Once Upon a Historical Christmas, page 7
Claire screamed again.
“Bloody hell,” the man muttered. Steel pressed to Mary’s back. “I said, quiet.”
Mary took small, shallow breaths. One foolish move—even an anxious twitch—and the blade could cut through her garments to her skin. Shocked and bleeding, she might drop the basket, causing the babe to tumble onto the ground. She didn’t want the child to be hurt.
Should she say the man’s voice seemed familiar to her? Should she ask where they might have met before? He’d told her and Claire to be quiet, though, and ’twas impossible to know how he would react if she disobeyed.
“No more screaming,” the man warned, “or I will use my sword on your friend.”
Panic shrilled inside Mary. Yet, while Claire had fallen silent, she hadn’t lowered her dagger. Her frosty gaze remained on the man beyond Mary’s range of vision.
“You will lower your weapon and let us go,” Claire said.
Oh, Claire! Beware. Please.
“I do not take orders from you, milady.”
He’d recognized from Claire’s garments that she was a noblewoman. No doubt he’d guessed the same about her.
What did he want from them? Would he release them? He might have more ghastly intentions.
Have courage. Claire is not cowering to this man. Neither should you.
“You will obey me,” Claire said evenly, “because Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau is my father-in-law.”
“Is that so?” Doubt tinged the man’s voice.
“Aye. He rules all of Moydenshire, including this land on which we stand.”
“You are the wife of his son, Edouard?”
“Nay, I am Tye’s wife.” When the man made a sound of astonishment, she added, “You will let us go, unless you wish to answer to both my husband and Lord de Lanceau. I promise you, neither will respond kindly when they learn how you treated us this day.”
“Milady—”
“By delaying us, you are endangering the babe we found in these woods. The child is hungry, cold, and needs care right away. So, you will lower your sword. Now.”
The man muttered under his breath, but then the sword moved away from Mary’s back. Thank God. Mary exhaled a shaky sigh of relief.
“You, with the dark hair,” the man said. “Turn around.”
Mary trembled. “W-why?”
“I will not ask twice.”
“You do not have to heed him,” Claire said, but the man’s tone had held such fierceness. Moreover, Mary needed to look upon him, to recall when and where she’d met him before.
She slowly faced him, the basket now between them. Thankfully, his sword wasn’t pointed at her, but at the verge to his right.
Their gazes met. His unflinching stare seemed to cut straight to the most fragile parts of her soul.
His eyes were blue; the same cool, astonishing hue as the baby’s.
A clammy sweat broke upon her skin, for the man—a hardened warrior—looked naught like the gangly lad of her memories. Could he be Holden? He appeared to be about the age Holden would be now.
As boughs stirred overhead, sunlight dappled his dark-brown, shoulder-length hair and gray woolen cloak. Judging by his broad shoulders and authoritative stance, he’d fought for most of his life, mayhap even commanded soldiers in battle. He certainly had the voice for ordering men about.
As though he’d read her thoughts, a muscle ticked in his jaw, drawing her attention to the sweat glistening on his face and the blood at his hairline. He also had a scar, as long as her smallest finger, splicing through his left eyebrow. This man looked like a seasoned knight who had just won a swordfight. And yet, his cloak was of common style and cloth, and he didn’t wear spurs at the heels of his boots.
His attention shifted to Claire. “Prove you are who you said you are.”
“I am a lady of my word—”
“Proof,” the man insisted.
Now standing beside Mary, Claire said, “We are not handing this babe over to you.”
“I will take him from you, then.”
“Him?” Claire asked. “’Tis a boy?”
The man nodded once then swayed slightly, as though the ground had shifted beneath him.
“Are you his father?” asked Claire.
“Nay, I am—” Grimacing, the warrior set his free hand to his head and swayed again.
Either Mary’s eyes were tricking her, or he’d gone pale.
