The Christmas Knight (32 page)

F
RIDAY
, D
ECEMBER
31, 1154
F
IRST
F
OOTING

Lily strolled into the Great Hall careful not to make too much sound. The room was clean, just as most of Hunswick. She and Edythe had straightened their rooms that morning supposedly in preparation for First Footing, but in truth it was to keep busy. Everyone was searching for anything to occupy their minds from what they had lost. Her beloved sister through death and now their lord through paralyzing grief.

Lily stared at the large dark extended form staring into the hearth. Ranulf had spoken little since his return, eaten less, and moved not an inch from the Great Hall chair. Taking a deep breath, she ventured toward him, readying herself for his sour disposition.

“I told everyone to leave me alone,” he mumbled, but the uncompromising stance behind the request was clear.

Lily picked up the mug beside him on the table and quickly put it back down upon smelling the odor of its sour contents. When news came that her sister’s body could not be found among the ashes for burial, Ranulf had ordered everyone—including Tyr—to leave him be. The food and drink beside him had been sitting there for nearly a day and the ale had been from a cask opened almost four days ago for the Saint John’s feast. Most of the villagers thought their lord was in the Hall getting drunk, but the smell alone proved he had not taken even a sip. Lily was not surprised. The desire to eat or drink had left her as well.

“My lord? I just wanted to say good-bye. I am leaving for Scotland after the First Footing.”

Ranulf did not move. Lily didn’t think he had heard her even though she was standing right beside him. Then unexpectedly, he turned his head. “Tonight?” he asked.

She bowed her head, suddenly feeling as if she was abandoning him. “In the morning, with Jeb and Aimon. So far, the weather has been mild, but even if winter hits, they are from my mother’s clan and know people we can stay with during the journey.”

Ranulf resumed his firelight stare. “You don’t have to go. Bronwyn wouldn’t want you to leave.”

“My heart will stay here, but I cannot. There are too many memories.”

“You cannot flee them, Lillabet. They will follow you and haunt you wherever you are. Trust me.”

Lily wringed her hands and shook her head as another wave of guilt washed over her. “If I stay, I will only remind others of what I did. I am the one that forgot the tapestry. I am the one that made the protest about it not being here.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

“No, and neither did you. Baron Craven did.”

Ranulf remained still, but Lily could see a rigidity overtake his frame. He was shutting her out. “Tory and Norval will escort you as well.” Then as if he could tell she was going to argue, he added, “I made a promise to keep you and Edythe safe.”

Lily nodded in resignation. Then, realizing she was standing on his left just where Bronwyn had said not to, she moved to his right side. “Thank you. I am sure Jeb and Aimon will appreciate the support, but Edythe is not going. She has it in her mind that Bronwyn would want her to stay and help you with Hunswick and there is no convincing her otherwise. But she has Tyr, and I have seen the way he looks at her. He will keep her safe.”

“He won’t marry her.”

“Not while she’s married, no, but later,” Lily insisted. “Like me, she intends to get an annulment. Then, she—”

“Wouldn’t matter. Tyr won’t wed, not now, not ever.”

Lily crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. “I think you’re wrong. You think I am young and naïve, but I know love. It was I who realized Bronwyn was in love with you. I saw how happy you made her and now I see it in Edythe’s eyes. Don’t prevent Tyr from being content because of what happened to you.”

The accusation riled Ranulf into a reaction. He sat up and jerked his head around to give her a pointed stare. “You think I would do that?”

“I think you miss Bronwyn in a way I only wish I could someday understand. I think you were lucky,
supremely
lucky to have been loved by her, and she was just as fortunate to have been loved by you. But just because your time was cut short does not mean others are not meant for joy.”

Ranulf rolled his eyes and then relaxed against the chair, massaging his temples. “Tyr has demons, Lillabet. Ones that would terrify Edythe. He won’t marry her because of
them
, not me. He and I were never destined to be happy. He accepted that truth long ago. I am only now realizing he was right.”

Lily took a step back. The fierceness of his declaration rattled her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you…I’m really sorry, Ranulf. I’m just lost without her. Bronwyn meant the world to me. She was beautiful and kind and everything to everyone. But with you, she was finally happy.” Lily moved back to his side and knelt down beside him. “If you remember anything, remember that. You made her happy and she loved you.”

Ranulf swallowed. “But did she know that I loved her?” he whispered, desperately seeking an answer.

He leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees and studied the floor. A tear splashed on the wooden boards below. If Lily thought his coldness unnerved her, Ranulf upset was significantly more disturbing. “Of course she did. How can you think otherwise?”

“I never told her, Lillabet. God, I never told her what I felt. She said the words, but I never did.”

Lily squeezed his forearm. “But she knew. Bronwyn
knew
, Ranulf. She absolutely knew your feelings. She couldn’t have loved you so deeply if she didn’t. I promise you, she didn’t need you to say your feelings to believe in them.”

The squeak of the door behind her caught her attention and Lily stood back up as the steward approached and whispered into her ear. “We need to bring in the juniper for tonight. Do you think his lordship will mind if Tory did the First Footing? He has dark hair and it would be an honor for him to be selected.”

Ranulf gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. He faced the startled steward. “Choose whomever you want. Makes no difference to me.”

Ranulf then moved to leave the Hall. Lily reached out to stop him, but he avoided her grasp. He knew what he had to do. He had to say the words he should have uttered when it would have mattered.

Syndlear was exactly as Ranulf remembered, a charred ruin. From a distance, the damage was hard to discern with the stone walls still standing, but inside it was hollow with only a useless stairwell remaining. The floors had been burnt out, causing their contents to crash below and burn to unrecognizable ashes. Only scorched beams and a few fragments of furniture were identifiable.

