Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “It would seem, Sir Knight, that the queen has a vendetta against you for spurning her advances,” he said as he watched his feet. “But that does not erase the face that she is pregnant with what is presumably not the king’s child. The king himself says he did not touch her until their wedding night.”

  Creed just shook his head and looked at his hands. Massimo paused a few feet away, watching the man’s body language.

  “You disagree?” he asked quietly.

  Creed cast him a long look. “Do you want the truth, my lord?”

  “Of course.”

  Creed sighed heavily and sat back against the chair. “The night we delivered Isabella to the king, he took her into his chamber and we could clearly hear the sounds of lovemaking. It was brutal and loud and she screamed the entire way through it. So, in answer to your question, I strongly disagree with the king’s statement. It is simply not true.”

  Massimo cocked a thoughtful eyebrow. “Your fellow escort party told me the same.”

  Creed just shook his head and looked to his hands again. “The king’s word is law,” he muttered. “They can blame this on me all they wish. It simply isn’t true.”

  Massimo watched him a moment before pulling up a chair beside him. He watched Creed’s lowered face carefully, feeling some empathy for the man. It was a vicious circumstance he found himself a part of.

  “The king has a long and bitter history with the church,” Massimo muttered. “One more offense from him will not matter overly. But you, however, are in a bad position.”

  Creed looked at the man. “Do you believe any of what I have told you?”

  Massimo nodded slowly. “I believe all of it.”

  Creed sighed slowly, wiping a weary hand over his face. It was the first time since entering the room that his guard went down.

  “So now what?” he asked a question he had been dreading for six months. “What do I do?”

  The priest sat back in his chair, his eyes moving to the fire gently crackling in the hearth. “The king wants you imprisoned.”

  “I know.”

  “He does not, as far as I can deduce, know where you are, but that will not hold true forever. He will eventually find out.”

  “How did you find out where I was?”

  “Your loyal friends told me, those who have staunchly defended your honor.”

  Creed looked at the man, hating that he must face the realities that were intent on following him. He simply could not believe the nightmare was deepening.

  “So I will ask you again,” he said. “What do I do? More specifically, what do you intend to do with me?”

  Massimo scratched his unshaven chin. “I must report back to the papal legate in London,” he replied. “I will tell him the truth; that I believe these allegations are untrue. In spite of what you may or may not think of the church, we do hold true to truth and justice. We reject tyranny. And we have indeed heard the rumors of Queen Isabella’s infidelity. The rumors have run rampant since the day she arrived in England and we are quite certain she has had more lovers than you can count on your fingers and toes.”

  Creed could only shake his head in disgust. “Then why me?” he asked. “Why must she seek to destroy me if she has had so many lovers?”

  Massimo smiled at him, displaying dingy teeth. “Because you were not a lover. You stood virtuous against her debauchery and she hates you for it. Had you caved into her demands, she probably would have forgotten all about you.”

  “I was not going to cave into her demands.”

  Massimo cracked a lop-sided smile. “I understand,” he stood up and moved back to the desk where he had laid his things. “And in answer to your question as to what to do, I would say do nothing at the moment. I will return to London to discuss this with the papal legate and we will decide a course of action.”

  For the first time in almost six months, Creed felt some relief from the situation. He rose on his thick legs, facing the priest. “Is the king actively looking for me? Someone is bound to know where I am.”

  Massimo shook his head. “He is not as far as I am aware,” he replied. “He makes a good game of threatening talk but as far as I know, he has not sent out a search party. You will continue your service here in the wilds until such time as I contact you again.”

  Creed’s jaw ticked faintly. “Understood, my lord.”

  “Do not lose faith. Good always triumphs over evil.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  The priest picked up his satchel from the desk. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he moved towards Creed with his bag in his hand. “I understand that you have been assigned to protect a hostage of Prudhoe.”

  Creed nodded. “A daughter of Kerr, our bitter enemy. I am her protection.”

