Yet Perot had other plans, hence this festival celebrating the twenty-first year of her birth as well as the event of Christmastide, which had now turned into an invitation for most of the eligible men in the county to come and vie for her hand. Holly was embarrassed and disgusted by it while her sisters were in hearty approval. They were of an age now where they wanted to entertain suitors but because Holly was not yet spoken for, they had to stew in frustration and impatience. Until the eldest sister was wed, they were not permitted to entertain anything romantic.
It had caused the sisters to do some drastic things, not the least of which was the mistletoe sprig Holly had found under her pillow this morning. She’d caught Lily and Rose tiptoeing into her bed chamber the night before, twice in fact, and both times she had caught them leaning over her bed and whispering something about a knight with a bejeweled sword.
The first time she’d caught them, they’d pretended they were sleepwalking which she knew was a lie. But the second time, Rose had startled her and she’d thrown up a hand as if to fight off a surprise attack and Rose ended up with a swollen nose. Not exactly the appearance she was going for, today of all days, when eligible bachelors would be at Thulston. As far as Holly was concerned, it was Rose’s own fault.
As of this morning, the sisters weren’t speaking to each other.
Holly was jolted from her thoughts of mistletoe sprigs and pushy sisters as the wind began to blow harder, signaling the approach of the storm. The temperature was dropping as well and she hugged the little calf closer, now growing impatient with the repairs.
“Olaf?” she called out. “Can I bring the calf inside? I must return to the house soon.”
The old servant appeared in the doorway of the barn, waving her over, and she hurried over to him and put the calf into his arms. The wind then chased her all the way back up to the main house, the great and stately manor of Thulston, built on a rise overlooking a small creek that emptied into the River Derwent.
Built in the shape of a giant “L”, the manor had a very tall wall that surrounded it and two small gatehouses built in the shape of dovecotes, with six sides. Great iron gates were built into these small gatehouses, massive iron things with heavy locks. There was also a small moat that surrounded the manse, a moat filled with green and growing things, vines to entangle a man should he be foolish enough to try and swim it. There were two wooden bridges that extended from each small gatehouse, bridges that were retracted when night came.
But today, the bridges were straddling the moat and the gates were open as guests began to arrive. As Holly approached, she could see at least three fortified carriages near the main gatehouse, the one that funneled guests into the walled gardens of Thulston as they made their way to the house. The gardens were impressive, in fact, and in the warmer months were full of lavender, flowering vines, and herbs. The gardens had once been her mother’s domain but now it was Holly’s and she was quite proud of it.
But she didn’t go in through the front gatehouse where the guests were. Instead, she went through the side gatehouse which had a path leading to the rear of the house where the kitchens were. Entering the hot kitchens, servants preparing food for hundreds of guests, she passed a practiced eye over the dishes being set out before heading up the servant’s stairs to the living quarters above.
There were several chambers on this level used by the family as well as by the servants. Holly’s chamber was at the end of the “L” shape, a room that faced over the gardens and the front gatehouse. She rushed into her chamber to dress for the evening to come. Although she wasn’t eager to attend her own feast, it was expected of her and, often, duty took precedence over her wants. Opening and closing doors on her way to her chamber, however, she had attracted the attention of her sisters. Their chamber was at the opposite end of the corridor.
Holly could hear them hissing to each other, no doubt trying to plan some other kind of mischief against her this evening. She had to be prepared with those two because they were always attempting to trick her in one way or another. They never got away with it, however, because Holly was older and smarter than they were, but they certainly did everything in their power to push her any which way they could. Tonight, Holly feared their foolery would be taken to an entirely new level with the lure of young men about.
She would have to be on her guard.
In the corner of her chamber was a wash basin with a white cake of soap. Holly stripped off her gray woolen gown, leaving her clad in her shift as she called the servant for warm water. The serving woman scurried out of the chamber in her quest to collect the warm water. While Holly waited, she went to her wardrobe to find the dress she would wear.
Even though her sisters had their clothing for the festival selected long ago, Holly hadn’t bothered. As she carefully brought forth dresses that had been hanging on pegs, she was still loath to select a gown. She knew her father had invited young men to get a good look at her, and she at them, and she was deeply ashamed at being paraded around like a prize mare for the taking.
She shouldn’t even be in this position at all.
Laying the dresses out on her bed, she shook them out, inspecting each one and trying to decided which garment would be best for this festive winter’s night. She was quite convinced that she would wear something plain and unappealing for the fortune-seeking men who would want to marry her. Perhaps if she dressed poorly, no one would want her. Even as she looked at her clothing, inevitably, her gaze drifted to the table on the other side of her bed, the one near the window that held things like her sewing and her writing implements.
Also among those possessions was a box given to her by the man she had loved, a man she should have married this summer past. But instead of a groom, she had received a letter from a priest informing her that Sir Adam Summerlin had been killed two years earlier in a battle at a city called Arsuf. Some faceless, soulless city in some country she had never even heard of had swallowed up her Adam and spit out the pieces.
