Anguish overcame her, and she clenched her fists against the onslaught. She looked up at the ceiling toward her chambers, where the cat rested safely. If she hadn’t rescued the cat, it would never have run into the stables and started the fire. Midnight would still be alive. It was all the fault of that cat. She never should have saved it. Yet, even as she thought that she knew she couldn’t have let the boys hurt it. Her body shook with sorrow. She hated that cat!
She flung open the door to her room. She stood in the entrance, trembling with remorse and grief.
She had saved the cursed cat, and her horse had paid the price for it. Where was the justice in that?
She hurried to the bed, but the center of the nest of blankets was empty. The cat wasn’t there. She stared at the indent in the blankets where it had been. The venison she had left on the bed was gone. She turned around, inspecting her room. She dropped to her knees to look beneath the table, at each corner of the hearth. It had to be here somewhere.
She looked back at the empty pile of blankets. Her body began to shake with sadness. Her wonderful horse was dead. She would never ride him again, nor give him a carrot, nor feel his gentle nibble on her skirt when he wanted her attention. Tears watered in her eyes. Poor Midnight. Her beautiful horse… She dropped onto the side of her bed and folded her hands in her lap. Tears rushed from her eyes, bathing her cheeks. Her body was wracked with tremors. Her breathing came in hitched breaths.
Something moved at the bottom of her bed, and she shifted her gaze. The cat sat at the end of her bed, watching her with those large, brown eyes. The tip of one ear was raw and pink, damaged from the flames.
For a moment, Thora stiffened, afraid it would pounce on her and eat her. It must be the Yule Cat. No other cat could cause this much damage and pain.
But the black cat simply sat still, gazing at her. Its sleek coat reflected the firelight from the hearth. She realized the cat was not going to eat her or pounce on her. Her shoulders slouched, and she nearly laughed at herself. “I hate you,” she whispered.
She shifted and slowly stretched her body out on the bed toward the cat. It tensed, preparing to run. She stayed still. A long moment passed, and she stared at it, so small, so hurt. Finally, it relaxed.
A soft rumble of purring issued from the cat before it licked its paw and rubbed it over its face. Then, it regarded her with a less frightened look. Its eyes were not as round and were more relaxed, its lids coming down over its eyes.
With a jolt, Thora realized it wasn’t the cat’s fault. Midnight’s death, the fire -- none of it was the cat’s fault. It was just an innocent animal trying to survive, just like they all were. She could no more have it killed than she could rip out her own heart. And that realization made her anguish even worse.
Guilt and sorrow mixed and culminated inside of her. She lifted a hand toward the cat, reaching toward it, searching for comfort or affection.
The cat leapt from the bed and dashed beneath it.
Defeated, Thora’s fingers curled, and she turned over to look at the ceiling. Exhausted, she wept herself to sleep.
Bastian led the men back into the castle. The garrison had swept the countryside and found no trace of tracks nor a cat and troll woman. The sun was heading into its descent, and he was hungry, tired, and moody. It was a waste of time to be chasing after a legend. How could one catch an imaginary figure?
He stalked into the Great Hall, his booted feet crunching on the rushes, and collapsed into one of the chairs near the hearth. His fingers were frozen, his toes icy. No man in his right mind would be out pursuing imaginary creatures in the cold.
“Bastian!” Nicolas raced up to him across the Great Hall, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. He sidestepped a servant carrying a tray of drinks and came to Bastian’s side. “They found long scratch marks from the Yule Cat near the stables. It really was the Yule Cat that started the fire!”
“What?” Bastian demanded, irritated. “How could they have found anything? The ground was trampled from putting out the fire. There were no tracks.”
Nicolas shrugged, his eyes wide with excitement. “They are there. I saw them.”
Bastian ground his teeth. “Who found the marks?”
Nicolas raised his shoulders again. “I’m not sure who found it, but Tommy told me about it.”
“Tommy, Sir Garrett’s squire?”
Nicolas nodded. “But I don’t think he found it. There are three long gouges. It couldn’t have been anything else except the cat’s claws.”
Angry and disgusted by the news, Bastian rose so quickly that he almost knocked his chair over. It was time to get to the bottom of this. Time to discover who started the fire, and who was spreading these rumors. “Where are the marks?”
Chapter 7
Three long gouges were etched into the frozen earth beside the charred remains of the stables. Bastian stared at the marks. He surveyed the footprints all around it. There even appeared to be tracks beneath the gouges if that were possible. He gazed at the gashes, and anger simmered his blood.
He pulled his sword from its scabbard and placed the tip in one of the marks. It fit perfectly. He traced the mark with his blade, running it the length of the scrapes, about three feet. It looked more like a line a sword would make than a cat’s claw.
“What are you looking at?”
Bastian whirled at Thora’s voice. She stood behind him with her hands on her hips, her gaze shifting from him to the ground and back. A curl of her red hair twirled in the breeze, and the setting sunlight caught it, making it glimmer with scarlet highlights. But it was her eyes that captured his attention. There were dark rings beneath them, and they were bloodshot as if she had been crying.
