The Christmas Knight (24 page)

“Then we better think of a way to stop them—and fast.”

Edythe took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it go. It was still early in the morning and it would be hours before the day began, but when it did, they had to have a plan. “You’re right. But we’re going to need help.”

Edythe stretched her neck as far as it would go in an effort to see above those around her. Being short had its advantages, but in her opinion, it had far many more drawbacks.

Today had been a lesson in patience, and for once, Lily had not been the cause. The first test had been unexpected, though in hindsight Edythe should have predicted Bronwyn’s resistance to participating in the Nativity ceremonies. Rarely was her sister stubborn against the wishes of her family and friends, but today mining the Cumbrian Hills for granite would have been easier. If it had not been for Father Morrell’s timely arrival and subsequent pressure for
all
to be present at his sermon, Bronwyn would have remained in her room perfectly miserable, though claiming to be content.

Edythe’s second, and if possible, even more infuriating trial had come in the form of a burly Highlander. Tyr had agreed with her goal of getting Bronwyn and Ranulf together, but not in his involvement. It was not until Edythe promised that the misery she’d rain down on him would be far greater than Ranulf’s revenge that Tyr resigned himself to his fate.

Edythe stretched her neck again, searching the crowd. Finally, she saw Tyr winding through the families that were sitting around the semilarge bonfire situated in the bulging end of the courtyard. She widened her eyes and lifted her chin, clearly suggesting he hurry up. Tyr’s response was to slide his tongue across his teeth and accentuate his swagger, slowing down his gait.

Huffing, Edythe edged away from Bronwyn’s side and glanced at Ranulf. At least he was following the plan, although unwittingly. He had arrived and dutifully sat by Lillabet after she beckoned him to the spot next to her. He looked miserable and desperate. Almost as depressed as Bronwyn. This plan had to work.

Tyr sauntered up to the quiet group. “You look beautiful tonight, Lady Bronwyn,” he said in an excessively silky voice, all the while looking at Edythe.

Her bright blue eyes issued him a lancing stare at his ridiculously dramatic tone. Tyr shrugged back and squatted next to Bronwyn.

Lillabet saw the exchange and, fearing that Ranulf would catch on to Tyr’s lack of sincerity, quickly diverted the conversation. “How is Christmas celebrated at court? Do they fast through the Eve of the Nativity, or are they persuaded, as Father Morrell is, to bring the event in with celebration…and food?” she asked and then daintily popped another piece of meat into her mouth.

“I suspect Father Morrell’s preference for food and merriment is much related to the size of his girth,” Edythe murmured through her pursed lips. Silence followed. Nothing was happening, and at this rate, nothing would and both of them would be married for several years before either admitted to themselves their true feelings, let alone to each other.

“Well, I love our traditions. Lord Anscombe—your cousin,” Lily said, nudging Ranulf with her elbow, “created this one of starting the season outside, sitting around a bonfire with friends, family, and…loved ones.” She leaned over and plopped a small chaste kiss on Ranulf’s cheek.

Edythe saw the very slight, but definite recoil.
Excellent
, she thought.
Yes, Lily, keep reminding them both of how awful it will be…

Tyr reached out to get a plate of food being distributed by a servant and handed it to Bronwyn, who gave him a thoughtful smile of thanks. Ranulf, who had been covertly watching the scene, let go a small grunt. Bronwyn picked up a piece of bread and started pulling it apart, but did not eat it.

A heavy stillness overcame the small group as Edythe and Lily searched for something to say or do to advance their cause. Meanwhile, Tyr, Ranulf, and Bronwyn waited for an opportunity to escape. Before either occurred, one of Ranulf’s men, Tory, oblivious to the tension surrounding him, asked, “May I offer my congratulations, my lord? Not a woman in the world compares to your bride in beauty.”

Lily typically basked in such praise, but tonight, all she could do was groan and give a dismissive wave at the good-looking soldier in hopes that he would leave before opening his mouth again. Meanwhile, Edythe crossed her arms to hide her hand pinching Tyr into action.