Devastated hadn’t quite covered how she felt upon receiving the news. Shattered, broken, dark, and desolate. Those were terms she would have recognized, terms to encompass her emotions. When the terrible news had been delivered, her father had immediately written to Adam’s father only to discover the man had been dead since the previous year and Adam’s brother was now Lord of Blackstone Castle.
It was Adam’s very young brother who had written to King Richard, demanding to know what had happened to Adam, but that had been six months ago. Holly wasn’t sure they would ever receive a reply and there was a horrific sense of loss without a body to grieve over. Perhaps they would never know what really happened. The only fact they did know for certain was that Adam was gone and Holly had been unable to face it.
Leaving the dresses on the bed, she went to the table and gazed at the small, painted box that Adam had delivered to her with his own hands. After a moment’s deliberation, she sat down in the chair next to the table and pulled the box towards her, carefully opening the lid to reveal the treasures inside – a dried, pressed Forget-Me-Not, a clipping of Adam’s blonde hair tied with a red ribbon, a piece of rolled up, dried grass he had been chewing on the first time she had met him. He’d been lazily chewing the grass and she accused him of being a goat. It had been the start of a beautiful relationship and she’d kept that piece of grass, all of this time.
There was also a delicate gold chain in the box that Adam had sent to her when he’d passed through Paris on his way to The Levant when he left on crusade. He’d paid a young man a tidy sum to deliver it to her with the promise of more money once he put it in her hands and Holly had paid the boy well, considering he could have run off with the chain and sold it
Now, the chain had a very special place in her box. Not as much as the flowers he’d give her, or the lock of hair, or even the grass, because those were things he had physically given to her. The chain had come by messenger and, although it was precious, she’d never worn it. She’d wanted A
dam to put it on her when he returned, but that moment never came. The chain sat, unworn, in the box. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it.
She wasn’t sure she ever would.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Holly?” Rose and Lily were standing at her door, knocking on the door frame. “May… may we enter?”
Holly quickly shut the lid of the box, standing up from the table and frowning at her sisters. “What do you want?” she demanded. “If you have come for the mistletoe, I burned it.”
Rose and Lily looked at each other, torn between anger and repentance. “But why?” Rose, the more outspoken, wanted to know. “Do you not know why we put it beneath your pillow? We want you to have sweet dreams of a future husband.”
Holly’s cheeks flushed a dull red as the forbidden subject was presented. “I told you not to speak of this,” she said. “I will not be pushed by you two, do you hear? I have told you that before.”
Lily, more gentle that Rose, came into the room. “Please, Holly,” she said softly. “We are not trying to push you, but you are so beautiful and… and smart and… and rich. You would make a fine wife for any man. It is not fair that you do not marry!”
Holly lifted an eyebrow at her youngest sister. “Fair for whom?” she asked. “Me? Or you? Oh, I know what you two think. You have been vocal about it because the servants are even speaking of it. Papa will not allow you two to entertain suitors as long as I remain unmarried. Do you think I’ve been blind to what you have been saying? Of course I know.”
Lily’s face fell. “Please,” she begged. “Will you not at least consider it? I do not want to be a spinster. Why, Eleanor le Marche is a year younger than me and she is already betrothed! I am ashamed that I cannot even entertain an interested man!”
It was gearing up for a battle, tonight of all nights. In all this time, Rose and Lily had never spoken directly to Holly’s face of their desire for her to wed so that they would be able to wed themselves, but Holly knew their foolish desires and she didn’t care. She’d heard the servants whispering about it and it only served to feed her stubborn streak. No one was going to make her do something she didn’t want to do.
She held up an angry finger to her sisters.
“It is no concern of mine if you two do not marry,” she said. “I will not allow you to force me into something I am not willing to do.”
“That is not fair!” Rose said. “If you want to waste your life away without a husband, that is your business. But your selfishness is going to cost Lily and me a great deal!”
Holly’s eyes widened in outrage. “Selfish, am I?” she seethed. “I loved a man. He is dead now. I do not want anyone else and the fact you are trying to force me into finding a husband only speaks of your selfishness. You do not care what I feel, only what you feel. Now, get out of here before I start throwing things. I do not want to see you, either of you!”
Lily pouted and turned for the door while Rose stood her ground. She was furious and near tears. “Just because your heart has shriveled away does not mean our hearts are the same,” she hissed. “We want a home and children. If you take that away from us, I will hate you forever, Holly. Do hear me? I will hate you until I die!”
With that, she spun on her heel and stormed from the room, pushing Lily out and then slamming the door behind her. Holly was left standing near the table with the precious things upon it, trembling with rage and disappointment and sorrow as Rose’s words echoed in her head. Was it true? Had her heart shriveled away? And was she so dead inside that she didn’t care what happened to her sisters in their hopes for a bright future?
Perhaps. Perhaps she was everything they said she was. But she couldn’t bear to even think of being wed to another man. Oddly enough, Adam’s memory had faded and her grief had dulled with the memory, but her resistance to marriage had remained. She honestly didn’t even know why she was so resistant anymore, other than the fact that she seemed to associate marriage with death. She was to marry Adam but he died. Was it possible she was afraid to marry, afraid of another death somehow? Or was she simply afraid of having her heart broken again?
