One Snowy Knight (28 page)

Noel’s grip on her wrist tightened as he slowly pulled her to him. “I once asked if your name Skena had a meaning. You answered not that you ken. But it does. It means love.”

He brushed his lips over hers lightly, igniting the ravenous hunger, the need for him. His hands cradled her back as he deepened the kiss, speaking his emotions through this silent bond. Speaking his love while the Yule Cloth burned to cinders, setting the spell.

Finally recalling they stood before the whole of Craigendan, she broke the kiss and stepped back. Though her cheeks burned, she was pleased by the gift she had created for Noel, knew it was the perfect gesture to heal the breach between them. Whether it was the Yule spell working, or simply her love for Noel, joy filled her heart to overflowing.

Seeing Galen bring in the wooden box of apples, she went to pass them out. They were small and fewer in number this year. Everyone would have to share. As she reached for the first one, she accidentally spotted Dorcas in the kitchen doorway. Though she was partially in shadows, Skena saw enough of her sister’s face. The look of hatred and envy sent a chill up her spine.

Passing Noel an apple, she said, “If a woman peels one, careful to remove the skin whole, she can toss it over her right shoulder, quickly look back, and is supposed to glimpse the man who will be her husband. The crop was so small we will have to share. Few apples, fewer husbands.” She tried to make light of the situation. “Another way apples can be used for divination is to twist the stem. You say the names of eligible men and whichever name is spoken when the stem breaks is the one you will wed. Of course…”

Her words died as she saw Dorcas again, speaking to Andrew. He proudly held up his puppet to show her, but then, Dorcas leaned down to whisper something to the little boy. Foreboding crawled up her spine as she watched the two, alarm turning to panic as she realized what her sister was doing.

She ran toward her son, to snatch him away, but it was too late. She did not know where Dorcas had learnt the details of Angus’s death, but the bitch knew! The truth was there when Dorcas raised up, a smile on her lips and the light of triumph in her eyes. Blindly, Skena pushed through the crowd, crashing into bodies, barely seeing who they were. One was Guillaume. She heard him asking if something was wrong. She mumbled a vague reply and shoved by him.

By the time she reached Andrew, Dorcas was gone. Her son stood pale and shaking, staring down at the puppet held limply in his hands. Her heart broke as she saw the slumped shoulders. Skena reached for him, only he jerked away. He looked up at her with wide, haunted eyes. Then his head jerked to Noel, coming up behind her. The blood seemed to drain from his face as he turned and fled.

“Andrew!” she called, but he did not stop.

Noel caught her arm as she started after her son. “She told him?”

Skena nodded, tears burning her eyes.

Noel wanted to strangle Dorcas for her evil deed, but his first concern was Skena’s son. “Let me go after him.” Noel held her arm firmly, fearing she was not really hearing him. “Trust me to handle the boy, Skena.”

She stared up at him, trying to focus through the tears, then her head finally bobbed consent. Noel handed her to Guillaume and asked that he keep a close watch on her, and then went after Andrew.

The boy was not hard to find. The fortress door had been left open a crack, where the child failed to push it closed securely. From there, it was easy to follow the tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Andrew had gone to the stable. His small footprints stopped there.

Not wanting to set Andrew to running again, he moved into the darkened stable in silent steps. Leaving the door open to increase the light within, he took time to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the enclosed barn. Slowly, he began to see the shapes of the stalls and horses inside them. Brishen was in the largest one at the end, the white of his horse standing out clearly.

Appearing so much the little man, Andrew stood before the stall, looking down at the puppet still in his hands. His chin quivered. Life had cruelly intruded on his happy world, but then it always had a way of shattering childhood innocence. It had for Noel. Andrew was two years older than Noel had been when he lost both parents and learnt just how brutal the world could be.

Andrew had lost only one and had made a reasonable adjustment to that change. In time, he would accept Noel in the place of a father, if he handled this right. If not, he could harden the child against him forevermore. Knowing how tender a child’s emotions were, how deeply a child could be wounded, he had hoped to put off telling Annis and Andrew about Angus until they were older. His hand had been forced by that vicious bitch Dorcas. Oh, Noel would deal with her shortly. For now, he had to try to salvage his honor before Andrew’s eyes.

The little boy was pretending to be strong, but faint trembles revealed his inner pain. Noel’s heart ached for Andrew; he understood life could be scary when you felt so alone. Once upon a time, Michael Challon had come and saved him from the unending nightmare, had given him a new father and brothers to fill his empty world. Now it was his turn to offer the hand of solace to Skena’s son.

