The Knights of Christmas

by Suzanne Barclay

  Only ten more days.

  When he went down to the hall, Alard trailing sleepily behind him, Benedick found it humming with activity. Servants were up early, rushing to and fro, and Noel was standing at the great doors, greeting a couple of peasants enthusiastically.

  Benedick’s eyes narrowed as he approached, for the men seemed overly friendly for his taste. He had always been well aware of the differences between a landless knight and a lady, and these two looked even poorer than he had once been—definitely too penurious to be standing so close and grinning so widely. He stepped to Noel’s side, intent upon sending the beggars off, but the words died in his throat when she turned to him.

  “Sir Villiers,” she said in a breathless tone that reminded him all too well of their last meeting—under the mistletoe. Glowing, she gave him a smile that seemed to reach inside his chest and tug on his heart. Placing a hand over the offending organ, Benedick tried to ignore its jerky betrayal. Surely no woman had ever looked at him like that, as if he were the answer to her prayers.

  But then, maybe he was, Benedick thought with a frown. Didn’t she covet his keep as her own? Dropping his arm, he studied her more closely. Was she really so happy to see him?

  Ignoring his sudden frown, Noel gestured to the two men Benedick had forgotten. “This is Drogo and Edgar, freemen who work their own plots, as well as yours,” she said. And schooling his features to courtesy, Benedick nodded in greeting.

  “We are glad to see you back, sir,” Drogo said. “’Tis a good sign that you arrived for Christmas.”

  “Aye, and Noel gives us a celebration like no other,” Edgar added with a sigh. “Surely it must rival the king’s own!”

  Let us hope not, Benedick thought, for he had heard of Edward’s lavish holiday entertainments. As if sensing his disapproval, Noel herded the men past him, sending them on to where the trestle tables were already laid out.

  “What do they here?” Benedick asked, inclining his head toward the departing twosome.

  “’Tis Christmas,” Noel replied “Your people are all invited to partake in the feast. They are each gifted with a loaf of bread and a candle, and may stay until our own burn low.”

  “’Tis an extravagance,” Benedick muttered, for he saw no reason for such expense.

  “But ’tis—”

  “I know. I know. Tradition!” Benedick said, holding up a hand to halt her speech. As if untroubled by his scowl, Noel only laughed. Then another peasant arrived, and nothing would do but that she must introduce the fellow and his wife. The couple was followed by another and another until Benedick resigned himself to remaining by Noel’s side, greeting the guests.

  She knew them all by name, of course, and they treated her with a respect and affection that Benedick had never seen at any other castle. Noel had done her work well, it appeared, and not all of it involved the account books.

  Benedick did not know whether to be pleased or dismayed. What would these people say when he sent their beloved mistress away? Had she turned not just the residents of the keep but of all his lands against him? The scent of battle filled his nostrils, and he wondered if he would ever find his rest.

  After filling quickly, the hall was more crowded than Benedick had ever seen it when he and Noel took their seats at the high table. Glancing around, he saw poor men elbow to elbow with residents of the keep, and simple, worn clothing next to bright silks. The servants hurried to present the twelve courses, so that they might join in, and even Alard had been drafted to help. Benedick was glad to see it, for the youth seemed to have too much time for dallying and too little to keep him busy.

  Although not prone to gluttony, Benedick found himself making up for the past month of poor fare. Pigeons, mustard, goose, nuts and frumenty were among those dishes that joined the requisite boar’s head, and he sampled them more than once. The spiced wine with honey was delicious, and when he leaned back, relaxed and sated, Benedick wondered how it would taste on Noel’s lips.

  Alarmed by the thought, Benedick straightened and glanced at his ward. She was smiling happily as the wassailers wandered among the celebrants, singing their twelve wish songs for health and prosperity. Following her gaze, Benedick watched one of the women hold up a tree branch they then commanded to be fruitful.

