Honoria inwardly cringed. Knowing her mother, she was now convinced that Honoria and Tristan were going to be married by Christmas.
“That conversation meant naught, Mother,” Honoria said firmly and returned the fire poker to its holder.
“Are you quite sure?”
“I am. He was only being chivalrous.”
Crossing her arms, Cornelia studied the garland around the hearth. Yesterday, when asked to help with the decorating, the younger woman had set her hand to her brow and insisted the smell of evergreens was making her feel ill and that she needed some fresh air or she might swoon, leaving Honoria to work on her own while her mother rested upstairs.
Was Cornelia now going to find a flaw in the decorations to criticize?
Doing her best not to give in to annoyance, Honoria faced her parent. “Are you feeling warmer? Shall I ask the servants to bring some mulled wine?”
“’Twould be lovely,” her mother said.
Cornelia sniffed, a disparaging sound, and gestured to the garland. “Where is the mistletoe, Honoria?”
“Mistletoe?”
The younger woman arched her eyebrows. “The greenery with white berries? The one that grows in the orchard’s apple trees?”
“I do know what it looks like. I decided not to include it in the hearth decorations.”
“We will need some to make the kissing bough.” Cornelia straightened a ribbon bow. “Surely you are not waiting until Christmas Eve to gather the mistletoe? Few folk still heed the ancient custom that says it cannot be brought inside before then.”
“We follow some of the old customs at Ellingstow, but not that one.” Her ladyship chuckled. “Honoria’s father enjoyed the fun of the kissing bough too much.”
Honoria fought a pang of regret, for she remembered her sire, his eyes sparkling with mischief, stealing kisses from her mother under the kissing bough the Christmas before he’d died. “I had intended to gather mistletoe on the morrow,” Honoria said.
“Why not today?” the younger woman asked.
“Well, because we just got home, and ’twill be getting dark soon.”
Cornelia’s attention shifted to the upstairs corridor. “Those two might be a while. We can pick it now.”
“Now? But—”
“Do not be so disagreeable. ’Twill not take us long.”
***
“You did not tell me Honoria is a beauty.”
Radley, leaning in the doorway of the guest chamber, seemed surprised. He shrugged. “She is my little sister.”
Tristan set his saddlebag on the oak-framed bed in the small but spotlessly clean room. “So? You are a man. You have eyes.”
Radley grinned. “I do, but I do not think of Sis in such a manner. She will always be the curious girl I taught how to catch grasshoppers, fish, and swim in the river before I was sent to Lincolnshire to train as a page.”
An astonished laugh broke from Tristan. “Did you really teach her those things?”
“Aye. Being two years younger than I, she looked up to me. We had many adventures together.”
Envy gnawed at Tristan as he unbuckled his bag, for Radley’s affection for Honoria was clear in his voice. Tristan had never had that kind of relationship with his siblings. As far back as he could remember, he and his brothers had always competed against one another, to see who was best at shooting arrows, or fastest at rowing across the lake, or able to woo the prettiest castle maids. His father had encouraged their ambitions, vowing his sons would grow up to be among the most renowned and honorable knights in all of England—a measure by which every other accomplishment, large or small, was measured and judged. Tristan, destined to be his sire’s heir, had been subject to especially rigorous expectations, and still was, as he’d learned during his last conversation with his father.
Mentally shoving aside stirred-up anger and regret, Tristan said, “Your sister seems too well-bred to have ever picked up grasshoppers.”
“Aye, well, she changed as she grew up, especially after our parents became good friends with the de Bretagnes. When Cornelia moved here to be a ward of my sire, Sis felt responsible for her, as if Cornelia were her younger sister.”
“I see.”
Radley shook his head. “Honoria was also Father’s favorite. When he was brought here, near dead after the ambush, she refused to leave his side. In his herbal, she found recipes for poultices and ointments that she showed to the healer, and together, they worked day and night to try and save him. Honoria was determined that he was going to live. When he died, ’twas as if something inside her shattered. She was devastated.”
