The Christmas Knight

by Michele Sinclair

Lily’s fingers tightened around Bronwyn’s, and for a fleeting moment, she considered ending the ruse. Instead, Bronwyn replied without hesitation, “I apologize, Your Grace, that you did not receive word earlier. Syndlear, our family home, recently caught fire. My elder sister Lady Bronwyn was believed to be inside.” And then she held her breath. It wasn’t a lie, but it was deceit.

  Waiting to be introduced, Bronwyn had prepared herself for the possibilities driving this impromptu meeting, but what happened next, only foresight could have prepared her.

  For several uncomfortable minutes, the queen continued to engage in a staring contest, and then abruptly shifted her attention to Lily. “I understand that it would be hard to marry someone after such a tragic loss. But maybe I can do something to give you a respite from your grief.” Then with a snap of her fingers, one of her ladies-in-waiting jumped from the shadows to her side. “I believe Lady Lillabet would be very interested in seeing more of the palace.” Seeing Lily’s enthusiastic nod, Queen Eleanor’s face softened. “There are a great many fascinating rooms, much more impressive than this one. I’m sure your sister will not mind if you leave us to explore.”

  Bronwyn did not really blame Lily for abandoning her so quickly and without pause to consider if she should. Her sister had always been impulsive and allowed to indulge in her whims. However, after the queen’s last insightful comment, it was a little unsettling. Even more so was the queen’s strategy to divide and conquer. She wanted to speak to her alone. The question was why?

  Seconds later, Lily vanished, and with another gesture, Queen Eleanor dismissed the rest of her staff hovering about. The queen then issued Bronwyn a direct smile that hinted of admiration. “You are smart to be wary, but let us not talk here. These open rooms do not promote conversation and I find a walk around the gardens to be refreshing in the afternoon. Would you join me?”

  Bronwyn had no choice but to agree and followed Her Grace out of the chambers and into the corridor.

  Waving a jeweled hand at the architecture and décor surrounding them, the queen commented, “Your sister seems to admire Westminster, but I find it lacking. Do you know why?”

  Surprised by the question, Bronwyn tripped. The subject was one that had crossed her mind since their arrival. Something was missing, but she could not conclude what it might be. The building was massive and in many ways impressive, but what it needed, Bronwyn could not explain. Whatever it was, it prevented the palace from being the majestic structure she always imagined it to be.

  Resigning, Bronwyn admitted defeat. “No, I cannot say.”

  Eleanor stopped abruptly and eyed Bronwyn. “But I can see that you do agree with my assessment. Interesting, considering how little you have traveled.” She then issued Bronwyn another smile, this one more genuine, and then waved her hand around her. “It’s art. Tapestries are beautiful, if well done, and most of these are, but woven pictures cannot be the sole spirit of a home. I suppose I should have realized that if Paris required refining, so would London. When able,” she said, pausing to tap on her protruding stomach, “I shall bring culture here like they have at Palermo.”

  The queen turned to leave, but stopped once again. “Some believe me to be pompous, but I am not. I assure you.”

  Bronwyn held the queen’s steady gaze, this time less afraid. Her Grace was employing a baiting tactic her mother had perfected. She had given Bronwyn two choices. Either she could state her opinion and insult the queen by agreeing she was pompous or be like all the other minions, and placate the queen’s esteem. Bronwyn chose a third route.

  “I think, Your Grace, some take offense to women with strong personalities, but I do not. Assertiveness is sometimes a requirement of survival, especially if one is in a position of authority. I was taught the one who wills is the one who can.”

  Once again the queen’s gaze turned shrewd. “And have you been a woman in such a position?”

  Bronwyn cocked a single brow. “Yes.”

  Explanation was not needed. That it had been on a much smaller scale than that of the queen was obvious, but Bronwyn had been responsible for the welfare of many people, and they had survived—in some ways even thrived—under her direction.

  “I must admit that I like you, Lady…Edythe.” The queen paused again and her eyes started to sparkle. She shifted her jaw and then resumed their walk to the outside. “I was not sure that I would. Women must own their opinion and not shrink from it, and I respect those of our sex who do not cower when faced with awkward moments. I am fortunate my second husband understands such strength and appreciates it.”

