O Night Divine
A Holiday Collection of Sprited Christmas Tales
Kathryn Le Veque, Caroline Lee, Chasity Bowlin, Hildie McQueen, Maggi Andersen, Mary Lancaster, Meara Platt, Violetta Rand, Alexa Aston, Anna Markland, Anna St. Claire, Aubrey Wynne, Charlotte Wren, Elizabeth Ellen Carter, Elizabeth Johns, Elizabeth Keysian, Emily E K Murdoch, Emily Royal, Lynne Connolly, Maeve Greyson, Whitney Blake
© Copyright 2020 & Text by Kathryn Le Veque, Caroline Lee, Chasity Bowlin, Hildie McQueen, Maggi Andersen, Mary Lancaster, Myra Platt, Violetta Rand, Alexa Aston, Anna Markland, Anna St. Claire, Aubrey Wynne, Charlotte Wren, Elizabeth Ellen Carter, Elizabeth Johns, Elizabeth Keysian, Emily E K Murdoch, Emily Royal, Lynne Connolly, Maeve Greyson, Whitney Blake
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition November 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Dearest Reader;
Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.
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CEO, Dragonblade Publishing
Collection Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Foreword
’Twas the Executioner Knight Before Christmas
Kathryn Le Veque
The Laird’s Yulebringer
Caroline Lee
Making Spirits Bright
Chasity Bowlin
The Haunted Scot
Hildie McQueen
Never Keep a Secret at Christmas
Maggi Andersen
Her Star from the East
Mary Lancaster
The Remembrance of Love
Meara Platt
How to Get an Earl for Christmas
Violetta Rand
Yuletide at Gillingham
Alexa Aston
A Thrill of Hope
Anna Markland
A Gift for Agatha
Anna St. Claire
The Heart is Never Silent
Aubrey Wynne
Of Christmas Past
Charlotte Wren
Tidings of Comfort
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
A Christmas Miracle
Elizabeth Johns
Her Christmas White Knight
Elizabeth Keysian
Always the Mistletoe
Emily E K Murdoch
A Libertine’s Christmas Miracle
Emily Royal
Past, Present, Future
Lynne Connolly
A Yuletide Yearning
Maeve Greyson
A Strange Christmas Game
Whitney Blake
Foreword
Welcome to O Night Divine!
This is a unique collection of holiday tales from the authors of Dragonblade Publishing and a gift to you, our readers, for your unwavering support and enthusiasm. Without you, there is no “us”, so we are deeply grateful.
Now, a bit about this collection…
It should have been called A Merry Die Hard Christmas.
Let me explain.
When I first organized this set, it was with the understanding that everyone was to use Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol or some other classic holiday tale as inspiration. My parameters were pretty loose. I simply told the authors to write something “Christmas-y”. All of our talented contributors agreed.
Then, the stories started rolling in to the editors, including mine.
The results had me laughing.
Let’s just say that the Bruce Willis movie Die Hard is considered by many to be a holiday tale, and lo and behold, some authors must have thought so, too. Or, at least, they appeared to. In my case, I used the Spirit of Christmas Future from A Christmas Carol, but the tale was centered around the Executioner Knights and with a name like that, you know it wasn’t a gentle tale. Sweet and poignant, with a moral to the story, but definitely not gentle.
And I wasn’t alone.
There are many, many wonderfully told holiday stories in this collection, but be aware that some of them are a little wilder, and even a little darker, than others, but all of them have one thing in common – they are full of the holiday spirit. Everyone has a happy ending. Some just have a more arduous task of getting there than others.
I think you’re really going to enjoy a very different holiday collection in O Night Divine.
From Dragonblade’s family to yours, we wish you a very happy holiday season.
Kathryn Le Veque
’Twas the Executioner Knight Before Christmas
An Executioner Knight Short Story
Kathryn Le Veque
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Author’s Note
Every year, I do a little Christmas tale involving one of my series – for example, I have done a de Wolfe Christmas, a de Lohr Christmas, a de Russe Christmas, and even a Dark Lord Christmas. This year, it’s the Executioner Knights. Maxton of Loxbeare, anyway.
And it’s quite a little tale.
