The Christmas Knight

by Michele Sinclair

  But just as the thought disappeared, he snapped it back. Jealousy had awoken him to the truth about his feelings—even if only to himself. The disturbing emotion might be the quickest way to prove just how Bronwyn felt about him.

  Resuming his march across the courtyard, Ranulf felt the piercing royal blue eyes of Bronwyn’s middle sister. Edythe was as shrewd as she was beautiful and he suspected she was not one to be tangled with. Blank calculating stares like hers spoke as loudly as words. He knew. He had given them enough. Life had taught Edythe not to trust.

  He wondered how his Bronwyn, whom he was sure had suffered and endured more than both sisters together, had maintained her goodness and optimism. She naturally sought balance and was even able to impart a little of her strength to him. No longer did Ranulf feel angry or bitter about the past. Instead, he wanted to take whatever he had learned to make his future, and that of these people, better.

  Finally seeing him, Tyr waved him over with an uneven grin Ranulf knew not to trust. Tossing both reins to a stable boy, he sauntered over to the three-some. Edythe and Tyr faced him, but Lillabet had shifted so her back was to him, making her unaware of his presence.

  Before Ranulf said a word, Tyr gave him a wink, hinting for him to play along. “Um, Lady Lillabet, would you please honor me by repeating your last remark,” Tyr requested with hidden mirth.

  Lily threw her hand up to her breast in mock protest, moving closer to Tyr’s side. “Really?”

  “Really,” Tyr repeated. “I could use some amusement right now.”

  Ranulf spied the narrowing of Edythe’s eyes and thought he saw her sneak out an arm and elbow Tyr in the side, but if she did, his friend showed no reaction.

  “Amusing? Why it’s not amusing at all,” Lily gushed. “I’m offering to sacrifice myself into marriage! Of course, I was surprised by the idea, but to save my sisters and keep them in their homes, I have decided to agree. I will marry you,” she finished, placing a possessive hand on Tyr’s forearm.

  Tyr’s already wide grin grew even bigger. “I appreciate the offer, and while you are indeed a pretty little girl, marriage and I are never to be.”

  “But the king…I thought you had to…” Lily sputtered.

  “Now, my friend here, Lord Anscombe, I believe he is eager to have a bride,” Tyr said, pointing to Ranulf, who wasn’t sure if he was amused, insulted, or bored. “Here is your groom. Lord Anscombe of Bassellmere.”

  Lily whipped around. Her eyes were the color of gray mist and had turned saucer size. Her surprise was genuine, but her next move shocked even Ranulf. Straightening, she took a sizable gulp and announced, “As I was saying, my lord. I am ready and willing to marry you.”

  Ranulf stole a glance at Edythe, who was ignoring the unfolding situation. Her focus was on Tyr and had been since he had made his nonmarital declaration.

  Taking a deep breath, Ranulf returned his gaze to Lily and reminded himself of the plan. Guilt panged him, but not for the lies he was about to tell the young woman, for he was positive Lily had put Bronwyn in the position of lying for her. And Lily’s own feelings for him—or lack of them—were certainly not in jeopardy. So his plan held little risk and great reward.

  He only regretted the brief distress he was about to cause Bronwyn by accepting Lily’s proposal. It would be worth it, though, when Bronwyn raced down to face him and demand that he retract his promise. After she admitted her feelings, he would then confess his.

  This will work. It has to, he vowed to himself.

  “Well?” Lily pressured, recapturing Ranulf’s attention.

  Tyr leaned back on the wooden frame supporting the structure behind him and crossed his arms. “I would also like to hear your answer to this one.”

  “One what?” Ranulf parroted back.

  “I just asked how you intend to protect my sisters if I should marry you.”

  Ranulf stared at Lily, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

  Tyr aimed his chin toward the hills. “She’s talking about our overly attentive mercenaries. Seems their master wants Syndlear and intends to marry to get it.”

  A scowl came across Ranulf’s face. He had seriously misjudged his watcher’s intentions. Anger, hot and dark, raced over his nerve endings, along with the need to protect Bronwyn and those she loved.

