The Christmas Knight (30 page)

Getting up, Bronwyn splashed water on her face and noticed that a tray of food was perched on one of the small hearth tables. She had been so deep in her sorrow she had not even known when it had been delivered. Walking over, she pulled apart a piece of bread and went to go stand by the window. It was dark but she could see people scurrying around the courtyard. The feast was still going on in the Great Hall, but she did not feel like leaving the room and participating.

After tossing another log on the fire, she resettled herself in the chair and nibbled on the meat, thinking over what Ranulf had told her. Yes, he had caused the accident, but it had been far from intentional. Still, she had other questions, starting with why had Ranulf believed it necessary to keep this from her. Didn’t he trust her? When he returned, Bronwyn intended to ask.

After a while, her back began to hurt and her tailbone could stand to sit no longer. She crawled back into bed, wishing for Ranulf to return. Had he thought she wanted to be alone all night? For she hadn’t. She had only wanted time to think, to digest…and mostly just to grieve. She’d never really had the chance before.

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she fell asleep, vowing that when she awoke, she would seek him out. Tell him that she was glad to know the truth. That it gave her peace to know he had met her father and that he was in heaven smiling because they were together. Tomorrow, she would tell Ranulf that he was right.

Nothing she would ever learn could diminish what she felt for him.

Ranulf knelt down and studied the shaded wooded path for a minute. Most of the time, Luc’s trail could be easily discerned, indicating he either did not care if he was followed or just inept, but the sun was setting and it was getting harder to follow. When Ranulf started, he had not intended on tracking the baron for this long, but he had desperately needed something to do and be by himself.

When he had left, he had told Tyr that he would be back shortly, never realizing where his trek would take him. His initial goal had been to stay away as Bronwyn requested, but when he arrived to where he had found her huddled, shaking and alone, the simmering fury within him raged anew. Clues to where the baron had gone beckoned him and so he started to follow them.

It was not until Syndlear loomed in front of him that he realized how far he had gone. The afternoon sun beamed down on the vacated building. He went in and looked around to see if any of the baron’s mercenaries had made themselves a temporary home, but it looked unused. The empty stone structure was well fortified and, though not especially spacious, in good shape. Situated at the top of Torrens, its view spanned far into the valleys on either side of the mountain, making it an ideal outlook for either the baron’s land or his own.

He considered returning to Hunswick, but opted to continue following the trail. Luc was traveling alone and his route showed no indications he intended to stay on Hunswick lands. The baron was on his way home, and its location and level of protection had become of great interest to Ranulf. Luc was not an adversary—but an enemy. Soon, they would meet again and one of them would die.

Carefully, Ranulf followed the path down the mountainside. The wooded landscape had changed to a rockier and steep terrain, with sparse vegetation to hide his movements. He had been forced to stop for fear of being seen, but soon resumed after night arrived, cloaking his movements. Quickly Ranulf realized that the baron did not expect his or anyone’s arrival for he had to avoid only a few sentries, who were more interested in sleeping than manning their posts.

Ranulf continued down the mountain, crossing one river, before he got to the valley below…and within eyesight of Baron Craven’s home. The motte and bailey castle in sheer size could almost rival that of Hunswick. But it had one significant weakness many of the Saxon castles littering the English countryside still possessed. It was made of wood. Only a single plinth of a future curtain tower was being rebuilt of the local rock. It was no wonder the baron coveted Syndlear. He meant to dismantle it and use the already mined and shaped stones.

Ranulf took his time surveying the land and those who protected it. Five to six dozen hired men had meandered around before falling asleep, leaving only a couple actually awake enough to be considered on watch. If Ranulf and his men ever went into battle with the baron’s purchased army, Ranulf knew he would prevail despite the gross difference in numbers. Still, there would be losses.

In the distance, the air growled and Ranulf could smell the rain. It was still far away, but the moonlight, which had been guiding him, had dimmed considerably by the clouds rolling in. He had seen enough. It was time to retreat and make his way back home.

He prayed that Bronwyn was now ready to see him, but even if she wasn’t, she would just have to accept his presence. They were married and he was not about to lose her. It may take time for her to forgive him, but she would. Of that he was certain. She loved him, and more importantly, she knew that he loved her.

Just as the thought flashed in his mind, Ranulf realized she might not know. He had never actually told her. He had meant to, but somehow never did.

He needed to get back.

W
EDNESDAY
, D
ECEMBER
29, 1154
H
ONORING THE
T
RUCE

Bronwyn stretched. She had not slept well at all. In the middle of the night, she had been awakened by thunder and went to search for Ranulf, only to be told that he was occupied. The storm had not brought any rain, but it was indicative of upcoming weather. Winter had finally reached Cumbria.

Curses followed by several shouts from outside caught her attention. Rising, she flexed once again to loosen muscles stiffened from sleeping in the hearth chair and moved to peer out the window. Instantly her warm breath fogged the glass. It was cold outside and the wind was rattling the panes. Thankfully, no feast or outside activities had been planned. However, it was customary for those living close to or within the castle to gather in the Great Hall throughout Twelfthtide to enjoy each other’s company.

