“Well enough, I would wager. They have two sons already and his man brought a missive that shares the news that she is with child again.”
“Good,” the Hawk said. “I am glad that she is happy.”
Malcolm frowned. “But I do not understand. How did Tyr come to be in Spain?”
“Papa cast Quentin out seven years ago,” Mhairi supplied, even as her father’s lips thinned. “He rode south to find work as a mercenary and was robbed in Spain.”
Malcolm’s frown deepened. “There are treacherous regions, to be sure, and often they are in the vicinities where mercenaries can find labor. A stallion like this would draw a covetous eye. But this knight must have survived for you to know his misfortune.”
“Aye, he returned to Inverfyre a few weeks ago and aided in the killing of the MacLarens,” the Hawk contributed.
“For which Papa sent him away again,” Mhairi said, not troubling to hide her bitterness. “Instead of offering a sanctuary to a knight who had served him well, he dispatched him from Inverfyre again.”
“He did not need pity, Mhairi,” the Hawk said. “He had need of labor.”
Malcolm looked between father and daughter, his expression considering. “What was the crime of this Quentin, that he should have been dispatched in the first place?”
“Have you not guessed that it involved my daughter?” the Hawk asked. His expression was stony and his tone grim as he continued. “He taught Mhairi the arts of war, when she was but eleven summers of age, and continued to do so in defiance of my express command that he cease.”
“I wanted to know,” Mhairi said. “I entreated him to teach me. Your argument, Papa, is with me, not with Quentin.”
The Hawk’s voice softened. “I have no argument with you, Mhairi. Your nature is as it is, and I would not change it.”
“But…”
“Indeed, you remind me forcibly of your mother, who also will not readily surrender a notion once she has a grip upon it.”
“Because you are wrong!”
The Hawk raised his voice slightly. “I am not. I would ensure your happiness.”
“I will not have any, not with Quentin gone forever.”
“And where is it writ that he is gone forever?” The Hawk clicked his tongue. “You and your mother are quick to condemn me, but I know you and your nature, daughter mine. Trust me to see to your best interests.”
Mhairi set her lips, just as convinced of her view as ever, but her father gave no indication that she had swayed his thinking at all.
“Praise be that I have no daughters,” Malcolm said, half under his breath.
“Yet,” the Hawk replied, biting off the word. “I assure you that they will prompt an abundance of grey hair if you do have any.” He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “Come to the hall and take refreshment. The ostler will send your man to us once the horses are settled and I would hear the tidings from Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie.”
“You would hear how Gawain and Avery fare with their training,” Malcolm teased.
“And you cannot blame a father for that,” the Hawk replied easily. He gave Mhairi a steady look, but she did not change her defiant posture.
Nor did she follow the pair.
Her father did not think Quentin was worthy of her. She could see the truth of it. And it vexed her mightily that there was little she could do to change his mind. She had given her promise to her father and she would keep it, but she wished she knew his scheme. Where had he sent Quentin?
Would Quentin return to Inverfyre? She had doubted it, but now thought of the stallion. Her father had welcomed Tyr’s return and said the horse could remain.
Perhaps he only meant to give the destrier to someone else. It was a disappointing notion, but Mhairi had no opportunity to dwell upon it.
For there was another arrival at the gates.
A knight with two squires.
They rode with haste, their steeds galloping up the road, the knight in the lead. He tugged off his helmet when he approached the gates and his hair shone auburn in the sunlight.
Mhairi raised her hands to her lips and gasped aloud.
She heard her father chuckle, and suggest to Malcolm that they wait.
Then Quentin swept through the village, coming to a halt before her father. He cast her a sparkling glance, then dismounted with grace. He strode to her father and dropped to one knee, presenting a mis
sive to the Hawk.
“Laird Garrett sends his good wishes to you and yours for the Yule, my lord, and also his thanks.”
The Hawk smiled. “Aye?” He gestured and Quentin stood again.
“Aye. And I would thank you, too, sir, for the recommendation. I am now Captain of the Guard at Killairig, and as such, I am in need of a wife. I would humbly request the honor of your daughter’s hand in mine.”
Mhairi gasped in delight.