  They approached an overly large wooden entry-way, and with a single look from their queen, the soldiers standing guard opened the massive doors but did not follow them outside.

  Bronwyn glanced at the bench the queen instructed her to occupy, feeling odd that she should sit while Her Grace remained standing. A large flock of birds flew overhead, gathering both their attentions.

  “Do you hunt, Lady Edythe?” the queen mused.

  “I enjoy attending a hunt, but am only skilled with a blade.”

  “Do you carry one now?”

  Bronwyn gulped and nodded, suddenly realizing that the palace guards might not appreciate her having such an object and being alone in the company of the queen. “I carry one with me always,” Bronwyn answered as she dove her hand into the small hidden pocket of her gown and unsheathed the blade.

  Eleanor studied the polished metal and carved handle, unperturbed that Bronwyn had not disclosed its presence. “You surprise me and so few do,” the queen said, returning the lethal item. “I assume you are good.”

  “I’m excellent,” Bronwyn said immodestly, slipping the dagger back into her pocket.

  “I do like your honesty,” Eleanor laughed aloud. “But I wonder that you are not also an archer. I find the sport exceedingly diverting as well as physically and mentally challenging.”

  “And are you skilled, Your Grace?” Bronwyn asked, returning the queen’s earlier blunt question.

  “I am or at least I was a few months ago,” Eleanor sighed. “Indeed, if there had been time after my husband’s coronation—and maybe if I wasn’t so encumbered—I could have persuaded Henry to sponsor great tournaments just for my pleasure. It’s a beneficial skill to understand one’s husband enough to sway his decisions, do you not think?”

  The queen’s demeanor had become demonstrably more relaxed, reminding Bronwyn of her earlier advice to be wary. “If I were married, I would undoubtedly agree,” Bronwyn craftily replied.

  “I would have thought you to be married. But then again, the one who pledges himself to you would need to be strong in both spirit as well as body. I have only met a few such men. My husband, your father…and Lord Anscombe, of course.” Then with a simple twist of her hand, the queen pointed to another area of the gardens. “Come, let us walk some more.”

  At the mention of Ranulf, Bronwyn gritted her teeth and kept silent, refusing to rise to the bait. Standing, she wished the conversation would just come to an abrupt end. She and the queen were engaged in a game of wits in which Bronwyn felt as if she were constantly playing the part of the mouse being toyed with by a very beautiful and very powerful cat. Why the queen didn’t just pounce and get the deed over with, Bronwyn could not fathom.

  “You are quite good at schooling your expression, Lady Edythe, better than anyone I have met in some time, but you should know that I have been a longtime student of the practice.”

  Bronwyn held her breath, but remained mum.

  “Your father, Sir Laon, and I had a great number of conversations. He was quite a learned man and a surprising strategist in human behavior. I am still amazed at how he was always able to get what he wanted from someone, not by force, but by making the other want it, too, including myself. I was very sorry to hear about his death and…” The queen stopped in midstride to reach out and clasp Bronwyn’s forearm, locking gazes. “I know he would have been quite devastated to learn about the dea
th of your sister. He spoke often of his daughters and I know he loved each of you very much.”

  Bronwyn turned away and squeezed her eyes shut. She had been a fool. The queen knew exactly who she was the same way Ranulf had known. Her father must have described her and her sisters and never could she be mistaken for Edythe.

  Bronwyn turned to apologize and explain, but before she could say a word, Queen Eleanor continued, “Your restraint is wise, and strangely, I am glad you have refrained from opening yourself in any way. Married to the king, I have an obligation to tell him certain things.”

  Bronwyn’s mouth dropped a little wider for a fraction of a second and then closed. The queen just announced that until she knew for sure Bronwyn was lying about her identity, she felt no compulsion to disclose such deceit to the king. Her secret was safe. The question was—why?

