Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Liliana spun on her heel.

  Averil followed. “Oh, Lil,” she whispered, sliding her arm around Liliana’s waist.

  Tears streaming from Liliana’s eyes, she and Averil hurried toward the keep.

  “You should steal Ren’s clothes in return. ’Twould be fair.” Averil nodded firmly before popping a morsel of gravy-soaked bread into her mouth.

  Sighing, Liliana looked down at her trencher of mutton stew. A short while ago, servants had brought the small oak table to her chamber, and she had pushed it close to the open window, where she and Averil were now sitting. Fading sunshine streamed in, shimmering on Averil’s long hair and highlighting the folds of Liliana’s sage green gown. Thankfully, the merciless heat from earlier in the day had gone, and the evening breeze was mild and pleasant.

  After soaking in a perfumed bath, washing her hair, and dressing, Liliana had sent word to her father that she’d speak with him later about what had happened in the forest. Then she had ordered her and Averil’s evening meals sent to her room. Liliana hadn’t been able to face eating in the great hall, not when Ren and his rowdy fellow squires would be there. By now, most of the young men would have heard what had transpired that afternoon. To think of them silently laughing at her, while she tried to be poised and forget the whole incident… The thought made her feel ill.

  “I considered stealing his things in retaliation,” Liliana admitted. “However, I told him I never wanted to see or speak to him again. I meant it, Averil. Whatever plan we devise—”

  “—will not involve you having to see or talk to him.” Her friend’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Could we slip into the garrison while the squires are at weapons training and steal Ren’s garments?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “What about Haddon? Would he help us?”

  “He might.” Liliana poked at her stew. It smelled delicious, with hints of rosemary and garlic in the rich broth, but she had no appetite.

  “You do not look at all convinced.” Averil was frowning.

  Liliana set down her eating dagger. “You heard Haddon in the bailey, how he took Ren’s side and spoke as if I were ridiculous for being upset. That hurt even more than…than Ren’s stupid trick.”

  “Well.” Averil sipped her wine then wrinkled her pretty nose. “And I thought Haddon was the perfect, gallant brother.”

  Liliana smiled. Her friend grinned, too.

  Warmth filled Liliana’s bruised soul. Whatever would she do without Averil’s wonderful friendship?

  A tingle of anticipation raced through Liliana, for while they were alone, she wanted to ask Averil about the unfamiliar feelings she’d experienced in the bailey when she’d stood close to Ren: the thrilling sense of light-headedness, the way her breathing had caught, the way her pulse had galloped like a runaway horse. For a brief moment, she’d felt wild, reckless, as if she wanted to experience all of the temptations that Ren offered; that unruliness had both excited and frightened her. There must be a sound reason why she’d felt that way about Ren. What did those curious sensations mean?

  Just as Liliana was about to speak, a knock sounded on her door.

  She silently cursed the interruption; however, no one at the castle disturbed her unless ’twas important. She rose and went to the door. A maidservant outside in the hallway curtsied. “Milady, your sire would like to speak to you.”

  “Very well. I will be down in a moment.”

  The maidservant curtsied once more and hurried away. Closing the door, Liliana faced Averil again, to find her friend had risen from the table.

  “I should leave now, anyway,” Averil said, popping more bread into her mouth. “I promised to go visit the new ward this evening. She is still suffering from that bad headache.” Averil crossed to Lil and hugged her tightly. “We will continue plotting against Ren later, all right?” After a kiss on the cheek and parting wave, Averil strolled away down the corridor.

  Liliana blew out a shaky breath. She’d expected her father to summon her, to hear what she had to say about Ren’s mischief, but now that he had, her nerves were aflutter. Would she have to face Ren while she spoke to her sire? Oh, mercy, she hoped not.

  She smoothed her hands over her gown to soften the creases. Should she braid her damp hair? Nay. Rather than delaying the meeting, she’d leave her tresses loose and flowing. She stepped out into the hallway lit by burning reed torches along the walls. A light sweat formed on her brow, but she held her chin high and headed down the passageway to the wooden landing ahead that overlooked the great hall. The setting sun cast streaky orange light through the high horn-covered windows running the length of the hall. The low hum of conversation rose to her, likely from servants lingering after the evening meal.