Her father smiled. “And I would be honored to grant it to you, provided the lady herself agrees.” He turned to her, inviting her to join them with a gesture, and Mhairi laughed as she ran to Quentin’s side.
“Of course!” she said, knowing her pleasure showed.
Quentin took her hand in his and bent over it, touching his lips to her fingers. “We will have many challenges before us, Mhairi. Killairig is not so rich as Inverfyre. It has been destroyed and recently rebuilt…”
“And we shall be a part of making it better than it was before,” she concluded with enthusiasm. “I do not care where we are, Quentin, so long as I am with you.”
“And so long as I have my valiant warrior maiden by my side, I know we will triumph,” Quentin concluded. He drew her closer and smiled down at her, his fingertip touching her cheek. “Be mine,” he murmured for her ears alone and Mhairi nodded agreement.
“Only yours,” she agreed and saw the flicker of pleasure in his gaze.
“Forever allied,” he murmured, then bent to capture her lips beneath his own once more. Heat surged through Mhairi, heat and satisfaction, and happiness for their shared future. She cast her arms around Quentin’s neck and let him lift her to her toes as she returned his kiss with abandon. The people of Inverfyre cheered their approval.
“The honeysuckle and the hazel,” her father said when they finally parted. Mhairi saw that her mother, sister and brother had joined the party in the bailey.
“United forever,” her mother concluded. “As they should be.”
The Hawk gestured to the prancing destrier that had just returned with Malcolm. “And it appears that a wedding gift has arrived in a most timely manner.”
“Tyr!” Quentin cried with heartfelt delight and Mhairi smiled as he greeted the steed. He held her hand fast in his own and turned to her, his pleasure more than clear. “And so it is that my pupil has made my dreams come true,” he murmured as he drew her close again. “I love you, Mhairi, and I vow to spend my days and nights ensuring that your every dream comes true.”
“It already has,” she confided in him, raising her lips for his kiss. They would dance on the Yule together to celebrate their nuptials, dance as they had in her dream, and it would be only the beginning of their adventure together.
Mhairi could scarce wait to begin.
The End
Bestselling and award-winning author Deborah Cooke has published over fifty novels and novellas, including historical romances, fantasy romances, fantasy novels with romantic elements, paranormal romances, contemporary romances, urban fantasy romances, time travel romances and paranormal young adult novels. She writes as herself, Deborah Cooke, as Claire Delacroix, and has written as Claire Cross. She is nationally bestselling, as well as a USA Today and New York Times’ Bestselling Author. Her Claire Delacroix medieval romance, The Beauty, was her first book to land on the New York Times List of Bestselling Books.
Deborah was the writer-in-residence at the Toronto Public Library in 2009, the first time TPL hosted a residency focused on the romance genre, and she was honored to receive the Romance Writers of America PRO Mentor of the Year Award in 2012. She lives in Canada with her family.
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deborahcooke.com
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Realm of Angels
A Medieval Romance Novella
Kathryn Le Veque
Author’s Note
This novella was based on the Mouse King in the story The Nutcracker and The Mouse King by E.T.A. Hoffmann in 1816. This is actually the original “Nutcracker” story, as Alexander Dumas’ story and the Tchaikovsky ballet came well after. I was very excited to do this, thinking it would be a simple thing to give the poor Mouse King a sweet backstory.
I was wrong.
Reading the original story, Hoffmann was one of those 19th century writers (like Lewis Carroll) who would drop acid and then write his tales. The original story is complicated, hard to follow, and doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s very bizarre. So, I had to stew on it for a while to see what I could come up with to give the very evil Mouse King a sympathetic story.
While wanting to remain true to the tale, I was being pulled very strongly towards the tale as a whole, not just one character, so I decided to write my story to essentially reflect the dynamic between Marie (called Clara in later tales), the Nutcracker, and the Mouse King – but with a twist. In the original tale, it’s the Nutcracker who walks away with Marie. In my story, it’s the Mouse King who gets the girl. I had to give that poor (mean) character his happily ever after.
