The agony in Cornelia’s voice was truly heart-wrenching.
“You are so clever, Honoria, and interesting, and elegant—”
Mother Mary.
“And I have this.” She pointed to her blemished cheek. “When a man looks at me, he sees I am imperfect, and he does not want me.”
“That is not true. You are very beautiful—”
“Do you know, I was not even supposed to be traveling the day of the accident, but Mother wanted me to accompany her?” Cornelia sniffled. “Part of me wishes I had never agreed to go, for I suggested…that we take a different route than usual, and…that is why we crashed.”
Honoria longed to embrace the younger woman, but sensed Cornelia wouldn’t accept such comforting from her. “What happened was not your fault. You could not have known the storm would make that road perilous.”
Dabbing at her eyes, the younger woman said, “That day changed everything for me.”
It had, and not just for her. Yet, there was no reason at all why she couldn’t marry once she’d found the right man—one who would treasure her and nurture her interests and talents.
“I thought Tristan might be different, that he might see me for more than my scar,” Cornelia continued, hugging herself. “I was wrong.”
Honoria touched her friend’s arm. “There are many other lords who might be right for you, including Radley. My brother—”
“I wanted Tristan.”
“I know you did, but he does not feel the same way about you.”
Cornelia shrugged off Honoria’s touch. “He might have done, except you pursued him.”
Honoria’s torment gouged deeper. “I never expected to have romantic feelings for him.”
“Or want to kiss him, like the damsels in the old stories?”
Cornelia’s taunting words stung, but Honoria merely nodded. “Just like in the old stories.”
The younger woman snorted in disgust. “Say what you will, but I do not believe you. You stole Tristan from me. I will never forgive you.”
Chapter Eleven
December 24
Honoria opened the shutters at her chamber window to reveal a gray, overcast sky. She shivered in the frigid breeze and hoped that today, Christmas Eve, would be much better than yesterday, when Cornelia had avoided Honoria. At mealtimes, the younger woman had sat with her father at the opposite end of the table to Honoria and had left the hall as soon as the meal was finished, instead of staying to chat or embroider by the hearth.
Earlier yesterday, Radley had ridden off with several guards to settle grievances between two farmers with neighboring lands, and hadn’t returned until late afternoon. Radley had assigned a man-at-arms to care for Tristan’s wound, so Honoria had wrapped the gifts she’d purchased in pieces of linen and tied them with twine, and had spent the afternoon with her mother. Tristan had rested in bed most of the day, but had kept her and her mother company by the fire in the evening. While he hadn’t mentioned kissing again, and neither had Honoria, the memory of their stolen intimacy had glinted in his eyes when their gazes had met. Sitting near him had made her feel alive with a glorious awareness she’d struggled to contain.
But she had. Kissing Tristan had caused tremendous upheaval. After being awake most of last night thinking about the situation, Honoria still wasn’t sure what to do about it. Mayhap a morning walk would enlighten her.
Honoria fastened her cloak and headed to the bailey. She passed under the kissing bough, hanging from the archway separating the hall from the forebuilding stairs down to the bailey, on the way. No else was coming or going at the same moment, though, so no berries were picked or kisses were stolen—although some obviously had been, likely by the servants, because there were fewer berries than before.
Outside, a line of peasants bringing their rents ran underneath the gatehouse and across the lowered drawbridge. Radley was greeting the visitors, shaking hands and ruffling children’s hair, just like their late sire had done. She smiled wistfully, for in so many ways, Radley was like their father.
There seemed to be more men-at-arms on duty at the gatehouse and in the bailey, however, than usual on Christmas Eve. Surely Radley didn’t expect fights or thievery among the peasants? Or was there another reason for the increase in guards?
“I think he enjoys meeting his tenants,” said a male voice. She turned to see Tristan walking toward her with only the slightest limp.
“I believe he does, too. How is your wound?” ’Twas a good sign that he was dressed and didn’t feel the need to stay abed.
