Chapter Two
Benedick barely flicked a glance after the fleeing girl. She was a child and naught more than a nuisance. As for Hardwin... Benedick saw the steward’s swift frown of disapproval and matched it with his own. The old man had taken much upon himself in his master’s absence, and he would do better to worry about Benedick’s wrath rather than the tears of a homeless wench.
A low grumbling made him turn, his warrior’s instincts alert to the furtive exchanges and somber voices quickly silenced by his hard stare. Obviously the girl had many allies, and Benedick swore softly at the discovery. Had he left one battlefield only to find another? Would rest always be denied him?
“Saint Bernard’s bones!” Alard’s loud exclamation made Benedick decide to put off his reckoning with his steward until he was settled in at his keep. Still he gave the man a look that spoke of his displeasure, both with the matter of the girl and Hardwin’s attitude toward her.
“’Tis a fitting home for a brave knight, Sir Villiers!” Alard said, turning around as if awestruck by the hall. Indeed, one would have thought the lad was viewing a king’s castle. With a grunt of annoyance, Benedick shook his head.
“Put your eyes back in your head and attend me, lad!” he called, and with a nod of dismissal to Hardwin, he headed for the dark, circular stair to the great chamber. Even the dank passage of the steps seemed brighter, and Benedick began to wonder if his memory served him well. Or perhaps his recent lodging in a petty baron’s dungeon made all else seem an improvement.
Smiling tightly at the thought, Benedick swung open the heavy door and eyed the interior warily, for even this room was not as he recalled. The place had not only been scrubbed clean, but the walls had been painted a pale yellow, new covers had been fashioned for the big bed and the shutters mended. A welcome fire burned brightly in the hearth and a length of carpet rested in front of it.
Benedick sucked in a breath. The effect was one of warmth and welcome, of sunny greeting despite the low light from the windows that signalled the fading day. Yet Benedick took no delight in the changes. Instead, he felt a surge of resentment that the girl had made her presence known even here! What right had she to enter his most private chamber? He would take Hardwin to task for the matter, he thought, and woe betide any who would stand in his way.
He remembered the condemning faces of the servants, and he wondered if she had turned his entire household against him. He was well used to enmity but had hoped for more in his own keep. He ought to turn out the lot of them, with her at the forefront.
Except he had promised.
“Saint Theodore’s tooth!” Alard exclaimed from behind him. “’Tis a bit better than our last encampment, eh?”
Benedick shrugged, his mind drifting back to the girl. Noel Amery. He had given his word that she could remain here until Epiphany, but if she wanted to leave earlier, he would be more than happy to oblige her. His lips curved into a tight smile. Once he stripped her of all authority, she would probably run back to her own manor, her golden hair flying behind her.
“Ah! ’Tis as soft as goose down!” Alard said, and Benedick started, alarmed that the squire’s words so echoed his own thoughts. What did Alard know of the girl? But when Benedick swung around, he found the boy admiring, not Noel, but the great bed. In fact, he was lying upon it, grinning outrageously.
“Up, you!” Benedick said. “Your place is on a pallet before the door.”
Alard grinned, unapologetic. “I can dream, can’t I?”
Ignoring the youth, Benedick returned his attention to Noel. A few days in his cold company and she would soon abandon her silly plan to marry him. A wife! That was the last thing he needed. He was a warrior, not some courtier who sang love ballads over a lady’s hand. He had worked hard for everything he had, disdaining those who would wed for financial gain.
And he was far too old to gently woo a maid.
By faith, he felt centuries older than the young innocent who claimed to be his ward, and he had the scars to prove it! If he decided to marry, he would choose someone more mature, more experienced, a woman who knew how to pleasure a man. Aye, a widow, even. A proven child-bearer to get him an heir, or perhaps someone already equipped with sons.
That was what he needed, yet even as Benedick tried to picture one of the jaded, hard-eyed court women in his bed, he saw the girl who had greeted him below, golden hair spread upon his pillow in silken waves. Fresh faced and smooth skinned, she had borne no children, nor had she known a man, from the looks of her. A virgin. The knowledge was oddly stirring, and Benedick swore softly at his own weakness.
