“Sir Villiers?” Benedick swung his attention to his steward. The old man appeared sleepy eyed and a bit disheveled, as if he had dressed hurriedly, but Benedick gave him no sympathy.
“I would have the keys to the keep, and then I would like to go over the accounts,” he said coolly.
“But ’tis Christmas Eve, sir,” Hardwin protested.
Benedick gave him a hard look for his insolence. “’Tis also the first opportunity I’ve had in five long years. I would have the records, if you please.”
“Yes, of course, sir.” The steward answered promptly enough, but he reddened slightly. “I will send for them at once.”
Benedick lifted his brows in bemusement. “Don’t you have them in your possession?”
Hardwin cleared his throat. “Noel keeps the books now, and the keys.”
Noel.
Not “your ward.” Not “Mistress Amery.” Noel. Had that infernal female invaded every segment of his life? He frowned, for he knew well the answer to that question. “Then see that you fetch them, immediately,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, sir!” Hardwin bowed and backed away, and Benedick waited, his temper festering. If the accounts were not in perfect order, he would send the girl home, promise or no promise. And before he was done, he would have a good reason why she had taken on tasks that were not her own.
Hardwin returned with keys and books in hand, in good time, and presented the most recent volume to Benedick without demure. Scanning over the pages, Benedick could easily read the small, well-formed letters and amounts. The expenditures were carefully detailed as were any incoming fees, rents and produce. Despite himself, Benedick was impressed. The girl had done a fine job.
Leafing back through the volume, he noticed the purchase of two chairs, sturdily built, for the good knight and his ward. Obviously that is why he had not remembered his seat. Benedick’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a small mark beside the exorbitant price paid for the furniture. He could not decide whether it was a small n or another notation. And what did it record, an overpayment or some extra amount due the purchaser?
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the mark.
Hardwin, who had been hovering around nervously, stepped closer. Then he pulled the book in front of him, leaned over and squinted at the page for a long minute.
Watching him, Benedick felt the fool, for he suddenly realized that his steward was no longer a young man. He had kept on all of the servants when he took over the fiefdom, without a thought to their age or abilities. Now he noticed the white of Hardwin’s hair and the slight tremble of his hands. His joints were swollen, and from the way he looked at the parchment before him, he might be half-blind, as well! No wonder he had given over some of his work.
Finally, the steward straightened. “’Tis Noel’s mark,” he said.
“And what does it do here?” Benedick asked, suspicious.
“It means that she used her own funds.” The old man stepped back, as if in disapproval, and Benedick echoed the sentiment. By faith, there was something totally unsettling about the girl buying him a chair, especially when he had more use for it than for her.
“She has her own money, sir, to spend as she wills,” Hardwin reminded him.
Benedick’s eyes narrowed, for the steward did not help the girl’s case with his hasty tongue. “On my keep,” he said. “And without leave of her guardian.”
Hardwin reddened, effectively silenced, as Benedick glanced through the remaining pages. He found Noel’s mark in several places, usually in connection with some frivolous purchase. Obviously Hardwin had no control over the girl’s buying habits.
At least she had the good sense not to try to make him pay for that expensive carpet on the floor of his chamber. She could take the thing with her when she left, for he had no use for it! Did she think she would soon be sleeping in the great room? Had she stayed there while he was gone? Benedick’s indignation gave way to a deeper disturbance at the thought, and he shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his seat.
“Is something troubling you, sir?” Hardwin asked.
Yes, and her name is Noel, Benedick thought, but he shook his head. He would take the girl to task rightly enough, for he wanted no claims on his household. He would repay her for his chair and send the other with her when she left. And, after she was gone, he would find an assistant for Hardwin, someone young and eager, like Alard, to help him with his duties without shaming him.
“I will speak with Noel about these expenses,” Benedick said. “Meanwhile, I will study the books at my leisure.” Nodding his dismissal, he let the steward go and turned his attention back to the pages.
Soon deep in study, Benedick began to feel a reluctant admiration for the skills of the person who had managed Longstone in his absence. It was hard to believe that such a young girl was responsible. As his opinion of her improved, Benedick reminded himself that Noel Amery was hardly more than a child. Forcibly he pushed aside the nagging memory of a dream in which she was very much a woman.
Benedick was not sure how long he sat there, but his concentration was finally disrupted by the tantalizing aromas of cooking food and something else—fresh, clean, inviting and vaguely familiar. He lifted his head.
Noel.
She was standing in front of him, looking more beautiful than he remembered in a scarlet silk kirtle that clung to the curves Alard had so enthusiastically pointed out. Annoyed to discover his squire had been more than correct in his assessments, Benedick jerked his gaze upward only to blink in surprise. Her lovely face was so somber, he bit back a groan. Surely she did not plan to resume their argument? How like a female to gain a concession and then ask for more. Unfortunately, this one was bound to be disappointed, for he had no intention of giving her even one more day past Epiphany!
“I have to know something,” she said, with an uncommon directness.
