Her jaw clenched. They might believe it was only a tale, but she knew the truth.
Her father’s laughter rolled from the room. “Thora is adamant that the blasted cat is real. It didn’t help that her mother also believed the fable. If you can convince her otherwise, it would be best for all.”
Shock rocked her. Her father didn’t believe the Yule Cat was real. He didn’t trust his own daughter. Hurt at the betrayal, Thora spun away. How could her father try to enlist Bastian to influence her the Yule Cat wasn’t real? She couldn’t understand it. Did her father think so little of her? That she had made the entire attack up? And Bastian… Anguish and fury churned inside her. Bastian, the man who had saved her from the attack, who had promised to protect her, now plotted with her father to deceive her and her people. She looked down at the venison, the sweet tart, and the apple on the tray. Suddenly, none of it was appealing.
She would not let them succeed. She paused in the middle of the hallway, trying to get her emotions under control while rage pounded through her blood. She returned to the doorway, placed the tray on the floor beside the door and stalked down the hallway.
She would never be convinced the Yule Cat was not real. She was certain it would attack again, and they needed to be prepared.
Bastian emerged from the solar and found a tray of food at his feet. He looked one way and then the other, but no one was there.
Chapter 2
Bastian walked through the inner ward. The stars above his head were shrouded by gray swirling clouds. His gaze moved over the tall stone walls as he wandered, looking for ways to improve the defense of the castle to keep the people that lived inside safe. He never considered himself off duty. Even when he had time off, he searched for ways to improve the fortifications. He knew all the secrets of the castle, all the weaknesses. He knew all the ways in and out. He took his duty as Captain of the Guard seriously. No one would be harmed on his watch.
He strolled by the keep, doing his final rounds for the night, being extra cautious about surveying the east wall across from the keep where a stone in the wall was beginning to crumble. It needed to be reinforced, and he was waiting for Lord Rowley to give the order to the mason. It made Bastian uneasy, having part of the wall in need of repair. But he had reported it and had to be content that it would be repaired.
A wall of cold hit him, and he paused, tensing. He narrowed his eyes against the sharp bite of the chill. The snow would start soon. He would have to make sure they had enough oil for the portcullis gears.
Bastian moved forward. As he walked, he heard the crunch of footfalls behind him and sighed to himself. He walked two more steps and suddenly drew his sword, whirling. He held his blade out before him.
Nicolas stood at the end of Bastian’s sword. His dark hair shaggily hung to his shoulder, in desperate need of a cut. He wore a black cloak that swirled about his feet from his abrupt halt. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How did you know?”
Bastian sheathed his sword. “I always know.”
Nicolas’s eyes narrowed. “One day, you won’t hear or see me coming. One day, I’ll fool you.”
Bastian smirked and nodded in agreement. “One day. But not today.” He turned and began walking.
Nicolas matched his stride. “What did you do to make Thora so angry?”
Bastian stopped and faced him, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is she angry?”
Nicolas swiped his hair from his forehead. “She was pacing, and claimed it was all your fault before storming away.”
Frowning, Bastian looked toward the keep. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since.”
Worry tickled the back of Bastian’s neck. “Look for her. Make sure she is inside the castle.”
“She wouldn’t leave the castle at night. Not this close to the Yule. She’s too afraid.”
Bastian had to agree. Still, the need to know she was safe gnawed at the bottom of his stomach. “Look for her inside the keep,” Bastian ordered.
Nicolas nodded and spun, jogging off toward the keep.
Bastian strode through the inner ward to the outer ward. He would find her. He would start at the outer ward and work his way back through the castle. He knew Nicolas would search inside. It was only a matter of time before they found her safe.
As he walked across the outer ward toward the gatehouse, he scanned the area for any sign of Thora. The blacksmith’s shop was quiet for the night. Besides that, the leather maker’s shop was closed. All was silent. A male voice echoed through the ward, coming from the gatehouse, drawing his interest. It was nothing. Probably the guards were speaking to one another. But one of them might have seen her.
A flash of red caught his attention between the crenels on the walkway. He instinctively paused, watching, waiting to see if it was Thora. What would she be doing on the walkway? It couldn’t be Thora. Yet, he still waited, shifting his position to see better in the darkness. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the clouds parted, and the moon appeared. Her red hair shone in the soft rays of light. He expelled his breath in a relieved burst.
Thora stood on the gatehouse walkway, staring out into the forest. Locks of her hair fluttered in the wind.
Concern for how he had upset her caused him to trot to the gatehouse and take the stone stairs two at a time. He nodded to the guard on duty and continued to the walkway where he had seen Thora. As he emerged from the gatehouse, he saw her standing facing the forest. The moonlight showered down on her face, casting a pale glow over her smooth skin. The wind whipped her hair, making it appear like fire. She hugged herself tightly against the chill. He moved forward, removing his cloak, and preparing to place it about her shoulders.
As he neared, she spun, pinning him with a scorching look of anger that froze him in his tracks.
“Don’t,” she snapped.
He pulled his cloak back, stunned at the vehemence in her voice. She turned back to the forest. He glanced at the trees and then at her. An icy wind swept around him, and still, he did not put his cloak back on. He clenched it tightly in his hand. “What are you doing out here?”
