“I am so ashamed,” he muttered. “I was young. I was a fool. I cannot defend myself for thinking the lands and title promised to me by a princess were worth more than you.”
Her hands were moving over his scarred cheek, the eyelid that was damaged. She was having difficulty believing what she was seeing but, in the same breath, she always knew this moment would come. Somehow, someway, she knew that Rhogan would return to her. It was just a feeling she had.
I will always wait for you.
“It makes so much sense to me now,” she said. “The conversation you and I had in the kitchen yard, I mean. You spoke of the cruelty of the world and you thanked me for being kind to you. I felt such emotion from you then, Rhogan, and I wondered why. Now, I know. But you could have easily revealed yourself to me then. Why didn’t you?”
He sighed faintly, thinking on her question. “I told you I never intended to tell you at all,” he said. “I still never intended to, but when I saw Aland take you from the hall tonight… I knew I could not let you fall victim to whatever he was planning. I had to save you.”
“How quaint,” Aland was sitting up a few feet away, nursing his injured arm. “You should have never returned, Rhogan. You should have stayed well away with the life you chose. Now look at you. Do you really think Juliana is going to want you now that she has seen what you have become?”
Juliana and Rhogan turned to him. “I do not expect anything from her,” Rhogan said, his tone hard. “But you, on the other hand, expect too much. Mayhap I look like a beast, but inside, you are one.”
“Juliana? I heard the screams, sweetheart. What is happening?”
Val was suddenly in the servant’s doorway from the hall, his handsome face lined with concern. Gabriel and Cullen were crowding up behind them, both of them armed as they pushed into the garden with their father. But Juliana threw up her hands to prevent her brothers from charging.
“Aland tried to force me away from the hall by sticking a dagger into my side,” she said, showing her father the torn, bloodied hole in her dress. “But, look, Papa. Rhogan has saved me. He has been here all the time!”
Val and his sons both looked at Rhogan, shocked by what they were seeing. It didn’t make any sense to them that this dirty, scarred creature was Rhogan de Garr, but Val took a few steps in the man’s direction to see for himself. He, too, was struck with disbelief.
“Rhogan?” he said, astonished. “Is it really you, lad?”
Facing Juliana was one thing. Facing her father was entirely another. Rhogan was feeling terribly self-conscious, and guilty, as Val scrutinized him.
“Aye, my lord,” he said. “It is.”
Val was genuinely shocked. He looked at his daughter, who was nodding her head as if to confirm the truth. Before Val could question Rhogan further, Juliana pointed to Aland, still on the ground.
“Papa, he threatened to hurt me if I did not comply with his wishes,” she said. “You can see what he did to my dress. Had Rhogan not been here, there is no knowing what he would have done. I do not ever want to see Aland again. Please, Papa.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Val motioned to his sons, who immediately swooped on Aland and yanked him to his feet. With his broken wrist, Aland yelped in pain as the de Nerra brothers hauled him away to face their good justice.
Truthfully, Val didn’t give Aland de Ferrers a second thought after that because he was far more interested in the fortuitous appearance of Rhogan de Garr. He still couldn’t believe it. As Juliana looped her hands through one of Rhogan’s big arms and pulled him away with her, speaking softly to him, Val felt someone come up behind him. He turned to see his wife, her features a mask of shock.
“I heard what was said,” she murmured. “I heard the screams, too, and came up behind you just as I heard you speak with Rhogan. So… the ghost has returned.”
Val lifted his eyebrows. “He has,” he said. “I do not know how he came here, but he is here just the same. And he saved Juliana from Aland’s ill intentions.”
Vesper was suffering the same strains of disbelief as her husband. Slowly, she shook her head.
“Astonishing,” she murmured, inspecting the hulking figure of Rhogan de Garr. “But he looks as if he has met with some terrible times. The man looks as if he has been living with the animals.”
Val noticed that, too. Dressed in rags and with a heavy beard, Rhogan looked like an animal himself. “I did not tell you what Aland told me earlier today,” he said. “He said Rhogan had met with a terrible accident and was cast aside by his princess. No one seemed to know where he had gone, but here he is. Do you suppose that is why he has come back? Because of such ill fortune?”
Vesper was watching the pair in the distance, difficult to see clearly beneath the dim light of the moon. But she and her husband could see very clearly when Juliana lifted Rhogan’s head and kissed the man. It took very little for Rhogan to wrap his big arms around her, holding her tightly.
As the winter sky glittered above, there was nothing but warmth and adoration in that little garden. It seemed to blanket everything around them, like the dusting of snow that glittered so delicately.
“I do not think that is why he came back,” Vesper murmured after a moment. “I think he came back because he loved Juliana.”
Val wasn’t sure how comfortable he was watching his daughter kiss a man but, upon reflection, he supposed that it was right and good that she did so. This was the man she had been waiting for all her life.
“And she loves him,” he said quietly. “She would not give him up, not even the memory of him. Mayhap she knew something we did not.”
