Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  “I am, too,” a small girl holding a stuffed doll in her hands agreed.

  Thora grinned. “This little girl believed she was attacked by the Yule Cat.” She touched her scarred cheek. “And that the cat left the three marks on her cheek.”

  “Like you?” Bella wondered.

  Thora nodded and patted Bella’s hair. “Very much like me. But it was not the Yule Cat that attacked her.”

  “It wasn’t?” a boy with a brown tunic echoed, swiping a strand of russet hair from his forehead.

  “Was it a different monster?” a boy from near the hearth wondered.

  “No,” Thora said. “It wasn’t a monster at all. But the little girl believed it was. And as she grew up, she told her tale of the Yule Cat to everyone, and they all believed it was real.” She cast a glance at her father. “Even her father. She was so afraid of the Yule Cat that her fear consumed her, and the lie seemed real. She didn’t -- she couldn’t -- see the truth. One night, when the girl had grown into a woman, she was in the stables with her favorite horse, and she heard a horrible sound. A screeching, hissing cry she’d never heard before.”

  “The Yule Cat?” a boy with a round face and wide eyes asked.

  Thora shook her head. “It was a call for help. She looked out of the stables to see two squires kicking a little black cat into a bonfire.”

  Bella gasped.

  A girl with long, dark hair sat up straight to announce with conviction, “It was the Yule Cat!”

  “It wasn’t,” Thora insisted. “It wasn’t. It was just a little cat who was being hurt by these two boys. Kicked into the flames so that they could watch it burn. And they laughed.”

  Bella’s lower lip jutted out. “Was the cat hurt?”

  “Yes, it was,” Thora said softly. “Very hurt.”

  “Did the woman save it?” another girl asked, twisting a lock of her black hair.

  “The woman was afraid. She was afraid to save it because she thought at first that it might be the Yule Cat because the boys kept calling it that. And, she believed it could be the Yule Cat because she thought the Yule Cat was real. When you believe something for so long, sometimes you are blind to the truth.”

  “What did she do?” a little girl asked, clinging to her mother’s leg.

  “She was afraid. Only when one of the boys grabbed the cat and held it over the bonfire, ready to drop it into the flames, ready to burn it to death, did she realize the cat had to be saved. And that poor cat was so scared. It was just as scared as the woman was. The woman knew she couldn’t let that innocent little cat be hurt anymore. She ran as fast as she could and accidentally shoved one of the boys into the fire while trying to rescue the cat. His arm caught fire, and the two boys were distracted, trying to put it out.”

  A boy with freckles gasped, while an older boy sitting beside him asked, “Did the boy burn?”

  “Did the cat run away?” Bella asked, tears ringing her large eyes.

  Thora shook her head at the boy. “The boy just had a small burn on his arm. He was well.” She stroked Bella’s hair. “The little cat did run away. It ran into the stables. And the woman went after it, wanting to see how badly it was hurt, wanting to see if she could help it.” She sat back in her chair. “What she didn’t realize was that the cat’s fur was singed, and some of it was still on fire.”

  “From the bonfire?” a boy with shaggy, sandy brown hair wondered.

  Thora nodded. “The cat hid in the hay. But the woman managed to find it. She took it away from the stables to a safe place.” She paused, looking over the children’s faces, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on her as her voice echoed through the Great Hall. The silence rang in her ears. “But the stables caught fire and burned.”

  The quiet grew as her words sunk in. Thora looked across the room to find Bastian moving slowly toward her. She needed his strength now. To tell the truth and hope everyone believed her. And hope everyone forgave her.

  One boy frowned in displeasure, wrinkling his nose. “Because of the cat?”

  “It was an accident. It didn’t mean to start the fire.”

  “What happened to the cat?” Bella asked.

  “The cat was badly burned. Part of its ear was burned off and much of its fur.”

  “Is it alive?” a man behind her asked.

  Thora nodded at the farmer who had beat the raccoon to death. “It wasn’t the cat’s fault. It was just trying to get away from the fire. It was trying to survive and protect itself.” She looked back at the children.

