The Christmas Knight (34 page)

S
UNDAY
, J
ANUARY
2, 1155
W
ASSAILING

Ranulf stared blankly into the campfire, trying to ignore Lily.

“White horses always look dirty,” Lily told the young smitten soldier sitting beside her. “That’s why I refuse to ride them. Brown ones may be just as filthy, but at least I cannot see the dirt. Black ones, less so, but I have found that in general dark horses suit me better.”

“You just think you look better on them,” Edythe protested before succumbing to several seconds of coughing.

Bronwyn studied her redheaded sister for a moment. Tyr put another blanket around Edythe’s shoulders and eventually the coughs quieted. Turning her attention to Ranulf, Bronwyn promised him softly, “You’ll learn to ignore them.”

Ranulf grimaced and sent a reproving look to his youngest sister-in-law. It, just like the others he had sent Lily throughout the day, changed nothing. “I just find it hard to reconcile the child I hear now with the woman who appeared after your death. With you gone, she had to grow up. Now that you are back…”

Bronwyn snuggled up against his side with a sigh. “I admit I encourage it. Life will force Lily to grow up soon enough and I am glad it was not my death that thrust it upon her. In the meantime, you ignore her prattle and I’ll just be amused by it,” she advised before planting a gentle kiss on his arm.

Ranulf, with his free hand, raked his fingers through his short hair. How had he gotten into this predicament? But it took only one look at the huddled form next to him to remember exactly how. Bronwyn. He had wanted to make her happy. After thinking her lost to him forever, he would have promised her anything, even the moon.

Before Bronwyn, he had known peace and quiet, but not contentment. Now, he possessed an inner serenity he had never imagined to exist, but the calm tranquility that once surrounded him had vanished from his life.

Yesterday morning, Bronwyn—though in advertently—had reminded Ranulf that for Baron Craven’s plan to succeed, he needed her to be dead. Not alive. And certainly not in London. That gave Ranulf three, at most four, days to get to Westminster. Barely enough time if they rode light and hard.

The moment Ranulf realized what had to be done, he had started shouting orders and making preparations to leave within the hour. But that hour turned into three by the time they left, his intended small party of him, Bronwyn, and three guards had turned into a much larger—and slower—group moving its way out of the hills in the middle of winter.

He should have said no to her sisters accompanying them right at the start. And he absolutely would have if it had been Edythe or Lily who had asked, but it had been Bronwyn who had extended the invitation to her sisters and he could not deny any request of hers right now. He did not want to see disappointment of any kind on her face and certainly not as a result from something he had said or done.

Now he was paying the price.

Just getting out of Hunswick should have been a warning to the speed and tone of the journey. Fur hides for warmth had to be secured for everyone, which should have been easy, but no one could remember the last time the previous lord had traveled anywhere. And when he did, it was always in much warmer weather requiring few of the provisions Ranulf had demanded.

Tents, which everyone agreed were somewhere, took the most time locating. Ranulf had been about to forfeit the canvas protection when Tyr had asked if he expected Bronwyn to sleep in the open, with nothing to protect her from the elements.

Finally, the canvas shelters were located and Ranulf thought they were on the verge of leaving when came the debacle of the horses. All three of Laon’s daughters were accomplished horsewomen, a rare skill, though not surprising as they often had traveled between Syndlear and Hunswick. But neither Lily’s nor Edythe’s horse was equal to the journey in front of them. Finding others that suited both women had been a painful process that eventually required Bronwyn’s firm hand.

Preparing to leave had been arduous, but it was nothing compared to the journey once it had started.

Traveling with men, in the winter, was hard. Traveling with women was difficult, but trekking through the winter mountains with females who had never journeyed anywhere was straining Ranulf’s every last nerve.

Even food became a problem when Lily had declared dried beef and bread not agreeable. She was cold and needed something hot. Bronwyn unfortunately supported the idea. Probably less out of a need to appease Lily and more to support Edythe, who had caught a harsh and constant cough, but the result was the same. Another hour was lost as Ranulf found himself ordering his men to hunt for the evening’s meal.