Just as covertly he snatched her fingers and squeezed them until he heard Edythe’s sharp intake of breath. He did not need her encouragement. He could see the hurt echoing in Bronwyn’s eyes and it angered him to see her in such pain, first by his friend and now by a soldier’s careless remarks. Leaning over to Bronwyn, he whispered in her ear, “Tory’s wrong, my lady. You are far prettier and far more attractive.”

Edythe smiled. Tyr’s tone was perfect. Sincere and just loud enough for everyone to hear. She lowered her eyes and covertly studied Ranulf. The man did not move. Nothing. Not even a quick look of disapproval. Edythe risked another poke at Tyr, this time removing her hand quickly before he could capture it in another viselike grip.

Tyr’s reaction was immediate as she suddenly found herself the object of a very angry and palpable stare. She swallowed and looked away, knowing she had just pushed the Highlander too far.
Well, if you don’t try harder to make your friend jealous, a small poke in the side will seem trivial compared to what I will do to you, Tyr Dequhar
, she vowed, but only to herself.

Moments later, relief flooded her though when Tyr reached behind Bronwyn and awkwardly pulled her wrap around her. “You look troubled, my lady, for a woman about to get married. Don’t be. Rolande is an exceptional man with a unique ability to make any woman feel very comfortable—and what I understand—very happy in his arms.”

Edythe’s head jerked up and she stared open-mouthed at Tyr. Was the man obtuse? How was openly telling her sister that her future husband had been with many women and made them all very deliriously happy going to help?

Tyr returned her stare with a smirk that said many things, including,
“What? Why are you looking at me like that? You wanted a reaction and I gave you one.”

Edythe squeezed her eyes shut but reopened them immediately upon Lily’s gasp. Ranulf was standing, looking down. “Good night, Lady Lillabet. I will see you in the morning in the chapel.” Then he issued a single pointed stare at Bronwyn—the first direct look he had given her all evening, and added, “And good night to you,
my lady
. May tomorrow bring you the future comfort and happiness you deserve.”

Then he turned, and all the heads and eyes in the crowd followed Ranulf across the courtyard as he headed alone toward the Tower Keep.
My lady
, he had said. Those two words Ranulf had emphasized conveyed more than a thousand speeches. If there was any doubt Edythe had about his feelings that erased it. Ranulf had practically announced to all present that, despite everything, Bronwyn was not just a lady, but
his
lady. He also made it clear that it made no difference.

When he finally disappeared from view, Bronwyn in turn, rose and nodded to Father Morrell. “I…I’m sorry, Father. Your sermon was lovely as always, but I am fatigued from all the preparations.” Then she flashed Tyr a brilliant smile that would have deceived anyone unless they saw the tears gathering in her eyes. “Tomorrow, then?” she asked.

Tyr nodded and Bronwyn pivoted, moving toward the Great Hall and her bedchambers above.

“Do something!” Edythe hissed.

Tyr rolled his eyes and murmured, “Haven’t I done enough?” But seeing Edythe’s imploring look, he jumped up and joined Bronwyn before she passed through the large two-door entrance.

“My lady,” he began, reaching out and clutching her arm to stop her, “Ranulf knows not the mistake he is making.”

Misunderstanding, Bronwyn shook her head in disagreement. “If that is true, then it is a mistake every man alive wants to make. My whole life, all prefer my sister Lily. And they should. She is sweet, good, and beautiful.”

Tyr shrugged his chin and crossed his arms. “Aye, she is indeed handsome, but I have known Ranulf a long time. He won’t be happy with her. Lily won’t challenge him.”

“Like Edythe challenges you?”

Tyr rolled his eyes, bobbing his head side to side, not denying the accusation. “Aye, Finch is a far more palatable companion for life,” he chuckled, not denying the accusation. “It is a good thing for us both that I have sworn never to marry or I just might be vulnerable to someone like her.”

Bronwyn cocked her head to the right, but she did not pry. “You’re a good man and loyal friend, Tyr. I am glad it is you I shall be standing next to in the morning.”

