Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Pressing matters.” A wry laugh broke from his lordship. He set down the silver wine jug and shook his head. “There are always matters that need attending when one is a lord, as I am sure you well know.”

  Ren smiled. “Very true.” His own estate in Lincolnshire, granted to him upon his return from Crusade, was half the size of Lord Thornleigh’s, but indeed, there were always disputes to settle, buildings and roads to repair, or criminals to hunt down. “I hope your day’s work was not too grave an issue.”

  Picking up his spoon, his lordship scooped up some pottage brimming with cabbage, leeks, chunks of turnip, and lentils. “The last snowfall was so heavy, a main bridge in and out of the village cracked under the weight,” he said. “I hired local folk to repair it, but they were not working fast enough. One of my men would have supervised, but his wife is having a babe, so I said I would oversee the work. With luck, the crew should finish on the morrow.” His lordship ate his spoonful, turned slightly, and studied Ren. “I trust you were properly welcomed?”

  Ren fought a twinge of misgiving. His lordship’s face was lined with age, and his hair was silvery gray, but his keen expression reminded Ren very much of Haddon. Moreover, in this man’s presence, despite all that Ren had accomplished, he still felt like the young, unprincipled idiot he’d been years ago.

  His grip tightened on the stem of his goblet. “I was appropriately welcomed. Thank you.”

  “Did you see Liliana? She and Averil decorated the hall today. I must say they’ve done a marvelous job.”

  Indeed, milord, I saw Liliana and kissed her full on the mouth, right there under the mistletoe. “I did see Liliana for a few moments.”

  “Good. When I got your missive about arriving two days early, I decided not to tell her. She will be upset with me if she finds out, but I did not want her disappearing, as she usually does when you visit.” He gestured to the vacant chairs. “’Twas a foolish hope, I see.”

  Ren smothered a smile. “Liliana has grown into a beautiful woman.”

  Pride softened his lordship’s features, and he nodded as he finished chewing his mouthful. “She has. She looks much like her late mother, who was the fairest lady I have ever set eyes upon.” Anguish crept into his face. “Indeed, I do not know what I would have done without Liliana in the sad years that her mother was ill. Liliana cared for Clara, day and night, right until the end. You know my wife died, do you?”

  “Aye, milord. I am sorry.” Ren swallowed another sip of wine. “My wife also died.”

  “Childbirth, I heard.”

  “Aye. I lost her and my son, my only child.”

  Sympathy gleamed in his lordship’s eyes. “For your loss, too, I am sorry.”

  Ren chewed a mouthful of the flavorful bread. ’Twas painful, thinking of his dead wife and child, for the memories were sharp and cruel. However, there was also companionship in the anguish he shared with Lord Thornleigh. He stayed quiet, sensing his lordship had more to say.

  “While I was glad of Liliana’s tender care for her mother,” his lordship finally continued, “I know there have been consequences for her. She refused to consider any suitors, even though lords wished to court her. I encouraged her to think about the rest of her life, including marriage and children, but she refused.”

  Liliana hadn’t considered suitors. The thought sent a rush of possessive heat through Ren. “She is still young. She may be ready now to consider a husband.”

  His lordship chuckled. “I remember how you tried to catch her eye years ago. Frogs and thistles, I believe?”

  “I am a bit more gallant now.”

  “Bigger frogs and thistles, you mean?”

  A hearty laugh burst from Ren, and he shook his head. “Upon my knight’s honor, I swear: no more frogs and thistles.”

  His lordship chortled. As his laughter died, he spooned another mouthful of pottage. “Well. Regardless of what happened in the past between you and Liliana, I am guessing there is a good reason why you arrived here earlier than you intended?”

  Ren’s gut twisted. He had much to tell his lordship, some of it extremely difficult. “Indeed,” he said, “there is good reason.” At least one of those reasons was dangerous enough to get him and others killed if word reached the wrong ears. “I fear, though, what I have to tell you should best be shared in private.”

  His lordship’s gray eyebrows rose. “I had heard you frequently visit the London courts. I assumed you were establishing alliances, a matter of necessity for all of us noblemen with the political unrest in England growing.”

