The Christmas Knight (22 page)

Luc could only imagine Bronwyn’s challenging response to such coercion and headed south to Hunswick. He had hoped to encounter her again on one of her solitary walks and finally play the part of hero.

But today she had not been alone.

Luc had been frozen, staring, unable to turn away as the couple entangled themselves in the act of making love. Slowly, a coldness crept over him and in its wake left an emotional void.

Deadeye
Anscombe had taken what was his. And Bronwyn had gone willingly. In doing so, she had forsaken not only him but the future happiness of her sisters.

Soon. Very soon…all would pay.

Bronwyn passed through Hunswick’s gates determined to enjoy her last night with Ranulf. Tomorrow would come soon enough and with it the end of her happiness. Until then, she was going to bask in the warmth and acceptance she had found in Ranulf’s arms.

Just as she emerged into the courtyard, one of the younger farm boys ran up to her side. Tears streamed down his face as he murmured something about how no one was letting him be in the play the village was preparing. Bronwyn slipped off her horse and handed Ranulf her reins. When he popped a teasing brow, she asked, “I give you a choice, take care of the boy or my horse.”

“Don’t think such maneuvers will always work,” Ranulf cackled and jumped off Pertinax’s back, keeping her reins with him.

Bronwyn’s laughter filled the air. “You chose wisely, my lord. Little Robert here can be quite a handful.”

“Huh. Well, I’m going to send someone for your sisters and I’ll see you at dinner.” Ranulf gave her a wink.

“Soon I hope! I’m starving,” she declared, beaming him an enormous smile as she escorted the boy back across the courtyard.

Ranulf watched appreciatively as she disappeared around the corner toward the Great Hall, focusing her attention on the now very rapid discourse from the want-to-be mummer.

Turning to face the opposite direction, Ranulf guided both horses toward the stables. Halfway to his destination, he spied Tyr and he wasn’t alone. Two women were next to him, and both were very beautiful. Bronwyn’s sisters had obviously jumped to the same conclusion and decided to return to Hunswick despite his orders to stay away.

Edythe was exactly as Laon described, petite and full figured with vibrant dark red hair marking her maternal Scottish heritage. Her sister was tall, her frame similar to that of Bronwyn’s—lithe and naturally graceful. Her striking raven-colored features would make most men cave to her every desire, and he could see, even at a distance, that she was well aware of the fact. The flirtatious interplay between her and Tyr made it obvious she was in many ways still a child and had yet to mature into her body. Experience, wisdom, control—these things she had yet to gain and never would until she was allowed to face and triumph hardships. Her family had not done Lillabet any favors protecting her like they had. Thank God he wasn’t going to have to marry her.

But just as the thought disappeared, he snapped it back. Jealousy had awoken him to the truth about his feelings—even if only to himself. The disturbing emotion might be the quickest way to prove just how Bronwyn felt about him.

Resuming his march across the courtyard, Ranulf felt the piercing royal blue eyes of Bronwyn’s middle sister. Edythe was as shrewd as she was beautiful and he suspected she was not one to be tangled with. Blank calculating stares like hers spoke as loudly as words. He knew. He had given them enough. Life had taught Edythe not to trust.

He wondered how his Bronwyn, whom he was sure had suffered and endured more than both sisters together, had maintained her goodness and optimism. She naturally sought balance and was even able to impart a little of her strength to him. No longer did Ranulf feel angry or bitter about the past. Instead, he wanted to take whatever he had learned to make his future, and that of these people, better.

Finally seeing him, Tyr waved him over with an uneven grin Ranulf knew not to trust. Tossing both reins to a stable boy, he sauntered over to the three-some. Edythe and Tyr faced him, but Lillabet had shifted so her back was to him, making her unaware of his presence.

Before Ranulf said a word, Tyr gave him a wink, hinting for him to play along. “Um, Lady Lillabet, would you please honor me by repeating your last remark,” Tyr requested with hidden mirth.

Lily threw her hand up to her breast in mock protest, moving closer to Tyr’s side. “Really?”

“Really,” Tyr repeated. “I could use some amusement right now.”

Ranulf spied the narrowing of Edythe’s eyes and thought he saw her sneak out an arm and elbow Tyr in the side, but if she did, his friend showed no reaction.

