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

by Collette Cameron

  “A big black cat that comes down from the hills at the Yule and eats children who haven’t done their chores?” Bastian asked doubtfully.

  Nicolas blinked and then grinned. “It doesn’t come down alone. It has that troll lady with it.”

  Bastian lifted a brow in disbelief. “When have you believed in trolls?”

  Nicolas shrugged and leaned back against the wall. “Yeah. It does sound pretend.” He yawned. “But Thora was attacked by the Yule Cat. If that hadn’t happened, I might say it was just a silly tale. But she has those scratches on her face as proof.”

  A moment of silence stretched in the room, and Bastian leaned back against the wall, mirroring his little brother, and stared into the flickering candlelight. Proof. That was what he needed. Proof to show Thora and all the rest that the Yule Cat didn’t exist. But how was he going to find that?

  Thora was the key. She had always been the answer.

  Chapter 4

  Satisfied that her father would keep the traps maintained and in working order, Thora’s anger evaporated. As she moved toward the kitchens, she thought back to her argument with Bastian. She had said hurtful things to him that she now regretted. She knew he would defend her people with his life if need be. She had been angry with him and wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. He didn’t believe the Yule Cat was real. Did he even believe it attacked her? She didn’t understand. Bastian had been there that night. She remembered how he had convinced her that he would never let anything happen to her. She remembered how he held her until she stopped crying and shaking. And now… now what? He thought she had made the entire thing up?

  She stopped by the kitchens to take a carrot for her favorite horse, Midnight, and a piece of venison for the barn hound, Beaumont. Then she left and headed toward the stables.

  As she walked across the inner ward toward the stables, she distractedly twisted her golden bracelet, the one her father had given her for the Yule five years ago. She tried not to dwell on Bastian. Some people didn’t have faith that the Yule Cat was real, and that was certainly their right. But a monster that struck infrequently was still a monster to be aware of. But Bastian… It stung that he questioned what happened that night. Yes, she had been young, but she knew what had happened, what she’d seen. Those glowing eyes in the tree would never be erased from her memory.

  They were the eyes of the Yule Cat!

  The night air was crisp and getting colder. The gray clouds churned above her head, hiding the night stars. She hurried through the cold, passing two boys huddled around a bonfire.

  She opened the stable door and entered, moving toward Midnight, a sleek black stallion tied to a beam in his stall.

  Around Midnight a handful of other horses stood, secured to beams in separate stalls. It was dark, but she knew the way down the aisle to her beloved horse by heart. Her feet crunched on the hay lining the floor.

  Entering the stall, she ran her hand along Midnight’s side, and he nickered softly in greeting. She stroked his nose, and he nudged her hand, looking for the carrot. She pressed a kiss to his snout and removed the carrot from inside her cloak, where she had tucked it into her belt. She presented it to Midnight. He nibbled it from her hand, his lips brushing softly against her palm. He bowed his head, allowing her to pat his neck as he ate.

  After stroking his nose, Thora turned from her horse to find the mastiff sitting excitedly behind her. He stared at her with large brown eyes and a wagging tail that sent the hay on the floor scattering.

  She smiled. “You smelled it, didn’t you?”

  At her voice, he stood, his tongue lolling out of his mouth to one side. Beaumont’s ears and muzzle were brown, his body tan. He was a large dog and came up to Thora’s waist.

  She scratched behind his ears. “You are a good boy, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” she cooed before reaching inside her cloak and pulling out the venison. She handed it to him, and he eagerly ate it.

  Thora turned back to Midnight. She stroked his nose, gazing into his eyes. Lord, she loved this horse. She had raised him from a colt and trained him herself. Her father insisted he did all the training, but it simply wasn’t so.

  Midnight was hers.

  Beaumont suddenly froze, and his ears perked up. A moment later, a horrible screeching filled the night. It was like nothing she had ever heard before. Her stomach dropped. She hurried to the door, followed by a bounding Beaumont. She opened it slightly, blocking Beaumont’s exit.

