The Christmas Knight (28 page)

Her empty response didn’t bother Ranulf for he had complete confidence in the real answer. “Well, I know. You wouldn’t have married him.”

“Maybe I would have,” she said, challenging his supposition. “Remember I could have asked for an annulment.”

Ranulf held her just a little tighter. “But you knew with me that wouldn’t be an option.”

Bronwyn could sense the tension rising in Ranulf and recognized its cause. Though he had yet to make the same claim, he needed her to convince him once again of the depth of her feelings.
Soon
, she told herself,
he will be able to say it back.
“I love you,” she whispered and brushed his lips with her own, letting him feel the endless need and love inside her. “And I meant every word I said. I had found the man I had always wanted and married him.”

“And you are mine, Bronwyn. Forever. You have been since the moment I first saw you.”

Bronwyn arched her back and poked his chest. “I wasn’t your first choice, but I am happy that I’m your last,” she teased.

Ranulf crinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Only that Lily was your first choice.”

Ranulf let go. “She wasn’t my
choice
,” he stressed. “That should have been clear at the altar when I told her—
you
—that I didn’t want to marry her. I never wanted to. I can’t even imagine kissing Lily.”

Bronwyn stepped back, feeling confusion and the first sparks of anger. “Then why did you agree to marry her?”

“I have a better question, why did
you
agree to marry someone else?” he asked, raising his voice in response to her iciness.

“Why shouldn’t I have?
You
were the one who chose the man for me!”

“Well, I never thought you would agree!” Ranulf bellowed, remembering his shock at learning of her quick acquiescence to the idea of becoming another man’s wife. “Do you know the hell I went through knowing you had no problems marrying another man over me? After the afternoon we shared?”

Bronwyn threw up her hands. “I didn’t
choose
Garik over you. You
rejected
me and for my sister, of all people. If I chose anything, it was time. Time to make sure Lily would be happy and to ensure Edythe really wished to stay. I had plans to leave.”

“And do what? Go north and find someone else?” Ranulf half snarled, realizing how close she had come to ruining their future.

“Someone
else
?” Bronwyn parroted back. She grabbed his forearm. “Look at me, Ranulf. Until you, no one ever wanted me. And I find it a little ridiculous that you could protest about my finding someone else when it was
you
who chose Lily within minutes of meeting her!”

“Damn it, I did
not
choose her! I would have never married her. Pride got me to the altar, but I was stopping the farce before it went further. Hell, until you, I never thought I would ever want to marry. You have to know after the past few days that you are everything I will ever want and far more than I dared hope to ever find. It terrified me to think that you might not feel the same. So when your sister came up and offered herself to save you…”

“Wait a minute!” Bronwyn shouted as clarity started to shine on the events leading to their marriage. “You were
testing
me?” Then in a much lower, quieter, and colder voice, she said, “Damn stupid test, Ranulf.”

“No more stupid than using your sister to
test
me.”

“I did not use my sister,” Bronwyn protested, her dark blue eyes ablaze with smoldering ire. “I never
sent
her to you.”

“Because you didn’t need to. But instead of asking Lily about anything, you just accepted her decree, never once considering how your quick
enthusiastic
answer would sound to me.”

“And just what would you have done if you were me, Ranulf?” Bronwyn challenged, moving toward the door. “Groveled and begged when you learned you were played the fool or would you have somehow scraped the remaining morsels of your pride and accepted the offer?”

“Just where do you think you are going?”

Bronwyn yanked the door open and pivoted to look at him in the eye one last time before leaving. “Out to solve a problem. I love you, Ranulf, but that was one cruel idea and it nearly cost us each other. I need to do something productive to calm down. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Ranulf stood in front of one of the Great Hall windows and watched Bronwyn cross the nether bailey and hand some bundles of Saint John’s wort to several of the villagers. Despite his gift of letting her rest, she had been there all afternoon, helping. He was still tense about their fight, but not fearful. Neither of them exchanged threats, just heated words and emotions and, most importantly, a promise to speak later. In an odd way it spoke well of their future together, their ability to fight without tearing the other down. And he had learned an important lesson he hoped he could remember in the future—when Bronwyn was angry, she wanted to be alone.

