Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Kerr tartan,” he said. “That is all I see. And I do not see men riding for battle; it looked like an escort party.”

  Creed’s brow furrowed as his eyes strained to see in the distance. “An escort?” he repeated. “That is odd. Did we receive any missive announcing their arrival?”

  The knights shook their heads. “None that we are aware of, my lord,” Stanton replied.

  Creed did not stand down his troops from alert status but he did go down to the bailey and open the gates. The portcullis remained closed and he stood, watching the Kerr tartans approach, feeling his stomach quiver with apprehension. He was positive they were there with regards to Carington and he wondered if Sian Kerr was, in fact, riding in the party. For months, Richard had refrained from sending any word to Laird Kerr for the sheer fact that he would not take the chance that the man would wage war upon them. He wanted Prudhoe, and Creed, to know some peace after a harrowing summer. Creed did not disagree, especially after finding out that his wife was with child. He wanted her to know peace as well. It was selfish, he knew, and now he worried that his selfishness was about to cost them dearly.

  So he waited by the portcullis, peering through the iron grate as the Scots drew closer. Steven had been correct; they did not look like a war party. Still, his heart was thumping with anticipation as the party paused just outside the tree line whereupon several men dismounted. Creed watched as they drew closer, recognizing Sian Kerr right away.

  Sian Magnus Kerr was not a large man but he was muscular and very youthful looking. He had Carington’s dark hair and the shape of her eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. Sian had vibrant blue eyes, now fixed on Creed as he drew near. He held out his hands as if to show he had no weapons.

  “Knight,” he called. “I am Laird Kerr. I’ve come tae see me daughter.”

  Oh God, Creed thought. He ordered the portcullis raised, standing in the middle of the gatehouse entry with his massive legs braced apart and his arms crossed. It was a defensive stance.

  “I am Sir Creed de Reyne, commander of Prudhoe,” he responded. “If you truly wish to visit your daughter, then order your men to stand back. You will continue alone.”

  Sian snapped a hand at the men behind him, burly men with beards and dirty tartans. They came to a halt and Laird Kerr continued. He came to within a few feet of Creed, inspecting him with his vibrant gaze.

  Creed examined the man in return; he did not sense hostility but there was something wild and unpredictable in his gaze. When Laird Kerr flashed him a rather big smile, Creed thought he appeared almost mad. It was a peculiar expression. Creed found himself glad he was armed; he anticipated having to defend himself against this erratic bulldog of a man.

  “I remember ye,” Sian eyed the big English knight. “Ye came tae escort me daughter tae Prudhoe.”

  “Indeed I did, my lord.”

  “Where is she? Take me tae her.”

  Creed did not budge; he remained rooted to the spot. “We did not receive any word of your visit.”

  “That is because I dinna send any,” Sian’s smile faded. “Where is me daughter?”

  “In the keep,” Creed replied, thinking he had better say something before the man saw his daughter and realized she was with child. “Before I take you to her, there is something you and I must discuss.”

  Sian’s smile vanished completely. “What could ye possible want tae discuss wi’ me?”

  Creed thought it would be best to get him inside the compound where he could not signal his men to charge. With a silent tilt of his head, they began to walk across the outer bailey as Creed ordered the portcullis lowered. He hoped Laird Kerr would not wonder why he was now effectively trapped inside the fortress but Sian was, if nothing else, extremely sharp.

  “Ye would treat me as a prisoner, then?” he demanded. “Why do ye close the gate?”

  Creed shook his head. “’Tis the way of things at Prudhoe,” he explained. “We always keep the fortress locked down. It is Lord d’Umfraville’s orders.”

  Sian cast him a dubious expression but did not argue. “Is my daughter well, then?”

  “Very well,” Creed replied, “and very happy. But there is something you should be aware of.”

  “What?”

  Creed took a deep breath. “Your daughter has fallen in love,” he said softly, coming to a halt just as they reached the inner bailey. “The man she loves is English and of good character and noble birth. He loves your daughter deeply; so much, in fact, that he has married her.”

