by Regan Walker
“Father has assigned you a spot at the lord’s table.”
“All right.” Holden glanced at the long table on the dais. His gaze lingered on the imposing carved chair in the middle—the one he’d sat in when he was the Lord of Misrule—before it traveled on to several chairs near the lady he knew was Juliana. Rosemary sat on her lap, playing with a linen napkin.
He followed Edouard and as they stepped up onto the dais, Tye, Claire, and Lord and Lady de Lanceau entered the hall from a side passageway, along with a matronly woman who took Isolde into her arms then went to the stairs leading to the upper chambers; she must be the nurse, going to put the baby to bed.
Penley and Odette emerged from the side passageway as well. Seeing him, his sister smiled and waved. After handing Norwin to a maidservant hovering nearby, who also headed to the staircase to the castle’s upper rooms, they followed the de Lanceaus, Claire, and Tye to the lord’s table.
“You will sit near me,” Tye said to Holden, gesturing to a chair.
As Holden sat and scooted his chair in closer to the table, Tye helped his wife into her seat. Penley and Odette sat to the left of Claire. Holden glanced down the long table, and when his gaze met Mary’s, his thoughts shot back to years ago. A sense of having been in the same situation before crawled through him. He’d not allow events to proceed as before, though; not even if given the chance.
Tye sat, putting a leather bag down in front of him as he did so. Catching Holden’s gaze, Tye smirked. “In case you are going to ask, I am not telling what is in the bag. You will have to wait.”
“I was not going to ask,” Holden lied.
Tye’s smug expression warned that he’d brought the bag for a reason, and that reason involved Holden. Feigning disinterest, Holden looked out over the room, the tables now crowded with folk of all ages.
Lord de Lanceau called for silence in the hall. After a quick blessing, the servants brought bread trenchers to the lord’s table, along with cast iron pots of fish stew. Holden’s mouth watered. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry.
While he ate, Claire and Odette shared baby stories, with Tye and Penley adding to the conversation now and again. Holden tried to stay focused on the discussion, but couldn’t keep his attention from shifting to the other end of the table, where Mary and Lady Brackendale were caught up in a lively conversation with Lady de Lanceau, Gisela, and Leona.
“—is here today?” Tye said.
Holden’s focus snapped to Tye. “Pardon?”
Tye chortled. “Cannot keep your eyes off her?”
How galling, that Tye had noticed. “Would you mind repeating your previous question, milord?”
“I said, does Odette know you were once appointed Lord of Misrule in this hall? That the young lady you wanted to kiss then is here today?”
The mouthful of stew Holden was swallowing jammed at the back of his throat. His eyes watered but, refusing to choke, he picked up his wine and downed a large mouthful. Thankfully, the fare slipped down and he could once again breathe.
“Who is the young lady?” Odette asked, clearly intrigued.
Before Holden could answer, Tye pointed down the table. “Mary.”
“I was going to tell Odette,” Holden muttered.
“You were not fast enough.” Tye’s grin broadened. “Now we all know.”
Odette chuckled. “I spoke with her earlier. She seems a lovely person.”
“Good bloodlines,” Tye added. “Rather self-conscious and prone to swooning, but a lady of fine manners and steadfast loyalties.”
“You just described her as though she is a piece of livestock for sale,” Holden groused.
“I did not mean any disrespect.” Tye sipped from his goblet. “I meant to say that she is a woman of fine breeding, and she deserves a husband of equal worth.”
Holden gritted his teeth. What was Tye suggesting? Was Tye implying that Holden wasn’t worthy of a lady like Mary?
Odette giggled. “Brother, calm down.”
“I might, once I better understand Tye’s intentions.”
“My intentions will be clear soon enough.”
Misgiving tingled at the back of Holden’s skull. “What does that mean?”
Tye’s grin turned sly. “You may not have heard. Tonight, Father will announce this year’s Lord of Misrule.”
