Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “What do you mean ‘lay claim’?” Richard asked.

  Creed lifted a dark eyebrow. “She belongs to me. I intend to marry her.”

  Richard blanched. “Marry her?” he repeated. “What madness is this, Creed? You cannot….”

  Creed cut him off with a finger to the face. “You will not deny me,” he countered strongly. “Kerr took my brother and now I am taking his daughter.”

  Richard stared at Creed, wide-eyed. “If you feel so strongly about it, I will make her your ward. You do not have to marry her.”

  Creed’s stance softened somewhat, averting his gaze from his liege and focusing on Carington. She stared back at him, apprehensively. He realized how antagonistic he sounded and sought to calm himself. This grip on her arm turned gentle and he took her hand in his enormous palm, caressing it.

  “Aye, I do,” he muttered. “I love her, my lord. I must marry her.”

  Richard just stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Never more in my life.”

  Richard thought on that statement a moment, mulling over the treaty with Kerr, the implication of Creed marrying a Scots hostage. He could tell by the man’s expression that there was no dissuading him and he was, frankly, stunned.

  “Creed,” he said slowly. “I would never deny your heart’s desire, but we must look at this logically. Sian Kerr did not have a treaty with Hexham; he is within his rights to support an uprising against an establishment he does not have a treaty with. We hold his daughter as assurance that he will not move against Prudhoe; if you marry her, it could be seen as a breach of our honor.”

  Creed shook his head. “Untrue. No Scots would dare attack their kin, which is what Prudhoe will become once I marry Carington. It would further cement the alliance.”

  Richard gazed at him a moment longer before shaking his head. “You would complicate your life more than it already is? Good lord, man, think about what you are saying; you have issue enough with the queen and the church. Now you would complicate your life further by taking a hostage bride?”

  Creed looked at Carington, noticing for the first time that she wore one of her new surcoats. It was the most pleasing thing he had ever seen and in spite of his grief, his turmoil, he was able to feel a measure of peace and comfort at the sight of her. She eased his heart in so many ways. It was something he desperately needed.

  “I would marry her under any circumstances,” he murmured. “I want her, my lord. I need her.”

  Richard knew a man in love when he saw one. It was more than a surprise; he would have never suspected it, especially from Creed. Richard had been honored enough to have seen service from all three de Reyne brothers. His association with then went back to the time before he was married to Anne when Ryton first came to Prudhoe as a newly ordained knight. Creed had followed shortly thereafter because the brothers had wished to serve together. Lenox had followed five years later and, for a short while, the three de Reyne brothers made the most powerful trio of knights on the border. But then Lenox fell away and now Ryton had followed. Creed was left alone, clearly the most physically powerful of the three but also strangely the most vulnerable.

  Richard gazed at the man, knowing he was innocent in all things and glad, when he thought on it, that the man had actually found love. It was a rare thing. Moreover, considering he had just lost his one remaining brother, Richard was not about to deny him an affair of the heart. He could not.

  “Very well,” Richard finally conceded, his expression one of resignation. “Marry her if you must. But at some point, I am going to have to tell the lady’s father.”

  “You may announce a strong new alliance with Prudhoe,” Creed responded.

  Richard cocked an eyebrow. “Somehow, I do not think he will see it that way.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I have a husband.

  It was all Carington could think of as she sat in the great hall, watching Creed give several coins to Massimo in payment for having performed the wedding mass. The priest had been initially reluctant to perform the ceremony but had proceeded with a good deal of convincing from both Creed and Lord Richard. Therefore, at dusk before Matins and in front of Lord and Lady d’Umfraville, Kristina and a devastated Julia, Galen, Burle, Stanton and Jory, the Lady Carington Kerr became the Lady Carington Kerr de Reyne in the lovely little chapel at Prudhoe. She still could not believe it.

