Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  In the ensuing silence, she glanced up toward the tree above her head. The shadows of the tree branches looked like gnarled fingers moving back and forth, summoning her. She slowly straightened, noticing an immobile, black mound in the tree. Prickles of dread raced along her shoulders, and she stepped back. Suddenly, at the head of the dark shape, two glowing eyes opened, staring at her. She gasped.

  The Yule Cat!

  A loud growl rumbled, and the shadow leapt from the tree.

  Thora screamed and covered her head.

  A ball of fur landed heavily on her, shoving her to the ground with its weight. She shouted and cried, flailing her arms to try to push it away. She felt the sting of its claws on her cheek. It was trying to eat her!

  Thora screamed again, lashing out with her hands, trying to shove the Yule Cat away before it ate her.

  Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled her into strong arms. “Thora!”

  She yelled and cried, pounding against the hold of the hands. “The Yule Cat! It’s here!”

  The arms pulled her tighter into a warm embrace. “Shhh.” Her hair was stroked in a calming manner as her screams subsided into sobs. “It’s well. I’ll protect you. You’re safe now.”

  The eyes glowed in her memory. She saw the Yule Cat’s sharp claws and teeth in her mind. A tight fist of fear gripped her. She curled her fingers into the soft cloak before her and buried her face into the chest beneath. Warmth and safety slowly penetrated her terror. The scent of leather and woods filled her nose. When her sobs lessened, she pulled back to look into Bastian’s light brown eyes. “It was the Yule Cat,” she wept, tears trailing over her cheeks. “It came to eat me!”

  Chapter 1

  Eight years later

  Bastian strolled through the sun-dappled woods, his heavy boots crunching fallen greenery and twigs. The trees had shed their leaves, covering the dirt with them like a blanket. Winter was on its way.

  He stopped when he arrived at a square spot of branches with leaves strewn over them. He knew they covered a hidden hole. He inspected the trap, one of many scattered throughout the forest, with his hands on his hips. He shook his head, scoffing. It was his job as Captain of the Guard to make sure the traps were monitored and maintained, but he thought it a waste of time. Eight years ago, Lord Rowley, Lady Thora’s father, had insisted traps be set around the castle to capture or kill the monster that had dared attack his daughter.

  Eight years of inspecting, eight years of vigilance, without another incident. There had been no further attack by the fictitious cat. Bastian didn’t doubt Thora believed it had been the Yule Cat that assaulted her. She had been a young girl, only ten summers old, when it happened. The tale spread like wildfire, sweeping through the castle walls and the village. She even had a battle scar to strengthen her story -- three scratches on her cheek. He recalled seeing a small shadow dart away from Thora as he approached. Yet, he couldn’t be certain what type of animal it had been, so he hadn’t disputed Thora’s story. But Bastian doubted her injury had been from a pretend creature of lore and was much more likely to have been from a wild animal.

  Bastian sighed at the thought of the tale: a cat who came out of the mountains at the Yuletide to eat children who didn’t finish their chores. He kicked at the branches to make sure they were secure. Anyone with a mind could see that the legend was invented to get children to complete their duties before the Yule.

  Most of the pits they had dug had never been disturbed. He remembered digging them with the other guards and squires. It had been back-breaking labor due to the frozen earth, but they had persisted until the traps were done to Lord Rowley’s satisfaction. But even dozens of traps had not alleviated the fear that gripped the town at this time of year. The Yule was less than a week away, and with every passing day, the people of Grandmore village became more and more afraid that some small cat would breach the tall stone walls of Grandmore Castle and eat them.

  Bastian glanced through the trunks of the trees toward the castle walls. He could make out the thick, tall stone walls surrounding the fortress and village. Nothing was getting in.

  Still, Lord Rowley believed it was important the traps be maintained. Although they hadn’t rid the town of unease around the Yule, they did help to mitigate the town’s terror. One good thing had come from all this nonsense -- the children finished all their chores around the Yule. Even Nicolas, who swore he didn’t believe in the Yule Cat, worked hard to complete his tasks. Bastian chuckled as he moved on to the next trap.

