Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Carington had had enough of the lady’s mystery. She put an irritated hand on her hip. “One of ye had better tell me. What about Sir Creed?”

  Julia looked at her with her plain blue eyes. “There is nothing to become upset over, Lady Carington. But you should know the character of the man entrusted with your care, if for no other reason than to be very careful around him.”

  Carington cocked an impatient eyebrow and her foot began to tap. She had already asked for a reply several times and would not do it again. Julia, sensing she had the Scots attention, put her needle down in a slow, deliberate gesture.

  “Have little doubt that Sir Creed is not a great knight,” Julia said evenly. “He is the very best in the realm. So great, in fact, that the king requested his service. Creed served the king for nearly three years, until about six months ago.”

  Carington was torn between impatience and curiosity. “What happened six months ago that he no longer serves the king?”

  Julia folded her hands primly; she was enjoying this. “Creed and five other knights were sent to France to escort Isabella of Angoulệme back to England to marry the king. Have you not heard of this, even in your caves in Scotland?”

  Carington’s cheeks grew hot and she turned away from Julia, moving for the chamber door. “If yer going to insult me, than I have no more time for yer foolishness.”

  Julia watched her march across the room and proceeded to reclaim her needle. She waited until Carington was at the door before she spoke again, loud enough so that Carington would clearly hear her.

  “It is well known that Creed de Reyne and little Isabella had a romance. It is also well known that Creed deflowered her.” Julia stabbed the needle into the material again, watching Carington come to a halt in her peripheral vision. “Now news comes to the north that the queen is expecting, but it is not the king’s child. It would seem that some believe she is well into a pregnancy brought about by none other than Creed himself.”

  Carington struggled not to react, but in truth, she felt as if she had been hit squarely in the chest. The lady’s words were bitter and nasty; she did not know this young woman and what she knew of her was not pleasant. She was stunned by the words, unsure what to think or believe.

  “Why would you tell me this?” she asked in a strange, hoarse voice.

  Julia did not look at her. She continued to embroider. “I tell you because you should take great care while in the company of Sir Creed. He has a most unsavory reputation with young women and I would hate to see you fall victim to his lusty nature.”

  “Ye’re lying,” she accused quietly.

  “Ask anyone. They will tell you the same thing. Sir Creed is not to be trusted.”

  All Carington could think of at the moment was Creed’s passionate kiss, the way his deep blue eyes glimmered so warmly at her. He had made her feel special, safe. Now she was being told that his actions were quite the opposite. But rather than let her emotions flow freely, as was her nature, she steeled herself. She would not let these Sassenach wenches know her thoughts, her turmoil at the shocking words. Woodenly, she swung the cloak over her shoulders, realizing her hands were quaking and hoping neither lady could see it.

  Without another word, she quit the chamber and headed down the stairs to the first floor. By the time she hit the entry, she was struggling against tears. But she would not show her feelings. It was a bright morning as she took the stairs faster than she should have, wiping furiously at the moisture around her eyes. It would not do for Creed to see her state and ask her what the matter was. She was not sure she could explain it to him.

  But she could not believe what the Sassenach wench said. She would not believe it. Yet she had only known Creed a matter of days. It was not long enough to know his character. Julia had been at Prudhoe a long time; certainly long enough to know. As she drew close to the cluster of horses and men that were waiting to take her to town, Carington suddenly remember that Kristina had indeed tried to quiet Julia when the woman began to speak of Creed’s reputation. If there was no truth to it, why would Kristina have tried to stop her?

  The tears of shock were giving way to the posture of confusion. Confusion gave way to belligerence. By the time she reached the group, she in no way wanted anything to do with Creed or their trip to town. She simply wanted to be alone, somewhere, to sort out her thoughts and the horrors that this endeavor to Prudhoe had brought her. But there was no privacy for her, not back in the shared chamber with evil Julia. She was afraid of what she might do to the woman should she say another word to her. Carington was lost in her tumultuous thoughts when Creed approached her.

  “Ready, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.

