The Christmas Knight (36 page)

“But I thought you said King Henry valued justice. Surely he will realize it was the right thing to do.”

Ranulf winced and halfway nodded before shaking his head. “I expect Henry would have appreciated the sentiment behind my decision, but he is a pragmatist. And in this matter I agree. If my men began determining which orders to obey and which to overrule, people would die. Same with noblemen. When one noble interferes with another’s rights, chaos ensues and countries fall.”

“But even the king must realize there are exceptions.”

“So early in his reign? No. He must establish his authority. And my long-standing allegiance doesn’t help my cause, it hurts it. For out of all his commanders,
I
knew what I was doing when I attacked the baron’s land and dwelling and how Henry would react.”

Bronwyn stood up and began to pace in front of Ranulf, whose soft voice frightened her more than anything he had yet said. “I don’t understand. How is retaliating against a man who tried to kill your wife not justified?”

Ranulf bunched some of the furs together, leaned back against them, and watched Bronwyn walk back and forth in the small enclosure. “I started the battle—and I ended it—but the king’s overarching charge when he sent me north was to
preserve the peace
. He desired England to grow and be united and stop hurting itself with ceaseless battles. But mostly he had other plans for his armies. My men and I slaughtered a fair number of men. And while even now I cannot feel guilty about ending a man’s life who willingly followed Craven’s cowardice and malice, they were able-bodied soldiers who could have, and would have, fought for the king.”

Bronwyn remembered watching the flames and billows of smoke in the distance as the battle waged. “King Henry should be glad to be rid of such men who would fight and support someone like the baron.”

“It’s not their deaths that will anger Henry,” Ranulf clarified, “but something far more significant in his eyes.” He waited until Bronwyn paused and had her full attention. “I had no proof that Baron Craven was behind your supposed death. And anyone who was there knew I was not doling out unquestionable justice. I was engaged in revenge. The king cannot allow it to be known that he condoned one of his trusted commanders and newly titled nobles to place his own desire above that of him.”

“But now you know that Luc
did
try to kill me. Will that not negate any wrongdoing?”

Ranulf reached out his hand, and when she placed hers in his, he gave it a gentle tug, causing her to collapse once again beside him. He tucked back a loose lock of hair. “To a degree. At least that is what I am hoping. But know this, King Henry has to make an example out of at least one of us—the baron or me.”

Bronwyn’s expression stilled and turned serious. “It will be the baron, of course. So tell me, what is your plan? And make sure you tell me just how I can help.”

“My plan is actually quite simple. We need to get to London and speak with the king before the baron can relate the situation in a far different and far more damning way.”

Bronwyn’s back stiffened. “But Luc left a few days ago. Hasn’t he met the king already?”

“Doubtful,” Ranulf replied, twisting a long piece of her honey gold hair around his finger. He gave her a slight smile of merciless glee. “Oh, I assume he has tried to request an immediate audience with the king, but the baron won’t get one. Queen Eleanor prefers all matters of state that are not considered an emergency to be put aside until after Twelfth Night and our young smitten king obliges her. So I doubt the baron is going to get within a stone’s throw of Westminster until tomorrow night during the festivities.”

“But you can since you have known—”

Ranulf placed his finger lightly against her lips, preventing her from finishing. “No. King Henry is fair and he wouldn’t show preference in such a way, especially so early in his reign when he is trying to gain his people’s trust.”

Bronwyn brushed his hand aside and sat back, seeing the lustful sparkle in his eye. The conversation was soon going to end and she still wasn’t sure what Ranulf was planning. “Then how?”

“I am going to cheat,” Ranulf sighed.

“Cheat?”

“No man is above it in battle and this, angel, is a battle, just with different weapons,” Ranulf replied with a matter-of-fact shrug. “I happen to know the king’s favorite baker and he owes me several favors. I was going to arrange to be named the King of the Bean, and in this way I would be able to decree a meeting with Henry and have a chance to plead my case. You,” Ranulf began and then paused as he reached over to pull her up against him, “can corroborate my claims, but mostly you are there to charm our good king and queen.”

Ranulf pressed his lips against hers, their soft touch sparking to life every nerve in her body. She welcomed his tongue into her mouth and returned the invasion, touching every corner, tasting him, as the sensations he was stirring took over her mind and soul. Then suddenly, as quickly as the kiss began, it stopped.

Ranulf waited until the love-filled mist cleared from her eyes before continuing. “Yes, I think the king will find it much harder to strip me of my home and title if he knows he is doing the same to you. I’m not sure what your father said or did, but it gained both King Henry’s and Queen Eleanor’s admiration. Maybe your father’s memory will be enough to grant me leniency.”

