One Winter Knight Page 12

  Fletcher met Damian’s level stare and did as bade. Once down on one knee, Damian quickly touched one shoulder with the tip of the sword, then carried it over Fletcher’s head to the other shoulder and tapped that side.

  “Arise, Sir Fletcher, knight and governor of Coinnleir Wood,” Damian pronounced.

  Aithinne rushed forward to hug Fletcher, and then the trins were there, shaking his hand and patting him on the back.

  “Pardon me—we still have matters to conclude. The celebration can come later.” Angus called over the jubilation. “Now, Sir Fletcher—that you are worthy—will you have my scamp of a daughter to be your bride.”

  Fletcher slid his arm around Geljon and faced the man. “Nothing would make me happier. I love your daughter with all my heart.”

  “Good! ’Tis done then. You have declared yourself man and wife before all of Coinnleir Wood. The Culdee may add his blessing whenever he gets himself here.”

  Geljon leaned down to brush a kiss to her father’s cheek. “You have made me so happy, áthair.”

  Angus finally smiled. “I liked the looks of him the instant I saw him, lass. My first thought was—here is a man worthy of my daughter.”

  “And are you no’ pleased you were right.” Geljon laughed.

  She turned back and stepped into Fletcher’s embrace. He hugged her tightly, his mind still reeling from the changes the morrow would see. He would arise, Sir Fletcher of Coinnleir Wood, a knight of Challon. More importantly, he would kiss his wife good morning. Life was good.

  As he lowered his head to kiss Geljon, sealing their bond, he thought, Sometimes, nodcocks are a good thing to have around…

  About the Author—Deborah Macgillivray

  Deborah Macgillivray has penned six award-winning novels and eighteen novellas and stories, which are translated worldwide in Russian, Japanese, German, French, Spanish and Portuguese, for Montlake Romance/Amazon Publishing, Kensington Books, Dorchester Publishing/Lovespell, and now Prairie Rose Publications. She writes Scottish Medieval Romances, Dragons of Challon™ series, and Paranormal Contemporary Romances, Sisters of Colford Hall™ series, and has her own anthology of cat romances, Cat O’ Nine Tales. Her novel, Riding the Thunder, picked up the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence for Best Long Contemporary Romance of 2008. She currently lives in Kentucky with her husband and her beloved cats.

  Look for a new Dragons of Challon™ novel, Redemption, along with the re-release of A Restless Knight and Ravenhawke coming soon from Prairie Rose Publications.

  Blogger - http://deborahmacgillivray.blogspot.com/

  https://www.facebook.com/Scotladywriter

  Twitter - https://twitter.com/Scotladywriter

  Website - http://deborahmacgillivray.co.uk

  To Play with Cats

  Patti Sherry-Crews

  Will he give up his dreams to follow his heart?

  Chapter One

  England

  The scent of roses nodding in the warm summer breeze. The sweet taste of a peach so juicy it dribbles down your chin. The feel of cold ale hitting your throat on a hot day. Fie! Don’t think of liquids! Think on other things. Crickets chirping at night. Swans gliding over the lake. Ugh! Water again! Caterina bit down on her lower lip to distract herself from a demanding bladder. She cracked open her eyes to see night had yet to give way to day. Too early to rise with night and day still embracing in the sky.

  The tip of her nose felt more a feature on a marble statue than an appendage belonging to a warm-blooded creature. Too early, too cold to get out of bed and go to the chamber pot—or worse, the garderobe. And she didn’t need to invite another scolding from her bedmates by stirring before necessary. She couldn’t seem to do anything right since coming to the earl’s castle.

  Upon arrival, she thought a feather mattress on the floor of the wardrobe a fine arrangement compared to the alternatives in a place with so many souls sleeping within. It afforded privacy, and the room was of a good size. Her thoughts on the matter changed when she found the two girls she had to share with frosty as stone castle walls in winter. At least this room smelled sweet with stored spices and lavender packed in among the chests storing clothes.

