Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  His reply was to whip her into his arms and kiss her again, so strongly that she was gasping for air when he finally pulled away. He grinned at her as she struggled.

  “Was that enough of an answer?”

  He was moving to the door, leaving her stunned and breathless. When she did not reply to his question, he paused at the door, his hand on the latch.

  “Now go to bed,” he ordered softly. “I will see you on the morrow.”

  She swallowed, her wits making a slow return. It was all she could do to nod her head like an idiot. The man possessed the power to still her tongue as well as flutter her heart. When he winked at her and finally shut the door, she continued to stand there for an unknown amount of time, reliving their kiss over and over in her mind.

  When sleep finally claimed her, it was deep and dreamless.

  “You know that under normal circumstances I would never bring an issue like this to your attention, but I feel that I must in this case. The man is a fool and a danger, and he seriously disrupts the harmony of my knights.”

  Richard had been listening to Ryton for the better part of the hour. In his private solar in Prudhoe’s thick keep, the focus of conversation was Jory d’Eneas, a sore subject for them both. But it was also a very political subject and Richard sighed heavily to Ryton’s latest tale of brutality and poor judgment. Though he was not surprised, he was nonetheless disheartened.

  “What would you have me do?” Richard finally asked, weary and wanting for the comfort of his bed. “The man is the son of an ally and friend and I cannot cast him aside easily. You know this, Ryton.”

  “I know it, my lord.”

  “Then what would you have me do?”

  “Send him back to his father. Let the earl deal with his ill-mannered bastard son, for he is only succeeding in upsetting the peace of Prudhoe. I fear that one day he will go too far and have his neck snapped by a fellow knight.”

  Richard eyed Ryton, hearing the ominous tone. “Is that what is happening within your ranks? Is that why his face is so bruised?”

  Ryton nodded slowly. “He attacked the hostage on our trip south. Creed dealt him a harsh blow and so did Burle.”

  “Then perhaps he has learned his lesson.”

  Ryton’s impatience slipped through. “He has not learned it yet, my lord. In all of the years the man has served me, he has never shown hide nor hair of an ability to take heed of a lesson taught. I am not sure why the latest incident would weigh any differently on him.”

  Richard’s gaze lingered on his captain. “Then I will repeat the question; short of sending him back to his father, what would you have me do?”

  Ryton’s jaw ticked; he could see that ridding himself of Jory was out of the question. It was not that his liege was weak; it was that he truly worried for the alliance implications of sending the disgraced knight home to his father. Ryton understood very well his fears, but it did not make their issue with Jory any simpler to resolve. Still, he felt some disgust that Richard was unwilling to take the chance of upsetting an ally over the reality of upsetting his entire castle.

  “Perhaps you should have a word with him, threaten him with returning him to his father at the very least,” Ryton said, a measure of defeat in his voice. “Even though you have no intention of doing so, perhaps the threat will be enough for him to amend his behavior.”

  Richard nodded, toying with his chalice that was long since empty of wine. Ryton watched his liege closely, for he could see that the man was thinking.

  “The hostage,” Richard finally said, somewhat hesitantly. “She is something of a firebrand, is she not?”

  Ryton could see their conversation about Jory was over. “She is spirited,” he sighed, knowing it would be of no use to try to continue with Jory’s punishment.

  Richard stood up, stretching his lanky body. “I cannot imagine that Creed took the assignment to protect her willingly.”

  “He did not. But he is the best one suited for the task. He is the only one of my knights I would trust with her.” Ryton cast his liege a sidelong glance. “You should know that Jory seems particularly interested in her. It is my suggestion that we assign Creed to protect the lady even while she is here at Prudhoe. The last thing we need is for Jory to compromise her, or worse, and have the entire Clan Kerr down around our ears.”

  Richard looked at him, a mixture of disgust and impatience on his face. “She is untouchable, Ryton. Jory must understand that. I will not suffer the wrath of the Kerrs because he cannot keep control of himself.”

  Ryton merely lifted an eyebrow. “Then that directive should come from you, as his liege. Let him know that if he brings a war down upon us because of his lack of control, we will make sure the Clan Kerr knows him by name. I will not defend a man who would knowingly disrupt a peace accord.”

  “I will speak to him,” Richard said firmly. “God help us all if that man harms one hair on her head.”

  Ryton was both pleased and surprised that his liege had actually committed to speaking with Jory. He almost always left it up to Ryton unless his captain pushed him into a corner.

  “Then I will send him to you immediately,” Ryton was moving for the door, not waiting to be dismissed. “And I will make sure that Creed knows that he is permanently assigned to protect the lady for the duration of her stay.”

  “Can Jory not wait until tomorrow?”

  “Nay, my lord, he cannot.”

  Richard nodded in resignation. “Very well. Send him to me. But be quick about it. I should like to see my bed before the sun rises.”

  So would I, Ryton thought dryly. The meeting with his liege had left a foul taste in his mouth; he would have liked to see Richard take a more decisive stand against Jory. The knight was difficult enough to command without strong support from their lord. As Ryton crossed the darkened bailey towards the knight’s quarters, he could see the massive outline of his brother on the wall walk.

