With a snort, Benedick reached down, palmed the snow and struck the center of the wall in one swift movement.
“Humph. Not bad for a beginner,” she said. With a flash of even teeth, she smiled up at him, then reached down for another attempt. Benedick tried not to notice the way strands of gold escaped the hood of her cloak or the unconscious grace of her movements. Or the sweet curve of her behind when she bent.
Her second ball landed short of the first, and Benedick found himself wondering what the devil he was doing. He had come along ostensibly to watch Alard, who was nowhere in sight. “This is a pointless exercise,” he said gruffly, jerking his attention away from the sway of her hips.
“It is not,” she argued. “Can’t it qualify as some sort of knightly practice?”
Benedick thought of his kind of practice—killing—and grimaced. “Yes, ofttimes in the thick of battle did we pelt the enemy with balls of snow,” he muttered.
Noel’s trilling laughter told him she was not offended by his sarcasm. “We’ll need a big target,” she said, looking about the small garden. “Turn around.”
Automatically Benedick let her hands guide him, so that she stood behind him, then he jerked in surprise when he felt a hard whack on his back. Obviously she planned to use him as the “big target.”
Slowly turning, he prepared to berate her for such childish nonsense, but she was giggling with delight, her blue eyes sparkling, her grin so bright that he was struck dumb. Enchanted, more likely. He scowled.
“Come now, sir knight! Can you do as well?” For a moment, all Benedick could do was survey the tempting sight she presented, all pink-cheeked and fresh, lifting her skirt to expose one slender, curved ankle before disappearing behind the large ash.
Annoyed at himself for gawking like a dim-witted lad at her antics, Benedick skimmed some snow off a bush and packed it tightly. The minute she stuck her head from behind the tree, he tossed it. Unfortunately, she, too, was armed, and he got it right in the chest.
Her aim was improving.
As Benedick stood there listening to the sound of her laughter, he knew just how ridiculous it was to participate in her follies. He ought to quit now, regain his dwindling dignity as head of the household and return to his account books. His body was well past the age for games and his soul had never embraced frivolity, yet a flash of her blue eyes, daring him to play with her, made him linger.
She peeked out again, volleying another ball in his direction and Benedick took off after her, catching the edge of her cloak. She escaped with a whirl and a giggle and tossed snow into his hair. It felt good, cold and invigorating, and he lunged after her.
Grabbing only at air, Benedick heard himself laugh, and the discovery made him light-headed. And lighthearted. As he put up an arm to shield his face from a flying ball, he felt young again, as if she had infused him with an energy that gave him a different past and a new future. For once, Benedick forgot all else. He just wanted to reach out and seize the moment. Seize her...
Another miss, and he had her, his fingers closing around the soft fur of her cloak and reeling her in like a fish on a line. Grinning, he hefted a fistful of the chilly flakes in one hand, and watched her laughing protests as she tried to escape. Then, suddenly, she surprised him by falling backward as if in a swoon.
Leaning, Benedick caught her with one arm and stared into her delicate face, concerned. Then her lashes fluttered open. “I surrender,” she teased with a smile. Disgusted, he dropped her, squealing, onto the soft snow, but she grabbed his cloak and pulled him down on top of her. Automatically Benedick put down his hands to take some of his weight, as she chuckled beneath him. He was a heavy man and would not hurt her, even in jest.
Noel apparently had no such qualms, for she managed to tug strands of his long hair to drag his face closer. “Got you!” she cried delightedly. Although it pained him not, that slight jerk went deeper than his scalp. Benedick felt as if something shifted deep inside him as he looked down at her. Her lashes glistened wetly, her eyes glittered with mischief and her pink lips were parted in a soft smile. Flexing his elbows, he let his chest come to rest against hers, reveling in the gentle give of her breasts.
She did not look alarmed. Nor did she eye him with lascivious intent. Her clear gaze met his with a sweetness that made his throat ache, and somehow one of her gloved palms came to rest against his cheek. “Benedick,” she whispered.
