Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “That is ridiculous,” she snapped. “Nothing agin’ Sir Burle, but I dunna want him to be my escort. Who made this absurd decision? Was it yer brother?”

  He looked up at her calmly. “Why do you not want him to be your escort?”

  She stopped waving her arms. “What do ye mean?”

  “Just that; tell me why you do not want him.”

  All of the fire seemed to drain out of her as she gazed down at him. Her beautiful emerald eyes were fixed on him and her rosebud mouth worked slightly as she thought of an answer. It seemed like a struggle. Finally, she just shook her head.

  “Do ye not know, English?” she whispered.

  His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”

  Her answer was to reach out and touch his hair, running her small fingers through the inky strands. Creed caught her hand, turning to kiss the palm as she caressed his bristly cheek.

  “Because,” she whispered. “I dunna want ye away from me, not even for a minute.”

  His eyes were closed, his mouth against the palm of her hand. “Tell me why.”

  She sat back down, watching him kiss her palm as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It made her heart flutter wildly, her limbs to go weak. It also loosened her tongue.

  “Because I fancy ye, English,” she murmured, both hands moving to his cheeks as he reached out and pulled her against his armored chest. Her emerald gaze moved across his handsome face as if memorizing each and every line. “I have never felt this way about anyone. I dunna know exactly what it means but I would suspect that it is something very strong and very wonderful.”

  “Strong enough to never want to be parted from me?”

  “Aye,” she insisted. “I will kill anyone who would try it, including yer beloved brother.”

  His answer was to kiss her, long and hard. But the sane portion of his mind that was not consumed with these wonderful blossoming feelings reminded him that they were in a common room for all to see and he let her go, kissing both hands before putting them back in her lap.

  “You cannot know how happy you have made me,” he whispered. “To hear that from your lips means more to me than you can know.”

  Her face was flushed with emotion. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Truly.”

  It was extremely difficult for him not to reach out and grab her again so he put distance between them, running a nervous hand through his hair once more. When their eyes met again, he chuckled in an edgy burst of energy and she giggled like a child. As he continued to gaze at her, his smile began to fade. There was something in his eyes that should have forewarned her of the words to come but she was too naïve to see it. Therefore, his next question was a shock.

  “What would you say if I told you that I wanted to marry you?”

  She stopped giggling and her eyes widened to the point of popping from her skull. As he watched, her face screwed into tears.

  “Oh, English,” she wept. “Why… why…?”

  He went to her, concerned. “I am sorry, honey,” in spite of his attempt to stay away from her, he took her hands again and kissed them gently. “I did not mean to upset you. I only meant to….”

  She responded by throwing her arms around his armored neck, knocking him off balance. “Ye dinna upset me,” she sobbed. “I just never thought… I dinna know ye felt that way.”

  He righted himself and wrapped his arms around her slender body, burying his face in the side of her head. “Of course I do,” he murmured. “I cannot explain it better than that, but I do.”

  She wept. “But I thought… I’ve been so rotten since the moment we met. I’ve run from ye, yelled at ye and have made yer duty miserable. How can ye want to marry someone who has been so difficult?”

  He laughed softly, kissing the side of her head and pulling back to look at her. “You are not difficult in the least,” he winked at her, “once I figured out how to handle you.”

  She squeaked and wept and he laughed again, kissing her cheeks and gently shushing her. “You must cease your tears, honey,” he kissed the end of her nose. “Lady Anne and Lord Richard will be here shortly and they will wonder what horrible things I have said to you to make you cry.”

  She sniffled and wiped her nose, struggling to stop her tears. “Will ye tell them?”

  “Tell them what? You have not yet given me an answer.”

  She smiled through her tears, a glorious gesture that set his heart to beating wildly. “My answer is that I would be deeply honored to be yer wife,” she whispered. “For always, I belong to ye.”

  He stroked her cheeks with his thumb, never more thrilled about anything in his entire life. “Even to be married to a Sassenach?” he pressed.

  He said it with a strong burr, just the way she did, and Carington giggled. “Especially a Sassenach.” She touched his face again, her hands trembling with emotion as she did so. “But why? Why me?”

  “Because no one else is worthy of you.”

  “I am not a fine English lady.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “All of the fine English ladies in the world cannot compare with you.”

  She smiled, her expression hinting that she was reluctant to believe him. He bent over to kiss her again but voices at the hall entry caught their attention. Creed quickly moved a respectable distance away, eyeing the doorway as Burle suddenly bolted through it as fast as his flabby body would carry him. Creed was concerned by the look on the man’s face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Burle was focused on Creed as if nothing else in the room existed. “Trouble,” he said flatly. “We just received a messenger from Hexham. De Rochefort is calling for aid.”

  Creed grabbed his helm and gauntlets from the table top. “We just left de Rochefort’s men in town.”

  “I know,” Burle replied. “If they are not back at Hexham by now, I am sure they will be shortly.”

  “What did the messenger say?”

  Burle looked at Carington, then, still seated at the table. “A raid,” he finally said, refocusing on Creed. “Scots.”

