A VERY TUDOR CHRISTMAS Read Online Free PDF Page B

waist,
warm through her woolen doublet. She swayed toward him helplessly, but he
stepped away.
    She shook away a pang of regret at losing his touch.
    “Why don’t you go inside while I settle the horses?” he said
quietly. She could read nothing from his voice, his eyes that watched her so
closely. His gloved hands clenched into fists.
    She nodded and hurried inside. It was a small house, she saw as
she made her way through a narrow corridor into a sitting room. Plain and
functional, with carved beams criss-crossing the low ceiling and a dark wood
floor covered by a luxurious green carpet. A few chairs and stools were
scattered about, and painted cloths hung on the white-plastered walls to keep
out the draft. A swag of greenery hung over the large fireplace.
    Surely a court family lived here, Meg though as she swept off
her damp cloak and hung it on a peg. She would have to thank them later for
sheltering her.
    Her and Robert.
    She shivered as she remembered that she was not alone there.
That he would be in that cozy room with her at any moment. Part of her knew she
should run from him, even into the snowstorm, because she knew all too well his
effect on her. But she stayed where she was.
    “You are cold,” he said behind her, startling her. She spun
around to find him stepping through the doorway, ducking his head under the low
lintel. She thought again how very kind the years had been to him, carving his
youthful beauty into something truly extraordinary.
    “No, I’m fine,” she said, but he swept off his fur-lined short
cloak and laid it gently around her shoulders. Its fine, soft folds smelled of
him, of lemony French cologne and clean, cold air, and it still held the warmth
of his skin.
    “I’ll build us a fire,” he said. He took her arm in a gentle
clasp and led her to a cushioned cross-backed chair near the fireplace.
    “You know how to build a fire?” she said, bemused.
    Robert laughed as he knelt down by the grate and reached for
the wood piled up beside it. “I am not completely useless, Meg. I have learned
many useful skills in my travels.”
    “Nay. Not completely useless, I suppose,” Meg murmured. She sat
back, wrapped snugly in his cloak, and watched as he shed his close-fitting
doublet and set about building a fire. She wondered where he had been and what
he had done in the time they were apart.
    The long, lean muscles of his strong back and shoulders shifted
beneath his thin linen shirt, and she remembered too well how his bare skin had
felt under her touch. She swallowed hard and tried to turn away, but she feared
she could not.
    Soon he had a fire blazing in the grate, crackling and
snapping, driving away the cold. He found a jug of wine and some bread, and they
shared the repast in silence for several long moments. Gradually the warmth and
the wine worked their subtle magic, and Meg found herself relaxing back into her
chair. Robert leaned back against her legs, his body hard and strong through her
skirts. It almost felt like what might have been.
    “Tell me what else your old nursemaid said about Christmas,” he
said, as if he sensed that they should not yet talk about personal matters. Of
what had once driven them apart. This was too sweet a moment.
    Meg slipped down to sit beside him on the carpet, near to the
fire. She stared into the cheerful red-gold flames, sipping at her wine as she
remembered the old tales her nurse would tell by the nursery fire.
    Meg stared into the fire and remembered Christmases when she
was young, the feasting and music, the games she and Bea would play trying to
divine their future husbands. But she couldn’t tell Robert of those silly,
girlish games.
    “There was a song we would sing,” she said, “about the holly
and how no matter what comes it stays green and true.” As love never did. Softly
she began to sing the old words.

    “The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown, of all the
trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the