“All right!” Alard said. Obviously the youth thought the oath was meant for him, and Benedick did not deny it. “I will take myself onto a hard mat at my master’s feet,” the squire grumbled.
Benedick grunted. “’Tis a berth I know well myself.” He tried not to wonder where Noel was sleeping.
“But ‘tis one you will not have tonight, so why do you grumble so? You are home, at last, and ’tis a fine place, indeed. How could it not be to your liking?” Alard asked. He paused meaningfully. “Was not your lady wife eager to see you?”
Benedick’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What?”
“The beauteous woman I glimpsed in the hall, slender and fair as an angel. Is she not your wife?”
“No! You know full well that I am not married.”
“Your leman, then?”
“No!” Benedict snarled. “She is my ward, and hardly a woman, but a child.” Young, innocent and full of foolish dreams, Benedick thought as he tossed his pack upon the bed and pulled out the few possessions he carried with him.
“She looked a lady full grown to me,” Alard said with a sigh. “I saw the curves beneath her gown, the silky length of her hair, and the delightful sway of her—”
Benedick cut off his squire’s words with a growl of warning. Although well used to Alard’s randy talk, he would have none of it applied to his ward. The boy’s lusty look made Benedick’s normally cold blood boil, and he had to stop himself from grabbing the mouthy youth by the throat.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” Benedick warned. “And your hands to yourself. Aye, even your very thoughts away from her. She goes to a man of property, not a squire without a farthing to his name.”
Benedick’s eyes narrowed. An heiress, Hardwin had called her. Her wealth meant little to him, but now he wondered just how much of a temptation she would present to penniless rogues like Alard.
“If I find you even looking at her too closely, I’ll toss you out on your ear,” Benedick warned. By faith, he had best marry off the wench soon, else he might find this task of guardian onerous indeed.
“’Tis certain to test me sorely, but I will obey you, of course,” Alard said, with a bow of acknowledgment.
“Do not test me sorely,” Benedick snapped, displeased with the youth’s levity. But a few minutes home and already he was saddled with a meddlesome girl and disloyal servants. And he must ever rein in his squire. So much for his much-needed rest!
Benedick scowled. To his mind, it was all the fault of one Noel Amery. And he had to put up with her until Epiphany! Running a hand through his thick hair, Benedick grunted in dismay.
Surely this was going to be the longest fortnight of his life.
Benedick stirred, a cocoon of warmth and softness surrounding him as he turned. Hair like liquid gold ran through his fingers, and the scent of greenery and spices filled his head, blended with a more subtle, womanly fragrance.
Noel.
She smelled young and sweet and fresh, like nothing he had ever known in his hard life. And she was in his bed. His body was suffused with a gentle heat, a sensation of completeness, of repletion, although he could not remember having lain with her. Better to renew his memory, he thought with a smile, and drew her close, her silken limbs sliding along his own, her skin sleek and supple and...
When Benedick’s hand closed around his blanket, he blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar room and the walls that gleamed with the faint light of early dawn. Swiftly recognition returned, but with it came the tantalizing recollection of his thoughts before waking. Noel. In his bed. It had all seemed so real that for a moment Benedick thought the girl was well and truly beside him. He jerked upright in horror, his breathing labored.
A quick assessment of the chamber assured him that the only presence was that of Alard, sleeping peacefully on his mat in front of the door. Disgusted, Benedick ran a hand through his hair. Noel, the feelings...it had all been a dream.
He never dreamed.
With a rough shake of his head, Benedick swung to his feet, firmly dismissing the entire episode. He was unaccustomed to a bed, to the sights and smells of his own keep, decked out like some kind of child’s toy for the holiday. The problems of a landowner weighed down upon him, with the meddlesome wench an unexpected addition. It was only natural that his sleep be disturbed.
“Up, you!” he growled at Alard as he grabbed his clothes.