“If you think it is a waste of time to protect my people, then I will take it upon myself to do so,” she answered heatedly.
He straightened, insulted. “I never said protecting the people was a waste of time. It is my duty. One I take seriously.”
“And yet you think the traps are unnecessary.”
His mouth dropped slightly before he closed it. How did she know? And then he remembered the tray set outside of Lord Rowley’s door. He folded the cloak over his arm. “I think the time spent maintaining the traps could be better spent on other things. Like training the guards. Surely you can see the wisdom in that.”
“What I see is a knight who promised to keep us safe, and now he wants to abandon his promises.”
Bastian’s jaw clenched. She couldn’t possibly believe that! “That’s not what this is. I want to prepare the castle for real threats, not imaginary ones.”
Thora’s lips thinned in anger. Her blue eyes flashed as the moon slid out from behind a cloud. “It is almost the Yule. That cat will return. And you’d best be prepared.” She marched past him with her chin held high.
Bastian caught her arm, stopping her. “I know you are angry. And I know you are frightened. But it’s been eight years. Think back to your attack.”
She yanked her arm free, her fist clenched. “I know what I saw. It was the Yule Cat. It swooped down and would have eaten me if you hadn’t come.”
“Or, was it an animal that jumped from a branch? Or fell?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I know what happened. I know what I saw.”
“You were ten, Thora. You’re a woman now. It’s time to stop believing in legends. The Yule Cat isn’t real. You are playing a dangerous game with the minds of the villagers.”
Her fists clenched into balls. “This is no game. This is not from my imagination. It attacke
d me. I didn’t just imagine these marks on my face.” She stepped back from him. “If you stop monitoring those traps and the Yule Cat comes, someone could get hurt or worse. It is your duty as Captain of the Guard to protect us.” She whirled and stormed away, the strands of her red hair flapping behind her in the wind like a pennant.
Bastian shook his head. Stubborn. Fierce. Beautiful. She would not give up her belief in the damned cat. And she had convinced others her story was true, that this legendary cat had attacked her. That it had come to eat her. The village went mad around the Yuletide. They were afraid, just like Thora.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the crenel. A memory slammed to the forefront of his mind. Madeline, his sister. Lord, he hadn’t thought of her in a while. He had loved her dearly. She had promised to keep him safe, her little brother. He grinned. Silly as the vow was, he had believed her. And in return, as children do, he had promised to protect her. He recalled her beautiful, excited brown eyes, a shade darker than his own. Her hair had been dark like Nicolas’s but ringed with tiny curls. She had been vibrant, just a year older than him.
He stared down at his cloak without really seeing it, recalling the day long ago. The sun had been warm on his cheeks. He remembered Madeline telling him in her singsong voice that his cheeks were going to burn from the sun as they raced down to the large boulders that lined the riverbank. They had climbed to their favorite spot and began to toss rocks into the rushing water below, seeing who could throw it farthest. Two boys from bordering lands had arrived a few minutes after they had.
Bastian’s fist tightened around his cloak. They had wanted to play a game. They had climbed up on the boulder with him and Madeline. Madeline had announced that they were leaving. She’d reached out for his hand. He wished he had clasped it. He wished he had reached it. He wished he had been a second quicker to grasp her hand. But before he could, one of the boys grabbed Madeline’s arm and tugged her to the edge of the boulder, asking her if she could swim, and pushed her in. She fell into the river with her hand still outstretched.
She couldn’t swim. Madeline hadn’t even screamed when the boy shoved her.
Bastian had. He had called her name and raced up and down the shoreline, searching for her.
He had not been able to protect her from the older boys who had shoved her into the river. He had not been able to protect her from the water that seeped into her lungs and took her life. His lips thinned, and he tried to thrust the thought away. His father had blamed him for her death, but he had done everything in his power, everything a child of seven summers could do to save her. It had not been enough.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And now, Lady Thora believed he didn’t want to guard the castle. He would not fail to defend the city. He would not let them down as he had Madeline.
Thora’s harsh words burned like an ember in the pit of his soul. Still, he understood how she could feel so betrayed. Eight years ago, he had been the one to comfort her after her attack, holding her in his arms. He ‘d seen how terrified she was. He had been surprised how easily the words came to him, the vow. He had promised he would keep her safe. He had promised to protect her. The same vow he had uttered to his sister.
His shoulders sagged. He couldn’t protect his sister. Why did he think he could protect Lady Thora? Even from an imaginary creature.
Chapter 3
Thora returned to the keep. Her fists were balled tightly at her sides as she stalked through the iron-bound wooden doors and down the hallway, fuming. It was unacceptable. Bastian had to keep the traps monitored. There were no other options. It was important to trap the Yule Cat -- if it were to come this year -- so it could not enter the castle and hurt anyone. There was only one solution to preserve the traps. If her father ordered Bastian to continue to maintain them, then he would. She had to convince her father to change his mind.