  Cackling laughter floated to her on the night breeze, and she tilted her head to listen. A yowling pierced the air. She stepped outside, easing the door closed behind her.

  Two boys stood across from each other around the bonfire. One had his hood up, and the other wore no cloak. They stared down at the fire with crooked grins. The fire snapped, and the one with the hood pointed toward the flames. “Don’t let it get it away!”

  Confused, Thora took a step forward.

  The boy without a cloak jerked to the side and kicked something toward the fire. “Kick it back! Beware! The Yule Cat!”

  Startled and frightened, Thora straightened. Shivers of fear raced through her body.

  The Yule Cat? In the castle?

  “Get it!” the hooded boy hooted with laughter. “Get the Yule Cat!”

  The boy without a cloak swiped with his foot, snickering.

  Terrified, Thora retreated to the stable wall. The Yule Cat. It was here, inside the castle walls. It had got through the traps. In her mind’s eye, she saw those two glowing eyes and felt the sting of its claws against her cheek. She trembled fiercely.

  A shadow shot out of the fire and tried to dodge the boy’s cocked foot, but the boy blocked it and kicked it back into the fire.

  The Yule Cat. Thora couldn’t move; her body was numb with horror. She could barely breathe. The image of the glowing eyes consumed her thoughts. The memory of the awful growl echoed in her ears. Black spots dotted her vision, and her body grew cold.

  The shadow tried to race away, but the hooded boy grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, laughing. He lifted it above his head and shook it. “Ahhhh! The Yule Cat!”

  It was a cat, a small black cat. Thora blinked. The haze of fear holding her immobile drained from her body, and puzzlement washed over her. The Yule Cat was a small black cat?

  “Throw it in!” the boy without a cloak ordered, pointing to the fire.

  The cat looked at Thora.

  For a moment, time seemed to halt. Those wide, brown eyes stared at her, pleading with her. The boy held it over the fire, laughing. The cat’s thin black tail was curled beneath its hind legs, the tip on fire. Its paws were splayed helplessly.

  At that moment, Thora saw a helpless animal, not the horrible Yule Cat of her nightmares. She saw an animal that was being tortured by two boys. Tears rose in her eyes as the boy lowered it toward the flames. His laugh echoed in the night.

  Who was the real monster here?

  She might get scratched again. She might be terrified. But she could not let them hurt the cat. Without another thought, she bolted from the wall. She came up behind the boys and shoved the one holding the cat aside. He dropped it, and it dashed toward the stables.

  “Hey!” one boy called.

  “Ahh!” the other screamed. “My tunic is on fire!”

  Thora ignored him. She followed the path of the cat with her eyes. It squeezed between two planks of wood and into the stables.

  Beaumont started barking.

  Thora dashed toward the stables. She flung the door wide and stood for a moment in the entry, scanning the darkness as her eyes adjusted.

  Beaumont’s insistent bark came from an empty stall. He howled, digging at the hay. The horses in the other stalls shifted nervously.

  Thora rushed forward and grabbed Beaumont around the shoulders, dragging him away. He continued to bark and twist his body to return to the stall. Thora held him, scanning the hay-covered ground for the injured cat. She knew it was here somewhere; Beaumont was trying to
o hard to reach something.

  Suddenly, movement caused Beaumont to jerk forward. The cat darted out of the hay, and Thora put her hand down, hoping to catch it. She managed to scoop it into her arms, clutching it close, and released Beaumont. It squealed as she grasped it, and she whispered in a soft voice, “It’s well. You’re safe now. I’ll protect you.”

  Beaumont barked, trailing her to the door. Thora held the cat to her chest as she made her way out of the stables. She pressed through the doorway, shutting it quickly before Beaumont could escape. She made her way across the courtyard, pausing to glance toward the bonfire. The flames snapped and crackled, but the boys were not there. She breathed a sigh of relief and raced toward the keep.