  They stared at her as if waiting for more, their eyes locked on her.

  “It wasn’t the Yule Cat nor Gryla, the troll woman, who attacked the castle. They are only a story meant to scare children. They are not real. And this tale has tortured us all for far too long,” Thora admitted.

  Mumblings of uncertainty rose from the villagers gathered behind her.

  “Are you making this up?” the farmer asked. “How do you know this is what happened?”

  Thora took a deep breath as her stomach dropped and her heart fluttered in her chest, threatening to break free. She glanced at Bastian for strength and encouragement. “I know… because I am the woman.”

  Chapter 16

  Bastian watched the ripple of shock and disbelief spread over the villagers like a wave. His hand tightened around the sack he held as he made his way toward Thora, dodging a stunned farmer who stood with his mouth gaping. His only worry was Thora and her safety.

  Lord Rowley looked at Thora. “Is this true?” he demanded.

  The little girl with the dark curls pushed her hand into Thora’s hold.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Thora whispered, nodding. “It is true.”

  Bastian reached her side and stood silent sentry just behind her.

  Lord Rowley swung his gaze to Rob and Tommy, who were standing by the hearth, glancing this way and that with round eyes. “It was the two of you who tortured the cat?”

  Rob hesitated for only a moment as he glanced at Tommy. Finally, he admitted, “Aye.” Astonishment flowed about the room, and he quickly added, “But we were only trying to save the village.”

  “Stop!” Thora said, rising from her chair. “You were hurting the cat and laughing. It posed no threat to the village. I saw what you were doing! It’s time to stop the lies and put an end to this tale. It’s time to defeat the Yule Cat truly.”

  Rob bowed his head.

  “What of the other attacks?” someone asked from behind her.

  The crowd mumbled in agreement.

  Bastian turned, scanning the peasants gathered for the owner of the voice.

  “The scratch marks near the stables and Rob’s attack!” a knight asked, pointing toward Rob. “The cat attacked Rob!”

  Bastian ground his teeth. He didn’t like that his own men were questioning Thora’s story.

  As everyone looked at Rob, his chest swelled, and a smile began to form on his lips.

  Bastian glared at him, his jaw tight.

  Tommy elbowed him.

  Rob met Bastian’s stern gaze and instantly deflated, his shoulders slouching. “It was all a trick,” he admitted reluctantly. “We made the scratch marks on the ground.”

  “And we used a dagger to make the marks on his chest,” Tommy added. “We didn’t mean any harm. It was just a joke!”

  “It wasn’t a joke,” Thora insisted. “Not to the cat you hurt, nor to the people of this castle and village.”

  The boys looked down, repentantly. “Sorry,” they grumbled in unison.

  “But you were attacked by the Yule Cat,” Bella said, looking at her in confusion.

  “No,” Thora said gently. “I thought I was. But it’s time I grew out of children’s tales and acknowledged the truth. It was just a cat. It was not the Yule Cat.” She straightened and announced, “The Yule Cat is not real. It and the troll woman are fantasy.”

  The grumbling grew throughout the hall, echoing discontent and disbelief.

  Thor
a stood and walked to her father, holding the little girl’s hand. “I’m sorry, Father. You were right to believe Bastian. He was correct all along.”

  Lord Rowley gazed at her with tender eyes. “I’m proud of you for speaking the truth, dearest.” He embraced her warmly.

  “What of the cat?” a woman called. “The cat them squires said was the Yule Cat. Where did it go?”

  Bastian’s fist clenched over the sack, and he met Thora’s gaze for a moment. He had given her his word that no harm would come to the cat.

  “I have been helping it heal,” Thora announced. “I have been taking care of it.”

  Unease filled the hall as the peasants glanced at one another.

  Thora reached for the sack in Bastian’s hand. “It’s just a cat. A little black cat that is just as afraid as all of you.” She held the burlap container, her eyes sweeping the crowd. For a long moment, she didn’t move.

  “Is it in the bag?” Bella tilted her head. “Can I see it?”

  Thora swallowed. “Of course.”

