Over by the table, the children suddenly came alive. Carington looked over to see two young ladies and two small boys, all in varied degrees of giggles. The youngest boy crawled onto the bench, leapt up onto the table, and stomped is feet.
“Papa,” he pointed at Carington. “She talks funny!”
The children burst out into loud laughter and Carington’s cheeks flushed a dull red. Richard did not react, but Anne cast them all a nasty look.
“She is from Scotland, lad,” Richard said patiently. “All Scots talk this way.”
“But it’s funny!”
“It is their way and you will not laugh at her. Do you understand?”
The giggles muted but did not die altogether. Carington cast a sidelong glance at the little boy, who caught her eye and stuck his tongue out at her.
“That must be Edward,” she said quietly, though Richard and Anne heard her. When they turned to her curiously, she hastened to explain. “Sir Creed told me that ye had two sons and that the youngest was Edward.”
“Indeed,” Richard said proudly. “His brother Gilbert is eight.”
A glance to the older boy showed him picking his nose. Carington lifted an eyebrow at his bad manners and the child ripped his finger from his nose and pointed at her with it.
“Papa,” he marched over to them. “I do not like the way she looked at me. It was disresponsible.”
Richard’s proud stance seemed to waver. “You mean disrespectful, Gilbert.”
The boy continued to point the boogered finger at her. “I want her whipped.”
“Whipped!” Anne grabbed her son by the shoulder and turned him back towards the table. “You and your brother sit down and remain silent. Another word and I will blister your backside.”
“But, Mama, she is our enemy,” Gilbert tried to point out to her. “She is our prisoner. Is that not what Papa said?”
“Nay,” Anne said firmly, shoving her son onto the bench seat. “She is our guest.”
“But Papa said.…”
“I do not want to hear any more. You will remain quiet or you will go to bed. Is that clear?”
Gilbert was not happy with his mother but he obeyed. Anne practically yanked Edward off the table and planted him next to his brother. The younger boy whined and she slapped a hand over his mouth, turning to Carington and the rest of the knights with a forced smile.
“If everyone will sit, we will commence with the meal.”
Carington immediately sought out Creed but Richard was there, taking her hand and leading her towards the table. As he directed her to sit, she was aware of the two young women standing on the other side of the table. When she met the girls’ eyes, they gazed back at her with a mixture of distain and curiosity. She did the only thing she could do; she smiled weakly.
“Ladies,” she said as she took her seat.
Richard sat down next to her. “Lady Carington, this is the Lady Julia le Tourneau,” he indicated the shorter girl with light-brown hair, “and the Lady Kristina Summerlin. Ladies, you will greet our guest with graciousness.”
The girls dipped into a practiced curtsey. There was no warmth to the gesture; they were simply doing as they were told. But the taller blond girl at least appeared civil; the brown-haired lass was glaring. Carington’s neutral expression faded and she glared back.
Creed was suddenly on her right, sitting beside her and collecting an earthenware pitcher of watered ale. He poured her a measure himself but when she looked at him with a grateful smile, he gazed back at her quite unemotionally. The moody gaze with the lightning bolt eyes had returned. It was like a dagger to her heart and the smile died on her lips. In a room full of strangers, he had been her only hope of familiarity and he had failed her. She looked down at her trencher.
The young ladies and the boys sat across from them. Anne sat on the opposite side of Richard, chatting pleasantly as the meal was served. Ryton, Burle and Stanton were seated at the end of the long table, mostly keeping to themselves. Glancing up from her trencher of roast beef and boiled carrots, Carington noticed the other knights sitting far away. She suspected that Creed was upset with her because he was sitting beside her, as if she had expected him to. Perhaps he would rather sit with his comrades.
“Ye should go sit with your knights,” she said to him, very quietly.
He picked up his chalice. “Yet I am not.”
She lowered her head to her trencher. “I dunna need ye, Sassenach. Go and sit with yer men.”
He was not looking at her, either; his gaze was moving across the table at the two foster girls and the young boys, who were collectively staring at Carington as if beholding a strange and terrible creature. He could sense a storm coming and he wanted to be at her side to fend off the inclement weather. Moreover, he realized that he simply wanted to sit next to her.
“Eat your meal, my lady,” he said steadily, taking a long drink.
His tone was cool. Carington felt tears sting her eyes, having no idea why he was being so moody with her. It had been a long and difficult day and he had been her only source of comfort. Now her source was turning on her. She felt disoriented, sad and furious all at the same time. He told her to eat her meal, but she set her knife down and refused to take another bite.
Creed noticed right away when she stopped eating. But he continued to devour his food, watching the wolf pack across the table for any sign that they were about to strike. Although they were children, they could still cause a good deal of misery for her. She did not need the added emotional stress of unruly and jealous children.
Jory entered the hall when the meal was about half over, taking a seat on the other side of Stanton and harassing a serving wench for his trencher. Richard saw him come in, eyed the man as he crossed the room, and spoke to him just as he collected his food.
“Jory,” he said casually. “What has happened to your face?”
