CHAPTHER FOURTEEN – MIDDLEAM, DECEMBER 1477

Six months had come and gone, and again, Marion found herself in her birth month – her fourteenth. She was not yet a woman, though, no matter how much her body might have filled out and curved, for she had not had her blood yet, and for that she was grateful. She did not like the idea of staining the bedsheets she spent most of her time in with blood.

Over the months, Marion healed. Her chest ached terribly in the process, sometimes waking her in the middle of the night, when she would lie abed and weep from the pain, but with time this became less and less of a concern to her. On most nights, either Dickon, Anne or both of them together, would come to Marion's chamber and sup with her. She had the leftovers from dinner – the good leftovers, not the bad ones, like she would sometimes have as a girl at Isolde's house. Dickon reminded her many times, pointing the handle of his knife at her, that it was unseemly for someone to have their meals alone. That community was of the utmost importance. So it was that, almost every night, after they had had their own meals, Marion would be joined by the Lord and Lady of the house. When Neddy started feeling better, he joined his parents by Marion's bedside, sharing bread and watered wine with her. So too, did Katheryn, when she recovered from her own injuries. The swelling on her face went down, her lip eventually healed. When Doctor Hobbs decreed that Marion was fit to move around again – but not to exert herself, lest she do more damage – Dickon and Anne held a small feast in her honour, in which Katheryn, John and Neddy attended, all boasting about having a hero as an aunt.

Katheryn grew into a solemn child, who spent most of her time in Middleham's small chapel, praying. To Marion, this was a sign that she had failed her original promise to the girl; to help her with her burden from being basely born. Katheryn now called Dickon "Father," and sometimes "My Lord," but not Papa, never Papa. When Marion pulled the girl aside to speak to her, Katheryn revealed that she had vague memories of that day when she was three years old, and Marion had told her what a bastard was.

"I knew what it was from then, but I did not know what it meant. Now I do."

When Dickon's firstborn began to express thoughts that she should not exist, and that the whole world would detest her for her parents' sin – the sin that resulted in her – Marion quickly assured her that she was well loved by all at Middlheam, even Lady Anne, who had become something of a second mother to Katheryn, after she "lost" her true mother. This miracle came about simply because of Marion's doing; one day in late September, when the Lady had visited her in her chamber, the girl had implored her to treat Katheryn with kindness.

"She may have known her mother, but no longer. Please, Lady Anne, please do not do to her, or think of her as Isolde did me. Please do not be another Isolde."

"What did Isolde do to you?"

"You know well that it was bad, mayhap even counted as the mistreatment of a child. Ask your lord husband for the details, he knows what happened well enough."

After that, things changed. Anne would spend more time with Katheryn, smile at her more often than she had before Kate married, and sing while the girl played her harp or lute. Truly, things seemed to be getting better every way Marion looked. Neddy was healing from his fever, becoming flush and fast in movement and wit as a boy his age should be. John came back to Middleham in early October, in time for his father's twenty-fifth birthday, and was delighted to discover most of his younger family were now out of bed. Indeed, on the day of his arrival, he and Neddy had raced around the main keep all day, shrieking in that unintelligible language that was neither the babbling of babes, nor the simple speech of children. It had been endearing to watch.

Outside Middleham's strong stone walls, the seasons whipped through their changes. Summer gave way to the fiery foliage of autumn, which soon was swept away by the cold winter winds, leaving the earth barren and dreary. Dark clouds hung in the air, rolling over the vast Yorkshire moors, and the temperature dropped, forcing many a man and woman to cover themselves with cloaks and furs. Boys out in the training yards at Middleham no longer wore simple padding to keep themselves safe from the hits of wooden swords, but boiled leather "armour", not only for protection, but to lock in the heat.

Marion watched all of this from her bedchamber window, marveling at the sight. When the first day of Advent came around, and the priest at the chapel changed his robes from white to purple, a light snowfall began, and managed to stick to the grass, instead of melting as soon as it hit the ground. As the days of Advent rolled on, Marion became aware of one delightful fact; all of the children in the castle were becoming more and more cheery, looking forward firstly, to Saint Nicholas' Day (the day they would receive their presents), and Christmas Day (when they would receive small gifts from their parents, and one another). Marion was alerted to this fact when her birth month finally came, and she was rudely awoken one cold morning on the 1st of December 1477.