  Creed could hardly believe it, either, but he had never been so certain of anything in his life. In a day that had seen the pinnacle of highs and lows, it gave him comfort to find some joy in it. His grief for his brother was consuming but his delight in his new wife was overwhelming. He was struggling to keep a rein on his emotions, struggling to stay on an even keel. As he finished paying Massimo a goodly sum, he actually began to feel some relief in this most affecting day of days.

  As a wedding gift, Lady Anne had given Carington a thin gold band that had belonged to her mother. Creed had placed it on his wife’s left hand, a lovely slender band for her lovely slender finger. Carington kept staring at it as she stood with Kristina and Lady Anne while Creed finished with the priest. The women made small talk but Carington’s attention was on her husband. He finally turned away from the priest, leaving him standing with Richard as he made his way over to his new wife. She smiled timidly when their eyes met, wondering if he was feeling as disoriented as she was.

  “It seems that everything is in order,” he told her, then looked to Lady Anne. “I would again thank you for your graciousness in allowing us to be wed in your chapel. And your gift of the ring is priceless. We are deeply touched.”

  Anne smiled, putting her hand on Creed’s enormous arm. “Having no daughters, there was no one to pass the ring on to,” she looked fondly at Carington. “I am sure she will take excellent care of it.”

  Carington looked at her lovely ring again. “It is beautiful, m’lady,” she said. “I will always treasure it.”

  “Of course you will,” she reached out and took her hand, giving it a warm squeeze. Then she turned back to Creed. “I am putting you and Carington in the smaller chamber on the fourth floor; you know the one. I will not allow your wife to sleep in the knight’s quarters. She belongs in the keep.”

  Creed scratched his weary head. “Although I appreciate your kindness, my lady, may I point out that Burle and Stanton have their own homes in the outer bailey and that the arrangement has served them quite well. I do not intend that my wife and I should be a burden on your household.”

  “Nonsense,” Anne shushed him. “Lady Carington is an honored guest and you are now commander of my husband’s army. ’Tis only right that you should be housed in the keep.”

  Creed’s dusky blue eyes moved to Carington. “Perhaps my wife would like her own home, my lady.”

  Anne looked stricken as her gaze moved to Carington. “How insensitive of me,” she exclaimed softly. Then she lifted her slender shoulders. “We shall discuss it later, then. For now, you will take the chamber on the fourth floor. And no argument.”

  Before Creed could protest, Carington answered for him. “Ye’re most kind, m’lady. We are grateful.”

  Anne smiled sweetly at Carington, patted her cheek, and went to find her husband. Kristina, seeing that she was now standing alone with a newly married couple, suddenly bolted away. Carington giggled as the girl practically tripped in her haste to give them privacy. Creed merely shook his head and scratched his scalp again. His gaze was warm on Carington.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked softly. “Perhaps you would like to eat before retiring.”

  She gazed up at him with her emerald eyes. “I am a bit hungry,” she admitted, yet her expression grew serious. “But what of ye? How are ye feeling?”

  His warm expression faded somewhat. “I am weary,” he confessed. “And I have no great desire to share you with a room full of people.”

  She went to him, wrapping her small hands around his great forearm. “That is not what I meant,” she said quietly. “
I meant to ask how ye are feeling about yer brother. Surely he must be taken care of. I would help ye tend him if ye will allow me.”

  He patted her hand. “’Tis sweet of you to offer, honey, but there is no need. He has been taken care of for now.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  He nodded. “Galen and Burle saw to it earlier.”

  She studied his face closely, watching the flicker of grief in his eyes. “They are true friends to do that for ye,” she murmured. “They know how sad ye are.”

  He sighed heavily, thinking back to earlier that afternoon when Carington had returned to the keep to dress for their wedding. He had remained with Burle, Galen and Stanton next to the wagon containing his brother’s body, the four of them united in their grief for a fallen comrade and brother. It had been Creed who had lifted his brother’s battered body out of the wagon and carried it to Prudhoe’s gatehouse, where it had been placed in the lower level of the vault where it was very cold. It was the best place to store the remains until they were able to bury him.

