“I understand you’ve threatened to do so before, my lord.”
His brows jerked up, then down. “I gather Mrs. Jones has been talking.”
He closed the stall and moved closer. “Then sell it, if you don’t want to wear it.”
She wasn’t so stubborn that she wouldn’t accept it under those circumstances, so she nodded and took it from his grasp, being careful to avoid any contact with even his gloved hands. “Very well.”
Turning away, she started for the main building. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you for a Christmas present.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said, in such a tone she forgot to pay attention to where she was going and slipped on a patch of ice.
Two strong hands caught her and held her up. “Careful, Miss Davies. I wouldn’t want you to break your leg.”
Blushing hotly, wondering if any curious eyes inside the building had seen her, she twisted out of his grasp.
“I’ll be more careful,” she said as she continued on her way, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “The children will be so pleased to see you. They’ve been asking all sorts of questions about you.”
“Have they, indeed? Mrs. Jones has been asking all sorts of questions about you.”
And he’d answered…what? Her mind leapt with all sorts of possibilities—the good, the bad, the complimentary and the insulting.
They entered the main building, and as they walked down the whitewashed corridor, complete with water stains where rain and melting snow had leaked under the eaves, Gwen told herself it was just as well they hadn’t yet had time to fix the plaster. He could see for himself how different their circumstances were.
The sound of the children got louder the closer they got to the dining hall. To a man like Griffin, unused to being around children, it must sound as if they were running amok. “That’s happy noise,” she said by way of explanation.
They were nearly there when Griffin came to a halt. “It won’t do,” he said with sudden fierce defiance. “I can’t pretend I want to see anybody but you, at least until I’ve said what I’ve come to say. Is there somewhere we can talk alone?”
The nagging voice of her practical conscience warned her they shouldn’t be alone. Her resolve was wearing too thin. “I really don’t think that would be wise, my lord.”
He took hold of her hands and gazed at her. “Please?”
If she ignored the fervent, pleading look in Griffin’s eyes, it would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Come with me.”
She led him past the dining hall to the small room that served as her office at the end of the corridor. Unlike his study, it was uncluttered and painfully neat.
She went around behind her desk, making it a barrier between them.
Griffin stood before her, his hands clenched into fists at his side, looking like a man about to go to his destruction. “You were right to doubt the strength and permanence of the feelings that grew between us when we were in Mervyn’s cottage.”
Why, oh why, had she allowed even the smallest hope to blossom?
Then he leaned forward and splayed his strong hands on the desk. “But you were not right to say it couldn’t last. I think it can, and that what I feel for you is the beginning of love, if not love itself—although I think I do love you, and I believe that for a little while at least, you loved me, too. Perhaps you feel otherwise now that you’re back among your charges, but I can’t rid myself of the hope that if you let me into your life, we could be happy together. Will you give me—will you give us—that chance?”
It was Christmastime and she was a little girl again, staring into the shop windows at all the toys and treats inside, desperately craving, yet knowing that come Christmas morning, they wouldn’t be there for her, because of what she was. What she still was. “I’m sure all things look possible to you, my lord. You have wealth and rank, power and influence. I’m not a part of that world, and I never can be. My work, my life, is here, with the orphaned children who need me.”
Looking steadily at his face, she held out her work-hardened, callused hands. “No matter how much I wish it could be otherwise, these aren’t the hands of a fine lady worthy of the Earl of Cwm Rhyss.”
He strode around the desk. Before she could back away, he took hold of her hands and brought them to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon each palm before answering. “These are the hands of a woman who’s known hard work and suffering, and made the world better with her efforts.”
Her heart fluttered like the wings of a caged bird, but the cage could not simply be wished away. It was made of the strongest of conventions; she had seen what had happened to those who tried to bend the bars. “Society will condemn us both—you for lowering yourself, me for my presumption. They’ll say you were desperate, and that I was after your wealth.”
“Are you not the same woman who told me to ignore what people say? Why should we pay attention to the small-minded and ignorant?”
He put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Oh, Gwen, please, don’t deny us the chance to see if what we feel is true and lasting because you fear the world, as I did. You gave me hope—not that I could be what I was, but that I could be happier than I ever dared to dream, even before my accident, if you loved me. Please, don’t take that hope away from me. Not yet.”
It was Christmas, and she’d received the most wondrous present of all.
“I want to hope,” she whispered. “I want to believe that we can be together.”
“And the rest of the world be damned?”
She smiled through her joyful tears as she looked at his happy face. “The rest of the world be damned.”
His arms tightened about her, and they kissed happily, tenderly, then with growing desire, until she gently pushed him back. “I think we’d better stop and rejoin the others. They must be wondering what happened to me.”
“I think you’re right,” he said with a wry grin. “Or I fear there would be cause for scandal at Saint Bridget’s.” Then his grin became a glorious smile that seemed to light the dim room. “Suddenly, Miss Davies, my Christmas has become very merry.”
“Suddenly, so has mine.”
“I shall live in hope that next Christmas will be merrier still.”
She nestled against his broad chest. “I don’t see how I could be any happier.”
