by Regan Walker
Penley, taller and broader through the shoulders than the lad Mary remembered, was seated on the toy-laden blanket with Norwin; the baby was fascinated by the wooden castle and soldiers his father had just put within his reach.
Glancing at Mary, Penley said, “I am most grateful, too. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again, Lady Westbrook.”
“You as well,” Mary murmured. “Norwin is a darling boy.”
“He certainly is,” Odette said with a happy sigh. “Holden does love being an uncle. I can only hope that one day, my brother will have his own sons to dote upon.”
Heat spread through Mary. Did Odette know about the kiss? As though attuned to her thoughts, she heard Holden’s voice, along with de Lanceau’s, in the forebuilding as the men approached the hall.
Claire squeezed Mary’s arm. “If you will excuse us, we were on our way to join the other ladies in the garden. Would you like to come?” she asked Odette.
“Thank you, but I will next time.” The young woman’s attention returned to her son. “Right now, I just want to be with my family.”
“Of course,” Claire said. “We completely understand.”
Mary’s heart thumped hard as Holden entered the room, accompanied by de Lanceau, Aldwin, Tye, and Dominic. His gaze immediately locked with hers then shifted to Odette, who rose with a cry and hurried to him to throw her arms around him.
He hugged her back, and as he kissed her hair, Mary struggled with an unexpected pang of jealousy. She tried to look away, but couldn’t. How vividly she remembered the weight of his strong arms around her and the warm press of his lips upon hers.
Claire tugged on her cloak sleeve. Startled back to the present, Mary went with her friend to the bailey and across to the walled-in garden.
Lady de Lanceau, Dominic’s golden-haired wife Gisela, Juliana, and Aldwin’s spouse Leona were already there, along with little Rosemary, who was crouched down, trailing her gloved fingers through the pristine whiteness on the ground.
“Children do love snow,” Gisela murmured, as Rosemary brought a handful to her mouth and hesitantly tasted it.
Lady de Lanceau chuckled. “They do indeed. Edouard would spend most of the day playing in it when he was little and would cry when ’twas time to go inside.” Her focus shifting to Mary and Claire, she said, “The great hall looks very festive. Thank you for doing the decorating.”
“’Twas our pleasure,” Claire said with a smile.
When Rosemary patted the snow in her hand, Mary crouched beside her. “Are you making a snowball? Try this.” Mary picked up a handful and pressed it with her fingers into a ball, and the toddler carefully copied the movements. Her snowball wasn’t very round, but Mary nodded in encouragement, and the little girl beamed.
What a sweet, winsome smile. Mary fought a renewed pang of longing for children of her own.
“I wish I could make snowballs with you, but my belly is too big for me to bend easily.” Her expression tender, Juliana smoothed a hand over her rounded stomach. She was due to give birth in February and simply glowed whenever she spoke of the little one who would soon be part of her and Edouard’s growing family. “Rosemary only discovered snow this winter, but she would fetch her blanket and pillow and sleep in it if I let her.”
“Do not suggest such a thing to our spouses,” Leona said with a grin.
Gisela laughed. “Dare I ask why not?”
Leona rolled her eyes. “They would enjoy it far too much. Between the snowball fights and sleeping under the stars, we would not see them for days.”
“At least they would be somewhat out of trouble.” Claire shook her head. “I swear, since arriving here, Tye’s arrogance has increased tenfold.”
“Edouard’s as well.” Juliana sighed. “Hopefully one day, they will feel they are equals. Then they will no longer have to compete with one another.”
“Dominic seems his usual charming self. I am anticipating some sort of adventure to crop up, though,” Gisela said as she smoothed the fur trim of her cloak. “’Tis the way of things whenever he and Geoffrey get together.”
“Mmm.” Lady de Lanceau frowned. “I always become concerned when the men disappear into a meeting, as they did with the Fieldings a short while ago. ’Tis Christmas. Surely the matter can wait until after Christmas Day?”
