Once Upon a Historical Christmas, page 32
“Nay.” Crandell wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Any tidbit of color left now drained from his face. The disease in his lungs made every breath sound as if the man were drowning.
Alex choked up, trying to hold back his emotions. His father had shed tears. Now, Alex felt as if he would do the same for the first time in his life. He didn’t want his father to die. They only had each other. He needed his father – Crandell was right. Alex depended on him. With Alex’s bad leg, no one would want to hire him even if he were skilled with a blade. Without his father by his side, he didn’t have a chance.
“You go, Son. I am . . . banned,” Crandell whispered. His fingers snaked out and rested atop Alex’s hand. The feeling of his cold, dry skin felt like death had already entered the man’s body. “Tell Summer not to hate you . . . for what I did . . . Peter. It is not . . . your . . . fault.”
“I’m Alex, Father. I’m not this Peter that you think I am.” He got up and went back to pour another cup of ale.
“Roses. Summer loved roses,” Crandell mumbled from the table in a soft voice.
“Yes, summer is the time when roses bloom,” mumbled Alex, only half-listening to his father’s nonsensical chatter. “It is now winter and we are in the midst of a storm. There are no flowers, Father.”
“Nay, I mean Lady Summer, you fool! I don’t deserve to live . . . because of what . . . I’ve done.”
“Of course, you do. Everyone deserves to live.” Alex headed back with the cup of ale clutched in his hand.
“Your father didn’t deserve to live. He was . . . murdered. And rightly so.”
“Murdered?” Alex stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t have heard the man correctly. To even think of killing a noble was preposterous. “Who murdered the baron?”
“I should never have stolen Summer’s baby,” mumbled his father. “I will go to hell for that. Especially after what she did . . . for me.”
“What did she do?” Alex asked curiously.
“I . . . loved her, Peter. Like . . . like a daughter.”
“I don’t understand this at all. Why would you steal a baby? And why would someone murder the baron?” This was all starting to sound too real. Perhaps his father wasn’t delirious after all. Even an addled man couldn’t make up a crazy story like this.
“It’s up to you now . . . to make things right . . . Peter.”
“Aye, Father,” he answered, hearing his voice as if he were someone else.
The cup slipped from Alex’s fingers and hit the rushes at his feet. For some reason, being called Peter suddenly felt right. It was almost as if it really were his name. “Father,” he said, his heart beating wildly in his chest. If what he’d just heard was true, then his father was not the dying man before him. Nay, his father was the late Baron Mowbray – a noble. And the man at the table whom he thought to be his father was really only a cutthroat killer and a thief.
“Nay, I can’t make things right,” said Alex shaking his head. He did not want to be part of this horrible lie. “I can’t do it.”
“You . . . p-promised . . . P-Peter,” was the last thing Crandell ever said. His haunting, hollow, open eyes stared up at Alex from his dead body. It made Alex feel as if Crandell would be watching him, expecting him to keep his promise, even in death.
“Father!” Alex shook the man, not wanting him to die. He wasn’t going to let the man leave this secret at his doorstep. He loved Crandell. His heart broke to see him go. But he also hated what he just heard. Crandell was the only father, or relative Alex had ever known. He didn’t even know this Lady Summer or anything about the late Baron Mowbray.
Nay, it couldn’t be true. Crandell had raised him and been at his side his entire life. He had to be Alex’s father. This man had always treated him as if he were a son who had two good legs. Never once had he made Alex feel incompetent because of his disability. But now, being all alone made Alex feel uncomfortable and very incompetent, indeed.
“Father, wake up!” Alex shook him once again. Crandell’s hand fell from the table, swinging at his side. The thick, gold band he wore with the monogram of an M for Masterson carved into it, winked in the last flames flickering in the hearth. Crandell never sold the ring during their travels, even though they could have used the money from it on more than one occasion. Instead, he had always told him that the ring was special and that Alex would inherit it someday.
