Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Creed’s face darkened and he took another cup of wine. “The priest was told that I had been assigned to protect Lady Carington.”

  Ryton nodded. “He interviewed Lord Richard and me about you. We told him of your performance as a knight, your history and valor. Your assignment to Lady Carington came up during the course of the conversation.”

  “He says that I am to stay away from her. He says that I am to stay away from all women until this situation has resolved itself.”

  “Why?”

  Creed looked at him; there was tremendous turmoil in the dusky blue eyes. “Because if something were to happen between me and Lady Carington, inappropriate or otherwise, it could be viewed as a confirmation of Isabella’s stories. The priest feels that it is best if I stay clear of anything that could become controversial involving women.”

  Ryton puffed out his cheeks, exhaling heavily. “It makes sense,” he conceded. “I will have to turn over the duty to Burle, then. God help him if she tries to run.”

  “She will not run.”

  Ryton looked at his brother, then, hearing that wistful tone once more. This time, he had the time and composure to address it. His stomach began to twist, knowing the answer to the question before he even put it forth. He was afraid to ask but knew he must.

  “How do you know?” He set his cup down heavily and lowered his voice. “Christ, Creed, is there something going on between you and the lady?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I can hear it in your voice.”

  Creed held his gaze steady a moment. “Something, indeed,” he confessed quietly. “Something very unexpected.”

  Ryton sat back in his seat, not at all sure he wanted to hear the truth. “My God,” he breathed. “Please tell me that you have not compromised her.”

  Creed shook his head. “Nay,” he murmured. “But… I would be lying if I said I did not feel something for her. I cannot describe it more than that; all I know is that she fills me as no one else ever has. She is becoming my sun, my moon and my stars. I cannot tell you how this has happened. All I know is that is has.”

  “I knew it,” Ryton hissed, slamming his cup on the table. “When you came to tell me that she had locked herself in the chapel, I knew there was something more to it. I could hear it in your tone. Of all of my knights, you are the last one I would expect this to happen to. How could you do this?”

  He was angry, which triggered Creed’s well-heeled temper. He slammed his massive fists on the table, shaking the heavy furniture from end to end violently.

  “Damnation, Ryton,” he fired back. “This is no fickle dalliance. Have you ever known me to show interest in a woman, least of all a charge?”

  “Never!” Ryton roared.

  “Then trust me when I tell you that this goes much deeper than a trite rendezvous.”

  “Does it?” Ryton was flaming. “She was your ward. You crossed the line.”

  “I love her!”

  The last two sentences were hotly spoken, overlapping. When Ryton heard his brother’s last sentence, his eyes widened and his fury was immediately doused. Staring at his brother, wide-eyed, he plopped back down on the bench as if he suddenly lost all of his strength.

  “Oh… Good Lord,” he muttered. “Are you serious?”

  Creed looked back at him with equal astonishment. He could hardly believe he said it, but on the other hand, he had never said anything more truthful in his life. He could not have denied it in any case.

  “Aye,” he sighed heavily, regaining his own seat. “I do. She may be aggressive, disobedient and uncontrollable, but she is also the sweetest, most intelligent and compassionate lady I have ever met. She makes me laugh. She makes me feel as if I am important.”

  “You are important,” Ryton had no idea why he felt so ill; a mixture of delight and horror swirled in his chest. “You are the most powerful knight the realm has ever seen. The king himself recognized that until all of this madness with Isabella. You can have any woman you want but, instead, you choose a Scots. And not just any Scots; a laird’s daughter, a hostage for peace. She is not meant for you, Creed. Do you not understand that?”

  “She is meant for me and no other,” Creed’s dusky blue eyes were intense. “A marriage is a perfect way to cement an alliance with the Scots.”

  “A marriage?” Ryton blurted. “Do you mean to say that you intend to marry her?”

  Creed really had not thought on that until he had said it. Now he could think of nothing else. “I do,” he asserted. “I will go to her father and make an offer for her hand.”

  Ryton could not help it; he put his hands to his face as if trying to hold his brains in. He simply could not believe what he was hearing from his stoic, emotionless brother. His cup was next to him and he realized he needed more wine, but the cup did not hold enough so he drank it straight from the pitcher.

  “You certainly do not make things easy for yourself, do you?” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just what do you plan to offer?”

  “My inheritance.”

  Ryton’s eyes flew open wide. “All of it?”

  Creed shrugged. “When father passes on, you and I will split the Hartlepool baronetcy,” he said. “I will sell you my half for a trifle of what it is worth. Just enough to purchase a bride.”

  Ryton stared at him as if he could hardly comprehend was he was hearing. “Nay,” he muttered. “I will not let you sell it. We will combine our money if that is what it takes, but I will not let you give up your inheritance. It belongs to you as much as me.”

  Their conversation fell silent as tempers calmed and they began to weigh the situation. Not only were the circumstances with the queen heating up, but with the added addition of Creed’s feelings for their hostage, everything surrounding the man was growing bigger than they could comprehend. . Ryton could not help it; he drained the pitcher until it was empty.

