Page 12 of Her Christmas White Knight

“Julia—”

She placed a finger on his lips. “It seems we were both foiled in our efforts to meet again. But we can’t change the past, only the present. For now, we have to see your father.”

He was glad to see that her tears had dried, and that the roses were back in her cheeks.

“We still have a potentially unpleasant duty to perform, Myall. But mayhap we’ll have a warmer welcome than you expect.”

He smiled and gazed into her eyes, thinking he could drown in those pools of blue. Entirely forgetting where they were, he brushed his lips across hers.

She didn’t flinch. Her mouth was soft and yielding beneath his and the urge to prolong the kiss almost overwhelmed him.

But he’d vowed to see his father. Mayhap, afterward, he might see if he could avail himself of Julia’s lips again. He would be in sore need of comfort by then, after all.

They spoke of lighter matters as they covered the next half-mile. Then, as the surroundings became more familiar, the old feeling of dread settled over him like a cloak.

“This is the place—my father’s house.” He wanted to turn away and retreat. This was a feeling one couldn’t fight with swords or arrows. The sight of his old home reminded him of the soul-deep despair he tried to keep buried, but which continually gnawed away at him. Only now, today, with Julia at his side, the pain was less keen than usual.

He advanced toward the wrought-iron gate. “It used not to look like a wilderness.” The state of the garden—enclosed within its high brick walls—took him aback. Father had used to be proud of these gardens. Was he now so mean with his coin that he wouldn’t employ a gardener? What a tangle this would be come spring if naught were done to restore order.

“No matter.” Julia urged him forward. “It is the man you need to see, not the garden.”

His feet felt like lead as they approached the covered doorway of the house. Should he have brought a gift, mayhap? Nay, Father would look on it as a bribe. Anyway, it was too late now to turn back and hunt for something.

He banged the hilt of his sword against the oak panels, then stepped back and waited. Julia’s hand stole into his, and he gripped it hard, then released her.

A panel slid back in the door, and his father’s face appeared behind the iron grille. Fully expecting the panel to slide closed again, accompanied by some colorful curses, Myall was surprised to hear bolts being shot back. A key was turned in the lock.

He was even more surprised when his father, clearly sober but looking dreadful, pulled him into his embrace.

“My son! Myall! Is it really you? Thank God you have come. Quick, hurry in, there’s not a moment to lose!”