  Benedick grunted in disgust. What nonsense! Some orchards gave fruit while others withered, and some men thrived while others died, but their fates lay not upon the whim of a wassailer. His contempt turned to annoyance when the singers reached his chair.

  “We wish a joyous Christmas to Sir Villiers, our returning knight!” they sang, much to the delight of the other listeners. Benedick frowned, disliking the attention.

  “May he have money and wine aplenty throughout the new year, A sturdy keep, a fine table and lovely Noel to bring him cheer.”

  Benedick smiled grimly as shouts of approval erupted around him. When at last they died down and the singers moved on, he glared at his ward through narrowed eyes. Obviously she was not as embarrassed as he, for she was smiling happily at the tribute. No doubt, she had put them up to this. Benedick decided, ill pleased by the discovery. Did she think he would be swayed by the sentiments of others? All his life he had fought for his own on his own, without regard to anyone else’s opinion.

  “Although I must commend you on your rhyming skills, I care not for your sentiments,” he said roughly.

  Noel’s eyes widened. “You think I am responsible for the wassail?” she asked.

  “Aren’t you?”

  She laughed gaily. “Nay. My wishes are my own, sir knight.”

  Benedick lifted his brows at the reminder of her determination to marry him. Surely she did not mean to persist when he had refused her, as if he had no say in the matter? Slowly he set down his cup and regarded her. “And have you made your Christmas wish, Noel?” he asked, his voice rigid with contempt.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” she said, slanting him a grin that on another woman would have seemed wicked. “Why? Are you nervous?”

  Benedick’s lips tightened at the taunt, but he leaned back in his chair. “Nay, for I hold not with wishing or wassailing,” he replied, meeting her gaze directly. “They are naught but a lot of meaningless words without power or substance.”

  Her smile faltered for a moment before reforming into a gentler curve, and her gaze softened. “But the magic is all around you,” she said, waving a hand to take in the hall, crowded to the very walls with people. “What other time of the year does the peasant sit down to a meal in the keep? When else are men more kindred? Brotherhood and love,” she said breathlessly, “are everywhere.”

  Brotherhood! If there was such a thing, Benedick had never seen it. And love! Not only did his ward still think to wed him, but now she was prattling about that much-lauded but nonexistent emotion. If she thought he might swoon at her feet, she might as well beg for the moon.

  “Tell me, Noel, just how many of these Christmas wishes of yours have come true?” he asked smugly.

  “None.”

  “None?” Benedick blinked at her calm reply. He had expected her to hedge or to claim at least one victory he could argue as coincidental, but none? How could even this guileless innocent keep believing in the face of such failure? He shook his head. She was not just naive but hopelessly gullible. Had Benedick not seen the evidence of her cleverness in the account books, he would have thought her witless.

  Watching her blithely nibbling on a piece of spiced apple, Benedick pondered her manner, for she seemed neither heartbroken nor discouraged by her past defeats. Abruptly he wondered what requests she had made that she should show no regret. Had she asked for frivolous trifles like golden slippers or impossible things, such as healing the sick? The thought sobered him, and for the first time, he questioned how her father had died.

  “What is it you have wished for that has been denied you?” he asked gruffly.

  Noel gave him a shocked look. “Why, nothing!” she exclaimed.

  �
��Nothing?” Benedick felt more befuddled than ever, dizzy from her nearness and her nonsense. He shook his head again, this time to clear it, then fixed her with a hard, questioning gaze.

  “Nothing,” she repeated. “Although my mother spoke often of the magic of Christmas, she told me never to waste my wishes on silly things, like gifts or riches. After she died, I wanted to beg for her return, but Father said that would not be right,” she added wistfully.

  “And your father?” Benedick could not stop himself from asking, although he did not want to see her pain.

  It was fleeting, flashing over her beautiful face and disappearing in an instant. “His death was swift, for he was thrown from his horse and crushed. And by then, I was old enough to know better than to think he could be revived.” She smiled, with a somber expression that made her look wise beyond her years.

