All Things Merry & Bright
Kathryn Le Veque, Tanya Anne Crosby, Erica Ridley, Eliza Knight, Suzan Tisdale, Barbara Devlin, Glynnis Campbell
Copyright © 2018 by Kathryn Le Veque, Tanya Anne Crosby, Erica Ridley, Eliza Knight, Suzan Tisdale, Barbara Devlin, Glynnis Campbell
Kindle Edition
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Contents
A de Russe Christmas Miracle
Kathryn Le Veque
The Holly and the Ivy
Tanya Anne Crosby
A Dukes of War Christmas
Erica Ridley
A Very Special Gift
Eliza Knight
Mariote’s Christmas Wish
Suzan Tisdale
A Very Brethren Christmas
Barbara Devlin
A Rivenloch Christmas
Glynnis Campbell
A de Russe Christmas Miracle
A Medieval Short Story
Kathryn Le Veque
The de Russe Legacy:
The Falls of Erith
Lord of War: Black Angel
The Iron Knight
Beast
The Dark One: Dark Knight
The White Lord of Wellesbourne
Dark Moon
Dark Steel
Author’s Note
I have such fun writing these little holiday stories! It’s so much fun to bring together some of my favorite families, seeing them all in one place, interacting. This particular tale is meant as an extended epilogue to DARK MOON and DARK STEEL, set in the year following Dane and Grier’s story in DARK STEEL. You don’t have to read those two stories to know what’s going on, but it would help orient the reader.
Much like “A Joyous de Wolfe Christmas”, this story is meant as a focus on one particularly thing – in this case, the illness of Gaston de Russe (THE DARK ONE: DARK KNIGHT). Gaston’s illness was introduced in DARK MOON, and elaborated on in DARK STEEL, so now we have it as the focus of the story. As much as I hate to see my heroes and heroines get old, the truth is that they do, and especially if I’m writing about the children and grandchildren of original heroes and heroines. That’s a fact of life. But I promise I will never actually write their death scenes – that’s something I can’t bring myself to do.
Something fun to note – there is another Father de Tormo in this tale, the younger brother of Father de Tormo from THE DARK ONE: DARK KNIGHT. Interestingly enough, I never gave the original Father a first name in the book – and I had to go back into my VERY old notes to find it. So, the Father de Tormo in this tale is a brother, and it was fun to bring the de Tormo name back into a de Russe story.
I don’t normally write religious-themed stories, and I don’t consider this one, but I do consider it a story of faith. Faith in love, faith in family, and faith in a higher power. It brings about the question – are there miracles? Or can everything be scientifically explained away? That’s something Dane and Trenton and Remington have to figure out for themselves.
You be the judge.
Love,
Part One:
A Bright and Shining Star
Wiltshire
December, Year of Our Lord 1520
It was bright enough, with a winter-white landscape spread out before them like the frosting on a sweetcake. White as far as the eye could see, but in the sky above, the blue was the most vibrant of blues. It was the holiday season, and Dane de Russe, Duke of Shrewsbury, and his lady wife, Grier, were traveling south to Deverill Castle to celebrate the season with Dane’s family.
The seat of the Duke of Warminster, Gaston de Russe, was a vast complex of buildings, men, and animals, and even now, Dane knew it was stuffed to the gills with his brothers, sisters, and their families. All told, there were more than two dozen of them, as he’d been trying to tell his wife on the ride south.
Grier was bundled up against the cold, wrapped heavily in furs and wool, and her beautiful face was pinched red from the cold. But she was radiant, happier than Dane had ever seen her. She had been talking up a storm for most of the trip, too, which had taken seven days so far because Dane had wanted to take it slow. He didn’t want his pregnant wife jostled around, but Grier was made of iron. Nothing bothered her, and she didn’t care if the road was muddy or icy and they were forced to take a precious hour to go around it.
She was joy personified.
“Tell me again,” she said, her head sticking out of the heavy carriage she was riding in as Dane rode alongside on his big-boned rouncey. “Your eldest sisters and their families?”
Dane signed heavily, an exaggerated gesture. “Again?”
“Again.”
“But I told you not two hours ago,” he pointed out. “I swear, you do not remember anything I tell you these days.”
She grinned and sat back in the cab, her hand on her belly. At six months along, she was healthy and rosy. “This child sucks all of the thoughts straight out of my head,” she said. “I cannot remember anything that anyone has told me, so do not feel as if you are special in that regard.”
He cocked a droll eyebrow at her. “One more time,” he said. “If you do not remember this time, then I shall not tell you again and you can fumble your way through your first conversation with my family and look like an idiot. Everyone will say what a beautiful dolt I have married.”
She giggled. “I will remember. Go on.”
He growled again, which just made her giggle more. “My brother, Trenton, is married to Lysabel Wellesbourne,” he said. “You already know that.”