"Aunt Marion, Aunt Marion! Wake up...!" cried Katheryn, her voice shrill with joy.

Marion groaned, rolling over in her bed, a single, pale hand emerging from beneath the furs to pull the thick covers over the head of the bed's occupant. This did not deter the girl, in fact, it only persuaded her to take more drastic measures to wake her grumbling aunt.

"Aunt Marion, do you know what today is?" she said in a sing-song voice, shaking the young woman by what she thought was the shoulders.

"Gnnn... no. And I do not care. Go away. I'm sleeping."

"No, you are not, Aunt Marion, 'tis daytime, we must be up! And today is the first of December, only five more days 'till Saint Nicholas' Day, when John, Neddy and I get presents!"

This statement did, indeed, cause Marion to poke her head out from the warmth of her furs. She smiled when she saw her niece, dressed in a simple white night shift, her fur bed cover wrapped around her thin shoulders to ward off the chill. It seemed that no matter how solemn a child could become, the prospect of gifts always lifted the spirits and caused delight to be the emotion that reigned supreme.

"Is that so? Well, have you been a good girl this year, Katheryn? Will Saint Nicholas deem you worthy to have a gift?"

"Well... I think so. I mean, I am always helping in the kitchens, and I pray every day – more than the boys do – and I helped you use the chamber pot when you could not walk properly because of your rib – well, Margaret and me did that – but I did help."

"Margaret and I," Marion corrected tiredly.

Katheryn nodded, before she opened her mouth, her eyes clouding over as she thought of something else. "B-but then there was what happened with James Haute.. I was bad that day. I got into trouble from him, and then I got you into trouble. 'Twas my fault you got a broken rib, Aunty, all my fault."

Marion sat up fully, throwing back her furs, mindless of the cold that seeped into her bones. She wrapped her young niece in a tight hug, stroking back her curls.

"Nay, girl, nay... never think that. 'Twas not your fault, never your fault. If I had not stepped in front of you to protect you from him, I would not have been injured as I was. You need not feel guilty, Katheryn, and besides, you did nothing wrong. Only in his eyes did you transgress, but not in the eyes of many other men – nor God, for that matter. Do you understand?"

Katheryn looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway, before resting her head on Marion's shoulder. "Yes, Aunt Marion."

"Good! Now, let us go and break our fasts, then get further into the spirit of Advent and Christmas! Mayhap your father will allow us to play in the snow for a bit!"

Later that day, Marion decided that she ought to write to her husband, and wish him a happy Christmas. But, not knowing how to start such a letter, she sought help, the help of Lady Anne.

"'Tis a simple matter, Marion. You start the letter with 'dear', and then the subject's name. Then, you simply say whatever you wish to say."

"But I do not know what to say to him! We have spoken on and off through letters since we wed, but this is the first time I've ever written to him at Christmas."

"Hmm... well, mayhap I can help you with that..." smiled the Lady.

Three hours later, a suitable letter had been written, folded, and sealed with Dickon's seal. Marion paid for the letter to be sent, first to London, then, transported by ship to her husband's homeland. She only hoped he would receive the letter in time for Christmas.

Five days later, the castle was in an uproar – mainly due to the children. Thick, cloth bags were hung on the bottoms of sconces outside bedchamber doors, in the hopes of finding a gift in them on the morrow. Marion watched all three of Dickon's children pray fervently to God that they may be in His good graces that night, as they felt they had been good all year. Of course, they confessed sins, every child did on this eve – then again on Christmas Eve – confessing, being an important part of repenting, and maybe, being redeemed in the eyes of the Lord.

The next morning, Marion was again woken by high voices, hands pulling at her furs, and the weight of a body on her bed. But this time, it was not one, but three children waking her. When she finally opened her eyes, Marion saw Katheryn, John and Neddy grinning at her, showing off the gifts they had been given that night.

"Look what me got Aunt Marion!" grinned four-year-old Neddy, holding up a small tapestry.

Upon close inspection, Marion saw it was the livery of his father's house, the House of York, as well as his father's own sigil, the White Boar.

"Is that to hang on your bedchamber wall?"