As an Executioner Knight, Maxton of Loxbeare has seen and done a great deal. He’s a hard man, harder than most, and even his commanders know there is something dark about his soul when it comes to his duties
. No one survives an Executioner Knight and least of all, Maxton of Loxbeare. But when he married his wife and had children, three little girls right away, Maxton grew a heart. He became a devoted and dedicated father who loved his children dearly. But the Executioner Knight in him still lived.
This is not a nice and fluffy Christmas story, but more of a humorous look at a father who must change his ways if he doesn’t want his daughters to grow up to be killers. Because – let’s face it – that’s what Maxton is. He’s a great guy, but almost all he knows is knightly death and destruction. So after a very bad dream, Maxton sees that, for his daughters’ sakes, he must change.
Not all fathers are perfect, though some try to be. Maxton is trying to be, but his mistakes might cost his children… so this is a Medieval version of the Ghost of Christmas Future. Poor Max!
Enjoy this “different” little holiday tale (and remember I did say “little”!)!
Hugs,
Part One
And All Through the House…
Chalford Hill Castle
The Eve of December 24th
1207 A.D.
“And then the three wise men saw the star over the stable.”
“They came to see the Christ child, Dada?”
“Nay. They were much more than that.”
The great hall of Chalford Hill was warm and cozy, surprising for such a high-ceilinged hall. A vast amount of rushes covered the floor and the walls, all of them fresh, having been cut that very morning. The carpet of rushes crowded up to within a few feet of the hearth, which snapped and crackled softly with a gentle blaze. Big pieces of wood were tucked back into the blaze, glowing red and white with heat.
A very large man with shaggy, dark hair and dark eyes sat on a big chair in front of the hearth, two little girls snuggled in his lap. A third little girl, a bit older than the others, sat at his feet and across from him, his beautiful wife sat with a tiny infant nursing at her breast. The woman was swathed in a heavy robe and the infant was tightly swaddled, content in her arms, but she glanced up at her husband as he told their daughters the story of the birth of Christ on this snowy Christmas eve.
At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.
She didn’t like the direction the story was going.
“What more were they, Dada?” she asked, a hint of warning in her tone. “I will remind you that you will not blaspheme the birth of Christ in my presence, and most especially not in front of our children.”
Maxton of Loxbeare looked at his wife, his eyes glimmering with mirth. He had been known to tell his wide-eyed girls some wild tales, much to the disapproval of his wife. Tales of rabbits who attacked unwary travelers with knives, or cows that used pitchforks against farmers. His girls hung on every word, but his wife… not so much. It was great fun to taunt her, but easier to do it when she had their six-month-old son in her arms because she wouldn’t become too loud or too angry with the baby against her.
Therefore, he pushed his luck.
“Do you want to know the truth?” he asked. “The Magi, or the three wise men, weren’t kings at all.”
“They weren’t?”
Maxton shook his head confidently, returning his attention to his girls. “They were assassins sent by King Herod,” he said. “They had come to find that baby and slice him up.”
“Max!” Andressa gasped with outrage, startling the baby dozing against her nipple. As the infant whimpered, she rocked him gently, calming him, before glaring at her husband and hissing. “Stop it at once, do you hear? No more of that.”
Maxton wasn’t listening. He openly defied his wife. “It was the evening of Christ’s birth and King Herod knew the baby was out there, somewhere,” he told his daughters gleefully. “He had tried to find the Messiah earlier when the Romans went hunting for him, but the night Christ was born, he sent out his very best men disguised as wise men from the east. It was their duty to find the baby.”
Andressa was ready to explode but the baby had quieted and was still nursing, so she was forced to keep quiet as Maxton grinned at her tauntingly. In his lap, his youngest daughter, Ceri, tugged at him.
“But why, Dada?” she asked. “Why did they want to slice the baby?”
Andressa rolled her eyes, growing furious, as Maxton kissed his child on the head. “Because he was the son of God,” he said. “That is what this season is about, my little loves. The birth of Christ to save man from his sins. But King Herod wanted the child dead so he could continue with his evil ways.”
“So he sent three men to hack the baby to pieces!” Melisandra said. A year older than Ceri at nearly five years of age, she loved her father’s gory tales when her mother wasn’t in control of what came out of his mouth. “And then what would he do with the pieces?”
Maxton could see that he would be in real trouble if he didn’t ease his daughter’s bloodlust. He kissed Melisandra on the head, too.
“Must you be so graphic, Melly?” he asked her. “Do you remember when Magnus was born?”
