Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy (18 page)

Thinking back, however, Hera realized that Alfrida had not promised to stay. The words had been something to do with her sister staying until they had a chance to talk. There'd been chance and more. Hera had simply forgotten, and Alfrida had taken advantage of it.

She ran her hands into her hair, cursing her willful sister then praying for forgiveness for the curse. Oh, but it could be such trouble. With God's mercy, the Dane would just send her sister home, chastened and wiser. The alternatives didn't bear thinking of.

The alternatives were more likely.

She turned and raced in search of Raef.

"
Alfrida!" she gasped, finding him grimly exercising with his sword against a man blocking with a heavy shield.

He paused.
"She's gone?"

"
You
knew?
"

"
No, but I had her locked up for a reason." He returned to savaging the shield, almost knocking the bearer off balance with each blow. "I know the power of lust,"—
thwack
—"no matter how foolish,"—
thunk
—"how wicked."

Thud.

She jerked as if the blow had landed on her.

Lust.

Somehow, even though she'd accepted that he loved Edith, loved her deeply, she'd never quite thought of him lusting after her....

She thrust that aside.
"You have to go after her. She can't have reached Acklingham yet. You have to-"

He stopped, shaking sweaty hair back off his face despite the chill air.
"I don't have to do anything. I'm not risking men for her."

"
Raef!"

"
No." He turned cold eyes on her. "If you're not willing to imprison her, she'll be off again tomorrow and tomorrow. Love, lust, whatever it is, burns like a fire. It must be pleasant dwelling in your cold, unpassionate land, but it isn't where most mortals dwell."

Struck silent, she watche
d him stalk off, shoving his sword into its scabbard.

Cold and unpassionate? Why would he ever think that of her? Because she'd gone to the convent? Didn't he know that true vocations were passionate? And if he thought her unpassionate, it merely proved how dense men could be.

She saw, however, that she'd lacked passion in the convent. Herndon had been a peaceful place, a haven, but not a place or a life she'd truly embraced.

There was
relief in finally and completely putting it aside. Her place was in the world. But not with Raef. His passion for a dead woman ran too deep.

What of Alfrida?

There, he probably was right. Short of true imprisonment, her sister could not be held. The best that could be hoped for was that she'd learn her lesson without too much pain, and come home again of her own accord. Heart sick and suddenly lonely, Hera climbed up to a watch point on the walls and searched the bleak countryside for a solitary figure.

She saw the servants heading toward the river, where the mill stood, wheel turning in the rapid water. A few other people from the area were out seeking foodstuffs
—wild plants and even small animals unwary enough to reveal themselves by day. No sign of her sister, however.

Was it possible that Alfrida was right, and that Magnus Ravenbringer desired her, and would keep her? That offered little solace. An Englishwoman couldn't be happy with an invading Dane, and Raef truly intended to kill the man.

Faced with this desperate situation, Hera no longer even knew what to pray for. In the end, she crossed herself and said the simplest and best prayer of all.

"
Thy will be done, O Lord."

After checking that all necessary work was being attended to, Hera went to spend some time in the weaving shed, seeking the company of the women there as much as the work. She picked up a basket of carded wool and a distaff and spun thread as work and words wove comfortingly around her.

No dismal talk here. No talk of Danes or of the end of the world. Instead, gossip, chatter of Christmas, and the occasional song.

After a while, one of the women said, "Sing us a song, Lady Wulfhera?"

Hera did have an excellent voice
—it had been much appreciated in the convent. A gift of God, not to be denied to others. She looked around and smiled. "What should I sing?"

"
Something of Christmas," another woman said.

"
A happy song."

"
The Star of the Magi
!"

Amid a chorus of agreement, Hera laughed and put aside her spinning. She had no instrument, so she took up an empty wooden box and beat a rhythm on it with her fingers, as she began to sing.

The Star of the Magi
was an old tale—some said it went back to the Bible—but she'd put it into song a few years back, and it had become a favorite at this time of year.

It told of the coming of the wise men, the Magi, to the Christ Child's stable in
Bethlehem, bringing with them gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Each verse ended with the chorus:

Stella mirabilis
, come from afar.

Stella mirabilis
, come where we are.

Stella mirabilis
, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus
, come light one woman's way.

The last line didn't make sense until later in the song, but the women like to join in with every one. They loved the song be
cause it was all about womanly power. Women knew they steered the world, but men didn't like to think of it that way, so there were few enough songs that gave the women's view of things.

Joy growing in the singing, the company, and the message, Hera stood with her makeshift drum to dance as well as sing.

The first part was all about Bethlehem, and the Magi's arrival, especially Melchior, who brought gold to Christ. When he approached the baby Jesus and bowed over the manger, the fine pendant he wore swung down and attracted the baby's eye.

This pendant, so the story went, was made of gold shaped like a star, and in the center sat a mysterious blue stone, polished smooth but magically holding within it the image of a bright star.