The boy's head nodded so fast that Marion feared for a moment that it would fall off his thin little shoulders. She laughed, and when he had calmed down, leaped off her bed, and ran off in search of his parents. The boy was no fool then, he knew that it was his parents who had given him the gift, not Saint Nicholas. Marion smiled, and turned her attention to her niece. Katheryn held out a lovely new gown, made of heavy wool, red in color, with delicate green and gold embroidery over the sleeves and the high girdle (or waste band). It was very similar, Marion noted, to a gown of Lady Anne's that the girl had been admiring last Christmas. With that in mind, Marion's smile widened.

"What a lovely gown. You shall have to wear it when we go to Mass on Christmas Eve, and then on Christmas Day."

"Yes Aunty, I will do just that!" chirped Katheryn, before she too sprinted off to find her father and show him her pretty new dress.

The last one remaining was John, who grinned, holding his hands behind his back. At six-years-old, the boy could sometimes be mischievous, but was mostly a serious little lad. On this day, however, the mischief was his master, it seemed, from the glittering of his amethyst eyes.

"My Lady, will you be needing the services of a knight this day?" he asked, trying to sound as grown-up and important as he could.

Marion chuckled slightly. "Nay, my Lord, for I have not a favor to offer you as a token of my gratitude."

"Fear not, for I only wanted to show you... this!"

With the utterance of "this!", John pulled from behind his back a wooden training sword. He looked proud as he handled it with mediocre skill showing already. Marion beamed at the boy, ruffling his hair.

"This is your gift?"

"Aye, Aunt Marion. Papa says I am old enough to train in the yard with the men, and knights-in-training. Even though I will probably never be a knight, he says it is still im-impor... important to learn how to use a sword and lance."

Marion grinned at him all the wider. John, unlike his older sister, seemed to understand the circumstances of his birth, and its meaning, right away. Marion feared that his step-father had something to do with it, but the boy did not seem to mind. He loved coming to Middleham, loved seeing his siblings and his father and step-mother, and Marion, too. It seemed that John was a strong boy, even though he was still young, and would be able to bear the burden of his birth much easier. He did not need his aunt-by-honour's help.

"Well," Marion said presently. "That is good to hear. Now off with you, go and find a damsel in distress to save, good Sir knight."

John saluted, the way he saw his father doing whenever he went off on some war campaign, and hurried out of the room, the sword making a twack noise whenever it accidentally hit the walls. Just as Marion was about to get out of bed, Katheryn's head pokethrough the door again.

"Aunt Marion, do not forget your gifts are out here too."

She frowned. "Me? Have gifts? Katheryn, I think I am a bit old for this..."

"Nonsense. Father says that because you are still not yet a woman, you get to have presents too. So, open them up once you're dressed, and come and show me. I have to get ready now."

With that, a swirl of dark curls flitted past Marion's door. She smiled, clambered out of bed, and stretched stiff and aching bones. Her chest was hurting a bit today, but it was not as bad as it had been over the months. Closing the door, Marion made to get ready for the day, without the aid of Margaret or any other servant for once.

It was rare that the girls would go into the village together, and even rarer that they would go with Lady Anne. But, the Lady had insisted that she and the girls pay a visit to their people before Christmas, to mingle and thank them for their continuing loyalty and service.

The rambling little village of Middleham, named for the castle that loomed over it, was a quaint place full of stone houses, slanting slate roofs, constantly buzzing with the activities of daily life. Men, women and children alike worked and lived here, and this, Marion saw, was on full display this day. A baker and his apprentice bowed over ovens, using long wooden paddles to extract steaming hot loaves of bread. The apprentice, upon catching sight of the three of them, swiftly cut off the blackened edge of the loaf, before lathering it with butter, and handing to to Lady Anne. The Lady smiled, and broke the bread in three, giving a piece to Marion first, then Katheryn. Wind made the sings over shop doors creak, and snow blustered through the streets. A man hitched his small son higher up his back, tipping his hat to the ladies, while holding his son in the "piggy-back" style with his free arm.

"M'ladies," he nodded. The boy pointed and gaped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when Katheryn sent a dazzling smile his way.

"PAPA!" they heard the boy shriek, as they walked further through the village, towards the blacksmith's. "DAT LADY SMILEDED AT ME!"

The man threw a smile over his shoulder to the group, and continued on, the boy clinging to his back waving at them happily. Marion too, smiled, as she called her niece to her side, extending her hand to the dark-haired girl.