Tyr swallowed, seeing the sadness in Bronwyn’s eyes. Damn his friend for doing this. “Neither of you have to, you know. Get married. If you are doing this because of that baron Lily mentioned, I can assure you that Ranulf—even I—would protect you three.”

“No,” Bronwyn said quietly but with unwavering conviction. “That would mean fighting and death. I will not have that on my conscious when it can be easily avoided. I’ll marry to ensure Edythe is safely protected and then I think I will leave. Edythe can stay at Syndlear. She loves it more than any of us.”

“Leave?” Tyr choked in surprise. He wondered if Ranulf knew about this part of Bronwyn’s plan.

She took a deep breath and looked around, hugging her arms. “My being here…would be too hard, you know, with memories of my father everywhere and…honestly I don’t think marriage was ever my destiny, especially with someone I don’t know. Even with a handsome charmer like Rolande,” she inserted with a bit of joviality. Then more seriously, she continued, “I’m actually eager to leave. Starting a new life, with my mother’s family that I have never had the opportunity to get to know…that has an appeal to me, now more than ever.”

Tyr didn’t say a word. She looked hopeful and he did not know how to tell her that it was all for naught. Ranulf would never allow Bronwyn to leave, despite his more recent actions and words. Her only hope was to disappear tonight and Tyr almost encouraged her to do so, for it was probably the only way to get Ranulf to admit to his feelings before he promised himself to a life of misery.

Edythe repressed the urge to run up and shake Bronwyn until she came to her senses. Anyone looking at either Ranulf or her sister could see the depth of their feelings. Unfortunately, they were equally stubborn, which spelled doom for them both.

“What are we going to do?” Lily asked as she stared at the huge flames of the bonfire. Her forlorn voice echoed Edythe’s own concerns. “We can’t force them to marry.”

Edythe gave a quick shake of the head, agreeing with her younger sister. Coercion in any form was not the answer. Whenever she tried to pressure Bronwyn into or out of something—whether it was big or small—she had always failed. Not even their father or Lily had such power. “Both have too much pride. And tomorrow they will regret the power it has over them.”

“If only we could
make
them marry each other. Leave them without any other choice.”

Edythe blinked as Lily’s passing comment began to take form. She glanced back and verified that Father Morrell was not in hearing distance. “Maybe, dear sister, we can.” Then without warning, Edythe jumped up and ran toward Tyr, whose long stride was aimed purposefully at the Tower Keep. “Tyr, we need to talk.”

He stopped in midstride and looked down at her petite form. “No,
we
don’t need to talk, Finch. Ranulf and I do,” he clarified and recommenced his march.

Edythe picked up her gown and ran to get in front of him. “Wait. Do you really think one more conversation is going to change anything?”

“No,” Tyr growled. “But something needs to be done. Ranulf isn’t acting rationally. I thought he would calm down from whatever made him mad and see reason by now, but I actually think he is going to marry your nit-wit of a sister and she is going to let him!”

“She only agreed because that’s what she thought everyone wanted her to do!”

“Well, Lily picked a perfect time to start thinking of others.”

“At least she is willing to do something drastic to save her sister from misery. Are you just as loyal?”

Tyr raked his fingers through his dark auburn hair, rubbing his scalp in frustration. “It’s not a question of loyalty. I’m just at a loss as to how to stop a wedding two people are determined to have.”

Edythe’s lips curled into a very large and very mischievous smile. “Who said anything about
stopping
the wedding?”

Tyr paused, arched a brow in curiosity, and then lightly tapped the end of Edythe’s nose with the tip of his finger. “Just what crazy plan do you have in mind this time, Finch? And it better not involve the silly notion of jealousy.”

Edythe swatted his hand away, ruffled that he treated her like a child when it was the last thing she felt when around him. “Fine, I admit my first plan didn’t work, just as you predicted. But this will.
If
you could use all that charm in a more productive manner and manage just one or two things.”

Tyr listened as Edythe carefully detailed her idea. It was crazy and things would have to be timed perfectly, but he had to acknowledge that this one had the potential of actually being successful. Grinning, he nodded in agreement to his role in the latest plan. “You know, Finch, I actually think I like the way your mind works.”

