"Twelfth Knight" by Cynthia Breeding. Excerpt from "One Yuletide Knight"

Blurb: Twelfth Knight

Isobel De Lacy’s guardian, Baron Roger De Lacy, is set to join King Richard in 

Outremer directly after the winter Solstice.  Before he leaves he wants to make sure his 

niece is married. His groom of choice is Sir Guy of Gisborne, henchman to the Sheriff of 

Nottingham, and notorious for being heavy-fisted.

Isobel would rather sacrifice herself to the Great Horned God before that 

happened.

While gathering holly in the woods, she stumbles across an injured knight and 

takes him back to the castle to be looked after.  He turns out to be Sir William of 

Barnsdale, nephew to the Earl of Huntingdon. Isobel hatches a plan. The powerful earl 

can keep her safe from Gisborne and, when Sir William chivalrously agrees to help her 

escape, she decides perhaps the auld gods have sent her a Yuletide gift.

But as they ride through Sherwood Forest, she finds that “gift” to be much more 

than she had anticipated. 

Excerpt:  OneYuletide Knight

Twelfth Knight

Nottinghamshire

1191

Twelve nights until the Winter Solstice.  That meant Isobel de Lacy had eleven days to find a way to avoid marriage to Sir Guy of Gisborne, the man her guardian cousin had decided she would marry on December 22 before he left on Crusade.

She would sacrifice herself to the Great Horned God before that happened.

“Lady Isobel,” one of kitchen maids who’d accompanied her on the outing to gather holly this morning said, “how much farther into the forest do ye want to go?”

Isobel glanced at the near-empty aprons of the three maids who trailed after her. None of them looked especially pleased to be out of doors on a chilly morning, but the pages that would normally be gathering the boughs were busy helping her cousin Roger’s squires prepare armor and weapons for the journey to Outremer. 

“We have hardly gathered enough to cover one mantel,” she replied, “and you know Lord de Lacy expects the entire Great Hall to be decorated for Yule.”

“I hope his lordship is nae expecting us to be bringing in the big log as well,” a second girl grumbled.

“I suspect the knights will vie for that honor.”

The third maid sniggered. “I’d rather have them knights vie for the honor of leaping o’re the bonfires with me.”

“Aye!” the other two agreed and burst into giggles.

Isobel smiled at their youthful thinking and wished the only thing she had to be concerned with was whether a virile young man would choose her as his partner on the twelfth night Solstice celebration. Not that she would have been allowed to participate in the thoroughly pagan ritual that most lords still allowed the servants to hold. Even growing up in Wales where the goddess Bridgid was still worshipped, her parents—may their souls rest in peace—had plans for her to marry a proper English lord.

But then, they’d had no idea that lord would turn out to be Sir Guy of Gisborne. Her first impression of him had left her shaken.  When he’d bowed over her hand the night they’d been introduced, the touch had chilled her blood. His smile had looked more like a wolf baring its teeth and his eyes had a steely glint.  The two subsequent meetings had only deepened her conviction that the man was heartless. On the one occasion, he’d ridden ruthlessly into the bailey, scattering playing children and on the other, he’d  kicked a hapless puppy that had wandered into his path.       

What had her cousin been thinking?  Isobel sighed as she led her still-chortling helpers deeper into the woods.  She knew what he had been thinking.  Roger de Lacy, recently become Seventh Baron Halton and Lord of Bowland, had only taken her in two months ago because she had no other living relatives when her parents were killed in a carriage accident in Conwy. Her cousin had already been preparing to join King Richard in the Holy Land. His immediate reaction to her arrival was to see her married before he left. Sir Guy was in need of a wife and, as the right-hand man to the Sherriff of Nottingham, would offer her protection. 

From what, Isobel was not sure.  In the short time she had been in Nottinghamshire, she’d heard nothing but horrific reports on its sheriff…that he was cruel, calculating and cold.  He sounded like someone a person needed protecting from.  It also seemed to Isobel that being the cousin of a titled lord and living in the castle of his huge estate would offer protection enough, but Roger had been adamant. She was to be married before he left.

“My lady.” One of the maids interrupted her thinking. “Where are ye leading us?”

Isobel stopped and looked around. The relatively worn path they’d been on had turned into nothing more than a deer trail.  The forestation was denser as well, leaving little light filtering through the pines to encourage anything except bracken to grow. Certainly, there were no holly bushes.  She sighed again.  She should have been paying more attention to what she was doing.

“I must have taken a wrong turn.” Since she had not ventured this far before, she hoped they were not lost.  The maids were already looking at her skeptically so Isobel glanced at the ground. ‘You might as well pick up the cones while we head back to the road.  Lord de Lacy likes the crackling sounds they make in the fire.” 

At least that would keep them occupied. Isobel swept back strands of her auburn hair that seemed to constantly be escaping her barbette and tried to get a sense of direction. As a child in Wales, she’d spent enough time playing along mountain sides and foraging among the trees to know that the best worn animal trails usually led to water. Roger’s castle was near the River Erewash.  If she could find a stream, they could follow its natural flow toward the river.  She looked at the ground again.  Not too far away, a slightly wider path led toward the right. 

“This way,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

            The maids, who had invented a quick game of whom could find the largest cones, seemed content to follow her lead.  Isobel glanced up as they walked. At least the trees were becoming sparser. Sunlight cast a mottled glow through the leaves. And, to her relief, a few minutes later she heard the sound of water tumbling over rock. 

            “This way,” she said again, heading for the sound. As they started to round several large boulders, she saw what looked like a small, grassy glade and then she stopped.

            A young man was lying face down on the ground.  Strands of long, brown hair and a part of his red cape floated in the stream bed, but he was not moving.

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