She flushed furiously and lowered her eyes, too overwhelmed for a snappy reply. In fact, it was the first time he had so openly complimented her. Any other time that he had come close to praising her, she had to practically drag it out of him.
Creed’s eyes twinkled at her discomfort. He patted the hand that was still on his elbow. “Let us go and see if your garments are ready,” he took pity on her. “I think enough time has passed.”
The change of subject was welcome and she nodded, happily accompanying him across the dirt avenue. But they did not quite make it to the seamstress’ shop before a knight and ten men at arms suddenly rounded the corner of the avenue and charged straight for them.
It was loud and startling; dust flew into the air and horses snorted. Creed was not particularly worried because Burle, Stanton, Galen and the three other Hexham knights were only a dozen or so feet away. They were close enough and armed enough should any hostilities begin. But it took Creed a moment to realize that the intruding knight was Ryton and oddly enough, only then did his guard go up. There was no reason why his brother should be here unless something unpleasant had occurred. He did not even want to guess.
He left Carington standing a few feet away as he walked up to his brother, who had now come to a halt. The horse danced around and Creed cuffed it in the neck when the beast came too close to him.
“What is wrong?” he asked his brother before the man could speak.
Ryton flipped up his visor, his dusky blue eyes focusing on Creed. “You must return immediately,” he lowered his voice before his brother could press him. “A papal representative is at Prudhoe. He wants to speak with you.”
Creed just stared at him. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“No questions, Creed. Just come.”
Creed, in fact, did not have to ask any more questions; he already knew the answers. God help him, he knew. He met his brother’s gaze and silent words of confirmation passed between them; so the rumors Jory told us of were true. Creed’s stomach tightened with anxiety but he managed to maintain his composure. He merely nodded his head and turned to Burle.
“Take the lady in hand, de Tarquinus,” he told the big blond knight. “I am required back at Prudhoe.”
Much to her credit, Carington did not call out to him or demand to know why he was leaving her. She simply stood there and watched as he moved to collect his charger, mounted, and galloped off with his brother. Even when Burle and Stanton joined her and gently took her in the direction of the seamstress, she did not ask questions and she did not utter a sound. Something in the expression on Creed’s face told her it was better if she did not.
His name was Massimo. He was not English; he was straight from the heart of Rome where the pope had appointed him a special papal legate to London. His superior was the Bishop of London but he answered directly to Rome. He was surprisingly young and well-spoken, but beneath the youth and tact lay the heart of a hunter. Massimo was on a hunt on behalf of the church and he would have his answers.
Creed sensed that from the onset. Father Massimo was in the small solar of Prudhoe where Lady Anne had settled him. Upon his return to the castle, Creed was directed into the solar by his brother and the door was shut behind him. Alone with the priest, Creed stood by the door with his legs braced apart and his arms folded. All that he had been trying to forget over the past six months was swamping him again like an unwelcome tide and he was growing uncharacteristically furious; furious at the girl-queen, furious at the king and furious that the circumstance had happened in the first place. He was holding a particular hate for the church at the moment for stirring up the bad memories.
Massimo was polite as he introduced himself and asked Creed to sit. The knight did so reluctantly, perching himself on the edge of Richard’s great oak chair because it was the only one in the room that could handle his bulk.
The priest watched him sit stiffly, noting the air about the man. He was extremely big and obviously unhappy. Massimo had been involved in the dealings with the queen’s pregnancy for almost five weeks now and the name Creed de Reyne had come up again and again. He felt as if he knew the man personally and was not surprised to be met with such resentment. He knew the history of the case. Furthermore, it had taken some wrangling to track the man down because he had been taken from London and hidden by some powerful friends. But Massimo had a job to do and he feared the wrath of God more than the wrath of the knight. He moved straight to the point.
“I have come on the church’s business,” the priest began. “It would seem that there are matters concerning the queen that must be clarified. I am told you are a man who can give me answers.”
Creed looked at him, his jaw ticking furiously. “What answers would those be, my lord?”
Massimo could already tell that this was not going to be a simple thing. The big knight was noticeably hostile. He folded his hands and lowered his voice.
“I am under no false delusions that you do not know why I am here,” he said quietly. “Surely you knew this time would come. Sooner or later, it had to.”
“Make yourself clear, my lord.”
“Very well,” the priest cleared his throat softly. “Six months ago, you led the escort that brought Isabella of Angoulệme to England’s shores. She was, at the time, unmarried to the king. That occurred two months later. It is a fact that the queen is now six months pregnant, which means that she conceived before her marriage to the king. Now, you must understand that I am not here on behalf of the king. It is well known that you were rumored to have had an affair with the queen and fled London to escape the king’s wrath. I am here on behalf of the church that would ensure the child the queen carries is of royal blood. Only a royal must ascend the throne and I must know the truth, Sir Creed. I must know what happened between you and the queen as it pertains to her pregnancy.”
Creed’s gaze was steady. “Who told you to seek me out?”