  As he walked, birds sang around him, flying from tree to tree. He ducked beneath a branch and heard something scurry inside of the trap. He froze, tingles dancing along his nape as he cautiously stepped towards the trap. The branches covering one corner of the trap had collapsed in. Something was in there.

  He did not think it was the Yule Cat, because he didn’t believe in it. Rather, it was likely just some unlucky animal trapped inside. Once, a boar had been discovered in one of the pits. Another time, a raccoon. He moved to the edge of the trap, bent to a knee, and carefully lifted the branches from the top, peering into the shaded pit. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He lifted the branches higher, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Something shifted at the bottom of the trap that caused him to jump. But with a sigh of relief and incredulity, he sat back on his heel. Then, he started laughing.

  “You have to be very careful,” Thora explained. She held her cloak closed around her with one hand, the other tucked inside. “Move very slowly and cautiously. It is afraid.”

  Two freckled boys walked backwards ahead of her across the drawbridge. They watched her with exuberance. One of the boys almost tripped as he stepped from the wooden platform into the grass, but he righted himself.

  A young girl with brown hair and a tan cotton dress bounced at Thora’s side, shifting to try to see inside her cloak.

  Thora continued to walk across the drawbridge and into the open field.

  “Will it be able to fly?” the young girl asked with strained enthusiasm, her curls bouncing about her head with each step.

  “I hope so, Bella,” Thora answered. “We’ve given his wing enough time to heal.”

  One of the boys pointed to her face. “Will he scratch your face like the Yule Cat did?”

  It took all of Thora’s willpower not to reach up and run her hand along the three scars on her cheek. “Not if I am gentle. But you never know.”

  Thora stopped in the center of the field, halfway between the castle wall and the forest. The children quickly came closer, clamoring to see better and angling their necks to look inside her cloak.

  “Step back, children,” Thora advised. “I want him to have plenty of room to fly away.”

  All the children moved back two steps, their gazes fixed on her cloak.

  Thora looked around the wide, open field and the trees in the distance. There was plenty of room here to release the small swallow.

  “Will we have time to say goodbye?” Bella asked, swiping a strand of curly hair from her eyes.

  “I’m afraid not. As soon as I release him, I expect he will fly.” As the little girl’s large brown eyes saddened, Thora quickly added, “But he was so lucky that you found him. Otherwise, a hawk or falcon might have eaten him. He certainly would not have been able to find food. He would’ve gone hungry. You saved him.”

  Bella nodded, even as her chin quivered.

  “Ready?” Thora asked.

  The children hopped anxiously, shifting from foot to foot.

  Thora eased her cloak open, rapidly unfurling her fingers and lifting her hand to the sky to release the swallow. The bird opened its wings and soared into the blue sky.

  The boys cheered and whooped and danced with joy, racing after the swallow across the field. Bella stayed where she was. Thora looked down at her.

  The small girl’s eyes stared after the bird, and her lower lip puffed out. Thora bent down to Bella. She brushed the brown hair from the girl�
��s cheek and put a lock of curls behind her ear. Thora squeezed her hand. “I’m certain he will never forget you. You saved him.”

  “But how will he survive?” Bella asked sorrowfully. “Who will bring him food?”

  Thora grinned and tilted her head. “He knows how to find food. He knows how to stay safe. He’ll build a nest somewhere with a girl bird and have plenty of little birds.”

  Bella lowered her eyes and kicked at the ground sadly. “I wish I could have kept him.”

  “I know, my little dove. But the bird is wild. He deserves to be free. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him in a small crate all the time.” She gently tweaked Bella’s nose. “You wouldn’t want that for him.”

  Bella shook her head and threw her arms around Thora’s shoulders.