Jory’s brown eyes came up, looking at Burle, who glowered back at him. He lowered his head back to his trencher. “I fell off my horse, my lord.”
Richard had known Jory a long time. He knew it was not the truth but he did not press. He left the discipline of the knights to Ryton and if Ryton had dispensed brutal justice to an offense, so be it. Jory undoubtedly deserved it. He turned his attention back to Carington.
“Did you enjoy your trip, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.
Jolted from her morose thoughts, she sat straight and faced him. “Aye, m’lord,” she replied. “I… I have never been this far south before.”
Across the table, the children tittered and pink crept into Carington’s cheeks. Richard pretended he did not hear anything. “We are quite happy to introduce you to Prudhoe and the surrounding country,” he said. “I am sure you will find the English people very warm and friendly.”
She smiled weakly. “I am sure, m’lord. The Scots people are also warm and friendly, in spite of what the English may think of them.”
Edward suddenly burst out with loud laughter, spraying food all over the table. “Papa, she talks funny again!”
Carington dropped her face straight down, staring into her lap, as Anne leapt into the conversation. “Edward, another word and you shall leave this table,” she said sternly.
Little Edward was a genuinely cute child but he was, as most occupants of Prudhoe believed, a monster in disguise. He looked at his mother with wide-eyed innocence. “Mama, can we teach her to talk like us?”
“You cannot teach a Scot anything,” Gilbert snapped from his other side. “Besides, she is too old.”
“She is not too old,” Anne stressed to her eldest. “Gilbert, you will be polite to our guest or you will join your brother in his punishment.”
“But I was not being rude, Mama. I have heard Papa say many times that Scots are dense.” His gaze drifted to Carington. “She is older than Julia and Kristina. And she is shorter. Is she married?”
Carington had about all she could take. They were speaking of her as if she were not sitting
right in front of them, hurling insults with no rebuke. Her head snapped up and she focused on the ill-mannered child.
“I am not married, Master Gilbert,” she said, tension in her voice evident. “And I am indeed older than yer pasty-faced companions. I am also far better mannered than the lot of you, so shut yer yap before I drive nails through yer lips to close them.”
She was practically yelling when she finished and the reaction to her speech took various courses; Richard sprayed his ale all over the table, Anne’s jaw dropped, Kristina and Julia yelped as if they had been mortally insulted. Strangely, Gilbert and Edward were actually silenced; their eyes were as wide as the heavens as they stared at the venom-tongued Scot. For a split second, no one moved, including Creed. The shock was too great. Then, the boys suddenly leapt to their feet and began screaming at Carington. She responded by shaking her fist at them and threatening to jump over the table.
Creed’s moment of surprise quickly vanished when he realized the situation was plummeting. In truth, he was having a difficult time holding a straight face. Carington had said everything to Edward, Gilbert and the two haughty girls that he had always wanted to say but could not. It would not do to insult his liege’s children or wards, and he was especially unwilling to insult the man who risked his neck to remove him from the king’s wrath.
But he had to do something; Carington was all but threatening to throttle Richard’s boys. In fact, she was already up and putting her feet on the bench. He could easily picture her hurling herself over the table and tackling the children. Bolting to his feet, he grabbed Carington around the waist and hauled her away from the table.
“My lady is exhausted,” he said to Anne as he passed her with his snarling bundle. “Forgive her uncontrolled behavior. Please allow her to rest from this day.”
Anne was more concerned for Carington than she was for her boys at the moment. “Do not punish her, Creed,” she said as he walked towards the yawning exit. “She is simply overwrought. Please take her to the ladies’ chamber at the top of the stairs. We have prepared a bed for her.” The last words were shouted as he disappeared from sight.
The knights watched Creed carry her out. Ryton rose and followed. He caught his brother as the man crossed the bailey and was preparing to enter the three storied keep to the north of the hall.
“Creed,” he put his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “I shall take her. Return to the hall and finish your meal. I fear I have burdened you with an unwieldy task and you have more than performed your duties. I shall take the chore now.”
Creed knew his brother meant well. He could hear guilt in his voice. But he shook his head. “No need,” he replied. “I assumed this responsibility. I shall see it through. The best thing you can do is to go back and calm the throng so they do not form a lynch mob against the lady. I fear what Gilbert and Edward will do in retaliation.”
“Anne will control them,” he eyed Carington’s red face. “Are you sure you do not want me to take her?”
Creed shook his head as they entered the keep. There was a small spiral staircase off to the left and he half-carried her, half shoved her onto the first step. “Nay,” he grunted as she resisted his efforts. “I have grown accustomed to these little tantrums. I think I am better adept at handling them than you are.”
“Dunna speak of me as if I am not here,” Carington was trying to turn around to yell at them both. “And if ye expect me to apologize to those two spoiled bairns, then I can tell ye that I willna. They deserved everything I said!”
Creed cocked an eyebrow, turning her around and swatting her behind firmly when she resisted. “They may have deserved it, but you have a good deal to learn about decorum and tact.”
