Page 5 of Christmas Secrets

“I’m not sure where Grandmother is.” Holly emptied the bed pan outside and came back to stoke the burning logs on the fire. “Until we get settled, why don’t you lie down on the bed and take a little nap?” she told Noel. “You’ll be much warmer under the covers.”

“All right,” said the little boy, still yawning as he pulled himself up onto the only bed and snuggled down under the covers.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around her and grabbing her gloves, Holly headed back out into the blowing snow. As soon as she’d descended the stairs, her attention was drawn to a knee-high piece of wood standing up under the trees off to the side of the cottage. Actually, there were two of them. Curiosity got the best of her. She trudged over, seeing the two planks clearly now. They were covered with snow, and backed up to a row of tall juniper bushes, but she was sure they were grave markers.

“Nay,” she mumbled, part of her not wanting to look, but she had to know for sure. Bending over, she brushed off the snow on the first one. “Mazelina,” she read aloud, recognizing the name of her mother’s aunt. Holly had heard her mother talk about the woman but personally had never met her. Then, she brushed off the second plank, her action freezing when she saw her grandmother’s name—Imanie—engraved upon it.

“Grandmother, nay!” she cried, falling to her knees in the snow. “This can’t be,” she wailed, realizing that in her absence, she had lost two more family members. Finally, she released the tears she’d been holding back while trying to stay strong. Not only her mother, but now her grandmother too? This was the last of her family. Now, she and Noel were really on their own. This thought scared her more than anything in her life.

* * *

Percival stabled his steed,surprised to see another horse already within the stall. Then he looked out and saw smoke rising from Imanie’s deserted cottage.

“What the hell,” he grumbled, securing the horse and running his hand over her flanks. “I’ll be right back, girl.” Leaving his travel bag attached to the horse, he drew his sword and headed for the cottage. If someone was here, it was probably bandits or mayhap looters. No one else would be out here in this storm. Either way, they didn’t belong here and he would see to it that they left, even if he had to fight them off or kill them. They didn’t belong here. Besides, this was his dwelling from now through Twelfth Night. No one was going to take it from him. He’d see to that if it was the last thing he ever did.

Percival quietly let himself in, not wanting to alert the intruders. Then, with his back against the wall, he moved silently farther into the house with his sword in his hand. Sure enough, there was a fire on the hearth; however, he didn’t see anyone present.

Curious, he scanned the rest of the one-room cottage, but all he found was a leather travel bag lying by the hearth. He was about to inspect it when he heard a small noise from the bed. Turning quickly, he noticed a mound of mussed covers with some furs thrown on top. He decided there might be a ruffian lying under all that bulk, in wait for him.

With one hand he ripped back the covers, pointing his sword right where he thought the intruder’s throat would be. “Aha!” he shouted, then stopped and blinked when he realized a little boy was there sleeping. Slowly, the boy’s eyes opened and then they became wide with fright.

“Nay! Holly!” he screamed, confusing Percival as to why he’d be calling out the name of one of Morag’s silly holiday decorations instead of calling for help.

“Put down the sword or I’ll run my blade right through you!” He heard a voice from behind him that sounded odd and too high. Then he felt the pinch of something at his back. He spun around, ready to break the intruder’s neck. Reaching out, he brought the tip of his sword to the man’s neck.

That is when he realized it wasn’t a man at all. The intruder’s hood fell back and he saw a short woman with a round face and red cheeks. Her long blonde hair was twisted into a braid that was flipped over one shoulder. Bright blue eyes stared up at him in alarm as he knocked the knife from her hand and it went sliding across the wooden floor.

“You’re a girl,” he said, still trying to comprehend this. Why the hell would a girl and a young boy be here in this weather?

“I am,” she said. “And you’ve got a big sword pointed at my throat even though I am no longer armed.” She glared at him, looking down the end of his blade.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He quickly lowered his sword, but to his surprise she spun around and grabbed a chair and swung it at him next. He raised one arm to block the blow. The boy on the bed jumped onto his back, gripping Percival’s hair in his fists and pulling hard.

“Leave us alone! If you try to hurt us, I swear I’ll kill you,” the woman threatened.

“I’ll kill you, too!” cried the boy, now wrapping his arms around Percival’s neck and squeezing hard while he kicked his stockinged feet against Percival’s back.

“What the hell,” Percival ground out, finding it hard to speak or even breathe in this position. The little whelp was digging his fingers in hard. He grabbed the chair and threw it across the room. Then he reached back and pulled the little boy off of his back, flinging him down on the bed.

That’s when the woman rushed him, throwing herself at him, knocking him down on the bed next to the boy. Percival dropped his sword and twisted around to catch himself to keep from falling on and crushing the youngster. He ended up with the girl atop him now, her legs spread around him as she pounded her fists against his chest.

“Now, this is an interesting position to be in,” he said with a chuckle, reaching out to grab her wrists in his hands to stop her. When the boy started to go for his hair again, he put both the girl’s thin wrists into one of his hands and used his other hand to hold back the boy. “Who are you?” he asked the woman.

“Leave us alone,” she cried, reaching out and biting his hand hard.

“Ow!” He pushed up on the bed, trapping the woman atop his lap, wrapping his other arm around the boy, putting the child in a headlock. Now, neither of his attackers could move.

“Please don’t hurt us,” begged the woman, squirming and finally going limp against him as she gave up the fight.

“Hurt you? Is that the way you see it?” he asked. “What I’m seeing here is the two of you trying to hurt me.”

“Leave me and my sister alone or our grandmother is going to hurt you!” shouted the boy.

“Grandmother? Oh,” he said, starting to understand. “Was Imanie your grandmother?”

“She still is. She’s tough. That’s what my sister said. Tell him, Holly. Tell him Grandmother won’t let anyone hurt us.” The boy wiggled and looked up from beneath Percival’s arm.

When the woman remained silent, he slowly released her, but still kept the boy in a headlock.

“Yes, Imanie is... was our grandmother,” said the blonde woman. “But I’ve just discovered her grave outside. Noel, I’m sorry, but Grandmother is dead.”