Hoffmann aside, this novella ties into the novel I released in September 2017 entitled SHIELD OF KRONOS. Our heroine, Juliana, is a secondary character in that novel and the daughter of Val de Nerra (VESTIGES OF VALOR). In this book, she’s our sympathetic leading lady, so this novella could also be considered a very long (secondary) epilogue to SHIELD OF KRONOS, which took place about six months before. At the same time, it is also an extended epilogue to VESTIGES OF VALOR because of the glimpse into Val de Nerra’s family so many years later. Even so, this story stands entirely on its own, as all of my stories do, so I do hope you enjoy it.
Onward into the Realm of Angels!
Hugs,
Kathryn
Prologue
THE KING OF MICE
Selborne Castle
November, 1201 A.D.
He didn’t know where else to go.
It had been an onset of an early winter this year and travel from the Continent had been difficult and slow. Snows had been heavy and deep, and the level of misery was beyond normal expectations. Coupled with the way he traveled these days… in shadow, his features hidden by a mask in the shape of a mouse that he’d purchased off of a physic who used it to keep away the smell of ill and dead patients, it made for slow and sometimes dangerous movement. People would see him and fear him because of the mask, but when they saw what was under the mask… well, that was even worse.
In truth, the mask was there to hide a disfigurement from a fire he’d been caught in. The entire right side of his face had been burned, half of his hair singed off, and he had scars all on the right side of his head, face, and neck. His nose had survived, but it was red and scarred, too. The mask didn’t cover all of it, but it covered a good portion of it and what it didn’t cover, he concealed beneath a kerchief he tied over his head. What remained of his hair was tied off at the nape of his neck and trailed down his back.
It had been beautiful hair, once.
In fact, he’d been a man of comely looks, so much so that a princess had once vied for his hand. They were to be married until the accident that robbed him of the face he’d been born with. She couldn’t stand to look at him because of it. So, he’d been given a good deal of money to simply go away. It had been a terrible moment in his life, realizing that the woman he’d been slated to marry hadn’t been able to see past those scars to the man she said she’d once loved.
A man who had left everything to be with her.
Now, he was returning home in shame.
But the truth was that he didn’t want to go to the home of his father. The man had told him he’d been a fool in the first place for having run off with a woman promising him lands and wealth. So he didn’t want to go back to his father’s house to admit he’d been wrong. That wouldn’t do at all. He may not have had much pride left, but there was something left. Remnants, in fact.
And that
was why he’d come to Selborne.
She was at Selborne.
He could still see her face. Eyes like emeralds, lips like rubies. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, someone he’d adored and someone who adored him in return. But he’d stepped on that adoration and ground it under his heel, turning it into dust when he made the choice to leave with the princess who had promised him the world. It had been a superficial decision at best and one that had cost him everything.
Now, he found himself back at the home of the woman who had adored him since childhood.
He had to go somewhere, so he came back to Selborne. The massive bastion in Hampshire, home of the de Nerra family, home to people he’d known all of his life and had loved all of his life. His father had served Sir Val de Nerra when he’d been very young, and he had nothing but fond memories of his childhood at Selborne.
But that was all he had now – only fond memories. It had been almost four years since he last saw Juliana de Nerra, Val’s daughter and the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d wanted to marry her until the promises from the princess had turned his foolish head. But the betrothal to the princess hadn’t been his idea; it had been thrust upon him with the promise of massive wealth and titles, and he’d been blinded by it. He’d never had feelings for the princess, not ever. But he’d chosen her and her wealth over the woman he adored, and now he had nothing. Nothing but memories.
Returning to Selborne was like returning to the scene of the crime.
Juliana was here. He’d come back to Selborne because she was here, because he wanted to be near her even though he knew she didn’t want to see him. After what he’d done, he didn’t blame her. But still, he wanted to be close to her, if only to catch a glimpse of her now and again. It was the only place he wanted to be.
The only place he could go.
He was a knight, and a very good one, but he did not seek service from Val. In fact, he didn’t want Val to even know he was there. He didn’t want anyone to know he was there. With the damage to his face and neck, it would take a sharp-eyed man to recognize him, but he couldn’t take any chances. He sought work in the kitchens or in the stables, and he was put in the butchery. He killed and processed animals for the de Nerra family table.
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 9