Chapter 10
Mary dipped a morsel of bread into the dregs of her stew. Six years might have passed since she’d last dined in this hall, but she still loved fresh bread. ’Twas without doubt a weakness for her—just like Holden.
He sat at the other end of the table, but he might as well have been right next to her. All of her senses seemed attuned to him. When she heard the timbre of his voice, her skin grew hot. When she stole a glance down the table and saw him frowning, a chill skittered through her. She couldn’t remember ever being so aware of another person…except, mayhap, when she’d last visited Branton Keep.
Lady de Lanceau and Leona were bemoaning their husbands’ habit of stepping out of their garments at bedtime and leaving them in a heap on the floor, which made moving around in a dark room in the middle of the night hazardous. Nodding, Lady Brackendale insisted her spouse had done the same with his clothes.
“One day, Mary, you will be complaining about your husband, too,” Gisela said with a laugh.
“One day soon, mayhap.” Lady Brackendale shot Mary a meaningful look.
How tempted Mary was to claim she was feeling unwell and retire to her chamber, but ’twould be akin to running away. She didn’t want Holden to think she was afraid of him; that he could cause her to become as flustered as he had done long ago.
Instead, she forced herself to stay and join in the conversation. When Claire, down the table, caught her gaze and smiled in encouragement, Mary smiled back. Once the meal had finished, she’d go sit with Claire and take advantage of the chance to be with her best friend.
Half-listening to the other ladies’ conversation, Mary finished her stew. Servants brought platters laden with cakes, mince pies, and dried fruit, and refilled the wine jugs.
Clearing his throat, Lord de Lanceau rose.
“Quiet,” he called.
Mary’s thoughts slid back to when he’d announced Holden as the Lord of Misrule.
Unease settled within her. She certainly didn’t wish for a repeat of what had occurred that day.
“As most of the folk in this room and our honored guests already know, each year at this castle, we celebrate a favorite Christmas tradition.”
Folk in the hall cheered and glanced excitedly at one another.
Not the Lord of Misrule. Please, nay.
“In a moment, I will choose one man from this household to be the Lord of Misrule.”
Mary silently groaned.
“Until midnight, he will be ruling lord of his keep and will enjoy every privilege to which I would be entitled.”
As people clapped and cheered, Mary swallowed hard, a ringing noise in her head. She must not look at Holden. She mustn’t…but she could not help it. Down the table, his narrowed gaze met hers.
Oh, God.
“This year’s Lord of Misrule is….”
Not Holden. Not Holden—
“Tye.”
“Me?” Wide-eyed, Tye pressed his hand to the center of his chest. The crowd roared.
“No need to look so surprised,” Lord de Lanceau said with a laugh. “’Tis your first Christmas as part of this family, and you did say you would enjoy the honor.”
Grinning, Tye rose to standing. “Indeed, I am most grateful to be chosen.” As his sire stepped aside, Tye moved to stand in front of the large, carved chair and put a crown made of twigs, pine cones, and ribbons on his head.
He rubbed his hands together, his expression gleeful. “Now….”
“What is your first order, milord?” a woman yelled.
Rosemary, her mouth and chin smeared with the cake she was holding, squeezed between the chairs to reach Tye’s side
and tugged on his sleeve. The dark-haired lord bent and the little girl whispered and pointed. “What an excellent idea.” Tye straightened. “There is not enough cake on the platters. I order more to be brought from the kitchens right away.”
“More?” Lady de Lanceau laughed.
“Rosemary does like cake,” Gisela said, shaking her head.
Tye had leaned down to speak to Rosemary. The child nodded, went to the chair Tye had vacated, picked up the leather bag, and opened it. Tye crossed to her and Rosemary followed him around to the front of the table then walked along it, setting down bits of greenery. When they reached Mary’s end of the table, she saw the sprigs had white berries.
Mistletoe.
Lady de Lanceau smiled. “You mentioned you were expecting an adventure, Gisela. I think this might be part of it.”