Sympathy swept through him, and he stepped toward her. “I’m sorry,” Bastian consoled.
She dipped her head and nodded. “Thank you.”
“We tried everything we could --”
“I know you did.” She lifted her hand to silence him.
He felt bad for not being able to save the horses. He knew Midnight was her favorite. He stepped toward her. “If there’s anything I can do…”
She looked around him at the marks. “What are those?”
Bastian glanced over his shoulder at the three streaks. “Nothing,” he said, trying to erase them with his foot. No one else needed to be fooled by these ‘scratches.’
Thora cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. Her gaze dropped to his hand, where he still held the sword. “I’m certain whatever it was deserved to be challenged by your sword.”
He calmly re-sheathed his weapon. “I was testing out a theory.”
She again looked toward the marks.
He stepped toward her, hoping to guide her away from the fake lines. He didn’t need her to be further convinced that a deadly cat had made its way inside the castle walls. She was the most vocal believer in the Yule Cat. She didn’t need more evidence.
“What theory?” She stepped past him and stopped near the marks. “Are these the Yule Cat’s scratches?”
Bastian groaned silently. He closed his eyes for a moment. It was no use trying to keep it from her. She would hear the rumors from Tommy, Nicolas, or any of the villagers. “I don’t believe they are,” Bastian admitted.
Thora studied them for a long, quiet moment.
Bastian debated telling her he thought they were marks from a sword and, in the end, decided against it. It would just lead to an argument between them.
She turned to him and regarded him with an expression he had not seen before. “They are saying that it was Gryla and the Yule Cat who burned the stables.”
Bastian shook his head.
Thora continued, “What do you think happened?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise and then lowered. “Do you really want to know? If I tell you what I think, you might believe I don’t want to protect the people of this castle.”
She winced and looked down guiltily. “I’m sorry, Bastian. I shouldn’t have
said that yesterday. You are the most loyal, dedicated knight in my father’s service.”
“Perchance, that is why I’m Captain of the Guard,” he said lightheartedly. His comment was rewarded by Thora’s grudging smile. One he liked to see. He looked at the burnt remains of the stables.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
His gaze scanned the blackened beams. This was not started by a cat. Perchance it was an accident. Or maybe someone was covering something up. Either way, he needed to disprove that it was caused by a fictional cat. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Find out the truth,”
“How?”
He turned back to her.
How, indeed. How could he prove to an entire castle, nay an entire village, that their belief in a spiritual cat was nothing but legend? “I’m going to check out the traps.”
“I’d like to accompany you.”
Surprise rocked him, and his gaze swept her. Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot. “You should get some rest.”
“I can’t sleep,” she answered.
Again, a tug of concern and compassion pulled at the pit in his stomach. He could not deny her, even though she clearly needed rest. If he could convince Thora that this cat was only a legend, then perhaps the entire town would believe him more readily.
They rode from the castle on Bastian’s horse, Thora in front of him. His strong arms were securely around her, and for the first time in a long time, she relaxed. She looked down at his forearms where they gripped the reins. He was an excellent rider, confident in the saddle. She leaned back against him as his horse charged forward over the drawbridge. Her lids drooped, and she forced them open.
The sun was setting, nearly at the horizon. The horse’s hooves pounded over the wooden drawbridge, and Bastian steered his horse across the field toward the forest.
Bastian stopped at the edge of the forest. He tied the horse to a tree and reached up to help Thora dismount. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders. A sudden awareness filled her. Tingles shot through her. It was strange. His light brown eyes were lined with long lashes. Her gaze moved over his straight nose. His jaw and upper lip were covered in a day’s growth of beard. Their bodies were close, almost touching. She breathed in the scent of forest and leather. For a moment, she couldn’t take her gaze from his face, from his lips.
Bastian was all duty. When her feet touched the ground, he released her.
She immediately missed his power and his warmth. What was wrong with her? It must be because she was so tired. The cold wrapped around her, and she pulled her cloak tight as she followed him through the forest. He stopped just before a brush-covered spot, holding out a hand for her to stop.
Many sets of footprints tracked through a light layer of snow around an exact square. Branches and fallen leaves covered the square. Thora could see exactly where the trap was.
Bastian shook his head in disapproval. “We won’t be able to find any proof of anything. There are no tracks, and if there were, they have been trampled upon.”
Thora stared at the trap as guilt rose inside her. Bastian was out searching for clues, for reality. He deserved to know what happened. “What would you do with the cat if you find it?”
“The cat?” he guffawed softly in disbelief and shook his head. “Your father would be the one to cast judgement on anything or anyone I find.”
“If you found it, you would give the cat to my father?” she asked hesitantly.
Bastian looked at her with a scowl of confusion. “It was not the Yule Cat, Thora. The stable fire was not caused by an animal.”
How wrong he was. Chills ran through Thora’s body as she thought of the black cat in her room. She bowed her head. If she told Bastian the truth, that the black cat had caused the stable fire, would he hand the cat over to her father to be killed? She couldn’t let that happen.
