The Christmas Knight (25 page)

Behind her came a short, voluble cough from an increasingly flustered Father Morrell. “May I ask if there has been a mistake? I understood that three marriage ceremonies were to take place. Each alone. I have done two…and I thought this was to be the third.”

Edythe went to pacify the round priest, who looked extremely perplexed and suddenly dubious about the morning’s curious events. “I assure you the right couples have been married. One more must be done, just give them a moment to get ready.”

Ranulf could barely control his anger at the idea of being manipulated in such a way. He glared at Tyr and then Edythe, who was standing between him and the priest, her dark green silk dress making a swishing sound as she shifted her weight. He then shifted his gaze to Lily and then to Bronwyn, momentarily studying all three—and the color of their gowns.

He should have guessed the truth that morning. It had not been Bronwyn he had been observing but Edythe. At his angle, he had not been able to discern their height difference, but the green silk had been notable and Bronwyn was wearing light silver. All the turbulent emotions of this morning swirled back to the surface. Feelings of betrayal, doubt, and shock that he could be so wrong dissipated as the truth of the situation overcame him. Bronwyn
had
been upset last night, and the aspect of marrying Rolande was causing her to cry even as she was about to announce her vows.

Bronwyn no longer felt sad. The tears that had plagued her since discovering Ranulf’s preference for her younger sister vanished, leaving only fury in its place. She glared first at Edythe and then Lily. “I hope you can both find happiness with your decision, but I refuse to let you make mine,” she ground out and then lifted her gown to hasten out of the chapel.

As she passed Lily, her sister’s hand seized Bronwyn’s injured arm, causing her to flinch, giving Lily just enough time to leap in front of her. “Bronwyn! You can’t leave. You
have
to marry Lord Anscombe. You have no choice.”

Anger rippled along Bronwyn’s spine. How could her sister not understand? Ranulf had chosen Lily, and just because she had disregarded his choice did not change the situation. “You’re wrong. I still have a choice.”

Panic overtook Lily’s face. “But you have to! If you don’t, you will have to marry Baron Craven and give Syndlear over to him.”

Bronwyn glanced back at Ranulf. His eyes blazed, and his large neck was the color of crimson. Her misty blue eyes, now the hue of a dark storm, returned to Lily. “Never. Never will I marry such a man. You forget. I have another option.” Then, after maneuvering around her sister, Bronwyn once again headed outside.

The door from her exit slowly swung back shut on the quiet crowd. Lily and Edythe stood open-mouthed, unknowing of what to do or say. The plan that had worked nearly flawlessly fell apart at the most critical part. Tyr, who had felt the icy glare of Ranulf’s barely controlled temper, had opted to remain silent rather than give him more reasons to sever their friendship. But his honor was now at stake. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to Bronwyn in her rash decision to flee north to the Highlands in the middle of winter.

Speaking slowly and deliberately, trying to hold his own growing temper in check, Tyr asked, “Are you really going to let her leave Hunswick?”

Lily gasped and sank onto one of the empty benches behind her. “That’s what she meant?” she murmured.

Tyr nodded, but his gaze never left Ranulf’s, unable to fathom how his friend could remain stoic and motionless when Bronwyn was walking out of his life forever. “Aye, Lady Bronwyn told me yesterday that if she didn’t marry she would leave for Scotland. I never dreamed that you would let her, Ranulf. Travel to the northern lands in winter? Are you really going to let her do that?”

Ranulf scowled at his friend for almost half a minute before answering. “No, I am not.” Without saying another word, he strode out of the chapel and across the bailey toward the Great Hall.

Six days ago his life had been relatively calm and predictable. He had been far from happy with his fate, but he could have managed it. Upon seeing Bronwyn, however, his emotional state had been turned every which way and his mental stability along with it. Truths were lies and lies were truths. Then he had compounded the situation with even more lies, and as a result, he had nearly hurt Bronwyn and himself irrevocably.