Vesper smiled faintly as she watched the pair. “What they have is not an ordinary love,” she said. “It is a love that you and I share, something that goes beyond mere mortality. Look at them, Val. They exist in the realm of angels where there are no imperfections between them, where forgiveness is as natural as breathing. I do not think I have ever been prouder of my daughter than I am right now. She does not see the beaten and scarred exterior; she only sees the man she loves.”
Watching Juliana hug the dirty, beaten man before her, Val had to admit that his wife was correct. This was no ordinary romance. Juliana had never lost the love she held for the man so perhaps, in that sense, they truly did exist in the realm of angels, for only the angels would have brought Rhogan back to her. And only an angel on earth would have accepted him as he was, scars and all.
Val and Vesper were willing to believe a Christmas miracle had occurred that night. Leaving Juliana and Rhogan in the garden, they returned to the hall, knowing that all was right in the world again.
The king of their daughter’s heart had finally returned, for good.
The End
About Kathryn Le Veque
Medieval Just Got Real.
KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, an Amazon All-Star author, and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval Historical Romance and Historical Fiction. She has been featured in the NEW YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY’s HEA blog. In March 2015, Kathryn was the featured cover story for the March issue of InD’Tale Magazine, the premier Indie author magazine. She was also a quadruple nominee (a record!) for the prestigious RONE awards for 2015.
Kathryn’s Medieval Romance novels have been called ‘detailed’, ‘highly romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles, passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for both women AND men – an unusual crossover for a romance author – and Kathryn has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective, the action, and the adventure.
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Once Upon a Christmas Knight
Barbara Devlin
Prologue
London
April, 1813
Scandal manifested a great equalizer, as neither man nor woman and neither king nor peasant escaped the accompanying derision, censure, and isolation. For some the ensuing loneliness presented a hellish torture, unbearable in its relentless assault. For others, for those who welcomed shelter from the glare of the social spotlight, disgrace offered sanctuary.
It was in the quiet confines of the shadows that Percival Henry Forester Howe, beloved cousin of Barrington Howe, the Marquess of Ravenwood, found safe harbor from the usual harried pursuits of The Season, which he always disdained. Owing to his estimable lineage, he had no choice but to endure the gross opulence that characterized the ton, but things had changed since last year.
After a night out, Barrington returned to find a murdered maid in his bed, and rather than face the associated investigation, he fled a humiliating arrest and criminal charges. Of course, not for a minute did Percy believe his relation capable of committing such a heinous deed, but innocence mattered not to people who thirsted for the misery of others. In the wake of the nefarious events, the entire Howe family, including Ernest, Barrington’s younger brother, bore the resulting shame.
So, at the Netherton’s masque, he savored the anonymity provided by his medieval knight costume, as he strolled through the crush of revelers. Still, he grew restless and sought the peaceful confines of an empty study, when he detected a graceful melody coming from the rear of the grand residence.
Moving swift and sure, he tiptoed into a music room, where a lone woman, garbed as an angel, complete with gold mesh wings, played the piano. In an instant, he recognized the fluid beauty of Mozart’s signature “Andante” from Piano Concerto Twenty-one, in the hands of a skilled musician. Light and quick, her fingers caressed the ivories, and she tilted back her head and closed her eyes, as she gave herself to the elegant composition, and never had he looked upon such an ethereal vision, unmatched in its appeal. Without thought, he neared, and she flinched and halted her play when she noticed his presence.
“Who are you?” Clutching her throat, she emitted a soft sob. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, you are crying.” Given she had removed her masque, he could not miss the tears streaming her delicate cheeks, and he drew his handkerchief from his pocket, knelt at her side, and offered her the square of linen, which she accepted. “It strikes me as the height of cruelty that the most beautiful woman at the ball should hide in a back room.”
“You think me beautiful?” Margaret Hogart, known throughout the ton as the lesser twin, bit her bottom lip, and he found her inexpressibly appealing. “Not that I believe you, because no one ever sees me.” She hiccupped. “Everyone prefers Miranda, not that I am envious, because I am proud of my sister, but I wish just one person might consider me adequate and favor me with a dance.”
“I find you a vast deal more than adequate, and your talent is unparalleled and altogether surprising.” As he revisited memories of the last Hogart musicale, a painful experience nonetheless remarkable for her less than stellar performance, he chuckled. “Why do you pretend to be something other than what you are, my dear, as you do us all a grave injustice?”
“Because I detest those musicales, but my mother insists I participate.” With a frown, she lowered her chin and slumped her shoulders. “And Miranda can neither sing nor play an instrument, thus I would not embarrass her.”
“So you temper your abilities to avoid outshining your sister, in your forte, but she does not do the same for you, in the ballrooms, where she reigns.” He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear and caressed the gentle curve of her jaw. “You are as stunning on the inside as you are on the outside.”
To his surprise, she leaned forward, and he could not resist the implied invitation. With care, so as not to frighten her, he touched his mouth to hers, and she whimpered, and hers was the sweetest flesh he ever sampled.
