Matchmade Hearts: Holiday Knights Series Book 2 - Valentine’s Day

by Rose, Elizabeth

  Pippa looked up into Étienne’s eyes, trying not to get lost in the depths of sensuality she thought she saw within them. His gaze drew her in. His scent of pine and fresh air filled her senses with joy. Not able to stop herself, her eyes dropped down to focus on his mouth. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. It was wrong to want to kiss a man who had decided to devote his life to God and the church. She quickly diverted her gaze to the ground.

  “I – I just needed to talk to Marie about more of the plans for the dance. There is so much to be done yet, that I doubt I’ll ever get it all completed in time.”

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Étienne was so thoughtful. He escorted her up to the dais, and pulled out the chair next to her father to help her get seated. She couldn’t believe he was asking to help her with the dance, not to mention escorting her to the dais and helping her to be seated. Étienne was showing more chivalry than any of her father’s knights had ever shown her before.

  “Nay. There is nothing you can do to help.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him when she answered because she wanted more than anything to have him working at her side. “As a matter of fact, you should spend more time training my brother.”

  “Really? It’s odd to hear you say that, since I didn’t think you approved.” Étienne seated himself next to her.

  “De Beynac,” said the baron, looking over at him and raising a cup of wine. “How are . . . things progressing?”

  “Things? What things?” asked Pippa, not knowing what her father meant.

  “Fine. Just fine,” Étienne answered with nod, picking up the goblet that he and Pippa would share, holding it out to the cupbearer. Once the boy filled the cup, Étienne offered it to Pippa before he even had a drink of it. “Would you like some wine?”

  “Thank you.” Pippa took a sip of wine and handed the cup back to Étienne.

  “My lady. You have a . . . dribble right there,” said Étienne, pointing to her mouth. “If I may?”

  Before Pippa could object, Étienne reached out with his thumb and wiped the drip of wine from the corner of her mouth. His hand touched her lips, feeling warm and tasting sweet from the drop of wine. And when her eyes met his, she felt as if she never wanted to look away.

  “What else needs to be done for your dance, Philippa?” the baron asked her, breaking the connection. She quickly looked down at the table and pushed the trencher back and forth nervously, almost feeling as if her father could read her thoughts. She hoped he couldn’t.

  “I’ll need at least four dozen gourds and turnips from the cellar,” she answered.

  “Turnip and gourds?” Étienne chuckled, his deep tone resonating in his chest. “Don’t tell me that is what you are planning to serve at the feast?”

  “Nay, of course not,” she replied. “We will hollow them out and then carve them with intricate designs that look like butterflies, snowflakes, and even faces.”

  “Is there anything else you’ll need?” asked her father, biting into a leg of chicken.

  “I will also require yarrow sprigs. Lots of them.”

  “Yarrow sprigs?” asked Étienne. “I hope we will be able to find some under the snow.”

  “I saw a healthy batch of yarrow in the woods a few days ago when I stopped to water my horse on my way back from town with Marie,” she told him. “It was well protected in the foliage so I am sure we’ll be able to collect enough to use for the game I have planned.”

  “If you say so.” Étienne stabbed a hunk of venison with his eating knife and placed it on the trencher between them.

  “Oh, and I will also need four dozen beeswax, scented candles to put inside the carved gourds and turnips to light them from within.”

  “I’ll attend to that for you,” answered Étienne, picking up a serving spoon and scooping up some lamb stew next, placing it in a bowl that they would be sharing.

  “That many beeswax candles, especially scented is going to cost me a lot of money,” complained the baron. “Daughter, can’t you use tallow candles instead?”

  “Aye,” agreed Lady Martha from next to him, listening to their conversation. “We have plenty of tallow candles in storage so you won’t have to spend coins frivolously on something that is just going to burn away.”

  “Nay,” cried Pippa. “I can’t do that. Tallow candles stink! I want the great hall to be filled with the lovely aroma of flowers and spices, not the stench of entrails from dead animals.”

  “I think scented beeswax candles will be a nice touch,” said Étienne, not caring one way or another, but wanting to support her.

  “Then we’ll have to order them from the chandler in town,” answered the baron. “Philippa, it takes time to make scented candles and I’m not sure there is enough time left since your dance is in a few days.”

  “Mayhap I can get the beeswax candles from the monastery,” Étienne offered. “We’ll bring them to the chandler’s shop and he can dip them in scented oils. That should help speed things up.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Pippa. “We will leave to do our errands right after the meal.”

  “I’m at your beck and call,” said Étienne, flashing her such a handsome smile that she wasn’t sure she would be able to eat the meal at all since her stomach was jumping. Perhaps what she needed was a ride in the crisp winter air to clear her head. Then she could come back and look at the guest list and start figuring out who she wanted to marry so she wouldn’t have to marry her betrothed. Glancing over to Étienne once again, she felt a stab of pain go through her heart. If only he wasn’t planning on being a monk, she might consider marrying him.

  Chapter 11

  “Have you told the baron or Lady Philippa yet that you are no longer going to be training to be a monk?” asked Brother Paul as he and Étienne made their way across the courtyard toward the stable. The snow stopped falling and although it was still chilly, the sun appeared in the sky.