“I know when I’ll be happier,” he whispered, holding her close. “The day you agree to be my wife.”
She felt again that blast of wintry doubt. She drew back and looked up at him. “It’s much too soon to talk about that.”
He smiled that devilishly seductive smile of his. “But you don’t discount the notion entirely?”
“No,” she admitted, snuggling against him again and allowing herself to envision that wonderful possibility. “And I’m sure, my lord—”
“Griffin.”
“My lord Griffin, that if I did discount it entirely, I wouldn’t do this.” She bussed his cheek. “Or this.” She kissed his chin. “Or this,” she finished in a low murmur before giving him a kiss of desire, longing and promise.
“By all the saints in heaven—Miss Davies!” Molly cried.
They jumped apart, to see the young woman standing on the threshold, her eyes nearly as big and round as the bowl of plum pudding in her hand “I was just…the pudding…and here you are…with…who’s he?”
Gwen forgave Molly her incoherence and didn’t even blush, although she was glad Molly had witnessed a relatively chaste kiss. “This is the Earl of Cwm Rhyss. My lord, this is Molly.”
He bowed elegantly. “Charmed.”
Molly’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“It’s my scars, isn’t it?” Griffin remarked. “Ugly, I know. But if you’re kind and leave the pudding, maybe I’ll let you see the ones on my legs someday.”
Molly yelped, dropped the pudding and disappeared.
“What on earth made you say that?” Gwen demanded as she bent down to pick up the broken
pieces.
He pulled her up before she could. “I unrepentantly confess that I wanted to make her go away.”
“I’m beginning to think people were right about you. You’re a wicked man.”
“Then you must continue in your reformation of my reclusive character. It will be an uphill battle, I expect. Indeed, I think you’ll have to marry me to do it completely.”
“If I marry you, it won’t be to reform you. It will be because I love you.” She reached up to kiss his scarred cheek. “Merry Christmas, Griffin.”
His arms went around her. “A very merry Christmas to you, my darling, my love. And I pray God we share many more.”
Dear reader, they did.
LOVE AT FIRST STEP
Terri Brisbin
Dear Reader,
I have always been fascinated by the different ways in which the holidays were celebrated throughout history, and I especially like the Scottish custom of “First Footing.” It began in medieval times, and it was said that the first person through your door on the first night of the New Year (Hogmanay) determined your luck and prosperity in the coming year. It was said to have begun as far back as the Viking raids on Scotland, so a tall blond man was not the person you hoped to see that night!
The hero and heroine of my story could both use a bit of good luck in their lives. But what will happen if the man Elizabeth loves is an older, stubborn, red-haired Scottish warrior and not the dark-haired young man needed to bring her luck? Can love prevail and grant them their wishes?
I wish you and yours a happy holiday season and I hope that your first-footer brings your household much health and prosperity in the New Year!
Terri Brisbin
This story is dedicated to my sons, Matthew, Andrew and Michael, who are all dark-haired heroes in the making and who give me joy in the holiday season and throughout the year. I love you all!
Chapter One
“Let me send her to you this night.”
“Are these shorter days making you daft, man?”
Gavin MacLeod glared at his host, lifted the goblet to his mouth and swallowed deeply. The heather ale slid smoothly over his tongue and kept his other retorts quiet. He needed no help in finding a woman to bed, if ’twas his wont to do so.
He’d been visiting Orrick of Silloth at the time of the winter solstice for years and did not remember Orrick ever expressing an interest in or notice of any of the women villeins or servants before this. Of course this was his first time here since Gavin’s wife’s death, so mayhap Orrick felt more at ease discussing women with him now. Or was it the festive season approaching that put him more in the mind to bring up the subject?
“Look you there, Gavin. She is a whore as much as I am king of England,” Orrick said, under his breath.
“Are you my procurer as well as my foster brother?”
Gavin did watch the woman now. How could he not? Orrick’s words forced his attention to her form and he noticed the attributes of most any woman were enhanced on her. Full, lush breasts, narrow waist and flaring hips, and long legs declared her attractive appearance. But instead of displaying them in an inviting way as a woman who made her living on her back usually did, this one hid them beneath a serviceable gown and veil and an almost modest demeanor.
“You are her lord, Orrick. Know you not how she makes her living?”
Orrick grunted and took a mouthful from his own goblet. For a few minutes Gavin observed this woman as she served the lower tables. She wore a ready smile on her face and spoke softly to all she served. No blatant enticement of the men was apparent in her manner and no hostility came in answer from any of the women at table. Orrick truly ran his lands and demesne differently than most English lords.
“I know how she makes a living, brother. I do not know how she came to be in that living.”
Orrick’s words surprised him. Orrick had a way of getting at the truth and yet this woman had kept her past a secret from him. Surprising. Intriguing. Something within him stirred for the first time in a very long time.
Curiosity.
He pushed himself into the tall-back chair on which he sat and studied her. He guessed she had about a score-and-five years. He noticed that she looked to have all of her teeth when she smiled and that her skin was clear of pox or blemish. Her back was straight as she stood; no deformity showed itself. Not the usual village harlot.
