Her Christmas Knight

by Nicole Locke

  ‘I can’t save him and you,’ he called. ‘You can do it—you must. He’ll need you.’

  He wrapped a blanket around the boy and dragged a tub towards the fire.

  Alice looked at William, her relief at finding safety turning to concern at the boy’s pale colouring, and the bluish tint of his lips. His eyes were still closed.

  ‘I carried him from the well in the square. What’s happening to him?’

  He yanked a steaming cauldron of water from the fire and poured it into the tub. ‘He’s alive, but not waking. I’ll put him in water, bring his temperature up.’

  Her body trembled more at the thought of a bath. ‘Hot?’

  ‘Not hot. His body heat has dropped too much. Yours has probably, too. I can’t tell if his hands and feet are frostbitten yet. I won’t know until he wakes.’

  ‘Please—just save him.’

  William called out as Hugh set him in the water.

  ‘Careful,’ Hugh soothed. ‘It’s water to warm you. Keep your hands and feet in. Lean down.’

  More water was poured.

  Her cheeks were warming. From tears? Alice raised her shaking arms as Hugh crouched by her side and ripped off her cloak, flung it to the floor.

  He cursed.

  ‘What were you thinking? What have you done? I only have one tub, and you need to get out of these clothes.’

  Alice kept her eyes on William, terrified now of him drowning.

  ‘Both of you could die!’ He unlaced her surcoat, her dress. Her chemise was saturated. Her arms went up.

  ‘You take it off. I’ve got to get back to the boy.’ He shoved a large tunic and blanket at her, grabbed the second cauldron and poured it into the tub.

  William’s eyes opened just after she pulled the tunic over her head and wrapped the blanket around her. ‘Can you see me?’

  Nodding, he gave her a small smile.

  ‘What happened?’ Hugh said, wringing out the clothes in the corner.

  ‘He was lost in the snow.’

  ‘And you went out to find him? By yourself?’ Hugh shook the cloak and hung it up. ‘It didn’t occur to you to get help?’

  ‘Bertrice and Father Bernard had already been out in the storm.’

  ‘There was me.’

  ‘I thought I’d find him before I got this far.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ William called out.

  Hugh’s heart pounded as if there was danger all around him. Instead there was merely a woman and a boy, safe and warming at his weak fire. They would live. Still, his heart would not stop its erratic beat.

  ‘This will take long. You need to come to the fire.’

  He left the room, returned with stones and pushed them into the flames.

  When he turned, Alice was bent over the tub, and cradling William. Her tiny body hovering over William’s gangly one. Everything about Alice was wrapped around William despite the tub, the water, the blanket.

  The boy’s arms clung just as tightly around Alice.

  He knew he was witnessing something not often found. Before it could get hold of him, before he could put words to it, he placed his hand on her shoulder and felt their combined shudders resonate through him.

  This wasn’t a snippet of time with Alice, or a shared moment. It was so much more and he didn’t want to see it—not now. Not when he still hadn’t found a resolution.

  Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Hugh continued with the tasks ahead. The boy’s eyes were closing again, and he prayed it was only exhaustion and not something worse.

  He flexed his fingers into Alice’s shoulder to gain her attention. When she looked up, he said, ‘We need to keep pouring the water, and you can’t get your blanket wet. I don’t have any spares.’

  * * *

  Hours spent heating the water and adding it to the tub. Hugh constantly checked the temperature, and threw more logs on the fire. Entertained William, and made sure he stayed awake.

  Alice huddled nearby. Hot stones under her feet, a cup of steaming water in her hands, she listened as Hugh tirelessly told his stories and patiently answered William’s questions.

  Hugh was sharing his life with this boy he didn’t know. Since he had to know she was listening, he was sharing it with her as well. These were the stories she’d wanted to hear on Wren Day. Tales of his childhood in Swaffham that she’d never known before. What had happened when he’d arrived at Court, his befriending Eldric and another knight she knew nothing of.

  Even knowing that Hugh was carefully cultivating the stories for William, she got lost in them. Enough to finally feel the warmth of the room and know the fact William was truly safe.

  She hadn’t gone out alone in the storm. Not at first. Cranley had gone with her. When they’d found others trapped, animals as well, and no sign of William, they’d separated.

  At first Cranley had refused, but then they’d found Bertrice in the church and they’d talked about what would be done. Alice would carry on to the town square, no more. She’d find shelter.

  Only after several assurances had they let her go.

  Back into the howling winds, with the sleet slashing against every bit of her as she forced her feet forward. She’d had a shawl wrapped around her face, but she hadn’t been able to protect her eyes as she’d scanned for any sign of life or unusual shape. Difficult when the snow had already masked so many landmarks.

  It had been against the town’s square well that she’d found William huddled. Almost frozen, almost asleep. She’d grabbed his hands before he’d cried out and then lost consciousness. Then she hadn’t known what else to do but carry him just as he was.

  She had seen the smoke from Hugh’s chimney, and forced herself to make the distance.

