Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Lady Anne would like to commission several gowns for her honored guest, the Lady Carington,” he replied. “I have been asked to engage your services.”

  The woman turned her pale blue eyes to Carington appraisingly. Her gaze moved to the old garment she wore, perhaps noting the deteriorated condition. There was distain in her expression, quickly gone. Carington felt self-conscious as the woman mentally dissected her.

  “Such a lovely lady,” the woman said after a moment. “I could make garments for her that would outshine the sun. She would look magnificent.”

  “Which is why Lady Anne would entrust this task to you,” Creed replied. “Do what you must in order to accomplish it. Meanwhile, Lady Anne was hoping you would have a few garments that were already made that we could take with us until the commissioned garments were completed.”

  The woman reached out and took Carington gently by the arm. She continued to scrutinize her, turning her around so she could see the width of her buttocks and the breadth of her torso. Carington’s emerald eyes fixed on Creed as the woman very nearly manhandled her. Creed gazed back steadily, reassuringly. When the woman put her hands on Carington’s waist to measure it, Carington tensed and balled up a fist. She felt the woman was becoming a bit too familiar with her. But Creed shook his head at her and she reluctantly relaxed. She relaxed further when he winked at her.

  Finished with her measurements, the woman spoke. “I have three or four garments that I will prepare for you to take with you today,” she said. “How many gowns did Lady Anne wish to commission?”

  Creed crossed his massive arms and braced his legs apart thoughtfully. “At least five. You will include undergarments and accessories, of course.”

  “Of course,” the woman agreed. “Any preference in color or fabric?”

  Creed’s eyes found Carington’s; he gazed into the emerald depths, feeling an odd liquid warmth spread across his chest. It was a delightful, unfamiliar sensation. The longer he gazed at her, the stronger the feeling became.

  “Rich colors,” he told the woman, realizing he sounded gentle as he said it. He could not help it. “As you said, she is a beautiful woman. I will trust you to enhance that beauty.”

  Carington smiled at him, her eyes riveted to his dusky blue orbs. She could feel her cheeks flushing as the intensity of his eyes reached out to grab her. There was an incredibly strong pull between them, something that she had noticed from the beginning of their association but had fought desperately to suppress. Within the past couple of days, her resistance to it had fled entirely. The sweet looks, the stolen kisses, his kindness to her even when she had been horrid had worked their magic. And whatever misunderstanding had occurred back at Prudhoe Castle had somehow strengthened what she was feeling for the man; she knew that she indeed felt something. She just was not sure what it was yet.

  As the two of them gazed steadily at each other, the woman ran her hands across Carington’s shoulders one last time before finally releasing her.

  “Give me an hour and I shall have something prepared for her,” she said.

  Creed nodded his thanks and took Carington by the arm, gently escorting her to the door. Once outside in the cool sunshine, she turned to him.

  “What do we do for an hour?” she asked as she looked at him, shading her eyes from the sun.

  His gaze was steady upon her, his handsome face framed by the lifted visor and mail hauberk. He put his hands on his hips.

  “I am sure we can find something.”

  “Like what?”

  By this time, Burle and Stanton had come to stand next to them. Burle was smiling at the lady while Stanton looked curiously between the four of them. But Creed only had eyes for Carington.

  “More shopping, perhaps?” he suggested. “There is a merchant on the street behind us that carries all manner of goods from around the world. He has many mysterious things in his shop.”

  Carington’s emerald eyes brightened. “He does? Can we go and see?”

  He held out his elbow to her and she took it gladly. As they began to walk down the street, Burle and Stanton followed. The rest of the escort was not far behind. A breeze blew gently, scattering leaves in their path as they proceeded down the wide dirt avenue. It also carried cooking smells and Carington sniffed the air, looking around to see where the delightful smells were coming from. Creed noticed her distraction and realized what she was looking for; he smelled it, too.

  They ended up at the food stall of a man selling roast pork and delectable little cakes with a filling of custard. Not usually a hearty eater, Carington gorged herself on the succulent pork and ate at least four of the little cakes with the custard. Creed did not eat anything but Burle and Stanton did; they, too, stuffed themselves on the pork. Creed was more interested in watching Carington eat as he had never seen her eat before; realizing she had eaten very little on their trip to Prudhoe, it was good to see her appetite return. Thoughts of the roasted horse aside, thank goodness, she seemed quite content licking the grease off her fingers and sucking the custard out of the cake.

  But there was a negative side to all of the unrestrained eating. She was mid-way through her fifth custard cake when she suddenly stopped chewing, burped most unladylike, and set the cake aside. Creed noticed that she looked a little pale.

  “What is wrong?” he cocked his head. “Do not tell me that you have finally eaten your fill?”

  He was teasing her gently but she was in no mood for it. She burped again, covering her mouth and looking at him apologetically.

  “I dunna feel very well,” she said, embarrassed.

  He fought off a grin. “I am not surprised with the amount of food you put away.”

  “But I was hungry,” she looked at the cake as if she wished she could finish it. “I have never had treats such as this. They were delicious.”

  “There will be ample opportunity to have more.”

