Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He held out a hand to her. “A word, my lady.”

  Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her away from Burle and the cook. He took her outside, to a corner of the building where the kitchen met with the outer wall. It was quiet and out of the way, and he faced her in the shadows.

  “First, lady, you are a guest of Lord Richard d’Umfraville and to refuse a gift of new clothing would be insulting to your host,” he said in a low voice. “Second, finely bred young ladies do not work in the kitchens. Although it is quite generous for you to share your recipe with the cook, I do believe that simply telling her what the recipe is and allowing her to do her job would suffice.” He could see the storm brewing in her eyes and he stepped closer to her, his big fingers finding her hand. He brought it to his mouth, his lips against her flesh as he spoke. “You are a beautiful, witty and intelligent woman, Cari. Allow us to treat you as such. Allow me to treat you as such. You do not belong in the kitchen. You belong in a fine house with all of the luxury and protection I can provide you.”

  Her emerald eyes went from flashing to soft in a moment. She watched him nibble on her fingers, her heart doing strange leaps against her ribcage.

  “Well,” she said slowly, hearing the quiver in her voice. “Since ye put it that way, how can I refuse?”

  He grinned, his lips still against her hand. “You cannot. And I thank you for your understanding.”

  She shook her head at him, a knowing smile on her face as they both knew she had little choice. But she did not particularly care.

  “When do we leave for town?” she asked.

  “Immediately if you wish.”

  “Will it just be you and I?”

  He shook his head. “Nay. I am taking Burle and Stanton with me and about twenty men at arms.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Just for me?”

  “Just for you.”

  Giddy with the thought of spending the day with him, not to mention that her hosts were purchasing finery for her, she was in a splendid mood as he escorted her back to the kitchens. Quite carefully, she explained to the cook what must be done and left the woman to wrangle her magic with the new recipe. With orders to gather an escort, Burle went along his way as Creed took Carington back to the keep to collect her cloak.

  As they were preparing to mount the steps to the keep, a few children came running past them, howling in terror. One child, a little girl of no more than four years, fell on the ground and bloodied her knee. Carington naturally felt sorry for the child and was preparing to help her stand when Gilbert and Edward suddenly appeared, small swords in hand. The boys pounced on the little girl before Carington could get to her.

  “I have you now, wench!” Gilbert grabbed the child by the hair. “To the vault with you!”

  Horrified, Carington made a dash for the child before Creed could stop her. With the little girl in one hand, she shoved Gilbert away.

  “Gilbert d’Umfraville, ye’re a monster to hurt this child,” she scolded severely. “Go away and leave her alone, ye little devil, before I take a stick to ye.”

  Gilbert’s mouth popped open in outrage. Then he thrust his sword at her, barely missing her torso.

  “I’ll teach you to interfere, you brazen wench,” he cried.

  Creed was suddenly between them, removing Carington and the weeping child without laying a hand on Gilbert. One had to be very careful with Richard’s sons.

  “Master Gilbert,” his voice was low. “Honorable men do not use weapons against women, and particularly not Lady Carington. She is a guest of your father’s and you will not harm or harass her in any way. Another offense and your mother shall be informed.”

  The threat of Lady Anne’s wrath was perhaps the only thing that intimidated Gilbert. But being the spoiled child that he was, he was not easily swayed. He pursed his lips, glaring at Carington and the sobbing girl. He pointed the sword at them.

  “Don’t you interfere anymore,” he threatened Carington. “This is my castle. I will do as I please.”

  Carington would not let a spoiled boy frighten her. “If I see another wrong doing, ye’ll come away with a blistered backside.”

  “I will kill you first!”

  “Make yer move, ye arrogant little fiend. I dare ye!”

  It was turning into a shouting match between a grown lady and a horrible little boy. Creed put his hands out, one to turn Carington back towards the keep and the other to gently but firmly turn Gilbert around in the direction he had come. He ended up shoving him into Edward, who was huddled behind his brother in mute support.

  “Go, both of you,” he ordered quietly. “I will hear no more of this. Master Gilbert, I would suggest you leave those children alone. You have been warned against beating them before.”

  “But they are my vassals. I may do with them as I please.”

  “Good lords do not harass their vassals. They protect them.”

  Gilbert stuck his tongue out at Creed. Carington caught the gesture and she snapped, rushing at him with the intent of whacking him within an inch of his life. Creed was fast and grabbed her before she could fully execute her plan, but she still managed to get a handful of Gilbert’s hair and she yanked hard. The boy screamed.

  “How do ye like that?” she snarled as Creed hoisted her up and began to carry her away. “That is what ye did to that little girl. It hurts, doesn’t it? Ye little beast, I’ll…!

  Creed slapped a hand over her mouth before she could issue the rest of her threat. He carried her into the keep, only setting her down when they reached the steps. By then, she knew she probably should not have become so angry and she did not fight him as he firmly directed her up the stairs. . He did not scold her; he did not have to. He knew that she was fully aware of the wrongness of her actions, even though the lad had deserved worse. By the time they reached her shared chamber, she was properly, if not reluctantly, contrite.