“All of London knows the rumors regarding you and the queen.”
“Who told you?”
“It does not matter. Suffice it to say that the rumor was confirmed by several different sources.”
“I would know who told you.”
Massimo sighed. “Does it matter?”
“It does. It is my right to know.”
“Then the queen herself told me.”
It was Creed’s turn to sigh. But his gaze never left the priest. “What, exactly, did she tell you?”
“That you seduced her and begot her with child.”
“So she told you that the child was mine?”
“She did. From her own lips, she did.”
Creed was not particularly surprised but he was growing increasingly angry. It was becoming a struggle for him to keep his normally-dormant temper down. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he mulled over the priest’s words. After a moment, he simply lifted his massive shoulders.
“It would do no good for me to refute her,” he said. “It would be my word against hers and we clearly know who would be believed. Even if she is a lying, petty, spoiled child, by the respect due her royal blood, she will be believed in all things.”
The priest shook his head. “Not necessarily.”
Creed gave the man a disbelieving look. “Would it do any good for me to tell you that it is a well-known fact that Isabella has not been a virgin since she was a child?” his eyebrows lifted in emphasis. “As you so callously claim that everyone knows of the rumors regarding my association with her, can you also deny the rumors that Isabella has seduced as many men as the king has seduced women? She lists her own uncle as a conquest, for God’s sake. Everyone in France is aware of it and her adulterous ways are common knowledge. When I escorted her to London, know that she set her sights on me nearly the moment we were introduced. When I refused her, she flew into a rage and told anyone who would listen that I raped her. She was a little girl spurned, my lord, and nothing more. Now that she is pregnant with what I can only a
ssume is another man’s child, she would seek to focus the blame away from her and onto me. She seeks to destroy me for no other reason than that.”
By this time, the priest was watching him intently. “Then you deny these allegations.”
“With all my heart.”
“You will burn in hell for lying to me, Sir Creed. Now tell me again; do you deny these allegations?”
“With my immortal soul at stake, I most certainly do.”
The priest gazed steadily at him as if trying to wordlessly persuade him into changing his story. Surely he had enough power behind him to do just that. But Creed held his gaze steady, the dusky blue eyes pure with truth and honor. Massimo eventually lowered his gaze, rising from the small chair he was seated in.
“I do, in fact, know a little about you,” he said as he neared the hearth. “It is my duty to educate myself whilst conducting tasks for the church. I know that you served Northumberland flawlessly for many years before going into the service of the king. I did, in fact, speak with most of the knights who accompanied you on your mission to escort Isabella from France.”
Creed watched the man pace. “And?”
Massimo paused to look at him. “They have all told me the exact same thing you did,” he began to pace again. “Your friends are very loyal. In fact, their criticism of the queen was far stronger than your own. From them I learned that you conducted yourself with dignity and honor, even when she threw temper tantrums and hit you.”
Creed just looked at the man. Massimo studied the strong face of the knight before him, pacing thoughtfully around the room as he pondered.
“It would seem, Sir Knight, that the queen has a vendetta against you for spurning her advances,” he said as he watched his feet. “But that does not erase the face that she is pregnant with what is presumably not the king’s child. The king himself says he did not touch her until their wedding night.”
Creed just shook his head and looked at his hands. Massimo paused a few feet away, watching the man’s body language.
“You disagree?” he asked quietly.
Creed cast him a long look. “Do you want the truth, my lord?”
“Of course.”
Creed sighed heavily and sat back against the chair. “The night we delivered Isabella to the king, he took her into his chamber and we could clearly hear the sounds of lovemaking. It was brutal and loud and she screamed the entire way through it. So, in answer to your question, I strongly disagree with the king’s statement. It is simply not true.”
Massimo cocked a thoughtful eyebrow. “Your fellow escort party told me the same.”
Creed just shook his head and looked to his hands again. “The king’s word is law,” he muttered. “They can blame this on me all they wish. It simply isn’t true.”
Massimo watched him a moment before pulling up a chair beside him. He watched Creed’s lowered face carefully, feeling some empathy for the man. It was a vicious circumstance he found himself a part of.
“The king has a long and bitter history with the church,” Massimo muttered. “One more offense from him will not matter overly. But you, however, are in a bad position.”
Creed looked at the man. “Do you believe any of what I have told you?”
Massimo nodded slowly. “I believe all of it.”
Creed sighed slowly, wiping a weary hand over his face. It was the first time since entering the room that his guard went down.
“So now what?” he asked a question he had been dreading for six months. “What do I do?”
The priest sat back in his chair, his eyes moving to the fire gently crackling in the hearth. “The king wants you imprisoned.”
“I know.”
“He does not, as far as I can deduce, know where you are, but that will not hold true forever. He will eventually find out.”
“How did you find out where I was?”
“Your loyal friends told me, those who have staunchly defended your honor.”
Creed looked at the man, hating that he must face the realities that were intent on following him. He simply could not believe the nightmare was deepening.
