Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Bandits?” she whispered, looking furtively into the bushes on either side of the track.

  “We are relatively safe on this well-travelled road in daylight. The Romans built this thoroughfare they called Watlingestrate,” he explained in the hope of taking her mind off the fear he himself had planted there. “Although it was apparently an ancient route from the coast to London even long before that.”

  He was relieved when her shoulders relaxed. “You seem to know a lot about the history of this place,” she conceded, though she didn’t smile.

  He hesitated. If he told her of his origins she would become even more aloof. But what did it matter? “I visited these shores many times before I came here with William. My ancestral roots are in this land. I am from Bretagne.”

  She stared, looking like she’d swallowed one of his imaginary bees. He’d destroyed any hope of a friendship between them. Perhaps it was as well.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  OYSTERS

  The villa was impressive, but Victorine wouldn’t divulge her opinion of it to Dervenn. Though the Romans had left England hundreds of years before, it was evident the villa had been lived in since those times. The elaborately tiled floors were chipped and cracked, but still breathtakingly beautiful.

  She wasn’t impressed that the soldiers in their escort and the Norman servants were to eat at a table adjacent to her own. She didn’t want Jumelle associating with riffraff. However, at least she’d been assigned a small chamber of her own with a pallet for her maid. Sharing with Guerlaine during the long wait for the weather to clear had been a trial.

  Dervenn, seated next to her, came to his feet as Saxon servants appeared with trenchers. His grin was unsettling. “For an appetizer, we have a local delicacy. Milton Regis is famous for its oysters.”

  She came close to grimacing in loud disgust with the other girls when the trenchers were placed on the table. She regained her ladylike composure just in time. “Surely you don’t expect us to eat those?”

  To her annoyance Marie de Monluc seized one of the shells. “We have these at home,” she exclaimed.

  It was the first time Victorine had seen the girl smile. She was actually quite pretty. More cries of revulsion followed when the silly child tilted the shell to her mouth and let the loathsome sea creature slide down her throat.

  Victorine feared she might be sick, but her dismay was tempered when Marie’s smile disappeared and a tear trickled down her cheek. “Papa loved them,” she murmured.

  Dervenn frowned, but quickly reached for one of the shells. “Then I salute your Papa. He was obviously a man of good taste.”

  With that he tipped the oyster into his mouth, but, unlike Marie, he chewed a few times before swallowing. “Sweet,” he declared, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

  Marie wiped away her tears, preened at the praise and reached for another oyster.

  Apparently emboldened by the child’s enjoyment, one or two of the others tried them. All seemed pleasantly surprised by the taste, but Victorine remained determined not to demean herself by eating offal from the sea.

  “King William loves oysters,” the knight declared with his mouth full. “He considers them a great delicacy.”

  She was torn. She didn’t want the Breton informing her guardian of her reluctance to try the creatures. The other girls had enjoyed them. Gritting her teeth she reached for one of the shells.

  “Make sure it’s not too clear,” the scarred fool advised, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “They should be opaque. Means they’ve been well fed.”

  If she looked too closely at the glob of creamy flesh floating in what she assumed was seawater, she might retch and that would never do. Saying a silent prayer she tipped the oyster into her mouth and swallowed.

  Utter silence reigned.

  Relief surged. They were salty and sweet at the same time, the aftertaste pleasantly briny. “Quite good,” she conceded, reaching for another.

  The Breton leaned towards her, a strange half smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They say oysters are a powerful aphrodisiac,” he whispered.

