A Knight’s Christmas Wish
A Medieval Novella
Lana Williams
Book 2.5 of The Vengeance Trilogy
Weary and injured, Sir Rylan de Bremont wants only to return home for Christmas after two long years away. But first he must deliver terrible news to a newly widowed lady.
Lady Kayte Dufrane has been miserable in her marriage to a gruff lord far older than she. Rylan’s news gives her freedom, but she fears her late husband’s brother will claim her for his own. This strong, handsome knight might be the answer to her prayers if she can convince him to help her escape.
Though Rylan has no desire to become embroiled in the beautiful Kayte’s dilemma, delaying his journey home, he can’t resist her pleas. Will his Christmas wish be filled with more than he bargained for?
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Chapter One
Sir Rylan de Bremont held tight to his reins as he waited at the portcullis of Cumberford Keep, determined not to fall from his horse. Mayhap the lady to whom he brought a message would be kind enough to offer him and his squire a place to lay their head for the night. A hot meal and a good night’s rest would go far to aid his ills. At least he hoped they would.
His horse stomped restlessly, causing Rylan to wince as a sharp pain shot through his side. A puff of steam rose from the steed’s nostrils, a testament to the cold, damp air that had followed them from France. The temperature had dropped even further once the sun had set.
The guards were taking their time deciding if they should allow him and his squire admittance. He’d told them he brought word of their lord. That should’ve been enough for them to raise the damned gate, yet here he waited, taking shallow breaths so as not to further aggravate his broken ribs or the deep slice that had accompanied the blow. Blackness edged his vision, a combination of weariness and pain.
“How much longer must we wait?” Joseph whispered. The young squire of fifteen summers was surely cold, tired, and hungry as well.
The darkness receded as Rylan focused on his duties. He turned his head to reassure the lad who’d been his companion for nigh on a year. “Any moment now, they’ll raise the gate.” At least he hoped they would.
“England is far colder than France.” The boy shivered beneath his woolen cloak as he spoke.
Rylan nearly smiled. “Nay. ’Tis cold in December no matter what side of the Channel you are on.”
“And what of Scotland? Will it be cold there as well?”
Joseph’s question made Rylan sigh. The thought of journeying to Scotland after their recent battles in France made him tired. So tired. Though he would see thirty years in a few months, he’d had enough of killing to last a lifetime.
“Aye. ’Tis farther north so most likely colder. But first we will celebrate Christmas with my family. That will make you forget about the cold.” Rylan closed his eyes for a moment as memories of past holidays warmed him. His family would gather for their traditional Christmas celebration. Mummers would perform. The church bells would ring. The scent of roasted meat would fill the air. Wassail would be plentiful, and laughter would fill his parents’ keep.
He’d been prepared to beg King Edward to be allowed to return home, however briefly. After nearly two years away, he’d become so homesick he nearly ached with it. Being in a foreign land surrounded by death made Christmas at home something he needed as much as air. The king seemed to have sensed the depth of his desire, for he’d granted Rylan’s wish readily enough with one small detour—a trip to Cumberford Keep to deliver news of Lord Rainald’s death on the battlefield to his newly widowed wife.
The older man had died with honor. At least he’d be able to tell the lady that. Rylan reached back to be certain Rainald’s sword was still bound to his saddle. The cold steel would bring little comfort to the grieving widow, but it was all he had to offer her.
The rattle and creak of chains echoed in the quiet of the night as the portcullis was raised.
Just a little while longer,
he told himself. Then he could rest. He blinked several times in an attempt to clear the fog in his head. His horse started forward with little urging, seeming to be as anxious as Rylan to seek shelter for the night.
He held the reins more firmly when several men-at-arms came into view on the other side of the gate.
“You bring news of Lord Rainald?” one asked as he stepped forward, torch in hand.
“Aye.” Rylan was too tired to point out the fact that he’d already told them so.
“Out with it.”
Rylan scowled. “I’ll be sharing it with the lady of this keep and no one else.”
“I have the authority—”
“No one else.” Rylan held the man’s gaze until at last he drew back a step. After fighting at the king’s side this long, Rylan well knew how to handle himself with men far more powerful than this man-at-arms.
“This way.” The guard turned and walked across the bailey as the portcullis closed behind them with a resounding thump.
Rylan kneed his horse then glanced back to be certain Joseph trailed behind him. He could feel the guards’ gaze upon them as they crossed the bailey and passed through another smaller gate. If they only knew how poorly he felt, they would realize he posed no threat.
The torch light barely held back the night, hiding most of his surroundings. The size of the bailey suggested a substantial holding but he could tell little else. A stable boy ran forward to hold their reins as they drew to a halt near the keep.
The long flight of stairs to the massive front door stretched before him and he nearly groaned at the sight. How could he possibly manage those in his present state? Then again, he’d already crossed the Channel and ridden for nearly three days. What additional harm could a few steps cause? The real question was whether he could dismount without falling.
Rylan shifted his focus to the message he needed to deliver. That was a trick Edward had taught him—to focus on the end goal and not the minor obstacles in his path. Would the lady be abed? Lord, he hoped not. He dearly wanted to deliver his bad news as soon as possible.
