The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 7

  She was dressed in her best kirtle, as if she would attend a celebration. It was the deep blue one that had been made for her the year before, the one with golden embroidery thick on the hem and the cuffs of the sleeves. She wore a veil of sheerest gold cloth, an indulgence from Ravensmuir’s stores, and a gemmed circlet perched on her brow.

  She went to the portal and looked into the shadows of the forest, impatient to depart the comfort of the hut. She felt an imperative to leave, though she could not explain it.

  Mhairi shivered in her sleep at her own impulse, for she knew the forest was full of predators.

  But in her dream, she abandoned the hut with confidence, picking up her skirts as she walked. The snow was falling fast and thick. It covered the ground with fearsome speed, blanketing all with endless white. As it snowed, the forest was cast into unnatural quiet. Not a breath of wind stirred.

  Indeed, the only movement in the forest was that of Mhairi.

  She should have had her crossbow and Freya on her fist in the forest, but she was unarmed. She might have been at Kinfairlie instead of Inverfyre and Mhairi stirred in her sleep, knowing her confidence in her safety was undeserved.

  Despite that, she strode through the snow, which was already past her knees. She was not cold, even though she had no cloak on this night of nights. The keep of Inverfyre rose behind her, more of a presence than a visible landmark given the weather, but Mhairi moved steadily away from it.

  She had not been cast out like Quentin, but she had chosen to leave. She would follow her desire and her love, and seek him out.

  To match her fate to his.

  It was folly. It was madness. She should have dressed to survive and brought provisions, but in her dream, she was untroubled by the implications of her choices.

  A wolf howled but she ignored it as if it were no more important than a fish in the river.

  She saw the light ahead, a strange blue glow, and her heart skipped with anticipation. There. Quentin would be there. Mhairi set her course toward the light without hesitation. Indeed, she began to run as she drew near and heard the music.

  Fey music.

  Fey laughter.

  She raced into the clearing from which the light emanated, without halting to study her surroundings beforehand, which was proof enough that this vision was unreal.

  More evidence came from the clearing itself. She spun in place to see every detail, her heart filled with joy. The clearing could have been a great hall, made entirely of ice. The high arching walls glittered. Snowflakes danced within its bounds and the music soared. The ceiling looked like the midnight sky crowded with stars, although the sky beyond the bounds of this magical clearing was overcast.

  But the splendor was not the source of Mhairi’s delight. Nay, there was one person in the clearing.

  A man.

  A knight.

  He was dressed in silver and indigo, his cape trimmed with ermine, his tabard embroidered with silver snowflakes that glistened as if they were made of frost. He turned and smiled at her, tall and straight and true, and Mhairi’s heart clenched so tightly that she nigh stumbled.

  Quentin.

  Healed.

  Indeed, the heat in his gaze made her breath catch. Though she could see no musicians, the music changed to a familiar tune, one to which they danced at Inverfyre each Yule. Quentin offered his hand to her.

  There was no man of greater honor, no warrior more true.

  Mhairi stepped toward him with pleasure, her chin high. She put her hand in his and felt the welcome strength and heat of his fingers close over hers, then he spun her in the dance. She laughed as they matched their steps, as she remembered dancing thus when she had been a child, as they danced with increasing speed and joy. His gaze never strayed from her, his lips curved in a proud smile, and she felt like a treasured beauty.

  They were together.

  The music lilted to a close, and Quentin drew her into his embrace. “Be mine,” he murmured for her ears alone and Mhairi nodded ready agreement.

  “Only yours,” she agreed and saw the flicker of pleasure in his eyes.

  “Forever allied,” he murmured, then bent to capture her lips beneath his own once more. Heat surged through Mhairi, heat and satisfaction, and happiness for their shared future.

  Mhairi awakened suddenly, shivering with cold, and realized there was snow drifting through the shutters of the chamber she shared with her sister. Evangeline was curled up in a bundle upon her pallet, apparently having claimed all the pelts for herself.

