Suddenly an idea came to Sir Wilfrid, based in no small part upon a very memorable incident in the courting of his own beloved wife.
That Myles Buxton would have no scruples about waiting for the wedding night was not at all surprising. But that Giselle would ever consider—
Sir Wilfrid felt the most outrageous, undignified urge to laugh. She must love the fellow, and things couldn’t have turned out better if Saint Nicholas himself had lent a hand.
Sir Wilfrid coughed and struggled to maintain a dignified demeanor. “If Father Paul has no objections, I see no reason for refusing to allow you to wed today.”
“Thank you, Uncle!”
Sir Myles’s smile was a little more shrewd than Giselle’s. “Thank you, sir, for agreeing to a speedy marriage,” he said with a touch of his old arrogance, but only a touch. “I care for her very much, and I believe your niece will make a most exceptional wife.”
Sir Wilfrid rose and scratched his beard as he strolled toward the window. “I think you were both hasty in another matter.” He glanced back at them, noticing that they were now fidgeting like naughty children, and again he had to strive to keep a smile from his face.
Then he chuckled companionably. “Well, far be it from me to condemn you, for I’m sure it was all your doing, Giselle.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. “Quite frankly, I think being in love has addled your wits. If I didn’t suspect something, why else would I agree to such a swift marriage—unless I could also see that you two are truly in love with each other?”
“Sir, we—” Myles began.
“You owe me no explanation beyond what I have already surmised, Myles.” His expression grew grave, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Giselle is a very determined young lady with very determined ideas, as I have plenty of cause to know. I only hope you appreciate that, Sir Myles.”
“Sir Wilfrid, I have no doubt that she will be the perfect wife for me.”
“Just as I know Sir Myles will be the perfect husband for me,” Giselle said staunchly.
“I don’t think you quite follow me,” the older man said as he winked roguishly at Sir Myles. “I hope you know what you are letting yourself in for. I believe I shall have a grandniece or nephew before next Christmas, and another on the way.”
“Uncle!” Giselle gasped, blushing as red as the holly berries decorating the hall.
“And a good thing, too, since it will keep you both out of mischief. Now away with you. All this celebration is very tiring to a man of my years.”
Smiling happily, the young couple made their obeisance and went to the door. They paused on the threshold and turned back.
“This has been the happiest Christmas of my life,” Giselle said softly, her voice catching as she smiled tremulously at her uncle.
“And mine,” Myles echoed.
Sir Wilfrid’s eyes were suspiciously moist as he cleared his throat gruffly. “And I daresay we’ll all have a very happy New Year.”
Author Note
It isn’t surprising that the thought of Christmas brings to mind my two favorite historical time periods for settings, Medieval and Victorian England.
There is something so medieval about Christmas. Perhaps it’s the candles and the familiar rituals of the Christmas service, or the scent of the holly, mistletoe and pine. Maybe it’s the fire in the hearth and the sight of the welcoming lights of home beaming across the snowy ground. Or the gathering of family and friends, enjoying our own modern version of wassail.
And is there anyone who doesn’t recall the Victorian era of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol as December 25 draws near? What would our Christmases be without Ebenezer Scrooge and the Crachets, even overcommercialized as they are.
My first sale to Harlequin Historical was like receiving the best Christmas present ever. And I must confess I still feel as if I’m being given a wonderful gift every time I have the opportunity to write a new book.
But Christmas is not only about receiving presents, and, as Myles has learned in The Twelfth Day of Christmas, the best gifts come from the heart. Nothing would give me more joy than to think that you consider each of my stories as my gift to you, whatever the season.
Which brings me to Sir George de Gramercie, seen dancing so energetically at Sir Wilfrid’s feast. Sir George is the hero in my next book, A Warrior’s Bride, which will be available in December.
