Edythe stretched her neck as far as it would go in an effort to see above those around her. Being short had its advantages, but in her opinion, it had far many more drawbacks.
Today had been a lesson in patience, and for once, Lily had not been the cause. The first test had been unexpected, though in hindsight Edythe should have predicted Bronwyn’s resistance to participating in the Nativity ceremonies. Rarely was her sister stubborn against the wishes of her family and friends, but today mining the Cumbrian Hills for granite would have been easier. If it had not been for Father Morrell’s timely arrival and subsequent pressure for all to be present at his sermon, Bronwyn would have remained in her room perfectly miserable, though claiming to be content.
Edythe’s second, and if possible, even more infuriating trial had come in the form of a burly Highlander. Tyr had agreed with her goal of getting Bronwyn and Ranulf together, but not in his involvement. It was not until Edythe promised that the misery she’d rain down on him would be far greater than Ranulf’s revenge that Tyr resigned himself to his fate.
Edythe stretched her neck again, searching the crowd. Finally, she saw Tyr winding through the families that were sitting around the semilarge bonfire situated in the bulging end of the courtyard. She widened her eyes and lifted her chin, clearly suggesting he hurry up. Tyr’s response was to slide his tongue across his teeth and accentuate his swagger, slowing down his gait.
Huffing, Edythe edged away from Bronwyn’s side and glanced at Ranulf. At least he was following the plan, although unwittingly. He had arrived and dutifully sat by Lillabet after she beckoned him to the spot next to her. He looked miserable and desperate. Almost as depressed as Bronwyn. This plan had to work.
Tyr sauntered up to the quiet group. “You look beautiful tonight, Lady Bronwyn,” he said in an excessively silky voice, all the while looking at Edythe.
Her bright blue eyes issued him a lancing stare at his ridiculously dramatic tone. Tyr shrugged back and squatted next to Bronwyn.
Lillabet saw the exchange and, fearing that Ranulf would catch on to Tyr’s lack of sincerity, quickly diverted the conversation. “How is Christmas celebrated at court? Do they fast through the Eve of the Nativity, or are they persuaded, as Father Morrell is, to bring the event in with celebration…and food?” she asked and then daintily popped another piece of meat into her mouth.
“I suspect Father Morrell’s preference for food and merriment is much related to the size of his girth,” Edythe murmured through her pursed lips. Silence followed. Nothing was happening, and at this rate, nothing would and both of them would be married for several years before either admitted to themselves their true feelings, let alone to each other.
“Well, I love our traditions. Lord Anscombe—your cousin,” Lily said, nudging Ranulf with her elbow, “created this one of starting the season outside, sitting around a bonfire with friends, family, and…loved ones.” She leaned over and plopped a small chaste kiss on Ranulf’s cheek.
Edythe saw the very slight, but definite recoil. Excellent, she thought. Yes, Lily, keep reminding them both of how awful it will be…
Tyr reached out to get a plate of food being distributed by a servant and handed it to Bronwyn, who gave him a thoughtful smile of thanks. Ranulf, who had been covertly watching the scene, let go a small grunt. Bronwyn picked up a piece of bread and started pulling it apart, but did not eat it.
A heavy stillness overcame the small group as Edythe and Lily searched for something to say or do to advance their cause. Meanwhile, Tyr, Ranulf, and Bronwyn waited for an opportunity to escape. Before either occurred, one of Ranulf’s men, Tory, oblivious to the tension surrounding him, asked, “May I offer my congratulations, my lord? Not a woman in the world compares to your bride in beauty.”
Lily typically basked in such praise, but tonight, all she could do was groan and give a dismissive wave at the good-looking soldier in hopes that he would leave before opening his mouth again. Meanwhile, Edythe crossed her arms to hide her hand pinching Tyr into action.
Just as covertly he snatched her fingers and squeezed them until he heard Edythe’s sharp intake of breath. He did not need her encouragement. He could see the hurt echoing in Bronwyn’s eyes and it angered him to see her in such pain, first by his friend and now by a soldier’s careless remarks. Leaning over to Bronwyn, he whispered in her ear, “Tory’s wrong, my lady. You are far prettier and far more attractive.”
