Timeless Christmas Romance: Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “My father is a rich and high-ranking lord,” Cornelia bit out. “Tristan will gain new allies and opportunities by marrying me. I am also young, beautiful, and willing to bear him many sons. Why would he not want me?”

  All that Cornelia had said was true. Yet, love was an integral part of marriage, was it not? ’Twas for most of the lords and ladies in the old tales, and it certainly had been for Honoria’s parents.

  “Cornelia, please consider—”

  “I have. He is the one I want.”

  “So he may be, but does he care for you?” Honoria asked softly. “Does he make you laugh, share your dreams, know your secrets, make you feel giddy with happiness—”

  The younger woman rolled her eyes. “You have been reading your stupid books again.”

  “They are not stupid.” Determined to remain calm, Honoria added, “Marriage is not a commitment to enter lightly.”

  “Some ladies have no choice at all in whom they marry. Remember that fourteen-year-old noblewoman we met last year, who had received word from the crown that she was to wed a lord she had never met? The man was more than thirty years her senior.”

  Honoria shuddered, for she remembered that resigned young lady very well. For days afterward, she and Cornelia had talked about the horrors of marrying a stranger, one who was old enough to have been their father.

  “Your sire has enough influence with the crown that you will never have to face such a situation,” Honoria said. “That means you have a choice in the man who will be your husband.”

  “I have chosen Tristan.”

  Honoria sighed. While the younger woman strained her patience sometimes, Honoria truly wanted her friend to be happy. Cornelia had bravely endured the loss of her mother and brother, and deserved to be wed to someone who would cherish her. There were lots of other lords in England who might be better suited to her. “Be honest, Cornelia. Does Tristan—”

  “Does he love me?” The younger woman snorted. “I will make him fall in love.” She gestured to the costly ribbons she’d dropped on the table. “With our kissing bough, I will win him over. I will be the only lady he desires.”

  Honoria eyed the ribbons. They were ordinary silk, not wrought from some divine fabric that could bring about miracles. How did she stop Cornelia from rushing into what could be a terrible mistake?

  “Do not say another word,” the younger lady muttered. “I do not wish to discuss the matter anymore. Now, you will help me with the kissing bough. Get that useless book out of the way, will you?”

  ’Twas not a useless book, as Cornelia would soon realize. “I brought it to show you something inside.”

  “All right, but be quick about it.”

  Honoria opened the tome and thumbed through it until she found the page she sought. She spread the book flat so both she and Cornelia could see.

  The younger woman wrinkled her nose. “The parchment smells.”

  “The scent is not so unpleasant.” Pointing to the drawing of a ball of evergreens and mistletoe woven through with ribbons and tied with bows, Honoria said, “Shall we make one like this? ’Tis a little more elaborate than usual.”

  Cornelia sniffed. “Fine.”

  “Good. Help me tie some evergreen branches into a round shape.”

  While they worked, Radley, carrying a small wine cask, emerged from the stairwell that led up from the cellar and storage chambers. Seeing them, he lurched to a halt, clearly wavering on his feet from too much drink.

  “All is well?” he asked.

  Before Honoria could utter a word, Cornelia said, “Go away, please. You are not allowed to see the kissing bough until ’tis finished.”

  Chapter Six

  Tristan lifted his gaze from the book as Radley approached, carrying the silver jug and goblets he’d collected from the lord’s table. Upon returning from the cellar, Radley had filled the jug with wine from the cask he’d fetched.

  Judging by his unsteady strides, Radley was a right drunken sot. Tristan wasn’t clear-headed himself. Sluggish heat ran in his veins and muddied his thoughts. He wasn’t as inebriated as Radley, but years of drinking with his mates had taught him he’d be a fool to get on a horse now and race into battle or challenge a rival to a swordfight. He’d never had to face the former situation, but the latter…. He had the scars to remind him of the duel he’d fought with one of his brothers while they’d both been angry and drunk. Luckily neither of them had ended up badly wounded.

  Radley set down what he carried and dropped into the chair Honoria had recently vacated. “I have grave news, my friend.”