  It had only been a dream.

  And she had no shared future with Quentin.

  At least not as yet.

  Mhairi left her pallet to fetch her cloak, the one lined with rabbit fur which she had not worn in her dream. She went to the window to see if she could fasten the shutter more securely and looked out into the forest, now covered in snow.

  It was quiet and still, blanketed in white.

  Quentin was out there.

  The MacLarens were out there.

  She bit her lip in fear for him.

  Forever allied. She recalled that light of triumph and her sense that he was less injured than he appeared to be.

  Do you trust me?

  Had he kissed her in the hall to provoke the Hawk into casting him out?

  If so, then Quentin had a plan. He was not a fool who failed to understand the peril of the forest in winter, especially when there were traitors abroad. She nodded to herself. He must intend to gain the trust of the MacLarens, but it was not because he had turned against her father. Quentin’s word was true and he had pledged fealty to her father more than a decade before.

  He meant to foil the MacLarens’ scheme, whatever it was.

  It had been Quentin who had taught her that opposition was not always the best strategy, that sometimes it was easier to use preconceptions against a foe.

  He had said he was not trusted at Inverfyre, so he meant to use that distrust to gain credibility with the MacLarens. He had needed the Hawk to spurn him to give credence to the notion of him being an enemy of her father.

  He risked much in this, but that was characteristic of the Quentin she knew and loved.

  Mhairi had to help.

  Quentin still had a blind side, so long as he wore the eye patch. She would defend it, and prove to him that they were stronger together than apart.

  She would prove to her father that she and Quentin should truly be allied forever.

  The night was already cold. Quentin went some distance before he found a place where the trees seemed to grow around each other, enclosing a space the size of a hut. He ran his hand over the entwined boughs, unable to escape the sense that they created a living refuge. Did he feel a pulse beneath his palm when he laid it against the tree? Surely that was whimsy.

  It seemed clear to him that the trees had been bent deliberately as they grew, and he wondered by whom. It would have taken years to shape this shelter. He stepped through the single opening and felt a sense of tranquility flood through himself and no longer cared who had created this space.

  It was a haven.

  And there was a small hearth made of river stones. The smoke would reveal his location, but they watched him at any rate and the heat would be more than welcome.

  Quentin gathered some wood, his decision made. He would sleep here.

  It was only after he had kindled a small blaze and huddled near it, wrapped in his cloak, that a vision unfolded in his thoughts. It was a waking dream.

  It made his heart soar, for in his dream, he danced with Mhairi.

  And he was whole, as he would never be again.

  The Hawk awakened alone in the great bed in the solar, which was uncommon. It was still early, but Aileen stood at the window, looking over the forest.

  It had snowed during the night.

  He recognized her posture and cleared his throat before he spoke. “You dreamed?”

  “Of my mother,” Aileen acknowledged. “She showed me th
e hazel and the honeysuckle again.”

  “Are you with child?” the Hawk asked, for the same dream had been the first tidings of such happy news in the past. The possibility troubled him, not because he would not welcome another in their family but because he would fear for Aileen.

  She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Nay and I am glad of that. Childbirth is for the young.”

  “Then what?” He rose and donned a cloak, going to her side. The wind was crisp this morning and the forests of Inverfyre looked peaceful, though he knew they were not. His banner snapped above the tower of the priory and he hoped Quentin was well.

  “The honeysuckle and the hazel,” she murmured, placing her hand over his. “One of our children has found her partner.”

  The Hawk bristled. He disliked portentous dreams and omens, and disliked even more his sense that he knew who his wife meant.

  “Mhairi is named for my mother,” Aileen reminded him gently.

  “She is too young.”

  “She will always be too young for you to want to surrender her hand to Quentin.”

  The Hawk winced and went to wash. He did not want to argue with Aileen or with Mhairi.

