“What do ye think?” Carington stopped spinning long enough to propose the question to Creed. “Rita made this for a lady who never paid her for the work. It fits me perfectly. What do ye think?”
Creed tore his eyes off her figure and fixed her in the eye. He realized that he was well on his way to being drunk from all of the wine he had imbibed. Too much drink usually made him emotional and it was a struggle not to give himself away.
“Who is Rita?” he asked.
She cocked her head, looking positively adorable with the gold netting on her hair. “The seamstress; the woman who put her hands all over me.”
She was waving her hands around for illustration and he nodded in understanding before the sentence was even out of her mouth.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “She is correct; it fits you perfectly. You are a goddess divine.”
Carington grinned happily; she had a beautiful smile, something that Ryton was only now noticing. He’d never really paid any attention before but was now seeing the lady through entirely different eyes. He’d only seen her fighting or weeping one way or the other. It was rare when she was calm, even rarer when she smiled. Looking at her at this moment, with her lovely face alight with a smile, he could hardly remember her any other way. And she had his brother positively captivated.
“She gave me three more gowns,” Carington went on. “A yellow one, a pink one and a blue one with birds on it. And she gave me soap and oils, too.”
Creed was smiling faintly at her. “I am pleased that you are happy.”
Carington threw out her arms and twirled around again. “I canna wait to take a bath with my new soap.” She suddenly came to a halt. “My da would never buy things that we could just as easily make. I have always had to make my own soap. But Rita gave me soap that has come all the way from Spain.”
She made it sound as if the soap had come from the moon. Creed had never seen her so joyful; it made his heart light to watch her, far from the depression of the last several minutes. He was content to forget everything for a few minutes as he watched her dance around.
“We shall buy you soap from all over the world if it pleases you,” he said softly.
Carington giggled and plopped next to him on the bench, taking the wine pitcher and realizing it was empty. Burle sat on her other side as Stanton sent a servant for more wine. Carington set the wine pitcher aside and looked around the table.
“My cakes,” she looked up at Creed. “Did ye bring them back with ye?”
He realized he had forgotten about her custard cakes and shook his head. “Nay, lady, I did not,” he said. “I forgot them. I am sorry.”
Her face fell somewhat. “’Tis all right,” she said. Then she perked up. “Perhaps we can get more when we go to pick up my other gowns?”
Creed nodded. “We can get as many as you wish.”
“And more soap?”
“Do you not think you should use what you have before we purchase more?”
She looked away coyly. “I want new soap for every day of the week.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her but he was still grinning. “I see,” he murmured. “I suppose I shall have to begin my new career as a highway robber in order to pay for this expensive new habit.”
She laughed brightly. Ryton watched the expressions between the two of them, realizing with sickening certainty that the lady felt for her brother the same way he felt for her. It was obvious. But it was further obvious that she needed to be told the change in plans, especially with the papal legate still at Prudhoe. They would need to present the picture that Creed was trying to keep himself out of trouble, at least until the man left. There was no time to waste on that account.
“Well,” Ryton stood up, stretching his big body. “I have duties to attend to before the evening meal.” He looked at Burle and Stanton, on either side of Creed and Carington. “Good knights, go about your duties.”
It took Burle a moment to understand that Ryton was chasing them out of the hall. Stanton, however, did not comprehend the meaning until Burle reached down and grabbed him by the arm. Only then did the pale young knight rise and follow. Carington was left sitting next to Creed, watching the fire pop and smoke and thinking on her new acquisitions. Creed sat next to her, still as stone. When the room was vacated and they were finally alone, a massive hand moved to collect her small one.
She looked up at him, then, smiling into his still-mailed face. She reached up and touched his helm.
“Why are ye still wearing yer armor, English?” she took her hand away from the cold steel. “And why did ye leave me back in the town? Is something wrong?”
He sat there and looked at her, his attitude towards her shifting from that of her assigned protector to that of a man who was clearly in love with her. The line between duty and want began to shape-shift and it was difficult to stay focused. But he knew there was a great deal he needed to say to her. He could only hope that she would be receptive. Gazing into her emerald eyes, he realized that he was actually afraid to tell her, afraid she did not feel the same way. But it was a chance he was willing to take.
“That depends,” he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It would seem that you and I must have a conversation.”
She cocked her head, tendrils of black curls brushing against her cheeks. “What about?”
He sighed, not sure where to begin. He let go of her hand and removed his helm, setting it upon the table. Then he pulled off his gauntlets, peeled back his hauberk and scratched his damp hair. The dusky blue eyes refocused on Carington.
“Earlier today, my brother told you of some trouble I have experienced with the king.”
She nodded, looking rather awkward. “He did,” she replied timidly. “And I told ye that I was sorry I had reacted so poorly to what Julia had told me. I acted like a….”
He shushed her softly and reclaimed her hand. “Your reaction was natural. I do not blame you for it. But it would seem that the situation my brother has told you of has taken another twist.”
Carington stared at him, feeling her stomach lurch. “That canna be a good thing.”
