O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque

Part One

And All Through the House…

Chalford Hill Castle

The Eve of December 24th

1207 A.D.

“And then the three wise men saw the star over the stable.”

“They came to see the Christ child, Dada?”

“Nay. They were much more than that.”

The great hall of Chalford Hill was warm and cozy, surprising for such a high-ceilinged hall. A vast amount of rushes covered the floor and the walls, all of them fresh, having been cut that very morning. The carpet of rushes crowded up to within a few feet of the hearth, which snapped and crackled softly with a gentle blaze. Big pieces of wood were tucked back into the blaze, glowing red and white with heat.

A very large man with shaggy, dark hair and dark eyes sat on a big chair in front of the hearth, two little girls snuggled in his lap. A third little girl, a bit older than the others, sat at his feet and across from him, his beautiful wife sat with a tiny infant nursing at her breast. The woman was swathed in a heavy robe and the infant was tightly swaddled, content in her arms, but she glanced up at her husband as he told their daughters the story of the birth of Christ on this snowy Christmas eve.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

She didn’t like the direction the story was going.

“What more were they, Dada?” she asked, a hint of warning in her tone. “I will remind you that you will not blaspheme the birth of Christ in my presence, and most especially not in front of our children.”

Maxton of Loxbeare looked at his wife, his eyes glimmering with mirth. He had been known to tell his wide-eyed girls some wild tales, much to the disapproval of his wife. Tales of rabbits who attacked unwary travelers with knives, or cows that used pitchforks against farmers. His girls hung on every word, but his wife… not so much. It was great fun to taunt her, but easier to do it when she had their six-month-old son in her arms because she wouldn’t become too loud or too angry with the baby against her.

Therefore, he pushed his luck.

“Do you want to know the truth?” he asked. “The Magi, or the three wise men, weren’t kings at all.”

“They weren’t?”

Maxton shook his head confidently, returning his attention to his girls. “They were assassins sent by King Herod,” he said. “They had come to find that baby and slice him up.”

“Max!” Andressa gasped with outrage, startling the baby dozing against her nipple. As the infant whimpered, she rocked him gently, calming him, before glaring at her husband and hissing. “Stop it at once, do you hear? No more of that.”

Maxton wasn’t listening. He openly defied his wife. “It was the evening of Christ’s birth and King Herod knew the baby was out there, somewhere,” he told his daughters gleefully. “He had tried to find the Messiah earlier when the Romans went hunting for him, but the night Christ was born, he sent out his very best men disguised as wise men from the east. It was their duty to find the baby.”

Andressa was ready to explode but the baby had quieted and was still nursing, so she was forced to keep quiet as Maxton grinned at her tauntingly. In his lap, his youngest daughter, Ceri, tugged at him.

“But why, Dada?” she asked. “Why did they want to slice the baby?”

Andressa rolled her eyes, growing furious, as Maxton kissed his child on the head. “Because he was the son of God,” he said. “That is what this season is about, my little loves. The birth of Christ to save man from his sins. But King Herod wanted the child dead so he could continue with his evil ways.”

“So he sent three men to hack the baby to pieces!” Melisandra said. A year older than Ceri at nearly five years of age, she loved her father’s gory tales when her mother wasn’t in control of what came out of his mouth. “And then what would he do with the pieces?”

Maxton could see that he would be in real trouble if he didn’t ease his daughter’s bloodlust. He kissed Melisandra on the head, too.

“Must you be so graphic, Melly?” he asked her. “Do you remember when Magnus was born?”

All three girls looked over at their baby brother in their mother’s arms. They nodded solemnly. “Aye, Dada,” Danae, the oldest, answered. “He was very small.”

Maxton agreed. “He was,” he said. “He is still very