The Christmas Knight (12 page)

Bronwyn coughed, nearly spewing the cider she had been sipping. “Me? No,” she returned sharply. “As for studying, I have not had the opportunity or the skill, for I cannot read. Lord Anscombe was the one—I’m sorry, I keep referring to your predecessor by your—”

Ranulf raised his hand, interrupting her. “It doesn’t bother me in the least. I never aspired to the title, and to be honest I, too, think of my dead cousin as Lord Anscombe and will for some time.”

“He was a kind man and spent hours talking to me and my sisters about conquerors, lands of faraway, and the battles his cousin had survived.”

“Another cousin of mine?”

Bronwyn nodded. “By marriage. He’s related to Helga, the mother of your infant cousin who would have inherited the title by lineage if you had not agreed.”

“I doubt it,” Ranulf mumbled as he stretched out his legs in front of him. It was odd just how comfortable he felt with her, relaxing in just an overly long shirt and his underdrawers. “The duke is not quite that open-minded. I think he expects more from his noblemen than what a mere babe can provide.”

She quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “The duke?”

“I mean the king,” Ranulf replied with a shrug. “Hard habit to break.”

“Maybe, but I think you’re wrong about the king’s unwillingness to have a babe inherit the title, not when he is also the cousin of a Danish king. It was his uncle who died in the first crusade, and it was stories of his heroism that I was speaking of.”

“How do you know so much about my family?”

In spite of herself, Bronwyn was unable to suppress a giggle. “How do you know so little?”

At the sound of her laughter, a great shudder of need wracked through him and Ranulf fought to remain in control. He would do nothing to end this. His angel was enjoying his company, not fighting with him, not wishing to be anywhere else. Such a moment was not rare in his experience but nonexistent and he would not do anything to mar this time together. Soon enough he would have to confront her about her lack of honesty and her true identity, terminating whatever strange camaraderie they were sharing. But he was not inclined to hasten the ending tonight.

“Fine then,” he grinned back at her, picking up an apple, “tell me what you
think
you know about my family.”

Bronwyn nearly melted at the sight of his smile and gripped the chair to remain upright. Instinctively she grinned back, hoping it hid her true feelings of turmoil.
Oh I really should leave
, she thought to herself, but knew even as the words played through her mind she wouldn’t. Not until he asked her to.

“Well, your cousin was one of three children, but his twin sisters died at birth so he was raised an only son. He married, but unfortunately he and Lady Anscombe did not produce an heir before her death. So the title was to be passed down to the next in line. His father had a sister and a brother—your grandfather. Your grandfather had only one child, your father, who in return had two.”

“My brother and I. My father and then Hodur were to be the next in line to the title. My father was quite pleased with the idea and raised my brother accordingly.”

“I was told Hodur died.”

Ranulf nodded. “Last year. He was traveling from France and his boat sank.”

Bronwyn flinched slightly at the cold brittleness in Ranulf’s voice. He wanted to appear and sound unaffected by the event, but something about his reaction made her realize that he felt just the opposite. His brother’s death had taken him by surprise and had hurt him deeply. She could understand that. Her father’s death continued to seem unreal, and part of her still expected him to ride into Hunswick and make her feel safe once again. “Were you close?”

Ranulf took a deep breath. “Not as siblings, but we respected each other. We never really talked about his inheritance.”

“I…uh…” Bronwyn stammered, wondering how anyone could be so distant from one’s own immediate family, and then she laughed. “I just realized how often I wished for my sisters and me to be less close.”

“No, you don’t,” Ranulf countered, his voice low and serious. “Your life would have been much sadder without them. My father was a sheriff, strict and demanding, and he expected both his sons to put their mark on the world. My brother was to get the title and that meant—”

“You were to study and join the priesthood,” Bronwyn finished.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have joined. I believe in God, but neither as a tyrant or as a benevolent spirit, and I never subscribed to ritual as being necessary for one’s belief. But it did give me the opportunity to study and expand my knowledge and…learn of other possibilities. Then that option was gone and I became what I am today.” He paused and stared at the eaten fruit in his hand. “How do you still have apples?” he asked just before he tossed the core into the fire.

“The weather was strange this year. Spring and summer came late, so instead of October, they ripened in November. There are only a few left and we are hoping they last until Twelfthtide,” Bronwyn replied, not deceived by the change of topic.