  She was tempted to slap his ruined face, but her thoughts became muddled by a rush of unwelcome heat. It was intriguing how the Romans had managed to design dwellings that were alarmingly hot even in winter.

  ~~~

  Having made sure his charges were all tucked up in their beds and the guards awake at their posts around the villa’s perimeter, Dervenn retired to his pallet in the stables.

  The meal had been a success and he was happy he’d managed to remove some of the sadness and apprehension from the faces of the young orphaned women, especially Marie. Her love of oysters had been a happy coincidence.

  Even the pouty Victorine de Toeni had allowed herself to smile once or twice, and she had definitely enjoyed the local delicacy. But he ought to have squelched the urge to tease her with his comment about aphrodisiacs. He doubted she even understood the meaning of the word, though her deep blush had caused pleasant stirrings at his groin. He wondered absently if the flush had reached her breasts.

  He drew the blanket to his chin, resolved to think no further on the possibility of a relationship with the snobbish chit. William had hinted he could have Victorine if he wanted her, but he had no interest in spending his life with a woman forced to share his bed.

  On the morrow he would deliver her and the rest of his charges to the king, and that would be that.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  WESTMINSTER

  It was apparent to Victorine as they broke their fast the next day that the Breton knight had won the regard of the other girls. It was irritating. They oohed and aahed when he announced they would ride for an hour or two then board a barge to sail up the Tamesis to Westminster.

  Evidently all it took was the charm of a handsome knight to make them quickly forget the recent voyage across the Narrow Sea.

  Except he wasn’t handsome, though perhaps before his disfigurement…

  She clenched her fist in her lap and nibbled on the fresh bread and creamy cheese, resolved to think no further on Dervenn de Roure and his charm, or lack thereof.

  The prospect of travelling along the mighty river she’d heard so much about was preferable to spending several more hours on horseback. Her derrière was still sore from the ride to Milton Regis. She’d never in her life spent an entire day on a horse. Her father deemed females unsuited to riding. Her brothers had taught her. Papa would have been furious if he’d seen the three of them cantering across the fields of the estate, she riding astride. As a member of Duke William’s elite cavalry, he’d rarely spent time at home.

  A familiar lump rose in her throat. Her beloved brothers were lost forever.

  “Did you survive the oysters, demoiselle de Toeni?”

  She clenched her jaw, the Breton’s teasing tone raising her hackles. “I am well, thank you,” she replied. “Are the horses ready?”

  Satisfied that she’d reminded him of his place, she rose from the table and sauntered outside, perplexed to discover it was pouring rain.

  ~~~

  Dervenn hoped the rain would stop by the time they embarked at Gravesham. Though now only a drizzle, the moisture from the heavens had done nothing to improve Victorine’s mood. She wasn’t an expert rider—surprising for a woman from such a high ranking family. He had a suspicion she was uncomfortable after yesterday’s ride, though it was unlikely she would admit it.

  She seemed lost in thought and her sadness perplexed him. He’d seen a hint of her beauty with yestereve’s rare smiles and wanted to coax it back. “I knew your brothers,” he told her.

  She glanced across at him sharply, the pain of loss evident in her green eyes. He wondered if perhaps she’d been thinking of them. “They were fine men,” he said.

  For a moment he thought she might burst into tears and he wished he’d chosen another topic of conversation. But then she nodded. “Yes, they were. I miss them.”

  It was a chink in the
armor.

  “I knew your father too,” he added.

  She stiffened her shoulders. “I expect you did,” she replied. “He was known to everyone.”

  The armor was back in place, but the momentary glimpse into the heart of Victorine de Toeni told him her father hadn’t treasured the jewel he had in his daughter. But then he had met the arrogant sod and wasn’t surprised. It saddened him. He suspected her brittle exterior was a defense against years of neglect. It was a shield only a determined man would have any hope of breaching.

  His memory went back to the Saxon shield wall at Hastings. For hours William’s forces had despaired of ever breaking through that impenetrable barrier. Yet they had.

  “The river,” Marie cried from beneath the protection of his cloak. “I can see the river.”

  It lightened his heart that the sun chose that moment to reappear. “And the rain has stopped,” he replied. “A good omen.”

  He risked a glance at Victorine, unsure whether what he saw on her rain-dampened face was hope for a new beginning in Westminster or despair at the hurts of the past.