He hissed a breath, and his sword listed toward the road. “Give me the boy. I must…protect—”
“You are not in any state to protect anyone.” Claire frowned. “Did you know your head is bleeding?”
He blinked hard. “Give me….”
Grabbing Mary’s arm, Claire pulled her backward. “He is going to faint.”
The man groaned. His eyes slid closed. With a clang, the sword dropped from his hand.
His legs buckled, and he landed face down on the road.
A Knight's Redemption
Catherine Kean
Chapter Five
Coldness seeped into Holden’s awakening consciousness.
Pain.
The sensations were interwoven with the darkness blanketing his mind. As the blackness began to lift, the discomfort sharpened in focus.
The pain was in his head. The coldness: his arse and legs. His eyes still closed, he vaguely remembered confronting two ladies and then the woods around him blurring.
He also recalled waking earlier with his cheek against moldering leaves, only to be plunged once again into oblivion.
Men were talking nearby. Warning tingled in the back of his mind, for he didn’t recognize any of the voices.
Norwin…. He didn’t hear the baby crying. Had someone taken him away?
Holden fought a surge of panic and drew a slow, measured breath. Judging by the earthy smells around him, he was still in the forest. He was sitting propped against a tree trunk. His hands rested on damp ground.
Mayhap the mercenaries had returned with reinforcements, not only to rescue their colleague he’d subdued, but to capture him and Norwin. They might have found Holden lying on the road. Once he’d roused, the thugs could well intend to beat or torture him.
Another possibility: the blond lady had fetched her husband. If so, Tye might be waiting for Holden to wake before beating him senseless.
Not favorable options either way.
“He is awake,” a man said close by. “Pretending not to be, but awake.”
“At last,” another male muttered. “Do not render him senseless again. We need answers.”
Holden didn’t open his eyes or move. He must wait until he could slip away unnoticed, or saw good odds for fighting like hell to escape. They couldn’t know for certain that he was awake unless he betrayed himself—
Cold steel touched his throat.
Holden’s eyes flew open.
“I was right.”
As the sword eased slightly away from Holden’s skin, he reached for his dagger.
“Do not bother. I took your weapons,” the man said, sounding smug.
Frustration and wariness churning inside him, Holden fought his merciless headache and studied the man wielding the sword. The lout wore his shoulder-length, dark-brown hair tied back with a strip of leather. While Holden discerned he wasn’t a mercenary, his nose had clearly been broken a few times before. He was without doubt an experienced warrior.
Beside him was a second man, also a warrior. The two men bore a resemblance; so much so, they had to be brothers.
More voices drew Holden’s gaze to the handful of guards and horses a short distance away on the road. He recognized the blond man: Aldwin Treynarde, once a squire to de Lanceau and a legendary crossbowman. Years ago, he’d taught Holden and his colleagues how to use the powerful weapon.
There was no sign of the ladies or the basket holding Norwin. If Holden had lost his nephew—
“If you are looking for my wife, she is far from here.”
Anger had crackled in the dark-haired man’s voice. Holden resolved to proceed with care, for both of the women he’d met earlier could have been married, although he suspected the lout with the sword was Claire’s spouse, Tye. “Your wife?” he asked.
“The feisty blonde.”
“I remember her.” In truth, though, not as well as he remembered her curvaceous friend. He hadn’t learned her name, but she’d reminded him of a lady he’d known years ago.
“If you had hurt Claire, or if you still think about harming her, I swear, I—”
“All right, Tye,” the other man said.
So the man brandishing the sword was Tye.
“All right? He threatened Claire, Brother.”
“As you are threatening me now,” Holden noted, while silently acknowledging the information he’d just gleaned: The two men were indeed siblings. They must be de Lanceau’s sons.
Tye’s lips curved in a ruthless smile. “I assure you, I can do far worse than point a sword at you. Therefore, you will answer all of our questions with the truth. If you do not….” He shrugged in a manner that suggested all kinds of unpleasantness would happen.
