“The Scots did not kill Ryton,” she said calmly.
Creed and Carington looked sharply at her; she stood near the hearth, her hands folded primly and appearing calm. She had been, in fact, extraordinarily quiet since the night of Creed’s wedding. She had been withdrawn and odd and most attributed it to the fact that the man she had been longing after had taken a wife. Carington, in fact, had barely heard two words from her during all that time and was understandably surprised to hear her voice in the midst of a family argument.
Lady Anne was the first one to speak. “Julia, now is not the time,” she said quietly, firmly. “Please take the boys back to the keep. Kristina, go with her.”
But Julia would not budge; her gaze was fixed on Creed “I am sorry if I am speaking out of turn, but I meant what I said,” she said. “The Scots did not kill Ryton.”
Creed’s brow furrowed as he gazed at the pale young woman. “How would you know this?”
Julia took a few timid steps toward him. “Jory told me.”
Creed’s confusion deepened. “What did he tell you?”
Julia seemed quite composed; but suddenly, she erupted into a very odd cry and began to tremble. Her hands flew to her head as if to keep her head on, for she grasped at it and clawed her hair dramatically. By this time, Sian and Richard were on their feet, looking at the young woman as if she were losing her mind. In fact, it very much appeared so; arrogant, surly, proud and plain Julia appeared to be crumbling right before their eyes.
“He made me do it,” she suddenly hissed. “He made me do it and I cannot keep silent any longer. Not when… you must not believe that the Scots killed your brother. They did nothing of the kind. Jory killed him.”
Creed’s expression turned to one of horror. He went to Julia, putting his enormous hands on her arms to trap her. His dusky blue gaze burned into her.
“If you have ever thought to lie to me to get my attention, now would not be the time,” he growled. “I will not believe your attempts to gain my trust or my compassion.”
She was shaking horribly, her voice littered with spikes and quivers. “The time has long since passed that I would try to gain your attention,” she warbled. “Your wife has your attention completely and I am not a fool. But I must ease my conscience on this matter because the knowledge of it is driving me mad.”
Creed shook her but Carington was there, her hand on her husband’s massive arm. “Nay, Creed,” she begged softly. “Dunna be rough with her. Let her speak.”
Julia looked at Carington with a wild look to her eye. “You,” she murmured. “I hated you. I hated you for what you took from me and Jory offered to help me gain my vengeance. But it was really his own vengeance he was seeking.”
“Jory’s vengeance?” Creed repeated. “Make sense, woman. What do you know?”
Julia began to cry and laugh at the same time. “The night you were married he came to me and offered to help me exact my revenge upon you for spurning my feelings,” she said. “I asked him why he would help me do such a thing and he told me that he was, in fact, determined to get even against you. He said it had already started when he took a fallen morning star and smashed it into your brother’s skull. His next step was defiling your wife. He made me help him or he told me he would kill me.”
Creed’s eyes widened and his grip on her tightened. Carington saw the woman flinch with pain and she put both hands on Creed’s arm, trying to pull him away from her.
“English,” she said firmly. “Let her go; do ye hear me? Let her go.”
But Creed was not listening. He continued to squeeze, unable to voice the sheer horror that was filling his veins. Carington passed a panicked look at Richard, who rushed over to Creed and took hold of the other arm that was preparing to crush Julia. Sian followed on his heels and aided his daughter in removing Creed’s hands from the very fragile young woman. When his grip was released, Carington pressed herself against her husband and threw her arms around his tight midsection.
“Creed, calm yerself,” she said softly, urgently. “Listen to what she has to say. Ye canna turn yer anger against her for being truthful.”
Julia watched, eyes wide with fright and madness, as Creed wrapped his arms around his wife. He seemed to draw a great deal of calm from that gesture. But his dusky blue gaze was still deadly.
“Continue,” he said through clenched teeth.
Julia was shaking so badly that it was difficult for her to stand. “He made me tell him when you left the chamber the morning after your wedding,” she said hoarsely. “He knew when you had left because I told him. Then he attacked her.”
Creed remembered that morning well. He had always wondered how Jory had known Carington was alone. Now he knew.
“It was you,” his jaw was flexing dangerously. “You enabled the attack against my wife.”
“I had no choice,” Julia insisted pathetically. “He told me he would kill me if I did not.”
“And so you told him,” Creed had no compassion for her. “And my brother? Do you swear he told you that he had killed him?”
She nodded fervently. “With God as my witness, he told me that he had picked up a morning star and came up behind your brother when his attention was elsewhere. Sir Ryton never saw it coming.”
Creed could not believe what he was hearing. He stood with Carington in his arms, gazing at the pale young woman with a great degree of shock. He was, literally, speechless. Carington, however, was not; she twisted in her husband’s embrace so that she could look at Julia.
“Why did ye not tell us this before?” she asked quietly. “Why wait?”