He smiled wryly. “It is not,” he replied. “You saw the wagons and banners of the church when you rode in, did you not?”
She nodded fearfully. “I did. Did they come to arrest ye?”
He fought off a grin. “Nay,” his grin faded as he watched her reaction to what he was about to say. “But they did come to investigate me. It would seem that the queen is pregnant and she is telling the world that the child is mine.”
Carington just stared at him. She looked as if she wanted to say something but was not quite sure what to say. Creed continued in a low voice.
“The child is not mine, Cari,” he murmured. “I never touched the girl. But that does not prevent her from trying to exact some measure of revenge on me for spurning her attention those months ago.”
Carington seemed to snap out of whatever shock held her and she put her fingers against his lips to silence his explanation.
“I know,” she assured him. “Sir Ryton told me the entire story. Ye needn’t justify yerself to me.”
Creed seemed to lose some of his confidence. “In a sense, I do,” he ran his free hand through his hair again. “Everything has become far more complicated than it was even a day ago. To begin with, I will no longer be your shadow here at Prudhoe. That duty will be given to Burle.”
That bit of information brought a strong reaction; Carington’s eyes flew open wide and her mouth popped open in outrage. She shot to her feet and began waving her arms angrily.
“That is ridiculous,” she snapped. “Nothing agin’ Sir Burle, but I dunna want him to be my escort. Who made this absurd decision? Was it yer brother?”
He looked up at her calmly. “Why do you not want him to be your escort?”
She stopped waving her arms. “What do ye mean?”
“Just that; tell me why you do not want him.”
&
nbsp; All of the fire seemed to drain out of her as she gazed down at him. Her beautiful emerald eyes were fixed on him and her rosebud mouth worked slightly as she thought of an answer. It seemed like a struggle. Finally, she just shook her head.
“Do ye not know, English?” she whispered.
His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”
Her answer was to reach out and touch his hair, running her small fingers through the inky strands. Creed caught her hand, turning to kiss the palm as she caressed his bristly cheek.
“Because,” she whispered. “I dunna want ye away from me, not even for a minute.”
His eyes were closed, his mouth against the palm of her hand. “Tell me why.”
She sat back down, watching him kiss her palm as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It made her heart flutter wildly, her limbs to go weak. It also loosened her tongue.
“Because I fancy ye, English,” she murmured, both hands moving to his cheeks as he reached out and pulled her against his armored chest. Her emerald gaze moved across his handsome face as if memorizing each and every line. “I have never felt this way about anyone. I dunna know exactly what it means but I would suspect that it is something very strong and very wonderful.”
“Strong enough to never want to be parted from me?”
“Aye,” she insisted. “I will kill anyone who would try it, including yer beloved brother.”
His answer was to kiss her, long and hard. But the sane portion of his mind that was not consumed with these wonderful blossoming feelings reminded him that they were in a common room for all to see and he let her go, kissing both hands before putting them back in her lap.
“You cannot know how happy you have made me,” he whispered. “To hear that from your lips means more to me than you can know.”
Her face was flushed with emotion. “Truly?”
He nodded. “Truly.”
It was extremely difficult for him not to reach out and grab her again so he put distance between them, running a nervous hand through his hair once more. When their eyes met again, he chuckled in an edgy burst of energy and she giggled like a child. As he continued to gaze at her, his smile began to fade. There was something in his eyes that should have forewarned her of the words to come but she was too naïve to see it. Therefore, his next question was a shock.
“What would you say if I told you that I wanted to marry you?”
She stopped giggling and her eyes widened to the point of popping from her skull. As he watched, her face screwed into tears.
“Oh, English,” she wept. “Why… why…?”
He went to her, concerned. “I am sorry, honey,” in spite of his attempt to stay away from her, he took her hands again and kissed them gently. “I did not mean to upset you. I only meant to….”
She responded by throwing her arms around his armored neck, knocking him off balance. “Ye dinna upset me,” she sobbed. “I just never thought… I dinna know ye felt that way.”
He righted himself and wrapped his arms around her slender body, burying his face in the side of her head. “Of course I do,” he murmured. “I cannot explain it better than that, but I do.”
She wept. “But I thought… I’ve been so rotten since the moment we met. I’ve run from ye, yelled at ye and have made yer duty miserable. How can ye want to marry someone who has been so difficult?”
He laughed softly, kissing the side of her head and pulling back to look at her. “You are not difficult in the least,” he winked at her, “once I figured out how to handle you.”
She squeaked and wept and he laughed again, kissing her cheeks and gently shushing her. “You must cease your tears, honey,” he kissed the end of her nose. “Lady Anne and Lord Richard will be here shortly and they will wonder what horrible things I have said to you to make you cry.”
She sniffled and wiped her nose, struggling to stop her tears. “Will ye tell them?”
“Tell them what? You have not yet given me an answer.”
