Her Christmas Knight

by Nicole Locke

  But now she watched him as he walked around the production and wondered what his thoughts could be; if he approved of what was happening here.

  When he stood in front of her she quickly dismissed that thought. She didn’t have to seek approval from anyone—especially him.

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’ she asked, though she saw Hugh was peering avidly over her shoulder.

  She turned around and glimpsed Mitchell’s retreating back.

  When she turned to Hugh again, his expression had eased. Was he jealous?

  ‘You want me to leave?’ he said.

  ‘No, I meant—’

  ‘Does your father know what is happening here?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘No more than he has ever concerned himself with these affairs.’

  ‘Does the King?’

  Always back to the King, and that explained his blackened expression—not jealousy.

  ‘Why would the King care?’

  ‘You will increase productivity here.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You’ll increase income for him as well. There is some secret here, Alice.’

  At the word ‘secret’ she turned her gaze away. Perhaps if all was as it should be, this would be a secret. She hadn’t even thought to tell the King. Would it soften him towards her if she brought him more taxes? She doubted it.

  ‘You’ve been all over this camp; I can hardly hide secrets here.’

  He raised a brow. ‘But elsewhere...?’

  Was this just his cynicism or something else? There had been times today, as he’d heaved cut wood over his shoulders, as he’d conversed with others, when she’d glimpsed the Hugh of old—the one she’d fallen in love with.

  And, try as she might, even with his past rejection and his current mockery, she found parts of her wanting to know... If he hadn’t left, if he had stayed, would it have been like this? Would they be side by side, working together?

  Madness to think that. Foolishness. But he had helped today as he had said he would. Despite his cutting words, despite his watching her too closely.

  And she couldn’t even ask why—couldn’t answer his questions regarding secrets. Because she’d have to lie...and right now she wasn’t sure what her lies would be.

  He stepped forward. ‘Are there other secrets, Alice? Because—’ He shook his head, looked away and exhaled.

  ‘Because what?’

  ‘Have you been doing this since I left?’ he said. ‘Have you been helping people?’

  He wasn’t entitled to any of her secrets—and yet she’d seen him carry the extra sacks when a child had stumbled.

  She didn’t owe him anything, but his expression seemed troubled. And she needed to answer him with some truths, or else continue her lies.

  ‘Not like this. But there’s a boy, William, who thrives with numbers... And Bertrice’s ankle is still healing, so I’ve been ensuring she doesn’t overwork it. And, of course, there’s always—’

  A curve of his lips stopped her. She remembered her family’s disapproval of her projects; how the townspeople accepted her help but didn’t understand it.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he said. ‘It’s good to hear this. It’s good to know that you’ve been here doing this.’

  ‘Now that you know, you can stop following me.’

  He didn’t blink. ‘I wasn’t following you, remember? But I am curious why you were at Court.’

  ‘I was invited there...just as my father has been for years.’

  Another step.

  Alice was aware of the children settling down, and the families eating. Aware, too, that Mitchell had left and it was time for them to go.

  And yet she didn’t want to leave. This moment was somehow different from all the others with Hugh. There was tension, but not so much confrontation. She didn’t know why, but something had changed over the last few hours. A few moments spent together...a few stolen looks. His frequent gaze...

  He was looking at her differently now too. Standing closer.

  Too close.

  Was it her words to him about commanding the King? Was it because there was a delicate truce after the day’s labours?

  She didn’t need this—didn’t want it.

  Stepping back, she said, ‘It’s time to return home.’

  His eyes rested on her as if he was reading more into her words. The moment stretched, felt taut. As if a master spinner was twisting the thread that bound them.

  This close, she noticed the length of his lashes, the depth of colour in his eyes, his broad jaw, roughened by the beginnings of a beard that she knew would be gone by tomorrow. His lips, blushed bright from the cold, looked soft, vulnerable on such a masculine face. She suddenly felt like resting her fingers there, to protect them from the cold wind.

  The longer she looked at his lips, the more her heart felt lopsided in her chest, like a spinning wheel about to break its axis.

  Her eyes glanced to his again, looking for answers, seeing if he could see her thoughts.

  She could make no sense of his expression, and no sense of his next words.

  ‘It is time,’ he whispered.

  And she had to wonder... Time for what?

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I can’t do it,’ William said in despair. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be taking your time with this, but I can’t be Boy Bishop.’

  Alice’s heart ached for him. He was a mere child, and on this chilly December morning was his first sermon. It was time for him to go to the pulpit. Except he was hiding back here, and Father Bernard had come to her for help. The church was already filling, and she could hear the din of voices and many feet shuffling against the flagstones.

  If this was the only heartache in her life she’d take it. She would do anything for William. But even now, when he needed her, her thoughts still jumped to other moments, other heartaches.

  That market day with Hugh, and her reply to him. As if she could command the King. Oh, why had she replied to him as she had? She never would have with anyone else. It had to be because of her time at Court and her projects. It was the frustration of being at the whim of her monarch, and her family held in the balance. All her anger she’d felt and used against Hugh.