He wondered how she’d take her husband’s death. Rainald had been a gruff man quick to find fault with others. He’d drunk heavily, raised his voice far too often, but had been good with his sword. Rylan hadn’t cared for him, but that wasn’t a requirement for them to fight together. He guessed the man had been older than Rylan’s father. Rainald hadn’t spoken of his family, so Rylan didn’t know if he had any children.
Joseph hopped down from his horse and moved to assist him. Rylan gritted his teeth, threw his leg over his horse, held tight to the pommel, and eased to the ground. Based on the pain searing his side and the heavy feeling in his head, he had to wonder if the wound he’d received festered. He hadn’t bothered to remove his chain mail during their journey thus far. Joseph would need to help him do so to check it this night.
The guard started up the stairs, his torch casting shadows that danced over the steps.
Rylan frowned as the stairs appeared to shift beneath his feet.
“Are you well, sir?” Joseph whispered as he drew near.
With a quick nod to reassure both himself and the boy, Rylan started up the steps, relying on instincts rather than vision.
The guard didn’t seem to think anything of his slow progress but waited at the t
op of the stairs near the large door, holding the torch aloft.
Sweat beaded on Rylan’s forehead by the time he reached the guard—not a good sign. They entered the keep, going directly to the great hall where a fire burned in the massive hearth. A young, attractive woman dressed in a fine kirtle made of red velvet awaited them. Her dark hair was drawn back in a loose braid, leaving tendrils to curl around her heart-shaped face. The wariness in her blue eyes warned him that she was nervous about what news he brought. He supposed she must be Rainald’s daughter.
“My lady, this is the knight who—”
“Aye. Thank you, Thomas. You may go.” She waved her hand in dismissal, her gaze never straying from Rylan.
Rylan looked about the hall, wondering where Rainald’s wife might be. He hesitated to give the news to the man’s daughter. “May I speak with Lady Kayte, wife to Rainald?”
She lifted her chin almost imperceptibly. “I am she.”
Rylan did his best to hide his surprise. Why would Rainald have left to fight with the king when he had such a beautiful, young wife? He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “My apologies.”
This was going to be far more difficult than he’d imagined.
“You have news of my husband?”
* * *
Kayte breathed deep, hoping to calm herself. The knight before her stared as though unable to believe she was indeed Rainald’s wife.
Aye, well, some days she wasn’t able to believe it either.
Her father had arranged the marriage and nothing she’d said or done had swayed him from his decision. Land and gold had proven far more important than her. She’d always known that. At least in her head, but in her heart, she’d hoped she mattered. But she hadn’t. Nor had she since her marriage.
The knight appeared tired. Exhausted, in fact. Shadows marked his eyes, his brow creased. His dark hair was tousled. His face was flushed, odd since the air outside was frigid.
“Your name?” she asked when he continued to regard her silently.
He blinked. “Sir Rylan de Bremont. Pardon my behavior, my lady. Our journey has been long.” He glanced back at the young man who accompanied him.
“Nay. ’Tis I who must apologize to you.” She berated herself. She’d been so worried about what news he brought that she’d forgotten her manners. “May I offer you some sustenance?”
“That would be most welcome. But first…” His gaze held hers, and she could easily read the sympathy in their dark depths.
Her heart sped in response. An odd, uncomfortable war began deep within her. Elation that she might be free from marriage to a man nearly as old as her father, quickly followed by guilt. She’d never wished the man dead, only gone.
“I fear I bring terrible news.” The knight’s gruff voice pulled her thoughts back.
It was all she could do not to prompt him to speak faster. “Aye?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that Lord Rainald was killed on the battlefield in Flanders.”
Her knees buckled with relief. The knight reached for her arm, holding her steady. “How?” she managed.
He frowned as though reluctant to share the details. But she had to know.
“An arrow pierced his mail.” He continued to hold her arm, and she took comfort in his gentle touch.
“Did he…did he suffer long?”
“Nay.” But she knew he lied. Something in his eyes told her so.
She nodded anyway. Who was she to argue? Perhaps softening the truth made this easier for him.
“I have his weapon for you.” He turned stiffly and gestured for his squire to come forward with a sword.
“His brother, Harold, resides here. I’m certain he’d like to have it.” She stared at the blade glinting in the torchlight, still unable to believe the sudden change in her situation.
“Would you like me to speak with him?”
She looked at the knight again, touched by his kind offer. The less time she spent in Harold’s company, the better. “Aye. He’ll want to know the…details.” Again she wondered at the knight’s flushed face. “Please stay with us this night. We can offer you a hot meal, a fire at your back, and the comfort of a bed. ’Tis the least we can do after you’ve traveled all this way to bring us this…news.”
Rylan nodded, showing no emotion at her offer, but his squire looked quite relieved.
She turned to call for a maidservant and gave instructions for a meal to be prepared as well as a chamber. After another glance at the knight, she added. “Prepare a bath as well. These men have been travelling for several days now.”