  She eased the sack open and allowed Bella to step closer to look inside.

  The room collectively held its breath. A servant woman strained her neck to see. The blacksmith scowled. One of the children stepped up.

  One of the older boys rose quickly and shoved forward. “Let me see!”

  The rest of the children followed his lead, standing. They surged, reaching for the sack, grabbing at it, wanting to look inside.

  The bag was tugged and jerked to the side.

  “Slowly,” Thora commanded, tightening her grip on the bag.

  The children gathered around in excitement, jostling one another to see into the bag and grasping at the sack.

  A hissing sounded from inside the bag.

  One of the children shrieked and pulled back, bumping into a little girl whose head hit another boy.

  “The Yule Cat!”

  The cry went up from somewhere in the midst of the swarm of children, followed by an explosion of screaming and running.

  A tidal wave of crying children surged around Bastian, fleeing toward their parents and the doors.

  The Great Hall erupted in shouts and cries as villagers raced away from the imagined threat. Some ran for their children. A heavy-set man slipped and fell to one knee. Others jogged around him to save themselves.

  The sack had come loose from Thora’s hand. She reached around for it on the floor as children dashed around her, obstructing her view.

  The sea of frenzied children and villagers engulfed her, knocking her backward. She disappeared beneath a wave of bodies.

  For a moment, dread consumed Bastian as the image materialized in his mind of a different girl disappearing beneath dark waters. “Thora,” he gasped and lunged forward, pushing through the children and villagers, fighting to reach her side. He wouldn’t lose her like he had his sister. He had to keep her safe. He had to reach her.

  He saw her green dress amongst the crowd and stretched out his hand, the same way he had for his sister.

  His mind tuned out the screams of the terrified villagers, the fearful cries of the children. His heart pounded in his ears. “Thora!”

  Then, her hand emerged from the wave of bodies and grasped his. He yanked her from the depths of the swelling crowd, pulling her into the safety of his arms. He held her tightly, anguished fear giving way to relief. He held her as he waded through the crowd toward the hearth.

  He searched her face, his gaze sweeping over every inch. He followed his stare with gentle touches for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?” he asked desperately.

  She looked around the stone floor near the fallen sack with a panicked gaze. “Miracle,” she frantically gasped. “Where’s Miracle?”

  It took him a moment to realize she was talking about the cat. He scanned the floor beneath the rushing people’s booted feet but couldn’t make anything out.

  Her father approached; his jaw set with anguish; his brow wrinkled with concern. “Are you well?” he demanded, concerned.

  Bastian realized he was still holding Thora close, and yet, he couldn’t release her. He couldn’t let her go.

  She didn’t answer her father. Her panicky gaze turned to Bastian, pinning him with an imploring look. “You have to find her.” Her fingers curled in his tunic. “Bastian.”

  He had given his word to protect the little cat. He nodded once. “Stay there.” As he moved to search, Lord Rowley seized his arm.

  “This madness must be stopped,” Rowley commanded.

  Bastian agreed with a quick nod as he looked around the floor for the sack. The Great Hall was a mass of undulating people dashing to-and-fro. A frightened falconer stared at the corners of the room, looking for the monster. A thin, black-haired servant ran toward the door, kicking a cup across the rushes. A woman with a stained apron draping her round stomach put her hands on the sides of her head, stopping in the madness to scream.

  Bastian spotted Sir Garrett and stepped out into the press of people toward him. He grabbed his tunic and pulled him close to hear him. “Stay here. Protect Lady Thora and Lord Rowley.”

  Garrett nodded.

  Before he could go, Bastian added, “Have you seen Nicolas?”

  “Earlier, helping Cook,” he answered and took up a position before Thora and Lord Rowley.

  Bastian’s gaze scanned the room for Nicolas, but there was no sign of him. Then, Bastian continued to search for the sack, looking on the floor. Someone bumped him from behind, pushing him forward. He glanced in that direction, but too many people raced about. He scanned the area until his gaze came to rest on Tommy and Rob standing with wide eyes, backs to the wall. He approached them, his long strides parting the sea of people. He pointed to Rob and commanded loudly, “You. Go and get the guard. Bring them here.” He looked at Tommy as Rob bobbed his head and raced out of the Great Hall. “You. Find the sack.”