Was Alex really nobility? He pondered the thought. And was his mother Lady Summer, the Baroness of Framlingham? If so, how could he just show up and drop this at her doorstep? All the weight of the world was on Alex’s shoulders now. The last thing he wanted was to spend his Christmas finding out that everything in his life was a lie!
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, sinking atop a chair, covering his face with his hands. He would be alone now for the first time ever, and probably for the rest of his life. No man was going to betroth his daughter to a man who was lame. Could he possibly be the boy who died and, somehow, miraculously came back to life? Nothing made any sense.
He let out a sigh and looked at the dead man collapsed atop the table, wondering how he was going to bury him. With one twisted leg, it was hard enough for Alex to walk, let alone carry a man who outweighed him. And how was he going to dig a hole in the frozen ground?
“You have no choice but to pick yourself up by the bootstraps, Peter Mowbray,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. Damn, why didn’t it sound or feel as foreign as he’d hoped it would? Pushing up out of the chair, he knew what he had to do. “You died and managed to come back to life, so burying a dead man in the middle of winter should be an easy task.” It wouldn’t really be easy or pleasant but, then again, going to Framlingham and telling Lady Summer that he was her dead son was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever do in his life!
Silent Knight: Alexander
Elizabeth Rose
Chapter 2
“Lady Summer, it is so kind of you to invite us to your Christmas celebration.” Lady Charlotte Ashworth of Manchester did her best to act grateful but felt as if this were naught but an act of pity arranged by her meddling mother. After all, Charlotte was a widow, barren, and getting up in age. Nay, she wouldn’t show her true feelings in front of everyone in the great hall.
She took in her surroundings of Framlingham Castle as the servants hurried around, decorating the great hall for Christmas. Long strands of holly were draped from beam to beam overhead. And from strings coming from the rafters dangled balls of mistletoe with lit candles attached in the middle. The room held the scent of pine and frankincense from the beeswax candles. The musicians played a cheerful tune from the gallery. Servants draped cloths dyed red and green over the long trestle tables preparing for the Christmas feast.
“I think it’ll be fun,” said Lady Summer, holding on to the arm of her husband, Lord Warren Mowbray. “After all, we are hoping to find a suitable man to whom we can betroth our daughter, Claire, before this is all over.”
“But Claire is only eight and ten years of age,” said Charlotte, already feeling doomed since she was seven years older. Nobody would choose a twenty-five-year-old woman to marry over an eighteen-year-old girl. Plus, Charlotte wasn’t a virgin. Once the men found out she was barren and had most of her good childbearing years already behind her, they would break a leg running in the opposite direction.
If only her father hadn’t kept her living at the abbey since her husband passed away seven years ago, she might be married by now. Perhaps it was a blessing that her mother decided to pull her out of the convent now that her father had passed on. But unfortunately, she would end up with an old, fat knight if she even found a knight who wanted her at all.
“There will be plenty of eligible men here who might want to marry you,” Summer told her.
“Oh, do you really think so?” Charlotte’s mother, Ann, stood up straighter and cocked her head, listening intently. “After all, she is five and twenty years old now, and has been raised by nuns for the past seven years.”
“Mother,” mumbled Charlotte under her breath, noticing people around them starting to stare. Her face was probably turning as red as the holly berries from her embarrassment.
“A lady who lived with nuns that long and is looking for a husband has got to be a conversation starter,” said Lord Warren with a low chuckle. His wife scowled at him.
“Warren, perhaps you should go see if Dominick and Robert have arrived yet.” Summer smiled sweetly and gave him a slight push in the opposite direction.
“Right,” said Warren clearing his throat and heading away.
“Who are Dominick and Robert?” asked Ann. “Is it possible they might want to marry my daughter?”
“Mother,” Charlotte said under her breath, wishing the woman would ease up already.
“Dominick is my son,” Summer told them. “And Robert is my grandson. He is the cutest five-year-old boy you’ll ever see. I swear he thinks he is at least ten.”