Oh, there would be a wedding, just as foretold. Only it would be unlike any ever heard of.

S
ATURDAY
, D
ECEMBER
25, 1154
C
HRISTMAS
, T
HE
F
EAST OF THE
N
ATIVITY

“Edythe, no!” Bronwyn hissed through gritted teeth. It was humiliating enough participating in the wedding farce, and she was not about to add wearing a wimple on top of it. The severe white headdress was confining, uncomfortable, and—in her opinion—ugly. Why both her sisters thought such a contraption should be worn during the ceremony was beyond her. The only saving grace of the day was that her father wasn’t there to see it and be disappointed.

Gripping the white prison in her hand, Edythe shoved the garment toward Bronwyn. “I don’t want to wear one either, but Lily does, and since she is the one who really
is
getting married today, we are going to oblige her. You are the only one not ready.”

Bronwyn snatched the wadded mass from her sister’s grasp, and Edythe gulped in relief. Bronwyn’s touching the dreaded thing was the first step in convincing her to wear it. And she had to—all three of them did. Facial covering was crucial if this was to work.

“But why?” Bronwyn moaned, unbundling the now wrinkled clump. She started to reform the distorted wire frame, her face full of aversion. “It’s only Tyr and he has seen me in my net many times before.”

Edythe grimaced and threw her hands up in the air, murmuring that she knew this was going to be the hard part. Lily sat down by Bronwyn and held her hand. “Please, do this for me.”

“I already agreed to the dress.”

Lily licked her lips. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I will feel much more comfortable about my own vows if we are all dressed more traditionally. I need your support.”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Covering one’s face is traditional? I have never heard such nonsense. Besides it sounds dangerous. Don’t you want to be looking at your groom when he makes his vows?”

Lily shook her head and Bronwyn exhaled, believing she finally understood. “Then don’t marry him. We can still leave—”

Lily closed her eyes and squeezed Bronwyn’s fingers. “You misunderstand. I want to marry today. Very much. I will say my vows with no reservations. But I won’t be able to—”

“Unless we agree to wear
these
.” Bronwyn lifted hers up and tried one last time to change her sister’s mind. “Mine is terribly wrinkled. Not at all appealing.”

Lily kissed Bronwyn’s cheek. “It will be fine. I’ll see if the cook can lay something hot on it to remove some of the larger creases.”

Edythe leaned against the window frame as the tension moved from one hurdle to another. Almost an hour ago just after dawn, Tyr had entered the chapel and he had yet to emerge, which could only mean one thing. He was having as much difficulty with Father Morrell as she was with Bronwyn. Then, as if he heard her thoughts, Tyr stepped out from the small enclosure and headed straight toward the Hall, most likely to find her. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to run down and check to make sure all is ready,” Edythe gushed and then flew out of Bronwyn’s bedchambers before her sisters could stop her.

Rushing down the back stairs, she slowed upon entering the large room just as Tyr came through the main entrance. She wiggled her finger for him to follow her outside and behind the small wooden building where the fur pelts from recent kills were hanging to dry. He stopped right beside her, not touching, but close enough to be unnerving.

Tyr reached down and flicked the stiff covering on the wimple. “Attractive,” he teased.

She swatted his hand away. “Stop it. It’s necessary.”

His hazel eyes openly appraised her deep green gown and sparkled with approval, causing her racing heart to skip a beat. “No, I mean it. You, Finch, look incredible. Your sapphirine eyes could snatch a man’s soul.”

Edythe couldn’t tell if Tyr was serious or not. His grin was enormous, making his dimples even more prominent and alluring. The man was devastatingly handsome and he knew it.
Flatter me all you want, Highlander, I’m immune to your charm
, she told herself, knowing deep down that it wasn’t exactly true. “Never took you to be an admirer of wimples.”

“I’m not. It should be a crime to hide your thick red mane,” Tyr said seductively as he fingered the long white linen as if it were a lock of hair.

“Ha!” Edythe exclaimed with a snort. “You have no idea what my hair looks like as I have always worn it up and in braids.”