“When I was five years old my father died.” Noel broke the silence. At the sound of his voice Andrew jumped slightly, but he feigned not to have heard, staring ahead at the horse in the stall. “He died in a tournament. A bizarre accident. One day he was there. The next he was buried.” His hand itched to reach out and squeeze the child’s shoulder, yet he feared being rebuffed. “I was confused, scared. I did not know what would happen to Mother and me. Then I learned those fears were only the start. My mother howled in grief and never seemed to stop. You see, she loved my father very much. My heart hurt, as I could do naught to stop her from crying.”

Andrew’s head slowly lifted. “She cried for him?”

Noel’s heart ached for the small boy, truly knowing his pain. “Then one night the crying stopped. I awoke and wondered why there was silence. She was so beautiful with her dark hair and big blue eyes, like some faery princess. I often would peek behind her back to see if gossamer wings were folded there. Methinks the silence terrified me more than the endless tears. I went to her room, hoping to find her there, imagined she would pull me into the big bed, cuddle and kiss me, and tell me everything would be fine soon. She was not there.”

“Where was she?” Andrew voice quavered as he sniffed tears. Tears for himself. Likely, tears for Noel.

“The servants carried her back into the castle. She had thrown herself into the lake. She did not want to live without my father.”

Teardrops spilled down the child’s cheeks. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his sark. Andrew looked up at him, eyes troubled. Even in the shadows, those eyes were so like Skena’s. “She drowned? You lost your mother and father? But who took care of you?”

“A brave and valiant knight came, a warrior true, named Michael Challon. He told me that I did not have to worry. I would go live with him and be safe.”

“And were you…safe?”

Noel nodded. “Yes, I had a wonderful home, had brothers. I never had any before, so it was a happy time to have others my age around. We grew up together, and I was loved and protected. Earl Michael was true to his word—I was safe.”

Andrew swallowed hard. “Why did you k…kill my father?” Noel turned his back to the child and lifted his sark. Shifting the bandage up, he exposed his still raw wound. “Because he tried to kill me.” Putting the shirt down, he turned to face Andrew again. “War is hard to understand. Men do very ugly things to each other. Most times they do not even know each other—as it was with your father and me. Simple truth—we were warriors and met on a field of war. Nothing more, nothing less. Either I killed your father or he killed me. That is how a battle is. Why we spend years training to fight. To save our lives, the lives of those we love. It’s a hard lesson, but men learn it. ’Tis the way of things. There is no changing it.”

Looking down at the puppet, Andrew’s head gave a small nod of understanding.

“Many years ago, Michael Challon said he would be my new father, that I had a home with him and his family. I loved him for that. Loved my new brothers. I will always honor my father, but I made room for Michael Challon. He gave me so much. I hope I can make the same offer to you and Annis—to keep you safe. I will protect you with my life. Will you permit me to do that?”

Andrew raised his head again, the brown eyes staring at him with wisdom beyond his years. Skena’s wisdom. “My mama never cried because my father was…dead. Methinks sometimes he made her sad. Annis never cried for him either.”

Noel squatted before the solemn child. “Women are tender beings. They need men to protect them. Will you allow me to help you do that?”

Brishen moved to the opening to stick his head out. Andrew avoided answering by patting the horse’s nose. Just when Noel thought the boy was not going to give him a response, he asked, “Mayhap…sometime I could ride Brishen again? I rode him the night we found you covered with snow.”

The tightness in his heart easing, Noel smiled in relief. “I think Brishen would like that. Come spring I will find a good mare and breed her with Brishen. The colt can be yours. You two could grow up together.”

Andrew nodded. “I would like that.” He was trying to hold emotions in, but his chest heaved with a sob.

Noel finally allowed himself to touch Andrew’s shoulder, gave him a small squeeze for reassurance. It seemed the final straw to the boy’s defenses. Throwing his arms around Noel, Andrew held on and sobbed. Noel knelt and took the child in his arms and allowed him to cry. In an odd way, Andrew shed tears of grief, but they were also tears Noel had never permitted himself to cry all those years ago.

“Noel, might I ask something?” he asked, choking back a sob.

“You may ask whatever you want,” Noel agreed.

Andrew’s face was sad. “Your wound…’Tis in the back.” Too smart by half, the child was already making the leap from two men fighting to one almost dying from a wound in the back.

“Men do not always face each other continuously when fighting. I turned, and he caught me in the back because he had already swung.” Noel did not precisely lie. It was hard enough for the child to lose a father, the difficulty compounded by having to accept Noel in Fadden’s place. Telling him the full truth would serve naught at this point. He could leave Andrew’s childhood memory of his father unblemished.