I’ve known the droll, elegant George for a long time. He’s appeared in several other books I’ve written, most notably, The Baron’s Quest. However, I thought it was about time he quit being a happy-go-lucky secondary character and settled down as the dutiful lord of a large estate. I also thought it would be fun to concoct a woman able to crack George’s lighthearted, self-deprecating facade, and allow the hot-blooded, bold warrior inside to escape. I hope you enjoy reading George’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
All my best for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
A WISH FOR NOEL
Deborah Simmons
Chapter One
“Christmas! Twelve days of feasting and making merry! Tell me more of this keep of yours, Benedick. Mayhap I will find a pretty maid there to help me celebrate!”
Benedick Villiers eyed his squire askance. Alard had recently replaced the more circumspect Wystan, who had been killed in a skirmish, and he seemed much more a boy than his predecessor. They were all getting younger, Benedick thought grimly, while he felt old beyond his years.
Twenty-six now, he had been fighting for a full decade, hiring himself out as a knight to battle. This last had been little more than a border dispute, yet he had been captured and imprisoned for more than a month before he was ransomed. The dungeon had not been the worst Benedick had seen, but his stay there had sapped his energy. Glancing at his young squire, he longed for some of the boy’s enthusiasm, even as he mocked it.
He had never been that cheerful.
“Do not get your hopes too high, pup,” Benedick felt compelled to warn the grinning youth. “Longstone Keep is old, cold and damp, and no fount of revelry.”
The boy laughed, not to be deterred. “You are modest, Benedick. Your fiefdom looks to be the finest in the land!” he proclaimed, waving an arm to encompass the gray outer walls as they approached.
Benedick grunted at the boy’s ludicrous flattery and wished again for Wystan’s more subdued temperament. Longstone was a small holding, nothing more, but he had fought long and hard to obtain it, bought with gold and bribery from one of the lesser barons in need of funds. It was his, the lifetime goal of a bastard born, and although he felt a grim vindication in its ownership, it had given him little joy.
“I have spent no time there, and have made no improvements,” he told the boy. “Do not expect luxuries or the excesses of a court celebration.” Benedick did not hold with frivolity, nor did he think much of holidays. A lot of pagan nonsense dressed up in Christian finery, he thought with disgust. The elaborate feasting and game playing he had witnessed on occasion made him uncomfortable.
He was more familiar with hardship and battle.
“Well, I for one, will look forward to some hot food and a warm hearth,” the irrepressible youth replied.
“Aye,” Benedick agreed as they rode through the gate. He did not seek gaiety or renewed energy or even peace at his keep, for he had too much blood on his hands, too many scars to ever feel truly at ease. Yet he had hopes for rest, at least, after all the years of fighting, and the comfort of a bed and a decent meal.
The bailey was busier than he remembered, and he took note of some recently thatched roofs and mended walls. His steward, Hardwin, had obviously done well, Benedick thought with approval, especially considering the limited funds he had been given. Perhaps it had been a good year, Benedick conjectured, hoping that a successful harvest would see them through the long winter ahead. Leaving his squire to tend the horses, Benedick ignored the curious stares of the peasants and strode to th
e square, stone keep he had not visited in five years, Stepping through the wide doors, he paused just inside.
And wondered if he was in the wrong place.
The hall he remembered as cavernous and dark was now clean and full of light and color. Fires burned brightly, and the late afternoon sun entered through the tall windows, sending shafts of warmth to highlight vivid hangings that covered much of the walls. The air he had once thought stale and foul was redolent with the scents of baking bread, spices and greenery.
It was everywhere.
Holly, ivy, bay and pine boughs hung from every wall and were scattered among the rushes on the tiles beneath his feet. A swath of scarlet cloth dangled like a banner from the beams above, and sprigs of mistletoe, twelve to a bunch, were placed over the archways. It looked like some kind of Christmas fantasy.
Benedick blinked at both the change in his surroundings and the decorations. Rarely had he seen such elaborate preparations for wintertide; never had he given leave for such in his own hall. But that was not all. Benedick gaped in astonishment as a woman hurried forward to greet him.