Ranulf hadn’t mentioned his scars, but she suspected the story of how he got them began exactly where his childhood account had stopped. And she was glad he had ended it. Divulging secrets had a way of compelling one into disclosing some of one’s own, and she wasn’t about to reveal hers.

“I don’t think I’ve talked so much in months, and you need to rest. I would say to prevent a fever, but I am beginning to believe you. Have you ever had one?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Bronwyn glanced at the mottled skin around his sunken eyelid and found that hard to believe, but then again, anyone injured as he had been should have died. Just the idea of never meeting him, that someone else would be assuming responsibility of Hunswick, was unthinkable. Ranulf may not be smooth and soft spoken, but kindness lurked in his heart. Suddenly the urge to kiss him again took hold and she shivered.

“If you are cold, put on another log.”

The room was far from chilly. Soon, the unusually tepid weather would be gone and the hearths would need to be fully lit, but since Bronwyn didn’t want to explain why she shivered, she rose and did as he suggested.

Ranulf knew when she was about to turn around and make some excuse to leave. He didn’t want her to go. He wished that
she
wanted to stay, that she would trust him. Because after tonight, he was convinced that the reason behind her pretending to be Lily was not an obvious one.

“Do you believe in keeping secrets?”

Bronwyn stared at the orange and yellow flames, wondering why the topic had suddenly come up. “I do,” she answered before turning around to face him.

“Lies bring pain.”

“Eventually, yes.”

Ranulf used his good arm and pushed himself to a standing position. “Are you keeping secrets, angel?”

“Large ones, my lord.”

“You do not seem comfortable with the concept of hiding the truth.”

“I’m not,” she agreed, crossing her arms. “Secrets make me very uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep them if they are necessary.”

“Then let me tell you mine,” he said, hoping it might make her comfortable enough to trust him.

“No. I don’t want the responsibility.”

Ranulf held her gaze for a long time. He prided himself on knowing people, but Bronwyn was nothing like everyone else. She was more like…him. And if he were to keep a secret—someone else’s secret—it would only be for a scant few and only for one reason.

“Who do you need to protect?”

Bronwyn clutched her already crossed arms. Her back stiffened and she lifted her chin as if meeting a challenge. “My sisters, these people. For the past several months, they have turned to me for direction, help, and answers, and I will not let anyone…or any circumstance make them unhappy. Can you understand that?”

Ranulf strolled slowly toward her and cupped her cheek. “But what if the secret causes harm? Or places another in a position they are forever bound to?”

“I would never keep a promise that inflicted pain on another.”

A tear fell. Ranulf wiped it away with his thumb. “I guess all that remains is deciding just when harm takes place then? When are those affected by dishonesty damaged by it?”

“I only just met you…”

“Some secrets grow with time and may become too large of a burden for you to bear alone.” Her eyes grew large and Ranulf felt an enormous pull to lean down and kiss her. Forcing himself to retract his hand, he took a step back and put some distance between them. “I cannot explain it, angel, but know that I am not open with even those I know well. I do not talk idly or very often find myself at ease, but I am with you. I hope in the future no secrets will be between us.”

Bronwyn didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t possible. Fate had brought him into her life too late.

“Until then, will you stay?” he asked, pulling off his shirt before lying back down. “Will you talk to me? My head hurts and your voice calms me.”

Bronwyn swallowed and moved to push her chair back to the side of his bed. Ranulf was affecting her in ways she couldn’t fight. He was right. Something was growing between them, but it wasn’t real. It was based on a lie, and by staying, all she was doing was delaying the inevitable.

Early in her youth, just as she was turning into a woman, she had learned the painful lesson of how important beauty was to a man. Her sisters had that pure, untouched allure that she would never possess. Only Luc had ever offered to marry her, but that was because he coveted power over anything else. And in the end, even he would have sought his pleasures outside of her bed. Ranulf would be no different, but right now she didn’t care.

She would stay because she wanted to and for now…so did he.

Ranulf waited until she fell asleep once again on the edge of his bed. Slowly, he persuaded her unconscious form to once again join him by his side. The self-inflicted unhurried process had been akin to that of torture, but the reward was far sweeter.

