Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The peat in the hearth was smoking weakly. Carington stoked it vigorously, added a few more clumps of peat that were in an iron bucket near the hearth, and removed the linen from her head. The warmth of the fire began to dry her black hair into a silken mass and she ran her fish-bone comb through it, letting the heat from the fire envelope every strand.

  By this time, an older serving woman with bad skin returned with her meal of bread, cheese and watered ale and she began to wolf it down. The woman watched her eat.

  “Ah now, lass,” she said timidly. “You’ll want to slow down. No sense in everything coming back up again.”

  Carington eyed the woman. “Get out.”

  The old woman was not intimidated or offended. “As you wish, m’lady,” she turned for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour to clean up your mess.”

  Carington’s mouth was full of cheese. She should have just let the woman go but something made her call out. “What mess? There is no mess.”

  “The mess that you’ll make when you vomit everything you just ate,” the woman said calmly, almost to the door.

  Carington swallowed some of what was in her mouth, now looking uncertain. “I’ll not make a mess.”

  “As you say, m’lady.”

  The woman opened the door and immediately stepped back; lingering in the doorway were two young women, looking as if they were surprised the door had suddenly opened. Startled, Carington realized that Lady Julia and Lady Kristina had made an appearance and she struggled to swallow the food in her mouth, fumbling with her comb and trying to make sure she was properly dressed to accept visitors all in the same breath. As she hurriedly stood up, the young ladies entered the warm chamber.

  For a moment, no one said a word. Everyone seemed to be appraising each other. In their first and only contact, Carington had essentially insulted the girls and she was waiting for a barrage of abuse to come hurling back at her. But the young women made no move against her; they just stared as if expecting her to rise up and breathe fire. Carington could not remember which one was Julia and which one was Kristina.

  “It was not my idea to displace ye last night,” she was immediately on the defensive, more than likely not a good way to start out a conversation. “If ye’re thinking of berating me, I’d hold my tongue. None of it was my doing.”

  The taller blond girl spoke quickly. “We know,” she had a soft, sweet voice. “Lady Anne told us. We came to see if you required any… ummm… assistance this morning.”

  Carington lifted a dark eyebrow. “Assistance with what?”

  The girl shrugged, looking at her companion for support. “Dressing, I suppose. And your bath. But we see that you have already taken care of everything.”

  Carington studied the tall blond. She was pretty and young. “Which lady are ye?”

  “I am Kristina,” the girl replied.

  Carington’s gaze moved to the second girl; then this one was Julia, the problem that Creed had warned her of. She was short, thin, with not much health about her. She had light brown hair and blue eyes, nothing spectacular about either feature. Carington sensed a great deal of animosity from her.

  “Well,” Carington averted her gaze and indicated a chair near the hearth. “I suppose we should all become acquainted considering we are to share this chamber. If ye have a mind to sit, I’ll not stop ye.”

  Kristina was definitely the more timid of the two. She looked hesitantly at Julia, who was still fixed on Carington. It was clear that she was sizing her up. But the girls did manage to sit a good distance away from their Scots counterpart after some serious indecision. It seemed that no one wanted to get too close. Carington appreciated the distance, feeling Julia’s strong stare as she finished her meal.

  “What is it ye wish to know about me?” Carington asked, tearing at her bread. She looked up at the two girls as she popped a piece in her mouth. “Surely there is something ye wish to know.”

  Julia folded her hands meekly in her lap, her unspectacular face intense with curiosity and hostility. “Aye,” she said slowly, her tone low and coarse, surprising for such a small lady. “There is something I have always wished to know about Scots. Is it true that they eat their young?”

  The blood rushed to Carington’s head but she surprisingly kept her cool. “Nay, lady,” she said, putting another piece of bread in her mouth. “Just our enemies. I’d wager to say we’ve had a few of your kin in our time. I probably cooked them myself.”

  While Kristina’s eyes opened wide with shock, Julia’s pale cheeks flushed. “No doubt,” she replied smoothly. “There is something quite barbaric about you.”