In his experience, women were not forthright creatures and had to be tricked into honesty, especially when it came to their feelings. His plan to make Bronwyn jealous had been innocent, but he had not accounted for her strong sense of pride, and he should have, considering his own stubborn streak. Seeing and hearing her outrage at the situation, Ranulf had decided to give her the space and time needed to calm down before talking with her. Then, he would explain his intentions and convince her to marry him. But with Tyr’s revelation, it became clear that option was not available. There was no time to convince Bronwyn of anything.

She was going to marry him now and calm down later. The woman was going to be furious with him, but that he could handle. In time, he would remind them both of just how good things could be between them.

Ranulf slammed open the Great Hall doors just in time to see Bronwyn fight her way through the crowded trestles on her way to the back stairs. Almost all of Hunswick was inside, waiting for them to begin the celebration. Claps started from somewhere and the crowd was all on their feet. Ranulf ignored them and deftly snaked his way around the people, capturing Bronwyn just before she reached the door to the back staircase. She tried to kick his shins in an effort to get away. “Leave me be, Ranulf,” she ordered.

“Not now or ever,” he issued back and threw her over his shoulder, careful not to reinjure her arm. Spinning around, he marched back outside and toward the chapel, unheeding of the pounding he was taking on his back from her fists or the open gapes from onlookers. Within minutes of his departure, he was back inside the chapel, depositing her in front of a very flustered priest. He grasped her shoulders firmly in his hands and said, “You can begin, Father. We are now ready.”

Bronwyn twisted vigorously, trying to wrench free. “Damn you to hell,” she hissed.

With each struggle, the wires of her wimple poked his chest, causing him a surprising amount of pain. He was about to yank the horrid thing off when she came to an abrupt halt at Father Morrell’s rebuke. “I am shocked, my lady. You have always been a girl of common sense. To use such language, on Christmas, and in the chapel!”

Bronwyn bit down hard on her bottom lip, her fury inflamed further. She forced herself to stand still and succumb to the proceedings. Ranulf may be keeping her here now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t escape before night fell.

“And you, Lord Anscombe,” Father Morrell huffed, “this is most irregular. How am I to know this lady comes willingly to this marriage carried upon your shoulder?”

“Father, you have one duty in front of you at this moment, and that is to wed me to this woman. The salvation of our souls can wait until tomorrow.” The menacing tone in Ranulf’s voice left no room for argument. Bronwyn wasn’t sure what Ranulf would have done if the priest had been made of sterner stuff, but she doubted the outcome would have been any different.

Her mind was still trying to catch up to events when her body was suddenly engulfed by Tyr in a big bear hug. She must have said the right things at the right times for everyone around her was calling her Lady Anscombe. Lily and Edythe were embracing her, telling her that she and Ranulf might be angry now, but both would thank them later. That all their interference was a type of present to her. It was their turn to help her as she had been doing for them all these years.

Bronwyn wanted to scream and say that this was not what she wanted. She didn’t want a man by default, and she most especially didn’t want to be forever attached with one who preferred her sister. But nothing came out. It was just as well. Let them think she was happy. Tomorrow they would learn the truth.

The priest announced it was time to gather in the Great Hall and begin the hand-washing ceremony. Ranulf nodded in agreement and escorted Bronwyn out of the chapel and across the yard. Once again, they entered the Great Hall. This time the crowd waited until they saw Edythe’s and Lily’s beaming looks of encouragement before rising in congratulations. Only after Ranulf and Bronwyn took their seats at the head table did the roar calm so that words could be exchanged.

Ranulf leaned in to whisper something in her ear, but the sharp bend of the wimple interceded. He nudged the tip aside and said softly, “Know this, I won’t let you leave.”

“Oh, my lord,” Bronwyn hissed back as she continued to fake a smile to those around her, “if I want to leave…I will.”

“And then I will follow you and be most unhappy at the effort.”

Bronwyn dropped her sham expression of bliss to glare at him directly. “I wonder if you would truly care or even notice.”