  “So now what?” he muttered, glancing to his brother. “You can no longer guard the lady. Now what do we do?”

  Creed shrugged faintly. “Give the duty to Burle,” he replied quietly. “I will see the lady on my own time.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would have a hard enough time with that statement. But given the discussion we have just had, do you think that is entirely wise?”

  “Wise or not, those are my intentions.”

  “Brother or not, I am still your captain.”

  “Do you intend to keep me from her, then?”

  “I will not let you hang yourself.”

  Creed cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. His attention turned back to his cup, toying with it as his mind moved over the myriad of thoughts on his mind. Ryton watched him.

  “We have one final worry, you know,” he said softly.

  Creed looked at him. “What is that?”

  “Jory,” Ryton replied with some disgust in his tone. “He could cause problems. If he catches wind of a romance, he will pounce and you know it.”

  Creed lifted an eyebrow, tensing. “If he as much as looks in Cari’s direction, I will kill him. I could not be in any more trouble than I am now.”

  Ryton just looked at him; then, he gave him a crooked smile. “Cari, is it?”

  Creed met his gaze a moment longer before his façade cracked. He grinned sheepishly, looking back to his cup.

  “Aye,” he whispered. “Cari.”

  Further conversation was precluded by voices in the entry. Both men turned to see Stanton enter the keep followed by Burle with Carington on his arm. Ryton could not help it; he looked at his brother when the lady entered the hall and the expression that he witnessed did not surprise him. If there had been any momentary doubt in Creed’s statement, it was all dashed at that moment. The man was gazing at her as if the sun, the moon and the stars had just walked into the room.

  He was a man in love.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The surcoat was a lovely shade of gold with a hint of green in it that picked up the col
or of her eyes. Carington had changed in to the garment in the town so that the seamstress could alter it on her body. A few stitches here and there and it fit like a glove. A link belt of copper with gold leaf hung about her slender hips and the seamstress had taken her lovely hair and caught it up in a golden net at the nape of her neck. She looked elegant and delightful; absolutely stunning.

  Carington headed back to Prudhoe with more new clothes and accessories than she had ever owned at any one time in her life. The seamstress included web-fine veils, hair combs, fragranced oils and a cake of hard white soap all the way from Castille. It smelled of flowers after a rain. Carington was delighted with her booty and very eager to show it to Creed.

  Burle and Stanton had proven to be pleasant companions on the ride back to Prudhoe. It was only the second time she had been alone with them and this time the situation had been far more pleasant. Burle had quite a sense of humor whereas all Stanton wanted to speak of was his son. He did, in fact, purchase a toy dog for the boy on their way out of town, but no convincing in the world could coerce Burle into purchasing finery for his daughters. According to him, they had already put him into the poorhouse. He was just waiting for the time when husbands would take them off his hands. Then he tried to talk Stanton into a betrothal contract between his young son and Burle’s youngest daughter who, at twelve years of age, was seven years older than Stanton’s son. Stanton did not believe the marriage to be a good idea.

  It was a pleasant trip home, far more pleasant than the trip from Scotland. Carington actually enjoyed herself. But the moment they entered the great outer bailey of Prudhoe, she saw the wagons bearing the seal of the church and was curious. Great yellow crosses decorated the banners. But that curiosity turned to confusion when she saw the expressions on Burle and Stanton’s faces. They were apparently not pleased that someone from the church was in residence but she had no idea why. She was, in truth, only thinking of finding Creed and showing him her new gown.

  She found him in the great hall with his brother. She pranced into the room, spinning around a few times so both Ryton and Creed could get a good look at her new clothes. With the first spin, the material clung indecently to her divine figure and all they could see was a body that was more feminine, more curvaceous, than anything either one of them had seen. Ryton lowered his gaze uncomfortably, eyeing his brother as he did so and noting that the man was riveted to her. He did not blame him, though; she was spectacular.

  “What do ye think?” Carington stopped spinning long enough to propose the question to Creed. “Rita made this for a lady who never paid her for the work. It fits me perfectly. What do ye think?”

  Creed tore his eyes off her figure and fixed her in the eye. He realized that he was well on his way to being drunk from all of the wine he had imbibed. Too much drink usually made him emotional and it was a struggle not to give himself away.

  “Who is Rita?” he asked.

  She cocked her head, looking positively adorable with the gold netting on her hair. “The seamstress; the woman who put her hands all over me.”

  She was waving her hands around for illustration and he nodded in understanding before the sentence was even out of her mouth.

  “Of course,” he said quickly. “She is correct; it fits you perfectly. You are a goddess divine.”

  Carington grinned happily; she had a beautiful smile, something that Ryton was only now noticing. He’d never really paid any attention before but was now seeing the lady through entirely different eyes. He’d only seen her fighting or weeping one way or the other. It was rare when she was calm, even rarer when she smiled. Looking at her at this moment, with her lovely face alight with a smile, he could hardly remember her any other way. And she had his brother positively captivated.

  “She gave me three more gowns,” Carington went on. “A yellow one, a pink one and a blue one with birds on it. And she gave me soap and oils, too.”

  Creed was smiling faintly at her. “I am pleased that you are happy.”