  His deep, rich voice broke through her fogged mind. Carington looked up at him, gazing into the dusky blue eyes and realizing that she was fighting off tears. She lowered her gaze; anything so that she would not have to look at him.

  “I… I dunna want to go to town,” her voice was strangely tight.

  His brow rippled. “Why not? I thought….”

  She shook her head vigorously. “Nay,” she realized that her words were quivering. “I want… I want to go to the chapel. I want to pray.”

  His face did not change expression, but his piercing eyes were riveted to her. “Now?”

  “Aye. Now.”

  Creed continued to stare at her, wondering why her demeanor had changed so drastically. A few minutes ago she had been warm and agreeable. Now she would not even look at him. He took a step closer.

  “Cari,” he said quietly. “What is the matter?”

  She shook her head and took a step back. She opened her mouth to deny that anything was wrong but a sob bubbled up instead. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep any more sounds from escaping.

  “Nothing,” she hissed through her fingers. “Just leave me be. I want to go to the chapel.”

  He glanced around at the escort he had assembled. Quite a few men wait for them, including Burle and Stanton, mounted on their chargers. Creed held up a discreet hand to the two knights, indicating for them to wait. The men acknowledged his command with a nod. Creed then took Carington gently by the elbow.

  “Come along, my lady,” he said quietly.

  She was not tactful about yanking her elbow from his grasp. Creed let his hand drop as they walked together towards the gatehouse chapel. In silence they mounted the stone steps. At the door, Carington came to an abrupt halt.

  “I will go in alone,” she said, still not looking at him.

  He did nothing more than open the door for her. Carington went inside and he closed the door softly behind her. Now the tears came as she turned to the closed door, knowing Creed was on the other side and feeling such anguish that she could hardly describe it. She could feel the sobs coming and she knew he would hear them. She did not want him charging into the chapel demanding to know what the matter was. Her eyes fell on the old iron bolt and she threw it just as the first sob sprang forth.

  On the other side of the door, Creed heard the bolt slide just as sounds of weeping filled his ears. His hand went to the old iron door latch, jigging it and realizing that Carington had locked herself inside.

  “Lady Carington?” he did not want to draw attention and rattled the latch quietly. “Unlatch the door. What is wrong?”

  Her response was to weep loudly. Puzzled, Creed began to grow concerned. “Cari, what’s happened?” he pounded on the door softly. “Open the door and let me in.”

  Inside the brightly lit chapel with the sun streaming through its many-colored glass panes, Carington wept openly. Her back was to the door; she could feel Creed rattling it. She sank to her buttocks on the cold stone floor, her face in her hands, feeling days of confusion and anxiety gnaw at her. First she was forced to leave her home, then her beloved Bress was killed. Now Creed was apparently not the man of honor and chivalry that she believed him to be; she simply couldn’t take anymore.

  Creed listened to her weep with deepening concern. She wou
ld not answer him and he truly could not fathom what the problem was. But women were confusing creatures he had never been able to decipher. He may have been a stellar knight, but he was not a particularly good mind reader when it came to the opposite sex. Strange thing was that he wanted to read Carington’s mind very much. She was upset and he had an overwhelming desire to know why. But his hand remained on the door latch, uncertain what to do.

  “Sir Creed?”

  A soft female voice met his ears. Creed looked over his shoulder, down the stone steps that led into the bailey, and saw Lady Kristina standing at the base. Her pale face and big blue eyes were laced with apprehension.

  “My lady?” he stepped away from the door; he did not want her coming up the stairs and hearing the weeping. “How can I be of service?”

  Kristina took the first two steps; Creed descended half the flight before she took another step to prevent her from ascending any further.

  “I came to tell you…,” Kristina paused when she saw how close he had come; very properly, she traced her steps back down the stairs and stood at the bottom, putting distance between them. “I wanted to tell you that I fear our Lady Carington has heard… well, she has heard gossip and I thought to forewarn you. Since you have been acting as her protector, you have a right to know.”

  Creed’s expression did not change except to cock a dark eyebrow. “Know what?”