He looked at the darkening sky. Thick gray clouds marred the horizon. “We should head back. It looks like snow.”
Thora lifted her gaze and scanned the darkening swirls before looking at the trap again. “What about the rest of the traps?”
“Undoubtedly, they have been compromised just like this one. I won’t find the truth here.”
Chapter 8
Bastian trotted the horse back toward the castle. As they reached the road, he glanced down at Thora in his arms. She had been still since he mounted and took up the reins. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes resting against her smooth cheek. He grinned. She was sleeping.
He pulled his horse to a stop and reached to ease her cloak closed before her. She shifted and settled her cheek against his chest. He stared down at her, relishing the quiet, solitary moment. Here, he could gaze at her without hiding his longing. Here, his eyes could feast upon her beauty. Here, he did not have to hide the feelings growing for her.
Curls of red hair hung over her smooth, flawless cheek. He longed to brush them aside and look into her open eyes. He wanted to kiss her full lips. And yet, he knew she did not feel the same way. They believed in different things. He doubted she saw him as anything but a childhood friend and the castle protector.
She snuggled against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe it could be possible. That one day, he could be holding her in his arms when she was awake.
He took a breath and stopped short, not wanting to disturb her. They all had had a long day. He was as weary as she was. He spurred his horse into a walk toward the castle, enjoying the feeling of her soft form in his arms.
They rode across the drawbridge and beneath the open portcullis. He entered the outer ward and went through the gatehouse into the inner ward, where he stopped his steed.
A barn hand rushed up to him, flicking his dark hair from his eyes. “I’ll take your --”
Bastian put a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet.
The boy nodded, grasped the reins of the horse.
Bastian pulled Thora close to him and swung his leg over the horse, dismounting. He held her in his arms so as not to disturb her. After landing on the ground, he gazed down at her. She turned her head away and then nestled back against him with a sigh.
He grinned and carried her inside the keep, up the spiral stairway, and down the long corridor. He found a woman with long brown hair carrying a pile of blankets. He stepped into her path and signaled her to follow with a soft jerk of his chin.
She glanced down at Thora and then nodded, following them.
Bastian reached Thora’s chambers, where the maid opened the door and allowed Bastian entrance.
He bore Thora to her bed and eased her down upon it. She groaned and turned on her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. Bastian undid the button of her cloak at her neck. He then removed one of her boots and then the other. When he placed them on the floor, her boot knocked into something. A small bowl.
He bent and looked at it. It was filled with water. He shrugged and placed the bowl on the table. He pulled a cover over Thora and turned to exit the room.
He paused in the doorway where the servant woman waited and nodded his thanks. Then, he left, closing the door behind them, forgetting about the water bowl.
The inside of her lids lightened with the rising sun. She felt a heavy warmth against her leg. Slowly, Thora opened her eyes. She blinked and stretched, arching her body.
She saw a bundle of black fur dart to the edge of the bed and leap down. She grinned. Her little cat had been sleeping beside her. She looked at the window where sunlight filtered in through a slit in the shutter. Morning, her groggy mind proclaimed. Morning! She sat straight up and was shocked to see she was still in her day clothes.
Her gaze caught on her empty wrist and she lifted it, running her fingers along her skin. Her bracelet! Where was it? She leaned over the bed and searched the floor. She looked on the table and noticed the cat’s water bowl.
How had the bowl got onto the table? Her mind searched the day before. She had been with Bastian at the traps. They had been return
ing to the castle… How had she got to her chambers? She vaguely remembered being so tired. Images of torches passing, and then darkness came to her mind. Then she recalled the hallway. Bastian. He had carried her here.
Good Lord! She swung her legs out of bed and stepped on her boots. Had he seen the cat? Did he know? She raced to the door and opened it, quickly exiting, and shutting it swiftly behind her. She ran down the hallway. She had to find Bastian and learn if he knew about the cat.
“Thora!”
She skidded to a halt and whirled to find her father walking down the hallway toward her. “Father.”
“I wanted to see you last night, but Bastian told me you were asleep,” her father said. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. “I’m so sorry, dearest. Midnight was a good horse. He deserved better.”
She nodded against his chest and stepped back, inspecting his face. Dark rings lined his blue eyes, and the indent of a frown lingered on his brow. “You haven’t slept.”
He shook his head and granted her a grim smile. “No. The destruction of our stables is a matter of extreme importance.”
“It was an accident,” Thora explained.
He placed a hand against her cheek. “When your mother spoke of Gryla and the Yule Cat, I chuckled and allowed it, thinking it all fantasy. But now…” His hand dropped from her face to his side. “Even when you were attacked, I didn’t quite believe it was the cursed cat of legends. But how can I ignore this? I must defend the castle.”
Thora shook her head. “We have traps.”
“We had traps, and it somehow still managed to get through. No. It is time for action. I cannot risk my castle, my people, my daughter, any longer.”
“What will you do?”
“I will find this thing and kill it.”
Her chest tightened. “You can’t really believe it was a cat that started the fire.”
“Maybe not the cat. It must have been the witch.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 37