  Inside the stables, among the strands of hay where the cat had hidden, a small waft of smoke curled up from a tiny flame.

  Chapter 5

  Thora’s heart raced as she clutched the cat to her chest, wrapped safely inside her cloak. As she hurried up the spiral stairs, her only thought was for the safety of the little cat. Those boys had been evil and callous to hurt it. How barbaric! Why would they want to harm such a small creature? And then laugh about it.

  She suddenly realized the cat had stopped struggling. Dread filled her as she glanced down into the shelter of her cloak, hoping it was not dead. In the flickering light of the torches ensconced on the wall, she saw two large eyes gazing up at her, two large, frightened eyes. She could only stare. Her heart twisted -- what an innocent creature, unable to defend itself against the two boys.

  Poor thing. It was terrified. Her stare moved over the little face. One of its ears was still smoking and burnt badly. On one side of its cheek, its whiskers had been completely singed. “It will be well,” she whispered, anguished over the abuse the little cat had endured. She cuddled the cat against her and hurried up the stairs to her chambers at the far end of the hallway.

  She entered her chambers, grateful for the warm fire in the hearth. She glanced down at the cat, comforting it with soft words, “You’ll be well. I’ll take care of you.” The frightened cat would probably dash into a corner of her room, looking for safety and a hiding place as soon as she released it. But she had to take care of its injuries. Its ear looked wounded and raw. She pushed all her covers into the center of the bed with her one free hand, making a small, protected cocoon. She took one of the blankets and pulled it up over the top of the rest.

  Then she lifted the cover, easing her arm open so the cat could crawl into the nest. She hoped it didn’t dash beneath the bed where she couldn’t tend it. She also hoped it wouldn’t lash out at her in its fear. Thankfully, the black cat slunk into the warmth of the cave she had made with the blankets and lay down, looking at her with wide, soulful eyes.

  For a moment, Thora could only gaze at the cat. It called to her; beckoned to her for comfort. She carefully and slowly eased the cloak from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. As it fell, she noticed a piece of venison tucked in her belt. She removed it and broke off a smaller piece to present to the cat. The cat’s pupils dilated. It drew back fearfully, its body tensing, ready to flee.

  Immediately, Thora withdrew the meat and left it on a blanket near the cat. It would eat when it was hungry.

  She slowly stood, trying not to frighten it. She took the basin of water and cloth from her table and placed them on her bed.

  The fire in the hearth grew small as the night waned on, and Thora tended the wounded animal. A spot on its side had burned by the fire, leaving pale pink skin. The cat tried to lick it and wouldn’t let Thora close enough to tend it. She did the best she could by dabbing the injuries when it was distracted.

  Finally, satisfied with the job she had done, she brought a clean bowl of water and some leftover venison from the kitchen, leaving it on the bed.

  She stared at the cat as its sleepy eyes drooped. Compassion welled up in her. The poor little thing.

  Shouting and commotion came from outside her window, and she slowly eased herself from the bed. She threw open the shutters. A strange red-orange glow lit the courtyard below her window. Confused, she closed the shutters and rushed to the door.

  A male servant raced by her as she stepped out of her room. “What is going on?” she asked.

  He ran by without an answer. Thora shut the door behind her and followed him. Something was wrong. She hurried down the spiral stairway and into the main hall.

  Knights, squires, and servants were all dashing out of the keep into the cold. Some had no boots on. Others had no cloaks and only wore their nightclothes.

  Prickles of trepidation and concern raced up Thora’s nape. She ran into the night and stopped cold. The orange glow filled the courtyard. A guard urgently shouted orders into the night. A line of people stretched from the well into the courtyard, passing sloshing buckets.

  Thora followed the line of people with her eyes until her gaze came to rest on the end, where guards tossed the buckets of water onto the fire. Other men ran about, using blankets to swat at the flames. The stables were ablaze.