  He was a silent, deadly silhouette against the moonlit sky. Creed had willingly taken the night watch as long as he could remember; even those many years ago when he was newly knighted, Creed would volunteer to take a post deep into the night. Guardian of Darkness, the older knights used to call the powerful young knight with the intense disposition. The man who would guard the night.

  Ryton made the decision to deliver Jory his orders before moving on to his brother. He could only imagine what his brother’s reaction would be.

  He was not looking forward to it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Carington slept well past dawn. In fact, she would have slept the entire day away had shouts from the bailey not jolted her from a heavy sleep. Yawning, stretching, she rolled over on her borrowed bed, trying to orient herself. It was a bright day beyond the lancet window. It took her a few moments to remember where she was.

  She sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Gazing down at the bed, the room, she suddenly remembered Creed and the passion they had shared in this very room. His warmth filled her veins, the giddy unfamiliar thoughts flooding her. It was enough to prompt her to bolt from the bed, calling to the servants that she knew were lingering within earshot. Two pasty-faced wenches showed themselves at the door and she ordered food and a bath. She was very dirty from her trip and wanted to wash the filth from her body. Moreover, she realized she was starving; she’d hardly eaten the day before and her appetite was back with a vengeance.

  In little time, a big copper tub was brought and several servants began filling it with steaming water. Carington was a little stand-offish of the English servants, feeling somewhat intimidated to be alone in a great group of them without her protectors about. She kept herself busy, and away from them, by going through the satchels she had brought with her. She was aware she had only brought four garments with her, plain and serviceable, and she selected the faded yellow wool surcoat that had once belonged to her mother. Due to her father’s thrift, she had many recycled garments. In spite of its age, it was the fanciest piece she ow
ned with red and blue flowers embroidered along the scoop neckline. She found herself hoping that Creed would like it.

  When the bath was full the two pale serving women remained, huddled by the hearth and waiting to assist the lady with her bath. But Carington wanted nothing to do with the English servants and sent them away. Removing the Elder flower oil and a precious cake of calendula soap from her bags, she stripped off the dusty and soiled clothing she had both slept and traveled in and plunged into the water.

  It was hot and stimulating, and she began to lather away with the calendula soap. From the top of her head to the bottom of her toes, she scrubbed herself furiously. All the while, a sweet little tune came from her lips, an old ballad that was common in her clan. When she was completely soaped, she submerged herself in the water, rinsing the lather off. Her hair was not particularly thick, but she had a lot of it, and it took several rinses to see the water run clear. When the black strands squeaked as she ran her fingers over them, she knew she was finally clean.

  Never one to linger in a bath, she leapt out and collected a large square of drying linen that the servants had brought her. Still humming her happy tune, she dried off vigorously and wrapped it around her head to soak the moisture from her hair. After a sparing application of the Elder flower oil to her dry skin, she dressed in soft hose, clean linen pantalets, her spare shift and the pale yellow surcoat.

  The peat in the hearth was smoking weakly. Carington stoked it vigorously, added a few more clumps of peat that were in an iron bucket near the hearth, and removed the linen from her head. The warmth of the fire began to dry her black hair into a silken mass and she ran her fish-bone comb through it, letting the heat from the fire envelope every strand.

  By this time, an older serving woman with bad skin returned with her meal of bread, cheese and watered ale and she began to wolf it down. The woman watched her eat.

  “Ah now, lass,” she said timidly. “You’ll want to slow down. No sense in everything coming back up again.”

  Carington eyed the woman. “Get out.”

  The old woman was not intimidated or offended. “As you wish, m’lady,” she turned for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour to clean up your mess.”

  Carington’s mouth was full of cheese. She should have just let the woman go but something made her call out. “What mess? There is no mess.”

  “The mess that you’ll make when you vomit everything you just ate,” the woman said calmly, almost to the door.

  Carington swallowed some of what was in her mouth, now looking uncertain. “I’ll not make a mess.”

  “As you say, m’lady.”

  The woman opened the door and immediately stepped back; lingering in the doorway were two young women, looking as if they were surprised the door had suddenly opened. Startled, Carington realized that Lady Julia and Lady Kristina had made an appearance and she struggled to swallow the food in her mouth, fumbling with her comb and trying to make sure she was properly dressed to accept visitors all in the same breath. As she hurriedly stood up, the young ladies entered the warm chamber.

  For a moment, no one said a word. Everyone seemed to be appraising each other. In their first and only contact, Carington had essentially insulted the girls and she was waiting for a barrage of abuse to come hurling back at her. But the young women made no move against her; they just stared as if expecting her to rise up and breathe fire. Carington could not remember which one was Julia and which one was Kristina.

  “It was not my idea to displace ye last night,” she was immediately on the defensive, more than likely not a good way to start out a conversation. “If ye’re thinking of berating me, I’d hold my tongue. None of it was my doing.”

  The taller blond girl spoke quickly. “We know,” she had a soft, sweet voice. “Lady Anne told us. We came to see if you required any… ummm… assistance this morning.”

  Carington lifted a dark eyebrow. “Assistance with what?”

  The girl shrugged, looking at her companion for support. “Dressing, I suppose. And your bath. But we see that you have already taken care of everything.”