Within moments, she had them seated by the fire with cups of ale before them and a trencher of food on the way.
“Who do we have here?” The slurred words of her husband’s brother sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She hated when he drank overmuch.
Rylan rose. He was a head taller than Harold and his broad shoulders were far wider. For some reason, that reassured her.
“Harold, this is Sir Rylan de Bremont and his squire. I fear they’ve come bearing terrible news.” She glanced to Rylan, hoping he’d finish the telling. Though she felt a bit guilty for throwing him to the wolves, he seemed more than capable of dealing with Harold.
“Oh?” Harold spotted his brother’s sword lying on the table. “What is this? Why do you carry Rainald’s sword?”
Kayte stepped back. Harold often threw things, and she preferred to be out of his path. Rylan frowned at her movement, and she offered an apologetic look. Surely the knight would understand after he’d spent a little time with Harold.
When Harold raised his voice, demanding to be told the reason the knight had his brother’s sword, she moved toward the stairs to seek her chamber, hoping Harold wouldn’t follow. Somehow, she knew he’d blame her for the news the knight delivered.
After all, he blamed her for everything.
Chapter Two
Kayte shut the door of her chamber behind her and leaned against it, relishing the silence. Only the faintest echo of Harold’s voice could be heard. She’d never grown used to his yelling.
“Who was it? Did they bring news of Rainald?” Anne, her aunt, rose from the bench where she’d been mending, hands wringing with worry.
“He’s dead.”
“Truly? Did they bring his body?”
“Nay. Only his sword.”
“Proof enough.” The older woman nodded, her gaze holding Kayte’s. “Saints be praised. You are a widow.”
“So it seems.” She’d prayed for her freedom for so long now that it didn’t seem real.
“That means Harold will be claiming you for his own. He might as well have been Rainald’s twin instead of his younger brother. They’re as alike as two peas in a pod.”
Kayte let her head fall back against the door. “I fear I’ve traded one set of problems for another.”
“Not if we leave as we discussed.” Anne knew all too well the challenges Kayte’s marriage had presented.
Kayte would be forever grateful to her mother’s sister for all the love and guidance she’d given her after Kayte’s mother had died. Anne had never married and so had offered to accompany Kayte to Cumberford.
“How? Two women traveling alone would be easy prey especially this time of year.” An image of the tall knight filled her mind. “Unless—”
“Unless?” Anne drew closer, hope in her warm, brown eyes. “What is it?”
“The knight who brought the news, Sir Rylan. Mayhap he would escort us.”
“To the Convent of Saint Gabriel?”
“Aye.” Kayte closed her eyes for a moment. Taking vows was a noble path for many but the idea of dedicating her life to God did not bring her joy. Still, it held more appeal than spending the years ahead with Harold. Surely she would find comfort in a life spent in a convent or, at the very least, some sense of purpose.
Anne patted her arm. “Did you invite him to stay?”
Kayte nodded.
“Then you must speak with him p
rivately as soon as possible. When he retires for the evening, seek him out in his chamber.”
Kayte’s mouth went dry at the thought. The idea of being alone in a room with the dark, handsome knight unleashed a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. “Surely I can speak with him in the hall at dawn when he breaks his fast.”
“What if he leaves beforehand? Nay. It must be this very night. We cannot risk him leaving without us. Somehow you must convince him to allow us to accompany him.”
Could she be so bold as to speak alone with the man? Yet Anne was right—she had to. She placed a hand on her middle, wishing all the flutters would cease.
* * *
Rylan gritted his teeth as Joseph tugged his chain mail over his head. Even with both of them working, it was no easy task. The lot of it fell to the floor in a heap, leaving Rylan in his padded aketon.
“You’re bleeding again, sir.” Joseph studied Rylan’s side where blood showed bright red, his dark eyes wide with worry.
“So I am. Help me with the rest of it so we can have a look.” No point in worrying the lad with how poorly he felt. The aketon came off with little effort. But when he attempted to remove his linen tunic, he realized it was stuck to his side with dried blood. He tried to ease off the garment but to no avail. “I’ll need some water to soak this.”
A knock sounded at the door. Joseph looked in askance at him and Rylan nodded, stepping closer to his weapon. These were troubling times, and he needed to remain on guard. Rainald’s brother, Harold, had seemed far too much like his brother, which was no compliment. He’d yelled, griped, and complained about everything from the manner in which Rainald had died to why they hadn’t brought back his body. Nothing seemed to please the man, and reasoning with him hadn’t been an option, not when he was drunk. Rylan intended to watch him closely while he was here.
After a glance out the door, Joseph opened it wide, bringing a frown to Rylan’s brow until he caught sight of a maidservant.
“A bath for you, sir, at Lady Kayte’s request.” She bobbed a curtsey then led the servants carrying a large wooden tub into the chamber. More followed behind with buckets of steaming water. Quickly, they set the tub before the fire and emptied the buckets into it. Another servant set down a small pot of soap and linens to dry with next to a small bench near the tub.
Vengeance 02.5 - A Knight's Christmas Wish Page 1