Edythe smiled. Tyr’s tone was perfect. Sincere and just loud enough for everyone to hear. She lowered her eyes and covertly studied Ranulf. The man did not move. Nothing. Not even a quick look of disapproval. Edythe risked another poke at Tyr, this time removing her hand quickly before he could capture it in another viselike grip.
Tyr’s reaction was immediate as she suddenly found herself the object of a very angry and palpable stare. She swallowed and looked away, knowing she had just pushed the Highlander too far. Well, if you don’t try harder to make your friend jealous, a small poke in the side will seem trivial compared to what I will do to you, Tyr Dequhar, she vowed, but only to herself.
Moments later, relief flooded her though when Tyr reached behind Bronwyn and awkwardly pulled her wrap around her. “You look troubled, my lady, for a woman about to get married. Don’t be. Rolande is an exceptional man with a unique ability to make any woman feel very comfortable—and what I understand—very happy in his arms.”
Edythe’s head jerked up and she stared open-mouthed at Tyr. Was the man obtuse? How was openly telling her sister that her future husband had been with many women and made them all very deliriously happy going to help?
Tyr returned her stare with a smirk that said many things, including, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? You wanted a reaction and I gave you one.”
Edythe squeezed her eyes shut but reopened them immediately upon Lily’s gasp. Ranulf was standing, looking down. “Good night, Lady Lillabet. I will see you in the morning in the chapel.” Then he issued a single pointed stare at Bronwyn—the first direct look he had given her all evening, and added, “And good night to you, my lady. May tomorrow bring you the future comfort and happiness you deserve.”
Then he turned, and all the heads and eyes in the crowd followed Ranulf across the courtyard as he headed alone toward the Tower Keep. My lady, he had said. Those two words Ranulf had emphasized conveyed more than a thousand speeches. If there was any doubt Edythe had about his feelings that erased it. Ranulf had practically announced to all present that, despite everything, Bronwyn was not just a lady, but his lady. He also made it clear that it made no difference.
When he finally disappeared from view, Bronwyn in turn, rose and nodded to Father Morrell. “I…I’m sorry, Father. Your sermon was lovely as always, but I am fatigued from all the preparations.” Then she flashed Tyr a brilliant smile that would have deceived anyone unless they saw the tears gathering in her eyes. “Tomorrow, then?” she asked.
Tyr nodded and Bronwyn pivoted, moving toward the Great Hall and her bedchambers above.
“Do something!” Edythe hissed.
Tyr rolled his eyes and murmured, “Haven’t I done enough?” But seeing Edythe’s imploring look, he jumped up and joined Bronwyn before she passed through the large two-door entrance.
“My lady,” he began, reaching out and clutching her arm to stop her, “Ranulf knows not the mistake he is making.”
Misunderstanding, Bronwyn shook her head in disagreement. “If that is true, then it is a mistake every man alive wants to make. My whole life, all prefer my sister Lily. And they should. She is sweet, good, and beautiful.”
Tyr shrugged his chin and crossed his arms. “Aye, she is indeed handsome, but I have known Ranulf a long time. He won’t be happy with her. Lily won’t challenge him.”
“Like Edythe challenges you?”
Tyr rolled his eyes, bobbing his head side to side, not denying the accusation. “Aye, Finch is a far more palatable companion for life,” he chuckled, not denying the accusation
. “It is a good thing for us both that I have sworn never to marry or I just might be vulnerable to someone like her.”
Bronwyn cocked her head to the right, but she did not pry. “You’re a good man and loyal friend, Tyr. I am glad it is you I shall be standing next to in the morning.”
Tyr swallowed, seeing the sadness in Bronwyn’s eyes. Damn his friend for doing this. “Neither of you have to, you know. Get married. If you are doing this because of that baron Lily mentioned, I can assure you that Ranulf—even I—would protect you three.”
“No,” Bronwyn said quietly but with unwavering conviction. “That would mean fighting and death. I will not have that on my conscious when it can be easily avoided. I’ll marry to ensure Edythe is safely protected and then I think I will leave. Edythe can stay at Syndlear. She loves it more than any of us.”