  A thin smile came to Carington’s lips. “Push me too far, skinny wench, and ye’ll find out just how barbaric. I’m a laird’s daughter, an instrument for peace. Ye cannot touch me without bringing yer lord’s wrath upon ye. But I can do what I please with no punishment. So think twice before tangling with me, lassie. I’ll smother ye while ye sleep.”

  “My lady,” Kristina boldly interrupted, seeing that the conversation was plummeting. “Is… is there anything you wish to know about Prudhoe? We have been here for several years and can answer any of your questions.”

  Carington tore her gaze away from Julia and focused on the young blond. “There is nothing I wish to know about the castle, but thanks to ye for asking.”

  An unstable pause followed. Kristina piped up again with nervous conversation. “My home is in the south of England. Until I came north, I had no idea there was such snow. And I have never even met a Scots until yesterday. Are there big cities in Scotland, my lady?”

  Above her hostile posturing with Julia, Carington could see that Kristina was genuinely attempting to make conversation. Perhaps she was even genuinely trying to welcome her as much as she dared with Julia present. She attempted to soften her manner with the girl.

  “Aye,” she replied. “There are big cities. My da took me to Edinburgh once and it was the biggest city I have ever seen. There is even an enormous castle in the middle of it.”

  Kristina smiled timorously. “I went to London with my father when I was a child, although I do not remember much of it. I do, however, remember my mother buying fine jewelry and my father becoming angry with her for spending so much money.”

  Carington felt comfortable conversing with the girl; her guard was gradually slipping. “My da is frugal also. He doesna believe in spending money on anything foolish.”

  “Surely he does not mind spending money on his daughter. Would he not buy you whatever you wish?”

  Carington laughed, a beautiful gesture that lit up the room. “Hardly; sometimes we have traveling merchants that stop and seek shelter for a night and my da acts as if I am torturing him if I want to buy the smallest trinket. Why, only last month we had a man who had traveled all over France and Italy. He had the most marvelous oils and pastes. I wanted to buy one that smelled of flowers, such a wonderful smell, but my da pretended to take sick and took to his bed until the man left. As soon as the merchant departed, he was miraculously healed. What a deceiver he is!”

  Kristina giggled as Carington continued to snort at the memory. Julia, seeing her companion warming to the hostage, suddenly leapt to her feet.

  “Since you have no need for us, we will return to Lady Anne and tell her so,” she grabbed Kristina by the arm and practically yanked the girl to her feet. “You should be mindful that Chapel is at mid-morning. Lord Richard expects everyone to attend; even you. I would suggest you prepare yourself.”

  The warmth that Carington had felt for Kristina vanished when addressing Julia. “I will be ready,” she said evenly. “I will thank ye both for your offer to assist me this morn.”

  Julia did nothing more than nod her head and turn away, heading for a large wardrobe that was against the opposite wall. Kristina lingered, still smiling hesitantly at Carington.

  “We must get dressed for Mass,” she said. “I hope we will not disturb you.”

  Carington could see that Cre
ed had been right; Kristina was a sweet girl. She was close enough to put a hand on the girl’s arm.

  “Ye couldna disturb me if ye tried,” she assured her.

  Removing her hand, she went back to her borrowed bed where the contents of her satchels were spread out. Her leather boots were by the bed, ugly and durable, and she pulled them on over her hose. As she dressed, she could not help but notice that both Julia and Kristina wore fine slippers. She did not own anything so nice.

  Sitting on her bed, which seemed the least bit hard now that she was actually resting upon it, she continued to comb her nearly dry hair, all the while watching Julia and Kristina dress. Julia called in a couple of the serving wenches, who were cinching her up in a girdle, while Kristina dressed silently and alone. Kristina’s clothes were fashionable while Julia’s were quite expensive and lavish.

  Carington looked down at herself in her mother’s surcoat, thinking she looked sorely out of place among the finely dressed Sassenach ladies. She was coming to feel slightly embarrassed for her appearance but she would not let on. She would act as if she did not care they had fine clothes while she looked like a worn-out peasant.