  Kristina swallowed; Creed intimidated her even though he had never been anything other than kind to her. She began to wring her hands. “She… she has been told of your trip with Queen Isabella. It may have frightened her.”

  Suddenly, a great deal made sense; Creed glanced over his shoulder at the bolted chapel door before refocusing on Kristina. The girl was uneasy; he could read it in her face. But he had known her for several years and she was not the malicious type. Her companion, however, was.

  He sighed heavily. “Lady Julia.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Kristina nodded reluctantly. “She told her. I tried to stop her, but she would not listen.” She took a step towards him, her blue eyes wide and honest. “We all know how Julia feels about you, Sir Creed. She is not threatened by me because she knows I am pledged to another, but Lady Carington is new and exciting and blindingly beautiful, and I can already see that Julia is sharpening her claws.”

  Creed’s gaze was steady on her. “Then Lady Julia is in for a beating. Lady Carington will tear her down to size and never think twice about it. If I were you, I would warn your friend to retract her claws and her tongue before she finds herself in a dire predicament.”

  Kristina lifted her slender shoulders. “She will not listen to me, my lord.”

  “Then she will listen to me.”

  Kristina shook her head vigorously. “Nay, my lord, please do not. If you do, she will know I have told you. And I must live with her.”

  Creed understood. Though he felt nothing but irritation at the moment for what Lady Julia had done, he nonetheless forced a smile for Kristina’s sake. She was a good girl and tried to do the right thing.

  “As you say, my lady,” he said quietly. “And thank you for telling me the truth.”

  Kristina bobbed a curtsy and fled, her blond hair wagging in the breeze as she walked briskly in the direction of the keep. Creed’s gaze lingered on her a moment before he made his way back up the steps to the chapel. Putting his ear against the door, he could hear sniffling.

  He did the only thing he could do. He went for Ryton.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Damn that girl,” Ryton snarled as he pushed past his brother. “If I am not saddled enough with Jory’s antics, I have to also deal with a spoiled girl who cannot keep her mouth shut.”

  Ryton had been seated at the worn table in the knight’s quarters, enjoying his first quiet meal in days. With his brother’s appearance and subsequent request, he found he’d lost his appetite. In the bright sun of the bailey, he paused long enough for Creed to catch up to him.

  “What have you done to Jory and Julia in a past life that they would seek to make you so miserable?” he half-demanded, half-wondered. “Why on earth would she tell Lady Carington about the rumors?”

  Creed sighed heavily; he had wished in the past that he’d never accepted the assignment to escort young Isabella to England, but now more than ever, he wished he had run at the first suggestion of such a mission. It was returning to haunt him in more ways than he could comprehend.

  “You know why,” he said in a low voice. “She is not above such irresponsible behavior.”

  Ryton nodded his head sharply; aye, he knew why. “That girl has had eyes for you for the past six months. Can she not get it through her thick skull that you are not the least bit interested in her?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “So now I must undo her viciousness.” Ryton turned the corner for the stairs that led up to the chapel. “Well? Have you even tried to talk to her?”

  Creed cast him a long glance. “Of course I have. She will not talk to me. As I told you, I suspect the only person who has a moderate chance of reasoning with her is you. And I would suspect she wants someone else to be her shadow from now on. I do not think she wants anything more to do with me.”

  There was something in his tone that made Ryton look at him. His dusky blue eyes studied his brother a moment. “What is her opinion to you?”

  Creed met his brother’s gaze, suspecting that there must have been too much regret in his tone. He’d tried to keep it from the conversation. “Nothing, except she and I must cohabitate here at Prudhoe together for an unknown duration. I had built a trust with her. I am sorry to lose it, considering I worked hard to achieve it.”

  Ryton’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer. As they mounted the top of the steps near the old oak door, he focused on his brother. “True enough,” he replied. “You are the only one who can handle her. If not you, then I must assign Burle and I told you my fears of him before. He will not be firm enough with her, not in the least.”

  Creed had nothing more to say to that. With an impatient sigh, Ryton moved towards the door as Creed hung back. Ryton knocked softly on the old wood.