“Amusing? Why it’s not amusing at all,” Lily gushed. “I’m offering to sacrifice myself into marriage! Of course, I was surprised by the idea, but to save my sisters and keep them in their homes, I have decided to agree. I
will
marry you,” she finished, placing a possessive hand on Tyr’s forearm.

Tyr’s already wide grin grew even bigger. “I appreciate the offer, and while you are indeed a pretty little girl, marriage and I are never to be.”

“But the king…I thought you had to…” Lily sputtered.

“Now, my friend here, Lord Anscombe, I believe he is eager to have a bride,” Tyr said, pointing to Ranulf, who wasn’t sure if he was amused, insulted, or bored. “Here is your groom. Lord Anscombe of Bassellmere.”

Lily whipped around. Her eyes were the color of gray mist and had turned saucer size. Her surprise was genuine, but her next move shocked even Ranulf. Straightening, she took a sizable gulp and announced, “As I was saying, my lord. I am ready and willing to marry you.”

Ranulf stole a glance at Edythe, who was ignoring the unfolding situation. Her focus was on Tyr and had been since he had made his nonmarital declaration.

Taking a deep breath, Ranulf returned his gaze to Lily and reminded himself of the plan. Guilt panged him, but not for the lies he was about to tell the young woman, for he was positive Lily had put Bronwyn in the position of lying for her. And Lily’s own feelings for him—or lack of them—were certainly not in jeopardy. So his plan held little risk and great reward.

He only regretted the brief distress he was about to cause Bronwyn by accepting Lily’s proposal. It would be worth it, though, when Bronwyn raced down to face him and demand that he retract his promise. After she admitted her feelings, he would then confess his.

This will work. It has to
, he vowed to himself.

“Well?” Lily pressured, recapturing Ranulf’s attention.

Tyr leaned back on the wooden frame supporting the structure behind him and crossed his arms. “I would also like to hear your answer to this one.”

“One what?” Ranulf parroted back.

“I just asked how you intend to protect my sisters if I should marry you.”

Ranulf stared at Lily, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

Tyr aimed his chin toward the hills. “She’s talking about our overly attentive mercenaries. Seems their master wants Syndlear and intends to marry to get it.”

A scowl came across Ranulf’s face. He had seriously misjudged his watcher’s intentions. Anger, hot and dark, raced over his nerve endings, along with the need to protect Bronwyn and those she loved.

“Once we are married, those angry little scowls won’t be allowed,” Lily pouted, feeling ignored. “I want a handsome husband…or atleast as handsome as he could be.”

Ranulf fought for patience. “You and I. We need to talk. Starting with just why you asked your sister to lie for you.” He didn’t
want
to talk to Lily, but he suspected she was the one person who knew everything that was going on and was naïve enough to tell him about it. And if his watcher wasn’t after him, but one of Laon’s daughters, he needed to know who, why, and just exactly what he wanted.

Edythe watched as the real Lord Anscombe guided her younger sister with a heavy hand to a quiet secluded corner of the bailey. She suspected she should join them, but she was tired of Lily getting away with her whims and it looked like her future husband wasn’t as gullible as the rest of the men they had encountered over the years. Neither was his friend.

“I told her that it was a bad idea,” Edythe mumbled under her breath.

“Must be nice to know everything.”

Edythe sent Tyr a silencing sideways glance. “I’m practical.”

“And openly opinionated,” Tyr added matter-of-factly.

“
And
usually right,” Edythe added, turning to face him squarely. She wished he wasn’t so good-looking. Deep dimples, dark hazel eyes, and reddish-brown shoulder-length hair, the color she wished hers were instead of its intense auburn hue, all in a superior male body. Men that handsome weren’t to be trusted. “You don’t know my sisters like I do.”

Tyr grinned down at her. Damn, he was tall. And he wasn’t put off one wit by her aggressive demeanor. In fact, he was enjoying it. “Your elder,” Tyr began, “is unaware of her underlying beauty, which is probably what makes her such a compassionate leader.”

“Perhaps,” Edythe tentatively agreed. “But if you truly knew Bronwyn and had not just observed her, you would know that it is her nature. I doubt any change to her appearance would make her any more or less of who she is.”

“And you’re envious of that.”