She smiled through her tears, a glorious gesture that set his heart to beating wildly. “My answer is that I would be deeply honored to be yer wife,” she whispered. “For always, I belong to ye.”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumb, never more thrilled about anything in his entire life. “Even to be married to a Sassenach?” he pressed.
He said it with a strong burr, just the way she did, and Carington giggled. “Especially a Sassenach.” She touched his face again, her hands trembling with emotion as she did so. “But why? Why me?”
“Because no one else is worthy of you.”
“I am not a fine English lady.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “All of the fine English ladies in the world cannot compare with you.”
She smiled, her expression hinting that she was reluctant to believe him. He bent over to kiss her again but voices at the hall entry caught their attention. Creed quickly moved a respectable distance away, eyeing the doorway as Burle suddenly bolted through it as fast as his flabby body would carry him. Creed was concerned by the look on the man’s face.
“What is it?” he asked.
Burle was focused on Creed as if nothing else in the room existed. “Trouble,” he said flatly. “We just received a messenger from Hexham. De Rochefort is calling for aid.”
Creed grabbed his helm and gauntlets from the table top. “We just left de Rochefort’s men in town.”
“I know,” Burle replied. “If they are not back at Hexham by now, I am sure they will be shortly.”
“What did the messenger say?”
Burle looked at Carington, then, still seated at the table. “A raid,” he finally said, refocusing on Creed. “Scots.”
Carington bolted to her feet. “It would not be my father,” she insisted strongly. “He may be petty and belligerent, but he wouldna break a bargain. He is an honorable man.”
Creed plopped his helm on his head, turning to look at her as he pulled on his gauntlets. “No one is saying that it is your father, my lady,” he replied evenly. “There are plenty of other clans on the border who like to rattle our cage once in a while.”
He turned to follow Burle out the door but Carington ran up behind him just before he quit the hall. She grabbed him by the arm.
“Be careful, English,” she dare not say more than that. Already, she felt she was saying too much should someone overhear her. “I dunna want ye returning with holes in ye.”
Creed gazed down at her lovely face and felt his heart lurch strangely. He did not like the thought of leaving her and very much wanted take her in his arms. But he dare not make the move. In the bailey, the troops were shouting as they mobilized and he could hear the war horses being brought about. Before he realized it, James was beside him with additional weaponry to prepare him for battle; the lad just popped up out of nowhere. Creed glanced at his tall, blond squire.
“Get my charger,” he commanded quietly. “Where is Steven?”
“Already with the horse, my lord,” the lad replied. “We are awaiting you.”
The young man handed him an assortment of daggers that Creed accepted and began shoving into niches in his armor. As the lad ran back to the swarming bailey, Carington watched Creed as he carefully placed the razor-sharp weapons in strategic positions on his body. Her trepidation for his safety grew. But before she could comment, he turned to her.
“Go to your chamber and bolt the door,” he told her softly. “Do not leave that room for any reason. Not until I return. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her emerald eyes full of fear. To her credit, however, she said nothing about it; she simply glanced to the activity outside and forced a smile.
“Ye’d better go,” she told him. “They’ll not wait for ye.”
Creed held her gaze for a moment, feeling as if his heart were breaking just a little. It was an odd experience, something he had never before faced. He had never gone into battle leaving someone he cared very deeply for behind. With a wink, he forced himsel
f out into the dusky bailey.
Carington stood there and watched the troops amass. She saw Ryton astride his big Belgian charger shouting orders to the men. She watched as Creed mounted his enormous charcoal steed and began to carry out his brother’s orders. They were efficient and confident, eventually joined by Burle, Stanton and Jory. As she watched the activity, she suddenly realized that someone was standing next to her. Looking over, she noticed that Kristina had joined her. The pale blond realized that she was being watched and smiled timidly at Carington when their eyes met. Carington smiled back.
“It seems we have a bit of excitement,” Carington told her.
Kristina nodded. “I have been watching it unfold from our chamber.” Her gaze moved from the chaotic bailey to Carington. “How was your shopping trip?”
Carington was distracted from her view of Creed by the question. She stepped back and twirled around for Kristina.
“What do ye think?” she asked.
Kristina smiled as she viewed the surcoat. “It is beautiful.”
Carington was interrupted from further conversation by Lord Richard and his boys; the trio descended the stairs and pushed past the women into the bailey. Gilbert and Edward had small wooden swords and they charged out into the ward, swinging their swords and yelling at the men. A couple of times, they nearly got trampled by the warhorses as Richard stood aside, watching his wild sons with pride. Carington found herself wishing that someone would run over the boys and teach them a lesson. But the warhorses always managed to maneuver around them. Eventually, the army began to filter from the bailey into the deepening night.
Carington and Kristina watched the last of the torches fade into the distance as the great gates of Prudhoe were closed and bolted. Night had fallen and suddenly everything was dark and quiet. Richard and the boys were still standing in the bailey, only by this time the boys were thrusting their swords at each other. Richard finally grabbed his sons and shooed them into the hall where the evening meal was about to be served.
The Dark Brotherhood: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 138