Edouard sighed. “I think he understands his dilemma well enough.” He set his gloved palm to the center of his chest. “I am Edouard, son and heir of Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau. This is my half-brother, Tye.”
“As I had guessed.” Holden thought to dip his head, at least attempt chivalry in the presence of such important men, but Tye’s sword was still perilously close to his neck. “’Tis an honor to meet you, milords.”
“And you are?” Edouard asked.
“Holden Kendall, captain-of-the-guard at Altingstow Keep.”
“Altingstow.” The de Lanceau heir exchanged a glance with Tye, as though they’d heard unsettling news about the fortress. Did they know of the threat to kidnap Norwin? “What prompted you to travel this road today?”
“I was on my way to Branton Keep.”
“Father did not tell us he was expecting you,” Tye said.
“’Twas an unplanned visit.”
“Unplanned?” Edouard echoed. “Why?”
Holden gritted his teeth. He’d rather not discuss the matter out in the open, where others could overhear.
Tye’s sword pressed to Holden’s skin again. “I believe I told you to answer our questions.”
“With all due respect, I am not a commoner or a criminal, but one of your noble peers,” Holden answered hotly. “Do you treat all fellow knights with such contempt?”
Tye’s lip curled. “You threatened my wife.”
“For that, I apologize—”
“As well you should,” Tye growled. “But, I am not the one who deserves your apology.”
“If you are a knight,” Edouard said, drawing Holden’s attention back to him, “why do you not wear spurs? Why are you dressed as a peasant?”
Reasonable questions. As sons of the area’s ruler, Tye and Edouard were owed some kind of explanation. “I wanted to leave the fortress undetected.”
“Undetected? Why—?”
“I will tell you all, but not here.” Concern weighed upon Holden. “The babe. Where is he?”
“Safe,” Edouard said. “The ladies returned to Branton Keep and took the infant with them.”
Holden exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
“The babe,” Edouard said. “’Tis yours?”
“Nay, my sister’s. Her husband, Penley Fielding, is lord of Altingstow.”
“I see. Well, I look forward to hearing more, when we are in a place that you can speak freely. In the meantime, what can you tell us of him?” Edouard pointed to the road. The mercenary, sullen and surrounded by armed guards, was approaching the other men-at-arms.
Rage boiled in Holden’s blood. “Someone hired him and his colleagues to attack me once I left the castle. I had intended to question him. I would still like to do so.”
“All right. We will take him to Branton Keep. Depending what you tell us, Father also may wish to interrogate the man—as well as you.”
Holden fought a sting of irritation. He wasn’t a criminal. He lived by the code of chivalry and, quite frankly, resented that his honor was suspect. But, de Lanceau’s sons would hopefully grow to trust him once he’d explained all. “I understand. I will gladly answer whatever questions you and your father wish to ask.”
“Good,” Edouard said. “One last thing.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Have you and I met before?”
Holden nodded. “We have, although not formally. Some years ago, I served as one of your father’s squires. You were also a squire, but at the castle of Dominic de Terre. If I remember correctly, you returned to Branton Keep for the occasional visit.”
The de Lanceau heir smiled, but his gaze held a warning. “Father has an excellent memory. If you did indeed serve him, he will remember. For your sake, every word of what you have told us had better be true.”
***
Cradling Isolde, who was wide awake and content, Claire sipped her mulled wine and glanced at Mary. “You are very quiet.”
Mary smiled. “I am enjoying holding him.” She looked down at the slumbering baby, still wrapped in his white blanket, his tiny mouth parted and one of his perfect little hands up by his face. He’d cried the whole way from the woods to the castle, but after being fed by a kitchen maid who’d recently given birth, he’d fallen sound asleep.
How could one hold an infant and not fall completely in love? ’Twas surely impossible. He fit perfectly in the crook of her arm, and the snuffling noises he made in his sleep and sweet baby smell of him made Mary’s heart squeeze with love.
