Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Massimo put his hand on Creed’s arm. “Take me into some place warm before I freeze to death and I will tell you.”

  Creed began to lead the man towards the great hall, wrought with dread as they walked. “Tell me what has happened that would have you traveling in such foul weather?”

  Massimo wiped snow from his face. “The queen’s child was born three months ago,” he told him. “The child was early and did not survive. But it was born with a crown of black hair and, I am told, dark blue eyes. Like yours.”

  Creed cleared his throat softly. “Be that as it may, it was not mine. And Isabella has black hair.”

  “I understand,” Massimo nodded. “But the fact remains that the king went mad with fury and grief and has been demanding your head ever since. He knew that the church has been in contact with you and he further knew that we advocate your innocence in all things. We have made that clear. When I left London six weeks ago to deliver the news to you, we were followed. A small army of the king’s men is not a day’s ride behind me.”

  Creed froze and looked at him. “You led them to Prudhoe?”

  Massimo’s cold face was lined with guilt and sorrow. “It was a mistake, I assure you,” he said quietly. “We had no idea we were being followed until we were almost to Leeds. By then, the best I could do was proceed as quickly as I could to warn you.”

  Creed just stared at him. “You could have veered away and led them to Manchester or York, for God’s sake. As it is, you led them right to me.”

  Massimo nodded submissively. “A difficult choice to make, Sir Creed. Even if I had diverted them, I could not take the chance that they would somehow wander into Prudhoe or Hexham and catch you unaware. You had to be warned.”

  Creed sighed heavily, his mind whirling with the news. He resumed his walk towards the great hall. “Then it would seem my choice is to either hunker down at Prudhoe and expect a siege or flee. And I cannot flee.”

  “Why not?” Massimo demanded. “You must leave right away if you are to have any chance of escaping them.”

  Creed shook his head. “I cannot leave in any case.”

  “Why not?” Massimo demanded again.

  Creed looked at him, then. “Because my wife is with child. I cannot drag her out in this weather or travel with her in her current condition. Even in fine weather, I would be hesitant to take her into open country.”

  Massimo stared at him in shock. After a moment, he let out a hissing whistle between his teeth and looked away. “Dear God,” he muttered. “I understand your reluctance, Creed, but you have no choice. If you stay, the king’s men will lay siege to Prudhoe and you jeopardize everyone here with your presence. Would you really risk so many men, women and children because you do not want to leave?”

  They had reached the great hall and Creed turned to look at the priest with a great deal of pain on his face. The dusky blue eyes were full of it. After a moment, he averted his gaze and opened the door.

  Hot air hit them in the face as they entered and Creed quickly closed the door behind them. When Creed looked up, he could already see Carington moving across the floor in their direction. Her lovely face was serene yet curious. Massimo unwound the woolen scarf from his head as she drew near.

  “Lady de Reyne,” he greeted her, eyeing her round belly. “Your husband told me the happy news. Congratulations on your pending child.”

  She dipped in curtsy. “Yer Grace,” she said. “Welcome to Prudhoe. My husband thought it might be ye but he could not be sure.”

  Massimo forced a smile and took her hand gently. “It was me,” he nodded his head in the direction of the table. “May we sit and warm ourselves? I fear that I have barely escaped being turned into a pillar of ice.”

  Carington smiled at him but her eyes moved to Creed as they made their way back to the well-scrubbed table. Creed simply winked at her, sending a servant for hot mulled wine and food. Then he joined them.

  Carington did not mince words; she knew the priest was there for a reason and she would know what it was.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” she asked the priest. “Surely it is not because ye enjoy traveling in the snow.”

  Massimo smiled weakly. “Nay, my lady, I do not,” he cast a glance at Creed. “I have, in fact, come with some news.”

  Creed made sure to sit beside her as she focused on the priest. “What news?” she asked.

  Massimo chose his words carefully; he had caught glimpses of the lady’s high strung nature the last time he was at Prudhoe and did not imagine that pregnancy had stilled those tendencies. If anything, they were probably worse. He was very careful how he delivered the news.