“So I will ask you again,” he said. “What do I do? More specifically, what do you intend to do with me?”
Massimo scratched his unshaven chin. “I must report back to the papal legate in London,” he replied. “I will tell him the truth; that I believe these allegations are untrue. In spite of what you may or may not think of the church, we do hold true to truth and justice. We reject tyranny. And we have indeed heard the rumors of Queen Isabella’s infidelity. The rumors have run rampant since the day she arrived in England and we are quite certain she has had more lovers than you can count on your fingers and toes.”
Creed could only shake his head in disgust. “Then why me?” he asked. “Why must she seek to destroy me if she has had so many lovers?”
Massimo smiled at him, displaying dingy teeth. “Because you were not a lover. You stood virtuous against her debauchery and she hates you for it. Had you caved into her demands, she probably would have forgotten all about you.”
“I was not going to cave into her demands.”
Massimo cracked a lop-sided smile. “I understand,” he stood up and moved back to the desk where he had laid his things. “And in answer to your question as to what to do, I would say do nothing at the moment. I will return to London to discuss this with the papal legate and we will decide a course of action.”
For the first time in almost six months, Creed felt some relief from the situation. He rose on his thick legs, facing the priest. “Is the king actively looking for me? Someone is bound to know where I am.”
Massimo shook his head. “He is not as far as I am aware,” he replied. “He makes a good game of threatening talk but as far as I know, he has not sent out a search party. You will continue your service here in the wilds until such time as I contact you again.”
Creed’s jaw ticked faintly. “Understood, my lord.”
“Do not lose faith. Good always triumphs over evil.”
“Aye, my lord.”
The priest picked up his satchel from the desk. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he moved towards Creed with his bag in his hand. “I understand that you have been assigned to protect a hostage of Prudhoe.”
Creed nodded. “A daughter of Kerr, our bitter enemy. I am her protection.”
The priest shook his head. “No longer,” he told him pointedly. “I do not want you involved with any young ladies until this matter is resolved. It would not be viewed, shall we say, favorably.”
Creed lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Massimo secured the ties on his bag. “You were in charge of a young lady once and the results are coming to haunt you,” he lifted an eyebrow at him. “If something happens with this young lady, however innocent you may be, it will only confirm what the queen is telling everyone. It will make you appear guilty as sin. Therefore, until this situation is settled, I would refrain from any association with any woman. You do not want to take any chances.”
Creed looked at him, thinking of Carington as he did so. He knew that the priest was right; God help him, he knew. The man made perfect sense. But what he was feeling for Carington was so real, so deep, that the thought of staying away from her tore at him like nothing he had ever known.
“Understood, my lord.”
“Good.” Massimo faced him, nodding his head to acknowledge that their business was concluded. “Now, I plan to sup here tonight and leave for London on the morrow. Perhaps you and I can come to know one another on more pleasant terms.”
“I would be honored, my lord.”
“Then take me to the hall and ply me with wine. I find that I am in need of it.”
Creed took him into the great hall. But it was Creed who needed a heavy dose of wine, not the priest. The more he drank, the more sullen he became. It was fortunate that Ryton and Lord Richard soon joined them so that Creed did not have to pretend to be pleasant any longer.
He kept staring into the fire, seeing Carington’s face with every flicker of flame and wondering how she was going to react when he told her he could no longer be her shadow. He wondered how he was going to react, day after day, seeing her but not being able to be near her.
At some point, the priest begged his leave and Richard graciously consented to show him to his chamber. In truth, Lord Richard volunteered so that Ryton and Creed could spend a few moments alone to discuss the results of Creed’s meeting with the priest. They were all on edge, knowing why the church had come and wondering how Creed’s future was to be impacted. Richard secretly wondered if he was going to have to once again spirit Creed away under the cover of darkness so that the king could not find him.
When Richard and the priest were gone and the fire snapped softly in the hearth, Ryton changed seats and ended up sitting across from his brother at the long, scrubbed table that had been at Prudhoe for three generations. He gazed steadily at his brother, who seemed more interested in staring into the flames.
“What did he say?” Ryton finally asked the magic question.
Creed continued to gaze into the writhing blaze a moment before speaking. “He said that the church is investigating Isabella’s pregnancy. She is telling everyone that the child is mine.”
Ryton hissed and poured himself a huge sloppy cup of wine, downing half of it in one swallow. “Christ,” he hissed. “That little bitch. Is the king after you?”
“According to the priest, he wants me imprisoned but is apparently not making a concerted effort to find me.”
“Because he knows she is lying,” Ryton took another swallow. “He knows he has married a whore. That child could be anyone’s.”
“Anyone but me,” Creed looked at him, then. “The priest believes in my innocence. He says that those he could speak to from the escort that accompanied me to France confirmed my story. He says that he is going to go back to London and discuss this with the papal legate. I am to remain here in the service of Lord Richard until such time as the priest contacts me again.”
Ryton stared at him, apparently waiting for more information. When none was forthcoming, he lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “That is all?”
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