She was young and fair, with golden hair floating unbound down her back in great length of silken waves. She was pretty, lovely even, for her skin was unmarked, her small mouth daintily curved and her eyes were bluer than the skies.
She approached Benedick with a smile that revealed even, white teeth and spoke in a lilting voice that sounded both sweet and sensual to his ears. “Welcome home, sir knight,” she said, gazing at him with a glow that he did not recognize.
That wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.
“Who the hell are you?” Benedick demanded.
Noel Amery tried to hide her shock at the sight of her guardian. Not only was his arrival unexpected, but he had changed drastically since she had seen him last. Admittedly it hard been five years since she and her father visited their new neighbor, but those years wore harshly upon the man before her. Oh, he was still handsome, with his great knight’s body and his chiseled features, but lines marred his face and he looked rough and unkempt, his dark hair ragged about his shoulders, his black eyes glittering with contempt.
Indeed, so fearsome was he that she nearly took a step back, but she held her ground and lifted her chin, for he had no call to be rude. “I am Noel Amery,” she said clearly. “Your ward.”
He stared at her disdainfully, and Noel felt her cheeks heat. His ignoble behavior was not that of her memory, nor even that of a knight, she thought angrily. Why, he studied her as if she were some camp follower, not his neighbor of long standing!
His black eyes assessed her, up and down, until Noel wondered if she had imagined their appeal. Was this the same man who had so infatuated her five years ago?
“I have no ward,” he said coldly, and Noel nearly gasped aloud. Had he lost his wits, as well as his charm?
“Ahem, but you do, sir.” Noel sent up silent thanks as the kindly steward, Hardwin, hurried into the breach. “’Twas more than a year back that I sent you the message that your good neighbor Master Amery died, naming you guardian of his daughter, Noel.”
The knight’s eyes narrowed, and Noel thought it best to explain further. “We have met before, Sir Villiers,” she said, his surname sounding foreign to her ears when she had thought of him so often as Benedick. Her Benedick.
Obviously he was not.
Noel drew a deep, steadying breath, and continued. “My father and I came to welcome you when you took possession of Longstone. He was so impressed with you that he made arrangements for me to be put in your keeping in the event of his death.” Although she tried to hide it, the accusation that Benedick had failed both her and her father was implicit. The big knight said nothing.
“You sent a message back for me to take care of the matter,” Hardwin added a bit nervously.
Benedick’s black gaze never left her, but he spoke to the steward in gruff tones. “And your idea of handling the matter was installing her in my home as chatelaine?”
Hardwin reddened, and Noel wanted to box Benedick’s ears for his rudeness. “She, uh, had nowhere to go, sir, and we had room here, of course. There was none but a small staff at the manor, hardly fit to protect a young girl, especially an heiress of good family,” he explained.
“I see,” Benedick said, though he looked as if he did not. His attitude cut Noel to the quick, for she had worked hard to make his cold and uninviting keep into a nice home. Did he not see the improvements she had wrought, the ungrateful wretch?
“Surely you cannot claim that you liked your home better before I arrived,” she said, unable to resist the barb.
He smiled, a barely discernible movement of firm lips that seemed to mock all that she had done. “I would not insult you so, mistress, but I am seeking a rest from my labors. I want not the responsibilities of entertaining a guest.”
A guest? Noel’s eyes widened in horror. During the past year, she had come to view Longstone as her home, not as some temporary abode, and herself as mistress, not a visiting interloper. All the while she had labored to make the keep a comfortable, fitting retreat, not just for Benedick, but for herself. After all, he was her guardian, if not more...
Although only twelve when her father had taken her to welcome their new neighbor, Noel had been entranced by the handsome, strapping knight. Yes, he had been rather distant and elusive, but her youthful mind had conjured deep mysteries lurking within his dark eyes. He had left not long afterward, off to make a name for himself, her father said, but the memory had stayed with Noel. And the few suitors her father suggested to her had never measured up to it.