Carington yelped when he spanked her, a sharp sting. But it was enough to make her stop her struggles and glare at him. “Ye’ll teach me nothing, Sassenach. I’ll die first.”
Creed did not reply. The last Ryton saw of his brother and the lady, he had her under the arms and was lifting her up the stairs.
The smaller chamber that had been prepared for Carington was on the third floor of the massive keep. There were three rooms on the floor, two larger ones to the right and then a smaller one to the left. Creed all but dragged her inside one of the chambers and closed the door.
He released her once they were inside and she faced off against him like an angry wet hen. Before he could speak, she jabbed a finger at him.
“Ye’ll not throw me around like a roughhouse wench,” she scolded. “I dunna appreciate being tossed about for all to see.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do not act like a roughhouse wench and you shall not be treated like one. Your actions dictate mine, lady.”
She put her hands on her hips, her lovely face red with fury. “Those children were horrible. I had to defend myself.”
“Defend yourself against what?”
“Their slander.”
He opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. She probably truly believed that they were slandering her for a darker, evil purpose. Her only history with the English was not a trusting and pleasant one. With a heavy sigh, for he was quite weary himself, he hunted down the nearest chair. Carington watched him closely, taking no notice of the decidedly feminine chamber around her. Creed seated himself in a simple oak chair that groaned under his substantial weight.
“Come here.” He motioned with a crooked finger.
She was defiant. “Why?”
“Just come here.”
“I’m not going to if ye’re planning on whacking my behind again.”
“If I have to stand up to get you then I will most certainly whack your behind.”
She pursed her lips, torn between anger and reluctance. But her resistance lasted only a split second before she wandered in his direction, coming to within arm’s length of the chair. She would obey, but certainly not willingly. Her little fists were still on her hips.
“Well?”
Quick as a flash, he reached out and snatched her. Before Carington could protest, she was seated upon his lap, snuggly secured by his enormous arms. His handsome face was a few inches from her and she went from furious to breathless in less than a second. Emerald eyes gazed with surprise at sensual, dusky blue. She struggled, though not with much effort.
“Now,” he voice was low and breathy. “There are a few things we are going to establish here and now. You will listen to me, you will comprehend, and you will obey. Is that clear?”
Her heart was doing that odd leaping thing again, only now it was so violent she could hardly take a breath. In fact, her entire body seemed to be quivering, a weird sort of heat flooding her limbs. It was not enough to dissolve her resistance entirely, but her struggles stopped.
“Ye’re not my master, Creed de Reyne,” she snapped, without force. “Ye canna command me about.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her, realizing above all else that she was too close, too tempting. What had started as a disciplinary move had turned into something else, something warm and inviting, and he struggled to stay on task.
“Aye, I can and I will,” he replied. “You will obey me or you will meet with many more whackings in addition to the one you just received. Is this in any way unclear?”
Her emerald eyes darkened. He could see that she very much wanted to refute him. But she nodded reluctantly and looked away. “What, then?”
He fought off a grin at her pouting face, which he found himself studying at very close range. She was magnificent.
“I warned you that Edward and Gilbert were a handful,” he said quietly. “They are young, spoiled lads and will do anything they can to get a rise out of you. And it is not just you; they do it to everyone. It is a game with them; the more you respond, the more insults they will hurl. They are looking for a physical altercation.”
She looked back at him, somewhat surprised. “But they’re so young. Why would they do this?”
Creed shook his head. “The baron has raised his sons to be fe
arless. But it has only bred confrontation. Lady Anne is probably the only one who can control them, but she cannot always. Know that these boys are beyond punishment and reproach, so you would do well to avoid them at all costs. However, if you cannot avoid them, you must at least keep your temper. Exploding at them as you did will only feed their frenzy.”
She looked at him as if he were insane. “Those little boys are monsters.”
“Aye, they are. Remember that.”
“So I will. And what of the girls? I saw no friendliness in them.”
He sighed, settling her in his lap and somehow pulling her closer. Carington ended up with one arm around his shoulder to support the angle at which she was sitting. They were, in fact, very close and enjoying the comfort without being wildly aware of it.
“Julia is the problem,” he said quietly. “She is spoiled and petty. Kristina can be sweet, but she becomes swept up in Julia’s demands. She is the weaker of the two. And you will be sharing this room with them so you must learn to deal politely with them.”
For the first time, Carington looked around, seeing the three beds in the chamber; two were tucked over against the western wall while the third, hers she assumed, was situated in an alcove directly below a large lancet window. Though there was an oilcloth covering, she could see that she would be subject to whatever weather blew in from the window. It was not the most desirable place in the room. She suspected her new roommates had put the bed there for a reason.
A great many things were coming clear to her. Monstrous children, conceited wards… and she was thrust into the middle of it. Closing her eyes briefly, all of the fight and resistance abruptly left her.
“Oh… English,” she sighed as if everything had just come crashing down on her. “What is it ye’ve brought me to?”
He could see the defeat in her face and he leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You are strong, Cari. I know you can deal with this. It will just take time. But please; as a personal favor to me, keep your tongue and your control. You are made of better things.”
Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle Page 10