Then exhaustion followed, and by the time they had finished eating, all three women had passed out cold, including his wife. Today had fared a little better, but still they had stopped earlier and traveled less than he had desired.

If they did not pick up the pace, the journey would mean little, for it would be too late.

Bronwyn hugged her husband’s arm, wishing she could take back her request to have her sisters travel with them. When Lily had caught her packing, she had asked where they were going and Bronwyn answered, “Westminster,” not considering just how her little sister would react.

Immediately, Lily had begged to come, chattering nonstop about court, the new king and queen, and all the festivities that would be incomparable to anything she had ever had a chance to see. Bronwyn instinctively refused but Lily could not be persuaded to accept the decision. Then Edythe had entered the room and heard about the idea. Quickly, she decided that if Lily was to go, so would she. Both reminded her of their limited chances to travel beyond Hunswick, let alone outside Cumbria. Without a legitimate reason to deny her sisters’ request, Bronwyn eventually acquiesced.

So she had asked Ranulf, explaining how after her ordeal, she felt uncomfortable being separated from her sisters. Soon afterward she had regretted it.

Yesterday, Lily’s excitement had monopolized the conversation, wearing everyone out. By the time they had stopped to camp, all the events over the past few days had caught up with Bronwyn. She had barely been able to remain awake during the evening meal. Typically an early riser, she was still fighting fatigue in the morning when Ranulf tapped her cheek and said they had to be leaving. He felt so bad about it, and she wanted to ask just what was driving this insane push south, but Lily had popped in and once again the opportunity had been lost.

Tonight, however, Bronwyn vowed to stay awake until she understood exactly what was driving Ranulf’s crazed reaction. She reached up and stroked his cheek to get his attention. He glanced down and she pointed toward the tent he had set up for them when she and her sisters helped prepare the evening meal. His eyebrows shot up, high and rounded, and then rose to his feet. He outstretched his hand and helped her to stand.

Bronwyn welcomed the support. By and large, her legs had recovered from their ordeal, but having to ride for two days immediately following such abuse had definitely strained them. They stiffened every time she sat for any length of time, but at least she could walk now with limited assistance.

Ranulf pushed aside the opening and followed Bronwyn inside. Dropping the flap, he moved in behind her and slowly started to loosen the ties of her bliaut. Bronwyn reached back and tugged at the snood holding her hair and let the dark tawny locks fall down. Immediately, Ranulf’s hands paused and then tangled his fingers in the thick soft mass, pulling her back against him.

He let go a sigh and pressed a kiss on top of her head. Bronwyn could feel the tension in him lessening. She closed her eyes and let his warmth envelop her. “I’m sorry this trip has been so difficult.”

“It could be worse. We could be enduring Father Morrell’s celebration of the Eucharist.”

Bronwyn’s jaw dropped and she turned in his arms to see if Ranulf was serious. He was.

Ranulf framed her face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He then stepped aside and pulled his tunic over his head. Seeing her still stunned, sea blue eyes follow his movements, he said, “Don’t look at me that way. The aggravating priest confronted me when you were packing, telling me that I was damning all of our souls by taking you away on such an auspicious day.”

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Father Morrell’s just concerned. He believes that all should be given Holy Communion at least once a year and—”

“He has chosen the last Sunday of the Twelfthtide to be that day. I understand. But just as I told him, I’ve missed so many of what he considers critical celebrations in my lifetime, another won’t matter. And since you’ve attended almost every one, forgoing one or two this year is just as trivial.”

Bronwyn took a deep breath, exhaled, and followed his lead, freeing the restraints of her bliaut. “I’ve married a heathen.”

Helping her pull the thick material over her head, Ranulf agreed, “I think that is exactly what Father Morrell concluded as well.”

Free from the bulky winter garment, Bronwyn felt a surge of arousal and twisted around to kiss him full on the lips. “Then maybe I’ll just have to reform you.”