Andrew’s head bobbed twice, but he avoided looking at Noel, as if he did not fully believe him. Skena’s son was bright, his incisive mind so like his mother’s.

“Come,” Noel said, rising. “Your lady mother will be fretting about you.” Putting a hand behind Andrew’s shoulders, he gently steered him from the stables.

Outside, Andrew took hold of his hand. “Soon we will light the
Cailleach Nollaich. Nollaich
means like your name Noel.”

“What will they burn?”

“The
Cailleach Nollaich
is a big log with the face of a woman carved into it—the Cailleach, the lady of winter, the hag of night. They will light at middle night and burn it through the night to drive away winter.”

“Sounds like we need to be there to make sure they do it right, eh?”

“Noel, wishes do come true?” Andrew asked. “I mean if you wish for something with all your heart it will come true?”

Noel looked to see Skena in her mantle before the door, waiting for them. “Aye, wishes do come true. Especially Christmas wishes.”

“Surely you jest?” Noel paused from buckling his belt over his wine-colored surcoat. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his belly, thus he was not in the proper mindset for Guillaume’s taunt. Fearing this was naught more than a tweaking of his nose, he tried to judge Guillaume’s mood.

Since the Lady Rowanne’s arrival three days past, to say Guillaume had been moody was putting it mildly. Still, Noel hardly blamed him. The woman was beautiful in a way that grabbed a man’s attention and fixed it. This daughter of the earl of Glen Shane matched her sister Tamlyn in loveliness, but then ’twas reputed far and wide the three daughters, heiresses all in their own right, were beautiful beyond compare. Noel might count Guillaume a lucky man indeed, if not for the fact that Rowanne clearly kept a distance between them at all times. His friend had voiced he made a mistake in granting Rowanne until the end of April before they would wed. Possibly, he was right in that opinion. It was apparent that being near his betrothed, and yet kept at arm’s length, was grating on Guillaume’s generally even temper.

“Jest? Not in the least. When you consider it, the rite was not so different from an English bedding ceremony, with the husband and bride being inspected and then the bedding taking place before a priest and half the family.” Guillaume picked up Noel’s knife and tested its balance. “Why would you think I am making it up—just to vex you?”

Noel chuckled. “You are in a rotten mood and looking to vent your foul humors. Sleeping on a pallet on the floor does little to mellow your disposition.”

Guillaume twisted to rub his back. “Not doing much time for my spine either.”

“If allowing the Lady Rowanne too much time to adjust to your coming marriage was such a bloody mistake, then do something about it.”

Balancing the knife on the tip in his hand, Guillaume deftly caught the hilt when it started to fall. “Ah, there is the rub. Rowanne is a lady of secrets. Shadows cloud her heart. And unfortunately, I am a man of my word.”

Guillaume went through balancing the dagger on end again, only this time when it toppled Noel snatched it away and stuck it into the sheath fastened at his belt. “Fill her belly with a babe, then her heart shan’t have room for shadows. And stop avoiding answering me. Were you telling a story about Julian’s wedding?”

Guillaume gave him a wicked grin. “Tis truth. He married Tamlyn in their pagan ways. Methinks you are fortunate to wed with Skena in deep winter. No marriage in the circle of stones for you.”

“Ah, well, Julian was always more bold than I. Still, I little care where I marry Skena—or how—I just want it done.” He hung the gold chain about his neck. “How do I look? ’Tis not every day a man weds.”

Guillaume smiled at Noel dressed in clothes he would wear at court. “A little anxious to be a married man, but Skena will think you handsome.”

“Are you sure they will view this as a true marriage?” Noel fretted, admitting he was eager to know Skena was his. “It shan’t be before the church, no priest to speak the words. I want no disgrace or question to fall upon our union.”

“Scots take marriage as a solemn vow. If you declare before all that you take Skena as your lady wife, and she accepts you, ’tis as binding as any ceremony before a priest. I have heard of handfasting ceremonies, a marriage for a year and a day. I would never be as foolish as to try that with an Ogilvie lass. They carry wicked daggers called a
sgian dubh
and would likely go to cutting on body parts if crossed.” Guillaume reached out and took Noel’s hand. Turning it palm up, he placed a small object in it. “This ring belonged to my father. He would have wanted you to have it.”

Noel stared at the wide gold band with a large yellow stone in it. “I cannot accept this. ’Tis a piece of your father.”