Tristan’s gaze dropped to the bed. He knew all too well the anguish of losing a beloved parent. “I am sorry about your sire.”
“I strive every day to rule Ellingstow as well as he did.” Radley’s expression turned thoughtful. “I know your relationship with your brothers is strained after what happened with Odelia. But, if friendship is what all of you want…?”
“Mayhap.” Tristan reached into his bag for clean garments and set them on the coverlet. “Such matters can wait until after the holidays.” By then his sire’s anger might have cooled somewhat. “Right now, I want to make merry and enjoy the season to the fullest.”
“An excellent plan. Yet, tell me, why are you so interested in Honoria? Do you wish to court her? I thought you had sworn off relationships.”
“True, I—”
“Knowing you, you are more interested in Cornelia.”
He was certainly not tempted by the younger lady.
Before Tristan could answer, Radley stepped inside the chamber and shut the door. Crossing to the bed, he said quietly, “I might as well tell you now. I was going to tell you anyway.”
Radley sounded terribly grave. “Please do not say you have suddenly decided to forsake all earthly pleasures, including excessive drinking and rowdy singing.”
“I am not going to do that,” Radley said, laughing.
“Thank God.”
“’Tis an unfortunate circumstance I must reveal to you. However, I trust ’twill make Cornelia’s brazenness a little more understandable.”
Tristan was well-experienced with the fairer sex and knew what a woman wanted when she flirted with him. Yet, Cornelia was a gently-raised young lady. She’d surely been taught that bold flirtation wasn’t appropriate for a woman of her refined lineage.
Did she act the way she did out of defiance, then?
“It happened about two years ago,” Radley said.
It happened. An event, then. Some kind of tragedy?
“Cornelia, her mother, and older brother were traveling to a town several leagues away when a bad storm hit. The road became slick with rainwater and mud and their carriage capsized. It rolled down a slope and hit trees.”
“God’s blood,” Tristan murmured. “Was anyone hurt?”
“The carriage driver survived, but not the guards. Cornelia’s mother and sibling also perished. Cornelia hit her head in the accident and was rendered unconscious. While she recovered well enough, apart from a mark on her cheek, she has never quite been the same. The accident…changed her.”
“How tragic,” Tristan said. “Poor girl.”
“While her scar is hardly noticeable to others, Cornelia frets about it constantly. She fears it makes her less appealing to suitors. Hence, her boldness.”
Tristan shook his head. The young woman had no reason to worry. “She is young, pretty, and her sire is rich. She will not have trouble finding a husband.”
“As I have told her. Her father has said such as well.” Radley sighed. “His lordship, of course, suffers guilt over what happened to his wife and heir. Cornelia is the only family he has left, which explains why he has spoiled her.”
“Spoiled?” Tristan said dryly. “I had not noticed.”
Radley chuckled, before he again sobered. “His lordship finally acknowledged he needed help with Cornelia, and my father agreed she could live here as his ward. They b
oth believed that Honoria would be a good influence on her.”
“’Tis a lot of responsibility to place upon your sister.”
“Aye, especially when Father died unexpectedly. Yet, I vow his death helped her form a strong bond with Cornelia; they share the pain of loss. Because of that bond, Sis tolerates Cornelia, even when she is mean.”
Radley’s sister was beginning to sound worthy of sainthood.
“Keep in mind what I have told you when dealing with Cornelia, all right?” Radley asked.
“I will.”
“You are also not to repeat one word of what I said.”
“I swear, as a knight of honor, I would never betray your confidence.”
“Good.” Radley strode to the doorway. “When you are ready, knock on my chamber door, and we will go down to the great hall together.”
Chapter Four
Standing on the leaf-strewn ground beside Cornelia, Honoria peered up at the steward at the top of the ladder, a basket slung over his left arm. She would have loved to gather the mistletoe from the apple tree herself, but Sydney, who had served their family for over thirty years, had insisted he be the one to climb the ladder, for he’d never forgive himself if his lord’s sister fell and broke an arm or leg days before Christmas.