Of course, the Holy Child reached out to such a glittering object, and brushed it with His tiny fingers. Immediately, Melchior moved to take it off, to give it to the Baby Jesus, but Mary leaned forward to stop him. As if the child spoke through her, she said that it was now a special gift for women, and he must take it home and give it to his youngest daughter.

Stella mirabilis
, come from afar.

Stella mirabilis
, come where we are.

Stella mirabilis
, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus
, come light one woman's way.

So, Hera sang, Melchior returned to his northern homeland with his pendant jewel. Of course, the Bible described the Magi as wise men from the East, but many also called them the Three Ki
ngs of Cologne. Hera had long since changed the details to make one of the Magi a leader in England, so the song would mean even more here.

They women
loved it. Some of the younger ones put aside their work and rose to dance with her, hips swaying, clapping their hands, bracelets jingling.

Stella mirabilis
, come from afar.

Stella mirabilis
, come where we are.

Stella mirabilis
, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus
, come light one woman's way.

Hera sang the sad story of Melchior's youngest daughter, Miriam. She had been scarred as a baby by an accident with the fire and so, despite her warmth and wisdom, no man courted her. Even the man she had come to love did not see her as a potential bride.

For a moment, Hera almost lost the song. She was not scarred, but she was blighted by a man who could not see her as a woman, a woman to desire.

She pushed that aside and carried on, dancing and smiling, to tell how Melchior returned to his home to be greeted by his loving family. How there he placed the pendant, with its precious blue stone
, around the neck of his youngest daughter, thinking it would give her solace in her single state.

But lo! within days, the neglectful suitor saw Miriam with new eyes, and soon he asked for her hand in marriage.

Stella mirabilis,
come from afar.

Stella mirabilis
, come where we are.

Stella mirabilis
, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus
, come light one woman's way.

Miriam married Alric, and his courage and strength was enhanced by her warmth and wisdom so that their lands were a haven of peace and prosperity. Their deep and special love spread like a light around them, bringing harmony to the country and the world.

Stella mirabilis
, come from afar.

Stella mirabilis,
come where we are.

Stella mirabilis
, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus,
come light one woman's way.

Then
—Hera stilled the dance, producing a roll of thunder on her drum—one day Miriam and her husband crossed the sea and a great storm came up. All feared they'd be cast into the deep. Miriam clutched her first baby to her, and held the star pendant in her hand, praying to the special child her father had spoken of, the one who had sent her such blessings.

Their boat was driven to the shore, but lodged on the rocks long enough so all could scramble off. In the struggle, however, the pendant chain broke and the jewel fell twinkling into the dark and stormy sea. Alric would have plunged after to try to get it back for her, but she stopped him. It had blessed them and saved them, but now she knew it had completed its work for her. It was for some other woman, somewhere, sometime, who needed to find her own true love so as to be able to bring peace and harmony to all around her.

Stella mirabilis, come from afar.

Stella mirabilis, come where we are.

Stella mirabilis, shine night and day

Stella mulieribus, come light one woman's way
.

Smiling at all the bright-eyed women, Hera spoke the ending, the traditional ending of the story, without the drum.

"And it is said that the Star of the Magi was swallowed by a fish, that symbol of Christ, and that it rests there waiting for the time when it is needed again. A special time of great need, when another woman must light the way for men. This, my sisters, is why we eat fish at Christmastide, especially on Christmas Eve, and most especially on the last Christmas of a century. For that, the story says, is when the Star is most likely to come to bless us all."

After an appreciative moment, the women applauded. One young woman flushed from the dance asked,
"If the Star's most likely to come at the turning of a hundred years, Lady Wulfhera, what of the turning of a thousand?"

Hera thought it just a charming story, but clearly some of her audience believed it.
"Then," she said, "it is a hundred fold more likely, and a hundred fold more powerful."

Perhaps young Heswith longed for a man who did not see her, for she fervently said,
"Then I will eat lots of fish!"

Chapter Four

Raef leaned against the wall of the weaving shed, close to a window, both eased and racked. Hera's voice could never do anything but ease him. Another gift he'd taken for granted and thrown away. If he'd been a wise man, he could have had her singing company all his days. At least her gift was back in the world for a while, and not hidden behind a convent's walls.

He loved the way she told the story, too, in song and words. He wished he could believe it. Had there truly been a time when Christ and His mother could touch the world's pains in such a direct way?

If so, the sins of Man had driven away that gift, along with so many others. Now the world was steeped in darkness, riven by discord and violence, and a man had no choice but to live in dark and
blood-soaked danger until death sent him to hell.

He could try for a bit of light now and then, however. He pushed straight and went to the door.
"Lady Wulfhera, could I speak with you?"

She was chatting to a group of young women, and turned, suddenly flushing. He thought perhaps she was angry at being interrupted, but she came over quickly enough and stepped outside with him.

"If you truly wish it," he said, "I will go after Alfrida and bring her home."

She stared at him, but then shook her head.
"It's too late. It was doubtless too late when I first realized. It is her fate. When she returns, though, Raef, be kind to her."

It stabbed like a rough-edged blade that she mig
ht think otherwise. "I was trying to be kind before."