  “Alliances are indeed at the heart of what I have to tell you.” Glimmers of memories, grim and painful, flickered in Ren’s thoughts, and a chill wove through him. Agreements born in friendship and forged in blood were vows taken until death. “When I tell you why I have come, milord, you will understand why I will not say more in this hall.”

  Liliana and Averil drew up chairs to the oak table set up by the crackling fire in Liliana’s chamber. On the patterned woolen rug spread before the hearth, Rosy sat and played with a cloth doll. The little girl had finished her portion of pottage, bread, and cheese, and now spoke in hushed, singsong tones while she untied the doll’s yarn hair. A wistful smile tugged at Liliana’s lips, for Rosy had such perfect little hands. Her shoulder-length hair was dark, just like Averil’s, and like her mother, she had a kind, gentle way about her.

  “Lil,” Averil said. “You still have not answered my question. What are you going to do?”

  Liliana pushed around a piece of turnip in her pottage. “I was not ignoring you. I was just—”

  “Shall we plot to steal Ren’s clothes while he’s visiting?” Averil grinned and chewed a piece of sharp yellow cheese. “I remember us having such a conversation years ago, over a similar meal in this chamber.”

  A chuckle broke from Liliana. “I was thinking the same.”

  “Really? About stealing Ren’s clothes?”

  “Mercy, nay.”

  Averil shrugged. “’Twould be good fun. In some households, ’tis a tradition to play tricks on one another.”

  “Aye, but years ago, we were going to involve Haddon, and…” Liliana’s voice trailed off. She hadn’t meant to speak of her brother. Now that she had, that sense of loss filled her. Blinking hard, she looked over at the fire.

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to remind you of Haddon,” Averil said softly. “I must admit, when speaking of pranks, I was thinking of my husband’s family. The year Rosy was born, his older brother… Well, never mind.”

  Liliana smiled at her friend. “We are a fine pair, are we not?”

  Averil brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and smiled back, then dipped a small piece of bread into her pottage broth. “We are. However, I would not wish it any other way.”

  “Nor would I,” Liliana whispered.

  Nodding, Averil straightened in her chair, her expression once again composed. “Good. Now, back to the crucial matter at hand: Ren. As much as I enjoy eating in your chamber, you cannot eat here every day that he is visiting.”

  “I know.”

  Averil swallowed the bread she’d been chewing. “I am glad to hear it, for if you had such intentions, I simply would not let you. You are entitled to enjoy Christmas, Lil, especially in your father’s keep.”

  “True, but—”

  “As we have both seen, Ren is a grown man, no longer a foolish lad.” A mischievous smile curved her mouth. “Did I mention before that I think he is very handsome?”

  “Averil!”

  “I have eyes,” Averil retorted, laughing. “I cannot help admiring a beautiful man.” She sounded a little wistful, as though thinking of Ren had made her recall her late husband again.

  As Averil’s gaze dropped to Rosy, now dressing her doll in a new set of clothes, Lil fought a pinch of regret. She’d vowed to give her dearest friend a delightful Christmas, and in the bailey earlier, she’d agreed to think more kindly upon Ren—even though that promise would
take all of her best efforts.

  Weighing both vows, though, the one concerning Averil was most important. Therefore, Liliana must do her utmost to keep her friend’s spirits up.

  “All right.” Liliana rolled her eyes. “I admit, Ren is handsome.”

  Averil giggled. “He is also so broad across the shoulders.”

  “He seems taller, too, than years ago. Bigger…all over.”

  Averil choked on her mouthful. “Well, I cannot say I noticed him bigger all over,” she said between giggles.

  Liliana gasped. “Averil!” She hadn’t mean that part of Ren, had she?

  “I am a widow,” Averil said, still laughing.

  Aye. A widow who had experienced far more with her husband than Liliana had done with any man. A sense of inadequacy sifted through Liliana, for in a great many experiences—courting, marriage, marital intimacy, childbirth—she was far behind Averil and most noblewomen of her age. Yet, she’d never regret those years she’d spent caring for her mother. Given the choice, she’d do the same again.