“Can you cut that bunch to the right?” she called to him.
Sydney pointed with his dagger to a cluster of white berries. “This one, milady?”
Cornelia hugged herself as the cold breeze whistled through the orchard. “How long is he going to take?” she muttered.
“Hush,” Honoria answered. ’Twas shameful how rude Cornelia could be. “You were the one who insisted we pick mistletoe today.” As the steward pointed to another bunch, seeking her approval, she said, “Closer to the fork in the branch…. Aye, there.”
Leaning sideways, Sydney angled the knife.
The ladder wobbled. Honoria clutched it with both hands. She certainly didn’t want Sydney to tumble to the ground. He’d be hurt, with so many tree roots having pushed up through the soil.
The steward didn’t seem worried, though. With a leafy rustle, the cutting dropped down onto the branch near his waist, and he gathered several more bunches before putting them into the basket.
They would need plenty of mistletoe if they were to honor the tradition of plucking a berry from the kissing bough each time a kiss was stolen under it. No woman wanted to find herself under the kissing bough without a berry to be picked. She also mustn’t refuse a kiss under the bough; if she did, according to lore, she wouldn’t marry within the next year.
A tremor wove through Honoria, for what if Tristan happened to catch her under the kissing bough? She’d have to kiss him, a thoroughly exciting but daunting prospect.
“We must have plenty of mistletoe by now,” Cornelia said, as the breeze gusted again.
“Aye.” Honoria motioned for Sydney to come down.
“Look,” the younger woman shrilled, “’Tis Radley and Tristan.”
Honoria caught sight of the men walking toward them and sucked in a fortifying breath. She was not going to let Tristan unsettle her again. She was a grown woman, after all, not a young girl prone to infatuation.
Sydney stepped down from the ladder and handed her the filled basket, just as the men approached.
“Milords.” The steward bowed.
“Good afternoon, Sydney,” Radley said.
“What are you two doing in the garden?” Cornelia asked with a coy grin. “Did you miss us? Or did you want to get your hands on some mistletoe so you can kiss us witless?”
Honoria choked down a mortified groan. Did Cornelia ever think before she spoke?
Tristan’s gaze sharpened, but Radley didn’t seem bothered by the younger woman’s questions. “Mother told us you were gathering mistletoe. We thought we would come and help, since I need to speak with Sydney anyway.”
Honoria shivered as the wind gusted again.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked her. “Would you like my cloak?”
What would it be like to slip on the garment warmed by his body? The wool would smell of the outdoors, leather, soap, and…him. She’d be enveloped in his essence, as if he’d wrapped his strong arms around her.
The skin across her bosom suddenly felt tight and hot, sensations she hadn’t experienced before and must ponder once she was alone in her room. “I-I am heading inside shortly, but thank you for the offer.”
“My pleasure.”
Cornelia brushed up against him like a cat seeking attention. “I am cold, too.”
“I am sure you are,” he said with a wry grin.
Tristan reached to unfasten his cloak pin, and Honoria tightened her grip on the basket. She was not going to stay to witness Cornelia’s antics. “Thank you for your help, Sydney. I am going to return to the keep.” To the others, she said, “I will see you inside.”
She walked away, leaves crunching under her boots.
Radley’s voice followed her. “Cornelia, Tristan must keep his cloak, or he will catch a chill and be ill for Christmas.”
“But—”
“Please go with Honoria. As soon as I have spoken with Sydney, Tristan and I will come inside.”
Honoria reached the stone path leading to the garden gate, just as Cornelia caught up with her. The younger woman’s face glowed. “Was that not most kind of Tristan to offer us his cloak?”
“Aye.” He was only being gallant; surely Cornelia understood that.
The younger woman sighed happily. “Now that we have mistletoe, we can ensure we get plenty of kisses from him.”
Honoria’s gaze strayed to the greenery, rustling slightly in the basket as she walked. What was she going to do if Tristan drew her under the kissing bough, picked a berry, and wanted a kiss? Not a quick one on the cheek, as she was accustomed to giving, but one on the lips? What would she do then?
