Mistletoe Magic
A Medieval Romance Novella
Laurel O’Donnell
Mistletoe Magic, Copyright(©) Laurel O'Donnell 2014
www.laurel-odonnell.com
Published by ODONNELL BOOKS
All rights reserved. No part of this romance ebook/novella may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O’Donnell.
The characters and events portrayed in this historical romance novel are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Art by Gilded Heart Design
1382 England
Yuletide. It had always made Jaclyn Fainwick excited and happy with the potential of what the future held. This one day, amongst all the rest, was when every hope, every dream could come true. She loved this day above all the rest in the year.
She sat before the hearth in the Great Hall, waiting for the festivities to begin, swinging her feet back and forth. She had been waiting for most of the day. Her father would come, and her mother, and her brother. All the people she loved would be together on this day. No matter where they were or what they were doing, they would always gather together on the Yuletide.
She twisted and looked behind the large wooden chair she sat in. The shadows at the back of the Hall were getting long as the sun set, stretching dark fingers into the Great Hall. But no one was coming. She turned back and clutched her hands in her lap. If she were very good, her father would bring her something wonderful. A strand of her long dark hair had pulled free of the braid at her back and she swatted it back in place.
The flames danced in the hearth, warming her. She had been alive for ten Yuletides, this would make her eleventh, enough to know that the Yule log would soon be burned. It wouldn’t be long now.
Around her, the servants cleared the tables from the feast. A dog rushed beneath the table to gobble up a scrap of the duck that had fallen.
Suddenly, booted footsteps echoed down the hall.
Her stomach lurched with excitement and Jaclyn turned to see her friend, Alexander, run into the Great Hall, followed by her brother, Paul. She sat back in disappointment. Alexander reached her side first, skidding to a halt on the rushes.
“I told you she’d be in here,” Paul said, stopping at her other side. He was out of breath as if he had run a far distance. His brown hair was in a disarray on his head; his blue jupon was askew, his black boots dirty.
Alexander looked at her and grinned.
Jaclyn's heart lurched at his twinkling blue eyes, as it always did. Even at thirteen summers, Alexander was the most handsome boy she had ever met. His blonde hair reached to his shoulders and always had just the right amount of wave to it. He was not dressed as nicely as Paul, but he carried himself with more confidence. He usually wore a leather vest and black leggings, the same he was wearing on this Yuletide.
He met her gaze. “Your father is coming,” he said with restrained exuberance.
She turned in her chair to face the door.
“I was going to tell her,” Paul complained.
It didn’t matter who told her. Outside the door in the hallway, Jaclyn heard heavy footsteps. It sounded like the entire village was with her father! She could barely sit still in her exhilaration. A moment skipped by and then her father appeared. He was the tallest man of all the men following behind him, his shoulders broad, his hair dark. He was surrounded by knights and villagers. They entered the hall behind him as he walked toward her.
She stood to greet him.
“My dove,” he whispered and greeted her with a hug.
She embraced him.
He pulled back to look at her. “Before we light the Yule log, I want to give you this. You have been a very good girl this year, and a wonderful daughter.” He held something out to her.
Jaclyn hadn’t noticed he was carrying anything. She looked down to see he was holding a branch with green leaves and white berries. She gasped, “It’s beautiful!” and took the branch from his hand.
“The berries reminded me of the winter snow,” her father said softly.
Jaclyn nodded. “But the green leaves belong in the summer!” She looked up at him. “The trees have long since lost their leaves. Where did you find it?”
“I had to travel very far to find it.” he told her, leaning in to add, “It’s magical.”
“Like Yuletide!” Jaclyn gasped.
Her father smiled and nodded. “That’s why I brought it to you now. Keep it safe, child.”
Jaclyn nodded and hurried through the villagers and gathered guests. She paused to glance back at her father. He was silhouetted before the warm hearth fire, his arms on his hips, watching her. She curtseyed slightly. “Thank you, Father.”
He dipped his head in a nod.
Jaclyn knew the perfect place to keep it safe. The perfect spot for it. She raced to her room and flung a cloak about her shoulders. She paused to stare at the branch. It was amazing. Summer and winter, all rolled up into one glorious plant. She gently touched one of the berries.
“Father’s going to light the Yule log.”
She looked up to find Paul and Alexander standing in the doorway.
“Where are you going?” Alexander asked.
“To put my gift in a safe place. Father said to keep it safe.” She looked up at Paul. “He said it was magical.”
Paul shook his head in disbelief. “It’s mistletoe. It’s not magic.”
Jaclyn lifted her chin. “Father said it was!”
Paul shrugged. “Where are you putting it?”
“In the forest,” Jaclyn said, staring at the branch.
“You’d better hurry or you’ll miss the lighting of the Yule log.” Paul disappeared into the hallway, hurrying back to the Great Hall.
Jaclyn stepped toward the door, only to find Alexander still standing there. “Aren’t you going with him?”
Alexander grinned. “I can’t very well let you go out alone at night.”
Jaclyn scowled at him. “It’s just the forest.”