  At least she had some sense, Benedick thought, while the silence lengthened between them. Just as he began to feel a twinge of guilt for taunting her about her fancies, she took a deep breath. “So I have never had occasion to make a wish. You see,” she said, giving Benedick a brilliant smile, “I’ve been saving it up for something that really matters.”

  Benedict nearly flinched. Obviously the little idiot had invested all her childish hopes and dreams in a wedding that would never occur. Although he couldn’t help but be flattered, he was more appalled than anything else. Not only would he be responsible for sending Noel from the home she enjoyed come Epiphany, but he would destroy her most precious illusion, as well.

  Unable to face her bright smile, Benedick looked away. He told himself that sooner or later, Noel would have to accept the harsh realities of the world. Faith, but he had been only five when his father had put his mother aside for another, little older when he had left her to seek his fortune. He tensed even now at the memory of those bleak years, of finally coming home only to find his mother’s grave, of nursing his hatred for a father who died before Benedick could challenge him. Long-buried feelings, old emotions he had thought tamed, washed over him, overshadowing the warmth and gaiety of the hall.

  Swallowing a thickness in his throat, Benedick glanced at his ward, who was being dragged away by a group of youngsters tugging on her gown, all seeking her attention. He could hardly blame them, for Noel grinned and held out her hands as if she were one of them.

  With a startling abruptness, Benedick realized that he wanted to protect this shining child-woman from all the grim truths of life. The discovery dismayed him, and he looked away, his eyes almost stinging from her brightness. Ignoring the tentative efforts at conversation of those around him, he sat in silence, alone among so many, glum and brooding. And yet, his gaze was irrevocably drawn back to Noel.

  Lithe and graceful, she led the children in a game that involved plucking raisins from a flaming bowl. Obviously the older ones had played before, because they were quite adept at snatching the prize without burning themselves. The younger ones were not so lucky, so Noel often delved in for them. Despite his own weary cynicism, Benedick nearly flinched when he saw her jerk back her hand as if hurt.

  Half out of his seat in an instant, he halted as she lifted one slender finger to her lips and drew it into her mouth. Between giggles and protests, she sucked on that digit until Benedick felt his body harden in response. Letting out a low shuddering breath, he imagined her tongue on his flesh just so, her moist warmth closing around him, milking his seed...

  With a groan, Benedick shot to his feet and strode through the hall, past the revelers and out into the fresh air. Perhaps a turn around the keep’s defenses would clear his head—and cool his blood. The wind caught at the heavy cloak he donned, chilling his hot urges swiftly, but walking along the wall and nodding to the occasional guard only made him aware of the stark loneliness of a soldier’s life.

  It reminded him of all those other Christmases when, isolated and cold, he had watched other men’s borders and fought for other men’s lands, taking shelter for the fortnight before going out to kill again. He blew out a breath, white in the afternoon air, and shuddered as he stared out into the distance. For a long time, he stood there, weighing his life and the choices he had made.

  Finally, in an effort to shake off the strange mood, Benedick lifted a hand to touch the stones that belonged to him, reaching for the pride of ownership that had once meant so much. But now that he was here at last, he could no longer conjure the fierce proprietorship that had kept him going for the past few years. Restless, he moved on, as if searching for something he had lost without knowing it.

  Although Benedick would be the first to deny it, he kept looking back toward the hall that burned brightly with lights and warmth and celebration. And Noel.

  It was late when he returned, supper having come and gone, and the once-crowded room more thinly populated. After all his uncommon study, Benedick felt oddly unsure as he stepped back into the hall that was his own, but had yet to feel like home. Without realizing it, he looked for Noel, and as if he had called aloud to her, she was beside him at once, her smile both. welcoming and concerned.

  “Where have you been? Your people have been asking for you, and I was worried,” she said, his eyes guileless and clear as she searched his face. “Are you all right?”