All around them, people smiled and waved. They were well-provided for, as they provided well for their Lord, the Lord of Middleham. Even though it was winter, and there would be snow and people would become ill easier than normal and die more frequently from the cold, the people Marion saw were happy. They took to heart the spirit of Advent, joyfully awaiting to celebrate the first coming of their Saviour, and eagerly awaiting when He would come next. It was certainly a far cry from the miserable Christmases of her childhood, so it delighted Marion to see the people so happy.

Marion had received two gifts on Saint Nicholas' Day. A new headdress, nothing too fancy, thank goodness, but something that was more fair to look upon than the her wimple. It was a small steeple headdress, black in color, with a cloth of sheer silver and gold thread falling from the point. Marion had thanked Dickon and Anne profusely for her gift, and insisted that they give her nothing more come the feast of Christmas. Her other gift was from Kate, sent by a young abbot from the small friary near Kate's new house. It was an apron. Like the headdress, it was nothing too fancy to look upon, just a simple white apron made of heavy linen. Marion smiled. An apron was a sign of a woman's virtue, it was meant to symbolise her role as a wife and mother, covering her gown so that the toils of daily labour did not stain it. It was nice, then, that Kate would think to give her something like this, something to prove to the rest of society that Marion was a virtuous woman, not like the terrible person James Haute and Isolde had made her out to be over time.

Unfortunately, neither Dickon nor Anne took heed of her request for no more presents, and on Christmas Eve, after a solemn Mass in which Marion and Katheryn knelt before the priest, repented for their sins, and took Communion (John and Neddy were still too young to do so), Marion found herself bestowed with a book from Dickon and Lady Anne both.

"It did take us a long time to find – especially since we had to hunt for a copy in English." Anne said, resting a hand on her husband's arm.

"Aye, but we found it eventually."

Marion gazed in awe at the manuscript in her hands. It was titled Parzival and was written by a man named Wolfram von Eschenbach. Opening the heavy tome, Marion found the unevenly bound pages contained writing in delicate script, both in a language she suspected was German, and her own tongue. She glanced back up a Dickon, questions burning in her mind.

"What is it?"

"A courtly romance, from the land of your husband." he answered.

Marion frowned. Would it not have been more prudent to give her a history of her husband's land? Or a compendium of customs and culture? Nay, it seemed that Dickon had another plan altogether, and he proved this suspicion by stating boldly:

"The story follows a similar line to that of our own King Arthur, and even mentions Arthur a few times."

"We thought you could read it, and gain a brief understanding of German culture and lore through it, while also seeing that Germany is not so different from England in terms of its heroic tales."

"To hopefully keep you comfortable when you do go to join your husband." Dickon finished.

Marion stared at both of them, listening to how they finished each other's sentences. Theirs was a true love, far truer than Dickon's romance with Kate had ever been, Marion could not deny that. And not only did they posses boundless love for each other, but for other people, too. They obviously shared this boundless love for her, too, for they had given her this most precious gift.

"Thank you, thank you so much. Why did you not give this to me on Saint Nicholas' Day? It is a large present, is it not?"

"Aye, that it is," nodded Dickon. "But we thought you should have it now, as Saint Nicholas' Day is for children to receive gifts, and you are nearly a woman grown. We thought that by giving you the book on this day, you would remember that, and appreciate the gift all the more."

Marion smiled, and hugged them both, before moving to stand beside her niece.

"Is there anything you wish for us to do to help prepare for the morrow's feast, my Lord?" Katheryn asked.

Dickon winced at the title his daughter used to address him, but forced a smile onto his face, nonetheless.

"If you girls wish it, you can go and help prepare the pies."

"Ooh, pie!" Neddy and John gasped in unison, their eyes alight with eagerness.

"Not now boys, wait until the morrow."

"Aww, Papa...!"

Two sets of shoulders sagged, and two faces fell with disappointment. Marion chuckled, and pinched Neddy's cheek affectionately.

"Cheer up lads, you'll get pie enough on the morrow. But for now, how about you to go sleep, so that the morn will come quicker?"

Both boys opened their mouths, weather in protest or agreement, Marion could not tell. Then, in a scene of brotherly intuition that left the adults laughing, both boys exchanged a look, nodded to Marion, bid the adults goodnight, and headed for their chambers. Little mirrors of each other, they were. Lady Anne let out a nervous laugh, and Dickon shook his head in what Marion perceived to be bemusement.