“You are mine, Bronwyn. Now and forever. And I
would
notice.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because you would be destroying everyone’s Christmas. For if you try to depart from Hunswick without my approval, I will find you and use every able man to do so.”

Bronwyn openly gaped at him, realizing he was completely serious.

Father Morrell, in hearing distance of the conversation, made another one of his blaring coughs. He then gave them both a slicing look she hadn’t thought possible out of the cherublike face and held up a bowl of spiced and scented water. “It is a time for quiet. A day for being with loved ones, and
sharing love together
…” The man had started his sermon, making further conversation just like everything else around her…impossible.

S
UNDAY
, D
ECEMBER
26, 1154
S
AINT
S
TEPHEN’S
D
AY

Tyr swiveled his head, which was relaxing on the back of the comfortable chair, to see who was entering the Great Hall at the very late hour. Midnight had passed some time ago and besides a few snoring men passed out from too much food and drink, he and Ranulf were the only two left awake. The wind howled and slammed the door shut, but no one awoke. The sizable fire flickered, but it remained lit and more than able to keep the spacious room warm for a couple more hours.

It had taken time, and much ale, to get Ranulf to forgive the intrusive tactics to get him to the altar, but he finally had. The relief Tyr felt had been enormous. He could have borne not having Ranulf as a friend—he had endured the loss of much worse in his life—but he would not have liked it.

Ranulf sighed as he approached and sank down into the seat next to Tyr. He outstretched his long legs and balanced the heel of one foot on the toes of his other, staring at them. The man was tormenting himself and had been for hours.

Tyr slouched farther down into the chair, intertwined his fingers over his satiated abdomen, and closed his eyes. “I hope you don’t need any more walks to gather your courage. Yesterday is over, my friend, and your wedding night will soon be as well if you don’t hurry up and join your wife. Has it been so long you have forgotten how? Need any tips?”

“Not from you,” Ranulf grunted, his tone laced with anger.

Tyr’s hazel eyes popped open and glanced at Ranulf. “My God, you still sound jealous, and after all I did to ensure she became
your
wife!”

“Just you wait,” Ranulf mumbled, wishing he could somehow physically force Tyr to be silent. “Someday you will find someone, and with your impetuous personality, you will act far more out of character than I.”

Tyr shook his head and closed his eyes again. “Not me. I swore an oath.”

“An oath you made when you were barely a man,” Ranulf mumbled, unable to expound further as he knew nothing about the reasons behind the ardent vow.

“Still, it is one I intend to keep. But,” Tyr added in a mocking tone, “if there was ever any example of marital bliss that might get me to change my mind, it would be you and your devoted wife. I have never seen a couple more happy or excited to be married than you two.”

“Someone should muzzle your tongue.”

“Not until you leave. I need it to annoy you into getting up and going to your wife. Consider it another wedding gift.”

Realizing his friend was serious and still drunk enough to disregard the possible consequences, Ranulf rose to leave.

“You can thank me tomorrow,” Tyr muttered.

Bronwyn locked her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth on the rug in front of the fireplace. Her wedding day had ended alone and it seemed her wedding night was going to conclude the same way. And she was not sure how she felt about it.

When Ranulf had ordered her guard to escort her from the feast while it was still lively, she had thought he would soon follow to discuss the situation they were in and determine a course of action, but he never arrived. So she had tried to leave and had been stopped by Norval, who supposedly stayed to ensure her protection. Ha! Ranulf wanted to keep her trapped so that she wouldn’t—or
couldn’t
—leave. Why would he force her into a marriage he clearly did not want? Why had she not left the very hour she learned of his decision to marry Lily?