  Benedick opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In truth, he knew not how to answer her, for he was not certain himself. It seemed that no matter what course he took, she would be hurt by it. He stared down at her, trying to absorb her sweetness, her goodness, and for a moment their gazes locked, his anguished and hungry, hers gentle and knowing.

  “Come,” she said, putting a hand upon his arm. “You have had no supper and must keep your strength.”

  “Why? Are we in need of another Yule log?” Benedick asked in a caustic tone.

  Noel only laughed. “You tease me, sir knight,” she said. The comment gave him pause, and Benedick shook his head, for he had never bantered with a female. His life had been lived among the coarseness of soldiers, his business that of killing, relieved by brief forays into the halls of others. It bore no resemblance to the fine chivalry that Noel, no doubt, imagined.

  “Now, take your seat,” Noel said, and she joined him at the head of the table. Soon cheese and bread, pudding and wine had been placed before him, and Benedick leaned back in his chair. The warmth of the room seeped into his cold bones, and he relaxed, enjoying the festive air that surrounded him.

  Although most of the peasants had left, some residents of the keep still celebrated, and their laughter was strangely cheering. The food was good, the company lively, and beside him, Noel sparkled. Gradually Benedick’s strange mood lifted. A man might get used to such ease, he thought abruptly, before swiftly dismissing the notion.

  He was too old to change.

  Still he had a mind to enjoy the holiday while he could, and he smiled indulgently as some of the day’s gifts and kisses were exchanged. Slanting a glance toward his ward, Benedick wondered how many Noel had received and from whom. He shifted uncomfortably as he considered watching her give twelve kisses to others each day until Epiphany.

  Benedick’s eyes narrowed as he saw his worthless squire pull a giggling maid beneath the mistletoe, and he fervently hoped that his ward limited her partners to the very young and the elderly. Something akin to jealousy stirred inside him and was promptly quelled. He refused to covet his ward. Nor would he teach her any more lessons.

  “I have a gift for you,” she said, rousing him from his increasingly morose thoughts.

  “Nay,” Benedick protested.

  “Yea,” she said, laughing. Her eyes glittered like the bluest of lakes, and Benedick was sorely tempted to dive in. Instead, he tore his gaze away, down to the object she placed before him on the table.

  It was a book.

  “Nay,” he repeated, startled at the sight. “’Tis too expensive. As your guardian, I will not permit such lavish presents!” Benedick pushed it away.

  Noel pushed it back. “’Twas my father’
s, and so, cost me nothing,” she said, smiling gently. “And now you must accept it.”

  Despite his misgivings, Benedick reached out a hand to touch the small volume. He had never owned a book in his life, had struggled to learn to read when already a knight, desperate to improve his lot. His fingers stroked the dark binding and then closed around it, as warmth beyond that of the fire seeped deep down inside him. He, who had so few possessions beyond his own armor, now held both a keep and a book. For a moment, Benedick was not sure which was the most precious.

  “Now come,” Noel said, taking his other hand in her own.

  “Cease your constant pulling on me!” Benedick grumbled, unwilling for her to see just how much her gift had touched him. “I am no toddler or graybeard to dance to your whims.”

  But Noel ignored his complaints as usual. Still gripping the book, Benedick let her drag him toward the archway, and then he stopped, warily eyeing her position beneath the mistletoe. Alarm surged through him as she tugged him closer until finally he stood only inches in front of her. He lifted the slender volume before him like a shield.

  “I would have my kisses, sir knight,” she said demurely, but Benedick was not fooled. Her bright eyes twinkled, and her luscious lips fairly twitched with mischief. What was she about? Had she not learned her lesson last night? And hadn’t he learned not to touch her?

  “You have already given me enough,” Benedick said roughly. “Mayhap you should seek your kisses elsewhere.” He turned to go, but her fingers still clung to his.

  “I am afraid you have spoiled me,” she said softly. The breathless words sparked through him, and Benedick swiveled slowly, thinking he had not heard her correctly.