  “Oh, Lil. I have shocked you.”

  “Nay. If anything, you have intrigued me.” Liliana said with honesty. “One day, I hope to be married, to know what ’tis like…” She couldn’t quite say the words.

  “You will. I am certain of it.” Averil squeezed Liliana’s hand. Then she smiled and nodded at Rosy who was holding up her doll, clothes askew and buttoned incorrectly, for her mother to admire. “In the meantime, Lil, you need to get through this Christmas. If you want my advice, I suggest that instead of avoiding Ren, you take the opportunity to be utterly polite and flawlessly charming.”

  “With Ren?”

  “With Ren.”

  “Averil! I cannot.”

  “You can,” her friend said firmly. “He will not be expecting it, so think how shocked he will be. How deliciously wonderful! I cannot wait to see his expression.”

  Ugh. Liliana simply did not want to imagine.

  “Use every bit of your feminine willpower,” Averil went on. “Look upon Ren’s visit as a way to practice your finest manners and ladylike poise. You were perfect in the hall earlier, when you introduced Ren and Guy to Burton.”

  “But—”

  “You will only need to be on your best behavior for a few days, until Ren leaves. Then you can return to despising him as much as you want. I know you can do it. Your father, too, would be quite proud of your performance, I am sure.”

  Liliana swallowed hard and looked down at the remnants of her meal. “Well…”

  “At least give it a try?” Averil coaxed. “Please?”

  “All right. I will try.”

  Lord Thornleigh stilled while pouring two goblets of red wine. “The King’s Falcon, you say? He is coming here?”

  “Aye, milord. He should arrive within the next couple of days.” Ren settled into a carved chair by the hearth. After the evening meal, the older lord had ordered a large jug of wine sent up to the solar, and then had invited Ren to follow him to the castle’s upper level. On their arrival, guards had opened two massive wooden doors banded with iron to admit them into his lordship’s private chamber.

  The large solar boasted oak furnishings: a wide tester bed, two bedside tables, a long trestle table, several linen chests, and colorful rugs and tapestries. A comfortable room, although Ren couldn’t shrug off the coldness that had gathered inside him during the meal; not even the heat from the fire eased the chill. The moment was upon him to tell Lord Thornleigh all, and Ren still didn’t know the best way to broach what he had to say. He didn’t want to upset his lordship, a man he greatly respected, and yet, there was likely no other outcome.

  And then, Liliana would find out.

  She would hate Ren all the more—even though he’d done what had to be done. He’d done what had been expected and required by the crown. He’d taken a knight’s vow of strict duty and honorable service to the king, and had made that sacred pledge on the bloody ground at Acre. When given his orders, Ren had had no choice but to obey.

  Lord Thornleigh would understand why Ren had done what he’d done.

  Liliana? God only knew.

  His lordship handed Ren a silver goblet. Sweat coated Ren’s hand, and his palm was slick against the polished metal. Hellfire, but his feet were damp inside his boots.

  “Well.” Blowing air between his lips, Lord Thornleigh dropped down into the other chair; the wooden joints creaked at his weight. “’Tis a great honor, of course, that such an important man will be my guest.”

  “I am told he looks forward to meeting you.” Thankfully, Ren’s voice sounded calm and betrayed none of his unease.

  His lordship sipped his wine and stretched his booted feet toward the fire. “I have never met the man before. However, I saw him once, about eight years ago. He rode through a town square where my late wife was inside a shop trying on a dress she’d commissioned. The King’s Falcon led a second horse with a captured murderer bound to the saddle.” Shaking his head, his lordship said, “I will never forget that moment. Liliana and Haddon were with me. Suddenly the whole square went quiet. The King’s Falcon made an impressive figure, a giant of a man all in black, his face shielded by his helm and his cape flowing behind him. I did not realize who he was. I saw him only as a rider wearing all black, until later, a shopkeeper told us ’twas the King’s Falcon. The poor man whispered the name, as though he feared he would be punished by speaking it.”