  Burle and Galen took over at that point, assuring Creed that they would tend his brother so that he could focus on his pending marriage. More than that, his friends wanted to help him through his grief, and tending his brother’s smashed head would not have been the best experience for him. Galen had accompanied them back to Prudhoe for just that reason; he had been there when Lenox fell and felt strongly that he needed to be with Creed for Ryton’s death as well. Creed was barely holding himself together as it was. So they put his focus onto Carington and the imminent wedding, and it had been enough to get him out of the gatehouse.

  It was a gesture by true friends during a time when he needed it most. Creed was adrift in his reflections when Carington rubbed his arm gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

  “Ye’re lost to me,” she murmured. “What are ye thinking?”

  He gazed down at her, smiling weakly and caressing her soft fingers. “Of my friends,” he reached out and touched her cheek. “And I apologize for that. I should be thinking only of you.”

  Her smiled faded as she gazed into his dusky eyes. “Then let us go to our chamber now,” she murmured. “I would rather spend the eve of our wedding alone with ye.”

  “You are reading my mind,” he winked at her, turning to Richard and the priest, a few feet away. “My lord, if you will not be greatly offended, my wife and I will retire.”

  Richard’s gaze passed between Creed and Carington; he still was not over his reserve about the situation but he nodded agreeably. “Understandable,” he waved them off. “We will see you in the morning.”

  Creed started to move for the door but Massimo stepped forward. “I will be leaving in the morning, Sir Creed,” he reminded him. “I would speak with you before I go.”

  Creed nodded to acknowledge him but said nothing more. When he and Carington were descending the chapel steps, she turned to him.

  “What does he want to speak with ye about?” she asked softly.

  Dusk had fallen and the torches had been lit, giving the outer bailey an unearthly glow. The peace of night seemed far removed from the chaos and horror the past day had seen. Creed’s dusky gaze moved across the darkened landscape.

  “He simply wants to talk about my issues,” he tried to make it sound casual.

  “He is concerned with our marriage.”

  “Aye.”

  She sighed faintly. “I knew it. I could tell. He is not happy in the least.”

  His left hand clutched her fingers around his right elbow. “Nay, he is not, but that did not stop me. He does not control my life.”

  Carington did not say any more as they crossed the outer ward and into the inner bailey. She knew that now was not the time. The tall cylindrical keep loomed ahead and her gaze trailed upward as if to see their destination at the top. Soft light was filtering from the lancet windows placed strategically around the keep, the gentle illumination beckoning them.

  Her hand tightened around Creed’s arm as they entered the keep. He squeezed her hand before disengaging it and helping her to mount the narrow stairs. Their eyes met on the way up and she smiled bashfully, full of hope and anticipation and a little apprehension. His response was to wink confidently at her.

  They faded up the steps into the darkness.

  Jory had been watching Julia since he had entered the chapel for Creed’s marriage. He knew how the girl felt about Creed; they all did. She had never made it any secret. The event of Creed’s wedding had clearly shattered her and Jory watched her for the duration of the ceremony, feeling sparks of wicked thoughts smatter through his brain. Ideas were coming to him fast and furious these days, thoughts that a normal man would have never entertained. But Jory was not normal. In fact, the past few days had seen that trait grow even darker.

  When he was not watching Julia, he was watching Carington’s backside. She had the most delectable body he had ever seen. Everyone had noticed. And the new gowns she was parading around in did nothing to stifle his twisted imagination. Even now, she stood next to Creed in a surcoat of blue brocade which only emphasized the curves of her figure. Jory began to imagine the wedding bed and how Creed would be touching and tasting her tender flesh. He would be slipping his fingers and tongue into intimate places, finally ramming his great manhood into her virginal sheath. It took Jory a moment to realize that he was engorged and he returned his attention to Julia so that his arousal would go down. Plain, unattractive Julia would serve to calm him. She would also help him.

