Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Are ye all right?” she asked softly, her hand on his face.

  He nodded, staring at his cup of wine. “Aye,” he murmured. “But it is as if I am living his death all over again.”

  She kissed his cheek, leaning her head against his to comfort him. “But ye had yer justice when ye killed Jory whilst defending me. Ye did not know at the time that ye killed the man who murdered yer brother.”

  He nodded slowly, still staring pensively at his wine. “I did not know it, but God did. Perhaps it was He who orchestrated that event as justice well served for my brother.”

  She smiled sadly at him, forcing him to look at her. When his dusky blue eyes fell on her sweet face, he suddenly collapsed against her, his face in her tender neck and his arms around her. In the great hall of Prudhoe as life went on around them, Carington could feel his warm tears against her flesh. For Ryton, he would finally weep.

  It was only later on that evening that they discovered that Julia had hung herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  December 1200 A.D.

  The snows had come early this year. As Carington sat with Lady Vivian de Witt, cooing softly at the newborn girl in her cradle, she kept watching the snow outside as it collected on the windowsill. Lady Vivian was not feeling well after the birth of her daughter and had been growing steadily weaker for days, something that greatly concerned Stanton. Lady Anne had sent to Newcastle for the physic and the man insisted that the lady was greatly taxed from the birth, prescribing such things as boiled beef’s blood and other strange things. But still, Lady Vivian was not improving.

  Carington and the other ladies would take turns sitting with Lady Vivian to tend both her and the infant who was, in fact, a lusty little girl with her father’s blond hair. But Lady Vivian could not feed the child so a wetnurse had been hired from the village. When the woman was not nursing the babe, she was busying herself with little Henry. On this cold and snowy day as Vivian slept, Carington had baby watching duty. She reached into the cradle and scooped up the fussing infant, walking the length of the floor and singing softly to soothe her. She considered it good practice for the day when her own bairn would arrive.

  The door to the cottage blew open and two knights entered. Snow blew in after them until the smaller knight shut the door firmly. Carington stood back, shielding the baby from the harsh weather as Creed wiped the snow from his eyes. Stanton went straight into the bedchamber to see his wife.

  “The weather is worsening,” Creed commented, eyeing the fat-faced baby in his wife’s arms. “How is the child?”

  “Fine,” she said, then lowered her voice. “But Vivian is not well at all. I fear for her, English. She is growing weaker by the minute.”

  Creed drew in a deep breath, his gaze moving to the open bedchamber door. He could see Stanton seated on the edge of the bed as he spoke softly to his wife. After a moment, he shook his head and looked back to Carington.

  “I do not know if I would be half as composed as he is,” he murmured, looking into her emerald eyes. “He shows a great deal of strength.”

  Carington knew he was thinking about her and the perils of childbirth; she had seen this rise in fear in him for weeks. It had worsened since Vivian gave birth to her daughter. She reached up and patted his icy cheek.

  “I’m as strong as an ox,” she assured. “I’ll be on my feet an hour after birthin’ this bairn. There is nothing to worry over.”

  He kissed her palm, watching her put the baby back in the cradle. He was trying not to let the event of the birth frighten him, but in truth, he was terrified and excited at the same time. All he knew was that his wife must survive, no matter what. He did not know what would become of him if she did not; he could not even think about it.

  “I came to tell you that we have sighted an incoming party about a half mile out,” he changed the subject. “It looks to me as if they are flying papal banners but I cannot be sure. The blowing snow obscures much.”

  Carington whirled to him, her eyes wide. “The priest returns?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “I am not sure,” he replied. “But I think you should be with me if it is him.”

  “Of course I will,” she insisted, watching his expression for any signs of apprehension. “The queen’s bairn should have been born a couple of months ago. Do ye believe it is news of the birth?”

  “It is possible.”

  She gazed up at him, trepidation in her eyes. “Oh, English,” she murmured. “I am frightened. No word for months and then….”

  He leaned over to kiss her gently; he did not want to touch her because his armor and mail were like ice. “I know,” he murmured, kissing her again. “But we knew this time would come. We expected it. We can do nothing more than face it.”

  Her eyes began to well. “But what if he wants to take ye to London?”

  He pulled off a glove and tenderly grasped her face. “There is no use in worrying about it until the time comes.” He let go of her face and hunted around for her cloak. Finding it across a chair, he held it up for her. “Come along, love. Let us to go the great hall and await the visitors.”