Bronwyn glanced back at the empty bed. Ranulf had obviously decided to sleep elsewhere and was waiting for her to leave before he came to the room to freshen himself. Next time she would be much more specific to the amount of time she needed when asking to be alone. She had been allowed to think, but none of her conclusions had ended her turmoil. She needed to speak with Ranulf.

Another wail erupted and this time Bronwyn looked straight down to see a small crowd just outside of the chapel. Father Morrell would explode. After being forced to conduct three weddings on Christmas, endure Luc’s invasion during the Feast for Saint John, and accept her and Ranulf’s absence on the night of the Holy Innocents, the devout priest was probably on the verge of either a stroke or a mental collapse.

The group had moved into the shadows, most likely to protect themselves against the wind. She could make out Constance’s hostile stance and a couple of guards, but the majority of the figures was facing the other way. She was about to go down and remind them about their dangerous location for such a boisterous activity when one of the shadows moved. The round, short silhouette could only belong to Father Morrell. Seconds later, Tyr stepped back into view along with both her sisters.

All looked to be angry or frustrated, including the priest, who was more than animated. She could not remember seeing any person of the cloth so visibly agitated. Her eyes darted elsewhere, looking for Ranulf, but he was nowhere in sight. Her desire to find him had to wait. Whatever was going on, a calmer head was needed.

Moving quickly, she donned her hose, woolen chainse, and heaviest bliaut, and at the last moment, grabbed a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. She then dashed down the stairwell and hastened toward the small party. Everyone quieted on her arrival, but the frustration in the air was palpable. As she was trying to decide who to calm first—Father Morrell or her sisters—her decision was made for her.

“Women,” Tyr grumbled, gesturing toward her sisters.

“What about them?”

“I’m just glad I’m not one, that’s all.”

Bronwyn quirked her eyebrow at the idea and asked, “Where’s Ranulf?”

Tyr pressed his lips together and frowned. “He’s out and will be back shortly. If you need something, I’ll take care of it.”

Bronwyn gave a quick shake of her head and dropped the bulky wrap. The wind was biting, but when blocked, the heavy bliaut and thick chainse were more than enough to keep her warm. “I do not need anything. I was just wondering what was upsetting everyone.”

“Nothing important,” Tyr groaned, rubbing the dark circles around his eyes.

“Maybe not important to you—” started Father Morrell.

“See?!” Lily shouted, staring at Bronwyn as if she suddenly understood everything and was on her younger sister’s side.

“I’ve had enough,” Tyr bellowed back and started heading toward the stables. Bronwyn ran to catch up with him. “Don’t start. I am not about to send anyone after a missing tapestry just to pacify two women and a priest.”

Understanding dawned on Bronwyn. The only weaving she knew that could cause such commotion
and
have the support of Father Morrell was the one her mother had created of her daughters. “You are right,” Bronwyn said matter-of-factly.

“Then maybe you can tell that to your sisters and make them see reason,” he grunted, slightly calmer after hearing the three magic words. “I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with such nonsense for the rest of my life. When Ranulf comes back, I’m gone.”

Bronwyn stopped and let Tyr continue toward the stables without her, suspecting there was much more to his frustration than even he realized. Turning around, she went back to confront her sisters, but they were gone.

She found them in her old bedchamber, slumped in hearth chairs wearing grumpy expressions. Both were arguing simultaneously, their anger and hurt unmistakable. When they saw her, their voices rose, chattering about Father Morrell and Tyr and how both men were incredibly unfair.

A half hour later, Bronwyn thought she understood the situation and why everyone was so on edge. She was not the only one who had little sleep the night before and all were emotionally drained. Normally, she could dispel her sisters’ frustrations before they rose to such levels, but she had not been around.

On Christmas, Lily realized that she had forgotten her mother’s tapestry in her rush to leave Syndlear and then had misled Father Morrell about having it. She had asked Tyr to recover the item and he had readily agreed, but it seemed he had not been specific as to when he intended to do so. Then last night, when Father Morrell came to retrieve the weaving to hang it behind him during his sermon about the Holy Innocents, Edythe let it be known Lily had left it at Syndlear. The priest had held his peace until this morning, but at the break of dawn he confronted Lily about her misdeeds. Lily in turn blamed Tyr, and soon after, insults were being slung about with no one, including the priest, being immune.

Bronwyn listened quietly. Then just as she believed both her sisters had completely discharged all their frustrations, Edythe exclaimed, “And just where were you last night? Everyone was very confused when Father Morrell gave the blessing…
alone
.”

Bronwyn hated dishonesty, even though burdening her sisters with the truth of their father’s death was not something she wanted to do. At least not now. Not during Twelfthtide. Suddenly the dilemma Ranulf had been in became clear. But she knew based on experience that keeping such secrets brought only additional pain.

Taking a deep breath, Bronwyn told her sisters what she had learned the previous day. Both listened in shock to the news of their father. Lily ran to her room, but Edythe remained stoic. Bronwyn knew she would grieve later, in her own way.

“What are you going to do?” Edythe asked.