“Sounds tempting,” Ranulf murmured against her lips, “but what if it is I who corrupt you?” he asked as he slowly edged her shift up over her hips, breasts, and then head.

Bronwyn smiled and twined her arms around his neck. She felt no awkwardness for her lack of clothing. She had nothing to hide from this man. He thought her perfect. “You’ve already tried.”

“And it’s working. Just who is seducing whom, angel?”

“Oh, I am definitely seducing you, my lord.”

Tomorrow she would ask him about his reasons for their impromptu journey south. She suddenly had other plans.

M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
3, 1154
F
EAST OF
S
AINT
M
ACARIUS THE
Y
OUNGER

Hearing Ranulf’s low voice, Bronwyn peeked her fingers out from underneath the furs in search of his warmth. Finding herself alone but still hearing him, she opened her eyes and surveyed the tent, confirming what her sense of touch had told her. Ranulf was gone. Knowing he was nearby, she was on the verge of calling out to him when the clipped tone of Tyr’s voice stopped her.

“It’s still dark outside. It might be dangerous for the women to ride.”

“Then they will ride with one of us,” Ranulf replied with suppressed frustration. “We aren’t moving fast enough and today we must make up for ground we should have covered already.”

Bronwyn turned her head toward the voices and saw two shadows forming silhouettes on the rippling canvas wall.

“Just when do you intend to reach London?” Tyr’s question surprised Bronwyn for it meant even Ranulf’s best friend was not aware of the overarching plan.

“Bronwyn and I need to be at Westminster in less than three days.”

“By Twelfth Night? For the celebrations?” Tyr asked doubtfully, unbelieving Ranulf wanted to attend an event he had always avoided.

“Sooner. I am hoping to arrive by morning, but no later than the afternoon if my plan is to work,” Ranulf replied with a strained grunt. Then his broad shadow moved and Bronwyn could tell that he was working on something while he was speaking.

Tyr let go a long sigh and Bronwyn could envision the mystified look on his face as he searched for explanations that Ranulf wasn’t volunteering. “You aren’t trying to beat the baron there, are you? He’s had at least a full day’s start and undoubtedly traveling with a smaller group.”

“I don’t want to beat him there,” Ranulf clarified. The tenor of his voice had changed to one of anticipation laced with revenge. “I want him to get there way before us. In fact, I am counting on it.”

“But if he gets there first and relates what happened, the king isn’t going to welcome our arrival.”

Bronwyn thought she saw Ranulf give a small shake to his head. “Any other time of the year, maybe. But you know Her Grace and her penchants, especially for celebrations and for Twelfthtide. This being the first season after her being crowned queen, I highly doubt she—or Henry, for that matter—is going to meet with a small northern baron until Epiphany.”

“True…the duke’s not likely to appreciate any business demands that are not crown-threatening.”

“So I’m going to prevent the opportunity for Baron Craven to speak his mind.”

The taller of the two shadows suddenly straightened. “Good God, I understand now,” Tyr hummed with admiration. “Tricky. And you’ll have to get to a certain baker in time…and pray that our good queen and king refused to leave without him.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Ranulf asserted strongly.

“Well, just in case…do you have another plan?”

The tension in Ranulf’s shadowed stance returned. “I do and it is ready and in place, but it lacks the imagination and intellect our king and queen would appreciate.”

“The baron has no idea who he had taken on. If you pull this off, the king will be so amused, he will forgive you of anything,” Tyr replied with a chuckle, obviously not worried, and clapped Ranulf on the back. “I’ll see to the horses. We should be ready to leave by the time the sun rises.”

Ranulf grunted and both shadows walked away, each in a different direction.

Bronwyn let go the breath she had been holding and digested what she had heard. In the end, she had learned very little. The few parts she had understood only confirmed what she suspected. Luc was the reason behind Ranulf’s mad dash to the heart of England. Speed of their travel was essential, not just because Ranulf was in a hurry to confront the man, but he needed to do it on a specific day—Twelfth Night.