"Well, girls, off with you to the kitchens."

"Yes Father,"

"Aye Dickon, we'll be off."

With that, they left. Marion and Kathryn walked arm-in-arm down to the kitchens, talking and laughing. Before they were even five minutes from the doors into the room, the smell hit them. It was a pungent smell, one of ale, wine, meet cooking, bread baking, and much, much more; all combined, it created an aroma set to make Marion's head swim the longer she stayed down there. Upon entering the room, Marion watched in fascination as the cooks went about their business. Having been banished to the kitchens as a girl in Isolde's house, Marion knew how to cook, simply from watching, though it never ceased to amaze her how efficiently these people did their jobs. They did not move with a slow, labored gait of people who were tired of work and needed a rest (indeed, they had already had their rest on the forth Sunday of Lent, Mothering Sunday, when they had gone home to visit their mothers, if the women still lived), but with lively, quick movements of people who were determined to make a feast their Lord could be proud of.

As soon as the head cook spotted them, Marion and Katheryn were ushered into the room, heavy white aprons thrust over their heads, white clothes – similar to wimples – pulled over their hair to keep it from falling into the food, and put to work. Katheryn worked tirelessly boiling grains of wheat and rye until they split, before helping to make them into loaves. Marion boiled meat and crushed spices. The girls watched as the traditional frumenty was made. Frumenty, was a dish best served around Christmastide, and was also given to the servants who returned home on Mothering Sunday. On that day, it was made on almond milk, or normal cow's milk, but now, at Christmas, Marion could see the cooks taking liberties not allowed during the rest of the year. To one vat of frumenty, currents and rum were being added in generous amounts. Marion made a mental note to not allow the children to eat any of that, rather, they could eat the plain frumenty, she could see being made at the other end of the kitchen from the normal ingredients, flavored with generous amounts of salt and spices.

A whole boar caught by Dickon and Francis a couple of days earlier, was roasted, the smell making Marion drool despite herself. Wine and ale were brewed fresh for next year, while older wines were brought out to be drank at the feast on the morrow. By the time the work was done, and the girls had been thanked for their help, Marion felt exhausted. She gladly collapsed into bed that night, slipping easily into a dreamless sleep.

Christmas Day dawned bright and cold, leaving Marion unwilling to move from the warmth of her bed. But alas, she had no choice. Sitting up with a groan, the young woman peeled off her shift, and pulled on a gown, washed her face at the washbasin in her chamber, and walked down to the Great Hall to break her fast. The children were already there, chattering excitedly about the presents they had received that night.

"Aunt Marion! Guess what we got?" cried Neddy, his face alight with joy.

"I have no idea what it could be. Tell me, lad, what was it?"

"We all got sacks of fruit and nuts and toffee!" John crowed, his straight, square white teeth crunching rapidly as he chewed – presumably on one of these gifts he had found

"And you are eating it now? Have you even broken your fasts – any of you?"

"I have," Katheryn said earnestly. "I had bread and cheese, and a cup of honey wine – Father said I could."

Marion nodded. "Speaking of your father... where is the Duke and Lady Anne?"

"At the chapel,"

"Ah. Now, boys, have you had anything to eat other than fruit, nuts and toffee?"

Both boys wore identical looks of guilt on their faces. It struck Marion now how much they did look alike. If not in coloring, then in their faces. Both boys had their father's face, as much as Katheryn had her mother's. Surely, then, the boys would grow into handsome men, for Dickon was handsome, that could not be denied.

"Well, enough of that. We must go to the chapel once I have broken my fast, and both of you will pray for forgiveness, because I bet a groat that neither of you had permission to eat your sweets this morn."

Both boys bowed their heads, and feeble mumbles of "Yes, Aunt Marion." could be heard from across the Hall.

After Mass, as somber as ever, yet lighter than many a visit to the Church on any other Sunday or feast day of the year, the day was filled with much lightness. The children filled their time in the snow outside, throwing snowballs at each other, their high shrieks of laughter filling the air. Marion watched from a distance, only drawn into the fray when a stray snowball hit her on the head. Then she too was shouting, laughing and running, only stopping when Neddy began to cough from the effects of the cold, and her own chest ached terribly; the cold seeping in to what had once been broken bone, reminding her body of the beating she had taken.