Bronwyn, now recovered, pushed against Ranulf’s chest to stand up, dodging his attempt to pull her back down. “But isn’t the King of the Bean already named? I thought in court the title was determined days before, at the beginning of Twelfthtide…”

Feigning surrender, Ranulf exhaled deeply and lay back against the pile of furs. “That was King Stephen. Henry doesn’t like doling out such power and only allows the tradition begrudgingly and limitedly. In the past, he offers the bean cake only on Twelfth Night, most of the time well into the evening, giving the lucky winner only a few hours to create his mischief.”

Bronwyn was about take Ranulf’s extended hand and return to complete what he had started but at the last moment jerked it back and started to pace. “Your plan, while clever, involves a lot of assumptions and therefore a lot of risk. First, it all hinges on you finding this baker and convincing him of making you the Bean King.”

“Maybe at Hunswick the person who finds the bean is random, but trust me, the king’s baker arranges who receives the favored slice,” Ranulf said, propping himself up, to yank off his tunic. “But yes, I do have to find him.”

Resuming her swift back-and-forth march, Bronwyn continued, “Fine. Let’s assume you do find the baker and are named this year’s temporary ruler. You will still need to get an audience with the real king.”

“A most likely event if I find the bean,” Ranulf answered as he stood up to yank off his leggings.

Ignoring him, Bronwyn asked, “And he is going to let you explain the events and decisions of the past few days?”

Ranulf paused and shrugged his chin with a knowing grin. “I would say the duke is always interested in listening to a diverting story.”

Bronwyn came to an abrupt stop and firmly poked Ranulf in the chest. “And that is where the biggest flaw in your plan lives. You are taking a defensive posture, not a very
persuasive
one. It doesn’t allow the king to show you leniency without appearing weak.” Bronwyn recommenced her pacing. “What you need is a way to gain sympathy by depicting your acts as responses to hostility. Demonstrate this and the king, if he is a just man as you say he is, will have to find in your favor.”

Ranulf crossed his arms, curious. “Just how do you think I can accomplish this by tomorrow night?”

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip, stared at his discarded sword and arched her brows. Then with an impish smile turned back to face Ranulf. “Oh, you had the right plan, just the wrong king.”

A few minutes later, Ranulf gathered her into a bear hug and then swung her around the tent. “I may be clever, but you, angel, have a devilish quality about you I believe Henry is going to enjoy.”

“Really?” Bronwyn gasped, giggling in response to his excitement.

“Mm-hmm,” Ranulf said, leaning in for a long-drawn-out kiss. “Henry has probably the best sense of humor among anyone I know. And the one thing he appreciates is intelligent wit—and its source could come from anyone, even a chambermaid, and its topic could be anything or anyone.”

“I hope so,” Bronwyn purred as Ranulf slowly wove a spell around her.

“Trust me,” he said and winked at her with his good eye. Then he quickly re-dressed and pointed toward the tent’s opening. “Come on. For if this new plan of yours is going to work, everyone needs to know what to do upon our arrival…and even more importantly, just what not to do.”

W
EDNESDAY
, J
ANUARY
5, 1154
T
WELFTH
N
IGHT

Bronwyn had expected London to be more crowded than the towns littering the hills of Cumbria, but never could she have dreamed the numbers of people living practically on top of one another. Buildings stood side by side, some practically falling apart while others appeared to be newly erected. The mud and the stench, especially in the smaller alleys, were unavoidable, but so was the sheer excitement that oozed from everybody as the hour of Twelfth Night advanced. Only their small solemn group seemed impervious to the merriment.

At first, Bronwyn had assumed Ranulf’s tension stemmed from his plans for that evening, but as they traveled farther into town and onto increasingly crowded streets, she realized their relatively innocuous party was getting more attention than it rightly should. Either people ignored them or they openly stared as they went by, and those that did stare focused their attention on Ranulf.

She had forgotten just how the world viewed her husband. Large and menacing with short hair and a dark glare, Ranulf was unmistakably a fierce warrior. Even if he had not possessed the ominous scar across his cheek, a sheer look from him could make a person quake. Pride started to fill her when she noticed something else—some of those they passed displayed not just fear…but revulsion.

At Hunswick, no one cared about a person’s imperfections. Import was placed on how one treated their fellow man and the contributions they produced. But in London, among such masses of people, it would be difficult to truly know all those encountered, leaving one to judge his neighbor primarily by their appearance. Ranulf’s missing eye was not in any way frightening or even very obvious, but too many believed such a wound was akin to deformity.

The desire to demonstrably show just how much she loved and admired him was enormous, but she could not do so. So instead, Bronwyn beamed him a smile. In return, Ranulf’s face hardened into a threatening grimace. Unfazed, Bronwyn sighed, resigning herself from further attempts to cheer him until they were alone.