“I do.”
“You know that Lysabel has two daughters from her first marriage, and she gave birth to my brother’s firstborn son during the summer.”
“Aye, I remember. His name is Rafael.”
“Correct,” Dane said. “My sisters, Adeliza and Arica, are twins, and Adeliza is married to Gaspard de Ryes, a knight in the service of King Henry. I cannot imagine Gaspard will be at Deverill, as Henry keeps him quite busy, but Adeliza will be present, no doubt. They have six girls – do you remember their names?”
Grier thought very hard. “Madalene, Marguerite, Remy, Cassandra, Nynette, and Rosemarie?”
He grunted. “You can remember the children’s names, but nothing else?”
“That is because I have my own child to name. A name means something.”
Dane fought off a grin as he looked away. “His name will be Dane,” he said. “There is nothing to discuss.”
She simply lifted her eyebrows. “I like the name Brandt,” she said. “You said that all of the men in the de Russe family have the same name – Brandt, Hugh, Braxton, Gaston, Trenton, and so forth. And I like Brandt.”
“We shall see who wins this battle.”
“Aye, we sh
all see.”
He turned to look at her, thinking to give her a threatening glare, but she stuck her tongue out at him and he started laughing. “Saucy wench,” he said, sounding resigned. “Shall I continue? Arica is married to Sir Damien Delamere, a knight with the House of de Lohr. I am not certain he will be here, either, but it is possible. They have three boys and two girls. Don’t tell me you remember their names.”
Grier nodded firmly. “Bryant, Etienne, Henry, Elise, and Nicola.”
“Very good. Cort has no children, nor do Boden, Gage, and Gilliana, but my brother, Matthieu, does. He has four sons.”
She hung her head from the carriage again. “I know,” she said. “Braxton, Hugh, Gaston, and Lucien.”
“But remember that his wife died two years ago, so unless he brings it up, do not speak of it.”
“I will not, I promise.”
Dane’s eyes glimmered at her. “You know everyone who will be there,” he said. “Although I have a feeling Uncle Matthew and Aunt Alix will be there as well, and if they bring their brood, then it will be a crowd like you have never seen before.”
Grier watched as the warmth faded from his features, replaced by the same concern and grief that seemed to fill his expression whenever the subject of his father came up. The man was sick, and had been for some time, with a cancer in his throat. At least, that’s what the physics said. But Gaston was a strong man; stronger than most. Cancer or no cancer, he refused to let it slow him down. But over the past year, no matter how hard he’d tried, it was evident that he was slowing down a great deal.
But his sons, like Dane, simply couldn’t take it.
The strongest man they knew was fading.
“Do you think it will be too much for your father?” she asked quietly. “Surely all of those people will overtax him.”
Dane shook his head before she even finished. “It is the best medicine in the world for him, being surrounded by those he loves,” he said. He looked to his wife as she sat in the cab, her hand on her belly. “And we’ve not told him about this child. It will be the best Christmas gift that we can give him.”
Grier smiled timidly. “I hope so,” she said. “I worry that it will be too exhausting for so many people to be at Deverill.”
Dane sighed faintly, his gaze moving over the winter-white landscape. “No one wants to miss this Christmas,” he said. “It may be the very last one my father ever has. I, for one, wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Grier could hear the pain in his voice. “And we shall not,” she said confidently. “I am very much looking forward to telling your father of our Christmas present to him. But most importantly, he must be here when it is opened. I should like for him to be one of the first ones to hold your son.”
Dane smiled bravely at her, but the tears were there at the thought of his father holding his grandson for the first time. It was like an arrow to his heart, so bittersweet he could barely stand it.
“As would I,” he said hoarsely.
Grier reached a hand out to him from the cab window and he took it, bending over to kiss it sweetly before letting it go. The feeling, for Dane’s father, was mutual between them.
After that, the conversation fell silent for the most part as they neared the town of Warminster. Deverill Castle was to the south of the town, but not very far away. The day was waning and dusk was approaching, but Dane was certain they would make it by nightfall, if not just before.
Thankfully, the sky had remained clear in spite of the snow and cold temperatures, but the travel hadn’t been uncomfortable in the least, which was a good thing. It could have been a blizzard and Dane still would have fought to make it home this time.
One last Christmas with his father.
The sky was darkening as they entered the northern outskirts of Warminster. The land was relatively flat here but for a few hills now and again, rising out of the greenery like silent sentinels. To the east, a few clouds were starting to show and the further they traveled, the more the clouds seemed to gather. They hadn’t quite moved in their direction yet, but Dane suspected they soon would. Still, they would be at Deverill Castle and the weather gods could bring all the snow they wanted to at that point. A white Christmas was a beautiful thing to see.