  She prayed Ren and his friends weren’t there, waiting for her to emerge from hiding.

  Even if Ren was in the hall, she’d walk proudly across the landing and down the stairs. This was her father’s castle, after all. Heat threatened to suffuse her face, but she forced her rising anger down. Giving in to her rage again would accomplish naught.

  She walked the length of the landing and started down the stairs. Her shoes tapped on the wooden planks, and she became aware of the sudden hush and of the gazes upon her.

  Several men-at-arms were at a table playing a game of dice, while at another table, a group of maidservants sat with sleepy children curled in their laps.

  There was no sign of Ren. A relieved sigh broke through Liliana’s lips.

  The folk dipped their heads to her in silent greeting as she walked past, and she acknowledged them with nods in return.

  “Liliana. There you are.”

  Her father was seated at the massive, carved oak table on the dais. Parchments were spread out before him, along with a ledger where he kept the accounts. He smiled, tossed down his quill, and came to meet her.

  “You look a different lady than the one I glimpsed earlier.” Taking her hands, he gently squeezed them, his callused skin rough against hers.

  “I do feel much better after a bath and some fare.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” He let go of her hands, and his expression turned solemn. He motioned to the high-backed chairs turned toward the fire in the enormous hearth nearby. She walked with him to the hearthside and sat, her shoes brushing against the belly of the old dog sleeping on the warm glazed tiles.

  Her sire sighed as he sat and stretched out his legs. “I regret what you had to endure today. That young Ren… I had hoped that by taking him in, his behavior might improve. Alas, ’twas not to be.”

  Liliana wasn’t quite certain what to say, so she folded her hands on her lap and stared at the flames devouring the logs in the iron grate.

  “As you know, I took Ren in as a favor to his father,” her sire said. “Ren was old enough to begin his training to become a knight, and Lord Tristan de Vornay is a loyal ally. In truth, his lordship was at a loss as to what to do with the boy. He had remarried, you see, two months ago, to a widow who was but twelve years older than Ren. Ren’s mother had died giving birth to him, and Tristan missed having a wife. However, from the moment Tristan’s new wife took residence in the castle, she took a dislike to Ren.”

  “Why?” Liliana asked. She didn’t want to feel even a tiny bit of sympathy for Ren, but regrettably, she did. “What reason did she have to dislike him?”

  Her sire chuckled. “I do not know. It soon became clear, though, that her ladyship would not tolerate Ren living at the keep—and that Ren would do all he could do make her life miserable. Tristan did not want to throw out his youngest son, of course. So, he wrote to me. I accepted Ren to be trained here.”

  “And that did not work out, either,” Liliana said softly, staring down at her linked fingers. How pale they looked against the green of her gown.

  “Indeed, it did not work out. I was willing to overlook the foolish tricks Ren played on you. While they might have upset you, they were not harmful, just boyish foolishness. His disobeying a direct order
from a superior, however, and then stealing your clothes and shoes, was far more than I could easily forgive.”

  She glanced up, drawn by the edge to her sire’s words.

  He smiled as his gaze met hers. “Do not worry. Ren will not bother you again.”

  “Thank you, Father.” After a moment, marked by the hiss and crackle of the fire, she asked, “Did you punish him?”

  “I scolded him for his disobedience, aye. Then, I told him to pack his belongings.”

  Shock jolted through her. “You sent him away?”

  “I did. Lord Kendelson told me during his recent visit that he needed more squires, because he’d sent ten of his knights and their men to one of his northern estates to quell an uprising there. I sent Ren to Kendelson’s keep with a missive I had written and sealed: a letter of introduction, if you will. Ren left before the evening meal. He planned to take a boat downriver and be at the castle by nightfall.”

  Her head spun. She looked blindly down at the sleeping hound and willed the reeling of her thoughts, the thundering of her pulse, to stop.