  She would not look him in the eye as he paused at the door. “I shall retrieve my cloak,” she said, looking at anything but him. “Please give me a moment.”

  She started to open the door but he stopped her. Cupping her chin in one enormous hand, he forced her to look at him.

  “Cari,” his voice was a purr, a rumble that shook her to the core. “No foul moods today. I would see a smile when you return.”

  She blinked at him with those great emerald eyes. “Are ye going to tell Lord Richard what I did?”

  He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Nay.”

  “But surely that nasty lad will tell him.”

  “Let him. And then I will tell him of your noble actions in preventing his son from harming a little girl.”

  She gazed up at him, his words settling. “Ye think I was noble?”

  He nodded, the fingers cupping her chin now caressing it. “Indeed I do. But I also think that you need to control your temper where the boys are concerned. It is beneath you to argue with a child.”

  Her features darkened. “But he was horrible. I wasna going to let him get away with his dastardly behavior.”

  He was not going to delve into the subject with her. “I will say no more.” He let go of her face. “Go and collect your cloak. I shall meet you downstairs.”

  She nodded obediently, opening the door to the chamber. Creed could see Kristina and Julia beyond and wondered how Carington was getting along with her new roommates. She had not said anything about it and he had not heard anything negative to this point. He eyed the girls in the room beyond as he turned back for the steps.

  Carington’s gaze lingered on Creed before turning into to the chamber. Kristina was looking at her but Julia had better things to occupy her attention. Julia’s eyes were focused on the loom in front of her, an elaborate scene of color blossoming under her skilled needle. Carington smiled at Kristina as she moved to her bed and possessions at the far end of the room. Just as she reached the cloak thrown over the end of the bed, she heard Julia speak.

  “Is S
ir Creed to be your permanent escort while you are at Prudhoe, my lady?” she asked.

  On-guard by the mere sound of the woman’s voice, Carington glanced at her. “Why do ye ask?”

  “Because he seems to spend a good deal of time around you.”

  “If he does, it is only his duty. He has been my protector since we left my home.”

  Julia snorted, a very lady-like sound. “I see,” she said. “Have you been warned of Sir Creed yet, my lady?”

  Carington’s movements paused and her eyes narrowed. “What do ye mean?”

  Julia was still focused on her loom; she stabbed at the material. “Then no one has told you.”

  Carington did not like her tone. She folded the cloak neatly over her arm. “Told me what?”

  Julia finally lifted her gaze, noticing that Kristina was shaking her head at her. Julia looked quite innocently at her companion. “Why do you shake your head at me?” she asked. “You know that she must be told. Sir Creed has been with her since her arrival. I was told he was with her the entire trip from Scotland. We would be doing her a disservice if we did not tell her what we know of him.”

  Carington had had enough of the lady’s mystery. She put an irritated hand on her hip. “One of ye had better tell me. What about Sir Creed?”

  Julia looked at her with her plain blue eyes. “There is nothing to become upset over, Lady Carington. But you should know the character of the man entrusted with your care, if for no other reason than to be very careful around him.”

  Carington cocked an impatient eyebrow and her foot began to tap. She had already asked for a reply several times and would not do it again. Julia, sensing she had the Scots attention, put her needle down in a slow, deliberate gesture.

  “Have little doubt that Sir Creed is not a great knight,” Julia said evenly. “He is the very best in the realm. So great, in fact, that the king requested his service. Creed served the king for nearly three years, until about six months ago.”

  Carington was torn between impatience and curiosity. “What happened six months ago that he no longer serves the king?”

  Julia folded her hands primly; she was enjoying this. “Creed and five other knights were sent to France to escort Isabella of Angoulệme back to England to marry the king. Have you not heard of this, even in your caves in Scotland?”

  Carington’s cheeks grew hot and she turned away from Julia, moving for the chamber door. “If yer going to insult me, than I have no more time for yer foolishness.”

  Julia watched her march across the room and proceeded to reclaim her needle. She waited until Carington was at the door before she spoke again, loud enough so that Carington would clearly hear her.

  “It is well known that Creed de Reyne and little Isabella had a romance. It is also well known that Creed deflowered her.” Julia stabbed the needle into the material again, watching Carington come to a halt in her peripheral vision. “Now news comes to the north that the queen is expecting, but it is not the king’s child. It would seem that some believe she is well into a pregnancy brought about by none other than Creed himself.”

  Carington struggled not to react, but in truth, she felt as if she had been hit squarely in the chest. The lady’s words were bitter and nasty; she did not know this young woman and what she knew of her was not pleasant. She was stunned by the words, unsure what to think or believe.

  “Why would you tell me this?” she asked in a strange, hoarse voice.

  Julia did not look at her. She continued to embroider. “I tell you because you should take great care while in the company of Sir Creed. He has a most unsavory reputation with young women and I would hate to see you fall victim to his lusty nature.”

  “Ye’re lying,” she accused quietly.

  “Ask anyone. They will tell you the same thing. Sir Creed is not to be trusted.”