  “I apologize, Your Grace. I believe my expression is misleading as I grieve for many right now. My father, the late Lord Anscombe…and of course, my sister.” Bronwyn took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. Besides, she and Ranulf needed an ally. “Tonight, however, I feel my spirits may improve during the festivities. I quite look forward to them.”

  The queen’s brows shot up as renewed excitement brewed in her eyes. “Do you now? Hmm, then I think I do, too.”

  They turned back toward the castle without any more conversation, and for the first time, Bronwyn felt truly relaxed since her arrival. She continued to school her countenance, but physically, the tension began to drain from her limbs.

  “I was wondering if you and your sister would like to enter with me this evening as two of my ladies-in-waiting—just for tonight, of course,” Queen Eleanor half asked, half commanded as they reentered her Presence chambers.

  Bronwyn hesitated. She needed to get back to Ranulf, for their plan required exact timing, but how did one decline an invitation from the queen? “I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, and I am sure that my sister Lillabet would be happy to oblige, but I was hoping to join the festivities…later. And Lord Anscombe, he is no doubt waiting for us at the inn. I should get back and explain all that has happened.”

  “Nonsense. I have decided you and your sister shall come with us. And don’t worry about Ranulf. I’ll send word to him that you will be attending with Henry and me tonight.” Bronwyn’s heart plummeted as Eleanor continued, pretending not to see Bronwyn’s distress. “Come in here.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes once again grew wide as she followed the queen into what could only be her bedchambers. “First, your gown.”

  The doors closed behind them and Bronwyn fought the instinct to gasp. The room was unlike any other she had seen in the castle. There were different styles of art and sculpture, and the shimmering materials on the bed and chairs begged to be touched. Next to a large chest against the wall, hanging on two pegs, was a gown that took her breath away. Ermine-lined, the tight-fitting robe of iridescent gold cloth was embroidered with leopards and fleurs-de-lys, a blending of England and France.

  Eleanor followed Bronwyn’s fixated gaze and smiled. “As you can see, I am more like your sister and enjoy standing out in a crowd. The gown is beautiful, is it not? I wore it to my coronation and will again tonight. And while I admit to my penchants for beautiful Byzantine clothing, this babe grows hourly and that dress is surprisingly comfortable. You, on the other hand, favor the simple.”

  Inclining her head, Eleanor turned to the servant who was sitting so quietly in the room, Bronwyn had not even realized she was there. “Could you bring the dark burgundy gown of Petronilla’s and then tell the others to get ready. Oh, and bring me the items from last year’s Twelfth Night.”

  The thin woman nodded and left to fetch the gown, reappearing minutes later with a vision of dark red. Placing it on one of the settees, she curtsied and left to complete the rest of the queen’s request.

  “As you can see, it is quite plain, but very pretty. My sister Petronilla will not miss it and it would be perfect for you. It will also endear yourself to the king. My husband is many things…most of them good, but he can be aggravatingly frugal. He will appreciate the simplicity of your dress. And I think tonight, anything that can endear you to Henry will be a good thing, will it not?”

  Bronwyn stepped toward the lounge to finger the rich garment. “Your Grace, I cannot think why I have deserved such attention or such kindness, but—”

  “But nothing. Consider it a gift for the one you are about to give me.”

  “But I have no—”

  The queen waved her hand, cutting Bronwyn off. “Your gift will be the one of amusement, something that is often lacking from these celebrations. Oh, they are grand in size and the feasts notable, but beyond that, the entertainment is somewhat unexciting. I expect tonight you are going to change all that.”

  The thin servant woman returned holding several items and deposited them on a small table next to the settee before retreating back into the shadows. Queen Eleanor plucked one of the glittering items off the table and placed the gold mask lined with jewels and feathers against her face. “I had these made last year for myself and my ladies-in-waiting. Unfortunately, Henry was stuck here in London for Twelfthtide with that awful Stephen after signing the treaty. So he never got to enjoy the fun we had hiding our identities and letting those around us try to guess who we were. Should we not attempt the levity once again, just for him?”

  Bronwyn stepped forward and took the mask outstretched in the queen’s palm. Her Grace was not just astute, but brilliant. “I think your invitation to be a lady-in-waiting for a single night to be divine.”