  Sniffling, she allowed him to help her into her heavy woolen cloak with the fur lining. He fastened the ties and pulled her hood on, securing it around her sweet face. Letting Stanton know he was confiscating the baby sitter, he took her out into the snowy ward.

  The wind was kicking up something fierce as he took her into the inner bailey and directly to the great hall. Once inside the entry, the heat from the roaring fire was like a slap in the face. It was almost too warm. Creed pulled off his gauntlets and helped Carington remove her cloak.

  “Now,” he took her gently by the elbow. “Go and sit by the fire and I shall return with our visitor.”

  She gazed up at him, her lovely little face round and rosy-cheeked. “I’m scared for ye,” she clutched at him. “What if… what if we hide and tell Laird Richard to tell the church that we ran off months ago? They’ll not know where to find ye.”

  He put his cold hands on her face, leaning down to kiss both cheeks. “Wife, you worry overly,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Moreover, it could be good news. If we run, we will never know.”

  She was not convinced but took a seat at the table with her back facing the fire. It was warm and wonderful and as her belly brushed up against the old oak table, she could feel the babe moving within her. Creed was just putting his gloves back on when she motioned urgently to him.

  “English, come here!” she called excitedly. “Hurry if ye want to feel yer son move about.”

  Creed would take any opportunity for that. He tucked his gloves under one arm and went to her, putting both of his enormous hands on her belly. His hands were so big that they swallowed up the entire bulge. He waited with anticipation for a moment, finally rewarded with strong kicking and a few rolls against her flesh. He grinned as their eyes met.

  “He is active today,” he said with pride. “He will be a very strong lad.”

  She smiled in return, putting her small hands over his. There was such intimate joy in their delight, something that meant the world to the two of them. The baby kicked and rolled a few more times, causing Creed to laugh softly.

  “I do not believe he is content in there,” he told her. “He wants to be born and serve with his father.”

  She pursed her lips at him. “Ye’ll not rush him into battle,” she told him. “I would keep him with me for as long as I can.”

  With a smirk, he cocked an eyebrow at her to let her know how ridiculous he thought her statement was. They had discussed fostering, once, and she had ended up in tears. She did not like the idea of sending her child away. Leaning down to kiss her belly, he stood up and resumed pulling his gloves on.

  “I will see to our visitors now,” he told her. “I shall return.”

  Carington’s smile faded but she nodded, rubbing her belly as he quit the hall. Trepidation filled her once more as she sat in the quiet room, her imagination
running wild with a myriad of horrible scenarios. But Creed had seemed unconcerned. Perhaps she should be as well.

  Out in the snow-blown inner bailey, Creed made his way to the outer bailey just as the great gates began to crank open. The wood was frozen and the ropes sodden, making it difficult to move. He could see several soldiers trying to strong arm the gates. As he continued to make his way to the gate, the frozen panels finally jerked open. As they yawned wide, a small party bearing icy banners of the yellow papal cross entered. It took another two dozen men to shut the gates behind them.

  The snow was past Creed’s ankles and getting deeper as he made his way to the escort party. There was a small carriage in the center of the group and just as he reached it, the door popped open and a familiar face appeared.

  It was Massimo. Creed felt his stomach lurch a little at the sight of the man but he greeted him pleasantly. If the man was traveling in weather such as this, all the way from London no less, then the news must indeed be serious. He was glad that Carington was inside the hall and away from this scene for the moment.

  “Your Grace,” he said, helping the man from the carriage and into the snow. “You picked fine weather to travel in.”

  Massimo’s young face was bundled up in woolen scarves. His dark eyes fixed on Creed. “It was not by choice, I assure you,” he said. “I have come with dreadful news and there is no time to waste.”

  Creed’s stomach lurched a little more. “What news?”

  Massimo put his hand on Creed’s arm. “Take me into some place warm before I freeze to death and I will tell you.”

  Creed began to lead the man towards the great hall, wrought with dread as they walked. “Tell me what has happened that would have you traveling in such foul weather?”

  Massimo wiped snow from his face. “The queen’s child was born three months ago,” he told him. “The child was early and did not survive. But it was born with a crown of black hair and, I am told, dark blue eyes. Like yours.”

  Creed cleared his throat softly. “Be that as it may, it was not mine. And Isabella has black hair.”