  And now, in the comfort of his home, she was finally believing they were safe. That with Hugh’s care William would keep his hands and feet. She clutched her warm cup and realised she could have lost her own.

  She had expected more accusations from Hugh about her carelessness, about William’s foolhardiness, but he only talked of his own conflicts and tribulations. Grand stories made grander for the boy, but underneath she heard the rest. The pain and conflict of his training, his continual feeling of being an outsider.

  And with his actions, with his words, her love could not be contained. What had been said during Wren Day wasn’t enough. What she had said all her life to him wasn’t enough. She knew that now because he had never denied the truth of her words, he had just walked away.

  So foolishly, recklessly, she would approach him again. She wouldn’t run away.

  As they lifted William from the tub and carefully dried him off, as they laid him down on the bed with multiple covers, Alice didn’t hide what she felt for Hugh. She couldn’t contain the love she felt. She wanted to know him more.

  He had said it wasn’t the past that stopped him, but she didn’t know what it was that did. She had vowed at the dance that she would explore what he had said in haste about his childhood, about whatever was between them.

  A part of herself questioned her actions, heard her sister’s warnings when it came to Hugh. But her family had never seen him as she did. This wasn’t about some childish vow.

  And she knew it wasn’t only her with feelings. Hugh had admitted as much. She saw it, felt it in his anger that she’d gone out in the storm, that she spied for the King. He worried for her.

  And she felt something else now. In his home the distance between them insignificant. All there was was them.

  It seemed Hugh was aware of it as well. His eyes were darting around the room, maybe trying to see it through her eyes, perhaps looking for distraction. She didn’t welcome the fear of almost losing William to the storm, but she did welcome this moment.

  ‘You care for him,’ Hugh said suddenly, his
voice gruff as if he hadn’t used it for a while. As if she hadn’t heard him give comfort to a child he barely knew.

  Alice adjusted some of the stones at her feet. ‘He’s very precious to me. So much—all of this—has been keeping me away from him. I should have seen his concern, been there for his worry.’

  She stopped her words, knowing they were fruitless. The King had commanded her, and if she didn’t obey more hurt would occur.

  ‘What is he to you?’

  ‘He’s an orphan Bertrice has been raising with her own children, but I’ve been there for him, too.’

  ‘And so you took him under your wing?’

  ‘I think we all have. Father Bernard has been teaching him the scriptures... I’ve been teaching him about the Fenton household.’

  ‘Were his parents noble?’ he asked.

  She didn’t understand these pointed questions, but they were easy to answer and they had time. ‘The mother was Bertrice’s friend. His parents drowned when William was an infant.’

  ‘So...what is the point of your care and your educating him?’

  Hugh leaned against the wall—a relaxed pose, but she knew better. Setting the cup of water on the floor, she prepared herself for words. She was used to this from Elizabeth, from Mary, her father. All of them lectured her on her projects. But it would be wrong of her not to help William.

  ‘There doesn’t have to be a point to it. We’re simply there for him.’

  ‘However—’

  ‘What was your point in telling him those stories?’ she interrupted. ‘You could have told him something else. But you talked about your childhood, your mistakes. That was to help him, was it not?’

  Hugh was silent. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

  She swept the blanket around her. ‘William made a mistake in going out into the snow. You knew there was no point in lecturing him. He’s learned his lesson because he almost died, so you talked of your mistakes. You talked of Robert, who helped you. Who is he?’

  Hugh’s chest expanded and he suddenly turned, intent on adjusting the fire’s logs. They popped and cracked as he spoke. ‘He’s the famed Robert of Dent. Even here in Swaffham you must have heard tales of him.’

  She hadn’t, but it had been clear William had. There had been awe in William’s eyes as Hugh had spun his stories.

  ‘But he wasn’t a legend to you—he was your friend.’

  ‘He’s dead now.’

  He had talked not of one moment with Robert, but of many times over the years. They must have been close. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Another adjustment of the logs before he threw a new one into the fire and turned to her. The light in the room didn’t allow her to see his expression clearly.

  ‘You can’t fix him,’ he said.

  And so they were back to talking of William’s trials again, not Hugh’s.

  Again Alice kept her patience, though it was fraying. ‘He doesn’t need to be fixed. There isn’t anything wrong with him.’

  ‘He lacks the funds and connections for him to be brought to the Church,’ Hugh said. ‘If he pulls through this then what?’

  Her patience was gone. She didn’t want to talk of William—she wanted to talk of them. But it all had to do with the same thing. She knew it, and she feared he knew it, too. It was as if their talking of William and his childhood was somehow talking of Hugh’s. As if talking of William’s unknown future was talking of their own doomed future together.

  If that was somehow true, then in this she would tell all. She would confess and lay it all before him. Because there was a connection between herself and Hugh—there always had been. Maybe they had been too young to care about it, maybe there had been too many misunderstandings, but now they could understand each other.

  ‘What hope for you when you arrived at Edward’s Court?’ she said. ‘I know what you came from, the means you took to help yourself. I appreciate now that when you did need it you gained help from this Robert. If William gains help from others, who knows what will become of him?’