  Sian’s mouth popped open and the vibrant blue eyes breathed fire; Creed could see it. Before he could work himself up into a substantial rage, however, the door to the keep suddenly opened and a woman screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Da!”

  Both Sian and Creed turned to see Carington flying down the stairs from the second floor of the keep as fast as her legs would carry her. When she hit the dusty bailey running, her swollen belly was evident and Sian’s astonishment overtook his rage for the moment. As he stood there, dumbfounded, Carington hurled herself into her father’s arms.

  She was alternately weeping and laughing, squeezing the man to death. Sian embraced her tightly.

  “Cari-lass,” he murmured into her dark hair. “’Tis heaven tae see ye, child.”

  Carington pulled back to look at him, her lovely face alight with excitement. “I dinna know ye were coming,” she gasped. “I never heard a word from ye.”

  Sian shook his head. “I dinna send any,” he said, his smile fading as his gaze moved to her belly. “I dinna want tae give advanced word because I wanted tae see how they are really takin’ care of ye. And now I see.”

  The thrill on her face dampened, her gaze suddenly moving between her father and Creed. She knew by the look in her father’s eye that something very bad was about to happen unless she threw out a block to stop it. She spoke quickly.

  “I am very happy here,” she said. “I have a wonderful husband and I could never have wished for such happiness as I have found here with my friends. Ye mustna be angry; there is no call. Ye should be happy that yer daughter is expecting a grandson.”

  Sian’s jaw was ticking. “And ye never thought tae get my consent for this marriage?”

  She tried to appear firm but her guilt was evident. “It happened rather quickly; there wasna time.”

  Sian’s gaze was on her belly and he could not help the grunt of disgust that escaped his lips. “Good God, lass,” he muttered. “Dunna tell me… I raised you better than that, for God’s sake. Did ye let him take liberties with ye so that ye had tae marry him?”

  Carington shook her head so hard that her black hair snapped in her face. “Ye have no call to accuse me of wrong doing,” she glared at him. “Our son was conceived after we married, I’ll have ye know. He never touched me before we were properly wed.”

  It was fairly personal information that she was spouting for all to hear but Creed did not care; he was watching Laird Kerr’s body language closely, wondering if he was going to have to protect his wife from the man. But Sian and Carington seemed oblivious to the host of English standing around, listening to them argue.

  “Then who is this man who would demand ye marry him without the proper consent of yer father?” Sian demanded.

  Carington cooled somewhat. “I love him, Da. He is yer son now and I forbid ye to punish him.”

  Sian’s mouth popped open. “Ye forbid me?”

  She was in his face. “Aye, I do. It was my decision to wed just as much as his. We love each other, Dada. Can ye not understand? He is the most compassionate, wise, gracious and powerful man in the world and I’ll not have ye scolding him.”

  It was clear that her father was not pleased. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. “I can see he’s done nothin’ tae make ye more obedient. Well? Do ye run all over him as ye run all over me?”

  Beside Sian, Creed cleared his throat softly. “Nay, my lord, she does not,” he said quietly. “Bu
t she is quite demanding, something I personally blame you for.”

  Sian turned to look at Creed with eyes as wide as the sun. He just stared at him, the enormous English knight that was more than a head taller than he was. He could have taken his statement as a challenge but somehow, he knew it was not. He knew it was the truth. But that did not stop his glare.

  “And I will accept the blame, knight,” he said with certainty. “But ye still should have asked for my consent.”

  Creed did not back down. “You are correct, my lord, but we wanted to be married right away. To have sought your consent would have taken time and, quite possibly, you would have denied us. In this case, we chose to marry anyway and beg for forgiveness after the fact.”

  Sian lifted a disapproving eyebrow at him. “And so ye did. But did ye not stop to think if Cari was already betrothed?”

  Creed did not hesitate. “I did not. But it would not have mattered; I love her more than words can express and would have killed anyone who stood in my way.”