Tyr leaned in close until his mouth brushed her ear. “Maybe you’re right. Some redheads do tend to have hair that is unkempt and quite unpleasant. You may be providing a service of mercy by hiding it even now.”

Edythe cocked a brow and smiled impishly. Time to fight back. She wasn’t a practiced flirt—not like Lily—but she did know how. What was more, she knew exactly what would rattle Tyr. Walking her fingers up his chest, she whispered, “Aye, it is a kindness, for my hair is long, wild, and incredibly soft. But since I have chosen to marry another, you will live in want to discover if what I say is true.”

“You marry another only because
I
refused to marry
you
.”

Edythe tilted her head back until they locked gazes. “I would be insulted, but you refuse to marry anyone.”

“You and every other woman are lucky that I know my limits.”

“Aye,” Edythe replied, mocking his burr. “Besides I understand the man I am to wed is far better than you.”

Tyr took a step back, suddenly needing space. “You didn’t choose him, I did. Ranulf asked me what I thought. So know this, Finch, your husband is the man
I
selected.”

“Well, it won’t matter unless you were able to convince Father Morrell about the ceremonies. You were in there a long time.”

“Where’s your faith? I was so good at convincing him of our plan, the man probably would profess it was his idea.”

“
Our
plan?” Edythe repeated, unable to hide her mirth.

“You wouldn’t begrudge me a little credit, especially as it would enable me to tease Ranulf with the fact for the rest of his life.”

Edythe laughed aloud, wishing that she could keep from turning soft inside when Tyr smiled at her. “In that case, did Father Morrell agree to
all
of
our
plan?”

“Everything. I told him that due to the unusual circumstances and to keep the villagers focused on Christmas and not their lord and new lady, maybe it would be best to have the ceremonies without an audience and in the order you suggested.”

“So all we have to do is keep everyone from meeting until it is too late.”

Tyr nodded. “See if you can persuade Bronwyn to wait in the inner close on the other side of the chapel. There, she won’t see anyone coming in and out, and even more importantly, no one will see her.”

“What about his lordship?”

Tyr licked his lips, unconcerned at the notion. “Ranulf will be easy. He already told me to come get him only when it was time. A most uneager groom.”

“He said that?”

“No, but one of the servants told me that if any message was to arrive from Lady Bronwyn, he was to be notified immediately, even if that meant interrupting his own wedding ceremony.”

Edythe frowned. “I overheard Bronwyn give similar instructions to Constance this morning.”

“All we can do now is bring them to the altar.”

“Afterward they are going to have to clean up their own messes.”

Tyr laughed out loud and nodded his head. “Agreed,” he said, intertwining her arm with his as he escorted her back around the shack and toward the chapel.

Neither had been aware they had been observed the entire time.

Ranulf told himself for the tenth time to look away, but he continued to stare at the couple conversing directly below. He could not see Bronwyn’s face as she was wearing a wimple and the angle was almost vertical, but he could make out Tyr’s demeanor.

At first, Ranulf thought they were discussing the upcoming nuptials, as Tyr was going to stand in for Rolande. He watched his friend’s demeanor intently, waiting for a sign that Bronwyn had changed her mind, but the conversation looked far from controversial. It looked almost intimate with Tyr whispering in her ear and she remaining close.

Ranulf felt a wave of jealousy hit him, but before he could act on it, Tyr pulled back. His face had grown animated as if he was sincerely excited…and then he laughed. A real laugh, not the half chuckle his friend typically produced when amused, but the type that originated from within and was almost always shared.

Ranulf’s apprehension about his decision suddenly vanished. After witnessing Bronwyn’s lethargy last night, he had considered stopping the proceedings and ending the farce. At the very least, he had decided he wasn’t going to marry Lily. But if Bronwyn could feel such ease and merriment at the prospect of his marrying her sister, then why shouldn’t he? Lillabet was undeniably beautiful and most likely would be compliant and unchallenging as long as he adorned her with pretty dresses and mollified her with infrequent trips to court. She wouldn’t provide him passion, but she would give him sons. It would be enough.

I’ll marry her, angel, and find a way to forget you as you have forgotten me.