“Leave?” Tyr choked in surprise. He wondered if Ranulf knew about this part of Bronwyn’s plan.
She took a deep breath and looked around, hugging her arms. “My being here…would be too hard, you know, with memories of my father everywhere and…honestly I don’t think marriage was ever my destiny, especially with someone I don’t know. Even with a handsome charmer like Rolande,” she inserted with a bit of joviality. Then more seriously, she continued, “I’m actually eager to leave. Starting a new life, with my mother’s family that I have never had the opportunity to get to know…that has an appeal to me, now more than ever.”
Tyr didn’t say a word. She looked hopeful and he did not know how to tell her that it was all for naught. Ranulf would never allow Bronwyn to leave, despite his more recent actions and words. Her only hope was to disappear tonight and Tyr almost encouraged her to do so, for it was probably the only way to get Ranulf to admit to his feelings before he promised himself to a life of misery.
Edythe repressed the urge to run up and shake Bronwyn until she came to her senses. Anyone looking at either Ranulf or her sister could see the depth of their feelings. Unfortunately, they were equally stubborn, which spelled doom for them both.
“What are we going to do?” Lily asked as she stared at the huge flames of the bonfire. Her forlorn voice echoed Edythe’s own concerns. “We can’t force them to marry.”
Edythe gave a quick shake of the head, agreeing with her younger sister. Coercion in any form was not the answer. Whenever she tried to pressure Bronwyn into or out of something—whether it was big or small—she had always failed. Not even their father or Lily had such power. “Both have too much pride. And tomorrow they will regret the power it has over them.”
“If only we could make them marry each other. Leave them without any other choice.”
Edythe blinked as Lily’s passing comment began to take form. She glanced back and verified that Father Morrell was not in hearing distance. “Maybe, dear sister, we can.” Then without warning, Edythe jumped up and ran toward Tyr, whose long stride was aimed purposefully at the Tower Keep. “Tyr, we need to talk.”
He stopped in midstride and looked down at her petite form. “No, we don’t need to talk, Finch. Ranulf and I do,” he clarified and recommenced his march.
Edythe picked up her gown and ran to get in front of him. “Wait. Do you really think one more conversation is going to change anything?”
“No,” Tyr growled. “But something needs to be done. Ranulf isn’t acting rationally. I thought he would calm down from whatever made him mad and see reason by now, but I actually think he is going to marry your nit-wit of a sister and she is going to let him!”
“She only agreed because that’s what she thought everyone wanted her to do!”
“Well, Lily picked a perfect time to start thinking of others.”
“At least she is willing to do something drastic to save her sister from misery. Are you just as loyal?”
Tyr raked his fingers through his dark auburn hair, rubbing his scalp in frustration. “It’s not a question of loyalty. I’m just at a loss as to how to stop a wedding two people are determined to have.”
Edythe’s lips curled into a very large and very mischievous smile. “Who said anything about stopping the wedding?”
Tyr paused, arched a brow in curiosity, and then lightly tapped the end of Edythe’s nose with the tip of his finger. “Just what crazy plan do you have in mind this time, Finch? And it better not involve the silly notion of jealousy.”
Edythe swatted his hand away, ruffled that he treated her like a child when it was the last thing she felt when around him. “Fine, I admit my first plan didn’t work, just as you predicted. But this will. If you could use all that charm in a more productive manner and manage just one or two things.”
Tyr listened as Edythe carefully detailed her idea. It was crazy and things would have to be timed perfectly, but he had to acknowledge that this one had the potential of actually being successful. Grinning, he nodded in agreement to his role in the latest plan. “You know, Finch, I actually think I like the way your mind works.”
Oh, there would be a wedding, just as foretold. Only it would be unlike any ever heard of.
