Or perhaps some of it belonged to Sir Myles and he intended to remain some time past Christmas....
Her heart leapt to think so. Truly there was not his equal in her uncle’s hall, and probably all England, for looks or presence or even manner. He was a proud man, to be sure, but she knew now, not unjustifiably. Her uncle had spoken the truth when he had said she should be pleased by his persistence. She smiled and held her breath for some mark of greeting on his part and hoped he had returned because he had reconsidered his hasty departure.
When he barely glanced at her, she regretted her previous behavior to him all the more.
By this time, a groom had appeared, who helped Cecily dismount. Then she called out Giselle’s name, again claiming Giselle’s attention. “It has been so long!” Cecily squealed excitedly as Giselle approached her.
Giselle had forgotten how high-pitched Cecily’s voice could be when she was excited. Nevertheless, Giselle was truly happy to see her, and wondered what part Sir Myles had to play in this sudden and unexpected event.
Cecily embraced Giselle rapturously. “My dear, dear friend! How long it has been!” she cried as Giselle tried to draw breath, and not incidently see where Sir Myles had gone. She really should welcome him. It was her duty, at the very least.
Then she noticed something about Cecily that made her pull back and regard her friend with both envy and delight. “You are with child!”
Cecily’s smile was pleased and rather smug. “Indeed I am. Bernard is so thrilled! Of course, he takes all the credit, but I tell him, my dear, surely I have something to do with it! Isn’t that like a husband?” Her face took on a condescending expression. “You’ll find out eventually, I daresay,” she finished.
Despite Giselle’s annoyance, which she was sure was only temporary and occasioned by the fact that Sir Myles had not yet greeted her, she managed to smile and then glanced about once more, searching for him. He was dashing up the steps to the hall with his easy, athletic strides.
With a significant look at Sir Myles, Cecily took Giselle’s arm and steered her toward the hall. “Now you simply must tell me all about Sir Myles. Such a handsome fellow, and so determined! He simply insisted that I come to spend some time with you before Epiphany. He would not hear of a refusal, and he’s the kind of man you don’t refuse, is he not?”
“He knew how much I longed to see you again.”
“And I, you, my dear!” Cecily replied, squeezing Giselle’s arm. “But there was never the time, really. I was so busy with my household duties and Bernard and meeting the tenants and then we journeyed to London where I met so many courtiers—I’ll tell you all about it—well, I simply couldn’t spare a moment,” she finished with a beseeching smile that had something of smug self-satisfaction in it, too.
Giselle regarded Cecily with surprise. “I assumed Bernard would not allow you to come to see me.”
Cecily giggled. “Oh, dear me! Bernard not allow me? I can see you don’t understand the relationship between a husband and wife, my dearest friend. Naturally he was reluctant to let me visit. He cares for me so much, you see, he couldn’t bear to be apart from me, and he hates to travel. Well, I didn’t want him to be miserable on account of me, so I thought I had better stay home! I assure you, my dear, Bernard tends to my comfort as much as any woman could wish.”
Giselle suddenly felt as if she had been the victim of a monstrous fraud. She had been so sure that it had to be Bernard who kept Cecily from coming to her only to find that was not the case at all. Indeed, Giselle was beginning to understand how a newly married woman might find it easy to neglect her old friends for her new husband, especially if he was as desirable as Myles Buxton.
By now they had reached the hall, and once they had removed their cloaks, Giselle immediately spotted Myles. She wanted very much to go to him, if only to welcome him properly, but Cecily had a firm grip on her arm.
“Now you must tell me all your news,” Cecily continued in her high-pitched and rushed tones, glancing at Myles. “I simply must know all about you and Sir Myles. Are you to be married? Has he made an offer? What does your uncle think? It will be a wonderful match for you if he has. Really, such a good-looking fellow, and so polite! A bit quiet, though. He scarce said two words to me the whole journey here!”
No doubt because you wouldn’t let him, Giselle thought with growing frustration.
Cecily stopped talking and gave Giselle a brief hug. “It is good to see you again, Giselle. I really have missed you. Do you remember how we used to imagine sneaking out of our quarters and running away disguised as boys?”
Caught unaware by Cecily’s affectionate gesture as well as the sincerity in her voice, Giselle felt a flush of guilt. She had missed her friend, and she was glad to have her here for the holiday.
“This is a delightful hall!” Cecily declared, looking about her. “So nicely decorated, too. All your doing, I’m sure. I long to meet your uncle and all the noble company. Our life is so quiet, but then,” she finished with a giggle, “we are such an old married couple! Do you know what Bernard said to me the other day? It was so sweet...”
Giselle listened as Cecily rambled on, all the while trying to catch Sir Myles’s eye.
She didn’t succeed, and by the time she had showed Cecily to the guest quarters, relived some of their pranks at Lady Katherine’s and hurried back to the hall, he was nowhere to be found.
It was only by asking one of the servants who tended to the knights that she was able to discover that Sir Myles did not plan to leave the castle until the next day, because of the weather.
Giselle hoped it would snow for a fortnight. Then she hoped Sir Myles would join them at the high table.