  Carington bolted to her feet. “It would not be my father,” she insisted strongly. “He may be petty and belligerent, but he wouldna break a bargain. He is an honorable man.”

  Creed plopped his helm on his head, turning to look at her as he pulled on his gauntlets. “No one is saying that it is your father, my lady,” he replied evenly. “There are plenty of other clans on the border who like to rattle our cage once in a while.”

  He turned to follow Burle out the door but Carington ran up behind him just before he quit the hall. She grabbed him by the arm.

  “Be careful, English,” she dare not say more than that. Already, she felt she was saying too much should someone overhear her. “I dunna want ye returning with holes in ye.”

  Creed gazed down at her lovely face and felt his heart lurch strangely. He did not like the thought of leaving her and very much wanted take her in his arms. But he dare not make the move. In the bailey, the troops were shouting as they mobilized and he could hear the war horses being brought about. Before he realized it, James was beside him with additional weaponry to prepare him for battle; the lad just popped up out of nowhere. Creed glanced at his tall, blond squire.

  “Get my charger,” he commanded quietly. “Where is Steven?”

  “Already with the horse, my lord,” the lad replied. “We are awaiting you.”

  The young man handed him an assortment of daggers that Creed accepted and began shoving into niches in his armor. As the lad ran back to the swarming bailey, Carington watched Creed as he carefully placed the razor-sharp weapons in strategic positions on his body. Her trepidation for his safety grew. But before she could comment, he turned to her.

  “Go to your chamber and bolt the door,” he told her softly. “Do not leave that room for any reason. Not until I return. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, her emerald eyes full of fear. To her credit, however, she said nothing about it;
she simply glanced to the activity outside and forced a smile.

  “Ye’d better go,” she told him. “They’ll not wait for ye.”

  Creed held her gaze for a moment, feeling as if his heart were breaking just a little. It was an odd experience, something he had never before faced. He had never gone into battle leaving someone he cared very deeply for behind. With a wink, he forced himself out into the dusky bailey.

  Carington stood there and watched the troops amass. She saw Ryton astride his big Belgian charger shouting orders to the men. She watched as Creed mounted his enormous charcoal steed and began to carry out his brother’s orders. They were efficient and confident, eventually joined by Burle, Stanton and Jory. As she watched the activity, she suddenly realized that someone was standing next to her. Looking over, she noticed that Kristina had joined her. The pale blond realized that she was being watched and smiled timidly at Carington when their eyes met. Carington smiled back.

  “It seems we have a bit of excitement,” Carington told her.

  Kristina nodded. “I have been watching it unfold from our chamber.” Her gaze moved from the chaotic bailey to Carington. “How was your shopping trip?”

  Carington was distracted from her view of Creed by the question. She stepped back and twirled around for Kristina.

  “What do ye think?” she asked.

  Kristina smiled as she viewed the surcoat. “It is beautiful.”

  Carington was interrupted from further conversation by Lord Richard and his boys; the trio descended the stairs and pushed past the women into the bailey. Gilbert and Edward had small wooden swords and they charged out into the ward, swinging their swords and yelling at the men. A couple of times, they nearly got trampled by the warhorses as Richard stood aside, watching his wild sons with pride. Carington found herself wishing that someone would run over the boys and teach them a lesson. But the warhorses always managed to maneuver around them. Eventually, the army began to filter from the bailey into the deepening night.

  Carington and Kristina watched the last of the torches fade into the distance as the great gates of Prudhoe were closed and bolted. Night had fallen and suddenly everything was dark and quiet. Richard and the boys were still standing in the bailey, only by this time the boys were thrusting their swords at each other. Richard finally grabbed his sons and shooed them into the hall where the evening meal was about to be served.

  The boys ran past Carington without as much as a glance, to which she was grateful. She was hoping they had grown tired of harassing her. When she took her eyes off of the little boys who were now running and shouting all over the great hall, she found Kristina staring at her.

  “Well,” Carington squared her shoulders, trying not to let her melancholy show. She did not want rumors to get started about her feelings for Creed; from their conversation, she knew it would only bring about great harm to them all. “I have been ordered to retreat to my chamber and stay there. Are ye coming?”

  Kristina moved to her side and looped a companionable arm through hers. Carington was a little startled at the familiarity at first but quickly got over it; she was coming to genuinely like Kristina and did not mind after all. In truth, she’d never really had a friend and found the English girl’s manner comforting.

  “They always order us to our chambers when the army leaves,” Kristina told her. “They are always concerned that it is a ruse to draw the army away from Prudhoe so we will be vulnerable to attack.”

  Carington looked at her with concern. “Is this always true?”

  Kristina nodded. “Twice, it has been. We were attacked by a great Scots…,” she suddenly trailed off, looking at Carington with horror. “I did not mean to say… that is, they were Scots, but I am sure….”

  Carington put her hand up to quiet her. “No harm, m’lady,” she said softly. “I know we have been enemies in the past. But I hope no longer.”

  Kristina sighed, relieved that she had not offended her. “Nay,” she nodded. “No longer.”