He knew this would happen the moment he asked her to stay and his angel agreed. And he suspected so did she. Why she wanted to lie next to him was a mystery, but he had no doubts to the motivation behind his own reasons. He had wanted to know what it would be like to hold her next to him and believe she wanted to be there.

Tomorrow was soon enough for the truth. He would confront her and release them both from the farce she was playing.

Then he would discover if this moment of bliss could become much, much more.

In the distance, a figure hidden in the shadows studied the night activity of Hunswick. The castle was no longer as vulnerable as it once had been, for guards now roamed the curtain walls and manned the tower battlements. But not many. A half-dozen at the most. Skilled most likely, but not enough to overpower his mercenary group. It has cost him the majority of the wealth his father had left him to fund his army, but the money would be replaced once he possessed what should have been his years ago.

Only one person stood in his way. Ranulf de Gunnar. The man had accepted the title, which went against every rumor of being possible, and now the infamous Deadeye was a lord. And if the news was true, he had also been promised the hand of Laon’s youngest daughter. It mattered little. He didn’t have Syndlear or Lady Bronwyn, both prizes far more valuable and ones no one but he had ever appreciated.

When he was told of the forced departure of all three women, Luc had wondered if Deadeye’s injuries had affected not just his face, but his manhood. Why else would he order all of them to Syndlear with minimal protection? Then again, the position and the responsibility had been thrust upon him. Perhaps the new lord was hoping someone would relieve him of his burden. Luc had no problems in doing just that.

Tomorrow he would ride to Syndlear and visit Bronwyn. He had promised to stay away until Epiphany, but promises to one’s intended were meant to be broken. And maybe, after meeting the disfigured Lord Anscombe, Lady Bronwyn would be more receptive to his proposal.

Either way, she would be his. As would Syndlear, and eventually…Hunswick.

W
EDNESDAY
, D
ECEMBER
22, 1154
M
EDIEVAL
T
WELFTHTIDE
P
REPARATIONS

Bronwyn arched her back and stretched her free arm over her head. Yawning, she smiled as the last remnants of her dream danced by. Mentally, she strained to capture the last threads, but all that remained was the feeling of being warm and safe, something she hadn’t felt since her father had left.

Sighing, Bronwyn shifted to sit up and immediately froze, realizing just why she had felt so comfortable. Every muscle in her body had gone rock solid as memories of last night flooded into her awareness. She
knew
she should have left.

Once again, she had crawled onto the bed in her sleep. Except, she wasn’t lying demurely on one side as she had before. This time she was nestled into Ranulf’s side and sprawled all over the man, with both an arm and a leg stretched over his torso and thigh.

Ranulf inhaled deeply and let go a long breath, indicating he was still asleep. Bronwyn let go a sigh of relief. Thankfully, like the last time, he had slept through her lapse in modest behavior. She forced her body to relax enough for her to slip off, grateful that she had at least once again remained above the covers and not burrowed underneath them.

Unnerved by her own behavior, Bronwyn poured some water into the basin on the small table next to the bed and splashed the cool liquid on her face. Dabbing her cheeks dry, she glanced back at the still sleeping form.

Guilt, or at the very least shame, should have consumed her, but only a strange sense of giddiness bubbled inside, as if she were a young girl who had just been given her first kiss. Even last night, she had not acted like herself. Instead of listening to the conversation, she had engaged in it. Her reaction to him was silly, probably heightened by the fact that he was doubly forbidden, by both Luc and Lily. In a few days, she would be gone and have unlimited time to explore just why Ranulf de Gunnar affected her so, but for right now, what would it hurt to continue pretending that he was the man of her dreams and she was the woman of his?

Taking a deep breath, Bronwyn smoothed out the wrinkles of her bliaut as best she could and settled back into the chair beside the bed, trying to appear as if she had been there all night. But it did not matter. Ranulf remained asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling in a rhythmic fashion. He still looked pale, but no agitation crept into his expression as one might see if fever had taken hold.

As was her habit, she leaned over, kissed his temple, and verified the coolness of his skin. The powder she had used helped to seal the wound and accelerate healing, but it did not prevent fevers. And Ranulf should have gotten at least a mild one after the injury he received. She could now understand how others found his healing abilities strange, even scary. People often found those different or unusual from themselves as frightening creatures to be avoided. Which was another reason why she needed to leave. She knew too well the pain of someone’s irrational fear.