Ranulf jerked at the rafters, searching for anything of Bronwyn, but again, nothing but her disappearance proved she had been inside. Exhausted, Ranulf fell to his knees and, with tears streaking down his face, looked up at the visible sky. “Why not me? She had done nothing!” he half sobbed, half shouted. “Her people need her…I need her. Why didn’t you take me?”

Bronwyn stirred to the desperate sound of Ranulf crying. Physically and emotionally drained from the lack of movement, food, and water, she was dreaming, hearing the one voice she desired above all others. This time it seemed real. But even if it was, it wouldn’t matter.

Earlier that day or maybe it had been the previous one—she couldn’t keep track—people had come, but not a one heard her cries for help. They had been talking too much among themselves to perceive her strained voice weakened by her earlier attempts when no one was close enough to hear. Then they had left, never knowing she was still alive, waiting for rescue. At that moment, she gave up and waited for eternal sleep to take her.

Another angry wail came from below. It was Ranulf! He had come, not to find her, but it didn’t matter. He was there. As loud as she could manage, Bronwyn cried out, “Help! Please help me!”

Ranulf was moving to exit the keep when he froze. Bronwyn’s voice had come and disappeared. The raspy sound was strained, barely distinguishable, but it definitely belonged to her. Was he going mad? Did he need her so badly that he was imagining her near him?

Then he heard it again.
Please help me.

His heart rate doubled as blood and hope surged in his veins. “Bronwyn! Is that you?”

Silence surrounded him and he felt the tentacles of despair that had been plaguing him reach out once again. She had been a dream. A dream he could still hear. “Ranulf, don’t leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you. I am yours forever. Even in the next life. I love you. Wait for me,” he whispered and brushed away the tears that now flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them.

“I love you, too.” The sweet sound of her voice was fading. His angel was leaving him and going back to heaven. “Find me. I’m in the wall.”

For a few seconds, Ranulf was too stunned to do anything more than just hold his breath.
I’m in the wall?
His gaze flew to the thick stone and studied them. He saw them then. The holes Bronwyn had told him her father had added after the first fire. The small outlets were visible and followed a logical pattern, except on the third floor. There, instead of an opening was a large stone resting on a stone ledge, secured from falling over by a small lip perfectly carved to keep it in place and prevent fire from getting inside. Her father either had been a genius mason or he had hired one.

“Bronwyn!” Ranulf shouted, this time with confidence that he was not talking to a ghost, but his still alive wife. “The floors are gone, so I’m going to need to find something to wedge between the stairs and the lip to reach you. Hold on just a little longer, love.”

Bronwyn closed her eyes and released a deep breath. Ranulf was there. He had heard her. He knew where she was. She had hung on to life long enough to feel his arms hold her one more time.

What seemed like an eternity later, the stone door at last rolled away, crashing to the dirt floor below. Large hands reached in and gently pulled her free from the small enclosure. At the last moment, Bronwyn reached back into the hole and snatched the reason for her even being at Syndlear—the tapestry.

Finally released from what she had begun to think of as her tomb, Bronwyn held on tight to Ranulf as he carried her across the narrow plank to the staircase. Daylight was disappearing and the dusk of the room made the rescue even more dangerous. One false move and they would both fall to their death. The tension in his frame lessened once they were at the staircase and descending the winding steps.

“Can you walk?” Ranulf’s first question was simple, very pragmatic, and on the surface, far from romantic. But Bronwyn could hear in those three small words that he had lived in the same hell she had been in the past few days.

“I don’t think so. I can’t really feel my legs anymore.”

Ranulf nodded, glad to have a reason to keep her in his arms. He wasn’t ready to let her go and was not sure when, or if, he ever would. He stepped over the burnt remains and moved outside, heading to a small nearby clearing protected by trees. Sitting her down, he laid her back against one large trunk and went to his horse, pulling out a leather bag. He handed it to her.

Bronwyn squeezed the contents into her mouth, relieved to taste water and not ale or mead. As she swallowed, she could feel the cool contents slide down her throat and into her stomach. It was then she knew that she really was going to live.

“Here,” Ranulf whispered. “It’s only bread, but you’ll want to eat it slowly.”

Bronwyn popped a piece into her mouth and just let it sit there for a moment, savoring its wonderful flavor. Never again would she take eating or food for granted. She watched Ranulf gather and pile twigs to make a fire. After being cold for so long, she instinctively tried to move closer to the heat, but her deadened limbs refused to cooperate.

Seeing her frustration, Ranulf moved to her side and began to massage her limbs. The pain created by the pooled blood circulating once again through her veins was enormous. “Where did you find the wood for the planks? I thought everything had burned,” she said in a broken whisper, hoping the sound of Ranulf’s voice would help focus her attention away from his painful ministrations.

“Outside there was a broken old cart. I tore it apart to use the boards,” Ranulf answered in a low, husky tone that seemed to come from a long way off.

He kept his sight on her legs as he softly kneaded them. He knew that Bronwyn had hoped he would expound. She needed him to talk, but he didn’t trust his voice. It was everything he could do not to break down. His whole adult life he had strived to isolate and control his emotions, for he had seen the weakness and vulnerability they created in their wake. And now when he needed to shed his emotions the most, the ability had forsaken him.

A soft sob escaped Bronwyn and Ranulf glanced up. New tears had formed from the necessary pain he was causing her. It tore him apart. Moving up to her side, he pulled her onto his lap, framed her face in his hands, and with his thumbs, wiped the wet streaks, smearing the soot that clung to her cheeks. Then slowly, he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips lightly across hers, kissing her tenderly, lingeringly, and with a possessiveness that hinted of enormous restraint. She began to respond as she did every other time they kissed. But before she could persuade him to deepen the embrace, he released her lips and drew her into his arms, holding her as he dropped soft kisses onto her forehead.