  Caterina willed herself back to sleep with sunny thoughts. A painful jab from a kneecap to her tailbone jolted her wide awake again. At that moment, her ears pricked up to the hollow sound of hooves crossing over the drawbridge. Soon they rang with a sharper note, hitting the cobblestones below. Newcomers. Caterina dared hope the visitor to be her cousin, Thomas, who she knew would be passing through on his way home from London.

  Making as little noise and movement as possible, she slipped off the mattress. Next to her, on her side with knees bent at a sharp angle, Millicent didn’t stir. Caterina’s breath caught when her feet hit the floor, cold despite the rushes covering it. Tapestries hanging on the walls took some of the chill, but still she could see her breath, and her linen chemise acted a poor barrier from the cold.

  She knew she should be grateful to be sent to live with the earl and his lady in this grand castle, but she missed some of the comforts of a smaller home. She shot a rueful glance over her shoulder at her sleeping companions. At least I had a bed to myself.

  She crossed to the small window and stood on her toes to open the shutter, her heart beating like a drum. She so longed to see a familiar face.

  “God’s nails, Caterina! You’ve let in the cold.”

  Caterina turned to see two pairs of angry eyes trained on her—or really, one-and-a-half pairs of eyes—Millicent glared at her with one eye still shut tight. Cecily shot up to a sitting position and elbowed Millicent. “You shouldn’t be using such oaths! Cursing God!”

  “She woke me up! I’d only just managed to fall asleep amid all your snoring and farting.”

  “Oh, you’re one to talk with your shifting here and there all night. Caterina, close the shutter!”

  “But, someone is arrived,” said Caterina, as she put her hands on the cold, damp stone sill.

  “People arrive all the time. Accustom yourself to it,” muttered Millicent, pulling the covers over her head.

  “Well, who is it?” asked Cecily.

  Caterina strained to stand up on her toes as high as she could to look out the high, narrow window. In the blue pre-dawn light, there moved across the courtyard at a slow pace a figure on horseback, hooded by a red cloak followed by another, smaller figure also on horseback leading a pack horse. Though still dark, the figures passed under lit torches set in the outer walls, giving her some clues.

  Caterina’s heart sank. The man in front was much too tall and large to be her cousin. “I cannot tell. His head is covered. I think he is a knight, though. There are bags on the pack horse that look like they hold armor.”

  At that, as if sensing her, the man in front lifted his face up, and pushed back his hood. He rode far below her and she doubted he could see her, but Caterina thought he’d become aware of her.

  The other girls had jumped out of bed and crowded Caterina out of the window.

  “Oh, he’s gone out of view now. Could you discern anything of him?” asked Millicent.

  “Above normal height, and when he removed his hood I saw he wore chainmail on his arm, so ’tis a knight and his squire.”

  “Was he handsome?” asked Millicent.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Cecily tutted. “You’re useless.”

  “’Tis dark and he were at a distance.” she said, meekly. Then she thought of something useful. “His hair looked a russet hue!”

  Millicent took off her headcloth and unbraided her fair hair. “We shall see soon enough. He’ll be at chapel for morning mass along with everyone else. Caterina, comb my hair.”

  Just as she’d finished her sentence the trumpet sounded, announcing the break of day. Caterina turned toward the chamber pot at last, but Cecily already squatted over it. “Oh!” she muttered. Now, she’d lost her opportunity to use the chamber pot first.

  While she w
aited, Caterina got dressed for the day. She picked up her red linen kirtle from the top of a chest and slipped it over her chemise. Eye still on Cecily, who was taking her time on the pot, she put her blue wool over-gown on top of the kirtle, arranging the gown so the kirtle showed through where it was supposed to on her lower arms and through slits in the skirt. She fitted the garters below her knees over the hose, and then she wound her hair up and arranged her simple hat over it, tipping the short cylindrical shape so it angled backward.

  Lastly, she looped her girdle around her hips. She frowned when she saw her eating knife missing from its loop on the girdle. She searched the room with her eyes. Not on the floor or on top of any of the chests—she’d never seen so many chests in one room. All manner of chests, from ornate to simple boxes that were used when the earl and his family traveled. She pulled aside the curtain hiding the niche where clothes were hung to air. It might have dropped off while she hung her lady’s gown last night. No sign of it. How did I lose that? She had to abandon her search as she would be needed soon to help Lady Eleanor dress and do her hair.

