The Knight Before Christmas Read online

  THE KNIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  A KNIGHTS THROUGH TIME ROMANCE

  CYNTHIA LUHRS

  Copyright © 2018 by Cynthia Luhrs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For everyone who loves a happy ending.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  CHARLOTTE AND HENRY

  December 1337—England

  * * *

  Henry Thornton offered his wife a choice piece of meat only to watch as her pink cheeks turned gray and sweat dripped off her brow.

  “Not again, my love?”

  Charlotte clapped a hand over her mouth, the cushion falling to the floor as she pushed back from the table and fled for the garderobe.

  “Shall we play a different tune, my lord?” One of the minstrels nervously watched Charlotte run through the great hall and up the stairs.

  With a look to his wife’s back as she rounded the corner, Henry ate the meat, knowing better than to go after her. Nay, Charlotte Merriweather Thornton would likely take his favorite blade and run him through.

  Once she finished, Henry would not think upon what was happening in the garderobe—then and only then would she allow him to care for and fuss over her.

  Henry chewed and swallowed the meat before answering.

  “Nay. ’Tis not the music. My wife is with child.” He waved a hand. “Play on.”

  It had cost him a good amount of coin to keep the minstrels at Ravenskirk until the new year, thus he would have them play every night until then, as it made Charlotte happy.

  A servant passed by. “Have one of the lads fetch ice from the ice room and take it with cloth up to your lady.”

  The girl nodded, picking up the fallen cushion. “’Tis already done, my lord.” She poured him more wine. “My mam says the sickness will soon pass.”

  “By the saints, I pray ’tis so.” To see Charlotte ill and not be able to aid her… If he could take her pain as his own, Henry would see it done. A shudder ran through him. Childbirth was dangerous. He remembered Charlotte screaming. Nay, he would much prefer to face the entire French army than be a woman in childbirth.

  “Where is Mama?” His son climbed up in his mother’s chair, eyeing the meat knife.

  “She will return soon, lad.” Henry pushed the knife away from his son, but not fast enough. He snatched the apple pie from his mother’s plate and ran, laughing from the hall, shoving the pie into his mouth, two of the hounds on his heels, eating the fallen bits as Henry bellowed at him to halt.

  The touch of a dagger leaving his boot had Henry lifting the tablecloth, only to see the twins giggling, each one holding one of his daggers.

  “Your brother is powerful fast.” He held out a hand for the blades.

  The twins nodded, blond curls bouncing. “Bad,” they said at the same time, blue eyes narrowed at him as they shook their heads and held fast to the blades.

  Henry arched a brow, as ’twas usually his daughters making mischief and stealing pies. His son worshipped his younger twin sisters, and while Henry told his wife it did not matter if she gave birth to a boy or girl, in truth, he wished for another lad. The girls were beautiful, but their sweet faces hid the terror beneath.

  A se’nnight ago, they had unraveled the scarves their Aunt Lucy made them and tied the yarn across every doorway in the castle, laughing when the servants and his guardsmen tripped. Then they had thrown all the trenchers out the windows, saying the birds were hungry.

  Henry thought Charlotte was going to send them to Lucy when she found out they had taken Henry’s daggers and cut off the serving girl’s hair as they slept.

  A shudder ran through him at the thought of what the two hellions might be plotting next as they whispered to each other, daggers clutched tightly to their chests.

  “Give them to me.” He frowned, but did they obey? Nay—as he reached for them, they gave a mighty tug on the tablecloth, and food, cups, and plates crashed to the floor. The wine turned the tablecloth purple and dripped on his hose.

  How had Henry lost control of his household to two small females? The servants rushed to clean up the mess, throwing Henry looks that told him they knew how he was suffering.

  “Saints, send me an army to fight,” he mumbled. When Charlotte found out the girls had run off with his daggers… Mayhap he would seek refuge in the lists. A bit of swordplay was good for whatever ailed him. On the way outside, he stopped to praise the minstrels.

  As the day faded, Henry found the twins, who refused to tell him where they had hidden his daggers, and saw them to their chamber. He had a bolt put on the outside so they could no longer sneak out during the night, though he gave them a fortnight before they figured out how to open the bolted door.

  Opening the door to the chamber, Henry called out, “My love?”

  “Go away and leave me alone.” She moaned.

  He found her sitting in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, her face the same gray as her eyes as she sipped from a cup. The scent of honey, ginger, and lemon surrounded her.

  “The tea is good?”

  She blinked up at him, the fire turning her hair to gold in the waning light. “It’s the only thing I know I can keep down.”

  When he leaned down to kiss her cheek, she held her nose, pushing him away.

  “Henry, I love you, but you have to move out of range of my nose. I swear, something in here smells worse than a pot of collards left on the stove for two days and two nights.”