Bronwyn’s face was just a few inches above his when she stopped her descent back into the chair and wondered what he would do if he knew the truth about her.
Would you be like the others?
she asked herself, biting her bottom lip while staring at his mouth.
At least with them, I had the chance to experience the pleasure of a kiss before they walked away
.

Then the compulsion to kiss him became too strong, and just before her lips touched his, she whispered, “Who could it hurt? No one need know.”

Ranulf had felt both the sweetest of pleasures and the most intense pains when Bronwyn awoke and pressed her body even more acutely against his. Intensely aware of every welcomed, blissful touch, he had told himself that she didn’t know, that his angel would never willingly come to him, touch him, hold him in such a way. And he had been proven right. The moment she became aware of where she was and her position, she had pulled away, slipping from his side as gently, but as quickly, as possible.

While she had washed her face, he had taken several deep breaths, steadied his breathing, and fought to regain his control. But the moment her lips touched his, it had vanished.

The feel of her mouth sent sparks flying through his body. It had been a long time since someone had kissed him like this. Too long. Perhaps never. Instead of ending his curiosity, it had awakened a dark possessive desire for more.

Overwhelmed with a physical need unlike he’d ever known, Ranulf freed his uninjured arm and buried his hand into the intricate twists of her chestnut curls. In doing so, he pulled her closer and slid his tongue over her lips, encouraging them to part and let him taste inside. For a moment, Bronwyn hesitated and then innocently tasted him in return, revealing that he was the first to teach her the pleasures of being a woman in a man’s arms.

Whispering to himself…
go slowly…slowly
, he let his tongue glide in and out, relishing her sweet flavor, teaching her just how to truly be kissed by a man. Following his lead, her pulse quickened as her tongue danced with his and she instinctively moved closer, fitting her body sinuously against his. She sighed, throaty and low, telling him without words that he was affecting her just as much as she was arousing him. His angel really was in his arms, meant for him.

Ranulf breathed in her scent and let his fingers roam her curves, wishing it was not wool or linen he touched, but her skin. He wanted to awaken desires and passions inside her that would drown out any other thought in mind.

Ranulf had kissed and
been
kissed before, but not like this. Not with honesty and genuine desire and passion. Her tentative offers were growing with urgency and a hot tide was rising steadily between them. He was stunned by his need for her and soon—very soon—he would not be able to deny himself—or her—what they wanted. Reluctantly, he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

A piece of his soul had slipped from him and, without choice or question, buried itself inside her. He had found his soul mate at last.

“Angel, open your eyes.”

Bronwyn moaned and leaned into the hard frame, pressing her cheek against the warmth, wanting the feel of his arms around her once more.

“Angel, open your eyes.”

Bronwyn blinked under the compelling tone. Reality overwhelmed her senses as she realized she was half sitting on the bed, half lying on Ranulf’s chest after what could only be described as a passionate encounter. She had dreamt about such kisses and had heard Constance’s warning about passion and how easily she could fall prey to a man’s overtures, but it was
she
who had kissed
him
. Or had she?

Maybe at the beginning she initiated the embrace, but she had intended it to be quick, just long enough to settle her curiosity. But at that point, her kiss ended and Ranulf’s began. He had suddenly become the aggressor—and she had welcomed it. Never had she imagined tasting a man in such a way and enjoying it.

“Look at me, angel.”

The husky possessiveness in his tone compelled her to do his bidding. His gaze locked with hers, and swirling in the deep amber depths she saw barely leashed desire that matched her own.

Bronwyn’s hand flew to her lips. She pushed against his chest and jumped off the bed almost simultaneously. Spinning around, she went to the window and looked down below. The morning sun was bright in the sky, and activity filled the courtyard.

The guilt she had not felt before was now hitting her full force. She could still feel his lips pressed against hers. Nothing she had ever said or done in her life had prepared her for such an experience. She felt heavy and light at the same time. Shame consumed her, but more than anything else, she wanted him to kiss her again. In those few short moments, he had made her feel beautiful, wanted, and someone worthy of being desired.

