The Christmas Knight

by Michele Sinclair

  Ranulf should have expected the reaction. He had been getting it since the day he awoke after his accident, but in the past few days, it had been vacant from his life. His interactions with those at Hunswick had been as if he were any other man or lord. Consequently, he had forgotten his outward appearance and people’s typical response upon seeing him. Usually, though, people looked away, but not Baron Craven. His eerie blue eyes continued to assess Ranulf so he did the same.

  Overall, Luc Craven looked no different close up than he did from afar. Ranulf had spent enough time in court to know that outwardly the man before him would appeal to women, but that day in the woods Bronwyn had not desired the baron’s touch, she had been repelled by it.

  Again, the door opened. It was Tyr, brandishing not one sword, but two, in case Ranulf desired one after all. Ranulf sauntered to the head table and stood in front of the main chair without sitting down. “I must say I am surprised to have a visitor so late in the day. As you can see, we are trying to finish preparing for tonight’s feast.”

  Luc stopped midway and gave a respectable, if not sincere, nod. “I apologize for not coming over sooner to welcome you to the Hills, but similar responsibilities prevented me.”

  The doors again swung open and closed as people continued to work. Ranulf ignored them, keeping his attention only on the baron. “I completely understand, but as Twelfthtide season has begun, I wonder how it is that you were able to break free tonight.”

  Luc pointedly eyed the servants hanging herbs. “I confess that I do not allow the practice of all the Twelfthtide customs. I find them a nuisance and a drain on my finances, not to mention the king’s.”

  “I guess I am fortunate to know the king.”

  Luc inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I had heard you had worked for him for a number of years. An advantage that might make some of your titled neighbors a bit uncomfortable.”

  The corners of Ranulf’s mouth lifted, but didn’t quite form a smile. “Perhaps nervous enough to have men—hired men—to watch my home and lands.”

  One of Luc’s brows quivered, the only indication that he felt the effect of Ranulf’s barb. “Then I suggest you be careful until you have made local friends,” Luc said smoothly, determined not to show his frustration. “I came for two reasons. First, to pay my respects to you, of course. Your predecessor was quite loved. I expect it has been hard to step into the position when it was meant for your brother.”

  Ranulf raised an eyebrow. Another gibe. The man felt confident enough to issue hidden insults, but he stood in the middle of the Hall between tables, not exactly a civilized speaking distance. More like a cowardly one. Ranulf decided to test the baron and advanced a few steps. Immediately, Luc shifted to his left, casually walking toward the windows and keeping his distance. Though surreptitiously done, it was enough to prove Ranulf’s guess had been accurate.

  Ranulf returned to his chair and sat down with a pompous flair so out of character it caused several in the room to slacken. “My assumption of the title was unexpected, but not difficult,” he said with a condescending shrug of his shoulders. “From what I understand, you are my nearest neighbor and not far away.”

  “Just less than a day’s ride. My lands are equidistant to Syndlear, but on the other side of Torrens. Or did you not know that the mountain was named after Lady Bronwyn’s beloved childhood pet?” Luc asked, smiling wickedly, believing his knowledge of Bronwyn greater.

  Unaffected, Ranulf returned the dishonest smile. “Soon I should come pay you a visit, if welcomed.”

  “And that is the topic of my second reason for coming here. I would like a moment to meet with Lady Bronwyn and her sisters. I understand that they have recently left their home to spend Twelfthtide in your company.”

  Ranulf’s amber gaze suddenly went dark, and danger radiated from them. “If you wish to speak to my wife, I first must ask why.”

  “Wife?” Luc repeated, making no pretense at hiding his shock. “Lady Bronwyn is your…wife?”

  Ranulf rose and was about to end this charade when the woman in question entered the room through the kitchen passageway.

  Bronwyn had been talking with the cook when she had heard the last bellowed question, as had anyone else near the Hall. Immediately recognizing Luc’s voice, she darted to the Hall, slowing only just before entering. Her eyes latched on to Ranulf for a brief second before pivoting to see sky blue orbs boring into her. “Baron Craven, I see you have met my husband.”