He wanted her. Not just her body, but Noel, every bit of her, until he possessed her light, her joy, her very soul. Pressing his sudden hardness into the juncture of her thighs, Benedick took her mouth with his own, and the ensuing heat threatened to melt the snow that surrounded them. It went deeper than the kiss and the alignment of their bodies to his very heart, as if it, too, had been covered in ice.
And Noel was skating on it.
Benedick felt her fingers curl into his hair, heard the tiny sound she made, and knew the heady wonder of pleasing her. He brushed his lips against her cheek and her moist lashes and licked away a snowflake that had settled on her brow. She shuddered beneath him.
“Benedick,” she murmured, and he pressed his face against her white throat, seized with desire so strong that it made him weak, a need that surpassed the physical. Here, at last, was the haven he had so long been searching for, and he knew that if he would let her, Noel would welcome him home at last.
But he could not let her.
He was too old to change, too grim to romp in the snow, too coarse to give her what she deserved. The knowledge made Benedick lift his head and, with great force of will, he eased away from his ward. Below him, Noel blinked dreamily, her eyes drowsy with longing and gentleness and something else that he had never seen.
Benedick stared, and for one brief moment, he was tempted to believe in all of it: Christmas magic and wishes and even love, that most elusive of prizes. But he knew better. Rising to his feet, he pulled Noel with him and dusted off her cloak. Despite her protests, he sent her inside to dry, while he walked away, drinking in the fresh air in an effort to clear his mind.
He called for his mount to be readied and charged off across the white ground as if fleeing his own keep. And maybe he was. When he finally reined in the massive destrier, Benedick began to feel more in control of himself. This was a world he knew, of horses and hard riding, not tenderness.
Scowling, he paused to examine his behavior toward his ward, and found himself wanting. He ought to be discouraging her youthful fancies, not giving in to them and his own lecherous leanings. He was no better than his father!
Except it hadn’t felt like that at all.
Benedick shook his head. Lust was a part of it, to be sure, but there was so much else that he did not even begin to understand. All his fine intentions and logical arguments faded away when he saw Noel, when he held her, and then...she became the beacon for a new world, shining and bright and beckoning.
Chapter Six
Benedick. stood at the window, relishing the chill wind. The snow had melted, leaving sodden fields and patches of ice, and the white world in which he had frolicked with Noel, snatching a kiss in its pillowy softness, seemed as much of a dream as all the others.
And just as insubstantial.
Drawing in a deep breath, Benedick watched a lone soldier high on the wall. Not so long ago, that had been him, a young lad striving to be stronger, swifter, fiercer and more clever than all the others. And he had succeeded, all too well, growing impervious to cold, to weather, to feelings of any kind. He had killed not only others, but parts of himself. And now it was too late to call back those pieces that were missing.
“Reminiscing?”
Benedick started at the sound of Noel’s voice, so close and oddly baiting. He turned his head toward her in question, but she looked the same as always, guileless and beautiful, if more somber than was her wont.
“Reminiscing?” he asked, lifting his brows.
“Yes,” she said, with a nod toward the soldier. “You claim
you want rest and ease, and yet you fight me every time I try to tempt you to it. You wrap your past around you like a cloak, clinging to it as if for protection.”
“’Tis all I know,” he said gruffly, swiveling his attention to the outside once more. The last thing he wanted now was another lesson in Noel’s philosophy. Play and wishes were fine for her, with her angelic appearance and fairy ways, but he was more fit for grim reality.
“Nonsense. You can read and write and balance accounts. You can mete out justice fairly, and you are a leader of men. This is your keep, and you can see that its people thrive in the years to come. Look to the future, Benedick.”
Her soft admonition irritated him. What did she know of anything, a pampered girl of seventeen summers? He had seen things, done things, that would make her quail. Aye, that would make a grown man weep!