  She stepped into her leather shoes, and at last dressed she turned to the pot again. Fie! Millicent had taken Cecily’s place. Caterina tucked her cold hands into the long, wide sleeves of her gown and hopped from foot to foot. She watched Cecily dress. As the other girl slipped on her girdle, Caterina found her knife—hanging from Cecily’s girdle.

  Chapter Two

  A feeling of expectation flavored the air today. Even her lady seemed to catch the feeling spreading through the castle like a contagion. Of course, Christmas coming soon sparked a jolly mood and all anticipated the end of advent and fasting. Soon would be the Twelve Days of Christmas, and there would be feasting, music, and games.

  The arrival of the knight in the early hours had stirred the general buzz to a fever pitch. At mass this morning, Cecily had grabbed Millicent’s arm in a claw-like grip and whispered. “He’s back.”

  Millicent’s cheeks reddened and she fluttered her lashes. “Sir Hugh De Lacy has returned from the Holy land.”

  Caterina glanced over to see the cause of such excitement. Among the now familiar faces in the chapel stood a man a head taller than the tallest man. He had hair the color of autumn leaves, long and pushed back off his manly brow. His handsome, bronzed face attested to hours spent under the eastern sun.

  Caterina’s breathing stilled at the sight of him. Just then, the knight glanced in her direction. She quickly averted her eyes, for mother told her looking into a man’s eyes invited lust.

  After mass, the lady of the house and the five young ladies in her charge retreated to the solar. Save the grandeur of the Great Hall, this room was Caterina’s favorite. She let her eye wander over the twisted vines and flowers painted on the plasterwork above the wood panels covering the walls. A large bed with heavily carved posts stood on a platform at one end of the room. The curtains around the bed stood open now. Lady Eleanor took a seat next to the fire, her young daughter, Marian, settled at her feet.

  “Caterina, I want you to redo my hair. I want to wear it the way you styled when the bishop was here.”

  Caterina nodded, wondering if the request had anything to do with the newly arrived knight. “Do you mean the ram’s head?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Let’s stay here by the fire. The wardrobe is too cold this morning. Go fetch my casket and hand mirror.” Lady Eleanor waved her hands around her ears with impatience.

  Caterina made her way to the wardrobe and reached for the small ivory casket. She enjoyed the feel of the box in her hand, waxy to the touch. She took a moment to admire the painted scenes carved on all surfaces. Knights jousting with their lady loves watching. The lid showed a scene depicting the Siege on the Castle of Love. Winged angels were shooting arrows down upon the knights who attempted to scale the walls as the ladies stood, clasping their hands with joy. She let out a deep sigh. ’Tis so romantic!

  Back beside Lady Eleanor, Caterina opened the box, marveling as she always did on the craftsmanship evident in the piece. She even appreciated the hinges and the way the separate pieces worked so effortlessly around each other—made to be together.

  She held out the box filled with hair ornaments awaiting her lady’s decision. “The pins with the gold wire,” said Lady Eleanor, and then she turned to the serving girl, who paused in trying to push her springy hair back under her own simple, white headscarf. “Alice, we are out of ale. Go fetch a jug.”

  The girl curtsied and brushed by Caterina on the way out of the room. Alice had chapped cheeks and a constant sniffle due to a runny nose. In her wake, she left a scent like bread and sweat in the air.

  Caterina turned back to the task of her lady’s hair. With fingers finally warmed by the fire to a state Caterina had command over them again, she undid her work from this morning and wove her lady’s silky hair into braids, which she then fixed in two spirals over the ears with hairpins decorated with gold wire spirals at the ends. She admired how beautiful the honey gold hair looked in braids. Her own black hair absorbed any such patterns.

  Satisfied with the result, she ornamented the coif with a fine veil edged in gold wire and fixed the tall, cone-shaped hat in the center before pushing it back to display to advantage her lady’s high forehead—though higher than nature intended with her hairline plucked. She held up a hand mirror.