Unfortunately, and after Giselle had spent longer on her toilette than she ever had in her life, Sir Myles did not come to the hall for the feasting or the dancing or the entertainment.
Did he want to leave without speaking to her? Did he hate her that much? But if so, why go to all the trouble to bring Cecily?
Also unfortunately, her uncle had obviously heard of his return, and was likewise disappointed by the nobleman’s reluctance to partake of Sir Wilfrid’s hospitality.
“If he’s such a fool, who wants him allied to us in marriage?” he grumbled after the abundance of food had been cleared away. “What did he expect of a well-brought-up young woman? That you would disgrace yourself and your family by panting after him like a bitch in heat? I tell you, I’m glad he’s not here, unmannerly lout! He’s ruining my Christmas!”
By this time, Cecily had realized that whatever had happened between Myles and Giselle, it wasn’t good. She seemed to feel the best thing to do was to talk loudly, over the muttering Sir Wilfrid, and to act as if rejecting Myles was now the wisest course of action possible.
“The servants tell me he’s gone to take his meal at an inn in the village, my dear,” Cecily reported, for once saying something Giselle wished to hear. “And he’s to leave at first light. Really, such eccentric, uncouth behavior! I was quite wrong about him, Giselle, and I think you should say a prayer of thanks that you are not to be wed to him!”
At last the mummers finished their performance, Cecily declared it was time she retired, and Giselle was able to return to her bedchamber.
Wearily she allowed Mary to help her disrobe. Although it was nearly midnight, she dismissed her maid with a brief reminder to awaken her at dawn the next day, Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas. Giselle felt completely and utterly exhausted, but several of the guests—besides Sir Myles—would be leaving tomorrow since the snow had stopped, and she had to make sure their departure went smoothly.
Once Mary was gone, Giselle slowly went to the small table where her brushes and combs lay. On it was a covered box about a foot square, with a small piece of parchment attached.
The parchment bore an inscription: “A final gift. Set them free, as you are. Myles.” Lifting the covering, Giselle found a cage containing a pair of turtledoves. They awakened at th
e influx of light and began to coo plaintively.
Giselle’s attention returned to the message, for there could be no mistaking the meaning of Myles’s words.
He was setting her free. He was confirming the end of their tentative betrothal, because he thought that was what she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
She set the cage down and covered it again, silencing the doves, before walking to her window and gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard. She idly watched the few sentries on the battlements. They were not in any state of watchfulness, for no trouble was expected and certainly not at this time of year, or after such foul weather.
Didn’t she want to be free of Sir Myles Buxton? Had she not often proclaimed her desire to have some liberty before she wed any man?
Then another figure caught her eye—a man coming through the gate and striding toward the stables.
She knew that stride. Without pausing a moment to think about what was proper or dignified or expected of a young noblewoman, Giselle grabbed a thick woolen cloak, snatched up the cage and ran from her bedchamber.
Myles entered the warmth of the stable and closed the door behind him. The familiar aroma of hay surrounded him, and his horse whinnied a greeting.
He noticed none of these things as he sighed heavily.
He never should have come back here. He never should have seen Giselle Wutherton again.
He loved her. He respected her. He wanted her. He needed her.
If he had required any confirmation of his feelings, his brief journey with Cecily Louvain would have provided it. Every moment in her presence provided incontrovertible evidence of the difference between Giselle and all the other simpering, helpless young ladies Myles had ever met.
If only he had not acted so arrogantly at the first! If only he had proceeded with patience and delicacy, gently wooing her. If only he had spent more time trying to understand her yearning for freedom!
What would it have cost him to wait a few months to announce their betrothal? Had she been asking so very much?
Instead, he had lost his chance, and he regretted it so much he could not endure being near her, knowing that she would never be his wife. Better by far to avoid her, and best of all to leave at first light. For that reason, he had elected to sleep in the stable, so that he could leave as soon as possible.
He hoped she appreciated his last present, and wondered if she had any idea of the cost to the giver.
With such thoughts for company, he saw that his stallion was properly bedded down, procured two blankets and proceeded to make his bed on a pile of straw. Then, as he unlaced his tunic, the stable door creaked open. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the figure who slipped inside and closed the door behind her, holding something in her hands.
“Giselle?” Myles whispered incredulously.
He was extremely aware that his heart was racing and that she had never looked more beautiful or more desirable. Her long, waving hair was loose about her, and her slender figure was wrapped in a cloak as if it were a royal robe. His brow furrowed as he tried to imagine what had brought her here, at this hour, and alone.
“I wanted to speak with you and you didn’t come to the feast.” As she came closer, he recognized the cloth-covered parcel in her slender hands.
She held her freedom. The one gift he could give her that she would not refuse.
“I wanted to thank you properly for bringing Cecily, and for the mare and all your other presents.” She was near enough for him to see clearly. Near enough to touch. “Thank you.”
“I wanted to make you happy,” he replied softly.
“You have.”
