A Merry Medieval Christmas: Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Her breath caught, for ever so slowly, he was leaning toward her, his gaze on her lips—

  “Ren.”

  Liliana startled at the sound of her father’s voice.

  Ren snapped away from her and abruptly stood. “Milord.”

  “Good day, Father,” Liliana said. Saints above. How had she not heard the garden gate opening or closing?

  Her sire’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Was I interrupting?”

  “I had something in my eye,” Liliana said quickly, brushing her fingers across her left cheek. “Ren was trying to help. To see… if he could see what was bothering me. ’Tis gone now.”

  Ren, thankfully, didn’t try to elaborate on her explanation.

  Her father didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, Liliana, I am glad you are all right. Ren, if you will be so kind, I must speak with you in private.”

  Ren’s gaze met Liliana’s. Then, with a mysterious little smile, he looked back at her sire. “Of course, milord. There is also an important matter I would like to discuss with you.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Rachoo!”

  Liliana winced. She stood in a pool of afternoon sunlight in the great hall, reading the parchment listing the tasks to be completed, with Burton at her side. His reddened nose was streaming even more than yesterday, and his red-rimmed eyes looked equally runny.

  Turning away from her, he blew his nose on a handkerchief, the noise akin to a trumpet blast. At the sound, two nearby hounds scurried away and cowered under a trestle table.

  “I ab sorry, bilady.” He sniffled. “This cold is such a duisance.”

  “You should be in bed resting, Burton. I am sure your wife would agree with me.”

  The wiry man shook his head. “I cadnot, bilady. Too much to do. I cadnot disappoint your sire, dot at Christbas.”

  The poor man looked weary enough to fall asleep on his feet. Shaking her head, Liliana said, “Go. Rest, Burton. I will take care of the items on this list.”

  “Oh, bilady, I could dot—”

  “I insist. When my mother was well, she helped coordinate the Christmas festivities. I will happily follow that tradition.” Liliana gestured to the forebuilding stairs. “Go and rest. If I need help, I will ask other servants.”

  Relief crept into Burton’s grizzled features. “Are you certain, bilady?”

  “I am.”

  “I thank you, bilady.” Sneezing again, he strode away.

  Liliana turned her attention back to the list. In all honesty, she was glad of some tasks to keep her occupied. She hadn’t had the chance in the gardens earlier to ask Ren if Haddon might arrive today, and anticipation skittered over her skin like ants on a berry tart. ’Twas far more productive for her to be busy than to be sitting idle, growing more and more anxious.

  Judging by the crossed-out items, all of the guest chambers had been prepared, including the one in the north tower that she’d decided would be given to the King’s Falcon. There was still the huge Christmas Day feast, though, to oversee. On the twenty-fifth day of December, Maddlestow’s gates would be opened wide and common folk from all over her sire’s estates would bring firewood, mugs, cloth napkins, and plates with them so they could enjoy the gift of a meal provided by her father’s staff. The kitchens had been busy for days preparing the food delivered in special rents. Also, they’d been making more elaborate dishes for the noble guests who would dine in the great hall. The cook had even hired extra workers from the village.

  List in hand, Liliana headed to the kitchens. Stepping over the threshold, she inhaled the delicious aromas of cooking meat and simmering mutton stew. Across the kitchen, boys turned spits of chickens roasting over the enormous cooking fires. Skinned rabbits were heaped on the nearby chopping block, while large baskets of glassy-eyed pheasants, geese, and quail, waiting to be plucked, rested on the floor nearby.

  Maidservants making tarts with custard and the last of the autumn pears curtsied to her as she walked by in search of the cook.

  She found him standing over a pot of golden sauce that smelled of cloves, onion, and ginger. “Aye, milady, all is going as planned,” he said. Flour coated the front of his apron and the side of his face. “The Plum Puddin’ and mince pies are ready. We ’ave yet ta start cookin’ the boar, but will do that later today. There is also one more batch of bread ta bake—the ones with the beans ’idden inside. Then we should ’ave enough ta give all the ’umble folk a loaf on Christmas Day.”