  The priest shook his head. “No longer,” he told him pointedly. “I do not want you involved with any young ladies until this matter is resolved. It would not be viewed, shall we say, favorably.”

  Creed lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Massimo secured the ties on his bag. “You were in charge of a young lady once and the results are coming to haunt you,” he lifted an eyebrow at him. “If something happens with this young lady, however innocent you may be, it will only confirm what the queen is telling everyone. It will make you appear guilty as sin. Therefore, until this situation is settled, I would refrain from any association with any woman. You do not want to take any chances.”

  Creed looked at him, thinking of Carington as he did so. He knew that the priest was right; God help him, he knew. The man made perfect sense. But what he was feeling for Carington was so real, so deep, that the thought of staying away from her tore at him like nothing he had ever known.

  “Understood, my lord.”

  “Good.” Massimo faced him, nodding his head to acknowledge that their business was concluded. “Now, I plan to sup here tonight and leave for London on the morrow. Perhaps you and I can come to know one another on more pleasant terms.”

  “I would be honored, my lord.”

  “Then take me to the hall and ply me with wine. I find that I am in need of it.”

  Creed took him into the great hall. But it was Creed who needed a heavy dose of wine, not the priest. The more he drank, the more sullen he became. It was fortunate that Ryton and Lord Richard soon joined them so that Creed did not have to pretend to be pleasant any longer. He kept staring into the fire, seeing Carington’s face with every flicker of flame and wondering how she was going to react when he told her he could no longer be her shadow. He wondered how he was going to react, day after day, seeing her but not being able to be near her.

  At some point, the priest begged his leave and Richard graciously consented to show him to his chamber. In truth, Lord Richard volunteered so that Ryton and Creed could spend a few moments alone to discuss the results of Creed’s meeting with the priest. They were all on edge, knowing why the church had come and wondering how Creed’s future was to be impacted. Richard secretly wondered if he was going to have to once again spirit Creed away under the cover of darkness so that the king could not find him.

  When Richard and the priest were gone and the fire snapped softly in the hearth, Ryton changed seats and ended up sitting across from his brother at the long, scrubbed table that had been at Prudhoe for three generations. He gazed steadily at his brother, who seemed more interested in staring into the flames.

  “What did he say?” Ryton finally asked the magic question.

  Creed continued to gaze into the writhing blaze a moment before speaking. “He said that the church is investigating Isabella’s pregnancy. She is telling everyone that the child is mine.”

  Ryton hissed and poured himself a huge sloppy cup of wine, downing half of it in one swallow. “Christ,” he hissed. “That little bitch. Is the king after you?”

  “According to the priest, he wants me imprisoned but is apparently not making a concerted effort to find me.”

  “Because he knows she is lying,” Ryton
took another swallow. “He knows he has married a whore. That child could be anyone’s.”

  “Anyone but me,” Creed looked at him, then. “The priest believes in my innocence. He says that those he could speak to from the escort that accompanied me to France confirmed my story. He says that he is going to go back to London and discuss this with the papal legate. I am to remain here in the service of Lord Richard until such time as the priest contacts me again.”

  Ryton stared at him, apparently waiting for more information. When none was forthcoming, he lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “That is all?”

  Creed’s face darkened and he took another cup of wine. “The priest was told that I had been assigned to protect Lady Carington.”

  Ryton nodded. “He interviewed Lord Richard and me about you. We told him of your performance as a knight, your history and valor. Your assignment to Lady Carington came up during the course of the conversation.”

  “He says that I am to stay away from her. He says that I am to stay away from all women until this situation has resolved itself.”

  “Why?”

  Creed looked at him; there was tremendous turmoil in the dusky blue eyes. “Because if something were to happen between me and Lady Carington, inappropriate or otherwise, it could be viewed as a confirmation of Isabella’s stories. The priest feels that it is best if I stay clear of anything that could become controversial involving women.”