  Tommy nodded and began searching the floor with his eyes.

  Bastian whirled, his gaze moving over the room. He dashed to the doors, dodging a farmer who was sitting on the floor, holding his eye. Bastian picked him up by the tunic and deposited him on a bench at a wooden table. Another woman bumped his shoulder, and he steadied her. He had to calm these people. But how? How to allay their fears?

  He climbed onto the table near the farmer. “Hear me!” he shouted, lifting his hands to the ceiling.

  Those closest halted and turned to him with fearful expressions.

  “It is the Yule! You are safer here than anywhere else! Castle Grandmore is a fortress against all evil.”

  “But the Yule Cat is here,” one woman cried nervously.

  What could he say? His mind raced as his gaze moved from one person to the next. One woman held her sobbing daughter in her arms. How could he fight their fear? And then, an idea occurred to him. He couldn’t fight their fear, and so he had to weaken it.

  Bastian announced, “Yes. The Yule Cat was here, ’tis true.” The people shifted and glanced uneasily about. “But…” Bastian quickly added loudly to keep their attention. “But… I know the legend well. In the tale, I was told, the Yule Cat and the troll were afraid of one thing.”

  More villagers stopped to hear him. Interested, the growing crowd came closer to him, listening. Villagers hurrying their children to the doors to escape paused. All wide eyes were on him.

  He looked at Thora across the room, meeting her gaze. “There is a way to keep the Yule Cat at bay, for there is one thing above all else the Yule Cat cannot tolerate.”

  “Fire!” a farmer shouted.

  “Swords!” a knight suggested.

  Bastian shook his head. “Song.” Mumbled echoes of uncertainty sounded throughout the group. “Aye. Sing. At the top of your voices. As loud as you can. The Yule Cat and troll woman cannot stand the noise, which is why they live in the soundless mountains.”

  Silence greeted him.

  “Or so I’ve heard.”

  More quietness stretched across the room. />
  Bastian knew he should be grateful. At least they were no longer screaming. He nodded in encouragement.

  And then, from near the hearth, a voice began quietly with a familiar tune.

  Bastian lifted his gaze to the singer. Thora couldn’t hold a tune, but Bastian was proud and grateful to her for helping him. He smiled and joined in the song with a rousing chorus. He was a much worse singer than she was. His voice boomed through the hall.

  Around him, others slowly and skeptically joined in. Singing was the cure. Singing was hope. Singing was the answer. More people began singing, their voices lifting. Song had the power to conquer fear and bring back the festivities of the Yule. It was happiness. It was uplifting. As more people sang, a bard stepped forward to lead the gathered crowd with a rhythmic beat of his flute.

  Bastian was grateful the bard had taken over. He was no singer. He hopped off the table and made his way through the crowd toward Thora, patting a knight on his back for his good work.

  Tommy intercepted him, holding an empty sack.

  A sick feeling swirled in the pit of Bastian’s stomach as he took the sack from Tommy. It was empty. He glanced at Thora near the hearth. The red glow from the hearth washed over her stricken face, her stare on the sack.

  Bastian thanked Tommy and continued across the room to Thora.

  “Where is she?” Thora asked with a hitch in her voice, her brow lined with concern.

  “We’ll find her,” Bastian promised.

  Thora bit her lip as if attempting to keep her fears from spilling out.

  The chorus of voices rose around them. But Bastian didn’t feel victorious or celebratory. He only felt guilt weighing down on his shoulders. Had he got Thora’s Yule Cat killed?

  Chapter 17

  Unshed tears burned Thora’s eyes as she approached her room in the early morning of the Yule. If it weren’t for Bastian’s arm about her waist, holding her tight to him, she was certain she would have collapsed.

  They had searched everywhere for Miracle. She must have got away. At least, that was what Thora chose to believe. The other option was unthinkable.