  “Good. I know the children look forward to the King of the Bean game.”

  “So do the grown men and women.” The cook grinned. “They all ’ope ta find the bean ’idden in their loaf and be named King of the Feast. By the way,” the man added, giving his sauce a thorough stirring, “I did ask Burton, but are there any special requests fer any of yer sire’s guests?”

  “Not that I know of.” Indeed, Liliana hoped the King’s Falcon didn’t have specific foods he expected to be served. She wouldn’t want to disappoint such an important man. The next time she saw Ren, she must ask him, just to be certain.

  After reviewing the courses for the feast in the great hall, she quit the kitchens, relieved that all seemed to be in order. She left the list in her chamber to follow up on later and headed to the room where she’d arranged to meet Averil.

  Her dear friend was already seated by the fire, working on her embroidery. She looked up as Liliana entered.

  “There you are. I sent Rosy for her nap quite a while ago. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “Why?”

  Mischief in her eyes, Averil murmured, “I thought mayhap you’d been caught under more mistletoe, waylaid by the handsome Ren.”

  Liliana laughed. “If you must know, I sent Burton to bed to recover from his cold. I have been busy with his task list.” She’d also almost kissed Ren again in the garden—a kiss that she’d truly wanted. Pushing aside that thought, she sat in the chair she favored nearest the hearth.

  “I guess you no longer need mistletoe to win Ren’s kiss, do you?”

  Smiling, Liliana shook her head, dismissing the teasing. Still, she couldn’t stop the memories crowding into her mind: Ren, kneeling beside her in this very chamber last night; him sprawled on his back near the fire; his handsome face, defined by the flickering fire glow. Her whole body tingled, recalling his lips and hands upon her…

  “Lil.”

  She blinked. “Mmm?”

  Averil set her embroidery down in her lap. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye.” Liliana reached for the cloth bag holding the kittens for Rosy. “I was thinking about what needs to be done before Christmas.”

  “Liar.”

  Averting her gaze, Liliana drew out the cloth kitten with the mismatched features. “Well, there is a lot to accomplish—” She froze.

  “What is the matter?”

  “Did… did you do this?” Liliana set the kitten upright, facing Averil.

  Averil’s eyes widened. “I did not, but I wish I had.”

  Below the kitten’s yellow and black eyes was a perfectly stitched pink nose and a curved mouth. Tiny white stitches had been added to the eyes so they appeared to be sparkling with life.

  “Ren,” Liliana whispered, trailing a finger over the new stitching.

  “Ren?” Averil giggled. “I doubt it.”

  “Indeed, ’twas Ren,” Liliana insisted. “He and I… Well, last night ’twas too cold to talk out on the battlement for long. I brought him here. He saw what an awful job I had made of the kitten’s face and must have decided to fix it.”

  Admiration lit Averil’s eyes. “He is obviously a man of many talents.”

  “I wonder where he learned to make such fine stitches?” Liliana held the kitten closer to the firelight. The stitches were better than her own, and she’d been embroidering since her mother taught her when she was a young girl. “I must ask him.”

  “I am anxious to hear what you find out.” A smile curving her lips, Averil resumed her wor
k on a rose petal.

  Liliana’s eyes narrowed. “Are you encouraging me to spend time with Ren, dearest Averil?”

  Her friend fluttered her eyelashes, her expression one of mock innocence. “Me?”

  “You.”

  “Of course I am!” Laughing, she caught the kitten Liliana tossed at her. Eyes softening, she smoothed her finger over one of the toy’s ears. “Oh, Liliana, there is naught like falling in love. I want you to be happy. I want you to be cherished by a man who loves you as much as you love him. ’Twould be marvelous if Ren is that man.”

  “What about you? Do you ever think about marrying again? I know you loved your late husband.”

  “I did. However—”

  “However?”

  Averil looked away, at the fire. “My husband was a good, kind man and we were blessed with Rosy. I did love him, I truly did, but there was another lord, years ago… He had my heart from the first time we met.”