  “The queen gave birth to a stillborn son three months ago,” he said. “It was rumored that the child was the exact image of your husband. The king’s grief and fury knew no bounds and he put a price on your husband’s head. Even now, the king’s men have followed me to Prudhoe and cannot be more than a day’s ride behind me. I have been attempting to convince your husband to flee but he will not.”

  In spite of the devastating news, Carington held her composure admirably. But it was very thinly held. She turned to Creed.

  “He is right, English,” she said, although he could see her lips trembling. “Ye must flee. Go to Wether Fair and seek sanctuary from my father. Massimo will go with ye and explain the situation.”

  His heart was breaking as he noted the quiver to her mouth, her pale features. He knew how upset she was. “I will not leave you,” he asserted softly, firmly. “I am not afraid to face the king with the church on my side.”

  “I will go with you,” she suddenly bolted up as if she had a million things to do and only five minutes in which to complete them. “I shall pack lightly and we can ride to my father’s home. It shouldna take more than a couple of days.”

  He grabbed her by the hands as she tried to get away. “In this weather?” he was trying to be gentle but he could see that she was beginning to panic. “I will not risk you over miles of open ground. It is foolish.”

  She had a wild look to her eye as her alarm gained ground. “Then ye must go alone,” she insisted, yanking at his hands. “Ye must leave right away. Go to Wether Fair and I will send word to ye when it ’tis safe to return.”

  He shook his head firmly. “I will not leave you, Cari. There is no telling how long we would be separated and I will not miss the birth of my son.”

  Her panic broke through and her high-pitched voice began to quake. “Ye’ll miss his entire life if the king’s men murder ye,” she cried. “For the love of God, English, get out of here. Go before it ’tis too late!”

  She was yanking fiercely at him and he threw his arms around her to stop the panic. She collapsed against him in terrified tears as he held her tightly.

  “I will not run like a coward,” he murmured into her dark hair, listening to her weep harder. “I did nothing wrong. God will protect me.”

  She was weeping pathetically. “Go, English,” she sobbed. “I am begging ye; for my sake, please go. I canna stand the strain of knowing ye risked yer life just to stay with me. Oh, please… go….”

  She trailed off into heart wrenching sobs. Creed sighed heavily, rocking her gently and trying to soothe her. His dark, anguished gaze found the priest.

  “How far behind you would you estimate the king’s men are?” he asked quietly.

  Massimo wriggled his eyebrows in resignation. “Darlington, perhaps,” he lifted his shoulders. “If they are riding harder than I am, then they will be closer.”

  Carington pulled her face from the crook of his neck, her emerald eyes filled with terror. “Please,” she put her small hands on his face urgently. “Please go. The king’s men will lay siege to Prudhoe if ye stay and ye will risk much. Yer desire to stay with me is not worth so many lives. And what of Lord Richard? Will ye bring hell upon him because of yer selfishness?”

  He gazed deeply into her beautiful eyes. “I do not consider wanting to stay with my
wife selfish. Moreover, there will be no siege.”

  She blinked, looking surprised. “No siege? What do ye mean?”

  He leaned down and kissed her wet cheek. “Because I intend to turn myself over to them.”

  Carington flew into a frenzy. “Nay!” she screamed. “Ye cannot do this, not when…oh!”

  She suddenly doubled over and clutched her belly. Creed went from calm to horrified in a split second.

  “What is wrong?” he had his arms on her, supporting her. “Cari, what is happening?”

  She was panting, holding her rounded belly. “A… pain,” she gasped. “’Tis nothing… I will be all right.”

  Creed was seized with terror. “What is wrong?”

  She shook her head; mostly to ease his mind but also because she did not really know. “A pain,” she said bravely. “It will pass. I’ve had a few lately but they go away.”

  “A few?” he repeated, aghast. “And you did not tell me?”

  “There wasna much to tell.”

  He swept her into his arms, torn between fury and terror. “I am taking you to bed,” he told her. “The strain has been too much for you.”