Bronwyn had been asking those questions and others repeatedly for hours. She was exhausted but unable to sleep. So she sat in silence and listened, wondering if Ranulf would ever return. When finally she heard the heedless bang of the Tower Keep’s courtyard door, her heart lurched and the frustration that had been mounting rapidly changed to overwhelming sadness. She did not want to be married to Ranulf. Not like this. By the time the footsteps reached the solar door, a new set of tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Ranulf entered his chambers and his gaze immediately darted toward the bed, seeking Bronwyn’s sleeping form. He had hoped if he waited long enough, she would be asleep so that he could crawl in next to her and pull her close. Then if things went ideally, Bronwyn would awaken in his arms, and before she realized what was happening, he could remind her of how much she enjoyed his touch and the pleasures it could bring.

But she was awake. And crying. And far from desiring his ideal plan.

Taking a deep breath, he sauntered up to the chair behind her and sat down. Her back was toward him, as she was hunched over her knees. Her long hair was still covered by the painful headdress and he longed to see it down. “Take that thing off and never don one again,” he barked, not intending for his first words to be so harsh or critical.

Bronwyn blinked. She had forgotten she was still wearing the dreaded thing. After entering the solar and realizing the truth of her situation, everything else disappeared, including her own discomfort. Still, of all the things for him to say, his dislike for part of her outfit was not what she had expected. Then again, the unrelated topic helped to compose her own emotional state.

Slowly she rose to her feet and unpinned the white linen strapped around her chin so she could pull the wire contraption completely off her head. After shaking her hair free, Bronwyn tossed the miniature prison into the fire. Then without a word, she walked over to the peg where his pointed Phrygian cap hung next to the mantel. Only once had she actually seen Ranulf holding the odd-shaped item, and it had been at a distance and from the back. Even in his hand the large coxcomb peak had looked wrong. If she were ever to see Ranulf wearing it, she imagined he would be something between appalling and repulsive.

Yanking the cap off the stake, she tossed it, too, into the fire. “I hate that cap more than you dislike my wimple, my lord.”

“No caps for me or for everyone at Hunswick?”

Bronwyn shrugged. She thought they looked ridiculous on all men, but to ban them in the middle of winter was absurd. “Just you,” she muttered.

Ranulf leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. He wanted to ask why just him, but he suspected he knew and he wasn’t in the mood to hear the denigration aloud—or from her. Especially tonight. He stared at his thumbs and debated if he should ask the other question on his mind. “Do you need more time?” he finally asked.

Bronwyn blinked.
Time?
she wanted to scream.
All I’ve had was time.
“For what?” she snapped.

Ranulf gulped. “I don’t know. I just…well, I mean I took a walk after you came here…to think. I thought you would want some time to do so as well, alone with no festivities to interrupt your thoughts. But if you need more time, I can leave.”

Bronwyn forced her gaping mouth, which had slowly opened during his speech, to close. This whole time she had not been thinking anything. She had been feeling, and most of it was anger—all directed toward him. Suddenly at a loss for words, she crossed in front of the hearth toward the empty chair on his right and sat down. “I don’t need more time to think,” she asserted just strong enough to be believed.

Ranulf continued to stare at his thumbs, but he could see her sitting straight backed in the chair with her elbows resting on the wooden arms in his peripheral vision. The chair on his left had been closer to her, but she had moved to his right so that she would remain in his line of sight. The gesture had been unconscious, but at a deeper level, it had also been intentional. Not a soul in his life—even his friends Garik and Tyr, who had known him for years—was ever so deliberately considerate. Rather, he was always the one to make adjustments or move to where he could best see. Sometimes he felt like he was chasing events rather than participating in them. But not with Bronwyn. And in this one small act she reminded him of a fact he had almost forgotten. She was his soul mate.

Somehow, he needed her to understand how important she was without making her retract even farther away from him. “I want you to know that this marriage, despite how it came about, is an acceptable one to me. With you, I am…comfortable, something I don’t feel around most people. Especially women,” he clarified. “We are also…physically compatible and the people of Hunswick love you and see you already as their Lady. It is appropriate that you remain so.”