  When the wedding was over and Julia slipped out before congratulating the happy couple, Jory followed. He caught up to her when she was nearly to the inner bailey.

  “Lady Julia,” he called after her. “Wait a moment.”

  Julia came to a halt, quickly wiping at her eyes as she turned to him. Jory’s dark gaze fell upon her tear stained face and he smiled thinly.

  “I am sorry that it was not you standing next to Creed,” he made an attempt at sounding sympathetic. “Creed will never know what he has given up.”

  Julia was struggling to compose herself as she looked up at him. “What is it you want?”

  Jory lifted an eyebrow. “Want?” he shrugged, looking about the yard. “I only want to help you.”

  “Help me with what?”

  He looked at her, then. “Punish Creed, of course.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. Then she began to walk away. Jory caught up to her and took pace beside her.

  “He has spurned you, Julia,” he said grimly. “And that Scot… what right does she have to marry him? She only met him four days ago. You have known him longer. Certainly you should have been the one to win his heart.”

  Julia shook her head. “Go away, Jory.”

  He did not do as she asked. He continued. “By all rights, that woman is a hostage, yet Creed and the others have treated her as if she is royalty,” he insisted. “See how they fawn over her? ’Tis not right, I tell you. And what of you? They ignore you. They place this Scots bitch over you. How does that make you feel? How does it make you feel to know that it will not be you that Creed makes love to tonight?”

  With a frustrated growl, she came to a halt and faced him. “Enough,” she hissed. “I do not need your help or your pity. Go away and leave me alone.”

  He grabbed her so that she could not walk away. “Listen to me,” he said. “I will help you exact vengeance on Creed and his wife.”

  She looked up at him, struggling to pull away. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  His grip tightened. “I speak of a reckoning. Creed has wronged you. His bitch of a wife does not deserve him. Let me help you punish him.”

  Julia gazed up into his evil, dark eyes and, for a split second, realized she was considering his offer. She was devastated that Creed had married the Scots hostage. But something deep inside her, one last shred of common sense, held her back.

  “Why would you offer to do this?” she hissed. “What has Creed done to you that y
ou would be so willing to be the instrument through which my satisfaction is obtained?”

  He let go of her, his brown eyes boring holes with their intensity. “My vendetta against Creed has already begun,” he said in a low voice. “For every time he has threatened me, for every time his henchman, Burle, has beaten me, and for every vicious word that has ever come out of his mouth directed at me, I can no longer remain still. I will have my vengeance and then some.”

  Julia did not like the way he was looking at her; it was terrifying. Instinctively, she took a step back. “What do you mean it has already begun?”

  A hint of a thin, wicked smile came to his lips. “It started yesterday. He will pay.”

  “I do not understand.”

  He just stared at her in a way that made her skin crawl. “The blow that killed his brother did not come from a Scots,” he muttered. “It was a Scots morning star, that is true, but I picked it up from the ground where it had fallen. Ryton never saw me come up from behind and smash it into his skull.”

  Julia’s jaw dropped in horror. “You killed Ryton?”

  Jory’s eyes narrowed. “For every insult, every beating, every offense,” he repeated, almost sing-song. “That was just the beginning.”

  Julia took another step back, thinking quite seriously about running away screaming. “You are mad.”

  He grabbed her before she could get away. “Tell anyone and I will kill you,” he seethed. “Help me to exact my vengeance on Creed and you shall live.”

  She struggled with him. “So it is your vengeance after all? I thought you said it was mine.”

  He shook her so hard that her neck snapped. “What I do, I do for us both,” he growled, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Creed has ever affronted me. He shadows me with his self-righteousness, always ensuring that he has the upper hand. I will not allow him to dominate me any longer. I will not allow him to win.”

  Julia could see her death in his eyes. She stared at him a very long time before nodding her head, just once. Jory let her go and smiled broadly.