  “Nay I haven’t, and neither will I tell them at all. Please don’t mention it to anyone, Brother Paul.”

  “Why not?” the monk asked, shoving his hands inside his cassock to keep warm. “Do you mean to keep it a secret?”

  “For now,” he answered, scanning the courtyard for Pippa but not seeing her anywhere. “If the baron knows I am not going to be a monk, he won’t trust me alone with his daughter.”

  “I see,” said the monk, starting to understand. “You want to be alone with her.”

  “Oui,” he answered, realizing it sounded less than honorable of him, but it was true. “I need to be alone with her so I can try to talk her into marrying . . . my brother.”

  The monk stopped in his tracks and so did Étienne. “Why don’t you tell her the truth regarding how you feel about her? You are not fooling anyone pretending to want her to marry your brother.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Very.”

  “Then mayhap, I will tell her. But not yet.”

  “What are you afraid of, Étienne?”

  “It’s not that I’m afraid. I am just being cautious. My relationship with Pippa did not start out very strong. I don’t want her thinking I am trying to woo her. If so, she will put up walls between us. I know she will.”

  “Do what you will, but do realize that the St. Valentine’s Day dance is only a few days away. Your brother is expected to arrive before the end of the month. If you want Lady Philippa for yourself, then you need to do something about it.”

  “Thank you for the advice, Brother Paul. I think you are right.”

  “I will meet you at the monastery,” said Brother Paul, taking the reins of a horse that a page handed to him. “I will clear it with the abbot so you will be able to collect the candles needed.”

  “Thank you,” said Étienne with a quick nod.

  Brother Paul rode out of the courtyard and over the drawbridge while Étienne made his way to the stable where he had instructed Franklin to saddle two horses.

  “Lord Étienne, the horses are s
addled and ready to go,” said Franklin excitedly as Étienne entered the stable.

  “Thank you, Frank,” said Étienne, grateful for the boy’s help. “If you keep up the good work, in a few years, you might be ready to be made a squire.”

  “Do you really think so?” The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I want more than anything to be a squire and also a knight someday. Just like my father.”

  “Just like your father,” repeated Étienne, remembering his own childhood and how he had, at one time felt, the same way. Hopefully, for the boy, his future with his father would end up happier than his own.

  Pippa approached the stable, pulling her gloves over her hands. She stopped in her tracks when she heard the excited sound of her brother’s voice and then the low voice of Étienne. She stepped into the shadows and eavesdropped at the door to hear what they were saying.

  “Your training with weapons is going well,” Étienne told her brother. “I will inform your father of your progress.”

  “Father won’t care.” Suddenly Franklin became gloomy.

  “Of course he will.” Étienne pulled on the straps of the saddle to check the boy’s work. “Why wouldn’t he? You are his son.”

  “He thinks of Wilbur as his son, not me.”

  “Nonsense. Wilbur is not of his blood,” Étienne told him.

  “Nay, but once he marries Lady Martha, Wilbur will be his heir instead of me.”

  “I think you are imagining things.” Étienne chuckled. “Stop thinking so much and, instead, concentrate on being the best you can be regarding your training.” Étienne reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “Thank you, Lord Étienne.” To Pippa’s surprise, the boy threw himself into Étienne’s arms and hugged him, closing his eyes in the process. “No one but you has ever believed I am anything but sick and weak. I didn’t believe I could be a squire someday, but now I have hope that I can.”

  “As part of your training, I have another job for you to do before I attend to some errands.”

  “What is that?” asked the boy. “I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Go to the keep and find the steward. Help him haul the gourds and turnips out of the undercroft and bring them to the kitchen to prepare them for carving for the dance.”

  “I will. And can I carve one of them as well?”

  “One?” said Étienne with a grin. “I was hoping you would carve at least a dozen. If not, I’m going to have to do it, and I assure you I have never carved a gourd in my life. I’m afraid I won’t be any good at it at all.”

  “I’ll help you, don’t worry,” Franklin answered, sounding happy and excited. Her brother had so much life when he was around Étienne.

  “Good. I’ll count on it. Now go.” Étienne playfully slapped Franklin on the back before the boy took off at a run and left the stable.

  “Slow down before you fall,” Pippa called out to him as he left and she entered.

  “Pippa.” Étienne looked up in surprise. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to know that you have made my brother very happy. I have never seen him smile as much in his entire life.”

  “That’s because he has a goal now.” Étienne walked over and took her by the elbow, escorting her to the saddled horses. “Instead of moping around being sorry for himself and feeling worthless, he now has confidence.”

  “Aye, but are you sure it is a good idea?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” He helped Pippa to mount her horse. “Every boy needs confidence in himself if he is someday going to be a knight.”

  “Étienne, I don’t think you should be telling him that he is going to be a squire and perhaps a knight someday.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are getting his hopes up for something that will never happen.”

  “Mayhap you should have a little confidence in your brother and stop treating him like a helpless child.” Étienne mounted his horse as well.

  “How dare you say that! I don’t treat him like a child.”