Alexander shrugged. “I’ll escort you.”
Jaclyn raised her eyebrow. “Another one of your games?” she asked and walked out into the hallway.
“You know I love games,” he said. “I can be your bodyguard.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“And you can be the lady.”
Jaclyn sighed and continued down the hall. She was always the lady, most likely because she was the only girl in their group. She stared down at the mistletoe branch.
“Do you really think it’s magical?” Alexander wondered.
“Father said it was, so yes.”
The night was crisp, the snow beginning to fall from the sky in small flakes. Jaclyn knelt before a large tree. The ground was hard and cold. She tucked the branch into a hollow opening near the bottom of the tree. She sat back and inspected the shadowed opening. She couldn’t see her branch. Satisfied that her gift was well protected, she started to stand but heard a twig snap behind her and paused. She remembered Alexander was with her. She bent back down to the mistletoe branch and gently pulled off a leaf. Then she stood. She extended her hand and the leaf to her friend. "Your payment, kind sir, for seeing me safely to this cold spot." Her breath came out in a puff of white smoke.
Alexander took the leaf from her. He stared at it for a moment. Then he lifted his eyes to hers. “I was hoping for the usual payment.”
“That leaf is magical. I thought that would be a better payment.”
Again, he looked down at the leaf, then glanced back up at her with a wry grin. “How can it be better than a kiss?”
She smiled sweetly at him. A kiss. Every time they played one of his games he wanted
to be rewarded with a kiss. “It will always see you back to me.”
He looked at her and there was a strange, sad look in his eyes. Jaclyn didn’t know what it was.
Alexander nodded and tucked it into his jupon. “Then I will cherish it forever.”
“Let’s get back or we’ll miss all of the fun.”
The two children hurried back toward the castle.
A blackbird soared across the sky. It landed at the foot of the tree. It cocked its head this way and that, nervously inspecting the hollowed out hole. It walked forward into the dark space. When it reemerged, it had a white berry in its mouth...
Eight Years Later
“He’ll be coming.”
Jaclyn looked up from the tallies and bundles of sticks she had been studying on the large table. Torchlight flickered about her brother’s shoulders as he slouched in a chair against the wall. His chin drooped to his chest so that his thick brown hair hung forward, obscuring his face. His hand was wrapped around the mug of ale he cradled in his lap. He had been acting morose the entire day, moping around as if the world was coming to an end. “There will be a lot of knights coming to Castle Fainwick,” she said.
Jaclyn bent over the accursed sticks, tallying the crops. Winter was coming. They couldn’t afford to be without a healthy stock of food or the people would go hungry. Something she had no intention of letting happen. Lately, it seemed she was trying to stretch the amount of crops the sticks represented into much more than the reality their meager stores amounted to.
“You know who I mean.” Paul grunted and lifted the mug to his lips.
Yes, she knew who her brother was concerned about. Lord Blaise Maison D’Sayre.
Paul suddenly stood, an urgent desperation darkening his features. “We could cancel it!”
“Cancel the tournament?” Jaclyn exclaimed, leaning back in the chair. She tossed the last tally stick down on the table. “What’s gotten into you? You know we need the coin from the tournament to see our people through the winter.” She motioned to the tally sticks before her. “We don’t have enough food to see us through the winter. We need coin to buy more provisions.”
Paul grunted and collapsed back into his seat. “Our people. Always our people.”
“They are our responsibility.” She stood and moved to her brother. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What is it, Paul? What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m worried, that’s all.”
She tousled his brown hair. “You’re always worried, but not usually about the right things.”
He leaned forward, capturing her hands in his. “I’m worried about you. This is a big risk. Those knights will be trying their hardest to win.”
Jaclyn nodded. “Aye. They will. With such a grand prize!” She spun around in a circle.
“It’s nothing to joke about. You are the prize. You, the castle, the lands.”
“Aye. And they will be paying coin to enter our tournament. Coin that we need to survive this winter, to buy food, to pay the castle guards with.”
“And what of next year? And the year after? This will only solve our problems for a year. You should have considered marrying before it came to this.”
She stiffened. “Why didn't you marry? A wealthy noble woman would have been honored to have you as a husband."
Paul held up a hand to stop her. "No, thank you."
"And yet you put the blame on me."
Paul shook his head. "I didn't mean --"
Jaclyn furrowed her brow firmly. "No. I will not be forced into marriage. I will not marry some oaf who --”
“What if some oaf wins this tournament? What if Stafford wins? Or worse yet that lazy Goddard?”
Jaclyn put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “They won’t.”
Paul shook his head and drained the mug. He stared into the hearth for a long moment.
Jaclyn understood his worry. There was so much at stake. But they couldn’t lose. She walked over to the table and stared down at the tally sticks. They couldn’t afford to lose.
“What if D’Sayre wins?” Paul wondered.
D’Sayre. He was her biggest worry. He was the best knight she had ever seen. The most skilled. But he was also the most dangerous knight because he was the knight with the most to prove. “We will have to make sure he doesn’t.”