“My thigh still hurts, but ’tis less painful than yesterday,” he said. “Thanks, no doubt, to your fine stitches and that smelly but effective salve.”
She laughed.
“Ah. There is the smile I was hoping to see.”
Honoria sobered. Wishing she didn’t ache inside, she looked back at the folk.
“Cornelia will come around, you will see.” Tristan had obviously noticed the younger woman’s behavior yesterday. So had Honoria’s mother, but when asked, Honoria had merely said she and Cornelia had had a disagreement. That was at least the partial truth.
“I hope Cornelia and I can reconcile. I cannot bear to think that I have lost a friend.”
His expression softened. “She is lucky to have a friend as loyal as you.”
“We have known each other for many years. We…have been through a lot together.”
“You also most admirably tolerate her selfishness and impertinence.”
His gaze captured and held hers, as though there was more he intended to say. While she wondered just what he was about, he reached out and gently cupped her face with his hand. As he stroked his thumb across her skin, potent longing stirred inside her. She yearned to close her eyes and lean into his caress.
“You are a remarkable lady,” he murmured.
His smoldering gaze fell to her mouth, and part of her soul leapt, urged her to rise up on tiptoes so she could press her lips to his, no matter who might see. The desire to kiss him was almost more than she could bear.
His jaw hardened, and he lowered his hand. “Careful, Honoria. Others are watching.”
“I know.” I do not care. I long to kiss you again.
“I will see you anon.” Tristan’s tone revealed none of the hunger she’d glimpsed in his expression moments ago. He nodded to her then strode past to join Radley.
***
“Any sign of the three travelers Sydney mentioned to you?” Tristan asked.
“Nay.” Radley smiled at a toddler walking alongside his mother. “However, my men-at-arms are on the lookout. I have ordered them to report to me anyone who seems at all suspicious.”
Tristan assessed the bailey. Opening the castle gates to any man, woman, or child who wished to enter created a prime opportunity for criminals to get into the fortress if they could evade the guards.
Radley seemed to have the situation under control, though. More than enough men-at-arms were on duty.
Near the stables, a massive log was being lifted down from a horse-drawn cart by several men: ’Twas the Yule log that would be lit with great ceremony in the hall’s hearth later that night and would burn for a full twelve days. Servants went about their daily tasks, while the scents of baking fruit cakes and gingerbread wafted on the breeze. Tristan’s stomach rumbled, for Radley had told him that in keeping with tradition, a feast of grilled and baked fish, periwinkles, and other seafood had been planned for that eve which was considered a fast-day; roasted meats and dishes laden with sumptuous cheese and cream sauces would be served on Christmas Day. After so much fine food, Tristan would need to add extra training sessions to his schedule once he reached London.
“Have you seen Cornelia today?” Radley asked, as he waved to a girl riding on her father’s shoulders.
“She and I met in the upstairs corridor. She rushed past with a terse ‘good morn.’”
“Mother has asked me what happened between Cornelia and Honoria, but I have
not shared the details.”
“Thank you. I would hate to be thrown out on my arse on Christmas Eve.”
Radley squinted up at the dense clouds. “’Tis only morning. You could still run afoul this day.”
Shaking his head, Tristan laughed. He had no intention of running afoul. He could only hope that matters went exactly as he’d planned.
***
“Make way. Make way for the Yule Log!” Radley bellowed later that day as he entered the crowded hall.
Sitting at the lord’s table with her mother and Guillaume, Honoria smiled and clapped, while cheers erupted in the vast room.
Burly men-at-arms, carrying the giant Yule Log between them, emerged from the forebuilding. Maidservants pulled their excited children out of the way. Dogs scampered to watch from under the two trestle tables, laden with centerpieces and sweets, that had been left standing after the evening meal had been cleared away.
Puffing and grunting, the men hauled the log across the hall and set it in the hearth. Using a small piece of last year’s Yule Log, Radley set light to the wood. Flames licked up the side of the log, and more cheers filled the chamber.
“And now, may the merriment continue,” Radley yelled.