Julia seemed to falter. “Perhaps there was a part of me that wanted Creed to suffer the death of his brother,” she could not look the woman in the eye. “Perhaps there was a part of me that wanted you both to suffer. If I could not have Creed, then I wanted you both to be punished. But the more time passed, the more I realized that you were deeply in love with each other and your marriage had not been one of convenience or lust. And you, my lady… you are kind and vivacious and humorous. I would sit and watch you with Kristina and grow jealous that I was not a part of your games. Creed seemed so happy with you and I began to feel guilty that I hated you. But as the days and weeks went by, the more difficult it became for me to tell you what I knew. I waited for a proper time but none seemed to come and I became terrified of what you would do. But now… with what is being discussed I can no longer hold back. You both must know the truth.”
Carington was trying to keep her composure, made worse when she could feel Creed trembling against her. She put a soft hand to his cheek to comfort him, watching him kiss her hand with quivering lips. She turned back to Julia.
“I thank ye for telling us the truth, then,” she said. “I understand ye feared for yer life from Jory and I dunna blame ye for what happened. Had you not helped him, he still would have found a way to harm me. ’Twas not yer fault for what he did.”
Julia nearly collapsed with relief. “I wanted to tell you, so many times,” she murmured. “But I was afraid to.”
Carington sighed softly. “You told us now. That is what matters.”
Creed was an emotional wreck; he could not be as kind and gracious as his wife was. He turned away from Julia, still clutching Carington, and pulled his wife back to the table with him. Sian and Richard followed. They regained their seats at the table and this time, Sian poured Creed a large cup of wine. Julia simply turned away from the group and left the hall.
Carington watched her go with some sadness. For so long, she had felt no pity for the woman because of her selfish, haughty ways. But that was all changed now; she felt a good deal of sorrow for the lonely, confused young woman. She turned back to her husband.
“Are ye all right?” she asked softly, her hand on his face.
He nodded, staring at his cup of wine. “Aye,” he murmured. “But it is as if I am living his death all over again.”
She kissed his cheek, leaning her head agai
nst his to comfort him. “But ye had yer justice when ye killed Jory whilst defending me. Ye did not know at the time that ye killed the man who murdered yer brother.”
He nodded slowly, still staring pensively at his wine. “I did not know it, but God did. Perhaps it was He who orchestrated that event as justice well served for my brother.”
She smiled sadly at him, forcing him to look at her. When his dusky blue eyes fell on her sweet face, he suddenly collapsed against her, his face in her tender neck and his arms around her. In the great hall of Prudhoe as life went on around them, Carington could feel his warm tears against her flesh. For Ryton, he would finally weep.
It was only later on that evening that they discovered that Julia had hung herself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
December 1200 A.D.
The snows had come early this year. As Carington sat with Lady Vivian de Witt, cooing softly at the newborn girl in her cradle, she kept watching the snow outside as it collected on the windowsill. Lady Vivian was not feeling well after the birth of her daughter and had been growing steadily weaker for days, something that greatly concerned Stanton. Lady Anne had sent to Newcastle for the physic and the man insisted that the lady was greatly taxed from the birth, prescribing such things as boiled beef’s blood and other strange things. But still, Lady Vivian was not improving.
Carington and the other ladies would take turns sitting with Lady Vivian to tend both her and the infant who was, in fact, a lusty little girl with her father’s blond hair. But Lady Vivian could not feed the child so a wetnurse had been hired from the village. When the woman was not nursing the babe, she was busying herself with little Henry. On this cold and snowy day as Vivian slept, Carington had baby watching duty. She reached into the cradle and scooped up the fussing infant, walking the length of the floor and singing softly to soothe her. She considered it good practice for the day when her own bairn would arrive.
The door to the cottage blew open and two knights entered. Snow blew in after them until the smaller knight shut the door firmly. Carington stood back, shielding the baby from the harsh weather as Creed wiped the snow from his eyes. Stanton went straight into the bedchamber to see his wife.
“The weather is worsening,” Creed commented, eyeing the fat-faced baby in his wife’s arms. “How is the child?”
“Fine,” she said, then lowered her voice. “But Vivian is not well at all. I fear for her, English. She is growing weaker by the minute.”
Creed drew in a deep breath, his gaze moving to the open bedchamber door. He could see Stanton seated on the edge of the bed as he spoke softly to his wife. After a moment, he shook his head and looked back to Carington.
“I do not know if I would be half as composed as he is,” he murmured, looking into her emerald eyes. “He shows a great deal of strength.”
Carington knew he was thinking about her and the perils of childbirth; she had seen this rise in fear in him for weeks. It had worsened since Vivian gave birth to her daughter. She reached up and patted his icy cheek.
“I’m as strong as an ox,” she assured. “I’ll be on my feet an hour after birthin’ this bairn. There is nothing to worry over.”
He kissed her palm, watching her put the baby back in the cradle. He was trying not to let the event of the birth frighten him, but in truth, he was terrified and excited at the same time. All he knew was that his wife must survive, no matter what. He did not know what would become of him if she did not; he could not even think about it.
“I came to tell you that we have sighted an incoming party about a half mile out,” he changed the subject. “It looks to me as if they are flying papal banners but I cannot be sure. The blowing snow obscures much.”