They had only two more days to travel, and from Ranulf’s urgency, that left barely enough time, and in winter, any number of things could happen.

Bronwyn whipped off the fur blankets and quickly started to dress. As soon as she was done, she was going to see to her sisters and ensure they rose and were prepared to leave when Ranulf was ready. Neither she nor her sisters were going to be the reason he couldn’t execute his plan and fell out of favor with the king. What that plan was exactly, she would ask later, but for right now, it was more important that she be a help and not a hindrance.

Bronwyn was just pulling her bliaut over her head when the canvas flap opened and someone stepped inside. Thinking it Ranulf, she tugged the garment down and beamed the incomer a smile. The smile changed to one of shock at seeing her sisters—both up and already dressed.

Seeing her initial jubilant welcome, Edythe snorted and rubbed her arms vigorously in an attempt to get warmer. Lily, on the other hand, laughed. “Sorry. You obviously hoped we were someone else,” she mumbled, not meaning it at all.

Tyr poked his head in and, looking at Edythe, said, “We are to be leaving soon. Be ready.”

Edythe issued him a scowl and rubbed her very red nose. “I heard you the first five times,” she moaned. “The man does not believe in sleep and cannot seem to get it through his head that some do,” she added, speaking to Bronwyn but keeping her gaze on him.

Tyr arched a single brow and stepped inside. “I sleep, just not all day.”

Edythe sniffed. She wasn’t feeling her best, but she was not about to let Tyr chide her without consequences. “You may have been the one standing beside me at the altar, but that doesn’t give you permission to act like my husband.”

“I know your husband well, and Garik’s going to feel the same way,” Tyr responded, crossing his arms.

Edythe lifted her chin and several locks of her red hair fell around her shoulders. “Not after I’m done with him. He’ll be glad to have a wife. And the fact that I like to sleep
in bed
, he’s going to consider a bonus.” Then with a manufactured flair, she stepped around him and plopped down on the fur blankets with enough force that her hastily made braid came totally undone. Few outside of family had ever seen Edythe’s auburn tresses completely free, but those who did were blessed with a sight that denied description.

Tyr just stared at her for several seconds. Every muscle in his body had gone tight and he looked as if he were struggling just to breathe. A second later, he pivoted and abruptly exited the tent, stomping off with no effort to hide his displeasure.

Edythe, who had refused to look at him, could no longer pretend to be ignorant of Tyr’s mood. “The man is a menace,” she mumbled as she once again rubbed her nose.

Both Bronwyn and Lily’s eyebrows rose, but neither said a word. Instead Bronwyn finished lacing her bliaut. “Ready for another long day of riding?” she asked.

Lily snorted. “More than you are. We had to sleep in our clothes last night.”

Bronwyn sent her a reproving look and began to work on her hair. She was concerned about Edythe, who looked like she wanted to crawl back in bed and sleep. Bronwyn pulled one of the furs around her sister’s shoulders and asked, “Are you sure you are up to this, Edythe?”

Edythe sniveled, evidence that she was not only physically ailing, but not able to emotionally deflect her heated exchanges with Tyr. “Why? Are you saying that you could persuade your husband to return north?”

“I…no. He would not,” Bronwyn answered truthfully.

“Then the question is pointless. I shall be fine. Miserable, but I refuse to let that oaf out there know it. So get dressed and let’s go. The sooner we get to Westminster, the better,” Edythe announced, tightening the fur blanket around her.

The speed of their travel quickened significantly. Ranulf had set the pace and refused to ease or stop unless absolutely necessary. It helped that they were finally out of the Cumbria Hills, but they were now exposed to the cold winds blowing across the rolling lands, whipping at them.

Everyone had huddled inside their clothing or blankets, keeping their faces covered as much as possible. Talking was difficult and the hours of riding in silence became tedious. Bronwyn almost preferred the trickier mountain riding in the colder temperatures where at least the wind was not clawing at her cloak constantly. But if she was miserable, Edythe looked and felt much worse.