Ah, here it comes, Benedick thought, but there was nothing calculating or accusing in her eyes. They were bluer than the clearest lake, Benedick decided. Bluer than anything he had ever seen. And surely that hair was a shade of gold that he had never viewed before, shimmering over her shoulder like a bright wave, long and thick. Hazy remnants of his dream returned, and his fingers itched to see if those locks were as soft as he remembered.
“Is there someone else?”
Benedick’s head jerked up guiltily at her words. Someone else, who? His bewilderment must have shown on his face, for she glanced away and then began again, as if it cost her in effort.
“Have you a...another woman you wish to marry?” Benedick blinked, nonplussed by her question until he recalled her suggestion of the night before. Obviously she was unwilling to let go his keep, or him, as she had claimed then. Her words, forgotten, now returned to make him uncomfortable. Had she said she wanted only him?
Annoyed, Benedick shifted in his seat and glared at her, intent upon snarling a reply, but the bleakness of her expression stopped him. Something about her openness, her innocence, made him feel guilty. Yet he had done nothing except dream about her, and he was hardly responsible for that!
“No. As I told you last night, I have no use for a wife,” Benedick answered, firmly putting an end to the foolish discussion. Surely the girl was not going to press him again? Such boldness of speech astonished him. He had never known a female to talk so freely, and yet it was oddly refreshing. He grimaced at the thought and told himself she didn’t know any better because she was too young and unworldly.
“Good,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that seemed to light up the hall as it grew. Benedick found himself staring and determinedly looked away. “I would not like to use my Christmas wish to the detriment of someone else.”
“Christmas wish?” Benedick asked, his attention swiveling back to her. What was she about now? Did the girl ever make sense?
“My mother always said that Christmas wishes are bound to come true, especially for me since Christmas Day is my birthday. That is how
I got my name, you see.”
Benedick could only gape at her, unable to refute that kind of twisted logic. Christmas, birthdays and wishes were all equally nonsensical to his mind.
“I just wanted to make sure that you had no one else in your heart before I wished for you.”
“You are going to make a wish for...that I marry you?” Benedick asked, incredulous. She was a child, just as he suspected, despite her fine record keeping. He grunted in contempt. Nothing ever came from wanting, as he well knew. Hard work, struggle and pain were the only ways to get ahead, and even then, a man might never find peace.
“I am considering it,” she said, giving him another brilliant smile.
Determinedly Benedick ignored it and the warmth it seemed to invoke deep inside him. “Enough foolishness!” he said. “I want to talk to you about these.” His mouth tight, he thrust forward the account book.
“Not now,” she said, waving a hand in airy dismissal. “’Tis time for dinner, and afterward, you have something much more important to do!”
With a glance, Benedick realized that the trestle tables were filling with people, and he wondered just what it was about this dainty female that kept him so captivated he lost all sense of his surroundings. Not captivated. Irritated, he told himself with a grimace.
The meal was much better than the small supper the night before, and well satisfying to a man used to dungeon fare. As Noel pointed out to him, there were twelve dishes in keeping with the holiday, but he cared not for the number, only that there was plenty of pike, beef, venison, hare, cabbage and leeks, and a plum pudding. Even the presence of Noel in her presumptuous position beside him failed to turn his appetite, and he ate his fill, pleased with the food and the running of the household.
Nodding at Hardwin, Benedick commended the man, who reddened and looked to Noel, as if she were once again responsible. Frowning, Benedick turned narrowed eyes toward the girl, but before he could question her she had risen from her seat.
To his astonishment, she stepped to his side and took his hand, as if to pull him from his chair. He blinked in astonishment, for rarely did anyone touch him except Alard, who tended his mail. Her small fingers curled around his, warm and soft as silk, her skin white and smooth and unsullied.
“I have already chosen the Yule log, but, as master of the household, you must get it into the hearth,” she said.
“What?” Benedick stared at her dumbly, his attention still fixed on the feel of her.
“The Yule log. ’Tis tradition!” she said, flashing those white teeth at him.
The Yule log? Before Benedick could gather his wits, she was calling to the others and pulling him to his feet. He stood, yet still she held his hand in her own. It was dainty, like a child’s, but with a woman’s strength. Benedick felt heat travel up his arm and through his body to other, nether regions.
Swearing softly, he jerked away, ignoring her frown of dismay, but it was too late to escape his part in this absurd ritual. Already a surprising number of people were crowding around him, drawing on worn cloaks and chatting excitedly. Noel called them by name, and they answered her, faces wreathed in smiles, from small children to those wrinkled with age.
These were the residents of his keep, Benedick noted, and they all looked to him, waiting, expectant. Someone even tossed his heavy cloak over his shoulders, and Benedick grunted, resigning himself.
He would fetch the girl her stupid log, and then he would retire to his chamber in hopes of finding some peace in his own home—away from his ward and the flummery of Christmas.
Chapter Three
Noel’s “log” turned out to be a downed tree, with a trunk wider than a man’s chest. Benedick stared at it in astonishment, while the other onlookers gave approving nods and praised Noel for her choice. Were they jesting?
“It’s a...a tree!” he protested.