As she entered the spiral stairway, she thought back to Bastian’s words. ‘Did it jump from a branch? Or fall?’ She ground her teeth. She knew what had happened. She ran her fingers over the three scars on her cheek. Three lines left by the Yule Cat. ‘It’s time to stop believing in legends. The Yule Cat isn’t real.’ Then where had she got these very real marks?
She walked down the hallway with her jaw clenched. She passed one of her father’s servants, who bowed to her. She nodded in greeting, trying hard not to let him see how angry she was.
Pausing at her father’s chambers, she knocked on the door.
“I told you I don’t need to bathe!” her father’s voice rose.
She eased the door open. “Father?”
He stood near the window where the shutters had been opened. When he saw her, his scowl eased, and a grin touched his lips. “I’m sorry, my dear. I thought you were James.” He crossed the room to the hearth, signaling her to enter with a quick wave.
Thora closed the door behind her.
As he eased himself into the padded wooden chair, he groaned softly. “The man can be vexing.”
She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “So can you, on occasion.”
He smiled and nodded in agreement. “I missed our dinner.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes. Bastian found the tray near the door. You didn’t come in.”
“No.” She took a deep breath and stared at her clasped hands. “Father, I want to talk to you about the traps.”
“I knew you heard us speaking.” He sighed. “Dearest, Bastian is right. It’s been eight years since your attack, and there has been no incidents since. We need to concentrate our efforts on real threats. I’m sure you’ve heard tell of raiders coming down from the Highlands. They are more dangerous to us than a cat.”
She swallowed heavily. At the very least, he hadn’t denied the attack had happened or that the Yule Cat was real. “It’s close to the Yule, Father. The people… I… would feel safer if the traps were maintained and monitored through the Yule.”
He gazed at her with tender blue eyes.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Please, Father. It’s important. It’s important we all feel safe.”
“Is it the others you are worried about, or yourself?”
She pulled back, startled. His words repeated in her mind, an accusation. She paused. Was she only thinking about herself? Was he right? Was she only insisting the traps remain maintained so that she felt safe?
He patted her hand. “I’m sorry for what you endured years ago and the scars it has left you physically and mentally. If I find that damned cat, I will rip it to pieces for the terror it has instilled in you.”
Thora wished with all her heart he could do just that -- find the Yule Cat and kill it. Put an end to all this.
He took a deep breath. “I understand your fear. I do. But no one else has been attacked by the Yule Cat.” He considered his words with a scowl on his brow. He spoke softly. “It’s been so long since your attack. Perhaps the cat is dead. Perhaps it has moved on to another castle.” He paused before continuing, “Perhaps it is not real.”
She straightened, hurt. Her lip quivered for an instant before she brought it under control. She had not made the attack up! “It is real. I saw it. I --”
He held up a hand for her to cease. “So be it. I will inform Bastian to keep checking the traps. For you.”
The statement that it was all for her weighed more heavily on her conscience than the fact that he thought the Yule Cat was not real. Two men had told her it was not real, two men she adored. Was she being selfish in demanding the traps be kept up? But was it not better to be safe than sorry, even at the expense of convenience? She wrung her hands. “Thank you, Father.” She kissed his cheek absently before departing the room, more troubled than when she’d entered.
Bastian couldn’t get Thora’s accusation out of his mind. He wanted to abandon his promise? He scoffed. He would never abandon his promises, not again, least of all those to Thora. He entered the military quarters of the castle, moving through the
hallway. All the guards stationed in the castle had rooms here. Bastian knew Sir William and Sir Garrett were patrolling the walkways that night.
He quietly opened the door to his chambers and entered the darkness. The room was eerily silent, and he stopped, listening. He shook his head when he didn’t even hear the sound of a cricket. “Not tonight, Nicolas,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood.”
There was a pause and then a sigh. “I would have got you tonight!”
Bastian made his way to his straw mattress, tossing his cloak over a chair before sitting. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
A candle flamed to light on a table near the wall, and Nicolas stepped into the brightness. “I was waiting for you.” While Nicolas wasn’t a knight nor guard, Lord Rowley let the brothers share chambers. Two straw mattresses lay against opposite stone walls with a table propped between them, a chair at the foot of each bed, and a large chest against the wall.
“Did you find Thora?” Nicolas asked.
Bastian nodded, pulling his boots from his feet. “Aye.”
“Is she still angry?”
“Aye.”
“Did you find out why?”
Bastian lifted his eyes to his brother. Nicolas was a scrawny boy who hadn’t yet grown into his body. At sixteen summers, he was tall and willing to learn. Bastian was proud of the man Nicolas was developing into, but he had a long way to go before becoming a knight. Nicolas sat on his straw mattress and leaned forward. Candlelight fell over him in a deep red wave. As the light flickered from a draft, long shadows were cast over the boy’s face.
Bastian leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “What do you think of the Yule Cat?”
“It’s a monster,” Nicolas exclaimed, gesticulating. “It’s big and --”
Bastian knew the legend and waved him off. “But do you believe it’s real?”
Nicolas’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He thought about the question for a moment and then scratched his head. “Thora believes it is real.” When Bastian didn’t respond, he furrowed his brow in seriousness. “I guess… sure. Why couldn’t it be real?”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 35