Bronwyn and Lily had been riding on either side of her for most of the day’s journey. Yet despite Edythe’s declining health, she had managed to keep pace with the group. Ranulf once inclined his head, gesturing for Bronwyn to ride with him, but she shook her head no, reluctant to leave her sister’s side.

Bronwyn had decided to say something when they stopped briefly for the noon meal, but Edythe must have realized her intentions and told her not to say a word. “I am cold, that’s all. So is everyone.” Then she set her jaw firmly, letting Bronwyn know that if she spoke in her defense, it would be a wasted effort. Unable to do anything more, Bronwyn rode closely beside her, trying wherever she could to keep Edythe focused.

By midafternoon, Edythe’s strength had left her and she was teetering unsafely on her saddle. Bronwyn reached out to pull on the reins and force the group to stop when her horse was nudged aside. Tyr rode up between her and Edythe and, in an effortless move, lifted her sister out of her seat and onto his lap. Bronwyn held her breath as he pulled Edythe close to him and wrapped the blankets closely around her huddled frame, waiting for her sister to demand to be set free. Edythe only snuggled closer, proof she was ailing more than she had let anyone believe.

Knowing her sister was now safe, Bronwyn spurred her horse forward and came alongside Ranulf. It was the first time she had been alone with him since the previous night. She wanted to ask him questions—inquire about his plans, about Luc and what would happen if they didn’t reach their destination in time—but the wind made it too painful to speak.

So they rode in silence, maintaining their accelerated pace over the treeless, practically deserted terrain. Every once in a while they would pass a distant farm, but they saw no one. All were either recovering from a feast or preparing for one. Most likely the latter.

Since yesterday had been Sunday, the Feast of Saint Macarius would be celebrated today. It was the most delicious feast of Twelfthtide. All day the most delectable things would come out of the kitchen. This year, with the unusually long weather, there would have been berries to make fruit tarts, nuts, and sweetmeats of all sorts. Bronwyn closed her eyes and inhaled, pretending to smell the warm pies and pastries.

Shivering, she pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated once again on the terrain, which finally had some variety. To the west, an unusual clump of trees formed the shape of a heart where two rivers came together. When she had been a child, her father once told her of such a place after being pummeled with questions about where he had been and just how he had known where to go.

Bronwyn took a second look at the thicket. Maybe, they might all get to enjoy the Feast of Saint Macarius after all.

Pulling down the blanket covering her face, she nudged her mount closer to Ranulf’s. “My lord?”

“I wish you didn’t have to ride in such weather.”

“It’s necessary,” she said aloud, so he would know she understood. The air was frigid and burned when she breathed it in. “But is it also necessary for my sisters to endure the journey?”

“I should never have agreed to let them come,” he replied, not really answering her question. He had not been thinking and the weather had been so deceiving lately, he had forgotten just how cruel England winters could be.

“I’m worried about my sister.”

Ranulf glanced back. “Lily is doing far better than I expected.”

Bronwyn nodded in agreement. “She has always been the best rider of the three of us, and it is not Lily who I was talking about. I’m worried about Edythe.”

Ranulf twisted around again, this time seeing Edythe’s riderless horse and the huddled mass in Tyr’s arms. Ranulf, too, had seen Edythe’s failing health and was powerless to do anything about it. He had considered having Tyr turn back, but they were beyond the halfway mark and the way forward was easier than the return. They had no choice but to keep going, though Tyr might decide to slow the pace for Edythe.

“Tyr will see that she makes it.”

Bronwyn licked her lips and instantly regretted the action. The cold wind whipped at the wet surface, chapping the soft skin. “My father had a friend he used to go and visit, a Baron Alfred. He said it was almost a three-day ride south. And I thought maybe if we could reach his place, then Edythe could stay there. We could get a good meal—”

“I don’t know a Baron Alfred,” he said, cutting her off. Then regretting his snappish answer, he added, “I wish we could, but we don’t have the time to search for him, even if we are close.”

Bronwyn sighed. “I understand. I just saw that cluster of trees and realized how near to his place we were.”