Bronwyn was now even more at a loss for words.
Appropriate, comfortable, compatible
…not the words a woman wanted to hear on her wedding night. Passion, love, desire, these were the things she felt for him. It was one thing to be alone, but to be alone with someone you cared about was a torture Bronwyn wasn’t sure she could endure for long. After their afternoon together, she needed to be touched by him, held by him, not just serve as sporadic company. “Would you expect this to be a…a real marriage?”

“As a lord, I need sons.”

His answer sent a shiver down her spine. She was not sure if she was relieved or bothered by the indifferent reason. “I’m not sure that I can…be with you.”

Ranulf’s breathing deepened to an audible level. “I said I would give you more time.”

“I don’t need time,” Bronwyn insisted with a wave of her hand and stood up to pace. “I need to know…” She paused and looked at him, pleading for him to understand what she could not ask.

In one smooth movement, Ranulf rose and grasped her upper arms. “What, Bronwyn? What do you need to know?”

Bronwyn.
He had spoken her name. Not an endearment. No “angel,” no “my lady.” She closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she whispered.

Ranulf caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head so that she was forced to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

Once again he was seducing her, and her body was coming alive in his arms. She wrenched free. “How can I lie with you when you wanted my
sister
?”

Ranulf caught Bronwyn’s face between his hands and kissed her almost savagely, invading her mouth with a soft intimate aggression that seared her senses. She heard him make a soft, hoarse sound and felt his pelvis smash up against the junction of her legs. His hardness, evidence of his desire, was nestled so intimately against her that it rattled her nerves all the way down to her toes.

Deep inside her something responded to the obvious masculine need in him. A soft whimper came from deep in her throat and her fingers clenched around his shoulders. Gradually, the kiss softened until it was so tender, so full of feeling, she felt like she was choking.

He released her lips but he did not pull back. Instead, he traced the lines of her jaw with his fingers. “Does that answer your question? For let me tell you now, I never have and never will desire another.”

His voice was deep, husky, caressing. The sensual sound nearly pushed reason aside. She had been so hurt. Bronwyn was not sure she could survive another disappointment. It would be better to run and live with the memories than stay and face that pain ever again.

Ranulf cradled her face in his hands and studied her eyes, consuming them as if he could discern the essence of her spirit. “I meant what I said, Bronwyn. I will never let you leave me. Never. So end your plans of Scotland and disappearing in the middle of the night, for I will hunt you down and claim what is mine. And you are mine.
And I never let go of what belongs to me.
”

His possessive speech riled her enormously. She wanted to retort that she belonged to no one, but it wasn’t true. She couldn’t retreat now even if a part of her still wanted to do so. She belonged to him, and his kiss proved that no matter what had happened or would happen, she would desire him and need him in ways that made leaving impossible.

Urging Bronwyn to her tiptoes, Ranulf pulled her close once again for another kiss, this time long and soft and deep, capturing her tongue and drawing it into his own mouth. “Promise me, angel. Promise me that you won’t leave,” he demanded huskily between breaths.

Ranulf wasn’t spouting out words of love, but it did not matter. She was bound to him by law and by spirit. “I promise,” she murmured.

A deep groan of satisfaction escaped his throat and his hand delved into her hair as he kissed her again and again, each time demanding more of her. Then his mouth was gone and she could once again breathe. He kept her close and buried his face in her wild mane.

After a few seconds, Bronwyn realized he was shaking. “What’s wrong?”

Ranulf let go a brief snort, clearly disgusted with his own lack of restraint. “I cannot even kiss you without being in danger of losing control. And I cannot lose what little I still possess, not when I am so close. Damn, Tyr was right.”

Bronwyn pulled out of his embrace so she could look at him. The amount of emotional intensity staring back at her made her heart race. “I don’t understand.”

With the backs of his knuckles, he caressed her cheek. “You are married to a most ignorant man when it comes to your sex. I have never courted a woman, sought after one, or cared about whether or not she received satisfaction in my arms. With you, though…I want so badly to give you pleasure, teach you and delight you in ways to make you happy—more than happy—and I am afraid I am going to fail.”