  Parchment rustled as Tristan turned to the next page in the tome. “Really? What news?”

  “Honoria and Cornelia are plotting.”

  “Cornelia certainly is.” Despite his proximity to the fire, Tristan had heard the women talking in hushed tones. Cornelia’s voice had been the most forceful, although he hadn’t been able to make out a word she’d said. He might regret that later.

  Pouring wine into the goblets, Radley said, “We surely can thwart any mischief those two might design.”

  “I would hope so, but we should not underestimate them. According to the stories in this book, beautiful women can be a man’s downfall. They can also be his redemption.”

  Leaning in, Radley squinted at the tome. “Ah, I recognize that one. ’Twas Father’s favorite.”

  “’Tis quite a collection: Stories about love, honor, and passion.”

  Radley grunted.

  “Apparently, some of the tales involve kissing.”

  “Kissing? You mean men and women pressing their mouths together and enjoying it?” Radley feigned shock. “How could my little sister be reading such things?”

  “She got rather flustered when we were discussing the stories.” Curiosity gnawed at Tristan, and while he tried to squash the unwise emotion, the drink overruled his better judgment. “Has Honoria ever been kissed by a man?”

  Radley shrugged; he banged his elbow on the chair arm and winced. “How would I know?”

  “She might have confided in you.”

  “She and I are close, but she would have talked to Mother or Cornelia about such matters.”

  Disappointment wove through Tristan. He shouldn’t care whether Honoria had experienced such intimacy before. Still, the curiosity in him wouldn’t be silenced.

  “If you want my brotherly opinion, though, I would guess she has not.”

  A ridiculous flare of triumph warmed Tristan. “What makes you say that?”

  “She has never really been interested in courting, certainly not since Father’s death. Father agreed she would not have to marry until she was ready, and I guess she has not met the right lord yet.”

  “She wants to find true love.”

  “Do not we all?”

  Tristan had learned the hard way that unless a man and woman loved one another equally, and were committed to sustaining that love, their romance was doomed. But, he knew enough happily-married couples to know true love was attainable and desirable.

  Radley drank some wine. “Cornelia, however….”

  “Aye?”

  “I know she has been kissed on the lips, because…well…I kissed her.”

  “You did?”

  Radley nodded. “We were all going to a feast, not long after Father died. I was overwhelmed with all of my new duties, and she looked so lovely, and I…could not resist.” He smiled sheepishly and stared down into his wine. “No one else was around, so no one else knows. She laughed afterward, as though the kiss meant naught, but to me….”

  Radley sounded like a man who was smitten. As swiftly as the emotion had entered his voice, however, it vanished on rough laughter. “I do not know why I told you that.”

  “Nor do I, but you hardly did aught wrong. You are lord and master of this keep. If you want to kiss Cornelia, ’tis your right.”

  “Aye, well, we both know that men of our position have to be careful. She could have told Mother, her sire, a
nd the rest of the castle folk about our kiss. I would have been obliged to propose to her.”

  “You are lucky, then, that she kept quiet.”

  “I suppose.”

  Surely that wasn’t a hint of regret in Radley’s voice?

  Tristan glanced down at the tome, and a word on the page caught his eye. He chuckled.

  “You found something amusing?”

  Tristan set his finger on the particular line and read: “‘Her bountiful lips were the vibrant red of polished rubies. Her eyes, as blue as a cloudless summer sky, glowed with the tremendous love gathered in her breast.’”

  “Breast?” Radley waggled his eyebrows. “The right one or the left?”

  “I will have to read on to find out.”

  “The Lady of the Glowing Breast.” Radley raised his goblet in a toast. “A woman so remarkable, she is a legend.”

  Tristan laughed. “At least in the middle of the night, her lover can easily find her.”

  “He looks for the glow.”

  Tristan snickered, and Radley chortled. Soon, the hall echoed with their laughter.

  ***

  “Whatever are they finding so amusing?” Cornelia asked while she tied mistletoe to the kissing bough.