Carington whirled to him, her eyes wide. “The priest returns?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I am not sure,” he replied. “But I think you should be with me if it is him.”
“Of course I will,” she insisted, watching his expression for any signs of apprehension. “The queen’s bairn should have been born a couple of months ago. Do ye believe it is news of the birth?”
“It is possible.”
She gazed up at him, trepidation in her eyes. “Oh, English,” she murmured. “I am frightened. No word for months and then….”
He leaned over to kiss her gently; he did not want to touch her because his armor and mail were like ice. “I know,” he murmured, kissing her again. “But we knew this time would come. We expected it. We can do nothing more than face it.”
Her eyes began to well. “But what if he wants to take ye to London?”
He pulled off a glove and tenderly grasped her face. “There is no use in worrying about it until the time comes.” He let go of her face and hunted around for her cloak. Finding it across a chair, he held it up for her. “Come along, love. Let us to go the great hall and await the visitors.”
Sniffling, she allowed him to help her into her heavy woolen cloak with the fur lining. He fastened the ties and pulled her hood on, securing it around her sweet face. Letting Stanton know he was confiscating the baby sitter, he took her out into the snowy ward.
The wind was kicking up something fierce as he took her into the inner bailey and directly to the great hall. Once inside the entry, the heat from the roaring fire was like a slap in the face. It was almost too warm. Creed pulled off his gauntlets and helped Carington remove her cloak.
“Now,” he took her gently by the elbow. “Go and sit by the fire and I shall return with our visitor.”
She gazed up at him, her lovely little face round and rosy-cheeked. “I’m scared for ye,” she clutched at him. “What if… what if we hide and tell Laird Richard to tell the church that we ran off months ago? They’ll not know where to find ye.”
He put his cold hands on her face, leaning down to kiss both cheeks. “Wife, you worry overly,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Moreover, it could be good news. If we run, we will never know.”
She was not convinced but took a seat at the table with her back facing the fire. It was warm and wonderful and as her belly brushed up against the old oak table, she could feel the babe moving within her. Creed was just putting his gloves back on when she motioned urgently to him.
“English, come here!” she called excitedly. “Hurry if ye want to feel yer son move about.”
Creed would take any opportunity for that. He tucked his gloves under one arm and went to her, putting both of his enormous hands on her belly. His hands were so big that they swallowed up the entire bulge. He waited with anticipation for a moment, finally rewarded with strong kicking and a few rolls against her flesh. He grinned as their eyes met.
“He is active today,” he said with pride. “He will be a very strong lad.”
She smiled in return, putting her small hands over his. There was such intimate joy in their delight, something that meant the world to the two of them. The baby kicked and rolled a few more times, causing Creed to laugh softly.
“I do not believe he is content in there,” he told her. “He wants to be born and serve with his father.”
She pursed her lips at him. “Ye’ll not rush him into battle,” she told him. “I would keep him with me for as long as I can.”
With a smirk, he cocked an eyebrow at her to let her know how ridiculous he thought her statement was. They had discussed fostering, once, and she had ended up in tears. She did not like the idea of sending her child away. Leaning down to kiss her belly, he stood up and resumed pulling his gloves on.
“I will see to our visitors now,” he told her. “I shall return.”
Carington’s smile faded but she nodded, rubbing her belly as he quit the hall. Trepidation filled her once more as she sat in the quiet room, her imagination running wild with a myriad of horrible scenarios. But Creed had seemed unconcerned. Perhaps she should be as well.
Out in the snow-blown inner bailey, Creed made his way to the outer bailey just as the great gates began to crank open. The wood was frozen and the ropes
sodden, making it difficult to move. He could see several soldiers trying to strong arm the gates. As he continued to make his way to the gate, the frozen panels finally jerked open. As they yawned wide, a small party bearing icy banners of the yellow papal cross entered. It took another two dozen men to shut the gates behind them.
The snow was past Creed’s ankles and getting deeper as he made his way to the escort party. There was a small carriage in the center of the group and just as he reached it, the door popped open and a familiar face appeared.
It was Massimo. Creed felt his stomach lurch a little at the sight of the man but he greeted him pleasantly. If the man was traveling in weather such as this, all the way from London no less, then the news must indeed be serious. He was glad that Carington was inside the hall and away from this scene for the moment.
“Your Grace,” he said, helping the man from the carriage and into the snow. “You picked fine weather to travel in.”
Massimo’s young face was bundled up in woolen scarves. His dark eyes fixed on Creed. “It was not by choice, I assure you,” he said. “I have come with dreadful news and there is no time to waste.”
Creed’s stomach lurched a little more. “What news?”
Massimo put his hand on Creed’s arm. “Take me into some place warm before I freeze to death and I will tell you.”
Creed began to lead the man towards the great hall, wrought with dread as they walked. “Tell me what has happened that would have you traveling in such foul weather?”
Massimo wiped snow from his face. “The queen’s child was born three months ago,” he told him. “The child was early and did not survive. But it was born with a crown of black hair and, I am told, dark blue eyes. Like yours.”
Creed cleared his throat softly. “Be that as it may, it was not mine. And Isabella has black hair.”
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