She wondered.
Reclaiming her chair at the table, she sat down and put her hand on the box, simply touching it. She didn’t try to open it. An icy wind slithered in through the lancet window above the table and she looked up, noticing that it had started to snow again.
A single tear fell from her eye as she wished, with all of her shrunken, shriveled heart, that she was not expected at a feast in her honor. The last thing she wanted to do was pretend she was happy when, inside, she was as cold and desolate as the December snow.
PART THREE: YET IF HOPE HAS FLOWN AWAY...
Impressive.
That was the knight’s first impression as he traveled up the road in a light snow, seeing the manor house of Thulston in the distance. He could see the enormous house on the rise, warmth and light radiating from the windows as it nestled in hills covered with white powder. It was a two-storied structure built from stones of different colors; the wall around the place was built of stones with a reddish tinge while the house itself seemed to have stones of a grayish tone.
With the light snowfall and the angle of the sun, it was difficult to truly see the colors but he could most definitely see the complex as a whole. The thought of spending the night within those warm, comforting walls drew at him even more than the lure of an heiress did.
Oh, to be warm again….
He could also see a few carriages near what seemed to be the main gatehouse, a small covered structure with a peaked roof. People were moving about, being ushered out of the carriages and into the gatehouse. This feast, this home, seemed to be a popular destination and the knight was coming to wonder if there had been invitations sent out or if the event was simply word of mouth.
It was true that it was an unspoken rule that anyone seeking shelter in these great houses, especially in weather such as this, was welcome, but he didn’t want to find himself relegated to the barn because he was not an invited guest. Therefore, he held the kerchief he’d found at the ready. It was his very reason for coming and he would wield it appropriately.
It was his invitation.
He kept his eyes on the small gatehouse as he approached, seeing that there were at least four soldiers that he could make out and several servants helping guests with their belongings. Beneath him, his horse grunted and snorted as the flakes of snow found their way into big horse nostrils. The animal didn’t like that. So he shook his head, trying to shake the water out of his nose, as the knight slapped the big neck affectionately.
“Just a little longer, Talan,” he said. “A little longer and you shall be housed in a fine stable with plenty of food to eat. Quite a change from our normal nightly accommodations, eh, old man?”
The horse continued to toss his head unhappily.
The pair plodded onward, coming to the turnoff where a smaller road led to the manor house. Just as the priest had said, the house, in general, was not difficult to miss and especially not difficult in this early evening as the light began to fade and the house was lit up festively. The knight made the turn to the house but slowed his horse as a carriage in front of him was offloaded. The people inside, an older man and a young woman who were both bedecked in jewels and fine fabrics, were helped out by servants dressed in red and yellow tunics.
The knight watched the pair head in through the gatehouse and the servants finished pulling their belongings off of the carriage. Then, the carriage lurched forward to move out to the livery and the knight followed, now finding himself at the mouth of the gatehouse. He was about to speak and present his case, as he had the ladies’ kerchief in-hand, but one of the guards standing at the gatehouse simply waved him in.
“Go with your lord,” he said, sounding impatient as a servant approached. “We’ll take your horse to the stable. Does he bite?”
The knight quickly realized that the guards thought he was with the couple that h
ad just arrived. It was clear they believed he was in service of the man with the bejeweled tunic. Aware that his admission to the feast had now been easily made, the knight didn’t dispute the guards’ assumption and dismounted the horse, collecting his saddlebags as he played along with their beliefs.
“Nay, he does not bite,” he replied. “But he is very hungry so make sure he is well fed.”
A servant took the horse by the reins, leading him away as the knight slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and headed in through the small gatehouse. He maintained his composure until he passed the guards. Then, he puffed his cheeks out in relief, took a pause to collect himself, and continued into the garden.
The great garden was mostly dead at this time in winter but thoroughly charming with the coating of snow. It glistened in the fading light, looking like a magical fairyland all covered in white. He followed the dirt path around the pond in the middle of the garden and continued on towards the house. He remained well behind the older man and younger woman before him, not wanting to be noticed.
Still, the smells of food and the sounds of music were luring him in and by the time he reached the door, a trio of servants converged on him.
“Welcome, my lord,” the first servant said. “Will you be staying the night?”
The knight nodded. “I will.”
“Are you alone or with your wife, my lord?”
“Alone.”
He pointed to the servant standing next to him. “Teobald will take you to the designated dormitory for bachelors,” he said. Then, he extended something to the knight. “And this is your mask, my lord. Lord Perot asks that you wear it until midnight when all guests will then unmask on the hour.”
The knight looked down at the item the servant was holding out to him; it was a mask made of painted fabric on some kind of wooden frame. The fabric was dark and there were nasty white eyebrows painted over the cutouts for the eyes. It was rather sinister-looking but he took it and followed the designated servant through a doorway immediately to the left.
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 18