  “Once we are married, those angry little scowls won’t be allowed,” Lily pouted, feeling ignored. “I want a handsome husband…or atleast as handsome as he could be.”

  Ranulf fought for patience. “You and I. We need to talk. Starting with just why you asked your sister to lie for you.” He didn’t want to talk to Lily, but he suspected she was the one person who knew everything that was going on and was naïve enough to tell him about it. And if his watcher wasn’t after him, but one of Laon’s daughters, he needed to know who, why, and just exactly what he wanted.

  Edythe watched as the real Lord Anscombe guided her younger sister with a heavy hand to a quiet secluded corner of the bailey. She suspected she should join them, but she was tired of Lily getting away with her whims and it looked like her future husband wasn’t as gullible as the rest of the men they had encountered over the years. Neither was his friend.

  “I told her that it was a bad idea,” Edythe mumbled under her breath.

  “Must be nice to know everything.”

  Edythe sent Tyr a silencing sideways glance. “I’m practical.”

  “And openly opinionated,” Tyr added matter-of-factly.

  “And usually right,” Edythe added, turning to face him squarely. She wished he wasn’t so good-looking. Deep dimples, dark hazel eyes, and reddish-brown shoulder-length hair, the color she wished hers were instead of its intense auburn hue, all in a superior male body. Men that handsome weren’t to be trusted. “You don’t know my sisters like I do.”

  Tyr grinned down at her. Damn, he was tall. And he wasn’t put off one wit by her aggressive demeanor. In fact, he was enjoying it. “Your elder,” Tyr began, “is unaware of her underlying beauty, which is probably what makes her such a compassionate leader.”

  “Perhaps,” Edythe tentatively agreed. “But if you truly knew Bronwyn and had not just observed her, you would know that it is her nature. I doubt any change to her appearance would make her any more or less of who she is.”

  “And you’re envious of that.”

  Those words stung. Edythe had never cowered from the truth. Then again, it rarely was delivered so unsparingly. “Envious, no. I do not covet my sister’s nature, nor do I desire to be exactly like her, but I sometimes wish I had more of her restraint.” And before he could comment on her admission, she prompted with a slight dare to her voice, “If you know so much, then tell me of Lily or are you too swayed by her beauty?”

  “Aye, she’s beautiful, but also complicated and young. She is an…an opportunist, but not necessarily a selfish one.”

  “Ha. She can be. Lily’s world revolves only around her.”

  Tyr chuckled and the sound sent ripples of awareness down her arms. “I’d rather talk about you, Lady Edythe.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Lady Edythe,” Tyr repeated, drawing out her name. His forehead wrinkled. “No. Don’t like it. A girl like you needs a nickname.”

  She hadn’t been a “girl” for several years, and Edythe was irked that he saw her as such. “That’s one thing I’ll never want.”

  “That’s a shame. Everyone should have a nickname.”

  “Really, then what’s yours?”

  Tyr licked his lips and in a low voice lied, “Bachelor.”

  “Fitting,” Edythe retorted. “I doubt with your type of self-serving charm, too many women vie to change that status.”

  Tyr clucked his tongue, completely unfazed by her ridiculous barb. “Ed, I think. Little and sweet…just like you.”

  “Thòin,” Edythe hissed and moved to walk away, not dreaming for a second that he would know Gaelic and understand what she meant.

  “Bauchle,” Tyr
chirped back in retaliation. Edythe spun around, her jaw open, but before she could retort, he added, this time with a Scottish brogue, “Ed, even if I didn’t know my own language, certain words are known far and wide, and ‘ass’ is certainly one of them.”

  Straightening, she puffed out her chest and poked him in the ribs. “I may be many things, but untidy, fat, and your wife isn’t one of them.”

  Tyr gulped. It had been a long time since he’d spoken his native tongue to a woman who knew Gaelic and he plucked the wrong insult from memory. He had just remembered it being about a woman and knew it wasn’t flattering. “You’re right. My apologies. But you, my pretty lady, are in desperate need of a nickname. How about one that is more fitting?”

