Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  As she tucked them back into the chest, she paused. “Ren,” she murmured. A hot-cold flush rippled over her skin, for surely, she should have a present for him.

  But, what?

  Even as the question formed in her mind, a memory stirred. She reached down into the chest, past the layers of embroidered silks and gossamer linens, down to the bottom to find what she’d tucked away long ago. She took the leather bag over to the fire, pulled open the drawstring, and took out the carved horse.

  Still, after so many years, the carving took her breath away. There was a wild, raw beauty to the piece that, somehow, made her think of a young Ren. She didn’t know if the beautiful carving had been from him, but if it had, he should have it back.

  Returning to the linen chest, she withdrew an eating dagger she’d bought at the village market several months ago but hadn’t used. She wrapped it in linen then slipped it into the bag with the horse. Then, she wrapped and tied the bag like the other packages and stowed it in the chest.

  What would Ren do when he saw the horse? Anticipation shivered through her, for she could hardly wait to see.

  “We must leave, milord, if we are to reach Maddlestow by nightfall.”

  His arms braced on the tavern’s scratched table, Ren nodded and stared at the unfinished ale in his mug. All afternoon, the thickening gray clouds had hinted at snow.

  A short while ago, he and Guy had ridden into the village clustered around Maddlestow’s outer walls. After briefly watching colorfully-dressed mummers performing in a main street, they’d gone into the tavern for a quick drink. However, they’d need to be on their horses soon if they hoped to reach the castle before the snow started falling.

  He swept his hand over his face, willing the fierce hammering in his forehead to go away—although with some of the folk in the smoky interior bellowing a well-known carol, and more drinkers seated at the tables joining in, ’twas unlikely.

  A grizzled farmer near the hearth started clapping in time to the song. Glancing over at him and giggling, a group of buxom serving wenches started clapping as well. The noise pounded like a drum inside Ren’s skull.

  Damnation, Haddon! Where are you?

  A raw ache spread through Ren’s chest. How could he return to Maddlestow and tell Liliana that he had no idea what had befallen her brother, and that Haddon might not be returning home for Christmas after all?

  He simply didn’t know what else he could do. He and Guy had ridden most of the day and had searched every tavern within several leagues of Maddlestow Keep for a sign from Haddon. As agreed, if Haddon needed to get a message to them, he’d leave it under the thatch on the back right corner of the roof of one of the local taverns. They’d searched the taverns near the castle and those farther afield. They’d found naught except a few beetles. They’d even visited the local sheriff’s office to ask about Haddon, but the building was dark, the door locked.

  Moreover, Ren’s other, equally important errand hadn’t been successful either.

  “Milord,” Guy said.

  Ren pressed the heels of his hands against his tired eyes. “I know. And you are right. We should leave now.”

  After swallowing the last of his ale, Ren stood, his chair screeching back across the floor; the sound was barely audible over the rowdy singing, cheering, and clapping. Squinting against the haze of smoke from tallow candles on the tables, he strode for the door. He could only hope that by some miracle, while he and Guy were out searching, that Haddon had found his way home.

  Seated beside her father at the lord’s table, Liliana sipped her wine and nibbled a dried date dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg. A bowl of dried fruit, spices, and nuts and a half-empty wine goblet rested at the place setting beside her. Averil had promised she’d be back in a few moments to finish her drink. During the dinner, Rosy had dropped a mouthful of fish stew down the front of her gown and, in tears, had insisted on a clean dress. Averil had taken her upstairs to change.

  Most of the tables used for the meal had been folded and cleared to the sides of the hall. Across the vast chamber, musicians sat and took out their lutes, harps, and pipes. A merry song filled the air, and laughing servants, including the black-haired healer, formed a circle and danced.

  Liliana tapped her fingers on the linen tablecloth. She loved the revelry that always ensued on Christmas Eve and often carried on until the Angel’s Mass at midnight. Yet, there was still no sign of the King’s Falcon, Haddon, or Ren. Was there truth to her father’s notion that the King’s Falcon and Haddon could be one and the same? Regardless whether or not that was true, why hadn’t either one arrived? Moreover, what could Ren be doing to keep him away so long?