“What? What is it?” the squire mumbled, rubbing his head. Although Benedick suspected the youth had consumed one too many cups of ale and now felt the effects of indulgence, he spared his squire no sympathy.
“’Tis dawn, and time to rise, as you well know,” he answered tightly.
Opening one eye, the youth looked at him and groaned. “But we are not on the battlefield!”
“Still, there is much to be done.”
Alard fell back upon his pallet with a ragged sigh and swiped at his face. “Last night you had the pleasure of a bath, clean linens, and the softest bed in all Christendom. How is it that you are up and about this early, and ill-humored besides?”
“I slept poorly,” Benedick snapped as he bent to tug on his boots. But it was not really true. His usual heavy slumber had been replaced by a sense of lightness, of peace and contentment and sweet dreams. He scowled, unwilling to admit to such, even to himself.
“You?” Alard scoffed. “You sleep like the dead! I’ve seen you make a nest of rocks and profess them to your liking!”
“Then perhaps my own foul nature ’tis the cause,” Benedick answered. “And unless you would see more of it, I’d advise you to rouse yourself.” Pointedly he stepped over the youth’s body and pulled open the door.
Expecting another one of Alard’s rejoinders, he paused on the threshold, but the boy only studied him with a curious intensity. Unaccountably irritated by his squire’s scrutiny, Benedick slammed the door shut behind him.
His mood was not improved by the sight of his hall. The servants were just rising, and he had to fetch his own ale and bread. Although he had spent his life doing for himself, he resented the small effort in his own household. Calling angrily for his steward, he was further displeased to discover that Hardwin was still abed.
Taking his seat at the high table, Benedick drank his ale and watched the room stir to life around him. He had to admit that the place smelled better than most, no doubt because of the branches dangling from every archway and opening. It was ridiculous, of course, but fragrant.
Leaning back, Benedick relaxed once more in the chair he had admired last night. It was a nice piece, heavy and so large he could rest his head against its high back. He did not remember it from his previous visit, but his time here had been all too brief. Flicking his gaze to the smaller one where Noel had taken the light supper served before nightfall, Benedick felt a resurgence of tension. The meddlesome wench had made herself at home far too well for his liking—and that was not even taking into account the dreams that he would rather forget.
“Sir Villiers?” Benedick swung his attention to his steward. The old man appeared sleepy eyed and a bit disheveled, as if he had dressed hurriedly, but Benedick gave him no sympathy.
“I would have the keys to the keep, and then I would like to go over the accounts,” he said coolly.
“But ’tis Christmas Eve, sir,” Hardwin protested.
Benedick gave him a hard look for his insolence. “’Tis also the first opportunity I’ve had in five long years. I would have the records, if you please.”
“Yes, of course, sir.” The steward answered promptly enough, but he reddened slightly. “I will send for them at once.”
Benedick lifted his brows in bemusement. “Don’t you have them in your possession?”
Hardwin cleared his throat. “Noel keeps the books now, and the keys.”
Noel.
Not “your ward.” Not “Mistress Amery.” Noel. Had that infernal female invaded every segment of his life? He frowned, for he knew well the answer to that question. “Then see that you fetch them, immediately,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, sir!” Hardwin bowed and backed away, and Benedick waited, his temper festering. If the accounts were not in perfect order, he would send the girl home, promise or no promise. And before he was done, he would have a good reason why she had taken on tasks that were not her own.
Hardwin returned with keys and books in hand, in good time, and presented the most recent volume to Benedick without demure. Scanning over the pages, Benedick could easily read the small, well-formed letters and amounts. The expenditures were carefully detailed as were any incoming fees, rents and produce. Despite himself, Benedick was impressed. The girl had done a fine job.
Leafing back through the volume, he noticed the purchase of two chairs, sturdily built, for the good knight and his ward. Obviously that is why he had not remembered his seat. Benedick’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a small mark beside the exorbitant price paid for the furniture. He could not decide whether it was a small n or another notation. And what did it record, an overpayment or some extra amount due the purchaser?
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the mark.