  “I don’t want a nickname,” she gritted out. And certainly not one from you, she hissed to herself. Why did he have to call her pretty? And why did she care?

  “Well, Ruadh, you got one.”

  “Red? Lord, you are the most unimaginative—”

  “Hmm, when you put it that away…Red…Ed. Quite memorable and easy to say. I like it!”

  “You would. That nickname—if you can call it that—wouldn’t suit a kitchen rat.”

  Tyr shook his head. “I disagree, and just remember that it was you and not I who compared yourself to such a repulsive creature. I would have said…a finch. Yes…small, loud, and with a sharp beak.”

  Edythe clenched her jaw and fought from stomping her foot. The man was impossible. To her every retort, he had a counter. “A beak you may want to avoid for I will use it.”

  His dimples turned into craters. “Aye, my lady, that you most certainly are not afraid of using. I think I actually see the small scars along your wrists and hands from where you missed your intended target and clipped yourself.”

  Edythe opened her mouth, ready to send out another assault, when the sparkle in his hazel eyes captured her attention. Tyr was not making fun of her. Rather, he was truly enjoying their conversation, and if she was being honest, so was she. Inclining her head in agreement, she curled her lips mischievously and said, “Inflictions all finches must learn to endure.”

  “Indeed they must,” Tyr replied with a bow. “You, Lady Finch, are a genuine surprise. These past few days, your elder sister has been gracious, kind, and all things a lady should be when welcoming a guest, but it seems that only my friend Ranulf can turn her into a fiery tempest. And each time she does, it pulls him farther in. I see now why he is susceptible to such treatment.”

  Edythe briefly closed her eyes and gave a quick shake to her head. “You enjoy being insulted?”

  “You have not insulted me, you couldn’t. You don’t know me well enough. Nor I you. We just merely sparred and I am finding that I like wit in a woman, a most uncommon trait where I have been. If I were not so decided in my ways, you, dear Finch, would be in trouble.”

  “Well, then I thank the Lord you are decided, for I am not easily swayed by a pretty face and you have a ways to go before you seem even moderately charming. And before you try to convince me otherwise, I must go see to Lily for she is looking overly animated and all too often the results of such excitement negatively affect me. Excuse me, sir.”

  Tyr bowed and stared as Edythe left his side and headed toward her younger sister. He had not lied. She was probably the most intriguing woman he had ever encountered. But it changed nothing. Marriage was not for him. Still, a pretty redhead with a cunning mind and a sharp tongue would be fun to pass the time with until he had to leave.

  Bronwyn paced the floorboards in her room, chiding herself. If one kiss had not been enough, she should have realized that an afternoon in his arms would only create an insatiable yearning. The problem was she had fallen in love with him. With all her heart. And it just might be possible he felt the same about her.

  Ranulf was the man she had been waiting for all her life, and now that she had found him, she wasn’t sure she could give him up. The motivations behind her lies could all be explained, and if their positions were reversed, would she listen and forgive? Deep down, she knew she would.

  He had asked her to trust him, and in that moment, she felt as if he had meant about anything and everything. If she truly loved him, then shouldn’t she at least give him the chance?

  Tonight, she would tell Ranulf the truth. Explain it all. Who she was, why she’d lied, Luc—everything. And somehow, Ranulf would come up with a plan to protect her and her sisters. And if he couldn’t, then Edythe and Lily would have the option to travel north, but she would stay here—with him. With Hunswick and the people whom had known her all of her life.

  Feeling the first true rays of hope in days, Bronwyn almost felt giddy, wishing dinner wasn’t still several hours away. It did, however, give her enough time for a bath. Tonight, she would pay special attention to her hair. Entering the garderobe to see what other of Lily’s frocks Constance had put in there, Bronwyn jumped when the door of her room sprang open and bounced against the stone wall. Something only one person would do.

  Lily.

  “Lillabet! What are you doing here? Ranulf—”

  “Ranulf?” Lily asked as she cocked her head to her side and wrinkled her noise. “I had forgotten that was his name. Lord, what a mouthful.”