At noon exactly, a great feast was held in the Great Hall. The Great Hall was a new addition to the castle, constructed by Dickon in his early years of living there. It was set in a level directly above the kitchens, and, directly above the Hall, were rooms that were for private use by the Duke and Duchess, including their bedchamber. Marion sat with the children at a table to the right of the High Table. Neddy sat at the end, closest to his father and mother (having begged to break the rigid code of social class, and sit with his siblings), with John beside him. Katheryn sat next to her younger brother, with Marion on her right. Beside Marion were some of the other children being fostered at Middleham, one of them, the lively young daughter of Francis Lovell and his wife Agnes, named Grace.

All around the Hall, were the sounds of men talking, women laughing, tankards clanking together as men raised them in salutation, and trenchers being scraped clean of food, and refilled. A traveling group of dancers had arrived at the castle, as they did every year, and they had the crowd swept up into partner dances (which Marion hated), and traditional ring dances (which she loved). Marion however, partook in none of them, preferring to sit and watch, and Dickon and Lady Anne spun around and around the dance floor, laughing, gazing into each other's eyes. They truly did love each other, and it was a beautiful thing to see. Marion knew that Dickon would go to the moon and back for his Lady, and the Lady would give her life to save him. It had never been that way with Kate. Dickon had simply found pleasure in her bed, but neither had loved each other as the two who danced below the High Table did.

The food was some of the most delicious food Marion had ever tasted. Many courses came out, including the roasted boar. Dickon, being the Lord of the castle was the first to crave the meat, the first to drink the warm, spiced mulled wine, and the first to cut and distribute the first piece of mince pie (which was believed to provide luck to whomever got to eat it). John and Neddy raised quite a spectacle over that one piece of pie, a memory that would send Marion into spirits of good cheer for years to come.

"Let us flip a coin, so we can decide who gets the lucky piece of pie first." John said, holding out a small grubby groat.

Neddy nodded, his little face screwed up in seriousness. From beside Marion, Katheryn pouted.

"Why don't I get to be in this game of yours?"

"Because you are a girl," John said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her frown deepened. "But you are like me, so Father will not give you the first piece of pie. It will go to Neddy."

"Not after we toss this coin, it won't." John grinned at his sister, before turning back to his brother. "If it lands on heads, you get the pie. Tails, and the pie is mine."

Neddy nodded his head vigorously, a small trail of spittle slithering from the corner of his mouth. Marion chucked, and watched, wrapped, as the boys commenced The Great Coin Toss Challenge.

"One.." John began to count.

"Two..." Neddy echoed.

"THREE!" they yelled in unison, making many a man and woman sitting around the Hall look at their table with curious eyes. Katheryn ducked her head in embarrassment, Marion merely laughed.

The coin sailed up into the air, spinning rapidly as it did so. Only, its landing was not as grand as the boy had planned out, for the coin fell into a goblet of wine – Marion's goblet, in fact. Dickon had decreed that because she was nearly a woman grown, she could have one cup of full-strength wine with her Christmas meal. And now that wine had been spoiled by a grubby coin. All night, Marion had been trying to remember her manners, to eat daintily and not like a hungry cow, to hold her knife properly and spear her food at the right angle, remembering to wipe her face on the tablecloth if she felt some sauce splatter her cheeks. Now, however, it was a struggle not to growl at the boys, as red wine began seeping from the overturned goblet.

John's face was deathly white, his dark eyes popping slightly in horror. Neddy looked like he could not decide whether to laugh or scream, as his little hands clapped over his mouth. Katheryn shook her head, rolling her eyes at her brothers. Marion did not miss Dickon shoot a knowing smirk down at their table, as if he was saying: What have those boys done now?

"I – uh – uh..." John babbled, gaping at the goblet, and the deep red stain that slowly glided across the white linen tablecloth. His face screwed into an ugly grimace. "Aunt Marion – what do I do?"

Calmly, Marion passed him her wine goblet, before speaking in hushed tones, so that the boy had to lean over to hear her: "Fish the coin out, then give the goblet back to me."

This ended with the disastrous results of John splattering wine all over himself, and his siblings and even poor Lady Anne, who sat on her husband's right, closest to the children's table, the stains so red it would take much washing to remove them from clothes and skin. By the time the pie was ready to be served, Dickon, who surely must have seen the whole mummers' farce at the lower table, cut the first piece of pie into multiple bits, offering the first to Neddy, his trueborn heir, the second to John, third to Katheryn, and the forth to Marion. She declined, instead insisting he give it to his Lady wife, which he did.