  All Carington could think of at the moment was Creed’s passionate kiss, the way his deep blue eyes glimmered so warmly at her. He had made her feel special, safe. Now she was being told that his actions were quite the opposite. But rather than let her emotions flow freely, as was her nature, she steeled herself. She would not let these Sassenach wenches know her thoughts, her turmoil at the shocking words. Woodenly, she swung the cloak over her shoulders, realizing her hands were quaking and hoping neither lady could see it.

  Without another word, she quit the chamber and headed down the stairs to the first floor. By the time she hit the entry, she was struggling against tears. But she would not show her feelings. It was a bright morning as she took the stairs faster than she should have, wiping furiously at the moisture around her eyes. It would not do for Creed to see her state and ask her what the matter was. She was not sure she could explain it to him.

  But she could not believe what the Sassenach wench said. She would not believe it. Yet she had only known Creed a matter of days. It was not long enough to know his character. Julia had been at Prudhoe a long time; certainly long enough to know. As she drew close to the cluster of horses and men that were waiting to take her to town, Carington suddenly remember that Kristina had indeed tried to quiet Julia when the woman began to speak of Creed’s reputation. If there was no truth to it, why would Kristina have tried to stop her?

  The tears of shock were giving way to the posture of confusion. Confusion gave way to belligerence. By the time she reached the group, she in no way wanted anything to do with Creed or their trip to town. She simply wanted to be alone, somewhere, to sort out her thoughts and the horrors that this endeavor to Prudhoe had brought her. But there was no privacy for her, not back in the shared chamber with evil Julia. She was afraid of what she might do to the woman should she say another word to her. Carington was lost in her tumultuous thoughts when Creed approached her.

  “Ready, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.

  His deep, rich voice broke through her fogged mind. Carington looked up at him, gazing into the dusky blue eyes and realizing that she was fighting off tears. She lowered her gaze; anything so that she would not have to look at him.

  “I… I dunna want to go to town,” her voice was strangely tight.

  His brow rippled. “Why not? I thought….”

  She shook her head vigorously. “Nay,” she realized that her words were quivering. “I want… I want to go to the chapel. I want to pray.”

  His face did not change expression, but his piercing eyes were riveted to her. “Now?”

  “Aye. Now.”

  Creed continued to stare at her, wondering why her demeanor had changed so drastically. A few minutes ago she had been warm and agreeable. Now she would not even look at him. He took a step closer.

  “Cari,” he said quietly. “What is the matter?”

  She shook her head and took a step back. She opened her mouth to deny that anything was wrong but a sob bubbled up instead. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep any more sounds from escaping.

  “Nothing,” she hissed through her fingers. “Just leave me be. I want to go to the chapel.”

  He glanced around at the escort he had assembled. Quite a few men wait for them, including Burle and Stanton, mounted on their chargers. Creed held up a discreet hand to the two knights, indicating for them to wait. The men acknowledged his command with a nod. Creed then took Carington gently by the elbow.

  “Come along, my lady,” he said quietly.

  She was not tactful about yanking her elbow from his grasp. Creed let his hand drop as they walked together towards the gatehouse chapel. In silence they mounted the stone steps. At the door, Carington came to an abrupt halt.

  “I will go in alone,” she said, still not looking at him.

  He did nothing more than open the door for her. Carington went inside and he closed the door softly behind her. Now the tears came as she turned to the closed door, knowing Creed was on the other side and feeling such anguish that she could hardly describe it. She could feel the sobs coming and she knew he would hear them. She did not want him charging into the chapel demandin
g to know what the matter was. Her eyes fell on the old iron bolt and she threw it just as the first sob sprang forth.

  On the other side of the door, Creed heard the bolt slide just as sounds of weeping filled his ears. His hand went to the old iron door latch, jigging it and realizing that Carington had locked herself inside.

  “Lady Carington?” he did not want to draw attention and rattled the latch quietly. “Unlatch the door. What is wrong?”

  Her response was to weep loudly. Puzzled, Creed began to grow concerned. “Cari, what’s happened?” he pounded on the door softly. “Open the door and let me in.”

  Inside the brightly lit chapel with the sun streaming through its many-colored glass panes, Carington wept openly. Her back was to the door; she could feel Creed rattling it. She sank to her buttocks on the cold stone floor, her face in her hands, feeling days of confusion and anxiety gnaw at her. First she was forced to leave her home, then her beloved Bress was killed. Now Creed was apparently not the man of honor and chivalry that she believed him to be; she simply couldn’t take anymore.

  Creed listened to her weep with deepening concern. She would not answer him and he truly could not fathom what the problem was. But women were confusing creatures he had never been able to decipher. He may have been a stellar knight, but he was not a particularly good mind reader when it came to the opposite sex. Strange thing was that he wanted to read Carington’s mind very much. She was upset and he had an overwhelming desire to know why. But his hand remained on the door latch, uncertain what to do.

  “Sir Creed?”

  A soft female voice met his ears. Creed looked over his shoulder, down the stone steps that led into the bailey, and saw Lady Kristina standing at the base. Her pale face and big blue eyes were laced with apprehension.