  “No doubt Radley has told a bawdy jest.” Honoria adjusted part of the ribbon shot through with gold thread. Their project was coming together beautifully.

  “Tristan was likely the one to tell the jest,” the younger woman countered. “I expect he knows plenty of them.”

  Honoria was growing quite weary of Tristan being the focus of every conversation.

  She finished securing the ribbon, but before she could give it one last tweak, Cornelia yanked the kissing bough toward her and picked it up by the ribbon loop at the top. “I say ’tis done. Shall we go show it to the men?”

  And watch Cornelia trap Tristan into kissing her? Ugh.

  Honoria gathered up some loose berries. “I will tidy up here.”

  “The servants will clean up this mess.” The younger woman headed for the archway that led into the hall. “Come on.”

  Honoria would much rather go to her bedchamber and read the gloriously thrilling old stories. Yet, as Cornelia disappeared from view, and the quietude of the antechamber wrapped around Honoria, she realized she had to follow. She’d left her books in the hall.

  As though sensing her reluctance, Willow stood, her tail wagging in encouragement. “I know,” Honoria said. “The sooner I get the tomes, the sooner we can read together.” Every night, the hound stretched out on the bed beside Honoria; sometimes Honoria even read exciting passages aloud, which Willow seemed to enjoy.

  Indignant cries and laughter drifted in from the hall. Resolving to say goodnight as swiftly as possible, Honoria picked up the tome containing the kissing bough drawing and went to join the others…and gasped.

  Cornelia stood giggling near the men. Radley, grinning and leaning so far over he was falling out of his chair, was holding onto a corner of the book of tales.

  Tristan swatted at his hand while tugging the tome toward him.

  They were going to ruin it!

  “I am lord of this keep,” Radley griped, laughing. “Let me see.”

  “I read the words exactly, milord,” Tristan answered.

  Willow barked.

  Radley tugged again on the tome.

  “Let go.” Chuckling, Tristan swatted again.

  Bark, bark.

  “Cease!” Honoria marched to stand in front of her brother. “You are going to tear my book. Father’s book.” The anguish of their sire’s passing stirred anew, along with a reminder of the promise she’d made, her fingers linked through his as he lay dying: to take care of his prized books.

  “Sis, I swear, I would never—”

  “You cannot make such a promise. ’Tis easily done by accident, especially when drunk.”

  Her brother slumped back in his chair.

  She glared at Tristan. His stare didn’t waver. Disquiet sifted through her, and she nudged her chin higher, refusing to heed the urge to look away. She held out her free hand in a silent demand for the book.

  Tristan’s gaze traveled over her fingers, spread open like a wild rose. Her skin, the center of her palm, grew warm, as if he’d touched her.

  She trembled, but remained steadfast.

  He closed the tome and set it on his lap.

  Oh, the wretched rogue.

  “Please give me back my book.”

  “I will,” Tristan said. “Radley spoke true, though. We intended no harm to your tome. We were merely jesting.”

  “You mean, mocking what you were reading.”

  “Some of the descriptions are rather fanciful.”

  “I thought you would appreciate the ancient tales,” she continued, unable to slow the indignant words. “I thought you understood how special my books are to me.”

  “I did,” Tristan said. “I do. We—”

  “I would like my book back. Now.”

  His jaw clenched. He obviously didn’t want to concede to her demand.

  Willow growled. Honoria stroked the dog’s back to try and calm her.

  “Do not be so upset, Honoria,” Cornelia said. “Your tome is fine.” Moving closer, she held up the kissing bough. “Now, look what we—”

  “The book,” Honoria repeated, proud her voice didn’t falter.

  “Better give it back, Tris,” Radley said.

  “Very well.” Tristan picked it up and held it out to her. Her fingers closed on it, but he didn’t immediately relinquish it to her. “I swear to you, on my honor, that I would not have let any harm come to your book.”

  Honoria pulled it toward her. This time, Tristan let go.

  She snatched up the rest of her books and walked away.

  ***

  “That did not go at all as I had planned,” Tristan said.