  She burped again, only this time she covered her mouth discreetly. Creed grinned at her.

  “So,” his gaze moved out over the avenue. “Where would you like to go now, my lady? Shall we find an apothecary and purchase something to soothe your over-taxed stomach?”

  She scowled at him although it was without force. “Ye’re not funny in the least, Creed de Reyne.”

  “Aye, I am. And there is a name for people like you.”

  Her scowl grew more forceful. “And what is that?”

  “I believe they are called gluttons.”

  This time, she shook a fist at him. “When I am feeling better, ye’re going to regret yer words.”

  “I apologize, then. I take it all back.”

  “’Tis too late; ye’re a marked man.”

  He laughed then. “God help me,” he sobered, his dusky blue eyes glimmering at her. “I will make it up to you. Shall we proceed to the shop I told you of earlier?”

  “Not now,” she shook her head, putting her hand on her belly. “I would like to sit down if ye dunna mind.”

  With a snort, he took her hand and led her back to the carriage. He put his hands on her slender waist to lift her up, but she groaned and batted at his hands. He stood back, smirking, as she climbed in slowly by herself and sat down with a heavy sigh.

  “I do hope you feel better,” he said quietly.

  She rubbed her belly. “Can we bring some of those custard cakes back with us?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Are you serious? You are about to explode as it is.”

  “But I will be fine by the evening meal. Please?”

  He gazed at her a moment before nodding his head in resignation. “As you wish.”

  “Thanks to ye.”

  With a wink, he headed back in the direction of the food vendor. Burle and Stanton were still there, shoving down the last of their custard cakes. Creed ordered the cakes from the vendor, adding a measure of pork for himself. All of the eating around him had succeeding in making him hungry. By the time the vendor brought his food, Burle and Stanton had finished an
d the three of them stood around talking quietly while Creed devoured a massive portion of pork. Just as he neared the end of his meal, Stanton’s pale gaze suddenly fixated on something behind Creed and he saw the knight move for his broadsword.

  It was an instinctive reaction that they all go for their weapons. Creed had his broadsword unsheathed before he turned around, preparing to defend himself. His gaze fell upon several knights about a dozen yards away. They were mingling with the crowd of shoppers, men dressed in armor and weapons and looking out of place. After a split second of uncertainty, Creed sheathed his sword and turned back to his food.

  “Hexham,” he said. “Those are de Rochefort’s men.”

  Burle squinted at the bodies in the distance, also putting away his sword. Stanton, however, stood there with his sword in hand as he studied the heavily armed men.

  “I have not seen Galen Burleson in months,” he finally said, being the last to sheath his sword. “The last time I was in town, I heard that Hexham Castle was going through something of an upheaval. They lost their captain to Newcastle and several men followed him.”

  The knights from Hexham had spotted the men from Prudhoe; at least four were making their way towards them. Creed picked up what was left of his pork and shoved it into his mouth just as the men from Hexham joined them. Greetings went all around as the men began ordering pork and ale. One man even scavenged Carington’s half-eaten custard cake. What had been a quiet meal suddenly turned into a loud party.

  Galen Burleson was a knight from Hexham, now captain of their guard. He and Creed had known each other for years and Creed considered the man a friend. Galen was a big man with black hair and light brown eyes. He was quite handsome and had been known to have his share of women until he married a few years ago. Now he had a lovely wife and three very small boys. Galen greeted Creed with a weary smile.

  “De Reyne,” he nodded. “It has been a long time.”

  Creed nodded his head as he downed the last of his ale. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”

  Galen shrugged as the vendor brought him a wooden cup of ale. “At Hexham watching my sons grow,” he said, taking a healthy swig of ale. “My oldest has seen four years.”

  “Already? It seems as if he was just born last week.”

  “Four years ago this past April,” Galen nodded and leaned against the table. “He likes to torment his younger brothers. In fact, my boys remind me a good deal of you and your brothers.”

  That statement brought a smile to Creed’s lips. “I am afraid to ask why.”

  Galen snorted. “Because my oldest is much like Ryton; he is stable and wise. My middle son is much like you; he is the largest and not quite three years old. And my youngest is the wild man in the group. He reminds me a good deal of Lenox. He likes to run around the bailey and scare the horses.”

  Creed shook his head, smiling as he scratched beneath his hauberk. “Then curb him before he grows too old. Lenox became uncontrollable by the time he was a young man.”

  “Lenox was hilarious and you know it.”

  Creed conceded with a smile, reflecting on his younger brother. “I miss him.”

  “We all do. He was my friend.”

  Creed lingered on Lenox a moment. Galen and Lenox had, in fact, been the best of friends, so Galen’s assertion was an understatement. It was still painful for the man to talk about it. It was painful for all of them.

  “What brings you to Prudhoe?” Creed shifted the subject.

  Galen scratched his chin. “Summoning a priest.”

  “What for?”

  “Lady de Rochefort’s mother. She is dying.”

  “Lady de Rochefort’s mother has been dying for ten years.”

  Galen wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “So what brings you into town?”

  Creed thought of Carington back in the carriage; instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder at the cab in the distance.

  “An errand for Lady Anne,” he replied vaguely.