  Carington threw out her arms and twirled around again. “I canna wait to take a bath with my new soap.” She suddenly came to a halt. “My da would never buy things that we could just as easily make. I have always had to make my own soap. But Rita gave me soap that has come all the way from Spain.”

  She made it sound as if the soap had come from the moon. Creed had never seen her so joyful; it made his heart light to watch her, far from the depression of the last several minutes. He was content to forget everything for a few minutes as he watched her dance around.

  “We shall buy you soap from all over the world if it pleases you,” he said softly.

  Carington giggled and plopped next to him on the bench, taking the wine pitcher and realizing it was empty. Burle sat on her other side as Stanton sent a servant for more wine. Carington set the wine pitcher aside and looked around the table.

  “My cakes,” she looked up at Creed. “Did ye bring them back with ye?”

  He realized he had forgotten about her custard cakes and shook his head. “Nay, lady, I did not,” he said. “I forgot them. I am sorry.”

  Her face fell somewhat. “’Tis all right,” she said. Then she perked up. “Perhaps we can get more when we go to pick up my other gowns?”

  Creed nodded. “We can get as many as you wish.”

  “And more soap?”

  “Do you not think you should use what you have before we purchase more?”

  She looked away coyly. “I want new soap for every day of the week.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her but he was still grinning. “I see,” he murmured. “I suppose I shall have to begin my new career as a highway robber in order to pay for this expensive new habit.”

  She laughed brightly. Ryton watched the expressions between the two of them, realizing with sickening certainty that the lady felt for her brother the same way he felt for her. It was obvious. But it was further obvious that she needed to be told the change in plans, especially with the papal legate still at Prudhoe. They would need to present the picture that Creed was trying to keep himself out of trouble, at least until the man left. There was no time to waste on that account.

  “Well,” Ryton stood up, stretching his big body. “I have duties to attend to before the evening meal.” He looked at Burle and Stanton, on either side of Creed and Carington. “Good knights, go about your duties.”

  It took Burle a moment to understand that Ryton was chasing them out of the hall. Stanton, however, did not comprehend the meaning until Burle reached down and grabbed him by the arm. Only then did the pale young knight rise and follow. Carington was left sitting next to Creed, watching the fire pop and smoke and thinking on her new acquisitions. Creed sat next to her, still as stone. When the room was vacated and they were finally alone, a massive hand moved to collect her small one.

  She looked up at him, then, smiling into his still-mailed face. She reached up and touched his helm.

  “Why are ye still wearing yer armor, English?” she took her hand away from the cold steel. “And why did ye leave me back in the town? Is something wrong?”

  He sat there and looked at her, his attitude towards her shifting from that of her assigned protector to that of a man who was clearly in love with her. The line between duty and want began to shape-shift and it was difficult to stay focused. But he knew there was a great deal he needed to say to her. He could only hope that she would be receptive. Gazing into her emerald eyes, he realized that he was actually afraid to tell her, afraid she did not feel the same way. But it was a chance he was willing to take.

  “That depends,” he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It would seem that you and I must have a conversation.”

  She cocked her head, tendrils of black curls brushing against her cheeks. “What about?”

  He sighed, not sure where to begin. He let go of her hand and removed his helm, setting it upon the table. Then he pulled off his gauntlets, peeled back his hauberk and scratched his damp ha
ir. The dusky blue eyes refocused on Carington.

  “Earlier today, my brother told you of some trouble I have experienced with the king.”

  She nodded, looking rather awkward. “He did,” she replied timidly. “And I told ye that I was sorry I had reacted so poorly to what Julia had told me. I acted like a….”

  He shushed her softly and reclaimed her hand. “Your reaction was natural. I do not blame you for it. But it would seem that the situation my brother has told you of has taken another twist.”

  Carington stared at him, feeling her stomach lurch. “That canna be a good thing.”

  He smiled wryly. “It is not,” he replied. “You saw the wagons and banners of the church when you rode in, did you not?”

  She nodded fearfully. “I did. Did they come to arrest ye?”

  He fought off a grin. “Nay,” his grin faded as he watched her reaction to what he was about to say. “But they did come to investigate me. It would seem that the queen is pregnant and she is telling the world that the child is mine.”

  Carington just stared at him. She looked as if she wanted to say something but was not quite sure what to say. Creed continued in a low voice.

  “The child is not mine, Cari,” he murmured. “I never touched the girl. But that does not prevent her from trying to exact some measure of revenge on me for spurning her attention those months ago.”

  Carington seemed to snap out of whatever shock held her and she put her fingers against his lips to silence his explanation.

  “I know,” she assured him. “Sir Ryton told me the entire story. Ye needn’t justify yerself to me.”

  Creed seemed to lose some of his confidence. “In a sense, I do,” he ran his free hand through his hair again. “Everything has become far more complicated than it was even a day ago. To begin with, I will no longer be your shadow here at Prudhoe. That duty will be given to Burle.”

  That bit of information brought a strong reaction; Carington’s eyes flew open wide and her mouth popped open in outrage. She shot to her feet and began waving her arms angrily.