“Your father, too, in all but blood. We are brothers, so this goes to you. May you govern Craigendan with the strength, the incisive mind, and the kindness with which he ruled over Challon.” He placed another ring beside it. “This one is more from me. My mother gave it to me. I thought one day to present it to the woman I married, but oddly, in my mind the ring little suits my lady. As soon as I met your Skena I thought you might wish to give this to her as your bride’s gift.”

Noel was deeply touched by Guillaume’s gesture. “I experienced a great loss when Father and Mother were taken from me. However, I have never regretted my family, my life at Challon. I could not ask for a better brother.”

“True, we were—and are—lucky. Come, let us go marry you off.” Guillaume picked up the strip of material from the table, which had been cut from the shirt Noel had worn the night Skena found him. “Do not forget this. You will not be able to ‘tie the knot’ without it.”

“My thanks. I would not want to err in the ceremony.”

They started down the steps and toward the Great Hall. “’Tis hard to think of Julian and Damian happy in wedlock. Shortly, you shall be, and come spring, Simon and I will take that step. Methinks we must fix our minds to finding fine Scottish lasses for Redam and Dare, get them to settle close to us. Then the war-weary dragons can truly have peace.”

A shiver of foreboding raced up Noel’s spine. Was peace truly attainable? Would the Scots accept Edward’s rule, or would some Highlander arise to set the torch to the fires of rebellion? Noel dismissed such grave concerns for another time. He was marrying Skena, a start to a life together. He wanted naught to taint the happiness of this day.

As he entered the great hall, Noel searched for Skena. Juniper and cedar branches had been formed into a circle on the stone floor before the fireplace, and Skena—his beautiful Skena—stood awaiting him in the middle of them. She wore a velvet kirtle of deep wine that nearly matched his surcoat. That brought a smile to his lips as he recalled that on the morning they announced him to be the new lord of Craigendan, they both had chosen to wear dark blue. Her dark auburn hair was free flowing and a thin circlet of gold crossed her forehead. His heart nearly stopped at the vision that would soon be his lady wife.

“Yes, wishes do come true,” Noel said under his breath, as he strode through the opening left in the boughs, going to her and taking her hand.

Skena could hardly find moisture enough to swallow as Noel came toward her. He was so handsome in the dark colors of wine and black, his attire setting off those pale silver eyes with an unearthly glow. This man looked beautiful, but more important, he was beautiful inside as well. It would have been so easy to fall in love with him, a man who filled her young girl’s dreams. Only, the way he reached out to Annis and Andrew and offered them so much robbed her of any resistance to him. He would be a fine father, a good lord for Craigendan, and every wish come true for her. As he took her hand, nothing in her life had ever felt so right.

“My lady, never have mine eyes beheld such a beautiful vision, my deepest wish come true,” he spoke lowly as he brushed a fleeting kiss against her cheek.

They stood in the small circle of the evergreens, symbolically enclosing them in the ever-living boughs that purified and protected them, starting their marriage of true hearts. She smiled as Annis and Andrew broke free from Jenna and came running up, giggling and hiding behind Noel and her. She nodded to the maidservant to let them stay; after all they would be a part of this marriage as well. Andrew quieted and stood fidgeting at her side, trying to behave lest she send him away. Annis had gone to stand on Noel’s right, and shyly took his smallest finger.

Skena swallowed the knot tightening in her throat. Sometimes life can be so perfect.

Rowanne placed a small bough of cedar and one of juniper on the fire, and watched as they caught quickly and burned bright. As they turned to ash, she came to the opening at the top of the circle.

“In this sacred circle, Noel and Skena gather to plight their troth of love before all of Craigendan. I must ask, who gives this woman to Noel in a bonding of our ways?”

“I do,” Andrew said loudly.

Then a “Me, too,” came from the other side of Noel. Annis peeked around his hip and smiled.

That drew a laugh from all in the Great Hall. Rowanne held out her hand waiting for the strips of cloth. Noel let go of Skena’s hand to reach between his surcoat and shirt and pull out his cloth for the binding. Her eyes widened as she saw it had been cut from the shirt he wore when she had found him. Skena tugged the small piece of tartan cut from her favorite shawl and passed it to Rowanne.

Her cousin placed it atop Noel’s cloth and then held them aloft, turning in a circle for all to witness. She tied the two pieces of material together, “With this knot I bind you. May your love endure everlasting so long as this knot remains true.” Turning her brown eyes to Noel, she said, “Speak your words, Lord de Servian.”