The pie itself was worth all the fuss. A strange mixture of sweet pastry and fruit, and the savory taste of the mincemeat, it was a great meal to be had in between the main meal, and the desert. By the time pastries, toffies, sugar coated nuts and warm fruits sweetened with sugar came out, Marion felt full fit to burst. But nevertheless, she kept eating. Such was the spirit of Christmas. It was a time to repent for sins, and know that because God had sent His son down to earth, He had listened to the cries of the people below, and was willing to save them. It was a time to rejoice.

That night, found the children and adults in Nursery Tower, laughing, and enjoying themselves. Other smaller gifts were given to the children as they now sat in the Tower, such as toy knights for Neddy and John, and a few new samplers for Katheryn to work on. Marion could see that Lady Anne smiled with pleasure whenever she looked at Katheryn, who wore the dress she had received for Saint Nicholas' Day. Because she had been gifted with her book the night before, Marion was given nothing – save an extra cup of hot mulled wine, which was fine by her, as it warded the chill away from her bones, and left her feeling content and ready for sleep.

Neddy, too, seemed to share her state of being, for his mouth repeatedly stretched into wide yawns, arms flinging out to prepare wound up muscles for sleep.

"Papa, can we go to bed now?"

Dickon raised an eyebrow, pulling his youngest son and heir onto his lap. "You truly wish to go to bed? But you are the one who almost always protests at bedtime!"

"But tonight, I am tired..."

He chuckled, before shifting the boy so he sat upon his mother's lap. "My beloved, why don't you take Neddy to bed – and John, for he looks tired as well – while I take the girls out to give the servants their Christmas meal?"

"As you will, my love." Lady Anne smiled, before helping Neddy to stand without falling over his own feet, and pulling John up too. "Come, boys, let us get you to bed. And me too, for I fear I am as tired as you."

"You do look tired," Anne's mother said from her seat by the fire, a cup of wine cradled in her lightly creased hands.

The boys gave her giddy grins, before following Lady Anne, waving over their shoulders as best they could in their current sates to Dickon, Katheryn and Marion. The remaining occupants of the Tower waved back, before Dickon turned to the girls.

"Now, both of you... did you see the ladies in the kitchen making the umble pies?"

"Yes Father," nodded Katheryn.

"They were working at it all night, it seemed."

Dickon smiled. "Very good. Now, do you know who those pies are for?"

"The servants, and the people in the village just outside of the castle?" Marion asked.

"Aye, that is correct."

"Are we go and give them their pies tonight, Father?"

"Yes, Katheryn, we shall."

With those words, the three set off. Heavy cloaks and furs were wrapped around them to ward off the chill of the night, and the umble pies were collected from the kitchen, and carried in boxes. Umble pies were made of the umbles (or entrails) of all the animals which had been slaughtered for the Christmas feast of the nobles. The umbls were minced or roughly chopped, before being mixed with spices and made into pies. Marion had vague memories of trying umble pie when she was a girl, and still living with Isolde. She had even eaten part of an umble pie that Margaret had shared with her during her first Christmas at Middleham, back in the days when she had been little more than a servant in training.

The streets of Middleham's village were filled with people singing carols and dancing- taking full opportunities to celebrate the birth of Christ in their own ways, as they could not in the Church (for caroling was a crime when done inside a Church building, unless facilitated by the priest and nuns – which was rare). Men, women, and children alike joined hands and danced in circles, singing songs about the birth of the Christ child, and the Salvation that He promised. The music was so catchy that Dickon eventually relented and allowed the girls (who had been begging him) to go dancing. Fast footwork and upbeat music ruled Marion and Katheryn for a good half hour, until Dickon came and reminded them that their pies were getting cold. After delivering the pies, Marion and Katheryn joined in on another dance, their feet slipping and stumbling in the snow. Laughter and merryment was heard throughout the night that night, and when Dickon said that the next day the girls would help him deliver the wages of the common folk into their clay boxes, Marion had no objections. Yes, she was tired, yes, her chest hurt. But the entire month had filed her with Christmas joy, and thus, renewed energy. Marion delighted in the coming of the morn.