  “What if her instincts are better than yours?” Aileen asked quietly. “What if she is right about his merit?” She turned to face him and the Hawk glanced up. “What if you aided the attainment of her goal instead of obstructing it?”

  He had no answer. He did not know sufficient to make a choice.

  But as the Hawk descended to the hall, he reconsidered Quentin’s words and his choices, and he wondered.

  Chapter Five

  Mhairi rose early on the morning after her dream. Evangeline still slept, her head buried beneath the pelts, and their maid had yet to come to them. Mhairi washed in cold water and unfolded the blue kirtle from her trunk. She dressed quickly, wanting to be out of the chamber before Evangeline awakened and began to ask questions. She was still securing the end of her plait when she darted down the stairs.

  As she had anticipated, the hall was still quiet.

  But there was a rumble of voices from the chamber where her father kept his accounts. She hurried toward the closed door, recognizing the voices of her father and of his old comrade Ahearn O’Donnell.

  Mhairi was relieved. She liked Ahearn better than Reinhard.

  She rapped on the door to announce her presence and there was immediate silence. Ahearn opened the door, his brows rising at the sight of her. “Good morning,” he said quietly then glanced over his shoulder to the Hawk.

  “Come to chastise me?” her father asked with characteristic calm. His gaze swept over her kirtle. “Or do you mean to charm me instead?”

  “I offered the kiss.”

  “I do not doubt it.” Her father shook his head. “He took what he had no right to take, just as he taught you what he had no right to teach you. I will not suffer a man in my hall who cannot be relied upon, even if his crippled state demands pity.”

  “He is not crippled,” Mhairi said and felt the surprise of both men.

  The Hawk leaned back against the table, his arms folded across his chest. “He limps. He has lost one eye and one finger. He is feeble.”

  “I believe it is all feigned, save the lost finger and perhaps the eye.” She stepped forward as her father and his comrade exchanged a glance. “I believe he came to keep his word to me, but I also believe he doubted you would welcome him. He told me long ago that it was best to be seen as less of a threat when encountering a foe.”

  Ahearn cleared his throat. “I recall the same counsel from him.”

  “Reinhard was not convinced of his good intentions,” the Hawk noted.

  “It would be easier to change the course of the sun than to change Reinhard’s assessment in any matter,” Ahearn said with a smile.

  “And so Quentin used Reinhard’s attitude instead of trying to change it. He asked if I trusted him, then requested a kiss,” Mhairi said.

  Her father’s gaze was steady. “He provoked my reaction. I thought as much at the time.”

  “To approach the MacLarens as an ally and defeat them from within!” Mhairi concluded.

  “What are you thinking?” the Hawk asked.

  “He was always a brilliant strategist, adept at defying expectations,” Ahearn said. “I recall also that he had pledged fealty to you until death. Perhaps Mhairi is right.”

  The Hawk frowned. “I had forgotten how he changed his vows.”

  “And so what if he is loyal to you yet, Papa?” Mhairi dared to ask.

  “It would be like him to plan thus,” Ahearn mused. “I recall a strategy suggested once by Quentin,” Ahearn said. “When we had to spirit the treasury from Abernye.”

  Mhairi held her breath. She had been very young when her grandfather’s holding had been attacked and her father had ridden to the rescue. She recalled that Quentin had been new to Inverfyre and had shown himself well.

  The Hawk rubbed his chin. “The scheme that saw me make him Captain of the Guard. It was clever and fooled the foes of my wife’s father. We lost only one man and slaughtered eight of them, then easily captured the rest.”

  Ahearn raised a finger. “And he said then that we would not have lost that knight, if we had possessed a single ally outside the walls.”

  The Hawk spun to face Mhairi. “What makes you suspect that he is not so injured as he appears?”

  Mhairi knew better than to cite the evidence of a dream to her father. “He walked more quickly and stood taller when he crossed the hall to me.”

  Ahearn smiled. “I would wager it was immediately after his plan was made. I accused him once of that sign of his decisiveness being his sole weakness.”