  Sian could see that he was serious. It only made him realize that it was the truth; he could see, plainly, that this was no marriage of opportunity. It was a marriage of love. His harsh stance began to waiver.

  “Good God, girl,” his eyes moved to Carington. “What is it that ye’ve done?”

  Carington could see her father was surrendering. She wrapped her small hands around his arm and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “I’ve married a very fine man,” she murmured, gazing up at him. “And I am giving ye a grandson. Is that not reason enough to be joyful?”

  Sian sighed heavily, eventually patting her hand. “Give me time tae settle this in me own mind, lass,” he muttered. “Perhaps some ale would help.”

  For the first time, Creed took his eyes off the man and noticed Richard standing several feet away. He was hovering with Anne, Edward, Gilbert, Julia, Kristina and Stanton’s young son, Henry. All of them were gazing at the Scots laird with some measure of curiosity and apprehension. But Richard had heard the man’s request; it would not go unsatisfied.

  “My lord,” Richard stepped forward. “Perhaps you will come with me to the great hall where we may rejoice in our alliance.”

  Sian recognized Richard; he had seen him those months ago when the terms of the treaty had been agreed upon. He nodded his head resignedly.

  “So you would have one of yer knights marry me daughter, eh?” he made one last stand at being indignant. “I wasna aware that hostages were married off to their captors.”

  Richard eyed Creed, then Carington. “Your daughter is most persuasive. I had no choice.”

  Sian grunted. “Aye,” he shook his head wearily. “I know the feeling.”

  Richard took them into the great hall, followed by his wife, Carington and the rest of the crowd. Creed kept glancing back to make sure his wife was within sight and she would smile at him on the arm of Lady Anne. Kristina, Gilbert and Edward were somewhere in the middle with Julia bringing up the rear with young Henry. Once inside, the women and children held back while the men seated themselves at the table and servants began to bring out food and drink.

  Creed poured ale for his wife’s father first before pouring his own draught. Sian watched the man, more than curious about this man his daughter had fallen in love with. He was certainly a big one with enormous hands that gripped the cup.

  Richard collected his own cup and held it aloft for a toast. “To our alliance,” he said.

  Creed lifted his cup and looked Sian in the eye. “To family.”

  Sian choked but managed to get the liquid down. As Creed sat, he extended his hand to Carington, still standing near the entry with Anne. Carington went to her husband and sat on his enormous knee as he wound his arm around her growing torso.

  For a moment, no one said a word. They just stared at each other. Richard eyed Anne for moral support, who promptly joined her husband at the table. Gilbert and Edward followed their mother and climbed on the table, staring boldly at the Scots. Anne eyed her boys grimly but Richard seemed not to notice or care until Gilbert piped up.

  “Is he our enemy, Papa?” he demanded.

  Richard looked at his son as if fearful of what would come out of his mouth next. “Nay, boy,” he told him. “Laird Kerr is our neighbor and ally.”

  “But he talks funny!” Edward chimed in. “He talks like her!”

  He was pointing at Carington, who was gearing up to defend her father until Creed shook her gently. When their eyes met she backed down. Sian’s vibrant blue eyes were riveted to the boys.

  “Yer sons, Laird Richard?” he asked.

  Richard nodded proudly. “They are fine boys, curious and strong. They will make fine allies with the Kerrs someday.”

  “He does not wear breeches,” Gilbert pointed out to his father. “Why do Scots wear skirts?”

  “’Tis a kilt, lad,” Sian could not decide if he was impressed by their boldness or if they needed a whipping. “We wear it because it is our way.”

  Gilbert frowned. “Englishmen do not wear kilts.”

  “Nay, they dunna. That is the difference between us.”

  Edward suddenly ducked under the table. They could hear the little boy scuttling around underneath until he suddenly crowed.

  “He is not wearing anything underneath!” he screeched. “I can see his…!”