  Ryton puffed out his cheeks, exhaling heavily. “It makes sense,” he conceded. “I will have to turn over the duty to Burle, then. God help him if she tries to run.”

  “She will not run.”

  Ryton looked at his brother, then, hearing that wistful tone once more. This time, he had the time and composure to address it. His stomach began to twist, knowing the answer to the question before he even put it forth. He was afraid to ask but knew he must.

  “How do you know?” He set his cup down heavily and lowered his voice. “Christ, Creed, is there something going on between you and the lady?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I can hear it in your voice.”

  Creed held his gaze steady a moment. “Something, indeed,” he confessed quietly. “Something very unexpected.”

  Ryton sat back in his seat, not at all sure he wanted to hear the truth. “My God,” he breathed. “Please tell me that you have not compromised her.”

  Creed shook his head. “Nay,” he murmured. “But… I would be lying if I said I did not feel something for her. I cannot describe it more than that; all I know is that she fills me as no one else ever has. She is becoming my sun, my moon and my stars. I cannot tell you how this has happened. All I know is that is has.”

  “I knew it,” Ryton hissed, slamming his cup on the table. “When you came to tell me that she had locked herself in the chapel, I knew there was something more to it. I could hear it in your tone. Of all of my knights, you are the last one I would expect this to happen to. How could you do this?”

  He was angry, which triggered Creed’s well-heeled temper. He slammed his massive fists on the table, shaking the heavy furniture from end to end violently.

  “Damnation, Ryton,” he fired back. “This is no fickle dalliance. Have you ever known me to show interest in a woman, least of all a charge?”

  “Never!” Ryton roared.

  “Then trust me when I tell you that this goes much deeper than a trite rendezvous.”

  “Does it?” Ryton was flaming. “She was your ward. You crossed the line.”

  “I love her!”

  The last two sentences were hotly spoken, overlapping. When Ryton heard his brother’s last sentence, his eyes widened and his fury was immediately doused. Staring at his brother, wide-eyed, he plopped back down on the bench as if he suddenly lost all of his strength.

  “Oh… Good Lord,” he muttered. “Are you serious?”

  Creed looked back at him with equal astonishment. He could hardly believe he said it, but on the other hand, he had never said anything more truthful in his life. He could not have denied it in any case.

  “Aye,” he sighed heavily, regaining his own seat. “I do. She may be aggressive, disobedient and uncontrollable, but she is also the sweetest, most intelligent and compassionate lady I have ever met. She makes me laugh. She makes me feel as if I am important.”

  “You are important,” Ryton had no idea why he felt so ill; a mixture of delight and horror swirled in his chest. “You are the most powerful knight the realm has ever seen. The king himself recognized that until all of this madness with Isabella. You can have any woman you want but, instead, you choose a Scots. And not just any Scots; a laird’s daughter, a hostage for peace. She is not meant for you, Creed. Do you not understand that?”

  “She is meant for me and no other,” Creed’s dusky blue eyes were intense. “A marriage is a perfect way to cement an alliance with the Scots.”

  “A marriage?” Ryton blurted. “Do you mean to say that you intend to marry her?”

  Creed really had not thought on that until he had said it. Now he could think of nothing else. “I do,” he asserted. “I will go to her father and make an offer for her hand.”

  Ryton could not help it; he put his hands to his face as if trying to hold his brains in. He simply could not believe what he was hearing from his stoic, emotionless brother. His cup was next to him and he realized he needed more wine, but the cup did not hold enough so he drank it straight from the pitcher.

  “You certainly do not make things easy for yourself, do you?” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just what do you plan to offer?”

  “My inheritance.”

  Ryton’s eyes flew open wide. “All of it?”

  Creed shrugged. “When father passes on, you and I will split the Hartlepool baronetcy,” he said. “I will sell you my half for a trifle of what it is worth. Just enough to purchase a bride.”

