Page 1 of Christmas Secrets

CHAPTERONE

ROTHBURY CASTLE, ENGLAND, DECEMBER, 1387

“Percival, ye’re never goin’ to find a wife if ye dinna get out of this dark corner and go stand under the kissin’ bough.”

Percival Hamilton looked up from polishing his sword to see his sister-by-marriage Morag standing over him with her six-month-old baby daughter, Mazelina, latched to her hip. It was nearly Christmastide at Rothbury Castle, with the celebrations already starting even though Christmas was still three days away. The great hall was decorated with juniper boughs, holly, and those blasted conglomerations of mistletoe, grapevines, and a few things he couldn’t decipher. The stupid things were hanging everywhere in the great hall. Morag called them kissing balls or boughs, or mayhap they were bogs. Percival wasn’t really sure and neither did he care.

“I assure you, Morag, that I am not interested in finding a wife. However, when I am, I won’t need your help.” Mayhap he came across as sounding bitter, but Christmas wasn’t his favorite time of year. Even after being released with the rest of his family from the dungeon of the evil Lord Whitmore, his nightmares of the past never seemed to end.

“Percival, ye havena even held Mazelina since she’s been born. Here, take her.” The pushy girl held out the child to him, but he held up his hands and shook his head. Why should he hold a child? He was a warrior and didn’t walk around burping blasted babies. That was for women to do.

“Morag, if you need help with your daughter, I suggest you call for the nursemaid and not give her to me,” snapped Percival.

She stiffened and pulled her baby back to her bosom as the child started to cry. “My nursemaid is with her family for Christmas. Besides, I don’t need one.”

“You are a lady. You are not supposed to be raising your own child.”

“I like doing so. And Bedivere doesn’t mind.”

“It figures,” he mumbled. “My brother wouldn’t know anything about acting proper.”

“Well neither do ye, or ye’d be callin’ me Lady Morag instead of just Morag.”

“You asked me to just call you Morag without your title, unless you’ve forgotten. But I assure you, it won’t happen again, Lady Morag,” he said to prove his point.

Looking down at his shiny sword, Percival saw his own reflection. His long blond hair was tied back, and he wore the clothes of a noble… but not of a knight. He also wore on his chest the crest of the Hamilton family, which was a sword wrapped in vines. His older brother, Bedivere, started wearing a different crest after marrying Morag. His family’s crest had been replaced with a crown with three pieces from a chess game instead. A black bishop, knight, and rook were at the base of the crown, and in the center was a white king from the game. It was the crest created by Morag’s father and uncles, who were the Legendary Bastards of the late King Edward III. King Richard, England’s ruling sovereign, was Morag’s half-cousin.

“Ye seem like ye’re sulkin’ or perhaps hidin’ over here. I hope ye’ll at least talk with my sister and cousins when they arrive.”

“Lady Morag, I already know your sister Fia. I also know your cousins Willow and Maira. I really have nothing to say to them.” The baby on Morag’s hip fussed, and she jostled it up and down. “And once again, you are a lady, and shouldn’t be carrying around a baby. Summon your nursemaid for that. Or at least call on my mother to help you.”

“Nay,” protested Morag in her normal stubborn manner. “Mazelina is my daughter, and I want to carry her as much as possible and spend time with her because she means the world to me.”

“But that isn’t the way of nobles,” he reminded her once again.

“Bedivere and I want to have a bigger presence in our children’s lives. We want to spend as much time as possible with any children we may have.”

“And I would like to spend as much time possible away from babies, children, and celebrations having to do with Christmas.” He glanced upward to the hanging ball-type object above Morag’s head. “Especially those stupid kissing things.” He stood up and used his sword to swipe above his head, severing the string holding the kissing bough above them, letting it fall to the ground.

Morag’s eyes opened wide. “My sister and cousins helped me to make those and hang them up for the Christmastide celebrations. How dare ye destroy it so carelessly!”

“It’s naught but some branches and vines, so quit acting as if I’ve taken a life,” said Percival, slipping his sword back into his sheath. “After all, I’m not Bedivere,” he said under his breath, referring to the fact that his brother was once an assassin.

“Darling, there you are.” Morag’s husband, Bedivere, who was also Percival’s brother, walked up and put his arm around Morag’s shoulder. He looked down at the kissing bough at his feet. “I don’t see a kissing bough above our heads, but I won’t let that stop me.”

Leaning over, he gave Morag a quick peck on the cheek. Then he stuck out his finger, letting the baby grip it. The little girl laughed.

“Mazelina, you are getting so strong,” said Bedivere, making a face to pretend it hurt, managing to make the baby laugh even more. While Morag was half Scottish, Percival was an Englishman. Bedivere won a competition, therefore claiming the title of lord of Rothbury Castle, so this is where they now resided.

As far as Percival was concerned, his brother Bedivere had it all. Already a knight, and now a lord of one of the most prestigious castles in England, he also married a daughter of one of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown. He had started a family as well. Everything seemed to fall in his lap so easily lately. Percival wished that would happen to him.

“Brother, is this really acceptable behavior for a knight and lord of a castle?” Percival shook his head in disgust, nodding at Bedivere’s actions.

Bedivere’s gaze roamed over to Percival but he did nothing to step away from Morag or the baby. “I don’t remember asking your opinion on what I do. Neither do I think it is really any of your concern how I spend my time now that my life is mine again.”

Percival knew exactly what he meant. “I suppose you think I should be bowing to you for saving our lives? Or mayhap you want me to pretend to be your squire like you did before.”

Bedivere frowned. He took back his finger from the baby, kissing his daughter atop the head. Then he spoke to his wife. “Morag, why don’t you take the baby to play with the other children. I’d like to speak to my brother alone.”