  “Cannot have gotten you here so quickly,” Bronwyn finished, her mind racing with the ramifications of her sister’s arrival.

  Lily waved her hand and giggled. “No, silly, he’s the one who sent us away, remember? But don’t worry, I spoke to him. He isn’t going to send us away again.”

  Bronwyn blinked several times. “No, of course he won’t…but what are you doing here?”

  Lily shook her head, and her whole face broke out into a huge smile. “First, let me hear you say that I was right! I told you that you should be wearing bright colors and not those old drab ones.” She gave Bronwyn a gentle push on the shoulder, compelling her to turn around. “Oh, I brought all your clothes back with me, but this dress is absolutely wonderful on you. I am so glad I left it behind. I would let you keep it except that the material came from Father, but you do look so pretty!”

  Bronwyn stepped back with a frown, freeing herself from her sister’s spinning grasp. “I’m not going to ask again,” she warned.

  Lily sauntered over to the bed and leaned against the edge. “I am here to save you and Edythe for a change.”

  Bronwyn took a deep breath and exhaled, not really in the mood to play games with Lily, yet knowing if she did so, it would be faster. “And just how are you going to do that?”

  “Simple. We all three are getting married! And on Christmas. I am marrying his lordship, of course. Edythe is going to wed one of his best friends—who by the way is supposed to be quite wealthy—and lucky you, you get his lordship’s commander! He tells me that Rolande is especially handsome.”

  Bronwyn grabbed the back of one of the chairs and took a deep breath. “I…don’t understand. I mean I thought marriage was what you were trying to avoid.”

  “Well, it won’t be a marriage in the real sense…for you and Edythe anyway, for the men you’re going to marry won’t actually be here.”

  “You mean marriage by proxy.”

  “Uh-huh. That was on purpose so you and Edythe can get an annulment later.”

  “But…but marriage? Why do any of us need to get married?”

  “For more time, of course! I mean the best way to avoid marriage…is to already be married!” Lily gushed. “That will give his lordship time to meet with the new king and end that evil Baron Craven’s aspirations,” she ended with a scoff.

  Bronwyn rubbed her temples. It still sounded as if Lillabet thought she was going to be the one to marry Ranulf. Bronwyn had to have misunderstood. “Lily, you are going too fast. I need you to start from the beginning and tell me exactly what Ranulf said.”

  Lily took a deep breath and exhaled. Then, much more seriously and slowly, she said, “I came back to undo what I did to you. I should never have made you pretend to be me. It’
s my burden to marry the new lord. So, I came back, saw him, told him who I was, and offered to marry him immediately…but only if he agreed to protect you and Edythe. Of course, he asked why you needed protecting, so I explained all about Baron Craven and that is when his lordship came up with this idea. After Twelfthtide is over, we are all going to London and meet with the king and get this whole mess straightened out. Then you and Edythe can get annulments and stay here at Hunswick. It’s perfect!”

  Bronwyn sank onto the hearth chair next to her. Her mind was spinning with questions, but she needed to ask the most obvious. “Are you sure Ranulf wanted you to marry him and not the commander? I mean I thought you didn’t want to marry his lordship and—”

  “His commander? Are you worried? Don’t be. I had his lordship describe them to me and they sound perfect. Edythe is going to marry his best friend, Garid…Garik—I can’t remember, but they will live at Syndlear. He is supposedly a quiet man, who is not considered by most handsome, but neither is he hideous. But his lordship specifically said that you get to marry his commander Rolande and that way you can remain here at Hunswick!”

  Hearing Lily keep referring to Ranulf as his lordship was driving Bronwyn insane. She stared at the floor, forcing herself to breathe. It was true. She should have realized it minutes ago when Lily mentioned that she had spoken with Ranulf. He had met Lily…he had seen her. Coupled with the fact that Bronwyn had lied to him, he obviously felt nothing but antipathy for her. “Um, how did…his lordship…take it when he found out I had been lying to him?”