“Go away,” he said curtly. “Your prattle becomes tiresome.” He stared stonily out into the bailey and wished her lilting voice and merry habits gone.
But Noel was never tractable. “I see,” she said sharply as she stepped in front of him, blocking his view. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared up at him, with a boldness that astonished him.
“Now let me make sure I understand. You spent half your life working to improve your lot in the only way possible, through the noble knighthood, and now you would spend the rest of your life atoning for it.”
Benedick flushed with rage. Did the wench dare to mock him?
“Do you know what?” she demanded, tapping her slipper against the tiles as if she were the one rightfully indignant. “I think you want to suffer, as some kind of penance! But those men whose deaths are on your hands would not respect it. Only an honorable life, well lived, will serve their memories.”
Benedick gaped at her, too outraged to speak.
“Embrace life, Benedick!” she said with gentle urgency, and she laid her slender fingers upon his arm as if to coax him. “If not with me then with another woman, but marry and fill the hall with your heirs and pass on to them all that you have struggled to gain—and all that you have learned, as well. Give to your family and your people and yourself. You are a good man, Benedick—”
She paused suddenly, to study him intently, and he felt the light pressure of her fingers as they tightened upon him. “Why do you not know that?” she whispered. “Is it because of your father? Do you think that a bastard born cannot deserve what you have fought so hard to win?”
Benedick trembled in furious denial, his heart pounding and his breath catching at this small woman who dared speak to him as no one ever had before. The gentle understanding he glimpsed in her eyes only mortified him, and he grappled for words strong enough to extinguish it, to turn her and her worthless wishes away once and for all.
“You are a good man,” she repeated softly. “And you have earned your rewards. Seize them with both hands before they are gone to dust.”
She whirled away then, her pale fingers slipping from him, her hair flashing brightly behind her as she hurried from his side. Staring after her, speechless, Benedick was just as enraged by her sudden departure as by all the accusations she had thrown at him.
She was wrong! He was no monkish man to lock himself away, wasting his time in flagellation. She knew nothing of his torment; how could she judge him? His fingers closed into a fist, and he struck at the stones that lined the window.
He had come here seeking rest, and he would have found it, if not for her infernal interference. He could have no ease because of her and her ceaseless revelry, her countless traditions, her continual presence, teasing and tempting him. Lifting his arm to the stones that lined the window, Benedick rested his forehead against it and released a ragged breath. She was wrong, and he knew it.
But what if she wasn’t?
Another day gone.
Benedick laid his head against the pillow, expecting a sense of relief, but it did not come. Lately he was not so eager to see the arrival of Epiphany, only two days hence, as he once had been.
Ever since Noel’s outburst, Benedick had tried to ignore the questions she raised, but some of her accusations struck too close to the truth to be dismissed. He was forced to admit that the shame of his birth had long hung over him. He had worked and fought and struggled to prove himself, but to whom? His parents were dead. Perhaps it was time he took a long, hard look at his life.
Unfortunately, every time he did, he saw Noel.
No doubt, that was because she made such a nuisance of herself. Each time Benedick turned around, she was there, tugging on his hand, trying to get him to join in a child’s game of Bee in the Middle or dragging him out to gift the birds with a wheat sheaf—another one of her Christmas traditions.
She had many of them, and as master of the keep, he was expected to participate in all of them. After a while, Benedick stopped arguing with her about it and suffered his “fun.” Perhaps she was right, and he had denied himself for too long. It was a startling concept, for he had never known anyone who was truly content, but the more time he spent around Noel, the more he wondered if he was embracing grim reality a bit too fiercely.
Slowly he began to realize that a little celebration and revelry was not amiss, but wrapped up in his acceptance of Noel’s philosophy was acceptance of Noel, for how could he find happiness on his own, without her direction?
And there was the rub.
For Noel was not his to hold, and in a few short days, she would be gone. In the meantime, Benedick had formed a rather uneasy truce with his ward. He was willing to participate in her ridiculous traditions, play assorted silly games and converse at length with sundry villeins. Indeed, he allowed Noel full reign over his household, just as long as he was not alone with her.