“Does it matter why she does it, Orrick? Is she causing trouble for you?”
Orrick leaned closer so his words would not be heard, most likely by Margaret, his wife, who sat on his other side. “I find an unanswered question unacceptable. Who knows what trouble she might bring if someone comes seeking her?”
Gavin felt the tug of a puppeteer’s strings. He recognized his foster brother’s machinations for what they were and decided that he could play at it, as well.
“Then throw her out, as is your right as lord of these lands.”
The grimace and dark glare told Gavin the truth. She had stymied Orrick’s quest for her story, but he would never rid his lands of even one helpless soul who lacked sanctuary. And especially not as the feast of Our Lord’s Birth and the celebration of the new year approached. ’Twas ever his weakness. Gavin laughed at Orrick’s plight.
“Although you are wrong in your assessment of me and in your attempts to manipulate me, I will take pity on your plight and discover the information you seek about your village whore.” He nodded in the woman’s direction as he spoke and nearly missed the painful look that crossed Orrick’s face. Nearly.
Did Orrick have some personal interest in this woman? He thought not, but what else could explain his behavior. Gavin tilted forward to check on Margaret’s attention and found her in an animated conversation with the woman at her side. Now was as good a time as any to ask his question.
“Do you want her for your leman? Is that the object of all this?”
“Leman?” Orrick asked, choking on the word.
“Aye. I can find out if she is married or if there is another obstacle in your way, if ’tis your wont to claim her as your leman.”
This was not such an unusual thing among nobles, but something did not feel right to him. He never would have believed that Orrick would take another to his bed while married to Margaret. It had been much too long between his visits if things between them had changed this much.
“I want no other woman but my Margaret, you thick-skulled arse,” Orrick whispered furiously to him. “This is about a friend helping a friend in a task. I thought it would give you something to do while you visit with us until the new year arrives. That is all.”
Relief flooded him that he would not be involved in deceiving Orrick’s wife. She could be formidable in her fury and he did not want to be the one receiving such attention. And he was glad in his heart that Orrick was still as faithful to his Margaret as he had been to his wife Nessa while she lived.
“Fine, then. Send her to me and I will discover her secrets for you.”
“Be discreet.” Orrick whispered the warning. “The needs of a guest cannot be ignored, but even in these long, dark days of winter Margaret cares not for whoring in her keep.”
“Do not get me in trouble with your wife, Orrick. And do not get the woman—” he nodded toward their quarry “—in trouble with the lady for your curiosity.”
Orrick waved off his concerns. “She will be sent to your chambers to assist you in your bath. Even Margaret will accept that. What happens from there is between you and her,” Orrick said, nodding in the same direction.
Gavin sat back and took another mouthful of ale from his cup, all the time watching the graceful movements of the woman under discussion.
“Her name? You never did tell me her name, Orrick.”
“Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth. It was high-sounding for a whore, but it fit her graceful ways and demeanor. Her customers probably called her “Lizzie” or “Betsy,” a name more suited for a woman on her back.
El
izabeth.
There! He was eyeing her again. Elizabeth watched out of the corner of her eye as Lord Orrick’s friend gazed intently at her. She purposely walked to the farthest end of the rows of tables to see if he turned his look upon someone else. He did not.
Nervousness bubbled up within her as she tried to ignore what his attention meant. Although Lady Margaret forbade her from plying her trade in the hall or keep, fulfilling the needs of an honored guest was expected. And one so high in the esteem of the lord would have every whim satisfied by anyone within the lands of Orrick.
She had done it before with others and would do it again, but she felt the uncertainty growing inside. Like some untried girl. She smiled at the miller’s son as she filled his cup with ale and tried to ignore the lord’s guest. Of course, with his size and his position next to Orrick at the high table it was nigh to impossible to do that. So Elizabeth decided to meet his challenge directly and raised her eyes to meet his.
His frown, even from this distance, was apparent. Had she done something to displease him already? She continued to look at him and was surprised to see the edges of his mouth begin to curl up in a smile. He was not nearly so fearsome when he smiled.
A shiver moved up her spine and she was certain that he had been discussing her with Lord Orrick. To what end? This man traveled alone, without even a squire or page or man-at-arms for his protection. The cook told her that Lord Gavin visited Lord Orrick each year at this time and usually stayed through the solstice and new year festivities before returning to his lands in Scotland.
Did he want her as a whore? Probably. She was able to recognize the intensity in his gaze as that of desire. She admitted to herself that she was not a good and practiced harlot. This was still somewhat new to her and she was still learning the art of enticing customers and recognizing what their looks meant. One day she would be better at this.
One day.
She sighed and turned her attentions back to the task she was carrying out now. The people here were kind to her, even the men who frequented her cottage were never rough or disrespectful to her in their actions or in the height of their passionate attentions. For that she was grateful. For many things she was grateful—especially for the day she had wandered into this village and into the demesne of Lord Orrick of Silloth. He had offered her a place and saved her life that day. If she needed to lie with his friends to pay back her debt to him, she would without complaint.
The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret Page 9