“Beware. You will want one of your own.”
“I already do.” She’d always known she wanted children, but hadn’t imagined the desire was so strong, until the boy had been placed in her arms.
Claire cooed to Isolde, now burbling happily, while the nearby fire in the hearth crackled and snapped. After returning to the keep, Mary and Claire had retired to the cozy upstairs chamber that Lady Elizabeth used as her sewing room. A small silk gown made for Isolde and partly embroidered with yellow and pink flowers lay on the nearby table, along with thread.
“Do you think the men are still in the forest?” Claire’s words were tinged with worry.
“I am sure Edouard, Tye, and the others are handling the situation well. They will be back as soon as they can.”
“With the man we encountered, I hope.” Claire frowned. “I want to know more about him.”
As Mary recalled the sword against her back, she shuddered.
“He seemed so determined to get back the child,” Claire continued. “While he denied being the father, I vow he is connected to the baby somehow.”
“I believe so, too,” Mary said.
“I also want to know where the mother is. The healer said the babe is no more than four or five months old, so he will still be feeding from his mother’s breast.”
“True.”
“Why was she not accompanying the man? That seems odd to me. And why did he put the babe’s basket in the stump? To protect the child, because a fight had broken out?”
“That seems likely,” Mary said. The Holden she knew would have strived to protect the boy from all possible harm.
“It does seem the most likely explanation. But, part of me also insists that he could well have taken the babe because ’tis a bastard. He meant to abandon it—”
“Nay. He would never do such a thing.”
As Mary felt the weight of her friend’s stare, her face grew hot.
“Would he not?” Claire sounded surprised, but also intrigued. “How do you know?”
Mary smoothed her hand over the sleeping babe’s wispy hair. Anguish burgeoned within her. She’d tucked what had happened with Holden into the farthest reaches of her memories. She’d hoped to never speak of or see him again, or revisit the humiliation and shame of the past.
“Mary.” Claire had used that tone of voice—the one that insisted ’twasn’t fair to keep secrets from a best friend.
“Fine.” Mary sighed. “I think I know who he is.”
“Oh?” Claire sipped her drink.
“Some Christmases ago, before I became Lady Brackendale’s ward, I…had an encounter with a young man. He was a squire at this keep.”
Eyes widening, Claire set her mug on the table beside her. “An encounter?”
“Aye. I—”
“Did you kiss this squire under mistletoe?”
“Nay.”
Claire’s eyes grew even wider. “Did something scandalous happen with him, then, under the mistletoe?”
“No mistletoe was involved. But, what happened could be deemed scandalous.”
“Was your virtue threatened?”
Mary gasped. “’Twas not that kind of encounter.”
Her friend giggled. “All right, but you must still tell me all about it. Why, though, did you not tell me of it before? We have been best friends for how long?”
After lowering her gaze, Mary glanced over at the blaze in the hearth. “I did not tell you before because I…was ashamed, and I thought….”
“You can speak to me of anything,” Claire said firmly. “You and I have already been through so much together.”
Indeed, they had.
Tears stung Mary’s eyes as she smoothed the babe’s hair again. Embarrassment from long ago welled up, but she refused to allow it to overwhelm her. She’d shed more than enough tears in her lifetime because of Holden.
“You believe the man we met today is your squire,” Claire murmured.
“Aye.” After taking a deep breath, she told Claire all that had taken place with Holden. The words, mingled with anguish but also relief, poured out.
“Goodness,” Claire said. “Did you never hear from him again?”
“Not long after I moved to Wode, he sent me a letter.”
“He wrote you a worthy apology, I hope?”
“I have no idea what the letter said. I did not read it, but threw it into the fire. I also told the steward to burn any further missives from Holden.”
Claire put Isolde, who had started to fuss, to her shoulder and gently patted her back. “I am curious to know if he did apologize. If he did….”
“It changes naught,” Mary said. Yet, a little voice inside her insisted such a declaration wasn’t fair.