  He too had a peculiar sense he was at a crossroads. Did he have the courage to pursue the campaign to conquer Victorine’s heart? Better to take himself off to some godforsaken part of William’s new kingdom and lick his wounds.

  He’d never considered himself a coward, but the challenge of winning over Victorine de Toeni was more daunting than any battle he’d ever fought. Military strategy he understood, but the way into a woman’s heart?

  ~~~

  It was an honor to be sailing up the Tamesis in a barge sent by King William. They drew many a curious eye as they passed, not all of them friendly, which served to remind Victorine they were in a hostile land.

  However, she barely paid attention to any of the points of interest Sir Dervenn indicated, fascinated by the muddy river itself. It was wider than she’d expected, perhaps as wide as the mighty Seine, another river she’d never seen but heard a great deal about.

  When her maternal grandfather was still alive he’d regaled her and her brothers with tales of their Viking ancestors sailing longboats up the Seine into the heart of the Frankish kingdom and capturing Rouen.

  They’d left Norway in search of a new life. She was on a journey to an uncertain future, one that would be laid out for her by a king.

  She just wished the Breton would stop staring at her.

  She was tempted to ask him if he knew how her brothers had died. Had he been there? Did she really want to know? Fritz and Charles were gentle, fun-loving souls who weren’t suited to the warrior life their father imposed on them, but it was of some solace to think they’d died bravely and with honor.

  The long voyage in December proved to be a bone-chilling experience and by the time they arrived at the Palace of Westminster, she had lost feeling in her fingers and toes. She feared her nose must be as red as a winter beetroot.

  She was anxious and excited to meet her guardian for the first time, but it was a relief to learn the audience would take place on the morrow. Mayhap by then her frozen extremities might have thawed.

  It was a bitter disappointment when they were ushered into a large musty-smelling chamber whose walls were lined with a dozen pallets.

  She turned to express her outrage to Sir Dervenn before it came to her that he hadn’t accompanied them from the dock to the Palace. He must think her manners atrocious. She hadn’t even bidden him farewell.

  Thoroughly dejected, she traipsed into the chamber behind the others.

  “Oh well,” Guerlaine remarked. “We won’t be here long.”

  “Why not?” Marie asked sleepily.

  “King William will soon find husbands for us, silly,” Guerlaine replied. “If he hasn’t already.”

  Victorine claimed one of the pallets, not understanding the peculiar resentment that she wouldn’t be allowed to choose the man she wed. It was ridiculous. She’d never had a say in anything affecting her life, so why the choice of a mate should matter…

  A mate.

  The notion of spending her life in a loveless marriage filled her with dread. She didn’t want to live like her mother, chained to a brutal man who didn’t know the meaning of the word love.

  Servants toted in the iron trunks. She identified hers and stood stoically as Jumelle got her undressed and ready for bed. She’d never known the girl to have such cold hands, but couldn’t find it in her heart to chastise her. It was a sad truth that a peasant had for years been her only female confidante.

  No pallet had been provided for Jumelle. The other four or five servants huddled together near the cold hearth with only their damp cloaks for warmth.

  She curled up on the pallet and drew the icy linens up to her chin. Feeling gradually returned to her fingers and toes, but she couldn’t stop her teeth chattering.

  Jumelle curtseyed. “Sleep well, milady.”

  Victorine had never shared a bed with anyone, but…

  “Climb in here,” she whispered, lifting the linens. “We’ll sleep back to back.”

  The girl looked at her as if she’d lost her wits, but then quickly cast off her cloak and shyly climbed between the linens.

  As the chamber gradually quieted, exhaustion claimed them. Victorine drifted off, comforted by the warmth of another body pressed against hers.

  UNKISSABLE KNIGHT

  INTERVIEW WITH A KING

  Shortly after dawn the next day, Dervenn was ushered into the royal antechamber where he bent the knee before his monarch.