  “Didn’t I just hear you tell the boy to slow down so he wouldn’t fall?”

  “Well . . . yes, but for good reason. If he falls, he’ll get hurt and then he might fall ill again.”

  “You worry too much, Pippa. For heaven’s sake, let the boy be a boy. He needs to learn to take his bumps and bruises if he is someday going to grow up to be a man. You doting over him has made him the brunt of jests from the other boys. I would be willing to bet that has something to do with the fact that his own father doesn’t think he is anything but a weakling. And also, why Wilbur teases him and calls him a milksop.”

  “That’s not true!” spat Pippa, sadly realizing that it was. “Since my mother died, Franklin has had no one to look after him. That is why I do it. It is because I care.”

  “Then try caring a little less. The boy is finally starting to grow up and I don’t want him to regress back into his old, cowardly ways.”

  “I don’t care what you want. He is not your brother. And for a monk, I don’t think you should be telling anyone what to do.”

  “I’m not a monk,” he said softly. “I told you that. Now, let’s go to town before the weather changes.”

  He led the way out of the stable and Pippa followed. They rode in silence until they got to Alkborough Priory. Once inside the cloisters, he dismounted and came over to help her down from her horse.

  “I am capable of dismounting my horse on my own,” she said with a sniff.

  “Je comprends,” said Étienne. “I just didn’t want you to fall and get hurt, ma chère. It’s slippery.”

  “Now who is the doting one?”

  “Have it your way,” he said, holding up his palms and stepping away from her. She slid off the horse, but when her feet hit the ground, she slipped. Instantly, his arms were around her, pulling her up against his chest.

  “Be careful, my lady.”

  She looked up to find herself once again staring into his honey-brown eyes. “Thank you,” she said in a breathy whisper, liking the way it felt to be touched by him.

  “We’d better go. Brother Paul will be waiting for us at the chapter house.”

  Pippa looked up, taking in her surroundings. The monastery was beautiful and took her breath away. “So this is where you live.”

  “This is Alkborough Priory,” he answered.

  Pippa noticed several monks strolling through the cloistered walkways. They had their heads down and their hands folded as if in prayer. They didn’t speak at all, and neither did the monks acknowledge their arrival.

  The monastery consisted of several buildings with red-tiled roofs, all connected to one another. A tall spire rose up majestically into the sky from the bell tower of the church across the courtyard. Beautiful stained glass windows from the church twinkled in the sun. The clanging of bells from the tower started ringing, causing her to jump in surprise. She held her hand over her rapidly beating heart.

  “Oh, I didn’t expect that,” she commented.

  “You get used to it after a while,” Étienne told her, not seeming affected by the noise at all.

  Monks appeared from all directions, all heading to the church in silence.

  “Where are they all going?” asked Pippa.

  “It is time for Sext,” Étienne answered, tying the reins of the horses to a post. He almost laughed aloud when he saw Pippa’s eyes pop open wide, as well as her mouth.

  “Pardon me?” she asked, sounding as if she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

  “Sext, not sex,” he told her with a chuckle. “You should know only one of those happens within these walls and I can assure you it is not the latter.”

  “What is Sext?”

  “Sext is the midday prayers. A monk’s day starts out with Matins and Lauds in the morning and ends with Vespers and Compline at night.”

  “Oh! So the monks pray five times a day?”

  “Non, ma chère. I wish that were true,” he mu
mbled under his breath, taking her arm and leading her to the chapter house that was connected to the church. “The monks have eight prayer sessions a day.”

  “Eight?” she exclaimed. “How on earth do you do it?”

  His face became solemn for some reason and he didn’t answer, just kept on walking.

  “Shouldn’t you be going to pray at the church as well?” she asked curiously.

  “Not today,” he mumbled, opening the door to the chapter house and escorting her into the large room that was used for meetings and readings.

  “This is amazing,” she said, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. A pillar in the middle of the octagonal room was filled with stone carvings of religious figures. There were stone statues of saints attached right to the walls. The room was outlined with benches along the outer walls with colorful stained glass windows above them. “How beautiful.” Pippa turned a full circle, her eyes fixated on the ceiling that had paintings of angels that were gilded in gold. “That is so ornate. I thought monks lived simply.”

  “Not everything is always as it seems,” he answered in a low voice, almost sounding as if he were talking about something else.

  “It is cold in here.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her.

  “The chapter house is rarely heated, but some of the other buildings do have hearths.”

  “My voice echoes in here,” she said in amusement next.

  “Shhh,” he told her, when she decided to call out hello to hear the echo. “There isn’t much talking allowed, and none at all in the scriptorium.”

  “Scriptorium? What is that?”

  “It is where the monks write, copy text, and illuminate manuscripts with colors and even gold leaf.”

  “Oh, I would love to see the books!”

  “Perhaps some other time,” he told her, hearing the footsteps of someone coming.

  “Brother Étienne,” said the abbot, walking in with Brother Paul who carried a package in his hands. “I am so sorry to hear that you will no longer be with us.”

  Étienne noticed Pippa look over at that comment. Thankfully, she didn’t ask what the abbot meant.