  Luc sauntered over to where she stood and grandly picked up her hand. Holding it for an extended period of time, he bent over and kissed it, his eyes blazing. “I see you forgot the promise made to me, a promise made by the king.”

  A low menacing growl came from Ranulf, and Tyr readied both swords, prepared to toss one to his friend with just a single look. “Let go of my wife’s hands.” The command held no compromise, only pain if not obeyed.

  Luc squeezed the fingers and let them go. “I had the understanding these fingers were meant for me. What would you do if someone stole your long-fought-for and finally earned bride?” he taunted aloud, keeping his attention solely on his lost prize.

  Bronwyn’s blue eyes darkened into angry thunderclouds. “A bride promised by someone now dead, not King Henry.”

  “Bronwyn…” Luc said, stepping in closer.

  She took a step back. “As you pointed out at our last meeting, we are no longer children. You may refer to me as Lady Anscombe.” Then with an abrupt turn, Bronwyn went and joined Ranulf, clasping his hand to hers, not for comfort but to keep him at her side. If Luc continued, things were about to become bloody. He did not seem to care that he was alone and making enemies.

  Luc fought back a tremble of anger. He refused to show weakness. He was a noble and Ranulf could not kill him without cause, for doing so would come with consequences. “Then I demand to see her sisters!”

  Ranulf felt Bronwyn’s grip increase, warning him to stay still. She was probably right. However, it did not change his desire to get her out of there before things escalated. “As my wife’s sisters were married on the same day, I have no doubt their husbands will also demand to know why.”

  Enraged to discover the leverage he held was nonexistent, Luc’s eyes stabbed Bronwyn. “I should have been the one,” he sputtered, advancing toward her, unheeding of the danger he was in. “You were for me. I refused all others, endured my father’s anger all to have you…and you betrayed me to marry a cripple. How could you? He doesn’t love you, not like me.”

  Bronwyn reached inside her bliaut and slid her palm around the leather girth hidden within. “It doesn’t matter if he loves me, Luc, I love him.”

  “After what he did to you? How can you when—”

  “You’ve said enough, baron,” Ranulf interjected, his skin pale with wrath. Stepping forward in front of Bronwyn, he signaled his soldiers, who had been quietly entering the Hall, to encircle Luc. “I think it best that you leave now.”

  Luc gritted his teeth and remained silent, recognizing the look in Ranulf’s eye. They were merciless, and another word would undoubtedly mean his death. But it did not matter. Hunswick was not his battleground. Here was the one place Ranulf was strong. Everywhere else it was the reverse. And Luc had seen what he needed to defeat Ranulf and take back what should have been his. His final probing question had not angered Bronwyn, but perplexed her. Luc took a chance and glanced at her one more time, relishing her still crinkled brow.

  She did not know.

  Luc artfully nodded once more, pivoted, and left the Hall, vowing to himself that he would have his revenge.

  The moment Baron Craven was out of sight, Ranulf waved for his men to escort him completely off his property. Without even asking, Tyr tossed him one of the swords and grunted, “I’ll see that it is done.”

  With that, Tyr was gone, leaving only a few servants, who had been praying that they would be able to escape before the fighting commenced. So when Ranulf let go a clipped, “Leave
now,” all dropped what they were doing and hastened out of the room, suddenly eager to find their friends and loved ones to tell the tale. Finally alone, Ranulf spun Bronwyn around, closed his hand around the back of her head, and brought his mouth down to hers. He parted her lips with his tongue, desperately claiming her once again, needing to know that she was still his and only his.

  Bronwyn moaned softly and tightened her grip on his shoulder, trembling at the intensity. To his every demand, she surrendered. When he finally ended the kiss, it was a long while before she opened her eyes. Staring back was anguish and love.

  Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the hearth chairs, settling her on his lap. Ranulf cupped her cheek and she held her breath, his touch so tender. Then he kissed her once more, lightly, persuasively, pulling her closer to him.