  She’d used it, and taken satisfaction in it. How the shock had widened his eyes; the fact he’d followed her and demanded to accompany her. The way he had watched her all that day. His assessing gaze burning with familiarity and heat before she could turn away.

  More troubling than that, it was the way Hugh helped that day at the barn, the feeling of some accord between them. His eyes softening, telling her it was time, when she still couldn’t comprehend what he truly meant.

  Weeks had gone by since then, and she was still searching for the Seal. Wary now, because Hugh could be following her, she’d been more careful while she walked through the Alistairs’ corridors. She’d asked more open-ended questions while visiting the Bensons’ kitchens, sculleries, and cellars.

  No matter where she went, or how often she looked over her shoulder, she felt as if there were shadows following her. No doubt the shadows were her own dark thoughts that kept her up at night. The King thought the Seal was here, so why couldn’t she find it?

  Alice crouched down so she could look William in the eye. ‘Of course, you can be Boy Bishop. Father Bernard has watched you study, he’s rehearsed with you—he believes you to be more than ready.’

  ‘Father Bernard is merely being kind.’

  ‘Because you sing so well?’ she teased.

  William blushed. He did sing well, but it wasn’t that that had made Father Bernard choose him for Boy Bishop. It was William’s care for others. Even now he was doing it—caring about spoiling her day, about ruining Father Bernard’s service.

&
nbsp; ‘You do sing well,’ she repeated. ‘And you work hard; it’s why you were chosen.’

  The Boy Bishop position was meant to be fun, but William had taken his studies in earnest...as if he belonged.

  ‘What if I hesitate or can’t remember my words?’

  ‘If you hesitate it’ll simply give us time to settle into our pews. If you forget your words only you and Father Bernard will know. In the end, remember Esther won’t notice because she’ll be asleep.’

  William almost smiled, but quickly wobbled again. ‘Maybe the sermon is too short. Father Bernard’s sermons are much longer.’

  ‘Shorter is better. Then we can all get on with eating and talking. That’s the best bit about church anyway.’

  He looked at her sideways, as if judging her words. ‘You’re only saying that because you’ve helped me all this time.’

  He didn’t know how much he meant to her, or how much she’d fought for him over the years. Now—today—despite his fears, she realised he had other people fighting for him, too.

  When Father Bernard had caught him reading the Bible left on the pulpit, she had explained she was helping him to become a steward. Expecting reproach, she had been surprised when Father Bernard had allowed William access to the precious words. Now he was Boy Bishop, and Father Bernard had helped with that as well.

  ‘And why have I helped you?’ she said.

  ‘Because I was in trouble for turning the pages of your books that day?’

  ‘Is that what this feels like? Being in trouble?’

  ‘Well, doing sums is trouble.’

  She pressed her lips to avoid laughing. ‘But you’re not trouble, William, you could never be that to me.’

  William’s face screwed up, as if he were holding in emotion, before he turned his head away so she wouldn’t see. But she did. And she was glad she did. He was always holding things in. Not unlike—

  It wouldn’t do to think of Hugh now.

  ‘You have a gift, William, for understanding words and numbers. I enjoy our time together and I am very proud of you.’

  He turned his head then, surprised. Probably because no adult would usually dare talk to a child this way. But William wasn’t a normal child—he was too intuitive for that.

  ‘I love discovering how your mind works. With that, and your diligence, you’ll soon be far beyond my capabilities.’

  A darkness flitted across his eyes and she kicked herself for her choice of words. He was an intuitive child, but still a child. He needed care, not her clumsy attempts at comfort.

  ‘There’s more?’ William played with the fringe on his belt.

  ‘There’s so much more for you to learn, and your being Boy Bishop is merely another step. Perhaps some day Father Bernard could show you more books.’

  Wonder erasing his worries, he asked, ‘Have you seen more?’

  ‘Not as many as I wanted to, but once the monks in London hadn’t yet closed a door and I glanced into a room full of scrolls.’

  ‘Full? How big was the room?’

  ‘As big as this church.’ She exaggerated, but only a little, and it was worth it to see the lingering darkness in his eyes disappear completely.

  Oh, to see his eyes shine. She wanted to see more of it.

  But even at that thought, she didn’t know how to give him more. To have access to such a wealth of knowledge, he would need a suitable donation and noble blood. As generous as Father Bernard was, there was no circumventing the Church’s requirements—and, as wealthy as her family was, how was she, one of several daughters, to get such a sum from her father?

  Maybe her family was right and she was setting William up to have more heartache than he’d already suffered.

  ‘But we’ll keep on taking steps for now, and the more steps you take, the more treasures and knowledge you will discover.’

  ‘So this...’ he looked around, as if seeing everything for the first time ‘...is another step?’

  ‘Simply one step. You’ve done that before.’