  Ryton stared at him as if he could hardly comprehend was he was hearing. “Nay,” he muttered. “I will not let you sell it. We will combine our money if that is what it takes, but I will not let you give up your inheritance. It belongs to you as much as me.”

  Their conversation fell silent as tempers calmed and they began to weigh the situation. Not only were the circumstances with the queen heating up, but with the added addition of Creed’s feelings for their hostage, everything surrounding the man was growing bigger than they could comprehend. . Ryton could not help it; he drained the pitcher until it was empty.

  “So now what?” he muttered, glancing to his brother. “You can no longer guard the lady. Now what do we do?”

  Creed shrugged faintly. “Give the duty to Burle,” he replied quietly. “I will see the lady on my own time.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would have a hard enough time with that statement. But given the discussion we have just had, do you think that is entirely wise?”

  “Wise or not, those are my intentions.”

  “Brother or not, I am still your captain.”

  “Do you intend to keep me from her, then?”

  “I will not let you hang yourself.”

  Creed cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. His attention turned back to his cup, toying with it as his mind moved over the myriad of thoughts on his mind. Ryton watched him.

  “We have one final worry, you know,” he said softly.

  Creed looked at him. “What is that?”

  “Jory,” Ryton replied with some disgust in his tone. “He could cause problems. If he catches wind of a romance, he will pounce and you know it.”

  Creed lifted an eyebrow, tensing. “If he as much as looks in Cari’s direction, I will kill him. I could not be in any more trouble than I am now.”

  Ryton just looked at him; then, he gave him a crooked smile. “Cari, is it?”

  Creed met his gaze a moment longer before his façade cracked. He grinned sheepishly, looking back to his cup.

  “Aye,” he whispered. “Cari.”

  Further
conversation was precluded by voices in the entry. Both men turned to see Stanton enter the keep followed by Burle with Carington on his arm. Ryton could not help it; he looked at his brother when the lady entered the hall and the expression that he witnessed did not surprise him. If there had been any momentary doubt in Creed’s statement, it was all dashed at that moment. The man was gazing at her as if the sun, the moon and the stars had just walked into the room.

  He was a man in love.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The surcoat was a lovely shade of gold with a hint of green in it that picked up the color of her eyes. Carington had changed in to the garment in the town so that the seamstress could alter it on her body. A few stitches here and there and it fit like a glove. A link belt of copper with gold leaf hung about her slender hips and the seamstress had taken her lovely hair and caught it up in a golden net at the nape of her neck. She looked elegant and delightful; absolutely stunning.

  Carington headed back to Prudhoe with more new clothes and accessories than she had ever owned at any one time in her life. The seamstress included web-fine veils, hair combs, fragranced oils and a cake of hard white soap all the way from Castille. It smelled of flowers after a rain. Carington was delighted with her booty and very eager to show it to Creed.

  Burle and Stanton had proven to be pleasant companions on the ride back to Prudhoe. It was only the second time she had been alone with them and this time the situation had been far more pleasant. Burle had quite a sense of humor whereas all Stanton wanted to speak of was his son. He did, in fact, purchase a toy dog for the boy on their way out of town, but no convincing in the world could coerce Burle into purchasing finery for his daughters. According to him, they had already put him into the poorhouse. He was just waiting for the time when husbands would take them off his hands. Then he tried to talk Stanton into a betrothal contract between his young son and Burle’s youngest daughter who, at twelve years of age, was seven years older than Stanton’s son. Stanton did not believe the marriage to be a good idea.

  It was a pleasant trip home, far more pleasant than the trip from Scotland. Carington actually enjoyed herself. But the moment they entered the great outer bailey of Prudhoe, she saw the wagons bearing the seal of the church and was curious. Great yellow crosses decorated the banners. But that curiosity turned to confusion when she saw the expressions on Burle and Stanton’s faces. They were apparently not pleased that someone from the church was in residence but she had no idea why. She was, in truth, only thinking of finding Creed and showing him her new gown.