  Bronwyn leaned in to deepen the kiss when he broke free and sat her back up. “Hold on,” he groaned and reached inside her bliaut to find the painful object stabbing his leg. He pulled out a small, but sharp dagger, which she had been clutching earlier. “Was tonight special or do you carry that thing with you all the time?”

  “Not all the time,” she answered defensively, her tone indicating that more often than not it was with her.

  He eyed her and then put down the sharp blade on the table next to them. “Do you know how to use it? Or do you just feel safer with a weapon?” he asked carefully.

  Bronwyn leaned in close again and let her lips tease the place directly behind his right ear. “Someday I will give you a demonstration of my skills. But not now.”

  Ranulf swallowed, knowing what would happen if he allowed her to continue, and nudged her head down so that it rested on his chest. He was far from the mood to start a fight, but daggers were dangerous, and if not handled properly, they could give the attacker more of an edge than the owner.

  Sighing, Bronwyn nestled closer. “Today has been a long day.”

  “I’m sorry about this morning.”

  “What did Luc mean, Ranulf? What does he think you did to me that would make me hate you or at the very least not want to be married to you?”

  Instantly, the tension draining him returned. Bronwyn had not missed the baron’s parting question or its meaning. He stared at the fire and slowly stroked her spine, wondering how to begin. Unable to find the words, he said, “There is something that you should know about my past. I had planned—and still plan—to tell you after Epiphany. It is not pleasant, but I also promise you that it will not change anything between us. I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Trust me enough to wait and believe that nothing you will ever learn of me or I of you will diminish what we feel for each other?”

  Dark heavy lashes shadowed her cheeks. So Luc had been right. There was something she should know about Ranulf. But Luc had also been wrong. Ranulf was not hiding it from her and never had intended to keep it a secret. He wanted time and she could understand why. She felt as if she had known Ranulf a lifetime, but in reality, their time together had been very brief and mostly tumultuous. After weathering these past few days of doubt and distrust, she knew nothing he could reveal would change how she felt about him. But Ranulf had not had the years of familial love and acceptance she had received. He was still new to what they shared, and if he needed more time to believe it could not be broken, she would give it to him.

  “Until after Epiphany,” she whispered. “And whatever it is, I shall not leave, Ranulf. This is where I belong, with you, in your arms.”

  Her gaze locked with his, and Ranulf felt an overwhelming warmth invade his heart as it began to beat again. The fear inside him began to recede. He was going to survive, after all. “I’ll never let you go, angel,” he said, his eyes turning to molten gold.

  “You better not,” she whispered just before his lips once again consumed hers.

  Chapter Ten

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1154

  CHILDERMAS, THE FEAST OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS

  Childermas, the Old English name for Children’s Mass, originated sometime in the fourth or fifth century and is recounted every year in the haunting melody and words of the “Coventry Carol.” Though celebrated on different days depending upon religion and nation, it is always associated with the Nativity, commemorating the children two years old and younger massacred by Herod after his failed attempt to eliminate the child Jesus. The Christian Church honors these children as martyrs for they are the first killed by deed, if not by will, dying not only for Christ, but in his stead. The day’s customs focus on children, who get to decide the foods and entertainment, but Childermas is also notably known as the unluckiest day of the year because of the horror attached to it. Consequently, in medieval times, work was avoided wherever possible and marrying on this day was heavily discouraged.

  Bronwyn pushed the heavy brush aside and looked into the rocky clearing where she expected to find an injured boy. But it was no child standing in the center. Luc Craven had tricked her into leaving Hunswick, and going beyond Ranulf’s immediate reach.

  Last night, Tyr had come back declaring the baron had returned to his lands, and he might have, but Luc knew Torrens almost as well as she. He could have easily snuck back and evaded the few guards Ranulf had placed in the woods. Seeing the golden stubble sparkling on his sculpted cheeks and dark circles enhancing the dangerous glitter of his ice blue eyes, Bronwyn knew that was exactly what he had done.