  “I thought you would be pleased, Liliana.”

  “I am.” She was. Of course she was. And yet, part of her felt inexplicably dismayed. Now, she might never know why she’d experienced those strange yet wondrous sensations in Ren’s presence.

  “Young de Vornay will do well,” her sire said. “Kendelson is a strict ruler who will mete out the discipline Ren needs to find his way. Myles told me the lad showed tremendous promise with a sword, and Kendelson has some of the finest knights in all of England. They will help Ren develop his fighting skills.”

  She nodded, still struggling with the truth that Ren was gone. “You are wise and kind, Father, to think of what is best for him.”

  “And for Haddon. He is headed to Lord Kendelson’s too.”

  “Haddon? But—”

  “He asked to go and train with Ren. I agreed. Your brother will leave within the next few days.”

  Liliana choked down an angry gasp. Haddon was leaving Maddlestow because of Ren.

  “’Twill be good for your brother, to be trained by warriors who are not under his father’s command. Above all,” her sire said with a wink. “I did what is best for you. I hope you will be happier now that Ren is gone.”

  She managed a smile. “Thank you, Father.”

  After chatting with her sire for a while longer, Liliana excused herself and headed back to her chamber. The shutters at her window were still open wide, the night sky scattered with stars visible beyond. She closed the shutters and then turned to the bed to don the chemise her maidservant had left out for sleeping.

  On the end of the bed were the gown and shoes that Ren had taken. Atop them was a linen bag tied with string.

  Frowning, she went to the bedside and opened the bag. Inside was a carved horse the length and width of her hand. The sculpture, of polished wood, portrayed the horse standing still, head held high and staring into the distance, its mane and tail gently stirred by the wind. The animal wasn’t relaxed, though; the exquisite detailing of bunched muscles and flared nostrils conveyed that the horse was fully alert and ready to launch into a gallop at any moment.

  Her fingers brushed the lovely carving. Who had left this for her?

  Ren.

  Before he’d departed the keep, he must have handed it to one of the servants and asked them to ensure she got it.

  Liliana’s hand trembled. Had he given her the horse in apology?

  The familiar anger uncoiled within her, yet this time, accompanied by remorse. She wanted to despise him for all he’d put her through and for stealing Haddon’s loyalty. Yet, from what her father had said, Ren had endured a great deal lately, more than mayhap was fair.

  Confusion stirred as she trailed her finger along the animal’s back. She should hate Ren. She should reject his gift. She should toss the carving out the window. Yet, to destroy such an exquisite object was not right either.

  Eyes burning, she tucked the horse back into its bag and stowed it at the bottom of her linen chest. One day, she might look at the carving again.

  Until then, she’d do her very best to forget all about Ren.

  Maddlestow Keep, Lincolnshire

  December 22, 1194

  “Well? What do you think?” Brushing fir needles from her hands, nineteen-year-old Liliana took several steps backward, her gaze traveling along the mortared stone wall before her. The soles of her shoes crunched on the dried rosemary, thyme, and rushes strewn across the floor of Maddlestow Keep’s great hall.

  Averil finished tying a red ribbon bow on a swag of greenery made from fir branches interwoven with ivy and tied with bunches of holly, then moved to Liliana’s side. “I think it looks absolutely beautiful, Lil.”

  “So do I.” Liliana smiled, for just as she’d imagined, the garland looped from the bottom of one wrought iron cresset, holding a burning reed torch, to the next. She and Averil had secured the garland around all four walls of the great hall, even draping it across colorful wall hangings. They’d decorated the massive hearth, too, with larger branches of fir and more beribboned sprigs of bright red holly berries. The pungent tang of fir lingered in the air and mingled with the smells of burning wood and crushed herbs; an inviting, festive blend of scents.