Half-listening to the conversation, Mary smiled at Rosemary. “Very good. Are you ready to throw your snowball?”
The toddler nodded, causing the hood of her cloak to slip down over her eyes. With an impatient hand, she pushed it back.
“All right.” Mary drew her arm back and launched her snowball toward a wooden post. Hitting the post, the snowball shattered. Rosemary squealed and jumped up and down.
Her face lit with excitement, the little girl threw her snowball. It plopped into the snow barely three paces away, and her grin wobbled. Oh, dear. Was she going to burst into tears?
“’Tis all right,” Mary said quickly. “You can make another one, aye?”
The little girl nodded and set to work.
Once the child had become engrossed in her task, Mary rose, brushing snow off her gloves.
“You are good with children,” Lady de Lanceau murmured.
Mary drew in a breath of the crisp afternoon air. “Thank you. Holden is good with them, too.”
Her ladyship smiled. The rest of the women suddenly went quiet.
“Is he?” Lady de Lanceau’s smile broadened.
Sensing the other ladies’ gazes upon her, Mary blushed. “From what I saw of him and his nephew together, I gathered he is.”
“I still remember that Christmas when you were visiting Branton Keep and Holden was Geoffrey’s squire,” her ladyship said. “Not long before Holden went to France.”
Mary nodded. “I will never forget it.”
“Did you two keep in contact through the years?”
“Nay, milady. I had not seen or heard from Holden again until today.”
“I hope you will not mind me saying so, but I do not think ’tis a coincidence you ran into each other again,” Juliana said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“I agree,” said Gisela. “You must have heard the story of how Dominic and I met up again after we had parted ways long ago. To this day, I vow our love was destined to be.”
“Like in the old romantic tales,” Claire murmured.
“You and Dominic had had been lovers, though, and you had borne his son,” Lady de Lanceau pointed out. “Mary and Holden were…? What? Acquaintances?”
Mary nodded while watching Rosemary.
“Aldwin and I were essentially acquaintances when we met again after many years,” Leona said. “I believe we, too, were destined to be together—although it took a while for either of us to be willing to acknowledge that.”
Mary shivered, although her cloak kept her more than warm enough. She didn’t want to believe in destiny, as though what happened between her and Holden was already decided and beyond her control. “Holden does not care for me, and I do not care for him,” she said.
Lady de Lanceau’s eyes sparkled, but she didn’t say a word, just bent, scooped up some snow, and began making a snowball.
“Who hired you?” Holden asked again. He glowered at the mercenary chained in the cell toward the front of the dungeon. “Give us a name.”
Sitting on a battered bench, the lout shook his head. His cloak and boots had been taken from him. He wore only a thin tunic, belt, and woolen hose. In the light cast by burning reeds, his brow glistened; the healer had obviously applied ointment to the wound Holden had delivered when rendering the thug senseless in the forest. De Lanceau was generous not just in treating the injuries of friends, but also foes.
“He is not going to answer,” de Lanceau said. His men-at-arms had already questioned the lout earlier and gotten nowhere, but once the meeting in de Lanceau’s solar had ended, Holden had asked if he could try.
Impatience burned within Holden, for he’d fought alongside men like this
thug; men who were loyal only to those who paid them. The mercenary didn’t look like he’d been starving before he was hired, though, and his confiscated weapons and armor were of reasonable quality, so he was a man of some independent means—and could pick and choose which jobs he wanted. That suggested he and his colleagues had been paid well by whoever had hired them.
What kind of man would order the abduction of a baby? Whoever he was, he was protected by his anonymity, while Norwin’s life—and the lives of other lords’ children—were still in danger.
No one was going to take Norwin away again. Holden would make sure of it.
Fury crackled within him as he curled his hands around the closest iron bars of the cell. “I ask you one last time: Who hired you?”
“Holden,” de Lanceau warned. Did he think Holden was going to wallop the lout through the bars? ’Twas damned tempting.
Holden held the thug’s gaze. “If you will not share the name, what about the city he hails from?”