“Of course,” Noel replied. “It must be large enough to burn all through the twelve days of Christmas.” Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes sparkling as if she enjoyed his discomfiture. Annoying wench! He felt like telling her that the task of lugging this monstrosity back to the keep would hardly endear him to her, but he didn’t want to encourage her misguided wish to marry him.
“Like as not, it could burn through Easter,” he muttered.
“No, it shall do very well,” Noel said, gazing at the enormous length of wood as if she derived some deep, mysterious satisfaction from it. Benedick’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps she hoped he would kill himself getting it to the hearth. Then she would have his home and all else!
His ragtag group of followers, enlarged by the addition of several peasants, declared themselves ready and willing to assist him and were soon wielding their axes under Benedick’s direction. His surprise at their eagerness was swiftly tempered by the discovery that they intended to keep whatever limbs they managed to hack from the bole for themselves. He sent Noel a hard, questioning glance, but she only flashed her white teeth.
“’Tis tradition,” she informed him. Scowling at her, Benedick hefted his ax, determined that anything removed by the sweat of his own efforts was going back to the keep where it belonged. Tradition or not.
Even with his helpers, stripping the trunk of its limbs was an arduous and time-consuming chore that took most of the afternoon. The rest of it—on into early evening—was spent rigging up ropes enough to drag the trunk back to the keep. It was no little feat, and by the time they pulled it through the doors, Benedick was well and truly sick of Christmas and all of its attendant rituals.
Unfortunately, just depositing the fateful log in the hall was not enough. Now he must get it in place, and although the old-fashioned hearth took up a goodly portion of one wall, naturally, it was not big enough to hold Noel’s log. Glaring at her, Benedick leaned pointedly on his ax and wondered if he should throttle her now or later.
The angelic smile she sent him did little to improve his mood, for he was beginning to think that his innocent ward was not quite as beatific as she looked. His opinion was heartily confirmed by her next words.
“Just chop a bit off the end there, and it will fit nicely,” she said, as if serenely oblivious to his mood.
“Humph!” With a grunt, Benedick did her bidding while mentally tallying up the days left until Epiphany. He had never been so eager for the new year’s arrival.
“Wait! We have to save it!” Noel cried, looking horrified when he tried to heave the chopped pieces toward the woodpile. “We might need it later, just in case the Yule log burns out before the Twelfth Night.”
Benedick lifted his brows and looked askance at her. Was she serious? “That thing will burn until doomsday,” he muttered.
“Nevertheless, one can never be too sure,” Noel said, sending him a bright smile that annoyed him all the more. Sure, she was grinning. She hadn’t done any of the sawing or hauling.
“Besides, it’s part of the magic!” she said, in a breathless whisper hinting that all things were possible.
“Magic!” Benedick grunted. The girl was a blessed lunatic! Christmas wishes. Special logs. What next? He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how could he could escape her presence for the next eleven days.
“Now! Everyone gather around,” she called, clapping her hands in a delighted fashion, and Benedick was suddenly aware that their audience had swelled. So many faces that he did not know—servants, peasants and freemen—surrounded them, and Benedick’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Alard, close beside Noel. Too close, he thought, as the squire was jostled within touching distance of his ward. Where had the youth been this afternoon when he had been toiling over the tree trunk, Benedick wondered, giving him a glare. Alard only grinned impudently.
“Hardwin! Fetch the remnant!” Noel cried happily, and everyone stepped back so that the old steward could make his way through the crowd with much ceremony. Slowly, reverently, he held up a piece of cloth, and a hush fell over the assemblage as he reverently unfolded it.
Did
the steward have some sort of relic? A tooth from some long-dead saint or a sliver of the Cross? Benedick was even more contemptuous of such foolishness than he was of the pagan rituals for which they were often used. He had yet to see an object that possessed any special properties, for good or ill. Nor had he known any so-called magic in his life.
“Ahh.” A collective sigh arose from the peasants as Hardwin lifted his hand to display...a charred bit of wood? Benedick choked back his astonishment.
“’Tis a piece of last year’s Yule log,” Noel explained. Somehow she was no longer a part of the milling group but stood at the head of it, at his own elbow. “And you must use it to light the new one.” Hardwin held out the treasured chunk to him tenderly.
“Me?” Benedick grunted.
“Of course! You are master of the keep,” Noel said, investing his ownership with a sort of nobility that had heretofore escaped him. He watched her through narrowed eyes, but she only leaned closer, placing a hand on his arm. He looked down at the pale, delicate fingers, shocked at the intimacy. Why was she always touching him? Did she not know better?
“Do it, now,” she urged, and for a moment, Benedick was hard-pressed to recall exactly what she was talking about. “To a new Christmastide!” she said, stepping back. And Benedick had no choice but to light the proffered remnant and put it to the massive trunk that nestled tightly within the hearth.
As the new log caught fire, a shout rose up around him that surpassed any victory call he had ever heard, and Benedick jerked back in surprise. Although he had sometimes been feted for his bravery in battle, those instances had been rare and never so rousing as this one. Suddenly he was surrounded by smiling, cheering people, and it gave him a strange sensation, deep in his chest.
The Knights of Christmas Page 21