“Oh.” Just as fast, she withdrew and stiffened her spine. “I should apologize, but I would not lie, as I could never regret my first kiss, and I am in your debt, kind knight.”
“Trust me, the debt is mine.” Given their location, he realized he risked her reputation, and she was far too young to be thus tainted, so he stood. “If you return to the celebration, I would be honored to claim a dance.”
“Of course, I would love to partner you. Will you take off your masque, that I might gaze upon your face?” Clutching his handkerchief to her bosom, she rose from the bench, and he would have given anything to exist as that simple scrap of material, in that moment. “And I would know to whom I am beholden, as you know me.”
“You should wait here, until I have rejoined the festivities.” Ignoring her entreaties, he retreated toward the door. If only he were not mired in controversy, he would offer for her. But he could not, in good conscience, entangle her in the tempest that was his life, given he knew not when or if his cousin would return to London and settle his dispute with the authorities, once and for all. “Later, I shall seek you out, perhaps, for a waltz.”
“I look forward to it, kind sir.” Then she stepped in his direction. “Wait—I do not know your name. What should I call you?”
There were so many responses, suggestions he might give her, were he not hindered by the actions of another. Yet, he could not leave her wanting, when she already yearned for something more, which he was in no position to offer.
“At present, I should count myself most fortunate, if you considered me a friend.” As Percy crossed the threshold, an idea occurred to him, and he glanced over his shoulder and winked. “And should you beckon, I would answer to Prince Charming.”
Chapter One
London
December, 1819
Fear and ignorance manifested an impressive shield against the cruelties of the world, as the tortured soul never ventured to take a chance on life or love. Alone and willing to let fate drive his destiny, the coward had only to contrive a response, one that required little participation on his part. Yet, the inherently human characteristic of curiosity lured even the most irresolute man to gamble on a woman’s heart.
It was for that reason Percival Howe agreed to meet with the sender of a most mysterious missive, when he prepared to depart for Derbyshire, to spend the holidays with his family. Had it been any other gentleman, he would not have given the note, and its singular plea for assistance, a second glance.
The particular individual, an estimable member of the society, possessed something precious, an invaluable masterpiece Percy coveted. Yet, no one knew of his admiration, because he lacked the courage to act on his regard, but the winds of change blew in his direction.
“A Mr. Hogart to see you, sir.” Fenton, the butler, stood in the doorway to the study. “Shall I show him to the drawing room?”
“No.” Percy adjusted his cravat and tugged on the lace-edged cuff of his sleeve. “You may bring him here.”
“Yes, sir.” The manservant dipped his chin.
Rolling his shoulders, Percy walked to the window and peered at the sidewalk, as passersby, their arms overflowing with parcels, rushed in either direction. For too long he persisted on the fringe of the ton, always afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. Not so, anymore.
“Mr. Hogart.” Fenton stiffened his spine.
“Thank you, Fenton.” With an outstretched hand, Percy welcomed his guest, and they shared a vigorous shake. “Mr. Hogart, it is good to make your acquaintance, at last, given I have had
the distinct pleasure of attending your wife’s musicales. Must confess I found your missive rather intriguing.”
“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your agreeing to see me on such short notice, but I am told you are the man to help me with my particular issue, which requires discretion.” Hogart compressed his lips. “Might I sit?”
“Of course.” Percy indicated one of the matching chairs near the hearth, where a roaring blaze warmed the study. “May I offer you a brandy?”
“Indeed, as I believe I require a balm to alleviate, if it is at all possible, the shock of my sad tale.” As Hogart eased to his seat, he unbuttoned his coat. “And I am doubly grateful of your hospitality, if you have endured Beryl’s torture sessions. Really, I do not understand why she persists in such nonsense.”
“A provoking statement.” After filling two crystal balloons, Percy joined his visitor, and handed Hogart a drink. “And I would not dare cast aspersions on your wife’s events, as they have afforded me countless hours of entertainment.”
“For all the wrong reasons.” Hogart snorted. “I suppose I should thank that idiot Kleinfeld for marrying Miranda, when everyone knows she can neither sing nor play an instrument.”
“To comment further would be unkind, so I shall confine my remarks to the situation that brought you to my doorstep.” Still, Percy could barely contain his laughter, as the Hogart musicales posited the greatest longstanding joke within London’s fashionable ballrooms. “So, what can I do for you?”
“First, I beg the utmost discretion, as what I am about to reveal could ruin my reputation and destroy my family.” Hogart shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “In light of the scandal involving your mother, and the ton’s propensity to seize upon such misfortune, you can appreciate the need for secrecy.”
“Sir, whatever your trouble, you can rely on me.” Indeed, Percy knew well society’s fickle nature. In the wake of his mother’s crimes, in which she conspired with a servant to murder an innocent maid and place the blame on another family member, so that her son could inherit a marquessate that was not his to own, he had been shunned by those who once welcomed him into their homes and by others who once sought his counsel. “Whatever we discuss, you have my word it will not leave this room.”
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 17