  Impatience nagged at her until she couldn’t bear it any longer. Some fresh air would help settle her restless mind. Excusing herself, she crossed the hall, weaving her way around the revelers to reach the forebuilding stairs. As she stepped out into the frigid darkness, she drew a sharp breath. She’d neglected to don her mantle, but she didn’t want to go and fetch it. She’d only be outside for a few moments.

  Light drew her gaze across the bailey. The stable doors were open. Two saddled horses stood tethered outside, waiting for their tack to be removed. Anticipation swirled up inside her in a heady gust. Ren must have just returned.

  She hurried to the stable and stepped inside, just as the groom, Guy, and Ren rounded a corner. Guy and Ren were still wearing their heavy cloaks and gloves.

  Seeing her, the men halted and bowed. “Good evening, milady.”

  “Good evening to you.” Meeting Ren’s gaze, she asked, “Did you have a successful day?”

  Ren’s face shadowed with unease. “Not as successful as we had hoped.” His gaze lit with appreciation as it skimmed down her gown and back up to her face again, but then his eyes narrowed. “Where are your mantle and gloves? You are not dressed to be outdoors, especially with snow on the way.”

  “True. I am not. I did not intend to be outside for long.”

  He scowled. “Guy, see to the horses.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  Crossing to her, Ren unfastened his cloak and draped it about her shoulders. His masculine scent, a blend of leather, horse, and wintry air, surrounded her, stirring a delicious heat inside her.

  “Really, Ren, I—”

  “Do not argue with me this eve,” he growled, taking her arm and drawing her through the doorway and out into the darkness. Within moments, she was inside the stone forebuilding, being rushed up the stairs toward the great hall.

  Laughter, music, the rhythmic stomping of feet, and boisterous cheering surrounded them as they stepped out under the mistletoe. Averil and Rosy, in the circle of dancers, waved at them. Liliana grinned and waved back.

  She was about to tease Ren about the mistletoe overhead, but the hard line of his jaw made her pause. She’d never seen him so agitated, so emotionally on edge. Disquiet skated through her. She hoped his unease didn’t have to do with Haddon.

  “Ren? What is wrong?”

  He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the revelers nearby. “Not here.”

  “All right. Have you eaten?”

  When he shook his head again, she summoned a maidservant and sent her to the kitchens for some food for Ren. Then, she motioned for him to follow her to the stairs leading up to the landing. Weaving through the folk sitting or standing on the stairs, they made their way up to the chamber where they’d talked in private before.

  Ren removed his gloves and sank into one of the chairs by the fire. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head down and his hands plowed into the back of his hair. Setting aside his cloak, she sat quietly in the chair she favored and watched the fire, letting him indicate when he was ready to share his news. How she hoped nothing terrible had happened to Haddon.

  Moments later, the maidservant knocked on the open door and handed him a tray laden with a bowl of fish stew, bread, cheese, dried figs, and a mug of spiced wine. After a quick curtsey, the girl hurried awa
y, no doubt to rejoin the celebrations below.

  Ren ate a spoonful of the stew, then set the tray aside.

  “Ren,” she whispered. “What is it?”

  He looked weary, and she sensed tremendous sadness within him. “I am sorry, Liliana.”

  An icy shiver trailed through her. “Sorry?”

  “I…” He swore softly. “Haddon was supposed to be here.”

  The intensity of his emotions tugged at her soul. “This morning, when you left the keep—”

  “I went looking for him. Guy and I searched for leagues. No sign of him.”

  An anguished moan threatened to break from her, but she forced it down.

  “I know I promised you, Liliana. I promised you and your sire. Now, I…” His shoulders rose and fell on a heavy breath. “After all that has happened between us, I am disappointing you. Again. That hurts like hellfire, because ’tis the last thing I wanted to do.”

  She hated to see him in such torment. Sliding from her chair, she dropped to her knees beside him, her gown spilling around her on the floorboards. Touching his arm, she murmured, “I am sure you did your best.”