Knowing of her infatuation and trusting the honorable man who fought so valiantly, her dear father had bequeathed her to him. And Noel had just assumed that when Benedick returned he would be glad of her father’s bequest. She had assumed so very much, and so wrongly, that now she reeled from the force of her misjudgment.
“But I have made a home here, as you can well see!” Noel protested.
Benedick raised his black brows. “And you have another home, do you not?”
Flustered by his logic, Noel tugged on a long lock of hair. So often she had dreamed of his homecoming, but the reality was a nightmare. “No one resides there except a few servants,” she said, thinking of the small, lonely manor, memories of her father lurking in every corner. Sad and empty. She swallowed hard.
Obviously unmoved, Benedick regarded her stonily, while Noel twisted a golden strand between her fingers. Slowly, inexorably, she began to realize that he meant to send her away, and she was horrified. Had she spent the past year nurturing a falsehood? In the long months since her father’s death, she had clung to one thing, working toward the return of her knight, her Benedick, and now he would dash all her hopes and dreams in a single blow. She released the lock of hair and held out her hands in supplication.
“But the manor is unguarded. Surely you would not send me there to fend for myself?” she asked, frantically searching for an argument that would sway this hard stranger.
Again Noel felt the slow sweep of his scrutiny and flushed at his insolence. He was outrageous, and yet she could not summon the proper indignation. Instead, she felt the heady rush she had known when they first met, a strange flutter of excitement, as if he had reached out to touch her with his dark gaze.
“How old are you?”
Noel colored anew at his blunt tone. “Seventeen,” she answered, her breath suddenly short.
“Very well, ward,” he said, as if the word tasted bitter. “I will send some men along with you as protection...until I can find you a husband.”
Noel choked back a cry of panic. He meant to be rid of her, not just for now, but for always! “You cannot mean it. Not after all I’ve done here to make a home for you, to ready the keep for the Christmas! Why, everyone’s expecting me to oversee the celebrations. ’Tis tradition! I’ve got the Yule log all picked out and...” Noel’s voice cracked precariously, and she knew that any moment she would disgr
ace herself with tears.
Hardwin made a sound of protest, but he was quickly silenced by a glare from Benedick. Grimly the knight glanced around his hall, and Noel followed his gaze to where a phalanx of servants gathered, eyeing him warily. Angrily.
“All right,” Benedick said, his jaw tight with obvious displeasure. “You can stay through Christmas, but after Epiphany, you must return to your home, for I will bide here alone.”
Noel’s heart leapt, but Benedick held up a hand as if to forestall her gratitude. “Meanwhile, I will see about finding you a husband,” he added.
A husband! Noel’s elation fled in the face of his smug smile. She did not understand any of this! Everything was going wrong. Why did he so want to be rid of her? Where was the knight she had known, solemn, but kind of heart? Darting a glance at his hard visage, Noel searched for the man she had first met. Although she could not see him, she sensed his presence, somewhere in there, behind those black eyes. What if he was trapped behind that rough exterior, unable to escape? But how was she to find him, if she was soon promised to another?
Undaunted, Noel smiled brightly up at her knight. “There is really no need for you to tax yourself with that effort, for there is a much simpler solution to all of our problems.”
Benedick lifted both brows skeptically, but Noel persevered. “I don’t want to leave Longstone, and you will need a chatelaine to take care of the keep and to insure that you receive the rest you desire. I would be most happy to remain here, as your ward, and provide these services to you without recompense, but if you wish me to wed...” Noel paused to give him an encouraging look. “I can simply marry you!”
He stared at her, as if stunned, and Noel’s hopeful grin faltered in the face of his obvious astonishment. Could he not see the sense in her suggestion? It was a most reasonable proposal, she thought, but to her horror, instead of agreeing with her, Benedick threw back his dark head and burst into laughter. In fact, he laughed so long and so hard that tears came to his eyes, and Noel watched in disbelief as he wiped them away with the back of one long-fingered hand.
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