“Bloody hell,” the man muttered. Steel pressed to Mary’s back. “I said, quiet.”
Mary took small, shallow breaths. One foolish move—even an anxious twitch—and the blade could cut through her garments to her skin. Shocked and bleeding, she might drop the basket, causing the babe to tumble onto the ground. She didn’t want the child to be hurt.
Should she say the man’s voice seemed familiar to her? Should she ask where they might have met before? He’d told her and Claire to be quiet, though, and ’twas impossible to know how he would react if she disobeyed.
“No more screaming,” the man warned, “or I will use my sword on your friend.”
Panic shrilled inside Mary. Yet, while Claire had fallen silent, she hadn’t lowered her dagger. Her frosty gaze remained on the man beyond Mary’s range of vision.
“You will lower your weapon and let us go,” Claire said.
Oh, Claire! Beware. Please.
“I do not take orders from you, milady.”
He’d recognized from Claire’s garments that she was a noblewoman. No doubt he’d guessed the same about her.
What did he want from them? Would he release them? He might have more ghastly intentions.
Have courage. Claire is not cowering to this man. Neither should you.
“You will obey me,” Claire said evenly, “because Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau is my father-in-law.”
“Is that so?” Doubt tinged the man’s voice.
“Aye. He rules all of Moydenshire, including this land on which we stand.”
“You are the wife of his son, Edouard?”
“Nay, I am Tye’s wife.” When the man made a sound of astonishment, she added, “You will let us go, unless you wish to answer to both my husband and Lord de Lanceau. I promise you, neither will respond kindly when they learn how you treated us this day.”
“Milady—”
“By delaying us, you are endangering the babe we found in these woods. The child is hungry, cold, and needs care right away. So, you will lower your sword. Now.”
The man muttered under his breath, but then the sword moved away from Mary’s back. Thank God. Mary exhaled a shaky sigh of relief.
“You, with the dark hair,” the man said. “Turn around.”
Mary trembled. “W-why?”
“I will not ask twice.”
“You do not have to heed him,” Claire said, but the man’s tone had held such fierceness. Moreover, Mary needed to look upon him, to recall when and where she’d met him before.
She slowly faced him, the basket now between them. Thankfully, his sword wasn’t pointed at her, but at the verge to his right.
Their gazes met. His unflinching stare seemed to cut straight to the most fragile parts of her soul.
His eyes were blue; the same cool, astonishing hue as the baby’s.
A clammy sweat broke upon her skin, for the man—a hardened warrior—looked naught like the gangly lad of her memories. Could he be Holden? He appeared to be about the age Holden would be now.
As boughs stirred overhead, sunlight dappled his dark-brown, shoulder-length hair and gray woolen cloak. Judging by his broad shoulders and authoritative stance, he’d fought for most of his life, mayhap even commanded soldiers in battle. He certainly had the voice for ordering men about.
As though he’d read her thoughts, a muscle ticked in his jaw, drawing her attention to the sweat glistening on his face and the blood at his hairline. He also had a scar, as long as her smallest finger, splicing through his left eyebrow. This man looked like a seasoned knight who had just won a swordfight. And yet, his cloak was of common style and cloth, and he didn’t wear spurs at the heels of his boots.
His attention shifted to Claire. “Prove you are who you said you are.”
“I am a lady of my word—”
“Proof,” the man insisted.
Now standing beside Mary, Claire said, “We are not handing this babe over to you.”
“I will take him from you, then.”
“Him?” Claire asked. “’Tis a boy?”
The man nodded once then swayed slightly, as though the ground had shifted beneath him.
“Are you his father?” asked Claire.
“Nay, I am—” Grimacing, the warrior set his free hand to his head and swayed again.
Either Mary’s eyes were tricking her, or he’d gone pale.
He hissed a breath, and his sword listed toward the road. “Give me the boy. I must…protect—”
“You are not in any state to protect anyone.” Claire frowned. “Did you know your head is bleeding?”