  He didn’t answer. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “The King’s Falcon also has not arrived,” she said quietly.

  Ren’s head turned, and she held his sharpened, blazing gaze, determined not to retreat from the questions she must ask. “Do you know his whereabouts?”

  “I do not.”

  In his expression, she saw a struggle, a fight to control emotions and words that clamored to be unleashed. She ached inside for what he was clearly enduring, but now, she needed the truth. “I realize the King’s Falcon and my brother may not be the same man, but…”

  A harsh breath broke from Ren, and he dragged his hand over his mouth.

  “Ren?” She peered at him, trying to read his profile.

  “I wish I could tell you all,” he finally said, his voice gruff. “I cannot. All I can say is that we must both pray for a miracle.”

  Still on her knees beside him, Liliana exhaled a ragged sigh and looked away. She was trembling; Ren felt it in her slender hand still pressed to his arm. How urgently he wanted to reveal every last detail to her, but he’d sworn on his knight’s honor. He’d been granted permission to tell Liliana and her father that Haddon was alive, but not what he had become.

  Tense silence fell in the chamber. Ren’s empty stomach whined, but he had no desire to eat. What he wanted— Liliana tilted her head. “Listen.”

  How exquisite she looked, her hair gleaming in the firelight. “What?” he said. “I hear naught but the fire burning.”

  “Exactly.” Her eyes widened. “No music. No laughter.”

  She was right. All the noise from the great hall had suddenly stopped.

  “Lord De Vornay,” a man shouted, his voice carrying up from the hall. Myles’s voice. “Lord de Vornay!”

  Liliana pushed to her feet.

  Ren loped to the doorway, with her close behind him. Excitement and misgiving swirled up within him. If he was right, the moment of reckoning was upon them.

  He skidded to a halt on the landing overlooking the hall. Bewildered servants still filled the vast room; the musicians held their silent instruments. Wearing full chain mail armor and a long cloak, Myles stood near the arched entrance to the forebuilding. He shouted again, “Lord—”

  “Here,” Ren answered. Darting through the men, women, and children on the stairs, he hurried down to the hall.

  “What has happened?” Liliana cried from close behind Ren.

  “His Lordship requests de Vornay’s presence in the bailey,” Myles said. “We have a visitor.”

  A gasp broke from Liliana. Ren felt the sound like a splinter of ice scraping down his spine.

  Outside, a small crowd had gathered in the bailey. Burning torches in iron brackets along the walls threw firelight into the dense, grayed darkness. The light reflected off the chain mail armor of the men-at-arms forming a semi-circle to protect the entrance to the keep and three sides of the bailey; their swords remained sheathed, but they looked ready to draw steel and fight if their lord gave the command.

  All gazes were upon the warrior who sat astride an enormous black horse. The gatehouse, lowered drawbridge, and raised portcullis were directly behind him. The man was dressed all in black, from his flowing, hooded black cloak to his leather boots.

  He also wore a black helm with eye slits. All but the lower part of his jaw, mouth, and chin were concealed. Yet, Ren didn’t need to see the man’s face to recognize him. Relief rushed through him, for there was no mistaking the King’s Falcon or his destrier, its gleaming coat pure black. Ren remembered that it had taken some searching for the warrior to find exactly the right horse.

  “Saints above,” Liliana breathed, awe and trepidation in her voice. Hugging her arms across her bosom, she stood beside her father, behind the protective barrier of guards.

  Lord Thornleigh caught Ren’s gaze and nodded. “The King’s Falcon and I have just been introduced. He asked if you were here.”

  Interpreting Lord Thornleigh’s nod as a sign to take charge of the proceedings, Ren moved through the line of men-at-arms and approached the mounted knight. A heavy silence settled across the bailey.

  “Good evening, King’s Falcon.”

  “Good evening.” The man’s voice grated like a knife dragging across stone; he’d learned that manner of speaking to disguise his real voice.

  Leather creaked, the sound of the man tightening his leather-gloved grip on his reins or adjusting his weight in the saddle.