“I am going to ride up to Syndlear and get that tapestry,” Bronwyn replied, rising to her feet. “While I am gone, Lily is going to muster up the courage to apologize to Father Morrell and you are going to pay a visit to Tyr and do the same.”

Edythe’s cheeks warmed and for a moment Bronwyn thought she was going to argue, but Edythe instead gave a quick bob of her head. Bronwyn almost felt sorry for her. Lily was going to have to do a month’s worth of penances, but she suspected Edythe would suffer a far worse punishment in facing Tyr.

Bronwyn went to leave when Edythe reached out and held her sleeve. “What should we tell Ranulf when he asks where you are?”

“Tell him I’ll be back this afternoon and we will talk then.”

Bronwyn had never seen Syndlear so deserted. Even during Twelfthtide, families usually took turns keeping the place running while most came down to Hunswick for the celebrations. This year, however, Ranulf had ordered everyone down to the castle for the winter, in order to keep from splitting his few forces between the two dwellings.

Logically, the decision made sense, but it was hard to imagine a battle of any significance taking place in Cumbria. Beyond small skirmishes between families, strife had been absent and Luc would not dare attack unprovoked. Based on what Ranulf told her, the new king would be quick to retaliate against such unsanctioned aggression.

She rewrapped the thick blanket around her and ventured inside. Despite the sun being high in the sky, its interior was dark and cold from the hearths not being lit. The lack of odor told her the place had been left clean. Even the rushes had been removed to help diminish the number of critters visiting while all were gone. Bronwyn glanced around to see if anything had been taken by vandals, but all looked to be as it should. Edythe would have been able to tell in an instant if anything was gone, for she loved this keep as much as Bronwyn loved Hunswick. For her, Syndlear held very little value. It was the people it housed that had any meaning. The building itself held too many dark memories, ones that she never could quite visualize, but hovered nonetheless just out of reach.

She moved up the staircase quickly to the third floor, eager to get the tapestry and leave. The overly large room had once belonged to their mother and had been converted to Lily’s chambers when she became of age. On the bed was the forgotten weaving, folded and ready to be packed. Bronwyn went to retrieve the item when behind her the door slammed shut. A scuffle of something being wedged in the frame immediately followed. “Is someone there?”

“Only me,” came a snide reply. “Your intended husband.”

“Luc? What are you doing?” Bronwyn asked as she advanced to the door and tried to open it. It did not budge. “Let me out!”

“Begging for me to help you now? That’s a change.” A cold chuckle chilled her blood. “I thought you would never want me under any circumstances. Funny how you seem to run to the nearest man whenever you feel in trouble. What will you promise me? Your body?” Luc inquired, sneering.

“Luc, let me out now. If Ranulf finds out what you have done—”

“Your precious lord is right now caught in a trap I set for him.”

Bronwyn held her breath. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should,” Luc replied, the promise in his tone unmistakable.

“You wouldn’t dare hurt him,” Bronwyn whispered, trying to convince herself as much as Luc.

“Harm one of the new king’s beloved noblemen? Not directly, but if your lover cares for you like he claims, then he will wish I did.”

“You are just begging for an early death, Luc.”

“Correction,
angel
,” he countered. “Death is what
you
asked for by marrying him and not me. Do you not remember what I said about no longer caring for your welfare?”

The contempt he held for her was enormous. She had been naïve to believe that his plans of revenge ended with his revelation about her father. He still wanted to hurt her. His question proved that.

“Do you?!”
Luc roared when she didn’t answer.

“I remember,” Bronwyn finally murmured, wishing there was some other way out of the room. There were secret passageways added to the solar and the rooms she and her sisters used as small children, but none had been constructed here. Only the storage spaces her father had built into every room above the first floor.

“Maybe I should have said that if I couldn’t have you, no one could. If I had, would it have made a difference?”

She had been unprepared for the threat.
Agree to come with him and live, or stay and die.
Until now, she had assumed Luc intended only to frighten her by leaving her locked in the room alone until someone came to get her, which was probably tomorrow at the earliest. But Luc’s plans did not have her living that long. “No, it would not have made a difference,” she stated truthfully.

His cackle caused her to tremble. “That’s what I love about you, angel. You have more courage than anyone—man or woman—I have ever met. I will miss that in Lillabet when I make her my wife.”

Bronwyn slammed her fist against the door in protest. “She’s already married!”

“I don’t believe you. The woman I saw had not been touched by a man, and when I go to the king and tell him of her trickery to prevent me from what was mine…then an annulment is sure to follow.”

“Don’t do this, Luc. Please…”

“Too late, angel. Just know in the end I will have everything that was supposed to be mine, despite your efforts.”

Fear twisted her gut as she heard his footsteps retreat. She raced to the outside wall and used the arrow slits to stare below. After several minutes, he appeared, mounted his horse, and rode off in the direction of his own lands.

It doesn’t make sense
, she thought to herself. Maybe she had been wrong about the level of revenge he sought. Then it occurred to her who was the real target. Ranulf. She started to pace back and forth. Of all the people she had ever met, Ranulf was the most capable. Luc might be setting a trap, but Ranulf was no ordinary prey. He would rescue her. Her job was to stay alive until that time.