  Father hadn’t wanted decorations in the hall the past few Christmases. In truth, those years Liliana hadn’t felt much like celebrating, either. They’d had too much sadness to bear. In 1190, Haddon and Ren had joined King Richard’s Crusade to free eastern lands from the grip of Saladin, and three winters ago, having just returned to England, Ren had delivered the news of Haddon’s death. Haddon had been lauded as a hero; however, that glory was little comfort to her, having lost her only sibling, or her sire, who’d lost his only son and heir. The news of Haddon’s passing had sapped the last of her ill mother’s strength and she’d died early in the spring of 1192.

  This year, though, Christmas would be different. For the first time in a long while, the excitement of the season tingled inside Liliana. She couldn’t quite say why, but she knew ’twas nigh time to shake off the gloomy cobwebs that had settled in the shadowed corners of the hall. With Averil and her precocious two-year-old daughter Rosabelle visiting, this Christmas was certain to be special.

  Liliana looked at the arched entrance of the forebuilding. The stairs within led down to the door opening into the bailey, so ’twas one of the busiest stairwells in the keep. “Do we have enough greenery left to go around that entryway?” She glanced at the remaining ivy, holly, and fir scattered on one of the oak trestle tables behind her.

  Averil shook her head. “There are only scraps left. We will need to gather more fir from the forest, but Rosy will be waking from her nap soon. We might have to leave that till the morrow.”

  “All right. Well—”

  “What about this?” Averil held up the oval-leafed mistletoe they’d taken from thriving plants growing in the apple trees in the keep’s orchard. Averil had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “’Twould be the perfect spot for mistletoe.”

  “Are you certain ’tis wise? Who knows who might walk underneath and whom you will have to kiss?”

  “Me?” Clearly trying to look shocked, Averil said, “What about you, Lil?”

  “I will avoid this stairwell.”

  “Really? How will you do that? ’Tis the main route down to the bailey.”

  Liliana laughed and shook her head. Indeed, ’twould be difficult. Likely impossible.

  In truth, she wasn’t opposed to a few kisses on the cheek. ’Twas all harmless fun. However, Burton, the castle steward, was fighting a heavy cold, so she’d offered to help him with the arrangements for Christmas. She’d seen the list of guests who’d be arriving within the next few days, and one name had made her whole body go numb with shock.

  She couldn’t imagine why her father had invited Renfred de Vornay to spend Christmas at Maddlestow. Ren had been granted an estate by the crown after his return from Cr
usade. Over the past few years, through sound management of his lands and a fortuitous marriage arranged by the king’s ministers, he’d become one of the wealthiest, most influential lords in all of Lincolnshire. While Ren’s wife had died in childbirth last year, and he was one of her sire’s strongest allies, Liliana had no desire to see him back at the castle, sharing in their celebrations, when her brother was dead.

  Averil’s wry chuckle broke into Liliana’s thoughts. “Why do you suddenly look grim? You are not afraid of a few kisses, are you, Lil?”

  Averil was grinning most vexingly—as if she was already plotting to ensure lots and lots of kisses for Liliana. At least Averil was smiling. She’d suffered a terrible tragedy last April with the death of her lord husband. He’d been thrown from his horse while inspecting fields on his estate and had died two weeks later.

  If Averil wanted mistletoe over the stairwell, she would have it.

  “Most certainly, I am not afraid of kisses,” Liliana said. After all, she was a noble lady, daughter of a rich and well-connected lord; no guest or castle servant would take liberties to which they weren’t entitled.

  She walked to a chair by the hearth, pushed it across the floor to the top of the stairs, and then took the mistletoe from Averil’s outstretched hand.

  Averil followed Liliana to the chair.” You do know I speak of a kiss on the lips, not a quick kiss on the cheek.”

  Misgiving rippled through Liliana. Her dearest friend still had that awful ability to read her mind; she had indeed been planning that any kiss she experienced under the mistletoe would be delivered on the cheek.

  “Who knows?” Averil murmured. “Thanks to that mistletoe, you might meet the lord of your dreams.”

  Trying to find a level spot on the uneven floor, Liliana adjusted the position of the chair. “You believe I shall meet my own chivalrous knight? A gallant hero worthy of the chansons, who is destined to win my love?”

  “Exactly.”

  Liliana snorted. “’Twould be a divine miracle.”