Hardwin, who had been hovering around nervously, stepped closer. Then he pulled the book in front of him, leaned over and squinted at the page for a long minute.
Watching him, Benedick felt the fool, for he suddenly realized that his steward was no longer a young man. He had kept on all of the servants when he took over the fiefdom, without a thought to their age or abilities. Now he noticed the white of Hardwin’s hair and the slight tremble of his hands. His joints were swollen, and from the way he looked at the parchment before him, he might be half-blind, as well! No wonder he had given over some of his work.
Finally, the steward straightened. “’Tis Noel’s mark,” he said.
“And what does it do here?” Benedick asked, suspicious.
“It means that she used her own funds.” The old man stepped back, as if in disapproval, and Benedick echoed the sentiment. By faith, there was something totally unsettling about the girl buying him a chair, especially when he had more use for it than for her.
“She has her own money, sir, to spend as she wills,” Hardwin reminded him.
Benedick’s eyes narrowed, for the steward did not help the girl’s case with his hasty tongue. “On my keep,” he said. “And without leave of her guardian.”
Hardwin reddened, effectively silenced, as Benedick glanced through the remaining pages. He found Noel’s mark in several places, usually in connection with some frivolous purchase. Obviously Hardwin had no control over the girl’s buying habits.
At least she had the good sense not to try to make him pay for that expensive carpet on the floor of his chamber. She could take the thing with her when she left, for he had no use for it! Did she think she would soon be sleeping in the great room? Had she stayed there while he was gone? Benedick’s indignation gave way to a deeper disturbance at the thought, and he shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his seat.
“Is something troubling you, sir?” Hardwin asked.
Yes, and her name is Noel, Benedick thought, but he shook his head. He would take the girl to task rightly enough, for he wanted no claims on his household. He would repay her for his chair and send the other with her when she left. And, after she was gone, he would find an assistant for Hardwin, someone young and eager, like Alard, to help him with his duties without shaming him.
“I will speak with Noel about these expenses,” Benedick said. “Meanwhile, I will study the books at my leisure.” Nodding his dismissal, he let the steward go and turned his attention back to the pages.
Soon deep in study, Benedick began to feel a reluctant admiration for the skills of the person who had managed Longstone in his absence. It was hard to believe that such a young girl was responsible. As his opinion of her improved, Benedick reminded himself that Noel Amery was hardly more than a child. Forcibly he pushed aside the nagging memory of a dream in which she was very much a woman.
Benedick was not sure how long he sat there, but his concentration was finally disrupted by the tantalizing aromas of cooking food and something else—fresh, clean, inviting and vaguely familiar. He lifted his head.
Noel.
She was standing in front of him, looking more beautiful than he remembered in a scarlet silk kirtle that clung to the curves Alard had so enthusiastically pointed out. Annoyed to discover his squire had been more than correct in his assessments, Benedick jerked his gaze upward only to blink in surprise. Her lovely face was so somber, he bit back a groan. Surely she did not plan to resume their argument? How like a female to gain a concession and then ask for more. Unfortunately, this one was bound to be disappointed, for he had no intention of giving her even one more day past Epiphany!
“I have to know something,” she said, with an uncommon directness.
Ah, here it comes, Benedick thought, but there was nothing calculating or accusing in her eyes. They were bluer than the clearest lake, Benedick decided. Bluer than anything he had ever seen. And surely that hair was a shade of gold that he had never viewed before, shimmering over her shoulder like a bright wave, long and thick. Hazy remnants of his dream returned, and his fingers itched to see if those locks were as soft as he remembered.
“Is there someone else?”
Benedick’s head jerked up guiltily at her words. Someone else, who? His bewilderment must have shown on his face, for she glanced away and then began again, as if it cost her in effort.
“Have you a...another woman you wish to marry?” Benedick blinked, nonplussed by her question until he recalled her suggestion of the night before. Obviously she was unwilling to let go his keep, or him, as she had claimed then. Her words, forgotten, now returned to make him uncomfortable. Had she said she wanted only him?