“Oh, so Dominick is married,” said Charlotte, only so her mother would stop pushing.
“Nay. His wife died in childbirth. He hasn’t remarried,” explained Summer.
“He hasn’t?” asked Charlotte. “How old did you say he is?” Perhaps, this was an option. A widower might want her since he already had a child and wouldn’t require too many more from her. At her age, Charlotte didn’t know how many babies she would have, or if she’d have any at all. She heard that Lady Summer lost several babies through the years. Her last one had been a little boy that she never got over losing.
“My brother is five and twenty years of age,” said a young woman joining them.
“That’s my age,” said Charlotte, liking what she heard.
“Dominick never got over losing his wife and swore he would never marry again, so don’t count on him,” said the blond girl.
“Lady Charlotte, Lady Ann, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Claire,” Summer introduced them.
Charlotte groaned inwardly. While Charlotte was plain-looking, Claire was a vision of beauty, just like her mother. Long, blond curls peeked out from under her jeweled headpiece, framing her heart-shaped face. A little, button nose and big, turquoise eyes only accented her long lashes and full lips. Her body was curvy but petite. Her waist was tiny.
“So, you are interested in marrying as well?” asked Charlotte, almost hoping the girl’s parents would change their minds and wait another year to betroth Claire.
“Aye, I’m going to have all the men fighting over me,” said Claire, brushing a speck off her sleeve.
“Claire, what did I tell you about acting haughty?” asked her mother.
“I’m not haughty,” said Claire. “I’m just in a hurry to marry because I don’t want to end up old and single. I want to have lots and lots of babies.” Claire looked at Charlotte when she said it, only making Charlotte feel worse.
“Oh, look. Here come Dominick and the baby now,” said Summer, glancing across the great hall. “Lady Regina is with them. You three girls will have a good time sharing a room during the length of the festivities.”
“Mother,” said Claire, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sharing a room with . . . them,” she said in a soft voice.
“Claire, Lady Charlotte is our guest,” Summer reminded her. “Her mother will be staying in my chamber during their visit, and Charlotte and Regina will be with you.”
“Fine,” said Claire, letting out a frustrated breath. “But can’t Regina sleep with the servants where she belongs? After all, sharing a room with a nun is bad enough.”
“Claire! That’s enough from you. Now let’s go and greet your brother. Excuse us,” said Lady Summer, nodding to her guests. She took her daughter by the arm and led her away, reprimanding her quietly as they walked.
“Who is Lady Regina and why does Claire want her to sleep with the servants?” asked Charlotte.
Her mother leaned over and whispered behind her hand. “Regina was raised as Summer’s stepdaughter at the death of the girl’s mother. Rumor has it that Regina’s father was the late Baron Mowbray, and her mother was naught but Lady Summer’s handmaid. Can you believe it?”
Charlotte peered across the hall perusing Lady Regina. She looked to be a few years older than Claire and a few years younger than herself. The girl seemed shy and also overweight. She wasn’t comely at all. Charlotte’s heart went out to her. She knew how it felt to be unwanted. After all, she’d heard the rumor that the whole reason she was sent to a nunnery, to begin with, was that her father thought she wasn’t his child. She’d asked her mother about it, but the woman swore it wasn’t true.
“I’d like to meet Lady Regina,” said Charlotte, picking up her skirts and heading across the hall. Perhaps, her own situation wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. After all, Regina wasn’t married either, and no one said a word about finding her a husband. Mayhap, Charlotte would have a chance to wed again after all.
Silent Knight: Alexander
Elizabeth Rose
Chapter 3
With a dreary gray sky overhead, Alex rode his steed over the snow-laden ground as he approached Framlingham Castle. He wasn’t at all sure why he was here. Sitting atop an old nag he’d found out in a field, he had everything he owned in travel bags tied to the horse. He’d never stolen anything in his life but needed a steed to get here. With his bad leg, there was no way he could walk this distance.