  Astonishment wove through Liliana. She’d never heard Averil speak of this man before. “Really?”

  Biting her lip, Averil nodded.

  “Who was he? You must tell me—”

  A knock sounded on the chamber’s open door. “Milady.”

  Averil turned in her chair to face the maidservant hovering there. “Is Rosy all right?”

  “She woke from a dream. She is asking fer ye.”

  Averil stood, dropping her embroidery on the chair seat. “Another time, I will tell you,” she murmured to Liliana, before she swept from the chamber.

  ***

  Ren stood on the battlement near the castle gates, staring into the darkness. The sky was bright with stars again, the bite in the air indicating another frost overnight. His breath made a white puff as he looked down at the piece of wood in his gloved hand, ran his knife along the section that would be the dog’s tail, and whittled off more shavings, the cut-away bits of wood swiftly blown aside by the wind.

  Where are you, Haddon? Where in hellfire are you?

  Tension gathered between Ren’s shoulder blades and he shrugged, his cloak shifting with the movement. Haddon might just be delayed. Soon the clop of his destrier’s hooves would carry on the night breeze and he’d come into view of the castle sentries. He’d announce himself, joyous cries would resound through the keep, and Haddon would reunite with his father and sister, just as Ren had promised Lord Thornleigh and Liliana.

  Yet, the leaden weight in Ren’s belly told him something was wrong. While Haddon was a skilled warrior who could defend himself in any situation, ’twas not safe for a man to ride alone at night. Haddon himself had warned Ren not to do so—which meant Haddon was unlikely to travel in the dark.

  He would have arrived by now, if he were able.

  “God’s bones,” Ren muttered. He curled his fingers tighter about the unfinished carving. If Haddon didn’t turn up tonight… Ren would go searching for him.

  No other option.

  “Ren?”

  Liliana’s voice reached him through the darkness. Slipping the carving and knife into the leather bag at his hip, Ren faced her. She walked toward him, lovely even when cloaked in inky shadows.

  “How did your talk go with my father?” she asked, reaching his side.

  “Fine.” Better than fine, actually, considering the life-altering matter they’d discussed, but she didn’t need to know the details of that conversation now.

  “I am glad.” She smiled. “I was a little concerned when he almost caught us kissing.”

  Ren chuckled. “Not to worry. All worked out well.”

  She nodded before her gaze shifted to the brilliant stars overhead. “I saw what you did to the toy kitten. ’Tis perfect now. Thank you.”

  He grinned. “My pleasure.”

  “Where did you learn such excellent stitches?”

  The leaden weight in his stomach twisted. “On Crusade.”

  Her gaze, softening with compassion, locked with his.

  Ren read the unspoken question in her eyes. He could refuse to answer; ’twas difficult and unnerving to talk about the ugliness of war. Yet, by divulging more of his past, he was earning her trust—and mayhap even her love. “In the east, there were so many injured that our surgeon could not keep up. In the midst of battle, stitching a wound closed could often mean the difference between a man living or…dying. I volunteered to assist the surgeon, and he taught me as best he could.” Ren shrugged, a rough laugh breaking from him. “With the number of stitches I made, I guess I became good at them.”

  “I am sure you saved a great many lives,” she said softly. “Including Haddon’s.”

  Ren stared out into the blackness. He remembered all too clearly Haddon’s gruesome wound and helping the surgeon to sew it closed. Not an easy or pleasant task.

  “The cook asked me earlier today if any of our guests had special requests in terms of foods,” she said. “Are there particular dishes the King’s Falcon expects to be served?”

  “Not that I know of,” Ren answered.

  “Good.” She hesitated, her lips pressing together, then said, “Regarding Haddon.”

  Ren stifled a groan, for he knew what she was going to ask. He’d been expecting her to ask all day.

  “Do you have any idea when he will arrive?”

  “I do not.”

  “Surely you have some notion.” Disappointment tinged her voice.

  He wished—how earnestly he wished—that he could say something more definite. Yet, how could he tell her that Haddon should have arrived by now? Ren couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to upset her or see her cry.