He swallowed hard. He had thought he was already suffering, but at her words, which seemed to him to be the confirmation that she was pleased to be released from their betrothal, he began to understand what true suffering was. He turned away so that he didn’t have to look at her.
And then she reached out and touched him. Gently. On his arm.
Unwillingly, yet powerless to resist, he faced her. Her gaze was puzzled, and he wondered that she couldn’t see his anguish, so very real to him.
“Sir Myles,” she whispered, holding out the cage, “I do not want this last gift.”
He stared at her as he struggled to comprehend her meaning. “You don’t want the birds? Then let them go.”
She nodded wordlessly and went to the door, where she released them into the dark night and then watched them fly away. As she did so, he realized that beneath her cloak she wore only her shift and thin slippers.
“You had better fly, too, my lady, before you are discovered here,” he said brusquely.
She slowly turned to face him once more. She closed the door and walked toward him with a determined expression he knew very well by now.
“I have released you from our betrothal,” he whispered. “Now you had better leave before you are discovered here, alone with me and in such attire, or your uncle may try to force a marriage between us.”
“Were you planning to depart tomorrow without speaking to me?” she asked, ignoring his warning.
“Yes. What is there to say?”
“I did not think you were a dishonorable man, Sir Myles.”
“I did not ask you to come here in your shift,” he said hoarsely.
“That is not what I meant. I was speaking of your challenge.”
Giselle held her breath while she waited to see if he would understand her meaning, or if she had done another foolish thing by coming here.
“What about the challenge? It is over, finished, done. I have lost, and so you are free.”
“I agree I am free in one way, Sir Myles,” she concurred softly, “but I must tell you that in another, I am not. I see I shall have to tell you plainly, sir, that you have triumphed. I am passionately in love with you.”
For a moment, she feared he was going to say he didn’t care. But only for a moment, for in the next, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, the heat of his passion reaching out and enfolding her, until she burned with equal fire. “Giselle, Giselle!” he murmured as his lips trailed across her cheek, only to return to capture her mouth again.
She held him tightly and felt his heart beating as rapidly as her own, his arms holding her as if he never wanted to let her go. But he did, drawing back slightly. “Are you sure? You were so determined—”
“Can you doubt it?” she demanded with a smile. “I am as determined in this, Sir Myles, I assure you, unless you do not want me anymore?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, returning her smile, his eyes full of happiness. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life as to have you for my wife.”
“Then I think I am not the only one passionately in love,” she observed with a low chuckle as she sighed and leaned against his broad chest.
“I acted like a conceited fool, Giselle. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I have, if you’ve forgiven me for trying to find fault with you from the moment I met you.” Her hands traveled up his back, feeling his muscles beneath his tunic. His body felt so perfect against hers, hard and strong and desirable. With tender yet powerful yearnings building within her, she lifted her face for his kiss.
Their lips joined, their breath mingling, and she felt his hands caressing her. Cajoling her. Asking her...
As her own hands began to respond in kind, he moaned softly, then reached around to lift her hands away. He stepped back, a warning look in his dark eyes. “Giselle, unless you wish to consummate our relationship right here and now, I am going to have to beg you to leave.”
She moved away from him, regarding him steadily. He was right, and she knew it. Just as she knew that he truly loved her, and that they could be wed as soon as they wished. Her uncle would certainly not stand in their way.
Myles stared in awe as Giselle reached up and undid the ties of her cloak so that it fell to the ground. “I have a gift for you, my love,” she whispered.
“What—?”
/>
“Take it. Take me.”
After that, there was no more resistance, and certainly no remorse, as he lowered her to his bed in the straw.
Sir Wilfrid frowned at the couple standing before him. “But, my dear,” he said, feigning a dismay he certainly didn’t feel, “I thought you wanted the right to refuse.”
“I have changed my mind,” his niece announced.
“A woman’s prerogative, Sir Wilfrid,” Myles observed.
“Yes, Uncle. A woman’s prerogative,” Giselle confirmed.
Sir Wilfrid could guess how she hated to fall back on that excuse, but it told him more about Giselle’s feelings for Sir Myles than a thousand words could have. “You wish me to sign the marriage contract, then?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And are you still willing to be wed to my niece, Sir Myles?”
“I am, sir.”
“Very well,” the older man replied. Then he smiled. “I am very pleased for you both,” he said, an unmistakably gleeful tone creeping into his words.
“Uncle?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“I...that is, we...we would like to be married as quickly as possible. Perhaps even today.”
“What?” This request was beyond Sir Wilfrid’s most imaginative expectation.
“I see no reason for delay, Uncle,” Giselle said firmly, all the while keeping hold of Myles’s arm. “We were going to have the feast of Epiphany anyway and we can just as soon make it a wedding feast. I’m sure Father Paul will be agreeable to a marriage blessing at the mass. It is not so difficult a thing for him to do. And so many of our friends are here anyway, it will save them all an additional journey.”
Sir Wilfrid leaned back in his chair and regarded the couple before him. So young and so eager. So happy and so desirous. So full of joy and love. So disheveled, and was that straw in Giselle’s hair?
The Knights of Christmas Page 18