Noel surprised all by stepping forward and snatching the tied cloths from Rowanne. He tossed the joined cloths into the fire. “No one shall undo this knot.” Taking up Skena’s hand, he slid a ring on her finger and then lifted their hands high so all could view. “I take Skena MacIain, Baroness Craigendan, as my lady wife, from now until death parts us, and may God grant a blessing upon this union that death takes us in the same breath. I pledge to you, her people, my people, that I will honor her and forsake all others. I will defend her with my life.”

Rowanne nibbled on the corner of her lip, fighting the emotions summoned by Noel’s words. She blinked away unshed tears, and then cleared her throat. “What say you, Skena of Craigendan? Will you have this man, accept him as your lord husband, give over to him the safe keeping of all you treasure and love?”

Skena reached up and placed the heavy torque belonging to the Lord of Craigendan around Noel’s neck. “Aye, I will have him, and a good bargain made, for I will have none other for the rest of my life. I will honor him, support and love him with my whole heart. I wed a man whose name means Christmas on Christmas Eve. No greater gift can come to me.”

Rowanne’s eyes shifted to Guillaume standing to the side of the fireplace, before coming back to Skena. “Then you are blessed, cousin, for I now bear witness that you and Lord de Servian are wed by our ways. Let no man say otherwise. May this union bring you both all the joy you so richly deserve.”

Rowanne bent to sprinkle a handful of grain on the floor to cover the small opening in the circle of evergreens. “Come, jump over the grain as a blessing that this marriage will be fruitful, and then let us feast and celebrate the joyous day.”

Skena squeaked as Noel swept her into his arms and then hopped over the grain, careful not to disturb the line. Everyone laughed and clapped as he carried his bride to the lady’s chair at the trestle table and deposited her with a flourish. She smiled up at him, so blessed that Noel had come into her life.

Her snowy knight had come on the wings of a child’s wish and changed their world. Skena could not recall ever being so happy.

“Skena and I bid you to eat your fill of this wonderful feast, and raise your cup to this coming year to be a good one for Craigendan.” Noel raised his glass in a toast, and everyone followed suit.

Several raised their mugs of ale or mead and spoke words of blessings. Some from the Englishmen tended to be slightly ribald in nature. All wished them well.

Save one. Skena tensed as she spotted Dorcas, standing in the kitchen passageway, just as she had the morn they announced Noel was the new lord of Craigendan. She held her breath, almost expecting the shadowy figure of Angus to come up behind Dorcas and whisper to her as he had that time. No one came.

Noel noticed the direction of Skena’s stare and gently placed his hand over hers.

“She will be gone shortly. Guillaume will take her back to Lochshane and will arrange for a marriage to someone in the lowlands. She’s comely enough. With a few coins someone will take her. Then you shan’t have to worry about her mischief making ever again.”

“But what about—” she started to say, only he cut her off.

“’Tis over. Duncan Comyn is gone and with him the ‘ghost’ that walked Craigendan. Notice how nothing further has occurred since he went away? He might try to return, but to what purpose? You are mine now, and he is smart enough to know I will kill to protect you,” he assured.

As she stared at Dorcas, she shivered, feeling a touch of foreboding. “Mayhap I am scared.”

“Of what?” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “There is naught to fear, Skena. Trust me?”

She nodded. “With my whole heart. Only, I fear what the gods give, they may take away as well. I am so happy. Everything is so perfect that mayhap ’tis too much. It will all be snatched away.”

“My first order as your lord husband is this, which you promised to obey—let nothing shadow your heart this day. ’Tis our day. The start of many days to come.”

He leaned close and brushed his lips against her cheek.

Trying to shake off the fear suddenly gripping her heart, Skena ignored the ripples of the kenning pulsing through her. “I do not recall promising to obey you, my lord husband,” she jested.

He laughed. “But you shall do so or—”

“You will beat me?” She finally gave him a smile. “I love you, Noel de Servian.”

“Only half as much as I love you, Skena de Servian. Another change I am making as your lord and husband. Any objections?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

She shook her head. “I like that very much, my lord,” and leaned to kiss him to express how much.

A small head popped between them. “Us, too?” They pulled apart to see Annis—and her puppet—pushing between them so she could climb onto Noel’s knee.

“You want to be Annis de Servian?” Skena asked, so pleased with how the child was accepting Noel. Her daughter nodded, and then snatched the Christmas bread, made with nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon from Noel’s fingers as he held it out for her.

Noel nodded. “Us, too, though I am not sure what you named your puppet.”

She held the dolly up and said with a half full mouth, “Lady Muriel de Servian.”

Noel hugged Annis, as a pair of small hands came around to cover his eyes.

“You cannot see again until you answer my riddle,” Andrew taunted in a deep voice and then giggled. “Who am I?”