The musicians at the opposite end of the hall strummed a lively song and folk moved into the center of the room to dance. Those watching made a loose circle around the revelers and clapped along with the tune, accentuated by the drumming of a tabor.
“I do love Christmas Eve,” Honoria’s mother said with a contented sigh. She leaned her head against Guillaume’s shoulder, while his arm curved around her, drawing her in close. He kissed her brow.
Envy poked at Honoria, and she quickly looked back out across the hall. Cornelia, resplendent in a new, yellow silk bliaut given to her by her sire, was standing near the musicians and flirting with one of the squires. He appeared delighted to have her attention.
Tristan, drink in hand, was talking to Radley while they watched the dancers; some of the maidservants were revealing far more lower leg than was proper, but they were dancing and spinning rather vigorously.
Tristan glanced at Honoria. Smiling in that roguish way of his, he crooked a finger, motioning for her to come and join them. Wicked heat shot through her while she slowly rose and made her way down from the dais, careful not to step on the hem of her embroidered burgundy gown.
When she neared him, she caught sight of Cornelia through a gap in the crowd. The younger lady was watching, her expression fraught with dismay. Honoria lifted her hand in greeting, but Cornelia turned her back to her.
“Try not to let her bother you,” Tristan said, his mouth close to her ear so she’d hear him over the revelry.
“I will do my best.” ’Twas hard, though, when she had good memories of past Christmas Eves spent with the younger woman.
Across the room, a stable hand held the kissing bough, which had been taken down from the archway, over the head of a pretty chambermaid. He plucked off a white berry, and she smiled shyly as he kissed her.
Radley chuckled. “Ah, the joys of the holiday season.”
“There are a lot less berries on the kissing bough than there were this morning,” Honoria noted. She hoped they didn’t run out; no one wanted such a disappointment on Christmas Eve.
Cornelia was headed toward the still-kissing couple. Was she going to use the bough to win a kiss from the squire?
A sudden, loud banging noise erupted from the lord’s table. Guillaume stood at the edge of the dais; he hammered his goblet on the table again in a call for silence.
“Thank you,” he said once the room had quieted. “I am honored to be spending this Christmas at Ellingstow with two of the women I love the most: my beautiful daughter”—he gestured to Cornelia—“and my beloved Valerie.”
Clapping echoed in the hall.
“There is only one thing that could make this day more perfect: if Valerie were not just my beloved, but my betrothed.”
Lady Whitford pressed her hand to her mouth. “Guillaume.”
Honoria blinked hard to thwart tears, for she’d anticipated such a proposal. While ’twas difficult to think of her mother remarrying, she did want her parent to be happy.
The older lord drew a glinting ring from the leather pouch at his waist. “Valerie, my love. Will you marry me?”
She stood and walked around the table to meet him. “I will.”
Guillaume smiled and slipped the ring onto her finger, and they kissed. Congratulatory shouts and whistles carried through hall.
Once the noise had died down, Tristan brushed past Honoria. He strode for the dais.
“What is he doing?” she asked, unable to tamp down a stirring of dread.
Radley grinned. “Wait and see.”
***
Tristan stepped up onto the dais beside Guillaume and Lady Whitford. He met the older lord’s questioning stare. As though reading his thoughts, Guillaume nodded and escorted her ladyship back to her seat at the table.
“I, too, am grateful to be spending the holidays as a guest of Lord Radley Whitford, a remarkable man who has been my closest friend for many years.” Anticipation swirled up inside Tristan as he looked at Honoria. “One lady in particular has made this visit extremely memorable.”
Murmurs carried through the throng.
Honoria appeared both astonished and dismayed. She shook her head slightly, no doubt to discourage him from drawing her into further scrutiny. Yet, for what he intended, he wanted all eyes upon her.
“Will you please join me, Honoria?”
She was clearly reluctant, but she crossed to the dais and stepped up beside him.