  Carington was in a good deal of agony as bolts of pain shot through her belly and groin. “Creed,” she was struggling to calm herself, realizing that it was now her husband who was on the edge of panic. “I will be all right but I must know that ye are safe. Ye must leave; please. I am begging ye.”

  He did not reply. A couple of servants were hovering hear the entry door and he sent one of them running for the physic tending Lady Vivian while the other tossed Carington’s cloak over her to shield her from the snow outside. Creed was in such a state of horror that he did not realize that it was Massimo who opened the entry door for him and helped them out into the snow. The priest kept Carington’s cloak from blowing off as they trudged through the fresh powder snow and into the cottage. Once inside, Massimo removed the cloak as Creed took Carington on into the bedroom.

  He laid her gently on their massive bed, gazing into her face with a stricken look. “The physic is coming, honey,” he murmured. “What more can I do for you?”

  She lay back on the pillows, her hands pressed to her swollen belly. “Ye can go,” she whispered. “Please, Creed; I cannot stomach the thought of ye at the mercy of the king. If ye have ever loved me, if ye have ever truly wanted to please me, then ye will flee to Wether Fair and remain there until I send for ye.”

  He tossed off his frozen helm and removed his gloves, kneeling beside the bed. “I am not leaving you.”

  She groaned as another pain struck and turned her head away from him so he could not see her fear and anguish. When she spoke again, she was weeping.

  “Please,” she whispered, extending a hand to him. “Oh, please do as I ask.”

  Creed realized that tears were very close to the surface for him as well. He took her hand, kissing it reverently, never more terrified in his life. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth against her hand.

  “My selfishness has brought you to this,” he hissed. “I have caused your pain with all of this strife and worry that seems to follow me about like a plague.”

  “Nay, love, ye have not,” she assured him. “But the most important thing right now to me is yer safety. Can ye not understand? Ye are the most important thing in the world to me. I love ye more than my own life. I want ye to save yerself so that ye can see yer son grow up. That is not cowardly.”

  There were tears on his cheeks as he continued to hold her hand against his face. The dusky blue eyes were in turmoil.

  “All right,” he murmured. “If that is your wish, then I will do it. But I cannot leave you at this moment.”

  She nodded firmly. “Aye, ye can and ye will. What becomes of me and the babe will not change if you are here or not and I will feel much more at peace knowing ye are safe.”

  He gazed at her, his lips trembling. “Please do not make me go.”

  She reached out and pulled him to her, her arms around his neck as she held him close. “I am not making ye go, English,” she murmured against his ear. “I am begging ye to. Please. So ye may live to see yer son grow up.”

  He sobbed against her neck, a short burst as he struggled to keep his emotions at bay. Suddenly, he was the vulnerable one and she was his strength. The pain of separation was more than he could bear. His massive hands were on her face, her hair, his lips kissing her tenderly as he whispered of his love for her. When she groaned softly with another pain, he gazed at her with sorrow and anxiety.

  “My God,” he breathed. “I cannot go, not now.”

  She grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed tightly, her nails digging into him. “Ye promised.”

  He nodded swiftly, not wanting to upset her further. “All right, all right,” he said quickly. “Can I at least wait until the physic has examined you?”

  She seemed to calm somewhat. “Aye,” she whispered, touching his face to memorize it for the separation ahead. “Everything will be all right, English. Ye must have faith.”

  He kissed her hand, her cheek, struggling not to fall apart. “I do,” he closed his eyes, his forehead against hers. “I love you, Cari. Greater than any man has ever loved a woman, I love you. I will return from this madness and we will know peace and happiness again.”

  She did not say anything; she continued to clutch him until the physic came and separated them out of necessity. Although it was not the truth, he told Creed that she was simply overwrought. It was a lie that Carington had made him relay because she knew Creed would not have left her otherwise. And it was imperative that he go.

  So Creed left into the snowy dusk with Massimo at his side, moving from the outer bailey of Prudhoe and out into the white-encrusted countryside beyond. His destination was Wether Fair in the midst of the Scots border, a place that even the king would not dare breach.