Lord Blaise Maison D’Sayre stood outside the inn, staring at the castle in the distance. Its towers rose into the sky like beacons of red as the setting sun fell over them. Secured behind an impenetrable wall, the Fainwick castle and lands would be valued assets to any knight. But it wasn’t the castle he thought of, nor the lands. Not even the marriage to the girl. What consumed his thoughts was the man they called the Mistletoe Knight. He was skilled at jousting. A master at horsemanship. And he was the only knight to ever unhorse him in tournament.
Blaise grimaced, remembering the taste of the dirt, remembering the ache in his back when he landed on the hard ground after being unhorsed by the Mistletoe Knight’s lance. The man had struck a lucky blow, surely. He remembered the piece of mistletoe the knight had tossed at him as he exited the field. His jaw clenched tight at the remembered mockery. And now, it was his chance at retribution. Vindication. Victory. His defeat had been two years ago. He had tasted defeat for two long years and it was now time to remove the taste. In those two years, the Mistletoe Knight had vanished, refusing to enter any more tournaments. Why? Had he been wounded in their joust? Was he now a cripple? Blaise aimed to find out.
“That pride of yours must be smarting.”
Blaise turned away from the castle to look at his friend. “I’m just looking over my future possessions.”
Alexander smiled and leaned against a tree. “If you beat me.”
Blaise strode past him. “That shouldn’t be hard.”
Alexander followed him. “Maybe, if you cheat.”
Blaise smirked at him. Alexander had never beaten him. “All I have to do is point a woman out in the crowd and you’ll be distracted into your normal stupor.”
“You wound me! Any woman will not do. She must be striking. She must be shapely.”
“She must have two legs.”
Alexander chuckled softly as they reached the inn door. “That helps.”
“She must see you as a glorious knight and --”
Alexander held up his hands. “All right! I get the message. Any woman will do.”
Blaise pulled the door open and entered the inn, relishing the momentary victory. As he moved through the main room, he caught parts of conversations, but none of them were about what most interested him. He took a seat at the table in the back of the room and Alexander joined him. Blaise’s gaze swept the room. Most of the inhabitants were men, knights and their squires, on the way to the Fainwick tourney. Blaise knew almost all of them.
Alexander smiled at the busy servant girl as she placed a mug of ale before him.
“Have you heard word of him?”
“Him?” Alexander asked.
“The Mistletoe Knight. He will be jousting, won’t he?”
“God’s blood!” Alexander exclaimed. “You certainly are single minded. I’ve heard nothing of him. Nothing since the last time you asked.”
“Men do not just vanish for two entire years.”
Alexander leaned across the table. “Maybe he’s afraid of you.”
“As he should be.”
Alexander grinned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then why have this joust? He knows you will attend.”
Blaise grimaced. He had been asking himself the same question.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“No,” Blaise snapped, looking around the room. The lighting in the room was dim from the two torches on the wall and the waning hearth.
Alexander continued undaunted, “I think he wants to face you again. Maybe because he is better now.”
“We both are.”
“Maybe because he had bee
n wounded and is now healed.”
Blaise snorted.
“Maybe to settle the score once and for all. After all, you have been issuing threats for years in a failed attempt to draw him out.”
Blaise shook his head. Something wasn’t right about this joust. Why emerge now? Why after years of silence and absence on the jousting circuit? There was more to it than just wanting to defeat him. There was no secret about who the Mistletoe Knight was. He was most certainly that boy from Fainwick Castle. Well, he wasn’t a boy any longer. He was a young man and the lord of Fainwick now, since his father died a month ago. Could that have something to do with it? No, the joust had been announced long before the father’s death. Maybe the boy, who was now lord, could not back out without losing face. “What’s the new lord’s name?”
“Of Fainwick?”
Blaise nodded.
Before Alexander could answer, a knight from another table said, “Paul.”
Blaise scowled at the knight. Brown hair swept back from his face revealing a twisted nose and small eyes. He knew the knight from the field of honor. Sir Victor of Prestcote was an adequate jouster, but he would never be more than that. He was easily distracted and could not master his horse. “Care to join our conversation?” Blaise asked sarcastically.
“Just trying to help a fellow knight.”
Blaise grimaced, but decided the nosey knight might be useful. “What have you heard of Sir Paul?”
Victor pulled his chair over to the table, grating the legs along the floor. The inn was much too noisy for anyone to take notice. “It’s not the Mistletoe Knight that these knights are coming for. It’s the girl. Lady Jaclyn.”
“The girl?” Blaise echoed.
“She is rumored to be the fairest in the land. Most of these men have come in hopes of winning the land, not for the castle, but for the woman.”
Blaise glanced at Alexander. He could believe that of his friend. His gaze moved around the room. One of the knights leaned forward to speak earnestly to his squire. Another was arm wrestling. Still another was taking a large bite out of a leg of lamb he gripped in his big hand. He couldn’t believe all of these men came for a woman. No woman was as beautiful as that. No woman deserved that kind of admiration from so many knights. The only thing that was important was winning. “Fools,” Blaise grumbled.
Merry Medieval Christmas Page 11