“Thanks to this lovely lady’s efforts, I am feeling much better after being attacked by the boar,” Tristan said, facing her. She nodded in acknowledgement, clearly readying to bolt. He caught her clammy hands in his, keeping her beside him.
“Tristan,” she said under her breath.
“Trust me,” he answered, while Radley drew near. Giggles and murmurs spread through the onlookers, for he carried the kissing bough.
Honoria’s eyes widened. “If you kiss me in front of everyone in the hall—”
“I know.” Naught felt more right than to kiss her on the lips, right here, right now, and claim her for his own.
“Are you absolutely sure? I mean—”
“I am sure.”
He glanced at Radley. The other lord wasn’t smiling, though; he seemed grim.
Before Tristan could say a word, Radley gestured to the kissing bough.
All of the mistletoe berries were gone.
Every last one.
***
Floating on excitement and disbelief, Honoria suddenly sensed something was wrong. Tristan’s features had hardened, and Radley…. He looked more disappointed than she’d ever seen him.
The hall had gone quiet. Too quiet.
“Cornelia,” Radley muttered.
“Aye,” Tristan agreed.
“What do you…?” An eerie buzzing noise filled Honoria’s mind. There wasn’t a single mistletoe berry left on the kissing bough.
Everyone in the hall would know what that meant: No more kisses could be stolen. She would have no choice but to refuse Tristan’s kiss, and according to lore, that doomed her not to marry in the coming year.
How mortifying.
Honoria pressed her lips together, while trying to ignore the countless gazes upon her. The hurt surging inside her, however, refused to be quelled. She’d been missing her late father this eve, and then had found out her mother was going to remarry. Now she was the brunt of a mean trick in front of a room full of folk?
Several maidservants stepped forward, offering her mistletoe berries, but Honoria politely declined; those berries had already bestowed their Christmas magic on other couples. “Cornelia,” she said, her voice shaking. “’Tis your doing, aye?”
Her chin at a defiant tilt, the younger woman strolled forward. “What a shame. Were you hoping to kiss
Tristan tonight?”
Honoria sucked in a breath, for Cornelia’s brittle tone cut deep.
Guillaume’s chair scraped on the dais. “Daughter, please explain what is going on.”
Anguish flickered over the younger woman’s features, but her chin nudged higher.
Suddenly the situation became too much. Her vision blurring with tears, Honoria ran for the stairs.
***
His hands balled into fists, Tristan strode to Cornelia. The castle folk were talking among themselves, obviously shocked by what had just taken place.
He grabbed the younger woman’s elbow. Ignoring her protests, he pulled her across the hall and into the antechamber.
Still holding her arm, he turned on her. “That was very mean-spirited of you.”
Cornelia glared. “She was mean to me.”
“Honoria has hardly been mean.”
“She kissed you! She knew that I—”
“She has stood by you day after day despite your selfishness and ill temper. Do you not see how loyal a friend she’s been to you? Do you really think such an exceptional friendship can ever be replaced?”
Doubt flickered across Cornelia’s face. “She betrayed me.”
“She fell under the same spell that I did. We never intended to have romantic feelings for one another. Yet, we do. Those feelings are genuine and undeniable.”
“I wanted you—”
“Let me be clear,” he cut in. “I have no interest in courting you. Absolutely none. Especially not after what you just did.”
Cornelia moaned. “But—”
“If you care at all about Honoria, you will accept our relationship. You will be happy for her. You will apologize to her. And, by God, you will start acting like the noble lady you were born to be, not a spoiled child.”
Tristan released Cornelia’s arm, dislodging a handkerchief that had been tucked into her sleeve. The embroidered square of silk fell to the rushes. She stared at him, tears filling her eyes, before she stormed out into the hall.
He picked up the handkerchief, set it on the table, and then plowed his hand into his hair. He might as well go and pack his saddlebag, after what he’d said to her. She was no doubt running to her father for consolation, and Guillaume wouldn’t tolerate his beloved daughter being upset.
Timeless Christmas Romance: Historical Romance Holiday Collection Page 61