He blinked hard. “Give me….”
Grabbing Mary’s arm, Claire pulled her backward. “He is going to faint.”
The man groaned. His eyes slid closed. With a clang, the sword dropped from his hand.
His legs buckled, and he landed face down on the road.
A Knight's Redemption
Catherine Kean
Chapter Five
Coldness seeped into Holden’s awakening consciousness.
Pain.
The sensations were interwoven with the darkness blanketing his mind. As the blackness began to lift, the discomfort sharpened in focus.
The pain was in his head. The coldness: his arse and legs. His eyes still closed, he vaguely remembered confronting two ladies and then the woods around him blurring.
He also recalled waking earlier with his cheek against moldering leaves, only to be plunged once again into oblivion.
Men were talking nearby. Warning tingled in the back of his mind, for he didn’t recognize any of the voices.
Norwin…. He didn’t hear the baby crying. Had someone taken him away?
Holden fought a surge of panic and drew a slow, measured breath. Judging by the earthy smells around him, he was still in the forest. He was sitting propped against a tree trunk. His hands rested on damp ground.
Mayhap the mercenaries had returned with reinforcements, not only to rescue their colleague he’d subdued, but to capture him and Norwin. They might have found Holden lying on the road. Once he’d roused, the thugs could well intend to beat or torture him.
Another possibility: the blond lady had fetched her husband. If so, Tye might be waiting for Holden to wake before beating him senseless.
Not favorable options either way.
“He is awake,” a man said close by. “Pretending not to be, but awake.”
“At last,” another male muttered. “Do not render him senseless again. We need answers.”
Holden didn’t open his eyes or move. He must wait until he could slip away unnoticed, or saw good odds for fighting like hell to escape. They couldn’t know for certain that he was awake unless he betrayed himself—
Cold steel touched his throat.
Holden’s eyes flew open.
“I was right.”
As the sword eased slightly away from Holden’s skin, he reached for his dagger.
“Do not bother. I took your weapons,” the man said, sounding smug.
Frustration and wariness churning inside him, Holden fought his merciless headache and studied the man wielding the sword. The lout wore his shoulder-length, dark-brown hair tied back with a strip of leather. While Holden discerned he wasn’t a mercenary, his nose had clearly been broken a few times before. He was without doubt an experienced warrior.
Beside him was a second man, also a warrior. The two men bore a resemblance; so much so, they had to be brothers.
More voices drew Holden’s gaze to the handful of guards and horses a short distance away on the road. He recognized the blond man: Aldwin Treynarde, once a squire to de Lanceau and a legendary crossbowman. Years ago, he’d taught Holden and his colleagues how to use the powerful weapon.
There was no sign of the ladies or the basket holding Norwin. If Holden had lost his nephew—
“If you are looking for my wife, she is far from here.”
Anger had crackled in the dark-haired man’s voice. Holden resolved to proceed with care, for both of the women he’d met earlier could have been married, although he suspected the lout with the sword was Claire’s spouse, Tye. “Your wife?” he asked.
“The feisty blonde.”
“I remember her.” In truth, though, not as well as he remembered her curvaceous friend. He hadn’t learned her name, but she’d reminded him of a lady he’d known years ago.
“If you had hurt Claire, or if you still think about harming her, I swear, I—”
“All right, Tye,” the other man said.
So the man brandishing the sword was Tye.
“All right? He threatened Claire, Brother.”
“As you are threatening me now,” Holden noted, while silently acknowledging the information he’d just gleaned: The two men were indeed siblings. They must be de Lanceau’s sons.
Tye’s lips curved in a ruthless smile. “I assure you, I can do far worse than point a sword at you. Therefore, you will answer all of our questions with the truth. If you do not….” He shrugged in a manner that suggested all kinds of unpleasantness would happen.