  Thora squeezed the child. Over her shoulder, she saw a black warhorse trotting across the withered grass toward them, and her heart missed a beat. Bastian, her mind sighed. His black cloak was like a cape, billowing out behind him with each step of the horse. His dark shoulder-length hair bobbed with each movement. She stood to greet him, picking Bella up with her. The boys saw him approaching and ran back toward them.

  Bastian drew to a stop before her. He was the picture of protection. Tall. Strong. Resilient. Oh, so handsome.

  Thora always felt safe when Bastian was near. She wiped a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “Are the traps all set?”

  His lips turned up in a grin.

  Her heart began to pound in response, and she mentally told herself to stop reacting this way.

  The boys raced up, one on either side of Thora, gazing up at Bastian with admiring eyes.

  He swung his leg over his horse to dismount and landed on the ground before her. “One of the traps had been sprung.”

  Thora gasped and her breath caught in her throat. A shiver raced up her spine as the glowing eyes in the tree haunted her memory yet again. Bella linked her hands around Thora’s neck and tightened her grip.

  “Was it the Yule Cat?” one of the boys asked.

  Those were the words Thora dared not speak; the question she did not have the courage to ask.

  “The Yule Cat?” the other boy gasped, his eyes growing wide.

  “Did you get it?” the first boy wondered. “I don’t want to be eaten!”

  Bastian cocked his head, and his expression grew serious. “It was even more terrifying than the Yule Cat,” he told the children. “When I saw it, I almost drew my sword.”

  “Did you kill it?” the first boy asked enthusiastically.

  Thora narrowed her eyes, suspicious that anything could be more terrifying than the Yule Cat.

  “What was it?” Bella asked, staring at Bastian with fearful eyes.

  Bastian swiped his cloak aside and produced a tiny rabbit from the folds. The rabbit’s nose twitched.

  For a moment, they all stared. One of the boys blinked and waved his hand, dismissing it. “It’s just a rabbit!”

  The other boy shoved him, laughing. “Maybe it will still eat you!” He darted away as the first boy chased after him.

  Thora’s jaw clenched. How could Bastian frighten the children like that? How could he pretend this rabbit was anything like the Yule Cat?

  “Its leg is broken,” Bastian explained. His eyes alighted on her. “Who better to mend it?” He held the creature out to her.

  Thora set Bella on the ground and despite her irritation, she scooped the little rabbit from his hold and stroked it gently. She held it in the crook of her arm as she carefully inspected its leg.

  “It was caught in one of the traps,” Bastian continued. “Must have fallen in.”

  “Can you help it?” Bella wondered, staring at the rabbit with compassion.

  Thora nodded. “I hope so, but I’ll need help. It will need carrots. Do you think you can find some in the kitchens?”

  Bella nodded enthusiastically and clasped her hands together eagerly. She turned and began skipping toward the drawbridge.

  “Make sure you ask the cook this time! Don’t just take them,” Thora called after her.

  Bella turned, waved, and ran off, her brown curls bouncing around her head.

  Thora turned back to Bastian. His amber eyes gazed at her. A small gust of wind swirled around them, brushing his dark hair from his shoulders. She lifted her chin, ignoring the swirling breathlessness inside her.

  “It’s not funny,” she told him sternly.

  “The rabbit’s foot?” he asked, one brow lifting in confusion.

  “Comparing an innocent creature to the Yule Cat,” she replied heatedly, stroking the speckled hair of the rabbit. “You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

  “If I find humor in the comparison, perhaps the children will, too. And then they won’t be so afraid.”

  Thora narrowed her eyes in disapproval. “They should be afraid. They should always be afraid of the Yule Cat. It is a monster that may come for them.”

  Bastian sighed softly. “Thora, it has been eight years, and there have been no other attacks. Don’t you think…”

  She met his gaze with a steely stare and lifted her chin, daring him to continue.

  Bastian’s gaze swept over her face, and he released a soft breath. “The traps are in order. Nothing will get past them.” He jerked his chin at the rabbit. “Least of all small, terrifying creatures.”