  William, clad in a long linen nightshirt with a blanket around his shoulders, smiled and came forward to embrace him, pulling him to his feet. “Dervenn! Bienvenu! Forgive my attire. It’s cold and damp in this wretched place. I do not know how the Confessor tolerated it.”

  The king seemed to have conveniently forgotten that Harold Godwinson had ruled England after the Confessor’s death, but then William had always maintained Harold had stolen the throne promised to him.

  Having spent a fitful night in a cramped and dingy barracks he had to agree about the conditions. “Westminster lacks the comfort of Norman buildings, but I am confident Your Majesté will soon put matters to rights. I caught sight of the construction of the new castle as we came down the Tamesis.”

  William preened, gesturing Dervenn to a chair. “The White Tower will be the most magnificent castle in all of England. I intend for it to last a thousand years.”

  Dervenn laughed. “At least.”

  William shared the humor as he sat across from Dervenn. “So. These new charges of mine. I thank you for escorting them safely from Dover.”

  “My honor,” he replied.

  “Tell me about them.”

  Why was the newly crowned king of a conquered land concerned about a bevy of orphaned girls? “The youngest is seven,” he began.

  William waved a dismissive hand as if shooing away a pesky gnat. “Oui, oui. Marie de Monluc, but she is too young. In five years or so she’ll be a fine catch for some young nobleman. I was proud to call her father my friend.

  “However, I have knights to whom I have promised wives as a reward for their bravery. I cannot send them off unwed to the estates I’ve granted them. With a Norman wife of good family, it’s more likely they’ll establish themselves quickly.”

  This was news to Dervenn. He didn’t recall the king mentioning the reward of an estate, nor did he particularly relish the notion of occupying lands confiscated from Anglo-Saxons. He decided silence was the best reply.

  “What did you think of the de Toeni girl?” William asked.

  Dervenn gripped the chair’s ornate arms and shifted his weight. He’d thought of nothing else all night long, worrying for some inexplicable reason about her comfort in this dank palace. “She is pleasing,” he replied.

  William guffawed, scratching his hairy shin. “A man of few words, as usual, my dear de Roure. She might be pleasing to look at, but she’s prickly, like her father. Do you want her or not?”
>
  Yes, he wanted her, prickles and all. Biddable women weren’t to his taste. But she would never accept him, never love him.

  However, giving voice to such fears would sound maudlin to a man like William. “Non, majesté,” he replied. “I will not marry.”

  William pointed to his own eye. “You think to hide from life behind your disfigurement, mon ami?”

  Dervenn bristled. William had survived Hastings unscathed. Who was he to judge how it felt to be horribly scarred for life? “You are right,” he replied with a strained smile. “No woman would want to wake every morning to this face.”

  William stared, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Victorine may not realize it now, but she needs a man like you. You are well suited.”

  “She won’t see it that way. I’m not a Norman for one thing.”

  “Bah,” William exclaimed as he rose from the chair. “On the morrow we mark the end of this month of December of Our Lord One thousand and sixty-six. The coronation has interfered with many traditional Yuletide festivities and tomorrow’s celebrations will hopefully make up for that. I intend to invite all my wards. See if you can’t charm the little minx.”

  The king’s perfunctory wave let Dervenn know the interview was over. He chuckled inwardly as he left the chamber thinking of Victorine’s reaction if she knew the monarch’s opinion of her. Little minx indeed!

  As he made his way along the narrow hallway, his male urges stirred when he conjured a vision of the minx in his bed. Life with Victorine wouldn’t be dull.

  Most men expected a wife to be obedient and subservient, something he suspected Victorine would never be, unless some brute beat the spirit out of her. He knew many who wouldn’t hesitate. The notion knotted his gut.

  ~~~

  Victorine had assumed her audience with the king would be private but deemed it inopportune to let her disappointment show. He must be busy with affairs of state and could hardly be expected to meet with each girl separately. No doubt a private ceremony would be arranged later for her to become acquainted with her betrothed.