Consequently, he had spent most of the afternoon working from his day room, keeping his mind occupied. In between answering random questions about the night’s festivities, he had met with the steward about finding a mason and rebuilding the North Tower in the spring. Afterward, he had met with the stable master to discuss what would be needed to shelter the horses that would arrive in the spring with his men. Next, he dared to enter the kitchens and ensure the evening meal would be on time. He had decided very quickly that Bronwyn would be best suited for such discussions in the future. Since then he had been in the Great Hall strategizing with Tyr about the movement in the hills. The numbers of men roaming the woods had rapidly diminished in the past two days, and without knowing why, Ranulf was on his guard.

The heavy doors to the Hall swung open and a gush of cold wind caught his tunic, whipping it across his legs. It had been happening all day as the servants went about decorating everything in sight. A deep short cough alerted him that this time it was something different and he turned around. There was no one there. Frowning, Ranulf twisted a little farther until he saw Tory, who—though unintentional—made a habit of standing on his left and just outside his line of vision. The young man’s face was not a happy one.

“We have a visitor,” Tory announced, his voice as grim as his expression.

Tyr, who had been standing across the room by the trestles sampling food as it was brought in, came forward. “Just who is this visitor?” Hearing his normal jovial tone turn serious, the handful of other soldiers in the room rose and joined him.

“Baron Craven. He wishes to pay his respects,” Tory answered, keeping his gaze on Ranulf. By now, Lily’s tale of the baron and his plan was well known among his men. Tory, along with everyone else, had no idea how his lord was going to respond. They had fought for Ranulf many times, but no one, not even Tyr, had ever seen
Deadeye Gunnar
faced with this type of situation.

“Welcome the baron in, Tory, and escort him here.”

Tory blinked in surprise, but nodded and left. Tyr grimaced and his face took on the hard, angular look of a warrior preparing for battle. “Ranulf, I should be dressed better for such a meeting, don’t you agree?”

Ranulf nodded, glad his friend had elected to hang around Hunswick until after the holidays. Ranulf only wished that he, too, could leave and get his sword. The chances of him needing one were small, but often its physical presence could stop a fight.

The doors swung open again as Tyr left. Before they closed, an unusually tall man with wavy blond shoulder-length hair entered the room. His piercing light blue eyes scanned the spacious area, pointedly looking at the servants, who had recommenced hanging the herb bundles. Finally, they landed on Ranulf. The baron’s face cringed just barely as he saw the loose flesh of Ranulf’s left eyelid and realized that he was not winking at him.

Ranulf should have expected the reaction. He had been getting it since the day he awoke after his accident, but in the past few days, it had been vacant from his life. His interactions with those at Hunswick had been as if he were any other man or lord. Consequently, he had forgotten his outward appearance and people’s typical response upon seeing him. Usually, though, people looked away, but not Baron Craven. His eerie blue eyes continued to assess Ranulf so he did the same.

Overall, Luc Craven looked no different close up than he did from afar. Ranulf had spent enough time in court to know that outwardly the man before him would appeal to women, but that day in the woods Bronwyn had not desired the baron’s touch, she had been repelled by it.

Again, the door opened. It was Tyr, brandishing not one sword, but two, in case Ranulf desired one after all. Ranulf sauntered to the head table and stood in front of the main chair without sitting down. “I must say I am surprised to have a visitor so late in the day. As you can see, we are trying to finish preparing for tonight’s feast.”

Luc stopped midway and gave a respectable, if not sincere, nod. “I apologize for not coming over sooner to welcome you to the Hills, but similar responsibilities prevented me.”

The doors again swung open and closed as people continued to work. Ranulf ignored them, keeping his attention only on the baron. “I completely understand, but as Twelfthtide season has begun, I wonder how it is that you were able to break free tonight.”