The mercenary’s mouth crooked into a grin.
“He will not be so smug after spending a few freezing nights down here,” Dominic said from the table where he was examining the items taken from the mercenary.
“Indeed, he will not,” de Lanceau said. “Come. If he decides he wants to talk, the guards will let me know.”
Holden didn’t want to relent, but this was de Lanceau’s castle, and his lordship had more experience in such matters.
As he turned to leave, his attention strayed to the back of the dungeon, to the isolated cell where he’d once imprisoned Mary. Guilt rippled through him, but he forced the unwelcome emotion aside. She would likely be in the hall when he got there, and somehow, he had to get through the evening without thinking about their kiss.
About wanting to kiss her again.
About kissing her until she leaned into him, her face flushed, her eyes glazed with passion, and insisted his kisses had been so incredibly good, she didn’t want him to stop.
Damnation, but he was doomed.
By the table in the guest chamber she always used when she visited Branton Keep, Lady Brackendale patted her gray hair that Mary had braided and pinned into a coil at her nape and then set down the polished steel mirror she held. “All right, Mary. What is the matter?”
A few paces from her ladyship, Mary shut the lid of the silver box containing hair ribbons and pins. Oh, dear. She’d thought she’d managed to keep her uncertainty hidden from the older woman, but mayhap not. “Milady?”
Lady Brackendale huffed. “Do not pretend you do not understand what I am talking about. I know you as well as my own daughter.”
Shame pricked at Mary as she picked up the gold necklace lying on the table. “I did not want to burden you.”
“I would like to help, if I can. You mean a great deal to me, you know.”
“As you do to me, milady.” Mary met the older woman’s kind gaze. Then she fastened the gold necklace around her ladyship’s neck, stepped back and nodded her approval of the elegant chain that matched the gold embroidery on her ladyship’s green gown.
Before she could turn away, Lady Brackendale caught her hand and moved to the bed, pulling Mary along behind her. Her ladyship sat and indicated Mary should do the same. She perched on the edge of the mattress, her crimson silk gown rustling.
“Now,” Lady Brackendale said firmly. “Tell me what is bothering you.”
Mary sighed and looked down at their joined hands, hers slender and pale, the older woman’s wrinkled and age-spotted. She really didn’t want to bother her ladyship—
“Are you upset because that man in the tower kissed you?”
Mary’s mouth gaped. Did everyone know about her and Holden’s kiss? Her face burned. “Um—”
“Claire told me.” Lady Brackendale’s tone suggested she was pleased that Claire had taken her into her confidence. “I saw him in the great hall and had to ask who he was.” Her voice dropped. “He is most handsome. Apparently he used to be a squire here, although I do not remember him.”
“Aye, he was—”
“—but those eyes! What an extraordinary color. He seems intelligent, and polite, for he bowed to me before heading off to a meeting in the solar.”
“I am sure, like most knights, he can be quite gallant—”
“And he kissed you, aye? I do hope ’twas a marvelous kiss. Every lady deserves at least one marvelous kiss in her lifetime.”
Mary averted her gaze. “Aye, ’twas wonderful.”
“Why, then, do you seem so glum? Why are you not giggling, blushing, and hoping he will kiss you again? Or getting hold of some mistletoe to ensure it does happen again?”
“Holden… Well, he and I share a difficult past.”
“You mean the Christmas he locked you in the dungeon?”
God above. Her ladyship knew about that as well, then.
“He wanted my kiss years ago,” Mary said. “I am concerned he kissed me today so that he could finally say he had done so.”
“And if that was, in truth, the reason he kissed you?”
“Well, ’twas not love—”
Lady Brackendale shook her head. “My dear, I doubt very much he was thinking about concluding anything.”
“What was he thinking about, then?”
The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “I suspect he was not thinking much at all, except how wondrous it felt to brush his mouth against yours—”
“But—”
“And what he would like to enjoy with you next.”
“Milady!”