  Stepping back, he discreetly sniffed himself. Nay, he did not stink.

  Charlotte snorted, her hands wrapped around the warm drink. “You know everything smells to me. Our life is going to change again. I never thought we’d have four children.” She patted her stomach.

  Henry hoped in time they would have one or two more, for he loved children and being a father. ’Twas his greatest joy, after his wife.

  “You look beautiful… but tired.” He sat on the rug at her feet and slipped her shoe off, taking her foot in his hands, rubbing and kneading until she groaned in pleasure. “Better?”

  She wriggled the other foot at him. “It will be soon.”

  With a grin, he ran his hand up her calf.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE THEFT AND LORD GORGES

  When they had come to the castle, Oliver and the other minstrels gaped as they looked about. The castle was built in a square with four round towers, surrounded by water on all sides, with chunks of ice floating in the water. Oliver could not swim, and crossed himself as they passed over the bridge, praying he would not fall in and drown.

  Inside the great hall, the walls were whitewashed, some painted with scenes of animals, flowers, and ferocious battle scenes. There were tapestries on the walls featuring bees, butterflies, flowers, and animals. Patterned tiles covered the floors. There were white tablecloths on the trestle tables, with ceramic wine jugs and ale flagons up and down all the tables.

  The table where the lord and lady sat had cushions on the benches, a silver salt cellar, and enameled silver drinking cups. Oliver looked around Ravenskirk Castle as he and the other minstrels finished eating. Lord Ravenskirk was a wealthy man.

  While Oliver was singing during supper, he had watched the lady of the household. She was exquisite with her gray eyes and long blond hair she wore in a braid. But it was the necklace that captured his attention. Lady Ravenskirk touched it many times, the charms bright in the torchlight.

  During their travels, Oliver had heard tales of a powerful necklace, but he had heard the bandit of the wood owned the necklace. ’Twas rumored to be bewitched by a powerful fairy and would aid whoever owned it. The lord and lady had more than enough. Oliver had a desperate need of a magic necklace.

  That night, when the household was quiet, the dogs asleep in front of the hearths, curled up with the servants, he rose from his pallet on the floor of the great hall, not knowing how but that he must have the necklace. As he crept through the hall, a glint caught his eye.

  A servant mumbled in his sleep and turned over, causing Oliver to pause. He held his breath, waiting until he was certain the man would not wake. Making not a sound, he knelt by the cushions at the lord’s table. It was caught on the cloth and came free when he picked up the cushion. ’Twas the necklace. For a moment, he held it in his fist, watching the charms turn and catch the faint light from the fire.

  Helena. The thought of her filled his heart. When Lady Ravenskirk fled the hall, she must have dropped it, and neither her children nor her husband had found it. ’Twas as if they had not seen it—’twas a sign from the fates, meant for him.

  He looked around the hall. Assured no one was awake and watching him, Oliver closed his hand ov
er the necklace, noticing the broken chain. No one had come looking for it, but they would soon notice such a powerful charm had gone missing.

  Before he could change his mind, Oliver crept back to his pallet and tucked the necklace into the small satchel containing his meager belongings. Once his heart calmed, he closed his eyes, one arm around the satchel, and fell into a restless sleep.

  ’Twas with a start that Oliver woke early, knowing he must not stay and be found out, for he was now a thief. Unless… he could go to Lord Ravenskirk and tell him he found the necklace. The lord would give him gold for returning such a valuable piece. But nay, he had more need than the lord and lady.

  Lord Gorges would accept the charmed necklace in trade for Helena. His betrothed.

  Two years had passed since he saw her at the market. With one smile, Oliver knew they belonged together. He went to her father, asked for her hand in marriage, but alas, the man would not agree. Helena’s sire said his eldest daughter needs stay home and take care of her sisters and household.

  Those in the village had told Oliver over a cup of ale that the father was a drunk. The man had fallen off a roof, breaking both legs, and could no longer labor for his family. Helena’s mother had died of a sickness many years ago, so ’twas left to Helena to take care of them all. The man beat his daughters. Helena begged him to let her come with them, but Oliver had not wanted to steal her away, he wanted to marry her in front of a priest in the chapel, so he told her to wait and he would come for her.

  When he came back for her, she was gone. A fortnight later, Oliver had seen his beloved. He and the other minstrels had played at a great house and were on their way to the next home when he saw her in the local market.

  Filled with joy, he ran to her, only to find out her father had sold her to Lord Gorges.

  All knew Lord Gorges did not care for minstrels or merrymaking of any kind. Oliver begged her forgiveness for not stealing her away. He promised to make her his. Helena kissed and blessed him, swore she would wait for him, no matter how long it would take.

