Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “My lady?” he stepped away from the door; he did not want her coming up the stairs and hearing the weeping. “How can I be of service?”

  Kristina took the first two steps; Creed descended half the flight before she took another step to prevent her from ascending any further.

  “I came to tell you…,” Kristina paused when she saw how close he had come; very properly, she traced her steps back down the stairs and stood at the bottom, putting distance between them. “I wanted to tell you that I fear our Lady Carington has heard… well, she has heard gossip and I thought to forewarn you. Since you have been acting as her protector, you have a right to know.”

  Creed’s expression did not change except to cock a dark eyebrow. “Know what?”

  Kristina swallowed; Creed intimidated her even though he had never been anything other than kind to her. She began to wring her hands. “She… she has been told of your trip with Queen Isabella. It may have frightened her.”

  Suddenly, a great deal made sense; Creed glanced over his shoulder at the bolted chapel door before refocusing on Kristina. The girl was uneasy; he could read it in her face. But he had known her for several years and she was not the malicious type. Her companion, however, was.

  He sighed heavily. “Lady Julia.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Kristina nodded reluctantly. “She told her. I tried to stop her, but she would not listen.” She took a step towards him, her blue eyes wide and honest. “We all know how Julia feels about you, Sir Creed. She is not threatened by me because she knows I am pledged to another, but Lady Carington is new and exciting and blindingly beautiful, and I can already see that Julia is sharpening her claws.”

  Creed’s gaze was steady on her. “Then Lady Julia is in for a beating. Lady Carington will tear her down to size and never think twice about it. If I were you, I would warn your friend to retract her claws and her tongue before she finds herself in a dire predicament.”

  Kristina lifted her slender shoulders. “She will not listen to me, my lord.”

  “Then she will listen to me.”

  Kristina shook her head vigorously. “Nay, my lord, please do not. If you do, she will know I have told you. And I must live with her.”

  Creed understood. Though he felt nothing but irritation at the moment for what Lady Julia had done, he nonetheless forced a smile for Kristina’s sake. She was a good girl and tried to do the right thing.

  “As you say, my lady,” he said quietly. “And thank you for telling me the truth.”

  Kristina bobbed a curtsy and fled, her blond hair wagging in the breeze as she walked briskly in the direction of the keep. Creed’s gaze lingered on her a moment before he made his way back up the steps to the chapel. Putting his ear against the door, he could hear sniffling.

  He did the only thing he could do. He went for Ryton.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Damn that girl,” Ryton snarled as he pushed past his brother. “If I am not saddled enough with Jory’s antics, I have to also deal with a spoiled girl who cannot keep her mouth shut.”

  Ryton had been seated at the worn table in the knight’s quarters, enjoying his first quiet meal in days. With his brother’s appearance and subsequent request, he found he’d lost his appetite. In the bright sun of the bailey, he paused long enough for Creed to catch up to him.

  “What have you done to Jory and Julia in a past life that they would seek to make you so miserable?” he half-demanded, half-wondered. “Why on earth would she tell Lady Carington about the rumors?”

  Creed sighed heavily; he had wished in the past that he’d never accepted the assignment to escort young Isabella to England, but now more than ever, he wished he had run at the first suggestion of such a mission. It was returning to haunt him in more ways than he could comprehend.

  “You know why,” he said in a low voice. “She is not above such irresponsible behavior.”

  Ryton nodded his head sharply; aye, he knew why. “That girl has had eyes for you for the past six months. Can she not get it through her thick skull that you are not the least bit interested in her?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “So now I must undo her viciousness.” Ryton turned the corner for the stairs that led up to the chapel. “Well? Have you even tried to talk to her?”

  Creed cast him a long glance. “Of course I have. She will not talk to me. As I told you, I suspect the only person who has a moderate chance of reasoning with her is you. And I would suspect she wants someone else to be her shadow from now on. I do not think she wants anything more to do with me.”

  There was something in his tone that made Ryton look at him. His dusky blue eyes studied his brother a moment. “What is her opinion to you?”

  Creed met his brother’s gaze, suspecting that there must have been too much regret in his tone. He’d tried to keep it from the conversation. “Nothing, except she and I must cohabitate here at Prudhoe together for an unknown duration. I had built a trust with her. I am sorry to lose it, considering I worked hard to achieve it.”

  Ryton’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer. As they mounted the top of the steps near the old oak door, he focused on his brother. “True enough,” he replied. “You are the only one who can handle her. If not you, then I must assign Burle and I told you my fears of him before. He will not be firm enough with her, not in the least.”

  Creed had nothing more to say to that. With an impatient sigh, Ryton moved towards the door as Creed hung back. Ryton knocked softly on the old wood.

  “My lady?” he called. “It is Sir Ryton. I would like for you to open this door. I must speak with you.”

  There was a long pause during which time Ryton knocked again. When they heard her voice, it was muffled and dull.

  “What do ye wish, Sir Ryton?”

  Ryton was trying to bank his irritation, knowing he must deal with the lady calmly. He rattled the latch; it was still locked. “My lady, Lord Richard and his wife will be in need of their chapel shortly. They pray three times a day and their nooning prayer is fast approaching. You may not commandeer the chapel any longer. You must unlock the door.”