  Covering her mouth with disbelief, Thora knew their efforts were in vain. Flames crackled and ate away at the blackened beams. Dark smoke rolled from inside the structure. Hot, thick flames danced across the roof. A burnt beam collapsed inside, defeated.

  Shocked, Thora watched the wooden stables burn.

  Chapter 6

  Everyone had pitched in to battle the fire. Even Lord Rowley passed buckets full of water and issued orders. After a hard battle that lasted all night, the fire was out, leaving behind destruction, devastation, and death.

  Bastian gave orders to take the dead animals from the stables and bury them outside the castle. Good horses had perished in the flames. It was a tragedy. He breathed a sigh mixed with frustration and relief. At least they had contained the fire before it spread to any of the other buildings. They had been lucky on that account.

  Exhausted, he made his way toward the keep. He was looking forward to crawling into his bed. A handful of villagers clustered near the bottom of the stairs, along with two squires Bastian recognized as Tommy and Rob.

  “It was the Yule Cat,” Tommy proclaimed to the group around him.

  Bastian clenched his jaw. He had no time for this tale. He kept moving toward the keep but couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

  “We were trying to kill it,” Rob added. “Burn it alive. But Gryla, the troll woman that travels with the cat, came and saved it.” He held up his blackened sleeve. “She tried to burn me!”

  Bastian shook his head in irritation. That damn cat. It felt like his own personal curse. He couldn’t let word of this get out. The entire village would go mad with fear. It was already an uneasy time of year with the Yule approaching. He marched toward the squires and the group around them. “Have you nothing better to do?”

  They turned to him. As he neared, he heard someone call him from near the doorway of the keep.

  “Sir Bastian!” Lord Rowley’s voice boomed across the courtyard as he exited the keep. He was a tall, thin man of imposing stature. He gazed at Bastian with an imperious look.

  Bastian came up short, shifting his path to intercept that of his lord. “M’lord. The fire is out. There is --”

  Rowley came closer to him and lowered his voice. “How many horses were killed?”

  Bastian released a soft breath of unhappiness. “Three. We managed to save seven.”

  Rowley’s gaze shifted to the blackened skeletal remains of the stables. He sighed softly. “Well done, Bastian.” He watched a child run past him. “We need to check the traps. How did that devil cat get into the castle?”

  Bastian mentally groaned. Word had somehow already reached Lord Rowley about the cat. “A cat did not start this fire. A cat could not have started it. There was a fire pit close to the stables. I think that --”

  “Two squires were attacked. We have no choice but to send a garrison after that witch and her cat. Fortify the castle. Send men to check the traps. Look for
footprints, hair, anything. I want to know how that cat got into the castle.”

  Bastian had been so close to getting Lord Rowley to forget about those traps and to concentrate on other, more important items. Like real threats. He nodded. “Aye, m’lord.” It was going to be a very long day. It was going to be a very long Yule.

  “Have you seen Thora?” Rowley asked, scanning the courtyard for her.

  “She was helping with the fire earlier, but I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Her horse, Midnight… is it safe?”

  Bastian swallowed heavily. He shook his head. Midnight was one of the first bodies they had removed from the stables.

  Rowley took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “This shall not go unpunished.”

  Bastian nodded as Lord Rowley returned to the keep. Bastian didn’t follow him. His gaze moved over the faces of the villagers walking through the courtyard, all with their stares upon the stables, all muttering about a cursed cat. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. The fire had to have been an accident. No cat could have started a fire. The thought was ludicrous.

  He lifted his gaze, continuing to scan the area. It was a second later that Bastian realized he was looking for Thora.

  It must have been that cat, Thora thought with fierce bitterness. The fire from her tail had ignited the hay in the stables. It was the only answer. There had been no wind to blow the bonfire, and the boys had not been near the stables.

  Grief overcame her, and she had to stop in the spiral stairway as her vision blurred with tears. A heaviness filled her chest, and a sob hitched in her throat. Midnight was gone. Her beautiful, kind horse. The horse she had spent months training. The horse she had grown up with. The horse she had loved.