  “What kind of errand?” Galen scowled. “Do not tell me that she has you running circles for those two little beasts she harbors in her bosom?”

  Creed gave him a lop-sided smile. “Nay.”

  Galen made a face. “She once asked me to bring my sons to Prudhoe so that Gilbert and Edward would have someone to play with. Do you recall? I had to think of a plausible excuse why they could not come without offending her.”

  Creed’s grin broadened. “I remember. You told her the boys had some kind of pox.”

  Galen snorted into his cup. “Naturally, she did not want her boys to catch whatever my children had, so I was granted a reprieve.” He sobered. “I have no idea how I am going to decline should she ask me again. I will have to tell her that I have sold my boys into slavery and we will never see them again.”

  “She will not believe you.”

  “I know.” Galen’s lips pressed into a flat line of disgust as he thought of Edward and Gilbert d’Umfraville. He noticed that Creed was toying with his empty ale cup as if distracted. It was unlike the man to fidget and his interest grew. “What kind of errand are you on?”

  Creed glanced at him, thinking of an evasive answer before deciding to tell him the truth. The man was an ally of Prudhoe, after all, and would find out eventually. “We have a hostage,” he said. “I have been instructed to provide gifts for the woman.”

  Galen’s eyebrows lifted. “A hostage?” he repeated. “Who?”

  “A daughter of Kerr.”

  Galen’s warm expression faded. “How did this come about?”

  “Lord Richard negotiated with the woman’s father for peace. This was the offering.”

  “Does Lord de Rochefort know that Richard negotiated for a hostage?”

  “If he does not now he will shortly,” Creed could see that Galen was bordering on hostility. “Galen, he did it for the benefit of all of us. I personally do not want to lose another brother in the battle against the clans. I realize that this woman represents everything we have learned to hate, but if this is the way to achieve peace, then I will take it.”

  Galen held his gaze a moment longer before reluctantly submitting. He averted his gaze and moved back to his ale. “I am not questioning Richard’s motives,” he replied. “It… it was simply a surprise, ’tis all. We have heard nothing about a hostage.”

  “That is because she only came to Prudhoe yesterday.”

  “A savage Scots in your midst, eh?”

  “I think you would be surprised.”

  Galen thought on that a moment, downed the last of his ale and slammed the cup on the table. “If she can bring peace to our world, then I support her presence. God knows, I want peace for my boys. I do not want them to grow up in a world that is constantly at war. I am weary of it as well.”

  “You used to be quite eager to kill Scots.”

  “That was before I was married. I would rather live long enough to see my sons grow up.”

  Creed did not say anything for a moment. Then he gestured to his friend. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To meet the savage in our midst.”

  With a curious expression, Galen followed Creed back to the cab that was parked under a grove of young oaks. He wait several feet away as Creed went to the carriage and peered in through the door window.

  Carington was lying across the bench, her eyes closed. Creed hissed at her. “My lady?” he whispered, then more loudly: “Carington? Are you awake?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up too quickly; her dark hair ended up hanging across her face. She blew it away from her lips and wiped it from her wide eyes.

  “What is it?” she sounded sleepy. “Is something wrong?”

  Creed suppressed a grin; she was half-awake and disoriented. He stuck his head into the cab. “Compose yourself,” he whispered. “I would like you to meet someone.”

  She blinked her eyes, looking at him curiously. Smoothing her hair, she moved to get out of the cab. Creed opened th
e door and held out a hand, helping her to disembark.

  Carington’s eyes fixed on the unfamiliar knight with the light brown eyes. He was tall and handsome, looking at her with some suspicion. She could see it in his face. Creed tucked her small hand into the crook of his arm, almost possessively. Carington instinctively moved closer to him, somewhat wary of the enemy knight.

  “My lady,” Creed said. “This is Sir Galen Burleson, a knight at neighboring Hexham Castle. Galen, this is the Lady Carington Kerr. She is a guest at Prudhoe.”

  Galen’s gaze drifted over her; as most did when beholding Carington for the first time, he could not help but notice her heavenly figure. She was petite, with dark green eyes and black hair. She was, in fact, extremely beautiful. Galen dipped his head in her direction.

  “My lady,” he greeted evenly. “Welcome to England.”

  Carington looked at Creed before replying. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Sir Galen.”

  “I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

  She thought a moment about her trip from Wether Fair; the long days, the death of Bress. She could not muster the strength for a fabricated reply.

  “It was not worth remembering, m’lord.”

  Galen glanced at Creed at her strange answer. “I hope you have at least found English hospitality to be warm.”

  “Warm enough,” Carington looked at Creed. “Sir Creed has been very kind.”

  Galen grinned faintly as he also looked at Creed. “That is because Creed is a man of astonishing patience and amiability,” he replied, his gaze moving back to Carington. “Then I will wish you a good stay at Prudhoe, my lady. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”

  With a lingering glance at the petite Scots, he turned away and went back to his ale and pork. Carington watched him go, turning to Creed only to notice that he was gazing intently at her. She smiled timidly.

  “Why do ye look at me so?” she asked.

  His gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer before answering. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Is that not reason enough?”