  Hugh bowed his head, shook it before he raised his eyes, steady on hers again. ‘You think your caring for him will set things straight. Life doesn’t work that way.’

  It did work that way. A traitor amongst them or not. This moment right now was what she had dreamed of all those years ago when she’d demanded that Hugh kiss her. She didn’t want only his kiss—she wanted his love.

  ‘What I want for William is love. And he has that—all of it. He doesn’t need to be fixed for me to love him. I don’t care if the Church won’t take care of him. What use is all the Fenton wealth if it can’t help him? I’ll make sure to help him. That’s what love is. It’s to be there, to help when you can.’

  He cursed and turned away. Pressed his hand against the wall as he faced the fire.

  Alice watched his anger and frustration fade to something else. Something darker inside him. They were talking of them. This wasn’t about William. Except even with that understanding there were still barriers.

  ‘You don’t think it’s enough?’ she whispered.

  ‘What’s not enough?’ he answered.

  ‘Love.’

  He turned his head, his eyes glancing over her before returning to the fire. ‘What would I know of it? It’s the Fentons and the other grand families who seem to have an ownership over that emotion as well as everything else.’

  His childhood again—but there was more. Maybe he was an outsider because he chose to be.

  ‘I never understood why you hated this town so much,’ Alice said.

  ‘I never said that I hated it.’

  ‘You never had to. I heard it when you talked to William. I watched it while we grew up. You never tried to make friends here—you always held yourself apart.’

  ‘Unlike your family.’

  She loved her family, but all families had flaws. Her father and his mistresses were only one of them. ‘My family isn’t perfect. You know that.’

  ‘Is that what we’re to do? Speak of the past? Haven’t I done enough of that tonight?’

  Hugh didn’t want to remember those days. As far as he was concerned he was from Shoebury. That was all he told anyone. Of course, the King, Robert and Eldric knew otherwise. After all, he couldn’t have trained as a knight if he’d had no connections. Swaffham and his father, such as he was, were necessary. But this town—he didn’t want to remember at all. And yet here he was, actually living here again.

  ‘What else are we to talk about?’ she said.

  ‘What do you want me to talk about? The past you know or the past you don’t?’

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, so softly he shouldn’t have heard.

  Maybe he hadn’t but had simply wanted to hear those words. For her to give him permission to tell a tale he’d never intended to tell.

  ‘What is there to say? That I was born in Shoebury and my mother was sick, and that for unknown reasons she sent me to my father when I was only five?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. I didn’t let anybody know. As far as any of you were concerned my life consisted only of this town.’

  ‘Then tell me about it.’

  Alice had never thought of Hugh’s childhood before Swaffham. People had talked about it in vague ways, but never with any kind of salacious whisper or sympathetic murmurings. He had been but a mere child when he’d arrived.

  But now she could visualise it all too clearly. Shoebury was to the south. There would have been warmth, a mother who loved him. Loved him enough to find the man who had abandoned him. A father who had taken no responsibility for him before. Knowing Hugh, who had his pride, she had no doubt his mother had had her pride as well.

  She thought of her own happy childhood and her practical mother, her very
impractical father, and her two sisters. Hers had been a busy home, a happy childhood, and one to look back on fondly.

  But for Hugh something had been taken from him. Cruelly, forcefully. And he had been brought here to Swaffham. Brought to a knight, a man who hadn’t taken responsibility for him in the first place. A man who had served the King, but who had changed over the years. Who had become cold, callous, his drinking increasing as his viciousness grew out of control. If Hugh had been five when he’d arrived, he had been part of the downward spiral that his father had taken.

  The whole town had watched it happen. For herself, she’d never forgot that day when Hugh had picked his father up from the middle of the road.

  ‘I wish I’d done something differently that day,’ she said. ‘When the rains came and your father—’

  ‘Was covered in mud and everything else.’ His brow furrowed. ‘You were too young to comprehend.’

  ‘Still...’ she said. She had watched like everyone else. But she often looked back to that day and wished she had done something. But nobody had. Nobody.

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t. That you couldn’t comprehend the shame of it all.’

  And there was the difference in their pasts, she didn’t see any shame at all. She saw only a good deed, and strength. ‘Tell me something of Shoebury.’

  A muscle in Hugh’s jaw twitched. ‘I remember nothing except my mother.’

  ‘You never travelled there again?’

  ‘Never. I didn’t want to know if...’

  ‘If it had changed?’

  ‘I didn’t want to know if she was still there.’

  Alice needed to sit. Her legs weak from the storm, from his story. But she also wanted to hold him, so she stood. How had he endured the jibes of the town, of his father, when all the while he’d worried about his mother?

  Before she knew it, she’d crossed the room and grabbed the outside of his arm. He looked down at her hand, his eyes softening from the starkness they’d held. When she went to remove her hand, he clasped it in his own.

  Startled, she searched his eyes. There was so much pain there. ‘Was that even a possibility?’