Ranulf stared at her immobile back and tried to compose himself. It had just been a kiss, but his body was reacting violently to the need it had aroused. Never had any woman kissed him with such raw need, passion, and open desire. He had heard youths speak of the earth shaking during their first coupling and always believed them to be seriously overembellishing a simple act. He was far from inexperienced, but if he had to describe what had just transpired between him and Bronwyn—“earthshaking” would be the word.

Suddenly, the prospect of marrying did not seem like such a burden. He would free Lily from her obligation to him as soon as possible and make good on his promise to Laon by making Bronwyn his bride. In doing so, he would honor the principle behind the vow and satisfy Henry at the same time. Granted, it wouldn’t be in the way his king had ordered, but when he explained the situation, Henry would understand and support the union. Of this, Ranulf was certain.

Excited by the idea and, for the first time, his future, Ranulf laughed and teased Bronwyn, hoping that she would now own to her true identity. “You need not feel nervous or ashamed. It is normal to be curious what it would be like to kiss your soon-to-be husband.”

His simple comment and joyful, expectant attitude shook Bronwyn out of her shock. What had she been thinking? Had she forgotten just who he thought she was? No wonder Ranulf had kissed her. He had thought her to be Lillabet, his intended. And if he ever did chance to encounter her sister, he would realize his folly just as every man had before him.

Bronwyn pulled together the last bits and pieces of her pride and marched to the door, yanking it open. “You are incorrect, my lord. I feel neither nervous nor ashamed. I have been kissed before and have no doubt I will enjoy the experience again by many other men. And as for the reasons I returned your embrace, they were far more interesting than that of just plain curiosity.”

Ranulf stared at the beams supporting the floor above and tried to reconcile his thoughts. He wanted an explanation…and an admission. Maybe it wasn’t shame or nervousness that made Bronwyn flee—for flee was exactly what she had done. Her words had been delivered calmly, but the tightness in her jaw belied them. So if it wasn’t fear or embarrassment, then it had to have been pride spurring her abrupt departure…and her parting words. At least, it better have been, because whether Bronwyn knew it or not, he was the
last
man she would ever know or touch.

Still, pride didn’t explain why she had kissed him. And if not curiosity, then what? Pity was impossible not to recognize. She had
wanted
to kiss him. But like him, she just hadn’t expected the intensity of their embrace and it had rattled her. So why then was his gut telling him that the embrace itself was not behind her defensive posture, but something else altogether?

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and Ranulf felt his heart rate double. Then came a sharp rap at the door just before it creaked open. The curt knock gave the intruder away and the hopeful tension coursing through Ranulf instantly dissipated. He slumped his wrist across his forehead and resumed counting the boards making up the ceiling.

Tyr poked his head around the large door and, seeing Ranulf awake, stepped inside. “Well, it’s good to know that my best friend is so moved by my visit.”

“Come inside and shut the door.”

Tyr pushed the heavy door back into the jamb and then meandered toward Ranulf. Grabbing the back of the chair Bronwyn had been sitting in, he pulled it farther away from the bed and sank onto the padded seat. He then stretched out, propped his feet on top of the coverlet, and crossed them at the ankles while intertwining his fingers behind his head. “I was going to ask why you’ve decided to play the invalid for so long, but after I encountered the disheveled but still heavenly creature leaving your tower…well, I commend you, Ranulf. I thought you had foresworn women. Now I realize you were just persevering until you met a true beauty and not one of those shallow types lurking about court.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Uh, her tousled hair says differently, friend.”

Ranulf whipped the coverlet off his legs and stood up. Grabbing the shirt he had tossed aside the night before, he pulled it on with a grunt as he was forced to stretch his left shoulder to slip his arm down the sleeve. “Nothing happened,” he repeated, this time more emphatically.

He then moved toward the chest by the window and yanked it open. Bending over, he shuffled the contents around, cursing. Most of his stuff had been placed inside—belts, caps, hose, even extra drawers, but no clothes. “Where the hell would she have put them?”

Tyr amused himself for a few more minutes before interrupting his friend’s torment. “Try the garderobe.”

“Garderobe?”

Tyr pushed back from his stretched position and marched over to the door that led to the small chamber holding all of Ranulf’s tunics, shirts, and other garments. “Aye,” Tyr answered, swinging it open, intentionally accentuating his Scottish accent. “You live in a castle now, not on the field, and noblemen like you have those kinds of things. It’s a convenience. One of the ones I actually miss.”