O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,1

small. Can you imagine someone wanting to do that little baby harm? It would be a terrible thing.”

Three heads wagged from side to side. “Nay, Dada,” Danae said. “I would protect Magnus with my life. I would not let anyone harm him.”

“Good lass,” Maxton said, reaching out to touch her blonde head. “You are a good sister to protect him so.”

“Who did Christ have to protect him?” Danae asked.

Maxton pointed a finger upward. “The greatest protectors of all,” he said. “God and the angels were there to protect the Christ child.”

“And they protected him against the three wise men? The assassins from King Herod?”

The baby against Andressa’s breast was asleep and she rose carefully, carrying the sleeping baby from the hall. Maxton put his finger up to his lips, indicating silence from the girls, as their mother took their baby brother to bed. Once she was clear of the hall, he returned to his story.

“The angels brought swords of fire and axes of flame,” he said dramatically. “But the wise men were clever; they brought gifts for the Christ child, but concealed within the gifts were knives and arrows. But God sent the archangels to defend the baby.”

The girls were hanging on his every word. “Did they fight them?” Melisandra wanted to know. “Did they swing their swords and cut off their heads?”

Maxton loved seeing the bloodlust in little eyes. He knew it was wrong; God help him, he knew. But it was so much fun to see them get excited about something he did in everyday life. He’d been an Executioner Knight for more than half his life, a long time indeed, and tales of swords and blood and guts were his normal.

In a sense, he wanted his girls to understand him. Truth be told, he’d never been around girl children in his life. All he knew were the ways of men, so having three daughters in rapid succession had changed his world a great deal. He was still becoming accustomed to daughters. But he adored them down to his very bones and they were the soul that lived within him. He wanted their love, their adoration, and he was trying to connect with them the only way he knew how.

By letting them into his world.

Even at their young age, he wanted to relate to them.

“It was a nasty fight,” he said. “The bible does not speak of it because God and his angels do not want you to know how bad it really was, but it was a terrible fight. Melchior was from the land of Persia and he was best with a shield and ax. He fought with Archangel Gabriel, the who was disguised as a cow. Gabriel kicked Melchior right through the stable wall.”

The girls gasped in awe. “But there were more wise men, Dada!” Danae said. “What happened to them?”

Maxton was enthralled with his own story, speaking quickly because he wanted to be done before his wife returned and forced him into a kinder, gentler version with no blood and no swords.

And no fun.

“Gaspar was from a faraway land of Bharata,” he said. “He was a master of the short swords, and he had two of them. He tried to cut Mary and Joseph, but Archangel Michael was disguised as a ram and he rose up to defend them. He head-butted Gaspar all the way back to his country.”

The little girls were very excited. “And the last one?” Danae asked.

Maxton grinned at their enthusiasm. “The last one was Balthazar from Arabia and he was an expert with a crossbow,” he said. “Archangel Raphael was disguised as an ass, but he had his magic shield and he protected the Christ child when Balthazar launched a bolt at the baby. The bolt struck the shield and bounced back, knocking Balthazar so hard that he rolled all the way back into the sea. And with that, the Christ child was saved by the archangels and that is why we celebrate the Christmas holiday.”

The girls were in awe of the exciting story. “We celebrate the baby not being killed?” Ceri asked.

“Exactly,” Maxton said. “We celebrate the brave battle between the archangels and the Magi and the fact that Christ was not killed in the process.”

The girls were very happy with their tall tale of a story. Maxton sat back in his chair, satisfied with himself, as both Ceri and Melisandra cooed and chattered about the rather violent tale of Christ’s birth. It was Ceri who finally put her little