Standing behind his lady wife, Lord de Lanceau said, “I hope you still remember how to use mistletoe, Damsel.”
“Luckily for you, I do.”
Rosemary dropped some mistletoe in front of Mary. Then, on Tye’s instruction, she handed the bag down to a maidservant who started handed out sprigs to the folk at the other tables.
Tye guided Rosemary back to her mother and took his place again in front of the lord’s chair. “My next order….” Tye said.
Mary stared at the mistletoe lying on the tablecloth; each round berry, as white as a pearl, represented a kiss. Excitement hummed within her, but also misgiving. Whatever Tye had planned, she hoped it didn’t involve her.
“I believe there is a matter that needs to be resolved in this hall,” Tye said.
“That sounds ominous,” Lady Brackendale murmured.
Tye looked at Mary. “You.”
“M-me?”
He crooked a finger. “Come here.”
A tremor ran through her. Her frantic gaze snapped to Claire, who looked both surprised and unsettled.
“Tye?” Claire said.
“Trust me, Kitten. I am acting in Mary’s best interests.”
Mary longed to flee. But, she sensed a great many people’s gazes upon her, and most especially, Holden’s.
Determined not to cower to her uncertainty, she rose and walked over to Tye. He grinned then his attention shifted to Holden. “You will come and stand beside her.”
Frowning, Holden did not move from his chair. “With respect, I do not think—”
“Do it, or I will sentence you to the dungeon—as you sentenced Mary years ago.”
The crowd roared. “Dungeon. Dungeon!”
Dread pounding in her veins, Mary watched as Holden slowly rose and walked to her. The hall quieted, as though everyone was fascinated to see what would happen. There must be some folk in the hall who had witnessed what had taken place between her and Holden years ago. What were they expecting to happen this day?
He halted in front of her. She trembled in the pull of his commanding presence, wishing she could run, but also, consumed by a most wicked thrill.
Dizziness threatened. She sucked in a steadying breath.
Tye moved in behind them and held mistletoe over them. “Kiss.”
“Tye,” Lady de Lanceau said sharply.
Tye rolled his eyes. “’Tis just a kiss. No one is going to get hurt.”
Holden wished that were true, but there was no telling how the next few moments would unfold.
Kissing Mary would be no hardship for him. But, he doubted the same for her. She hadn’t, after all, enjoyed his kiss in the tower.
She returned his stare, her eyes filled with a hint of yearning but mostly dismay. He fought a wave of sympathy that she’d been asked to kiss him in this hall, at Christmas, once again.
Damn Tye for his meddling.
Still, part of Holden was grateful. They needed to resolve that kiss from before. End it here and now and start anew.
Folk in the hall chanted: “Kiss. Kiss.”
Mary’s shoulders rose and fell on a sharp breath.
“I am waiting,” Tye drawled.
Holden’s hands formed fists, an attempt to keep from reaching for her, dipping her over his arm, and kissing her. He’d have the crowd cheering. But, he wanted some acknowledgement from Mary that she wanted his kiss.
She glanced away. The torment of looking at him must be more than she could bear.
“God’s blood, must I send you both to the dungeon?” Tye growled.
“Kiss. Kiss,” the folk in the hall continued.
Holden reached down and took Mary’s left hand in his. He brought it to his lips and, as the cheers in the hall increased in volume, he kissed the backs of her fingers.
Her eyelids fluttered.
“May I kiss you, Lady Westbrook?” Holden asked.
She held his stare. He waited for her lips to part, for her to say “aye.”
She shook her head.
Tye choked, a sound of astonishment. “What?”
Mary pulled her hand free. “I…I cannot.” She rushed past Holden. Faster than he imagined possible, she raced from the dais, across the hall, and up the wooden stairs.
A sob burned Mary’s throat. She raced into the torch-lit passageway leading off the landing, and the sob wrenched from her.