  “Try not to worry,” he said, tucking a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear. “Haddon will arrive when he is ready.”

  “Before Christmas,” she said.

  “’Tis what your brother said to me.”

  She sighed, her brow creasing with a frown. “I fear I am impatient. Moreover,”—she paused as if considering her next words—“I find it very curious that both the King’s Falcon and Haddon have not reached Maddlestow.”

  Ah. Ren forced a careless grin. “I agree. ’Tis curious.”

  Her frown deepened. “Surely, you—”

  “Liliana, do you not have one more kitten to complete? I thought I saw three in the bag, but only two are stitched.”

  “You are right,” she said slowly. He prayed his distraction would work, even as she added, “I do have one more to sew.”

  “Come. Let me do my chivalrous duty and escort you back to your warm sewing chamber.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I would kiss you first, but I think I recognize Myles over there.” He tipped his head to the two guards on the opposite battlement who were peering over at them. “I do not dare touch you with Myles watching.”

  She laughed.

  “Tomorrow, however, is Christmas Eve.” Ren winked. “Who knows what will happen then?”

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas Eve dawned cold and bright. Excitement raced through Liliana as she threw back the covers on her bed, stretched, then set her bare feet on the plank floor. Shivering, she hurried across the chamber to wash her face and quickly dressed in an elegant, honey-gold wool gown. Mayhap today, she’d see Haddon. Oh, she hoped so!

  She snatched up Burton’s list and headed down to the great hall, where she came upon her father and Myles, standing below the dais and near the lord’s table. “I want the castle gates opened early,” her father was saying, “as we have done before. I expect the majority of folk will travel to the keep after the Shepherd’s Mass at dawn.”

  “Agreed,” Myles said.

  “Also, be sure there are enough men-at-arms guarding the bailey. We do not want any fights to ruin the festivities or delay people from attending the Mass of the Divine Word later in the day.”

  “Aye, milord.” Myles bowed, dipped his gray head to acknowledge Liliana, and then strode away.

  Exhaling a heavy sigh, Liliana’s sire turned to her. He looked weary, as though he hadn’t slept well. She knew how he fe
lt; she’d woken several times last night, her restless mind filled with thoughts of seeing Haddon again. Would her brother be as she remembered him, or would he be a very different man altogether? After all that Ren had told her, she feared Haddon’s injuries had turned him into a distant, bitter person she would no longer recognize, and that saddened and frightened her. Her father’s anticipation must be even worse, for he awaited the return of his beloved son. His heir.

  “All is well with you, daughter?” her sire asked.

  She couldn’t discuss Haddon here in the great hall, not when Ren had insisted upon secrecy and maidservants and other folk were working nearby. So, she merely smiled. “Aye.” Stretching up on tiptoes, she kissed her father’s cheek. “And with you?”

  “Mmm.” He frowned.

  “Father, what is it?” She waited, ready to suggest they go somewhere private to talk if her sire wished to discuss Haddon.

  Her father shrugged, but his frown deepened. “It may be coincidence. However, the King’s Falcon has not arrived yet. Neither has…another important guest.”

  Haddon. Her sire’s meaning was clear in his tone and direct gaze.

  Taking care with her answer, she said, “I asked Ren about our eagerly-awaited guest last night. Ren thought he might be delayed. With luck, he will arrive today, as will the King’s Falcon.”

  Her sire leaned in close. “’Tis a little curious, though, is it not, that both men have not arrived?” he said quietly.

  Liliana nodded. “Truth be told, I have wondered the same.” Haddon and the King’s Falcon, though, couldn’t be the same man. Could they? How would that be possible, when she remembered the King’s Falcon from her childhood?

  Her father straightened, tugging down the sleeves of his gray tunic. “With luck, all of those that we are expecting will arrive today and explanations will be forthcoming. Will you send a servant to fetch me the moment either of them arrives?”

  “Of course, Father.” As her sire turned away, she asked, “Have you seen Ren?”

  “Nay, but according to Myles, he left at dawn with his squire. He said he had errands to complete in the village.”