  The villagers knew Lord Gorges. The man would never let a servant go, so Oliver would use the magic of the necklace to trade for his love.

  CHAPTER 3

  LUCY AND WILLIAM

  Lucy Merriweather Brandon, now Lady Blackford, wound a small ball of yellow yarn and stuffed it in the pocket of her dress as she made her way through the great hall and outside. The crisp air filled her lungs, and Lucy swore she’d never thought she’d enjoy winter and snow as much as she had since traveling through time.

  After days of whirling snow and molten silver skies, the sun had finally come out. Not the scorching, turn-your-insides-to-liquid sun, and certainly not the make-you-feel-like-you-were-in-a-shower humidity, Holden Beach summer day, but no matter—she’d take any bit of sun she could get.

  She turned her face to the sky, listening to the servants coming and going, the clang of the blacksmith at work, and the sound of men practicing with swords and daggers in the lists. Were her ancestors turning over in their graves that she and her sisters had broken with tradition and officially used their husband’s last names? Though many folks still knew they were the Merriweather Sisters.

  “Oof, sorry, lady.” One of William’s knights bumped into her when she stopped suddenly, the epiphany hitting her like a lightning bolt.

  “’Tis my fault. Woolgathering.”

  He nodded and went on his way as she moved out of the way and sat down on a stone bench leaning against the wall. The heavy black woolen cloak over her dress, along with her crocheted scarf and mittens, kept her warm. Thinking about family traditions, she pulled the hood tighter around her face to keep the wind out and the scarf up over her nose, the scent of wool and the herbs used for the dye, reminding her of spring.

  Had she and her sisters been the ones responsible for starting the tradition that all Merriweather women kept their maiden names? Could they have done it so that, hundreds of years later, they would be able to find each other when they traveled through time? And thereby ensuring the tradition was passed on, had made it come true? It was the simplest explanation and made complete sense.

  “Lucy. My love?”

  The shadow blocking out the sun startled her.

  “William. I didn’t hear you.”

  Her husband chuckled, with just a touch of gravel, as he leaned down, pulled the deep yellow scarf down, and kissed her soundly, heating the blood in her veins to near boiling.

  “’Tis obvious. I have been calling your name, and here you sit, lost in thought. Is aught amiss?”

  He sat beside her, steam rolling off him from his exertions in the lists. The warmth from his body made her snuggle closer.

  “No. I was just thinking about tradition.” Lucy tucked a silver and brown lock behind her ear. She kept it loose and down in the cold months to help keep her neck warm.

  After all these years, those green eyes and crooked nose still made her shiver. William was six foot four to her five foot six, and they fit together perfectly.

  Sure, they were older now, but as far as she was concerned, they were in the prime of their lives, and at the age of fifty-three, Lucy found she no longer cared what people thought.

  With each passing year, she found it easier to say no to things she didn’t want to do without feeling the least bit guilty.

  William was fifty-five, yet still had defined muscles and a full head of thick, glossy brown hair. She remembered how Aunt Pittypat used to complain about men her friends dated that were losing their hair in their forties. Maybe the everyday physical labor and swordplay kept him young?

  “My lady wife.” William pulled her closer. The scent of leather, steel, and wool filled her nose as he held her. “You are far away today. Tell me your thoughts.”

  “You know how my sisters and I keep our name Merriweather?”

  “Aye. I have taken much jesting over your choice.” He stretched booted feet out in front of him, brushing dust off his black tunic and hose.

  Lucy turned to face him. “What if my sisters and I started the tradition and made sure those who came after us kept their names so that, hundreds and hundreds of years from now, my sisters and I would be able to find each other?”

  She watched him ponder the thought.

  “From the tales you have told me, I would believe such. The Merriweather women are a fearsome bunch.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “I have something which may please you.” William handed her a letter, creased and tattered along the edges, having passed through many hands to reach Blackford. “From your sister, Charlotte.”

  “How? In such weather?” Lucy squealed, pulling off her mittens and snatching the letter from his hands.

  “The men believe her to be touched by the fae. She is able to send letters through all weather and skirmishes.”

  “I would think the messengers would get the credit for delivering the letters, not my sister.” Lucy broke the seal and opened the letter. Seeing her sister’s familiar handwriting had her wiping her eyes.

  “Mayhap the messengers are swift of foot and horse because they believe your sister to be charmed.” William chuckled. “If she were leading these skirmishes for our sire, they would be over before they began.”

  He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles. “This war you tell of that will last a hundred years would be over in a fortnight with your sister in charge.”

  Lucy heard bits and pieces of what William was saying, but she was too engrossed in her sister’s news.

  “She is rather bossy,” he said, and elbowed her. “Charlotte scares me. Henry must sleep with one eye open.”

  “I’m sure he sleeps fine, as long as he’s on her good side.”