He’d buried his father two days ago, using a pickaxe to break the frozen ground and only managing to dig a shallow grave. All the while, thoughts filled his head of the last words the man told him. Alex considered Crandell his father and always would even if it proved not to be true. He already missed the man dearly and felt isolated and alone.
Alex pulled the hood of his cloak lower, trying to block out the cold. He felt chilled to the bone from the journey and welcomed the thought of sitting by a warm fire. Stopping just before the drawbridge, he took in his surroundings. Framlingham Castle was enormous in size and outlandishly impressive. Long, colorful banners of the lord’s crest fluttered in the breeze from the battlements. The castle had four round turrets, a massive keep, and high walls around the inner bailey. There was even a gatehouse with a long ramp over a moat that led to the drawbridge.
His heart raced thinking that there was a woman inside who might be his mother. He’d never had a mother of any kind growing up and thought he hadn’t missed it. That is, not until now. With Crandell’s demise creating a void in his life, he needed someone to fill it.
It had always been just Crandell and him and no one else. Without the man at his side, Alex felt empty and lost. He looked down to his twisted leg, wondering what Lady Summer would think of him. Would she reject him, not wanting a lame son? Or would she pity him and treat him like a child? He wanted neither. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he would tell her the story he’d heard from Crandell. After all, if it weren’t true, he would feel like a fool. Aye, he decided, he would just keep silent about it until he found out more.
If he really were Lady Summer’s son, would she even want him after all this time? Perhaps her husband would send him away. No man wanted a son who was naught but a crippled mercenary, no matter how well he fought.
Alex’s stomach clenched in a hard knot. He suddenly felt as if he didn’t want to go inside at all. He’d made a promise to Crandell, but did it even matter anymore? The man was dead now. If Alex, indeed, was Peter, everyone thought he was dead, too. Mayhap, it was better left this way.
Looking down to the gold signet ring on his finger, he caressed it with his thumb, hoping it would give him strength. He had wanted a remembrance of Crandell, so he didn’t bury the ring with the man. Besides, Alex had very little to live on and might end up having to sell it just so he could eat.
He was turning around when, out of nowhere, a horse approached behind him at high speed. The rider caused his horse to rear up. Alex was taken by surprise and thrown to the ground.
“Get outta my way,” growled the man. “Keep this road clear for the knights and other nobles. You commoners have gotten much too bold. Now go back to your hovel where you belong.”
Alex looked up to see an angry man about his age with oaken hair, staring down at him. He was dressed like a knight but certainly didn’t act like one. Dark stubble covered his face, and his clothes were dirty. There was a crest on his tunic, but Alex couldn’t make it out from his position, prone on the ground.
“Here come the ladies. Now, get out of the way.”
Alex pushed up to his knees but wasn’t moving fast enough for the man. The knight slid off his horse and trudged through the ankle-deep snow, stopping right in front of him. “Did you hear me? Get up, you sorry excuse for a man.”
Alex struggled to stand in the snow, not being able to hide the fact he was lame.
“Oh, you’re a cripple,” said the man, kicking snow in his face. Alex’s fury grew. He wished right now that he had two good legs so he could kick the man in the teeth for treating him this way.
“What’s this?” asked the man, reaching out to take the swords tied to Alex’s horse. Alex had his father’s sword tied to the horse and also the one his father had bought him on his eighth birthday. He’d been raised with a blade in his hand and could use it just as good as anyone. “I like this,” said the man, pulling Alex’s sword from the sheath. The horse whinnied and stomped its foot.
“Put it back,” said Alex, getting to his feet, not wanting to lose one of the last things he owned.
The man chuckled. “And what the hell are you going to do about it?” Then he called out for his squire as he raised the sword in the air. His squire rode up to join them. “Get the other sword and let’s get to the castle. I want to be one of the first ones there so I can eye up the wenches. After all, if they’re rich enough, I might want to marry one of them.”