All three girls looked over at their baby brother in their mother’s arms. They nodded solemnly. “Aye, Dada,” Danae, the oldest, answered. “He was very small.”
Maxton agreed. “He was,” he said. “He is still very small. Can you imagine someone wanting to do that little baby harm? It would be a terrible thing.”
Three heads wagged from side to side. “Nay, Dada,” Danae said. “I would protect Magnus with my life. I would not let anyone harm him.”
“Good lass,” Maxton said, reaching out to touch her blonde head. “You are a good sister to protect him so.”
“Who did Christ have to protect him?” Danae asked.
Maxton pointed a finger upward. “The greatest protectors of all,” he said. “God and the angels were there to protect the Christ child.”
“And they protected him against the three wise men? The assassins from King Herod?”
The baby against Andressa’s breast was asleep and she rose carefully, carrying the sleeping baby from the hall. Maxton put his finger up to his lips, indicating silence from the girls, as their mother took their baby brother to bed. Once she was clear of the hall, he returned to his story.
“The angels brought swords of fire and axes of flame,” he said dramatically. “But the wise men were clever; they brought gifts for the Christ child, but concealed within the gifts were knives and arrows. But God sent the archangels to defend the baby.”
The girls were hanging on his every word. “Did they fight them?” Melisandra wanted to know. “Did they swing their swords and cut off their heads?”
Maxton loved seeing the bloodlust in little eyes. He knew it was wrong; God help him, he knew. But it was so much fun to see them get excited about something he did in everyday life. He’d been an Executioner Knight for more than half his life, a long time indeed, and tales of swords and blood and guts were his normal.
In a sense, he wanted his girls to understand him. Truth be told, he’d never been around girl children in his life. All he knew were the ways of men, so having three daughters in rapid succession had changed his world a great deal. He was still becoming accustomed to daughters. But he adored them down to his very bones and they were the soul that lived within him. He wanted their love, their adoration, and he was trying to connect with them the only way he knew how.
By letting them into his world.
Even at their young age, he wanted to relate to them.
“It was a nasty fight,” he said. “The bible does not speak of it because God and his angels do not want you to know how bad it really was, but it was a terrible fight. Melchior was from the land of Persia and he was best with a shield and ax. He fought with Archangel Gabriel, the who was disguised as a cow. Gabriel kicked Melchior right through the stable wall.”
The girls gasped in awe. “But there were more wise men, Dada!” Danae said. “What happened to them?”
Maxton was enthralled with his own story, speaking quickly because he wanted to be done befo
re his wife returned and forced him into a kinder, gentler version with no blood and no swords.
And no fun.
“Gaspar was from a faraway land of Bharata,” he said. “He was a master of the short swords, and he had two of them. He tried to cut Mary and Joseph, but Archangel Michael was disguised as a ram and he rose up to defend them. He head-butted Gaspar all the way back to his country.”
The little girls were very excited. “And the last one?” Danae asked.
Maxton grinned at their enthusiasm. “The last one was Balthazar from Arabia and he was an expert with a crossbow,” he said. “Archangel Raphael was disguised as an ass, but he had his magic shield and he protected the Christ child when Balthazar launched a bolt at the baby. The bolt struck the shield and bounced back, knocking Balthazar so hard that he rolled all the way back into the sea. And with that, the Christ child was saved by the archangels and that is why we celebrate the Christmas holiday.”
The girls were in awe of the exciting story. “We celebrate the baby not being killed?” Ceri asked.
“Exactly,” Maxton said. “We celebrate the brave battle between the archangels and the Magi and the fact that Christ was not killed in the process.”
The girls were very happy with their tall tale of a story. Maxton sat back in his chair, satisfied with himself, as both Ceri and Melisandra cooed and chattered about the rather violent tale of Christ’s birth. It was Ceri who finally put her little hands on his face.
“The angels were very brave, weren’t they?” she said.
Maxton nodded. “They were, indeed.”
“And you are very brave, aren’t you, Dada?”
“I am, love.”
“I want to be like you when I get old,” she said. “Can I have swords, too? One for each hand.”
“If you like.”
She nodded excitedly. As he hugged her, Melisandra wouldn’t be left out. “Me, too!” she declared. “I am going to be just like Dada and Uncle Kress and Uncle Achilles and Uncle Sherry!”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 1