“No need to look so panicked. It all sounds perfectly romantic to me.”
“Do I want such from Holden, though? I have spent so many years hating him.”
Lady Brackendale’s expression turned thoughtful. “What is your heart telling you?”
“Well….”
“What does it say when you think about possibly falling in love?”
Mary swallowed hard. “In truth? I hear my father’s voice, reminding me of all the ways that I am unsuitable.”
“Oh, my dear.” Her ladyship shook her head. “I should not speak ill of the dead, but your father was…a man with little respect or consideration for others. His selfishness made him blind to your loveliness and potential, and that is in no way your fault. ’Tis entirely his.”
Goodness.
“You will never forget his words. In times of self-doubt, they will torment you. But, you should not let them govern your life or keep you from happiness.”
“You speak as though you well know what I have been through,” Mary said softly.
Her ladyship nodded, even as her expression etched with remorse. “My sire was also a difficult, inconsiderate man. I realized I could either be crushed by his criticisms, or I could have faith in myself and strive for the life I wanted.”
“Did you get it? The life you wanted, I mean?”
“For the most part.” Her ladyship smiled. “I had to learn not to be afraid to take the initiative. You must learn that, too.”
“You found courage,” Mary murmured.
“I suppose I did. If you believe Holden might be a man you could love, even if you are frightened by your own feelings, you must seize the opportunity to be with him. You may have to work hard to ignore your self-doubts, but if you find true love, ’twill be well worth the effort.”
“How will I know if ’tis true love?”
“You will know. Your heart will be so full of joy and wonder, you will be positively giddy.” Her ladyship touched Mary’s cheek. “You deserve that kind of happiness, my dear. You really do.”
Slipping her hand free, Mary rose and hugged her ladyship. “Thank you.”
When they drew apart, Lady Brackendale dabbed at her eyes. “Now, we should make our way to the hall. We do not want to miss any of the excitement, especially if that young man is involved.”
Holden leaned against the great hall’s hearth and scratched the back of a dozing hound with his boot. As he watched
the leaping flames, he mulled all that he’d heard in the meeting; even more evidence that King John, feeling his hold on England slipping away, was acting in ways that should be condemned.
Plenty of names had been thrown out during the discussion, some of them more likely than others to have arranged Norwin’s kidnapping. But, there were still no definite leads. His grip tightened on his goblet of red wine, for he hoped some thread of insight emerged soon.
Castle folk were gathering at the tables lined up in rows in the hall, for the evening meal would soon be served. Edouard, Juliana, Rosemary, Gisela, Dominic, Aldwin, and Leona were already seated at the lord’s table, chatting among themselves. Claire had slipped off to feed Isolde before the meal, and Tye had gone with her, but they should be returning to the hall soon.
As Holden sipped more of his drink, murmurs and the tap of footfalls carried from the upper landing. Holden’s senses sprang alive, his skin prickled, and even before he saw Mary, he knew she had entered the hall. She walked arm in arm with Lady Brackendale, and as torchlight washed over her crimson gown, Holden’s throat went dry.
As the two women descended the stairs, he could hardly breathe. Mary looked lovely. The richly-hued dress skimmed her curves, accentuating her bosom and nipped-in waist but also the flare of her hips. While the garment was modest in style, it also revealed she wasn’t stick-thin; he liked that she didn’t appear so fragile, he didn’t dare try to touch her.
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she saw him. Her eyes widened slightly, and her cheeks turned pink.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said.
“Good evening,” Mary and Lady Brackendale answered in unison. The older woman winked, the kind of wink that made him wonder what she’d heard about him, before they strolled past, headed to the dais. His jaw clenched, and he returned his attention to the fire, determined to keep a firm hold on his emotions…and not think about kissing.
Kissing Mary.
Kissing her spectacularly well—
Argh. He swiftly downed more wine.
Holden remained by the hearth, listening to the increasing hum of chatter and voices as the tables filled with folk, until he heard someone walking over to him: Edouard.