  Carington delivered a premature daughter three days later in a complicated birth that nearly claimed her life. The babe did not survive.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  January 1201 A.D.

  “Ye pace enough tae wear holes in me floor,” Sian sat in the great hall of Wether Fair, watching his massive son-in-law walk around the room. “Ye’re exhausting me, man. Sit down and enjoy yer drink.”

  Creed lifted an eyebrow at him; they had entertained this conversation many times over the past three weeks, since Creed first arrived at the desolate fortress of Wether Fair.

  “I would think you would show more concern than you do,” he fired back softly. “It is, after all, your grandson that your daughter is giving birth to.”

  Sian made a good show at being unconcerned although inside, he was a mess. He lifted his shoulders lazily. “Worrying will not help,” he said. “She is in the hands o’God.”

  Creed stopped his pacing, put his hands on his hips and chewed his lip in a nervous gesture. “Are you really so casual about this?”

  Sian’s vibrant blue eyes flared at him before turning back to his drink. “Nay,” he said. “But I willna worry about something I canna control. I sent one of me men with yer priest tae Prudhoe more than a week ago; they should be returning with some news soon. So sit yerself down and drink before I take a stick tae ye. Ye’re makin’ me daft!”

  The corner of Creed’s mouth twitched but he did as he was told. “I should have never left her,” he lamented for the thousandth time. “I should not have let her talk me into running.”

  Sian’s expression widened. “And if ye say that again, I am going tae run ye through,” he jabbed a finger at Creed. “Ye did what ye had tae. Had ye stayed, the king would have ye now and ye would never see yer son. Is that what ye wanted?”

  Creed sighed heavily, gazing into the blazing fire; the hearth was not particularly well made and smoke billowed out to the ceiling. But he drew some comfort being where his wife was born and where she was raised. He could see her traversing the narrow stairs and walking the great hall. He even slept in her old bed just to feel close
to her.

  “Nay,” he muttered. “That is not what I wanted.”

  “Then stop yer fretting. We will know her fate soon enough.”

  Creed sighed heavily again, this time with the displeasure of the waiting game, and reclaimed his cup. He and Sian spent nearly every day here, drinking and talking, when they weren’t out riding Sian’s lands when the weather was better. But this had been a particularly brutal winter and those days were few and far between. Still, it had afforded them much time to get to know one another and Creed was not surprised to realize that he liked his father-in-law. More than that, Sian had formed a strong attachment to Creed. Now, as they sat and entertained one another, it was as friends.

  “She is fine,” Creed said as if to convince himself. “I am sure that everything is fine.”

  Sian’s vibrant blue gaze lingered on him. “Aye, lad. She is fine.”

  So it was another day of the waiting game. The New Year came and went two days ago, but to Creed, it felt as if he had been away from his wife more than just a few weeks. It felt like forever. Massimo had stayed with him for a few days until Sian sent the priest, along with a few Scots, back to Prudhoe to see what had transpired. Sian and Creed were still waiting, waiting until Creed thought he would surely go mad. Every day they sat, drank, talked and waited. It was becoming so monotonous that Creed was ready to climb the walls. As the snow blew in through the small, square windows that dotted the keep, all he could think of was Prudhoe and his wife. That made him fairly useless for anything else.

  As the afternoon rolled on, Sian tried to interest Creed in a game of dice. Soon they were playing for the assortment of daggers Creed had brought with him against Sian’s collection of a fermented barley drink. As they played through the afternoon, Creed ended up with not only all of his weapons, but most of Sian’s liquor. The angrier Sian became, the more humored Creed grew. He was, in fact, actually enjoying himself when the door to the great hall suddenly creaked open.

  Snow blew in from Wether Fair’s bleak bailey as several bodies made their way inside. Creed was not particularly concerned, as there were always Scotsmen walking in and out of Sian’s keep, until he recognized one of the men that had escorted Massimo back to Prudhoe. With a start, he rose to his full, considerable height. His jaw began ticking as the men filtered into the hall and began removing their wet winter clothing.