  There was another long pause. “Sir Ryton, if I unlock this door, I would have yer oath that Sir Creed is not with ye.”

  Ryton glanced at his brother, who was already descending the stairs. “He is not with me, my lady,” he said after a moment, allowing Creed enough time to put distance between them. “Would you open the door now, please?”

  The lock slowly unlatched. Ryton stood back as Carington pulled the door open, her red-rimmed eyes peering up at him. He remained impassive as they studied one another.

  “Now,” he said quietly. “What is the meaning of the locked door? You frightened Sir Creed with this behavior. He thought something was quite wrong.”

  The door opened wider and she stepped out into the sun. She brushed a stray lock from her face, her eyes never leaving Ryton’s face.

  “I would ask ye a question, Sir Ryton, and I would have an honest answer,” she said.

  “You have my vow.”

  Her lovely face was pale, her eyes still moist from crying. But he saw her take a deep breath and a spark ignited in the emerald eyes. It put him on his guard.

  “What kind of man is it that ye’ve saddled me with?” she demanded quietly.

  He lifted an eyebrow at her tone. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that,” she hissed, gaining steam. “Lady Julia told me of Sir Creed and his… his lust for the child queen. She says everyone knows of it. She said that Sir Creed begot Isabella with child and that the whole of England knows it. Is this the kind of man ye would have protect me? A man who would prey upon innocent young maidens?”

  It was difficult for Ryton to stay neutral. “Lady,” he said slowly. “You seem to be quite willing to throw about accusations without seeking the truth of the matter. Would you truly be so foolish as to believe everything Lady Julia tells you?”

  Some of Carington’s fire ba
nked, but not entirely. Ryton had a point but she was not yet willing to concede. “Then I would ask ye the truth,” she said. “However, being his brother, it is natural that ye would defend him, is it not?”

  “Then who would you hear it from that you would believe?”

  She was guarded, hesitant. In truth, she was not sure. Everyone at Prudhoe would defend Creed, she suspected, except for Lady Julia and perhaps that lout Jory. Everyone had their opinion and their side to take. She began to cool.

  “Who would be honest with me?” she asked.

  Ryton was steady. “I would, brother or no. As Captain of the Guard, it is my duty to be fair and honest with all despite family ties.”

  Carington regarded him a moment. He had always tried to be fair with her, if she thought on it. No matter how she had behaved since they’d met, he had always tried to be even-handed and truthful. He had never been cruel. Sweet Jesus, how she wanted to believe the man if he countered everything Julia had told her about his brother.

  “Tell me, then,” she whispered. “And tell me the truth.”

  For a split second, Ryton heard the same tone in her voice that he had heard earlier in Creed’s. There was a wistfulness that was difficult to put his finger on. An inkling of an idea formed in his mind but he quickly chased it away. He had not the time to gracefully or rationally deal with it.

  “Six months ago, my brother was in the service of the king,” he said in a low voice. “The king regarded him very well. So well, in fact, that he sent him as the head of a group of knights to escort the king’s bride from France. As always, Creed performed his duties flawlessly. But the child bride of the king took a liking to my brother and sought to make him a conquest. When he refused, she was grievously insulted and sought to destroy him. She accused him of hideous things. But I can assure you, lady, that my brother is completely innocent of all slander charged against him. He is an honorable, trustworthy man and a fine knight. I would not have him in my service if he was otherwise and I certainly would not have assigned him to guard you.”

  Carington gazed back at Ryton, her expression open with astonishment. “The queen tried to seduce him?”

  “Aye.”

  “But… but why?”

  Ryton smiled wryly. “She saw something she wanted. When she could not have him, she made sure to ruin him.”

  Carington savored the information, digested it, before allowing herself to form a reply. As she spoke, her head wagged back and forth, slowly. “I’ve heard tale of Sassenach women of royal blood, how they lack of scruples and morals. I thought it was talk. Most of my countrymen hate the English and the French as well. Can it be that they were right?”

  Ryton nodded faintly. “With rare exception.”

  She was reluctant to give in so easily, still. “Do ye swear what ye have told me is the truth about yer brother?”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave, my lady. I would not lie to you about something like this, not even to save my brother.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted. “Then Julia lied to me.”

  “She was repeating what she had heard. She did not make it up if that is what you mean.”

  “But why would she do this?”

  Ryton looked moderately uneasy; his gaze shifted from Carington to the chapel door behind her to finally his feet.

  “Because she is fond of Creed,” he said quietly. “She is, in fact, in love with him. He does not return her adoration and for the same reason Isabella slandered him, Julia is also vengeful. Perhaps she is threatened by your beauty and by the fact that Creed has been assigned to act as your protector. In any case, ask me no more.”

  Carington understood a great deal in that grunted reply, her emerald eyes moving past Ryton and to the ward below. She could see a few servants and soldiers milling about. It suddenly occurred to her that she had believed that slanderous talk before asking Creed his side of the story. He had been honest, protective and forthright since she had met him. She had been difficult, angry and combative. Julia was a snake; she had sensed it from the first. Why she had believed the woman’s tale was a mystery. Now she felt like a fool.