Edouard sighed. “I think he understands his dilemma well enough.” He set his gloved palm to the center of his chest. “I am Edouard, son and heir of Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau. This is my half-brother, Tye.”
“As I had guessed.” Holden thought to dip his head, at least attempt chivalry in the presence of such important men, but Tye’s sword was still perilously close to his neck. “’Tis an honor to meet you, milords.”
“And you are?” Edouard asked.
“Holden Kendall, captain-of-the-guard at Altingstow Keep.”
“Altingstow.” The de Lanceau heir exchanged a glance with Tye, as though they’d heard unsettling news about the fortress. Did they know of the threat to kidnap Norwin? “What prompted you to travel this road today?”
“I was on my way to Branton Keep.”
“Father did not tell us he was expecting you,” Tye said.
“’Twas an unplanned visit.”
“Unplanned?” Edouard echoed. “Why?”
Holden gritted his teeth. He’d rather not discuss the matter out in the open, where others could overhear.
Tye’s sword pressed to Holden’s skin again. “I believe I told you to answer our questions.”
“With all due respect, I am not a commoner or a criminal, but one of your noble peers,” Holden answered hotly. “Do you treat all fellow knights with such contempt?”
Tye’s lip curled. “You threatened my wife.”
“For that, I apologize—”
“As well you should,” Tye growled. “But, I am not the one who deserves your apology.”
“If you are a knight,” Edouard said, drawing Holden’s attention back to him, “why do you not wear spurs? Why are you dressed as a peasant?”
Reasonable questions. As sons of the area’s ruler, Tye and Edouard were owed some kind of explanation. “I wanted to leave the fortress undetected.”
“Undetected? Why—?”
“I will tell you all, but not here.” Concern weighed upon Holden. “The babe. Where is he?”
“Safe,” Edouard said. “The ladies returned to Branton Keep and took the infant with them.”
Holden exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
“The babe,” Edouard said. “’Tis yours?”
“Nay, my sister’s. Her husband, Penley Fielding, is lord of Altingstow.”
“I see. Well, I look forward to hearing more, when we are in a place that you can speak freely. In the meantime, what can you tell us of him?” Edouard pointed to the road. The mercenary, sullen and surrounded by armed guards, was approaching the other men-at-arms.
Rage boiled in Holden’s blood. “Someone hired him and his colleagues to attack me once I left the castle. I had intended to question him. I would still like to do so.”
“All right. We will take him to Branton Keep. Depending what you tell us, Father also may wish to interrogate the man—as well as you.”
Holden fought a sting of irritation. He wasn’t a criminal. He lived by the code of chivalry and, quite frankly, resented that his honor was suspect. But, de Lanceau’s sons would hopefully grow to trust him once he’d explained all. “I understand. I will gladly answer whatever questions you and your father wish to ask.”
“Good,” Edouard said. “One last thing.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Have you and I met before?”
Holden nodded. “We have, although not formally. Some years ago, I served as one of your father’s squires. You were also a squire, but at the castle of Dominic de Terre. If I remember correctly, you returned to Branton Keep for the occasional visit.”
The de Lanceau heir smiled, but his gaze held a warning. “Father has an excellent memory. If you did indeed serve him, he will remember. For your sake, every word of what you have told us had better be true.”
***
Cradling Isolde, who was wide awake and content, Claire sipped her mulled wine and glanced at Mary. “You are very quiet.”
Mary smiled. “I am enjoying holding him.” She looked down at the slumbering baby, still wrapped in his white blanket, his tiny mouth parted and one of his perfect little hands up by his face. He’d cried the whole way from the woods to the castle, but after being fed by a kitchen maid who’d recently given birth, he’d fallen sound asleep.
How could one hold an infant and not fall completely in love? ’Twas surely impossible. He fit perfectly in the crook of her arm, and the snuffling noises he made in his sleep and sweet baby smell of him made Mary’s heart squeeze with love.
“Beware. You will want one of your own.”