Ranulf stirred at the sound of someone knocking. He rose from the hearth chair and opened the door, surprised to see a small servant boy and not Tyr telling him it was time. His friend had no doubt already served as proxy and Bronwyn was now married. He scowled at the lad, who scampered away immediately, leaving Ranulf to descend the staircase and walk toward the chapel alone.

Aside from a few people who were shuffling around the stables, not a soul was in sight at the nether bailey. Perhaps they were all inside the chapel, waiting.

The morning sun burst into the dark room as he opened the doors. With the exception of Lillabet and the priest already at the altar, the place was empty. The door closed behind him. At the sound, he could see Lily’s back stiffen. She didn’t turn around and he was glad. He did not want to see her expectant shining face and be forced to smile in return.

Unhurried, he moved down the center aisle to her side, reminding himself that he was lucky. He had never thought to marry at all, let alone to someone all men desired. And he should desire Lily. She was beautiful. Her figure swathed in silver was similar to Bronwyn’s, tall, lithe, and curvaceous in just the right ways, but without Bronwyn’s spirit, she was just a pretty face.

Arriving at Lily’s side, he looked down and saw the damp spot darkening the shimmering silk sleeve. Another drop fell onto the garment. Lily was crying. If she was this upset at the altar, what would she do in his bed? Suddenly, he didn’t care. Relief flooded through him as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted.

Before Father Morrell could start his speech, Ranulf turned toward her, picked up her hand, and said, “Lily, I cannot do this. I don’t want this, and by your tears, it is clear you do not want me either.”

Hearing Ranulf’s voice, Bronwyn froze, unable to move or speak. She had felt dead inside standing at the altar. When Tyr had entered and made his way to her side, she couldn’t even make herself look at him, and was wondering how she was going to be able to speak the vows that represented a life she desperately wanted—but with Ranulf.

Hearing his deep voice, Bronwyn twisted guardedly. Was Ranulf playing some kind of trick? Had he not married Lily earlier? She lifted her veil to see unhampered by the fine linen and verify it really was Ranulf standing beside her. His steady gaze instantly became remote, the amber color of his good eye turned dark and ominous. Everything about him—the granite hardness of his jaw, the severity of his demeanor—made it clear he was far from just unhappy. He was furious at the situation and the last thing in the world he wanted was to marry her. Whatever was going on, Ranulf was not party to it.

Ranulf was just as shocked as Bronwyn, but he had no trouble finding his voice. “Just what kind of game are you playing now?”

His booming attack was just the trigger Bronwyn needed to find her own ability to speak. “I am playing no game, my lord, and I am done trying to play yours,” she declared through clenched teeth and then pivoted to leave.

She had not made it three steps when the chapel doors sprung open. Edythe and Lily ran in, dragging a very rattled Tory. Tyr followed and closed the door, with a pleased look.

Bronwyn stopped in her tracks and pointed, yelling at Ranulf, “See. There. It’s a mistake. Tyr is here now and can…” Her voice dwindled off as she realized Tyr was shaking his head.

“Tory and I have done our proxy duty, Lady Bronwyn, and you can look, but I doubt you find another man available to marry you today.”

Remembering the vacancy of the courtyard, Ranulf glared at his friend. Whatever was going on had been cleverly orchestrated. “Explain. Now,” Ranulf ordered, his tone leaving no misinterpretation of his meaning or the severity of his request.

Completely unperturbed, Edythe stepped forward, her face filled with self-satisfaction. “I look forward to meeting Garik—my
husband
,” she said with glee, making clear that her nuptials had already taken place.

She then glanced at Lily, who moved beside her. Lily issued a pleading look to Bronwyn and said, “If Rolande is anything like Tyr described, then he and I are much better suited. You know that I am not ready to run a keep, let alone a castle. The wife of a prominent and good-looking commander is much more to my liking.” Bronwyn’s blue eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment before narrowing again as her thoughts raced dangerously. Her future, her
life
, had been decided by those she loved and trusted. “Is this done?” she demanded. “Is this a proposition or are you both married?”