She’d never kissed a man on the mouth and had no idea what to do. Was the pressing together of lips gentle and tender, or hard and impassioned? What if she decided on a gentle kiss and Tristan expected more? What if she unintentionally offended him? Her innards clenched with dread, for if he kissed her, he’d know right away that she was inexperienced.
Could she practice kissing, so she’d be prepared? She had cloth dolls of a knight and a lady in her linen chest that she’d played with as a child.
Nay. She was not kissing a toy. Instead, she’d consult the book of romantic tales. Knights and ladies kissed in the stories; while she couldn’t remember reading much detail about those kisses, she’d investigate as soon as she could.
Reaching the gate, she lifted the latch and she and Cornelia stepped through. The gate shut behind them with a click. “I cannot wait to kiss Tristan,” the younger woman said. “He will make the perfect husband.”
A surprised laugh broke from Honoria. “You hardly know him.”
“He is a close friend of Radley’s. That says a lot about Tristan’s character.”
“True, but—”
“We must make the kissing bough tonight.” Cornelia’s smile turned sly. “The sooner I kiss Tristan, the sooner he and I will be wed.”
***
“You wanted to see me, Sydney?”
At Radley’s question, Tristan tore his gaze from Honoria. She moved with such elegance, ’twas a pleasure to watch her. Yet, he didn’t want to be caught ogling.
“Did the sheriff send some news of the investigation into my father’s killing?” Radley asked.
“Nay, milord,” the steward said. “Regrettably not.”
Radley exhaled a harsh breath. “One day soon, I hope the sheriff will tell me that the attackers have been identified and arrested.”
An intense pang of sympathy wove through Tristan. He couldn’t imagine losing a parent the way Radley had.
“I wish for their capture too, milord,” Sydney said. “Your sire was a fine man who did not deserve to die in such a ruthless manner. What I wanted to discuss, however, was
what happened not long ago in the bailey. The captain of the guard will likely speak to you about it, but I felt you should be alerted as soon as possible.”
Radley frowned. “Go on.”
“Three men arrived on horseback. They were not tenants bringing rents. Two of them rode into the bailey, while the third did not cross the drawbridge, but waited a fair distance away. When guards questioned the two riders, they claimed to be travelers, going to visit friends for Christmas. They wanted directions to the next town, saying they had taken a wrong turn.”
“You did not believe them?”
Brushing a mistletoe leaf from his cloak sleeve, Sydney said, “Few folk get lost in this area. Also, they lingered, as though assessing the castle’s defenses.”
Misgiving rippled through Tristan. “Did you get a good look at these travelers?”
“I did not, milord. I was assisting a farmer who had brought his rents, so I did not speak to the riders myself. I do recall that they wore hooded cloaks that shielded their faces, but that is common at this time of year.” Sydney shook his head. “I may be suspicious for no good reason—”
“But your instincts are usually sound,” Radley cut in. “There is much discontent in England right now. Honorable men are being corrupted by promises of wealth and power if they will rebel against King John and the lords who support him. We must be alert to any potential threats to this keep.”
“I agree,” Sydney said. “’Tis why I wanted you to be aware of the incident, especially after what happened to your sire.”
“Tell the guards who questioned the travelers that I wish to speak to them.”
“Aye, milord.” Sydney bowed and then folded up the ladder and carried it away.
“I wonder who those men were,” Radley murmured as they started toward the keep.
“As do I.” Tristan’s foreboding burrowed deeper. His gut instincts were telling him that the rider who had stayed back from the fortress, the one unwilling to risk being recognized, was the man with the scarred face.
Chapter Five
“Your sister is fascinated by that book,” Tristan said, sipping his wine. Honoria was sitting by the fire, poring over a tome propped up in her lap—a different one than she’d purchased at the market. The wolfhound named Willow lay asleep at her feet. Several more tomes rested on the oak table beside Honoria.
One Knight's Kiss: A Medieval Romance Novella Page 3