  When her hair was finally dry, Carington pulled the front of it away from her face and secured it on the back of her head with the brass butterfly clasp that had once belonged to her mother. Her dark hair had a natural wave to it and curled down her back, glistening like strands of satin. Some Elder flower oil went on her dry lips. She had no idea that, even for her simplicity, she absolutely outshined every woman in the room.

  Julia and Kristina finished dressing while Carington pretended to fuss with her satchels. She probably should have unpacked into one of the wardrobes, but she was not going to lower herself to ask either girl for guidance or assistance. She would just as well keep everything in her bags. When the young women were finished dressing and primping, Julia was the first one out of the door without a word. Kristina, however, paused to speak.

  “We should go now,” she said to Carington. “Lady Anne will scold us if we are late.”

  Carington rose and obediently followed Kristina from the chamber. They descended the narrow spiral stairs to the second floor and took a larger spiral staircase to the first floor. The door was open to the bailey and Carington followed her roommates out into the dusty ward. It was only the second time she had been outside any of the Prudhoe structures; she lagged behind as she peered up at the walls, over to the buttery, and back over towards the stables. She found it fascinating and full of activity, much different from her stark and barren home of Wether Fair.

  Prudhoe was a massive place, full of soldiers and peasants, and more than once she almost collided with someone when she did not pay attention to where she was going. She did not even know where the chapel was, keeping her eye on Kristina’s blue surcoat as they crossed the bustling ward. She trailed the blue garment to the outer bailey in the midst of the organized chaos that seemed to pulse through Prudhoe. Coming around a sharp corner of the great hall, she ran straight into Jory.

  From open interest in her surroundings one moment to apprehension the next, Carington’s veins ran cold at the sight of his heartless brown eyes. She had hardly seen him since the unfortunate Bress incident and had been thankful to forget about him. But here he was, alive and breathing before her, and she could feel anger and fear stir within her. For Jory, however, his expression was one of naked joy; he peered at her, the sound of intense pleasure in his tone.

  “My lady,” he said. “How nice to see you this morn. You look ravishing, as usual.”

  Carington was gearing up for a verbal assault when Kristina suddenly reached an arm around Jory and tugged at her.

  “My lady,” she said insistently. “We shall be late.”

  Carington allowed the girl to pull her along and was thankful for the reprieve. All she could feel for the man was hate.

  Jory’s gaze tracked her as she moved away. “Another time, my lady,” he called after her.

  She could hear him laugh. Disgusted, Carington was aware that Kristina had not taken her hand away. In fact, her soft warm hand was gripping Carington’s fingers. They walked several more feet along a dirt path, into the shadow of the great wall, and ascended a narrow flight of stairs built into a tower. On the second floor of the gatehouse tower was Prudhoe’s lovely little chapel.

  Burle was standing by the door. Carington looked up into his round face and found comfort with his acknowledging smile. She could not help but smile in return as she allowed Kristina to lead her into the room where the d’Umfraville family was gathered.

  It was a small chapel, a tower room that had been converted into a place of worship. The floors were dusty due to its proximity to the main gate, with much dust floating in through the long windows that faced the bailey. Lady Anne and Richard were already kneeling on delicate rugs before a small but elaborate altar while Edward and Gilbert were near the oriel window that faced to the north, thumping each other on the head and generally tussling. But they stopped their battle when they lay eyes upon the latest addition to Prudhoe.

  “Do you even know how to pray?” Gilbert walked directly towards Carington with Edward in tow. “My father says that Scots are barbarians. Do you even know who God is?”

  Anne looked up from her silent prayers, glaring over her shoulder at the boys. Richard continued praying as if nothing was amiss.

  “Gilbert,” Anne snapped softly. “Another word and you will go from this room. Be silent.”

  As his mother returned to her prayers, the little boy dutifully shut up but stuck his tongue out at Carington. She stuck hers out at him in response. He then tried to kick her. She reached out and pinched his arm.