Annoyed, Benedick shifted in his seat and glared at her, intent upon snarling a reply, but the bleakness of her expression stopped him. Something about her openness, her innocence, made him feel guilty. Yet he had done nothing except dream about her, and he was hardly responsible for that!
“No. As I told you last night, I have no use for a wife,” Benedick answered, firmly putting an end to the foolish discussion. Surely the girl was not going to press him again? Such boldness of speech astonished him. He had never known a female to talk so freely, and yet it was oddly refreshing. He grimaced at the thought and told himself she didn’t know any better because she was too young and unworldly.
“Good,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that seemed to light up the hall as it grew. Benedick found himself staring and determinedly looked away. “I would not like to use my Christmas wish to the detriment of someone else.”
“Christmas wish?” Benedick asked, his attention swiveling back to her. What was she about now? Did the girl ever make sense?
“My mother always said that Christmas wishes are bound to come true, especially for me since Christmas Day is my birthday. That is how I got my name, you see.”
Benedick could only gape at her, unable to refute that kind of twisted logic. Christmas, birthdays and wishes were all equally nonsensical to his mind.
“I just wanted to make sure that you had no one else in your heart before I wished for you.”
“You are going to make a wish for...that I marry you?” Benedick asked, incredulous. She was a child, just as he suspected, despite her fine record keeping. He grunted in contempt. Nothing ever came from wanting, as he well knew. Hard work, struggle and pain were the only ways to get ahead, and even then, a man might never find peace.
“I am considering it,” she said, giving him another brilliant smile.
Determinedly Benedick ignored it and the warmth it seemed to invoke deep inside him. “Enough foolishness!” he said. “I want to talk to you about these.” His mouth tight, he thrust forward the account book.
“Not now,” she said, waving a hand in airy dismissal. “’Tis time for dinner, and afterward, you have something much more important to do!”
With a glance, Benedick realized that the trestle tables were filling with people, and he wondered just what it was about this dainty female that kept him so captivated he lost all sense of his surroundings. Not captivated. Irritated, he told himself with a grimace.
The meal was much better than the small supper the night before, and well satisfying to a man used to dungeon fare. As Noel pointed out to him, there were twelve dishes in keeping with the holiday, but he cared not for the number, only that there was plenty of pike, beef, venison, hare, cabbage and leeks, and a plum pudding. Even the presence of Noel in her presumptuous position beside him failed to turn his appetite, and he ate his fill, pleased with the food and the running of the household.
Nodding at Hardwin, Benedick commended the man, who reddened and looked to Noel, as if she were once again responsible. Frowning, Benedick turned narrowed eyes toward the girl, but before he could question her she had risen from her seat.
To his astonishment, she stepped to his side and took his hand, as if to pull him from his chair. He blinked in astonishment, for rarely did anyone touch him except Alard, who tended his mail. Her small fingers curled around his, warm and soft as silk, her skin white and smooth and unsullied.
“I have already chosen the Yule log, but, as master of the household, you must get it into the hearth,” she said.
“What?” Benedick stared at her dumbly, his attention still fixed on the feel of her.
“The Yule log. ’Tis tradition!” she said, flashing those white teeth at him.
The Yule log? Before Benedick could gather his wits, she was calling to the others and pulling him to his feet. He stood, yet still she held his hand in her own. It was dainty, like a child’s, but with a woman’s strength. Benedick felt heat travel up his arm and through his body to other, nether regions.
Swearing softly, he jerked away, ignoring her frown of dismay, but it was too late to escape his part in this absurd ritual. Already a surprising number of people were crowding around him, drawing on worn cloaks and chatting excitedly. Noel called them by name, and they answered her, faces wreathed in smiles, from small children to those wrinkled with age.
These were the residents of his keep, Benedick noted, and they all looked to him, waiting, expectant. Someone even tossed his heavy cloak over his shoulders, and Benedick grunted, resigning himself.
He would fetch the girl her stupid log, and then he would retire to his chamber in hopes of finding some peace in his own home—away from his ward and the flummery of Christmas.