Luc pointedly eyed the servants hanging herbs. “I confess that I do not allow the practice of all the Twelfthtide customs. I find them a nuisance and a drain on my finances, not to mention the king’s.”

“I guess I am fortunate to know the king.”

Luc inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I had heard you had worked for him for a number of years. An advantage that might make some of your titled neighbors a bit uncomfortable.”

The corners of Ranulf’s mouth lifted, but didn’t quite form a smile. “Perhaps nervous enough to have men—hired men—to watch my home and lands.”

One of Luc’s brows quivered, the only indication that he felt the effect of Ranulf’s barb. “Then I suggest you be careful until you have made local friends,” Luc said smoothly, determined not to show his frustration. “I came for two reasons. First, to pay my respects to you, of course. Your predecessor was quite loved. I expect it has been hard to step into the position when it was meant for your brother.”

Ranulf raised an eyebrow. Another gibe. The man felt confident enough to issue hidden insults, but he stood in the middle of the Hall between tables, not exactly a civilized speaking distance. More like a cowardly one. Ranulf decided to test the baron and advanced a few steps. Immediately, Luc shifted to his left, casually walking toward the windows and keeping his distance. Though surreptitiously done, it was enough to prove Ranulf’s guess had been accurate.

Ranulf returned to his chair and sat down with a pompous flair so out of character it caused several in the room to slacken. “My assumption of the title was unexpected, but not difficult,” he said with a condescending shrug of his shoulders. “From what I understand, you are my nearest neighbor and not far away.”

“Just less than a day’s ride. My lands are equidistant to Syndlear, but on the other side of Torrens. Or did you not know that the mountain was named after Lady Bronwyn’s beloved childhood pet?” Luc asked, smiling wickedly, believing his knowledge of Bronwyn greater.

Unaffected, Ranulf returned the dishonest smile. “Soon I should come pay you a visit, if welcomed.”

“And that is the topic of my second reason for coming here. I would like a moment to meet with Lady Bronwyn and her sisters. I understand that they have recently left their home to spend Twelfthtide in your company.”

Ranulf’s amber gaze suddenly went dark, and danger radiated from them. “If you wish to speak to my wife, I first must ask why.”

“Wife?” Luc repeated, making no pretense at hiding his shock. “Lady Bronwyn is your…
wife
?”

Ranulf rose and was about to end this charade when the woman in question entered the room through the kitchen passageway.

Bronwyn had been talking with the cook when she had heard the last bellowed question, as had anyone else near the Hall. Immediately recognizing Luc’s voice, she darted to the Hall, slowing only just before entering. Her eyes latched on to Ranulf for a brief second before pivoting to see sky blue orbs boring into her. “Baron Craven, I see you have met my husband.”

Luc sauntered over to where she stood and grandly picked up her hand. Holding it for an extended period of time, he bent over and kissed it, his eyes blazing. “I see you forgot the promise made to me, a promise made by the king.”

A low menacing growl came from Ranulf, and Tyr readied both swords, prepared to toss one to his friend with just a single look. “Let go of my wife’s hands.” The command held no compromise, only pain if not obeyed.

Luc squeezed the fingers and let them go. “I had the understanding these fingers were meant for me. What would you do if someone stole your long-fought-for and finally earned bride?” he taunted aloud, keeping his attention solely on his lost prize.

Bronwyn’s blue eyes darkened into angry thunderclouds. “A bride promised by someone now dead, not King Henry.”

“Bronwyn…” Luc said, stepping in closer.

She took a step back. “As you pointed out at our last meeting, we are no longer children. You may refer to me as Lady Anscombe.” Then with an abrupt turn, Bronwyn went and joined Ranulf, clasping his hand to hers, not for comfort but to keep him at her side. If Luc continued, things were about to become bloody. He did not seem to care that he was alone and making enemies.

Luc fought back a tremble of anger. He refused to show weakness. He was a noble and Ranulf could not kill him without cause, for doing so would come with consequences. “Then I demand to see her sisters!”