  “I am glad we are of accord. Do you think your sister will feel slighted if I change my mind and she does not get to join in our fun?”

  Bronwyn shook her head and searched for the right words. “Lily…what she desires most is to turn heads.”

  “Enjoys attention, does she? Maybe I should offer a gown and a grand entrance.”

  Bronwyn could not help but beam the queen a large smile. Queen Eleanor was much more than an ally. She was a friend. Bronwyn wasn’t sure whether Her Grace was helping for her sake or Ranulf’s, but at the moment, Bronwyn didn’t care. She just hoped Ranulf figured out what was happening and adjusted his plan accordingly. “I am sure Lily will appreciate your generosity. I know I do.”

  Smiling, the queen sank into an overly large padded chair and leaned back, finding enormous fun in having conversations within conversations. “And you? Is there any part of tonight’s festivities you are most interested in?”

  Bronwyn moved the burgundy gown aside and sat down on the settee. “Just one. The Bean King.”

  “The Bean King? Hmmm. Henry was considering bypassing the tradition this year. He wasn’t sure how wise it was to hand over power so early in his reign, no matter how long.”

  “It would be a shame,” Bronwyn began, searching for words that convinced but did not reveal, “for it is always entertaining. This year, I suspect it will be the high point of the night.”

  “Then I can promise you it shall happen. I just hope, for your sake, Henry also finds it diverting.”

  Bronwyn bit her bottom lip. “Me, too. I pray he does, too,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Ranulf never paced. The effort wasted energy and it accomplished nothing, but that was exactly what he was doing. Bronwyn and Lillabet were at the palace and they were not going to return before the festivities. He should have realized the day would not get any easier after the events of the afternoon.

  The king’s favorite baker had indeed come to London, but getting inside the castle to where the food was being prepared had proved to be far more difficult than Ranulf had anticipated. Henry had increased security and that included those in the kitchens. It had taken time, but eventually Ranulf was able to meet with the pastry connoisseur and ensure a certain slice of cake would be delivered to only one person. By the time Ranulf returned to the inn, the night had started to blanket the sky and the merriment in the street had already begun.
Then he was told Bronwyn and Lily were gone—and had been for some time.

  Realizing the farce had been discovered, he was about to leave and try to explain his actions when word came directly from the queen. Bronwyn and Lily were guests of the court and would see him soon after the Bean King was announced. The message was cryptic, but enough to let Ranulf know that the plan had not changed.

  Pacing, Ranulf mentally reviewed every possibility the queen would have for meeting with Bronwyn and her sister and then requesting their continued company. He was sure Bronwyn did not reveal their plan, for Queen Eleanor could not have knowingly supported the temporary deception. But his instinct screamed that Henry’s high-spirited wife was somehow involved. He just hoped it was to his advantage.

  An hour later, Ranulf slowly maneuvered his way into the semicrowded Great Hall, trying to avoid attention. Most paid no heed to him, but as usual, several openly gaped as he moved by. Ignoring them, Ranulf looked for Bronwyn, his search made exceedingly difficult with his limited vision.

  His frustration was mounting when a buzz overcame part of the crowd. A few seconds later, Lillabet came into view with several escorts, capturing the eye of every nearby male. As Bronwyn had foretold, she was an expert at handling the attention. Soon, Baron Craven emerged from hiding and hovered close by. Ranulf had to give his sister-in-law credit. She neither shied away nor gave any indication of her true feelings for the man. She engaged him just enough, and by his untroubled expression, Lily had done her job. Now it was time for him to do his. Ranulf moved near to the main entrance and waited.

  Soon afterward, King Henry II entered, followed by Queen Eleanor and her ladies-in-waiting, all wearing masks. Even with their faces hidden, they appeared beautiful and forbidden, just as he remembered them being in Normandy. He also recalled how they treated him. How fortunate he was not to have been snared by one of them for not a lady in the room could compare to Bronwyn. But where was she?

  Edging his way closer to the queen, he finally caught her eye and she waved for him to come near. “Your Grace, may I ask—”