Those words stung. Edythe had never cowered from the truth. Then again, it rarely was delivered so unsparingly. “Envious, no. I do not covet my sister’s nature, nor do I desire to be exactly like her, but I sometimes wish I had more of her restraint.” And before he could comment on her admission, she prompted with a slight dare to her voice, “If you know so much, then tell me of Lily or are you too swayed by her beauty?”

“Aye, she’s beautiful, but also complicated and young. She is an…an opportunist, but not necessarily a selfish one.”

“Ha. She can be. Lily’s world revolves only around her.”

Tyr chuckled and the sound sent ripples of awareness down her arms. “I’d rather talk about you, Lady Edythe.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Lady Edythe,” Tyr repeated, drawing out her name. His forehead wrinkled. “No. Don’t like it. A girl like you needs a nickname.”

She hadn’t been a “girl” for several years, and Edythe was irked that he saw her as such. “That’s one thing I’ll never want.”

“That’s a shame. Everyone should have a nickname.”

“Really, then what’s yours?”

Tyr licked his lips and in a low voice lied, “Bachelor.”

“Fitting,” Edythe retorted. “I doubt with your type of self-serving charm, too many women vie to change that status.”

Tyr clucked his tongue, completely unfazed by her ridiculous barb. “Ed, I think. Little and sweet…just like you.”

“Thòin,”
Edythe hissed and moved to walk away, not dreaming for a second that he would know Gaelic and understand what she meant.

“
Bauchle,”
Tyr chirped back in retaliation. Edythe spun around, her jaw open, but before she could retort, he added, this time with a Scottish brogue, “Ed, even if I didn’t know my own language, certain words are known far and wide, and ‘ass’ is certainly one of them.”

Straightening, she puffed out her chest and poked him in the ribs. “I may be many things, but untidy, fat, and your
wife
isn’t one of them.”

Tyr gulped. It had been a long time since he’d spoken his native tongue to a woman who knew Gaelic and he plucked the wrong insult from memory. He had just remembered it being about a woman and knew it wasn’t flattering. “You’re right. My apologies. But you, my pretty lady, are in desperate need of a nickname. How about one that is more fitting?”

“I don’t want a nickname,” she gritted out.
And certainly not one from you
, she hissed to herself. Why did he have to call her pretty? And why did she care?

“Well,
Ruadh
, you got one.”

“
Red?
Lord, you are the most unimaginative—”

“Hmm, when you put it that away…Red…Ed. Quite memorable and easy to say. I like it!”

“You would. That nickname—if you can call it that—wouldn’t suit a kitchen rat.”

Tyr shook his head. “I disagree, and just remember that it was you and not I who compared yourself to such a repulsive creature. I would have said…a finch. Yes…small, loud, and with a sharp beak.”

Edythe clenched her jaw and fought from stomping her foot. The man was impossible. To her every retort, he had a counter. “A beak you may want to avoid for I will use it.”

His dimples turned into craters. “Aye, my lady, that you most certainly are not afraid of using. I think I actually see the small scars along your wrists and hands from where you missed your intended target and clipped yourself.”

Edythe opened her mouth, ready to send out another assault, when the sparkle in his hazel eyes captured her attention. Tyr was not making fun of her. Rather, he was truly enjoying their conversation, and if she was being honest, so was she. Inclining her head in agreement, she curled her lips mischievously and said, “Inflictions all finches must learn to endure.”

“Indeed they must,” Tyr replied with a bow. “You, Lady Finch, are a genuine surprise. These past few days, your elder sister has been gracious, kind, and all things a lady should be when welcoming a guest, but it seems that only my friend Ranulf can turn her into a fiery tempest. And each time she does, it pulls him farther in. I see now why he is susceptible to such treatment.”

Edythe briefly closed her eyes and gave a quick shake to her head. “You
enjoy
being insulted?”

“You have not insulted me, you couldn’t. You don’t know me well enough. Nor I you. We just merely sparred and I am finding that I like wit in a woman, a most uncommon trait where I have been. If I were not so decided in my ways, you, dear Finch, would be in trouble.”

“Well, then I thank the Lord you are decided, for I am not easily swayed by a pretty face and you have a ways to go before you seem even moderately charming. And before you try to convince me otherwise, I must go see to Lily for she is looking overly animated and all too often the results of such excitement negatively affect me. Excuse me, sir.”