Entering the town proper, the smell of smoke from cooking fires wafted in the air. There were a few homes on the outskirts, all of them preparing for the coming night. As the party continued on, a church rose up on the bend of the road, a stone structure with moss growing on the walls. A churchyard spread out around it, with the tips of gravestones sticking up through the snow.
“Dane?”
Grier was calling him from the cab and Dane reined his horse around, trotting back to the carriage where she had her head out of the window again. She was smiling.
“Warminster, I presume?” she asked.
He nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “Deverill Castle is less than an hour away now. We are very close.”
Grier nodded as she looked around, her rosy face the only thing visible beneath the fur hood she wore. “It does not look like a very big town,” she said. “Not as big as Shrewsbury.”
Dane was looking around, too. “We are on the very northern edge,” he told her. “It becomes much bigger the further south we go.”
From the window on the opposite side of the cab, Grier had caught sight of the church and she moved across the bench, sticking her head out so she could view the church in full.
“What church is that?” she asked.
Dane came to the other side of the carriage. “That is St. Denys,” he said. “In fact, my younger siblings were all baptized there. Deverill Castle does not have its own chapel, so this is where the family conducts its religious business. My mother and father, though not particularly religious people, are nonetheless great patrons of the church. Since my father is the duke, it is expected.”
Grier’s gaze was still on the mossy-stoned building. “It looks as if it is very old.”
“It is.” Dane took a second look at the building. “In fact, I should stop in to see the priest. He is a good friend of my father’s, a brother of a priest who was a dear friend to both my mother and father many years ago. His name is de Tormo.”
Grier looked at him. “De Tormo,” she repeated. “Where have I heard that name?”
He grinned. “From me,” he said. “That was the priest who helped my mother and father get church approval to wed. You remember the story; my mother was married to the man whose blood I carry, Guy Stoneley, and my father was in love with her. It was Father de Tormo, who had been a papal envoy at the time, who helped my mother and father finally marry. Because my parents owed the man so much, they gave his younger brother this parish with their rich patronage. He has been here for at least twenty years.”
Grier smiled at him. “Then go in and see him,” she said. “I shall wait for you here.”
“You do not wish to go in with me?”
She shook her head. “I have so many furs on me that I could not possibly get out of this cab,” she said, watching him laugh. “I am warm and content. Go in and see the priest. I shall wait for you here.”
He nodded as he dismounted his steed. “I shall only be a minute.”
Grier watched her handsome husband, deeply in love with the man from the top of his cropped blond head to the bottom of his booted feet.
As the heiress to the duchy of Shrewsbury, she’d been an oblate pledged to St. Idloe’s Abbey last year when she had received word that her deceased father had pledged her to a powerful young warlord. It hadn’t been the life Grier had wanted, nor had it been the life Dane had wanted, but the two of them married out of obligation. After a rather rocky start, they were happier now than they’d ever been, and Grier knew how important this trip home was for Dane. She also knew that there were, perhaps, some things he’d rather do alone, like visit a church where his father was a patron and, perhaps, say a prayer for the man’s health.
If he needed her, he woul
d let her know.
So, she sat back in the cab, blowing a kiss to her husband as he winked at her before making his way through the snow and into the church. Dane had brought a big escort with him from Shrewsbury, so he didn’t worry for his wife’s safety as he trudged through the snow, through a path that had been cleared by the acolytes. Tomorrow was Christmas, after all, and tonight, the faithful would be coming for Christmas Eve mass.
But Dane had a very special reason for visiting the church on this eve.
There was something he had to do.
Pushing open the doors of the church, Dane was met with the strong smell of rushes, as pine boughs lined the walls and floor on the perimeter of the church. Passing through the nave, he entered the chapel proper, with its dirt floors and tall windows inlaid with precious colored glass.
He remembered the church from his youth, and from the years he’d spent as his father’s captain of the army, and the place held fond memories for him. He was on the hunt for Father de Tormo, seeing acolytes further forward in the quire, but not seeing the priest. He was heading for the acolytes, preparing for Christmas Eve mass, when a round figure in heavy robes came in through the door that led outside to the small cloister. Dane immediately recognized the man he sought.
He was in for a rather enthusiastic greeting.
Ferdinand de Tormo was a man on a mission. He’d seen the Shrewsbury escort outside the church and was hoping that he might catch sight of the new duke. He’d heard all about the man from his father and mother, and he was quite excited that the stalwart young knight who had so ably commanded Warminster’s armies was now a duke in his own right. He came flying in through the door, as fast as his legs would carry him, rushing right at Dane.
“My lord!” he said, gasping for air because he was quite heavy. “You have returned! God be praised!”
Dane had to grin at the round priest as the man shuffled in his direction. He caught a distinct whiff of foul body odor as the man drew near, and even tried to step away, but the priest wouldn’t hear of it. It wasn’t exactly protocol to hug a duke, but Father de Tormo did just that. He hugged Dane so hard that the man grunted.
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