Although not the kind to admit to his own limitations, Benedick did not trust himself where his ward was concerned. He could no longer deny his attraction to her, for it went beyond physical desire to a deeper yearning to which he refused to succumb.
Yet, as long as Benedick kept his distance, he could avoid temptation and preserve his ward’s honor. He could maintain control of his body and his mind, he told himself firmly, even in sleep. And so, resolutely he willed away dreams of Noel even as he drifted into uneasy slumber.
All too soon, the visions came, and this time they were different. Instead of lying abed with Noel, he was astride his great destrier returning home from a long, enforced absence. Around him, the world was dark and vague, and he was alone.
Eager to reach his keep, Benedick sent the horse to the top of the rise that led to Longstone, only to find some other castle, crumbling and cold in its stead. Confused, he traveled onward to familiar hills and a castle that looked to be his own, but when he entered, it was nothing but a timbered shell. Swearing wildly, he spurred his mount, thinking to escape this maze, if not the dream itself, but soon he faced the same lands. Another keep loomed ahead, shrouded in fog, yet Benedick kept his distance, wary, until a woman rose out of the mist.
Noel.
Cloaked in blue as clear as her eyes, she was so beautiful that Benedick’s breath caught and held. Then she ran toward him, golden hair flowing behind her, and her smile of welcome made his heart pound with joy. Sunlight suddenly streamed around them, and he dismounted. Hurrying to greet her, he reached out to catch her up in his arms...only to awaken with his hands full of blankets.
Tossing them aside with an oath, Benedick sat up and rubbed his eyes as if to remove the last vestiges of his dream. Of course, the meaning of this little nighttime drama was painfully clear. In fact, if Noel had been a different sort of female, Benedick might have suspected her of tainting his food with some kind of potion. But Noel was far too sweet to do evil. As well, he had been eating and drinking the same as the other residents, yet he seemed to be the only one beset by these visions.
Alard, worthless cur that he was, snored loudly from his position before the door, as if to confirm Benedick’s opinion. Leaning back against the pillows, Benedick frowned at
the irony. After years of uncertain berths, he was now cradled in a soft bed in a spacious chamber with a bright hearth, but he was unable to enjoy it.
Because of the dreams.
They plagued him nightly. And whether of peace and comfort or lusty pleasures, they always centered around a phantom Noel and lingered during the day, bringing his thoughts ever back to her. If he didn’t know better, Benedick would have wondered if something outside himself was affecting his mind.
A sudden draft rattled the shutters and swayed the curtains around him, making Benedick chill. Indeed, it was lucky he did not believe in such things, for, if so, he might even have blamed his increasing sleeplessness on Noel—and her Christmas wish.
In a narrow bed in her much smaller chamber, Noel also was awake. Undaunted by dreams, she nevertheless lay with her eyes wide-open, her thoughts too frantic for slumber. Finally she abandoned her efforts, sat up and drew her knees to her chest. Hugging them tightly, she turned her attention to Benedick. Wonderful, impossible Benedick.
Ever since she had confronted him about his past, she had sensed the turmoil in him. It seemed as if he wanted to let go and enjoy the fruits of his labors, but something was holding him back. Although there were fewer scowls and grumbles and more of those reluctant smiles of his, he still kept his distance.
Noel sighed. She sensed that she was on the right track, that eventually Benedick would come to appreciate her, if not care for her. She had caught him watching her, sometimes with a fierce look that implied possession, more often with a wistful longing that broke her heart. He wanted her and needed her, if only he would reach out and take her!
She was impatient, even as she knew that the liberation of her knight would be a gradual process. Under normal circumstances, she would bide her time, hoping to sway him with gentle persistence. Unfortunately, she could not afford the luxury of waiting, for time was running out. There were only two days left until Epiphany.
The Knights of Christmas Page 25