Halting, she struggled to regain her composure. She’d wanted to kiss Holden; wanted to more than she dared admit. But, past anguish and difficult memories had warred within her and tainted what she’d been feeling, and she’d heard her father again:
You are not blessed with your sister’s beauty.
You are looking fat.
You are not here to entice squires.
The feelings of inadequacy and self-consciousness had gouged her soul, and suddenly, she’d seen no other option but to bolt.
With a shaking hand, she wiped away brimming tears. How stupid that she’d become overwhelmed. She wasn’t that girl from years ago. She’d had experiences that had changed her, made her stronger. Someday, hopefully soon, she’d finally be strong enough to keep her father’s poisoned words from hurting her.
She did want to fall in love. To find happiness. To be kissed by a man who cherished her.
Not in front of a crowd, though, for the sake of others’ entertainment.
Not because someone had commanded it.
When—if—she and Holden kissed, twould be because the attraction between them drew them to do so; because they were helpless to deny their passion for one another. That was romantic, and the kind of kiss she wanted.
A baby’s cry drew her attention to the door, slightly ajar, a short distance away. The chamber, beside Tye and Claire’s room, was used as the nursery for Norwin and Isolde, and the infant within wailed, as though woken from slumber.
A nurse stayed with the babies at all times—Lord de Lanceau had insisted upon it—and would no doubt soothe the child back to sleep.
Deciding to go to her chamber rather than return to the hall, Mary headed down the corridor, nearing the open doorway on her left. The baby continued to bawl.
How strange that she didn’t hear the nurse talking or singing to the infant.
Mary went to the door and pushed it open wider to peer in. The fire in the chamber had burned low. In the dim light from the hearth, she made out two wooden cradles toward the center of the room, with the nurse, her head turned to the side, sitting in a chair nearby. However, the woman wasn’t moving to take care of the child.
Mayhap she’d just fallen into a sound sleep?
“Good evening,” Mary called from the doorway.
The woman didn’t stir.
Concern building within Mary, she entered the room, which seemed unusually cold. She set her hand on the nurse’s shoulder and gently shook her. “Are you all right?” she asked.
The nurse’s head lolled.
Something was most definitely wrong.
Mary pressed her hand to the nurse’s face and felt sticky wetness along her hairline. She raised her fingers to better see: Blood.
“Oh, mercy,” she whispered, panic tearing through
her.
Before she could whirl around and run to get help, she sensed someone behind her.
Cold steel pressed to her neck.
A man said: “Do not move.”
Chapter 11
Holden released a harsh sigh as Mary raced upstairs.
“Well.” Tye’s expression turned rueful. “I did not expect that to happen.”
What had Tye expected? Holden was just about to ask, when Claire reached them. She frowned at her husband.
“Kitten—”
“I will go and talk to her,” Claire said.
Tye shook his head. “I should. I am the one who upset her.”
“Nay,” Holden said firmly. “You two stay here. I will go.”
A smile curved Claire’s lips, and she nodded. When Tye looked about to insist otherwise, she shook her head.
“Very well,” Tye said.
Holden strode along the dais and stepped down to the hall floor. Ignoring the folk watching him, he made his way to the stairs, his thoughts on the encounter ahead. Mary might have shut herself away in her chamber and be too upset to want to speak with him, but he’d find a way to convince her to leave her room and walk with him. He knew a spot on the castle’s battlements with a breathtaking view. He’d escort her there, encourage conversation, and when the moment was right, he’d apologize for the past. Truly apologize.
His boots thudded on the planks and soon, he was on the landing, the air hazy with lingering smoke. As he entered the passageway, he recalled that her chamber was down on the right.
A door, closer to him, stood ajar. Inside that room, a baby was crying.
It sounded like Norwin.
Holden’s strides slowed. Mayhap he should check on the babe…but a nurse was caring for the infants tonight, and she might not like him intervening. He also had a responsibility to Mary. Better to go to her first and then, if Norwin was still wailing, visit him. He passed by the open doorway—
A muffled sound came from inside.
He slowed near a flickering wall torch.