Ranulf urged Pertinax into a much wider road. Following him, Bronwyn nudged her horse closer to his until they were again side by side and pointed back to her sister. “I cannot believe Lily’s quiet demeanor now that we are here. After all her moaning about coming, she shows no signs of interest or excitement.”

Continuing to look straight ahead, Ranulf agreed. “She seems to understand her role.” Then with a quick but condemning look, he added, “Everyone does except you.”

Ranulf paused as they passed close by several people trying to cross the street before continuing his admonition. “Lily is acting like a grieving sister while you forget just
who
you are supposed to be. Would
Edythe
be enjoying the sites?”

Appropriately scolded, Bronwyn quickly transformed her expression into one of sorrow. Her eyes, however, reflected the hostility of one with nicked pride.

Either unaware or uncaring, Ranulf nodded in approval and directed his horse along the ever narrowing and widening road that matched the twists and turns of the River Thames. They traveled in silence until Bronwyn heard a short gasp escape from Lily when Thorney Island and Westminster Abbey came into view.

The large stone structure stood apart from the other buildings and was surrounded by a beautiful garden. It was hard to believe anything so peaceful-looking could be a central part of a government that in years past had both brought and fought against war. Beside it was the Palace of Westminster, the royal residence of the king and queen. Tonight, they would be visitors in the colossal building and putting on a show no one was expecting.

Bronwyn was still studying the distant fortress when Ranulf reached over to grab her reins and halt her horse. She glanced back and realized the group was stopping in front of what looked to be an inn. Slipping off her saddle, one of Ranulf’s men took her reins and those to the other mounts and headed toward the stables situated catty-cornered across the street.

She felt Ranulf’s hand upon the middle of her back and let him guide her and Lily inside to a small, but clean sitting area. “Wait here,” he half requested, half demanded and then turned to go back outside.

Bronwyn maneuvered around one of the empty tables and sat down by the window near the front. The shutters had been left open, so the area was cool from the winter air seeping in from small cracks along the sill. But it was the one place she and Lily could see and listen to the activity up and down the narrow street.

“Switch places with me,” Bronwyn whispered and stood back up. “Ranulf’s talking with the innkeeper and it doesn’t look like it is going well.”

Lily grimaced but did as asked. “Just what do you plan to do about it?” she remarked with unmistakable sarcasm.

Before Bronwyn could muster a like reply, the heated conversation ended and the innkeeper stomped inside and marched up the stairs. Ranulf slowly swaggered in behind him and she knew her husband had won…or at least he thought he had. He pressed a finger to his lips, and though difficult, Bronwyn muffled her questions. Several minutes later, the innkeeper escorted two very disgruntled people out of the building.

Lily gasped and Bronwyn blinked in surprise. She had not even considered the problem of where they were going to stay and the fact that it was the night of one of the biggest festivities of the year. Of course all the inns were full. This one looked like an especially clean one, not to mention it was almost uncomfortably close to the palace, the place where their lives would soon be set free or ruined.

Once outside, the angrier of the two ousted figures swiveled to glare at the innkeeper. Then his dark eyes darted toward the window. The sparks flying from the midnight pools were aimed directly at her, as if he knew she was the reason he had no shelter, let alone bed for the night. Then the man beside him gave the darker fellow a firm elbow in the side to get his attention. Ranulf was handing them both small bags. Bronwyn suspected each held coin as the men’s anger quickly dissipated.

Less than a minute later, they were gone and Ranulf walked brusquely into the sitting area. Still in character, Ranulf’s stern face held no warmth and neither did his voice. “The innkeeper’s wife is preparing your rooms and a bath.” Then looking directly at Bronwyn, he stated, “I have to see someone, but I will be back in time to escort you tonight.”

Before he could leave, Bronwyn gestured for him to wait and turned to close the shutters. “Lily, can you give us a moment and make sure no one comes in here?”

With a sigh, her sister nodded and moved to stand guard by the stairs, where she could also see anyone coming from the kitchen or the entrance.

When they were finally alone, Ranulf’s stiff demeanor instantly thawed and he pulled Bronwyn into his arms, enveloping her in a long-needed hug.

Bronwyn pressed her cheek against his chest. “Remember to be charming.”

Ranulf chuckled and nestled his chin in her hair before planting a soft kiss on top of her head. “I’m always charming.”

An infectious grin crossed her lips. How he had changed. He was still rigid in public surrounded by strangers, very much aware of how others reacted to his scars, but no longer did Ranulf hold those same opinions of himself. And though the peaceful countenance that had slowly grown upon him the last few weeks had disappeared upon entering London, his affectionate embrace was not that of the wounded man who had marched into Hunswick just a few weeks ago, but her Ranulf…her rock and support and soul.