  “He is indeed a man of legend,” Ren said and drank more of the fine Bordeaux. Mayhap if he downed enough, he could ease his anxiety a bit and warm himself from the inside out.

  “Aye,” his lordship agreed. “He is certainly legendary throughout Lincolnshire. Does he hunt down criminals in other parts of England as well?”

  Ren nodded. “He goes wherever the crown feels he is needed. Last year, the king’s ministers even considered sending him to Germany, to try to help King Richard escape from his imprisonment at Trifels. However, in the end, the required ransom was paid to see our king freed.”

  From all Ren had seen, the Falcon took great pride in his work. He was especially good at bringing the most ruthless cutthroats to justice with his cunning, brute strength, and the might of his sword.

  Lord Thornleigh’s expression tinged with curiosity. “You seem to know a lot about the King’s Falcon. You have met him, then?”

  A ripple of disquiet shot through Ren. “I have.”

  “When did you first meet him?”

  The question had a perilous answer. Forcing down a deepening chill, Ren shrugged. “I cannot remember.” Grinning, he added, “I might have been drunk at the time.”

  His lordship chuckled, but awe now gleamed in his eyes. “’Tis said the king only lets a favored few get close to his Falcon. You are an honored lord, indeed.”

  The admiration in the older man’s expression was so genuine, Ren couldn’t resist a smile. “I am honored, and not just by the king. ’Tis a great kindness, milord, that I am to spend Christmas here at Maddlestow.”

  Lord Thornleigh waved a dismissive hand. “You were my son’s closest friend. You were with him till he died. ’Tis the least I can do.” His words faded, and as he quieted, his face looked weary, strained, as the memories clearly took prominence in his thoughts. The fire cast light and shadows across his face. “You said the King’s Falcon will arrive here in the next day or two?”

  “Aye.” Ren eased forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and balancing his wine in his hands. “He must first complete a mission for the king,” he said. “Then, he will come here.”

  “I will be sure to inform Burton, so he will ready a chamber,” said Lord Thornleigh. “Liliana should be told as well.”

  Liliana. Beautiful, enticing, desirable Liliana. Ren rubbed his lips together, feeling the difficult words gathering on his tongue. “Milord,” he said quietly, as a burning log in the fire snapped and hissed, “I did not arrive here early just to inform you of the Falcon’s visit. My visit her
e…”—he took a steadying breath—“has another purpose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ren looked down at the wine in his goblet, as dark and red as blood. “’Tis not easy for me to say what I must, milord. Forgive me. I do not mean to offend, but I fear you may resent what I will tell you.”

  “Out with it!” his lordship muttered.

  Ren met the older man’s scowl. “’Tis time you knew the truth about Haddon.”

  Ren sat in front of the hearth in the great hall. Leaning forward in the chair, his elbows on his thighs, he set his small knife to the palm-sized piece of wood in his hand, the rasping sound barely audible over the crackle and hiss of the fire. Shavings drifted onto the dried rushes at his feet. Pausing, he turned the wood to study it in the fire glow, before whittling away at a section closer to his thumb.

  Carving had always calmed him. He’d first taken his dagger to wood when he was a boy, grieving his late mother; he’d never stopped creating animals from whatever pieces of wood looked right for his projects. A smile tugged at Ren’s mouth, for the dog was progressing nicely. Moreover, each time he breathed in, he caught the tang of fir, a scent that reminded him of the forest where long ago, he and Haddon had spied on Liliana and Averil while they swam.

  The hall was dark and quiet, save for the noise of the fire and the murmurs of a group of men gathered at a candlelit table by the far wall. The other trestle tables used for the evening meal had been cleared away and straw pallets had been laid on the rush-strewn floor. Young children slept alongside their mothers. Dogs curled up amongst the slumbering folk. More servants were quietly crossing the hall to find their beds for the night.

  A yawn burned in Ren’s mouth but he swallowed it down and concentrated on his carving. His eyelids were heavy, his body weary from a long day of traveling, but there was no point retiring to his bed just yet; he wouldn’t be able to sleep. His conversation with Lord Thornleigh still circled in his mind like a restless hawk.