  Carington studied the tall blond. She was pretty and young. “Which lady are ye?”

  “I am Kristina,” the girl replied.

  Carington’s gaze moved to the second girl; then this one was Julia, the problem that Creed had warned her of. She was short, thin, with not much health about her. She had light brown hair and blue eyes, nothing spectacular about either feature. Carington sensed a great deal of animosity from her.

  “Well,” Carington averted her gaze and indicated a chair near the hearth. “I suppose we should all become acquainted considering we are to share this chamber. If ye have a mind to sit, I’ll not stop ye.”

  Kristina was definitely the more timid of the two. She looked hesitantly at Julia, who was still fixed on Carington. It was clear that she was sizing her up. But the girls did manage to sit a good distance away from their Scots counterpart after some serious indecision. It seemed that no one wanted to get too close. Carington appreciated the distance, feeling Julia’s strong stare as she finished her meal.

  “What is it ye wish to know about me?” Carington asked, tearing at her bread. She looked up at the two girls as she popped a piece in her mouth. “Surely there is something ye wish to know.”

  Julia folded her hands meekly in her lap, her unspectacular face intense with curiosity and hostility. “Aye,” she said slowly, her tone low and coarse, surprising for such a small lady. “There is something I have always wished to know about Scots. Is it true that they eat their young?”

  The blood rushed to Carington’s head but she surprisingly kept her cool. “Nay, lady,” she said, putting another piece of bread in her mouth. “Just our enemies. I’d wager to say we’ve had a few of your kin in our time. I probably cooked them myself.”

  While Kristina’s eyes opened wide with shock, Julia’s pale cheeks flushed. “No doubt,” she replied smoothly. “There is something quite barbaric about you.”

  A thin smile came to Carington’s lips. “Push me too far, skinny wench, and ye’ll find out just how barbaric. I’m a laird’s daughter, an instrument for peace. Ye cannot touch me without bringing yer lord’s wrath upon ye. But I can do what I please with no punishment. So think twice before tangling with me, lassie. I’ll smother ye while ye sleep.”

  “My lady,” Kristina boldly interrupted, seeing that the conversation was plummeting. “Is… is there anything you wish to know about Prudhoe? We have been here for several years and can answer any of your questions.”

  Carington tore her gaze away from Julia and focused on the young blond. “There is nothing I wish to know about the castle, but thanks to ye for asking.”

  An unstable pause followed. Kristina piped up again with nervous conversation. “My home is in the south of England. Until I came north, I had no idea there was such snow. And I have never even met a Scots until yesterday. Are there big cities in Scotland, my lady?”

  Above her hostile posturing with Julia, Carington could see that Kristina was genuinely attempting to make conversation. Perhaps she was even genuinely trying to welcome her as much as she dared with Julia present. She attempted to soften her manner with the girl.

  “Aye,” she replied. “There are big cities. My da took me to Edinburgh once and it was the biggest city I have ever seen. There is even an enormous castle in the middle of it.”

  Kristina smiled timorously. “I went to London with my father when I was a child, although I do not remember much of it. I do, however, remember my mother buying fine jewelry and my father becoming angry with her for spending so much money.”

  Carington felt comfortable conversing with the girl; her guard was gradually slipping. “My da is frugal also. He doesna believe in spending money on anything foolish.”

  “Surely he does not mind spending money on his daughter. Would he not buy you whatever you wish?”

  Carington laughed, a beautiful gesture that lit up the room. �
�Hardly; sometimes we have traveling merchants that stop and seek shelter for a night and my da acts as if I am torturing him if I want to buy the smallest trinket. Why, only last month we had a man who had traveled all over France and Italy. He had the most marvelous oils and pastes. I wanted to buy one that smelled of flowers, such a wonderful smell, but my da pretended to take sick and took to his bed until the man left. As soon as the merchant departed, he was miraculously healed. What a deceiver he is!”

  Kristina giggled as Carington continued to snort at the memory. Julia, seeing her companion warming to the hostage, suddenly leapt to her feet.

  “Since you have no need for us, we will return to Lady Anne and tell her so,” she grabbed Kristina by the arm and practically yanked the girl to her feet. “You should be mindful that Chapel is at mid-morning. Lord Richard expects everyone to attend; even you. I would suggest you prepare yourself.”

  The warmth that Carington had felt for Kristina vanished when addressing Julia. “I will be ready,” she said evenly. “I will thank ye both for your offer to assist me this morn.”

  Julia did nothing more than nod her head and turn away, heading for a large wardrobe that was against the opposite wall. Kristina lingered, still smiling hesitantly at Carington.

  “We must get dressed for Mass,” she said. “I hope we will not disturb you.”

  Carington could see that Creed had been right; Kristina was a sweet girl. She was close enough to put a hand on the girl’s arm.

  “Ye couldna disturb me if ye tried,” she assured her.

  Removing her hand, she went back to her borrowed bed where the contents of her satchels were spread out. Her leather boots were by the bed, ugly and durable, and she pulled them on over her hose. As she dressed, she could not help but notice that both Julia and Kristina wore fine slippers. She did not own anything so nice.