  “Edward!” Anne cried, reaching under the table and grasping him by the arm. She practically twisted it off in her attempt to flush him out from underneath the table. “Go stand with Julia and Kristina. Go before I take a switch to you.”

  She had nearly pulled his arm from its socket and he rubbed his shoulder as he did as he was told. Anne yanked Gilbert off the table and shooed him away with his brother. Meanwhile, Richard cleared his throat and prayed for a better subject.

  “Did you have a pleasant trip to Prudhoe, my lord?” he asked.

  Sian nodded. “Good weather,” he returned his attention to Carington, more interested in his daughter’s life since her arrival at Prudhoe than in rude English children. “Tell me, lass; when did ye marry Sir Creed?”

  Carington’s smile faded, remembering that May night when Ryton had been killed. “The night after the Scots attacked Hexham Castle.”

  Sian’s expression did not change; his eyes were riveted to his only child. “When was this?”

  “In May.”

  He scratched his chin and averted his gaze. “I dinna know of this. Attacked Hexham, you say?”

  Creed just looked to his cup but he could feel Carington tensing beneath his arm. “How can ye say that?” she hissed at her father. “There were Kerr tartans among those of Eliot and Graham.”

  Sian lifted an eyebrow. “Kerr, ye say? If that is true, it was not by me own command.”

  “Do ye not know where yer men are?”

  “Of course I do. But we have a large clan, lass. There are those who act on their own with the right persuasion.”

  Carington knew it was the truth; men from the clan could be bought or coerced by other clans. That was not an unusual happenstance. But this was different; this act of betrayal had resulted in horrific results on someone she had once considered the enemy.

  “Creed lost his brother in that raid, Da,” she said seriously. “Killed with a morning star to the head; I saw it myself. Do you mean to tell me you have no control over yer men?”

  His vibrant blue eyes were piercing on her. “I have no control over me own daughter, ’tis a fact.”

  She sat back against Creed, as if her father had struck her with his words. He was attempting to unbalance her and had managed to do so. After a moment, she looked at her husband and put an arm around his neck. Her gaze went from hard to soft in an instant as she beheld his face.

  “Then what good is a peace treaty if no one but the hostage honors it?” she smiled sadly at her husband as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Although I am deeply sorry for Ryton’s death, I am not sorry that I was pledged to Prudhoe for har
mony’s sake.”

  Sian watched his daughter’s expression as she looked at her husband, the gentleness of it. It was something he had never seen before. Somewhere in the past several months, his daughter had grown up. She had moved from a spirited young girl to a spirited young woman. More than that, there was something in her manner that Creed seemed to bring to it; there was deep compassion and tenderness. She seemed settled and calm. Sian could see it quite clearly. And at that moment, he began to gain some respect for the English warrior. If Carington thought so much of him, then perhaps there was something there.

  “Well,” Sian turned back to his cup, pouring himself more wine. “I dinna hear anything about the raid on Hexham. If my men were a part of it, they kept it well hidden from me.”

  “Perhaps because they knew it was in violation of your peace with Prudhoe,” Carington tore her eyes away from Creed and looked at her father. “Perhaps they did it behind yer back. That smells of betrayal to me.”

  Sian lifted an eyebrow at her. “Still yer tongue, girl. I will get tae the bottom of this and find out what my men had tae do wi’ it.”

  “I willna still my tongue,” she fired back. “Creed’s brother died in that raid and I would know who has betrayed our peace.”

  “And do what?”

  “Punish them!” Carington stood up, agitation in her manner. “I would know who did this to my husband’s brother. He was a good man, a fair man, and he dinna deserve for his skull to be smashed by dishonorable savages.”

  Sian’s temper flared and Creed could see, in that brief moment, where his wife got her temper. “I’ll not have ye callin’ yer kin dishonorable when ye dunna know the entire story,” he threw up his hands. “Ye dunna even know who killed the man. It could have been anyone!”

  She scowled angrily. “Ye defend men who would go to battle without yer blessing? Since when are ye so ignorant?”