  Lady Eleanor nodded her approval. “What a treasure you are! How did you learn such skills?”

  Caterina caught Millicent and Cecily exchanging sour glances. She’d pay for this compliment later.

  “I have five sisters. We often practiced with each other’s hair.”

  “Five sisters! How fortunate you are.”

  “I don’t know that my father would agree with you. He fretted about it often enough.”

  “Yes, six daughters to marry off is quite a burden. I’ve no doubt we’ll find a good match for you.”

  When she looked up, Rosamund Hawley fixed her with such a look of scorn, Caterina felt the bile rise in her throat. Of all the ladies at the earl’s court, the haughty Rosamund harbored a particular dislike for her, which seemed to grow daily, though the cause of it remained a mystery to Caterina.

  Surely, she didn’t pose any threat to the wealthy and beautiful young lady—though ’twas others who called Rosamund beauteous. Catrina thought her snub nose and slightly protruding front teeth left her short of the mark.

  Lady Eleanor tilted her head this way and that, admiring her hair. “Perfect! I don’t know how you… Oh, I nearly forgot! I need to speak to the steward. Alice!”

  “Alice is gone to fetch the ale, my lady,” said Caterina.

  “Oh, that’s right! What’s come over me today? Caterina, you will have to go. I need to speak to the steward in my husband’s absence about the upcoming festivities. Go and fetch him to me, and be quick about it. He’s riding out today and ’tis urgent I talk to him first.”

  “Yes, my lady,” she said, curtsying but not before shooting her tormentor a look. I care naught for you either, Rosamund Rabbit-Face.

  Chapter Three

  Hugh’s heart flooded with warmth at the sight of his oldest friend, John Beaufort. He looked much the same since the last time he saw him years ago. Same mop of straw-colored hair, same square jaw and light blue eyes. Only his nose had changed—it now had a crook in it.

  John slapped him on the back. “Hugh! I didn’t know you were back. I was gladdened to see you in chapel this morning.”

  “Yea, I arrived here just before dawn after riding half the night, though I’ve been back in England a fortnight now. I traveled ahead of Prince Edward—now King Edward, who still tours the continent. I’m tired of that life.” Hugh pointed to John’s nose. “You’re altered, my friend.”

  “’Tis nothing. I lost a jousting match. I’m happy to see you returned safe and sound. What now, Hugh?”

  Hugh took his friend’s arm. “Walk with me. I want to check on my squire in the tiltyard.”

/>   They turned and walked out of the Great Hall, where he led John outside to the bailey. As they walked past the bakery, the rich smell of baking bread filled the air. Before reaching the tiltyard, the sound of wood clacking on wood told them they neared their destination. When they turned into the open space, they watched the squires practicing sword play. Their breath puffed about them, visible in the cold outside air as they circled each other. Hugh saw his own squire strike his opponent in the arm with his baton.

  “Blow to the shoulder! Three points, Edmund. Well done, lad,” shouted Hugh. Without being aware of it, Hugh rubbed his own shoulder, injured by such a thrust—only with a real sword. His knee played hell with him today. That old injury acting up in the cold, damp English winter.

  The other squire rallied and thrust his baton, hitting Edmund in the wrist. Edmund’s baton fell to the ground with a sharp clack.

  John turned to Hugh, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. “That’s my squire, Henry.” He cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted. “Disarmed your opponent. Three points for you Henry. Now ’tis an even match.”

  “Why don’t you both spend time at the pell instead of each other for a while? You need to build up your muscles,” said Hugh, pointing to the six-foot wooden pole stuck in the ground.

  The boys dropped their batons and picked up the heavy practice swords. With a look over his shoulder at Hugh, Edmund hit the pell with a loud thwack. The impact of the hard blow almost knocked the slight boy off his feet.

  Hugh turned to John with a grin. “Remember those days? Hard to believe we were once so young and untested.”

  “Yea, we had much to learn, but you were better at sword play than me right from the start. What will you do now you’re back?”