  The great hall was warm and fragrant and a grand meal was served in due time. Lady Anne and Julia joined them, Julia seated next to Kristina and clearly attempting to orchestrate her companion’s kind attempts towards Carington. But Carington did not particularly give notice to the petty girl; her mind was with Creed, now riding towards Hexham Castle and conflict. She found herself praying twice in one day, this time for his safe return.

  So much had changed over the past few days. Her life had become something she did not recognize but was not uncomfortable with. From reluctant hostage to exhilarated bride, she was having a difficult time grasping the turn her future had taken. Not even Gilbert’s taunting or Edward’s bad manners could dampen her spirits. At the moment, she could think only of Creed and their future together.

  When she slept that night, it was with dreams of a Sassenach knight with dusky blue eyes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Morning came and Prudhoe’s army had not returned from Hexham. Lord Richard seemed unconcerned with his absent army but Carington was so edgy that she could not eat her breakfast. As was customary when the army was not at residence within Prudhoe’s walls, the occupants of the castle were allowed to the great hall to break their fast, but afterwards were directed to stay in their bolted chambers and the entire fortress was locked down. Very little activity could be seen, mostly the remaining soldiers on the walls and a few servants dashing from place to place. And because of the lockdown, the papal legate was unable to leave. He was imprisoned in the keep just like everyone else.

  Carington remained locked in her chamber with Kristina and Julia. She was dressed in one of her new surcoats, a pale yellow lamb’s wool that fit her body like the skin of a grape. It was incredibly flattering, bordering on indecent, but she only knew that it was soft and warm. She never noticed the stares of Richard or a few male servants during the morning meal. She was simply thrilled to be in something other than rags.

  Thankfully, Julia had kept silent for the most part during the sequestered existence in their chamber, still working on a great piece of embroidery that was strapped to a large frame. She was very good at sewing and Carington would occasionally glimpse at the ambitious work. But her attention would always return to the window next to her bed, gazing over the lush Northumbrian landscape for any signs of the returning army.

  She sat for what seemed like hours. The nooning meal came and went, brought to them by a couple of serving women who provided them with a wide array of fruit, cheese and bread. But Carington hardly touched it, even when Kristina brought her a lovely apple and a great hunk of white cheese. Carington thanked the pale-haired lass kindly but she simply was not hungry. So Kristina returned to her section of the chamber, brought forth a great deck of colorfully painted cards, and came back to sit on the bed next to Carington.

  Carington eyed the colorful cards as the girl carefully organized them. “What is it ye have there?” she asked.

  Kristina began to carefully lay them out on the coverlet. “These are fortune cards. They can tell your fortune.”

  Carington smiled faintly at the thought of a piece of wood divining the future. But she was willing to play along. “Did they tell ye that ye would be sealed up with me in a room today?”

  Kristina giggled. “They did not,” she wagged a card in Carington’s direction. “You must be serious or the cards will not tell you anything.”

  Carington pretended to wipe the smile from her face, finding enough distraction with the game to tear herself away from the window. “Very well,” she leaned against the wall and watched her new friend deal out the cards. “What are they telling ye?”

  Kristina collected the cards she had just laid out, shuffled them around, and then indicated for Carington to take one. Carington obliged and Kristina took the card out of her hand, laying it on the coverlet. She peered at it closely. Because she was, Carington peered closely at it, too.

  “What do ye see?” she asked.

  Kristina’s brow furrowed in co
ncentration. “It is The Chariot,” she said thoughtfully. “It means conquest and pride. It is the card of a warrior.”

  Carington looked closer. “It does?” She looked up at her friend. “Perhaps it is telling ye something about the battle at Hexham.”

  Kristina pondered that. “’Tis possible,” she said. “It often means strength and battle.”

  Suddenly, Carington took the cards more seriously. “What else?”

  “Take another card.”

  Carington pulled out another one and handed it to Kristina, who placed it to the right of The Chariot. She suddenly smiled. “Ah, The Empress,” she declared. “It means beauty and desire. Surely that is your card.”

  Carington blushed furiously. “What else does it mean?”

  Kristina was still smiling at Carington’s bashful response. “Surely you know how lovely you are,” she said. “Why, there is not a man at Prudhoe who has not noticed. You are all anyone can speak of.”

  Carington looked at her almost fearfully and shook her head. “Ye mustn’t say such things.”

  “Why not? ’Tis the truth.”

  “Can I pick another card?”

  Kristina laughed softly and held out the deck. Carington plucked out another card and Kristina put it to the left of The Chariot. Her smile faded. “The Tower.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Chaos.”

  The answer came from the other side of the room. Carington and Kristina looked over to see that Julia was addressing them. When she knew she had their attention, she focused her dour predication on Carington.

  “The Tower means Chaos,” she repeated, more slowly as if to drive home the point. “It also means crisis, disillusionment and ruin. It is horror and destruction.”

  Carington instinctively stiffened at the woman’s hostility. She gazed balefully at Julia for a moment before returning to Kristina. “Can I pick another card?” she asked.

  Kristina did not look particularly worried about The Tower and offered Carington the deck. Carington selected a fourth card and handed it back to Kristina, who laid it next to The Empress. Her smile was back.