  Ren stared up at the slits where the man’s eyes would be. “You are most welcome here. We were expecting you and are glad you are here at last.”

  The warrior dipped his head in acknowledgement. As he did so, he seemed to sway in the saddle, as if he were lightheaded.

  Ren frowned. “Sir, are you—”

  With a pained groan, the King’s Falcon clutched at the front of his cloak. Slowly, he slumped forward. “Ren,” he gasped.

  “Milord,” Ren shouted to Lord Thornleigh. “He is wounded.”

  “Help him,” his lordship barked. “Get him down from his horse.”

  Voices rose, along with the scraping of boots and weapons. “Please,” Ren cried. “Take him to a private chamber.”

  Liliana hurried to Ren’s side. “There is one ready in the north tower.”

  Ren held Liliana’s worried stare, unable to quell a sickening surge of fear. “Fetch the healer,” he said. “Quickly.”

  Liliana raced along the torch-lit corridor to Averil’s chamber. The healer was on her way to tend the King’s Falcon. Her face flushed from drink and merriment, the healer had looked astonished when Liliana had pulled her out of the line of dancers in the hall and ordered her to go straight to the north tower.

  “How terrible, to be wounded on Christmas Eve,” the woman had said, before hurrying away.

  Even more terrible, a voice inside Liliana had whispered, if that injured man should be your beloved brother.

  Her hand trembling, Liliana knocked on Averil’s door. Opening the panel, Averil whispered, “I just tucked Rosy into bed. Is everything all right?”

  “Nay.” Liliana’s breath hitched.

  “Lil? What has happened?”

  “I cannot explain right now.” Tears threatened. “Please,” Liliana said. “Come with me.”

  “I will. Can you summon a maidservant to sit with Rosy until she falls asleep?”

  Liliana fetched one of the young girls from the hall and returned with her to Averil’s chamber. Liliana’s whole body itched to be at the north tower, to know what was happening with the King’s Falcon.

  For a brief moment in the bailey, the warrior’s gaze had touched hers. She’d sensed an odd tension emanating from him, a mix of relief, hope, anxiety, and despair. Behind that concealing mask, would she find Haddon?

  Averil stepped out into the passageway. Together, they hurried toward the tower
, their skirts whispering as they climbed up the tower’s narrow, spiraling stairs.

  Two armed guards blocked the door to the chamber. They nodded to Liliana and Averil and stepped aside. With a soft knock, Liliana pushed the door open.

  The scents of blood and a freshly-made fire greeted her as she stepped inside. The King’s Falcon, still wearing his dark garments, chain mail armor, and helm, lay on the bed that had been pushed to the middle of the chamber. His head and shoulders were propped up by feather pillows stained with blood. The healer sat on a wooden stool at his left side, examining the oozing wound under his collarbone, while Ren and Liliana’s father were at his right side. The man groaned, his body tensing while the healer worked.

  As Liliana entered, his head turned, and again, she felt his intense gaze upon her.

  “God above,” Averil whispered, pushing the door closed behind her. “Who is he?”

  “He is known as the King’s Falcon,” Ren answered. He met Liliana’s gaze, and his features tautened with worry. “He lost consciousness. The healer says he has lost a lot of blood.”

  “Why is he still wearing his helm and armor?” Liliana asked, her tone becoming sharp. “Surely if those were removed, ’twould be easier for her to tend him.”

  “True,” Ren said gently. “However, the healer wanted to look at the injury first, to determine what supplies she’d need to gather and bring here.”

  Liliana approached the bed, sensing Averil a few steps behind. “Will he…?” She couldn’t finish her words. If this man were Haddon, he had to be all right.

  If he were Haddon…

  How desperately she wanted to know.

  The King’s Falcon’s head turned again. His lips pulled back from his teeth on a sharp hiss as the healer probed his injury. “Leave us,” he rasped.

  Nodding, the healer drew back, wiping her hands on a rag. “I will fetch what I need. I will return shortly. ’Twould be best if his armor is removed, milords.” She left the chamber, the door shutting with a click.