  He dragged his hand over his mouth as Honoria and her loyal hound disappeared into the corridor leading off the landing. He hadn’t been able to wrest his gaze from her as she’d climbed the stairs, her gown swaying with each of her strides, her hair gleaming like polished metal. She was so very beautiful, even when furious.

  Radley rubbed his brow and stared into his goblet. Neither of them had intended offense. Aye, matters had gotten a bit out of hand, but he and Radley were chivalrous men, sworn to cherish the fairer sex and all that was important to them.

  He must set matters right with Honoria, and not only to ensure a pleasant Christmas for all. ’Twas a matter of honor.

  As though attuned to Tristan’s thoughts, Radley said, “Honoria will be all right once she has calmed down.”

  “I hope so. Should I go after her?”

  “Nay,” Cornelia said.

  “And do what?” Radley asked at the same time.

  “Apologize, for a start.”

  Radley shook his head. “You tried that, remember? She would not listen.”

  “I am willing to try again.”

  Setting down his drink, Radley said, “Knowing my sister, she will refuse to open her chamber door to speak to you. She will tell you to go away.”

  “I am prepared to face such obstacles.” Indeed, as a knight, Tristan was obliged to do whatever must be done to succeed in a quest.

  “Honestly, Tris, I would wait until morning. My sister might be ready to listen then.”

  “I agree, ’tis the best plan.” Cornelia sidled closer. “While Honoria might have left for the night, there is no reason why we cannot enjoy ourselves.” With a mischievous grin, she swung the kissing bough from side to side, as though weighing which one of them she’d kiss first.

  Tristan frowned, for her flirtations were wasted on him. He couldn’t forget the challenge blazing in Honoria’s eyes, and how she’d not yielded to his stare. She had a warrior’s spirit; the resolve of the famous heroines in her tales. That was the kind of woman with whom he’d willingly share a kiss.

  Just then, women’s voices carried from the forebu
ilding. Servants were returning to the hall to bed down for the night.

  “Before we hang this over the entrance to the hall, we need to try it out,” Cornelia said. “Which one of you rogues is going to kiss me, or shall I choose?”

  Radley had been right about needing to beware. A kiss on the lips between a lord and a lady in front of witnesses—including servants—could be interpreted as a promise of courtship, or even betrothal. He didn’t know Cornelia well, but he sure didn’t trust her; not when her sire’s influence could advance or destroy a nobleman’s career.

  Cornelia could easily turn her face at the last instant and make what was meant to be a kiss on the cheek into one on the mouth. That was a trick he’d expect from Odelia, and by God, he was not going to let a woman manipulate him ever again.

  Tristan set his hands on the arms of the chair to rise, but the younger woman lunged to stand in front of him. She raised the bough, clearly readying to hold it over his head and steal a kiss.

  Rebellion sparked like hot fire within him. He shoved back his chair and stood, thwarting Cornelia’s trickery.

  Disappointment filled her gaze. He offered an apologetic smile to soften the sting of his refusal. “I just remembered I must go and check on my horse.”

  Cornelia huffed. “But—”

  Radley caught her free hand. “Will you sit with me while I finish my wine? I hate to drink alone.”

  She answered, but Tristan was already across the hall and loping down the forebuilding stairs, passing three maidservants on the way. While he wasn’t keen on abandoning his friend to Cornelia, Radley obviously knew how to handle her. Tristan did need to check on his destrier, as well as calm his mind. The night air would help purge his annoyance.

  He stepped out into the dark bailey and headed for the stable. The breeze held a forewarning of overnight frost as it nipped at his face and hands.

  The sweetish scents of horses and hay surrounded him as he entered the stable. He strode to a middle stall, where his destrier put its head over the door and nuzzled him. Once Tristan was satisfied all was in order, he started back to the keep, but movement on the battlement caught his attention.

  Illuminated by torchlight, a woman strolled the parapet: Honoria. She’d loosened her hair and it flowed behind her on the wind. How captivating she was, and yet, she also seemed unbearably lonely.