  “Ow!” the boy howled.

  Jolted from her prayers again, Anne turned sharply to her son. “Gilbert, I said not another word!”

  Gilbert was rubbing his arm. “But she pinched me!”

  Lady Anne looked to Carington, who merely lifted her shoulders. “An accident, m’lady.”

  Anne’s gaze lingered on her as if surprised she had even admitted such a thing. Truthfully, she was not quite sure what to make of it. Lacking a better response, she did nothing more than return to her prayers.

  When the woman’s back was turned, Carington glared menacingly at Gilbert and shook her fist at him. He made all manner of fighting gestures in her direction, kicking and throwing his fists to threaten her, but made no actual move to physically touch her. It was apparent he was furious but unwilling to provoke his mother. When his little brother whispered at him, he reluctantly went with his brother back to their seats by the window.

  Carington did not take her eyes off the boy. She did not trust him not to slip up behind her and whack her on the head. Julia was already on her knees, head bowed in prayer, as Kristina pulled Carington alongside. When Kristina went down on her knees, so did Carington. The room fell silent as heads were bowed and the boys thankfully shut up.

  Carington’s father had never been one for the formality of prayer. In fact, her religious education had been very limited. Not wanting to admit such a soul-cursing thing to her new hosts, she simply lowered her head like the other girls and pretended to pray. She honestly was not sure how. Eyes closed, head bowed, her thoughts inevitably drifted to Creed and she wondered where he was on this bright and glorious day. Yesterday morning at this time they had been riding to Prudhoe. She could still feel his arms around her, massive appendages that were safe and comforting. He was such a big man, so powerful, and her heart began to thump strangely as her thoughts of him grew more intense.

  She could feel his hands in her hair, his lips on hers. She was becoming warm at the mere memory. And he had a smell about him, something musky and masculine, that stirred her more deeply than she could comprehend. Her breathing began to deepen, to grow heavy, as she remembered the feel of his mouth against hers, his tongue gently yet insistently probing her. It was enough to bring a rush of heat to her cheeks.

  Wicked, she though
t. I should be praying, yet I am thinking of a man who took liberties with me. She smiled faintly, hoping God would forgive her. God made passion, after all. Perhaps he would not be too upset that she could focus on nothing else.

  The prayers seemed to drag on for days when, in fact, it was only a matter of a half hour or so. Carington thought she might have actually dozed off, on her knees to thoughts of Creed’s touch, when she was jolted from her kneeling position by Kristina’s gentle voice. A bit groggily, she rose, watching Richard and Anne leave arm in arm, followed by Gilbert and Edward. The boys had apparently forgotten about their newest nemesis and paid Carington no mind as they left. They were more interested in tripping each other. Julia was the next one to leave, followed by Kristina. Carington was right behind them, taking a moment to observe the empty chapel with its very precious glass window above the altar. By the time she finished her observation and turned for the door, a very large body was suddenly standing in front of her.

  Startled, she gazed up into Creed’s dusky blue eyes. His expression was as emotionless as ever, but something in the eyes had warmed up. Until this moment, his eyes always held a cold quality about them when he looked at her. But not today; she could not help the smile that spread across her lips, so very glad to finally see him. It was difficult not to appear giddy.

  “Sir Creed,” she said, mindful that Burle was still standing near the door a few feet away. “Have ye just arrived? I’m afraid prayers are over.”

  He looked rested and washed. His skin was smooth, as if he had even shaved. The overall picture was, in fact, striking; she’d only known the man to be dirty and weary from travel for the past few days. But standing in front of her in clean clothing, he looked like an entirely different person. He looked magnificent.

  Creed shook his head in response to her question, his dark hair shaking back and forth.

  “I have not come for prayers, my lady,” he said. “I have come for you.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Me?”

  He nodded, sweeping his hand in the direction of the door and indicating for her to quit the chapel. “Indeed. I told you that I would be your shadow.”