  “My lady?” he called. “It is Sir Ryton. I would like for you to open this door. I must speak with you.”

  There was a long pause during which time Ryton knocked again. When they heard her voice, it was muffled and dull.

  “What do ye wish, Sir Ryton?”

  Ryton was trying to bank his irritation, knowing he must deal with the lady calmly. He rattled the latch; it was still locked. “My lady, Lord Richard and his wife will be in need of their chapel shortly. They pray three times a day and their nooning prayer is fast approaching. You may not commandeer the chapel any longer. You must unlock the door.”

  There was another long pause. “Sir Ryton, if I unlock this door, I would have yer oath that Sir Creed is not with ye.”

  Ryton glanced at his brother, who was already descending the stairs. “He is not with me, my lady,” he said after a moment, allowing Creed enough time to put distance between them. “Would you open the door now, please?”

  The lock slowly unlatched. Ryton stood back as Carington pulled the door open, her red-rimmed eyes peering up at him. He remained impassive as they studied one another.

  “Now,” he said quietly. “What is the meaning of the locked door? You frightened Sir Creed with this behavior. He thought something was quite wrong.”

  The door opened wider and she stepped out into the sun. She brushed a stray lock from her face, her eyes never leaving Ryton’s face.

  “I would ask ye a question, Sir Ryton, and I would have an honest answer,” she said.

  “You have my vow.”

  Her lovely face was pale, her eyes still moist from crying. But he saw her take a deep breath and a spark ignited in the emerald eyes. It put him on his guard.

  “What kind of man is it that ye’ve saddled me with?” she demanded quietly.

  He lifted an eyebr
ow at her tone. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that,” she hissed, gaining steam. “Lady Julia told me of Sir Creed and his… his lust for the child queen. She says everyone knows of it. She said that Sir Creed begot Isabella with child and that the whole of England knows it. Is this the kind of man ye would have protect me? A man who would prey upon innocent young maidens?”

  It was difficult for Ryton to stay neutral. “Lady,” he said slowly. “You seem to be quite willing to throw about accusations without seeking the truth of the matter. Would you truly be so foolish as to believe everything Lady Julia tells you?”

  Some of Carington’s fire banked, but not entirely. Ryton had a point but she was not yet willing to concede. “Then I would ask ye the truth,” she said. “However, being his brother, it is natural that ye would defend him, is it not?”

  “Then who would you hear it from that you would believe?”

  She was guarded, hesitant. In truth, she was not sure. Everyone at Prudhoe would defend Creed, she suspected, except for Lady Julia and perhaps that lout Jory. Everyone had their opinion and their side to take. She began to cool.

  “Who would be honest with me?” she asked.

  Ryton was steady. “I would, brother or no. As Captain of the Guard, it is my duty to be fair and honest with all despite family ties.”

  Carington regarded him a moment. He had always tried to be fair with her, if she thought on it. No matter how she had behaved since they’d met, he had always tried to be even-handed and truthful. He had never been cruel. Sweet Jesus, how she wanted to believe the man if he countered everything Julia had told her about his brother.

  “Tell me, then,” she whispered. “And tell me the truth.”

  For a split second, Ryton heard the same tone in her voice that he had heard earlier in Creed’s. There was a wistfulness that was difficult to put his finger on. An inkling of an idea formed in his mind but he quickly chased it away. He had not the time to gracefully or rationally deal with it.

  “Six months ago, my brother was in the service of the king,” he said in a low voice. “The king regarded him very well. So well, in fact, that he sent him as the head of a group of knights to escort the king’s bride from France. As always, Creed performed his duties flawlessly. But the child bride of the king took a liking to my brother and sought to make him a conquest. When he refused, she was grievously insulted and sought to destroy him. She accused him of hideous things. But I can assure you, lady, that my brother is completely innocent of all slander charged against him. He is an honorable, trustworthy man and a fine knight. I would not have him in my service if he was otherwise and I certainly would not have assigned him to guard you.”