  With a heavy sigh, she wiped a stray bit of hair from her face and gathered her skirt to take the steps.

  “Then it would seem I have some apologies to make to yer brother,” she said softly, taking the stairs.

  Ryton took her by the elbow, chivalrously, simply to make sure she kept her footing on the narrow stairs.

  “I am sure no apologies are necessary, my lady,” he said. “But to ensure your comfort, I shall assign you another escort while you are here at Prudhoe.”

  She stopped half way down, her emerald eyes snapping to him. “Another es…?” she stopped herself before she sounded too outraged, struggling to remain collected. “That will be unnecessary, Sir Ryton. Sir Creed and I have gotten used to one another. I dunna want to break in another shadow.”

  He heard that tone again. The same wistfulness he had heard before no matter how hard she tried to conceal it. Now he was sure he was not imagining things but, for lack of a better response at the moment, he simply nodded his head.

  “Very well, my lady,” he replied.

  They reached the bottom of the steps and headed into the bailey. The moment they turned for the keep, they could see Creed in conversation with Stanton over by the gatehouse. Stanton was still mounted on his impatient charger and Creed kept side-stepping the animal. Ryton came to a stop.

  “Wait here, my lady,” he bade her.

  Carington watched him walk towards his brother, watching further as Creed and Stanton turned to him. Ryton spoke a few words to Creed, who nodded his head and headed towards Carington, alone.

  As Carington watched him cross the dusty ward in her direction, she was aware of the butterflies in her stomach. Her breathing was coming in strange little gasps the closer he came. All she could focus on was his eyes; he had the most amazing eyes. The lightning bolts were flaring again, shooting giddy warmth deep into her heart. Before she realized it, Creed was standing in front of her.

  “Is everything well now, my lady?” he asked softly.

  She tried to remain dignified but the moment she heard his voice, she crumbled. “I am so sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I shouldna… Julia told me things and I… well, I shouldna have listened to her and I am sorry. Can ye ever forgive me for being so foolish?”

  Creed just looked at her. After a moment, he extended his elbow to her. Carington looked at it, then back to him, watching a beautiful smile spread across his lips. It was enough to undo her and she clutched his arm tightly.

  “There is nothing to forgive, my lady,” he murmured. “Are you ready to go to town now?”

  She had almost forgotten about their trip. “Do ye still want to take me?” she asked, surprised.

  He slanted her a glance. “Of course. Why not?”

  Her lovely brows drew together. “Why not? Because I have been such an imbecile. Why would ye want to have anything to do with me now?”

  He paused and turned to her, a smile playing on his lips. “Because I rather like imbeciles; especially beautiful ones.” When she blushed madly, his smile broadened and his voice lowered. “Come along, Cari. We have many wonderful things to purchase for you.”

  She was having a difficult time looking at him; his smile made her go weak in the knees. “Oh, Creed,” she sighed. “Ye are too good to me.”

  “I know.”

  Stanton, Burle and Ryton could hear her hissing insults at him. They could also hear Creed’s low laughter, even when she pinched him.

  It was a big escort for a little lady; three massive knights and twenty men at arms swooped into the town named after the castle. The berg of Prudhoe was a fairly large metropolis that was populated with almost as many Scots as English. It was a true border town that had persevered through generations of conflict.

  Creed knew that there was a seamstress located on the second avenue of merchants, next to the main thoroughfare. It was a w
oman from the Teutonic region who did a good deal of sewing for Lady Anne. He took the entire party to the woman’s shop, clogging up the avenue with men and horses. As the dust kicked up with their cluttered presence, Creed dismounted his charger and moved to the small carriage that contained Carington.

  She was practically hanging out of the window, inspecting her surroundings with some fear but mostly awe. Creed opened the cab door and held out a hand to her. He did not have a chance to say a word before she was bubbling over with excitement.

  “’Tis such a big town,” she exclaimed softly as she put her hand in his. “I dinna know it would be so big. I saw a few Scots when we entered; did ye see them, English? They wore Douglas tartan. My da has been allied with the Douglas clan for many years. They married one of his sisters.”

  She was prattling. Creed fought off a smile as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and took her to the seamstress’ shop. Even then, she continued to chatter like a magpie.

  “Do ye suppose they know of my da’s alliance with Lord Richard?” she suddenly noticed the shop before he could answer. “Look at all of the fabric; I have never seen fabric like this before.”

  He directed her into the crowded, dark hut. It was made from stone with only a couple of very small windows for light and ventilation. And it was stuffed to the rafters with fabrics and notions. Carington looked around in awe, tripping on her own feet because she was not paying attention to where she was going. Creed steadied her as a small, round woman approached from the rear of the shop.

  The woman snapped herself in half in a brusque bow. Carington instinctively recoiled with equal swiftness because the gesture had been so abrupt. The corner of Creed’s mouth twitched as Carington scowled at the woman as if the salute had been something challenging.

  “My lord,” the woman said in a heavy Teutonic accent. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Creed knew the woman vaguely; they recognized each other from the times he had escorted Anne and Richard into town. The woman was Anne’s favorite seamstress. He indicated Carington.