Chapter Seven
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1154
CHRISTMAS, THE FEAST OF THE NATIVITY
Christmas is the annual celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ and typically involves a lengthy mass followed by a great feast. In the first millennium, pagan Yule celebrations still had enormous influence in Christian communities, and therefore, the holiday ranked low in importance and prominence compared to other feasts during this time of year, most notably Twelfth Night. It was not until the crowning of Charlemagne in 800, then Kind Edmund the Martyr in 855 and England’s king William I in 1066, that December 25 became a more notable date for celebration in the Christian world.
“Edythe, no!” Bronwyn hissed through gritted teeth. It was humiliating enough participating in the wedding farce, and she was not about to add wearing a wimple on top of it. The severe white headdress was confining, uncomfortable, and—in her opinion—ugly. Why both her sisters thought such a contraption should be worn during the ceremony was beyond her. The only saving grace of the day was that her father wasn’t there to see it and be disappointed.
Gripping the white prison in her hand, Edythe shoved the garment toward Bronwyn. “I don’t want to wear one either, but Lily does, and since she is the one who really is getting married today, we are going to oblige her. You are the only one not ready.”
Bronwyn snatched the wadded mass from her sister’s grasp, and Edythe gulped in relief. Bronwyn’s touching the dreaded thing was the first step in convincing her to wear it. And she had to—all three of them did. Facial covering was crucial if this was to work.
“But why?” Bronwyn moaned, unbundling the now wrinkled clump. She started to reform the distorted wire frame, her face full of aversion. “It’s only Tyr and he has seen me in my net many times before.”
Edythe grimaced and threw her hands up in the air, murmuring that she knew this was going to be the hard part. Lily sat down by Bronwyn and held her hand. “Please, do this for me.”
“I already agreed to the dress.”
Lily licked her lips. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I will feel much more comfortable about my own vows if we are all dressed more traditionally. I need your support.”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Covering one’s face is traditional? I have never heard such nonsense. Besides it sounds dangerous. Don’t you want to be looking at your groom when he makes his vows?”
Lily shook her head and Bronwyn exhaled, believing she finally understood. “Then don’t marry him. We can still leave—”
Lily closed her eyes and squeezed Bronwyn’s fingers. “You misunderstand. I want to marry today. Very much. I will say my vows with no reservations. But I won’t be able to—”
“Unless we agree to wear these.” Bronwyn lifted hers up and tried one last time to change her sister’s mind. “Mine is terribly wrinkled. Not at all appealing.”
Lily kissed Bronwyn’s cheek. “It will be fine.
I’ll see if the cook can lay something hot on it to remove some of the larger creases.”
Edythe leaned against the window frame as the tension moved from one hurdle to another. Almost an hour ago just after dawn, Tyr had entered the chapel and he had yet to emerge, which could only mean one thing. He was having as much difficulty with Father Morrell as she was with Bronwyn. Then, as if he heard her thoughts, Tyr stepped out from the small enclosure and headed straight toward the Hall, most likely to find her. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to run down and check to make sure all is ready,” Edythe gushed and then flew out of Bronwyn’s bedchambers before her sisters could stop her.
Rushing down the back stairs, she slowed upon entering the large room just as Tyr came through the main entrance. She wiggled her finger for him to follow her outside and behind the small wooden building where the fur pelts from recent kills were hanging to dry. He stopped right beside her, not touching, but close enough to be unnerving.
Tyr reached down and flicked the stiff covering on the wimple. “Attractive,” he teased.
She swatted his hand away. “Stop it. It’s necessary.”
His hazel eyes openly appraised her deep green gown and sparkled with approval, causing her racing heart to skip a beat. “No, I mean it. You, Finch, look incredible. Your sapphirine eyes could snatch a man’s soul.”
Edythe couldn’t tell if Tyr was serious or not. His grin was enormous, making his dimples even more prominent and alluring. The man was devastatingly handsome and he knew it. Flatter me all you want, Highlander, I’m immune to your charm, she told herself, knowing deep down that it wasn’t exactly true. “Never took you to be an admirer of wimples.”
“I’m not. It should be a crime to hide your thick red mane,” Tyr said seductively as he fingered the long white linen as if it were a lock of hair.
“Ha!” Edythe exclaimed with a snort. “You have no idea what my hair looks like as I have always worn it up and in braids.”
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