  He was nodding eagerly when Father Bernard appeared in the doorway. Smiling, she gave William a fierce hug and wished him all the best.

  As she walked along the corridor, she sent a private prayer to God, who surely would be listening, that if anything should happen to her, either Elizabeth or Mary would provide for William—that what hopes she’d given him wouldn’t be lost.

  The church was full to bursting when she entered the aisle alongside the nave from the north transept. From this vantage point she saw John and Elizabeth, who was covering her mouth to hide her laugh. John’s humour was legendary in Swaffham.

  Her father, to John’s left, was craning his neck to see if anyone of importance was around. He spotted her first and gave a welcoming smile. Even now she was grateful for her family. If her prayer was heard or not, she knew they’d help her. Elizabeth might point out the weaknesses of her projects, and her father might continually be baffled by them, but in the end they stood together.

  She walked further along the aisle and saw Eldric standing in the shadows of the narthex. His face was grim, his eyes focused on someone already sitting. She followed his line of sight to Hugh, who was sitting to the far left. Unlike the rest of the parishioners he wasn’t talking or looking around. Instead, his head was bowed.

  Was he praying? She’d never seen him like this.

  Seemingly pulled by the thread that bound them, she stopped behind a pillar to watch him.

  He looked almost pained. His eyes were closed, his jaw tight. He looked as he had when he had insulted her for being in the King’s bed. If so light a word could be applied to their conversation. His words had lit a shock in her so fast, she had only been able to react in kind.

  But weeks had gone since that market day when he’d helped her with the barn. Nights had passed, too, and her body was no longer sixteen years old but a woman’s, full grown.

  She compared his stance then to that moment when she had demanded his kiss. That day was faded. But the market day was fresh.

  Over every insult and heated word they had exchanged, over every kindness he had shown that day, somehow she must have been taking in the way his body had almost been against hers. His unique scent of snow, pine and steel. The way his cloak’s collar had brushed against the roughness of his jaw, the dip of his lower lip.

  Because that was what she had replayed during the subsequent nights...that and his words. He thought her a whore, and had said so with a bite of anger, but it was another heat that flashed through her body since then—and now as she watched him.

  The slanted light from the windows showed dust floating in the air, but also the broadness of his shoulders, the strong slant of his jaw, his fingers splayed on his muscular thighs.

  Since that day at the market it hadn’t been the King she’d imagined in the bed over her. It had been—

  Blue eyes opened, unerringly finding her. His brow furrowed, his eyes changed... She pressed against the pillar, but could not look away. The soft light that revealed his form to her hid half his face in shadow.

  Hugh. Here in Swaffham. In her church.

  His expression changed from puzzlement to something she shouldn’t recognise but somehow did. Something unholy and necessary. Something reflected and repeated inside her. Want. Desire.

  No, she hadn’t dreamed of any king in her bed. She had dreamed of this man. And now, with fervency, she took in the reality of him. Watched his fingers clench into his thighs and his back straighten as if taking a blow. His lips parted as if he were pulling in a breath he’d forgotten to take. She felt her own part with them.

  Hugh’s eyes were sheened with emotions that weren’t unreadable, empty or cold. There was more there, so much more, and she couldn’t look away.

  When she had first seen him in the hall at Edw
ard’s Court, she’d thought his eyes like a storm about to break. But she knew better now. Hugh’s eyes were a storm that never ceased. And it felt as if those emotions were crashing towards her.

  There was a settling of the townspeople; a loud murmuring of appreciation. A different noise broke through her restless need.

  Alice swung her gaze to the left. William was cautiously approaching the pulpit. William. Grabbing her skirts, releasing her breath, she hurried to her seat—but not before glancing to Hugh, who disappeared.

  When she searched the narthex shadows, Eldric was gone as well.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Father in so fine a spirit.’ Elizabeth signalled towards the banqueting table groaning with food.

  The apples were studded with cloves and the mead flowed from shallow flagons like a waterfall. The tiers of cheese and bread that had been arranged to look like a wild boar had been applauded as they entered the room and were now almost unrecognisable. The boar itself had received a standing ovation.

  ‘Of course he’s happy.’ Alice adjusted her mask. ‘We’re surrounded by a lavish affair that doesn’t deplete his coffers.’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘True.’

  Her father was easy to spot, with his hands full of food and his cheeks red from the candles and the people around him. He was always happy. Even their mother’s death hadn’t deterred him for long, but that was to be expected given their arranged marriage.

  Being reminded of that part of her childhood only darkened Alice’s restless mood. ‘Although when hasn’t Father been happy at a party?’

  ‘No, this time it’s something else. I think he’s been happier since he’s begun spending so much time in London.’

  London and her father and his mistresses. Always his mistresses. ‘I haven’t seen anything different. He’s the same as he’s always been.’

  She was a wealthy wool merchant’s daughter and the King wanted gold and silver. So, though her father hadn’t quite forgiven King Edward for increasing his wool tax, her father was flighty enough to still be impressed by royalty.