Lily poked her head around the corner and stepped inside, letting go a small cough. “I think the innkeeper’s coming.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Ranulf said and immediately pulled away. After sending a quick wink to Lily and a brief, targeted smile to Bronwyn, he turned and exited the room just as a slim, older woman with strays of thin mousy brown hair coming free of her bun entered. Bronwyn reopened the shutters to watch Ranulf mount Pertinax and disappear down the street toward the palace. He never looked back.

“The bath his lordship ordered for you both will be ready shortly,” the woman said with a tired voice. Bronwyn turned around and gave her what she hoped to be an understanding and undemanding smile. “Thank you. I know we were unexpected.”

The small encouragement seemed to reinvigorate the woman’s weary features and she stood a little straighter. “If you don’t mind waiting here a little longer, my daughters are preparing your rooms. Would you like some something to drink?”

“Thank you. No, but your help is appreciated,” Lily replied, picking up on Bronwyn’s friendly deportment. In the hall, two waiflike young women hustled up and down the staircase carrying at first buckets of water and then linens.

Minutes passed before Lily and Bronwyn were finally directed to their rooms. Both were sparse, but clean. The first room was slightly larger, just big enough to accommodate two individuals. The second held only a bed and a small table with a basin of water.

The thinner of the two girls smoothed the few wayward strands of her brown hair back and mumbled, “If you are looking for your things, they were put in the other room per his lordship’s instructions.”

Bronwyn thanked her and followed Lily into the larger of the two rooms as the young woman disappeared down the stairs. Collapsing on the bed, she turned her head to see Lily similarly sprawled in the single, wooden hearth chair. Next to her was a sprawled bathtub filled with what Bronwyn hoped to be warm water.

Minutes later, she immersed herself into the heated piece of heaven. “This is wonderful,” Bronwyn gushed as she reemerged from dipping her head underneath the surface.

Lily leaned forward and tugged the larger of their two bags toward her. “I hope our gowns survived the journey.”

Bronwyn closed her eyes and rested the back of her head on the tub’s rim. “I’m sure they are fine.”

Unconvinced, Lily rummaged through the bag and pulled out her gold gown and then Bronwyn’s silver one, laying them out on the bed. “They are wrinkled, but not as much as I feared.”

“Hand me the soap if you could.”

Lily tossed her the scented gray mound and then searched the second bag for their brushes and ribbons. When done, Bronwyn stepped out and Lily bathed, echoing her sister’s delight. Afterward, they sat silently, brushing their hair until it was dry, both minds churning on about what was to happen.

“Your
hair
,” Lily ground out as she fought Bronwyn’s difficult thick waves to create the fancy braiding designs she could so effortlessly fashion with her own dark locks.

“I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just put on a snood.” Almost instantly, pain shot through Bronwyn’s scalp. “Ow!”

“Mention your snood again and I’ll pull even harder…there. Perfect. Well, close at least.” Then after putting in a final pin to hold the twists and braids in place, she asked, “When do you think we should prepare and dress?”

Bronwyn opened her mouth, but before she could reply, a knock on the door made them both jump. The wooden bathtub had been removed sometime earlier but it was not nearly time for dinner. Pulling a worn bliaut over her head, a sense of alarm washed over Bronwyn as she rose to the door and opened it.

On the other side was the maiden who showed them to their rooms. Bronwyn’s apprehension mounted. The young woman was wringing her hands and a look of sheer panic was pasted on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but…uh…you are both wanted at the palace. Immediately.”

Bronwyn forced her limbs to relax, refusing to be nervous—or at least appear to be so—as she followed the newest member of England’s royalty along the wooded path. Queen Eleanor’s brisk stride belied her very pregnant state with her and King Henry II’s second child. And yet despite her wide girth, she moved surprisingly gracefully and yet purposefully as the narrow path opened into a wider, more open view of the Westminster Abbey gardens.

Bronwyn took a deep breath and exhaled the cool, fragrant air. Impervious to winter, the Abbey gardens remained beautiful with flowers and greenery that thrived in cooler temperatures. The queen also seemed unaffected by the chilly breeze brought on by the lowering of the afternoon sun.

“Please sit here,” the queen said, pointing at a large, unadorned stone bench. Her inflection had not brokered argument, only that of agreement. Unfortunately, the brevity of the instruction was not enough for Bronwyn to gauge the emotion that prompted this private conversation, let alone why she and her sister had been brought to the palace in the first place.

Once told of the king’s desire for a meeting, Bronwyn hesitated, wondering just how His Grace had learned of their arrival so quickly, and more important, if he knew just why they were there. It had been Lily who had suspected the request to be a ruse and from the baron.

Both assumptions were quickly dispelled as wrong. It was not the baron or the king who had sent for them, but the queen.