  The Hawk was watching Mhairi. “I think Quentin’s sole weakness stands before me, dressed to make an appeal on his behalf.”

  Mhairi felt herself flush but she did not look away. “You must know that I begged him to teach me the arts of war all those years ago, and how to throw a knife.” And more, but Mhairi did not confess that.

  “And you must know that if my warning to him had no power, then it was dangerous for him to remain in my hall.”

  Mhairi nodded reluctant agreement, because she knew her father waited for it.

  As soon as she had done so, the Hawk gestured to the door. “I thank you for your insight, Mhairi, and appreciate your defense of Quentin, but now would have you leave.”

  “But I would be of aid!”

  “You will do no such deed!” Her father’s eyes blazed. Your place is within these walls until the MacLarens are defeated.”

  Mhairi did not nod and she did not agree. She hoped her father did not notice the omission. She curtseyed to him and left his chamber, closing the door behind herself.

  Then she leaned her ear against the crack to listen.

  “What if we use that same strategy again?” she heard her father ask Ahearn. “If Quentin has won the trust of the MacLarens, then he will recognize it. He might be able to aid us.”

  “I think it a wise course,” Ahearn said. “We have to retrieve the Titulus from the priory by Sunday.”

  “And I will not surrender the errand to any other man. They will know that.”

  “I will ride with you,” Ahearn said.

  “I welcome you by my side. I will see this resolved at midday.” The Hawk listed the men who would be in his party and tersely outlined his strategy.

  Quentin’s strategy.

  His voice dropped low so the words were difficult to discern, but Mhairi had heard enough to recognize the trap and how it was baited.

  Aye, Quentin had explained it to her once, when teaching her of the defense of a holding surrounded by enemies.

  She knew exactly how she could participate, though she must ensure that no one guessed the truth before her father rode out.

  After all, Quentin had oft said that surprise was the most potent weapon in any warrior’s arsenal and the MacLarens would not be expecting her.

  Quent
in awakened to the sound of a hunting horn. Whoever blew upon it gave a lengthy salute and the sound echoed off the hills, a fair warning that the Laird of Inverfyre would ride out this very day.

  He scrambled to his feet in the hut of silvery trees, shook the snow out of his cloak, and seized his walking stick. He limped toward the road, and quickly spied the MacLarens gathering in the forest. He could see the line of silver trees along the road and to the left, the high walls of the newer keep of Inverfyre. To the right was the rebuilt fortress of Inverfyre, which was currently the priory.

  “And now we learn if you are correct, old man,” Caillen said, his tone taunting.

  His brother simply surveyed Quentin and said nothing at all. Had he walked too quickly? Did Faolan have suspicions?

  “He will assert his authority by riding between the two keeps first,” Quentin said, hoping it would be so.

  The rebels nodded. Quentin could see three dozen of them, mostly young men, all in rags and thinner than would be ideal. Their expressions were tinged with envy, hatred and resentment, and they gripped knives and swords of mixed value.

  Stolen, probably.

  Sharpened, undoubtedly.

  The gates opened at Inverfyre and the portcullis groaned as it was raised. The horn was blown again and the Hawk appeared, riding his black destrier. The stallion snorted and stomped, proudly tossing his head, and fairly danced in his impatience to run. The sight reminded Quentin all too well of Tyr and he swallowed, putting the memory aside in this moment.

  “Who is with him?” Caillen demanded in a whisper.

  Another rebel leaned toward the road. “Does he ride out alone?”

  Faolan reached out and snatched the collar of that man, hauling him forcibly back into the shadows. “Do not make the mistake of being seen,” he hissed.

  Another warrior appeared to the left of the Hawk and Quentin recognized Reinhard, as much by his figure as his colors. His destrier was no less magnificent, though this horse had white socks.

  Faolan gave Quentin a look. “Reinhard, Captain of the Guard.”