  She should have expected Luc would try such a move, especially after his humiliating departure last night. But never did she suspect a ruse when one of the village children told her that a boy had fallen off the jumping rocks and needed help. Ranulf had already left to fetch the youngest child for the feast that night. She had expected him back soon, but unwilling to wait while a boy was in pain, she had left, asking one of Ranulf’s soldiers to be her escort.

  “Gowan,” Bronwyn said sharply, gaining the young soldier’s attention as he waited for her to proceed. “I need you to return to Hunswick and find Ranulf. Tell him why I left and that I will be right here waiting for him.”

  Gowan flexed his grip on his sword. She thought he was going to argue with her, but he finally gave her a curt nod and returned toward the castle. Fortunately, he could not see through the brush; otherwise he would have recognized Luc and she would have never persuaded him to leave. As soon as the young soldier vanished, she gripped the small dagger hidden in the pocket of her bliaut and stepped through the brush, knowing that if she returned as well, Luc would follow.

  Once inside the clearing, Luc advanced until he was standing just out of arms’ reach in front of her. She flashed him a look of disdain and held her ground. “You should leave now, Luc, while you can. Ranulf won’t be so understanding.”

  A shadow of triumph swept across Luc’s face. “Worried for me?” he asked, his voice full of contempt. “How touching and very unnecessary. I know these woods nearly as well as you do, angel. Your new lord could only find me if I wished him to.”

  Bronwyn looked at him with mute defiance, hating to hear the truth. The landscapes of Cumbria were varied. On many the grass grew wild, unencumbered with trees. But around Bassellmere, the woods were thick, creating many places to hide, and Luc knew them all. In a year, maybe two, Ranulf would as well, but at this moment, if Luc decided to disappear, he could confidently do so.

  “Angel—” Luc began, inching forward.

  Bronwyn stepped back to maintain the space between them. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why? Is that what he calls you?” His cold eyes sniped at her. “It’s a wonder you can even stand his touch, but I can fix that.”

  Luc’s sudden change in attitude toward her put Bronwyn even more on guard. Last night, he had been incensed upon learning she was married and that she loved her husband. So what game was he playing now? He wasn’t here to spirit her away, but something else. What was he trying to achieve? “You spent a lot of effort getting me here. Why?”

  He shrugged, not offended by her q
uestion or her desire to keep her distance. “It was actually very little effort. No more than, say, the amount as you spent in sending the boy soldier to play fetch, leaving us alone…so you could learn the truth about your beloved husband.”

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore, Luc. Hurting me will be regarded as an act of war—a war you would lose and I think you know it. You value your life far too much to risk it on me.”

  “How little you know me, angel.” The flames smoldering in Luc’s eyes suddenly dimmed, leaving them ice cold and emotionless. “I loved you.”

  The hot breath she was holding burned in her throat. “That’s not love, Luc. Your desire for power dominates anything you could feel for me. You never wanted me. You covet Syndlear and are angry it is forever out of your grasp.”

  Luc scoffed and began to pace. “I don’t deny I wanted Syndlear. With it came everything I ever deserved, most of all you,” he asserted, pausing to look her in the eye. He took a step in her direction. “And do not deceive yourself into believing the new Lord Anscombe is any different. You think I’m cruel and unkind, but I have never harmed anyone you loved. I’m not the one who killed your father.”

  Bronwyn felt the air leave her lungs as a bitter cold feeling of anguish gripped her soul. She examined Luc’s face, seeking evidence of lies or exaggerations, but found none. He was telling the truth.

  “Your lover didn’t mention that, did he?” Luc continued. “Did he tell you that he knew your father? That they traveled on the same ship? And that just before they reached England, it was your husband who pushed over several crates, crushing the one man who forced him into his duty? Didn’t you ever wonder why the king ordered the new lord to marry Lillabet and not you? Penance, angel. Lily brings her husband beauty, but you…you come with land. But he defied our new king, didn’t he? And you accuse me of desiring power.”