  Thora turned to head back toward the drawbridge. “You mock me. But I know what I saw that night.”

  Bastian hurried after her. “And you told everyone. The town believes you.”

  She whirled on him. The wind whipped around her, tugging her cloak and hair around her. “But you don’t. You don’t believe me.”

  Bastian’s eyes softened as he gazed at her. His dark hair swayed as the breeze died down. “I am a factual person, Thora. I believe what I can see. And I have yet to see this Yule Cat.”

  “Pray that you never do.” She spun toward the drawbridge.

  Bastian caught her arm to halt her. His eyes dropped to the rabbit in her arm, and he ran his hand along the rabbits back. “You love animals far too much not to see the truth of what happened that night.” He cast her one last look before heading to his horse.

  She watched the way he moved -- striding, confident. A pang gripped her chest. Yes, the villagers believed her. But Bastian did not. What more did he require to convince him the Yule Cat was real? She had the marks on her skin as proof. Those glowing eyes in the tree above her still haunted her dreams.

  The rabbit squirmed in her arms, and she wrapped her cloak about it before hurrying across the field toward the drawbridge and Castle Grandmore.

  That evening, Thora held her father’s dinner tray as she moved down the hallway. The aroma of the cooked venison wafted to her, and she inhaled the delicious scent. Torches on the walls lit the way, lighting her path. Her father had missed his meal. Again. She knew he was busy and liked to bring it to him herself. It was one of the few times during the day that she got to spend time with him, especially around the Yule. He was always so busy making sure the castle was ready for the winter, and that the stores of food were adequate.

  She fondly remembered a time when he would sit in his chair before the hearth in the Great Hall with her nestled in his arms. Together, they would watch the burning Yule log grow smaller and smaller. Often, she would fall asleep, and he would carry her to her chambers. That had been long ago, when she was young, and her mother was alive.

  In the past years, it had become her responsibility to make sure they had a Yule log for the celebration.

  She approached his solar and slowed. The door was ajar, and two deep male voices floated from the room. She sighed with disappointment. As usual, he was busy. She glanced back down the hallway and debated whether she should return with his meal later.

  “It’s been eight years since Thora’s incident,” one of the voices said.

  At the mention of her name, she paused.

  “In all that time, the traps have caught two b
oars and three rabbits, if you don’t count the dead ones.”

  Thora recognized Bastian’s deep voice and drew closer to the door.

  “There’s been no sign of any cat, let alone a Yule Cat. There have been no tracks around the traps, nor any around the castle. It’s a tale, m’lord. The Yule Cat does not exist. It is a waste of time and manpower to monitor and maintain the traps.”

  Thora’s jaw clenched, and her back straightened. Her fingers curved tightly over the tray with such fury the knife on it began to rattle. She immediately lessened her grip to stop the shaking. Bastian didn’t want to supervise the traps. The man who had saved her once no longer cared to protect her.

  She wanted Bastian, of all people, to believe her. And she didn’t know why it was so important for him to do so.

  She leaned closer to the door to hear her father’s voice.

  “Even if it is a tale…”

  She strained to hear his reply, praying he would trust his own daughter.

  “I understand your position, Bastian. I may even tend to agree with you,” her father said.

  Thora scowled fiercely. How could he believe Bastian? Betrayal pierced her heart.

  “However,” her father continued. “My people, as well as my daughter, feel safer having the traps. We must continue to have a united front against this… tale.”

  Tale. The word cut deep. It wasn’t a tale; it was reality. The Yule Cat had attacked her, gouged her cheek, and left a scar. It was definite proof. And yet, they still didn’t believe her.

  “Aye, m’lord. What are your orders?” Bastian asked.

  “Cut the monitoring of the traps in half. Do so once a week, or less. I will leave that to your discretion.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” Bastian replied.

  Thora’s lower lip quivered. What more did they want?

  “One more item, m’lord,” Bastian added. “Perchance if Lady Thora understood that this Yule Cat was just a story, the people would begin to believe it also.”