“I already do.” She’d always known she wanted children, but hadn’t imagined the desire was so strong, until the boy had been placed in her arms.
Claire cooed to Isolde, now burbling happily, while the nearby fire in the hearth crackled and snapped. After returning to the keep, Mary and Claire had retired to the cozy upstairs chamber that Lady Elizabeth used as her sewing room. A small silk gown made for Isolde and partly embroidered with yellow and pink flowers lay on the nearby table, along with thread.
“Do you think the men are still in the forest?” Claire’s words were tinged with worry.
“I am sure Edouard, Tye, and the others are handling the situation well. They will be back as soon as they can.”
“With the man we encountered, I hope.” Claire frowned. “I want to know more about him.”
As Mary recalled the sword against her back, she shuddered.
“He seemed so determined to get back the child,” Claire continued. “While he denied being the father, I vow he is connected to the baby somehow.”
“I believe so, too,” Mary said.
“I also want to know where the mother is. The healer said the babe is no more than four or five months old, so he will still be feeding from his mother’s breast.”
“True.”
“Why was she not accompanying the man? That seems odd to me. And why did he put the babe’s basket in the stump? To protect the child, because a fight had broken out?”
“That seems likely,” Mary said. The Holden she knew would have strived to protect the boy from all possible harm.
“It does seem the most likely explanation. But, part of me also insists that he could well have taken the babe because ’tis a bastard. He meant to abandon it—”
“Nay. He would never do such a thing.”
As Mary felt the weight of her friend’s stare, her face grew hot.
“Would he not?” Claire sounded surprised, but also intrigued. “How do you know?”
Mary smoothed her hand over the sleeping babe’s wispy hair. Anguish burgeoned within her. She’d tucked what had happened with Holden into the farthest reaches of her memories. She’d hoped to never speak of or see him again, or revisit the humiliation and shame of the past.
“Mary.” Claire had used that tone of voice—the one that insisted ’twasn’t fair to keep secrets from a best friend.
“Fine.” Mary sighed. “I think I know who he is.”
“Oh?” Claire sipped her drink.
“Some Christmases ago, before I became Lady Brackendale’s ward, I…had an encounter with a young man. He was a squire at this keep.”
Eyes widening, Claire set her mug on the table beside her. “An encounter?”
“Aye. I—”
“Did you kiss this squire under mistletoe?”
“Nay.”
Claire’s eyes grew even wider. “Did something scandalous happen with him, then, under the mistletoe?”
“No mistletoe was involved. But, what happened could be deemed scandalous.”
“Was your virtue threatened?”
Mary gasped. “’Twas not that kind of encounter.”
Her friend giggled. “All right, but you must still tell me all about it. Why, though, did you not tell me of it before? We have been best friends for how long?”
After lowering her gaze, Mary glanced over at the blaze in the hearth. “I did not tell you before because I…was ashamed, and I thought….”
“You can speak to me of anything,” Claire said firmly. “You and I have already been through so much together.”
Indeed, they had.
Tears stung Mary’s eyes as she smoothed the babe’s hair again. Embarrassment from long ago welled up, but she refused to allow it to overwhelm her. She’d shed more than enough tears in her lifetime because of Holden.
“You believe the man we met today is your squire,” Claire murmured.
“Aye.” After taking a deep breath, she told Claire all that had taken place with Holden. The words, mingled with anguish but also relief, poured out.
“Goodness,” Claire said. “Did you never hear from him again?”
“Not long after I moved to Wode, he sent me a letter.”
“He wrote you a worthy apology, I hope?”
“I have no idea what the letter said. I did not read it, but threw it into the fire. I also told the steward to burn any further missives from Holden.”
Claire put Isolde, who had started to fuss, to her shoulder and gently patted her back. “I am curious to know if he did apologize. If he did….”
“It changes naught,” Mary said. Yet, a little voice inside her insisted such a declaration wasn’t fair.