  “I understand,” Massimo nodded. “But the fact remains that the king went mad with fury and grief and has been demanding your head ever since. He knew that the church has been in contact with you and he further knew that we advocate your innocence in all things. We have made that clear. When I left London six weeks ago to deliver the news to you, we were followed. A small army of the king’s men is not a day’s ride behind me.”

  Creed froze and looked at him. “You led them to Prudhoe?”

  Massimo’s cold face was lined with guilt and sorrow. “It was a mistake, I assure you,” he said quietly. “We had no idea we were being followed until we were almost to Leeds. By then, the best I could do was proceed as quickly as I could to warn you.”

  Creed just stared at him. “You could have veered away and led them to Manchester or York, for God’s sake. As it is, you led them right to me.”

  Massimo nodded submissively. “A difficult choice to make, Sir Creed. Even if I had diverted them, I could not take the chance that they would somehow wander into Prudhoe or Hexham and catch you unaware. You had to be warned.”

  Creed sighed heavily, his mind whirling with the news. He resumed his walk towards the great hall. “Then it would seem my choice is to either hunker down at Prudhoe and expect a siege or flee. And I cannot flee.”

  “Why not?” Massimo demanded. “You must leave right away if you are to have any chance of escaping them.”

  Creed shook his head. “I cannot leave in any case.”

  “Why not?” Massimo demanded again.

  Creed looked at him, then. “Because my wife is with child. I cannot drag her out in this weather or travel with her in her current condition. Even in fine weather, I would be hesitant to take her into open country.”

  Massimo stared at him in shock. After a moment, he let out a hissing whistle between his teeth and looked away. “Dear God,” he muttered. “I understand your reluctance, Creed, but you have no choice. If you stay, the king’s men will lay siege to Prudhoe and you jeopardize everyone here with your presence. Would you really risk so many men, women and children because you do not want to leave?”

  They had reached the great hall and Creed turned to look at the priest with a great deal of pain on his face. The dusky blue eyes were full of it. After a moment, he averted his gaze and opened the door.

  Hot air hit them in the face as they entered and Creed quickly closed the door behind them. When Creed looked up, he could already see Carington moving across the floor in their direction. Her lovely face was serene yet curious. Massimo unwound the woolen scarf from his head as she drew near.

  “Lady de Reyne,” he greeted her, eyeing her round belly. “Your husband told me the happy news. Congratulations on your pending child.”

  She dipped in curtsy. “Yer Grace,” she said. “Welcome to Prudhoe. My husband thought it might be ye but he could not be sure.”

  Massimo forced a smile and took her hand gently. “It was me,” he nodded his head in the direction of the table. “May we sit and warm ourselves? I fear that I have barely escaped being turned into a pillar of ice.”

  Carington smiled at him but her eyes moved to Creed as they made their way back to the well-scrubbed table. Creed simply winked at her, sending a servant for hot mulled wine and food. Then he joined them.

  Carington did not mince words; she knew the priest was there for a reason and she would know what it was.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” she asked the priest. “Surely it is not because ye enjoy traveling in the snow.”

  Massimo smiled weakly. “Nay, my lady, I do not,” he cast a glance at Creed. “I have, in fact, come with some news.”

  Creed made sure to sit beside her as she focused on the priest. “What news?” she asked.

  Massimo chose his words carefully; he had caught glimpses of the lady’s high strung nature the last time he was at Prudhoe and did not imagine that pregnancy had stilled those tendencies. If anything, they were probably worse. He was very careful how he delivered the news.

  “The queen gave birth to a stillborn son three months ago,” he said. “It was rumored that the child was the exact image of your husband. The king’s grief and fury knew no bounds and he put a price on your husband’s head. Even now, the king’s men have followed me to Prudhoe and cannot be more than a day’s ride behind me. I have been attempting to convince your husband to flee but he will not.”

  In spite of the devastating news, Carington held her composure admirably. But it was very thinly held. She turned to Creed.

  “He is right, English,” she said, although he could see her lips trembling. “Ye must flee. Go to Wether Fair and seek sanctuary from my father. Massimo will go with ye and explain the situation.”

  His heart was breaking as he noted the quiver to her mouth, her pale features. He knew how upset she was. “I will not leave you,” he asserted softly, firmly. “I am not afraid to face the king with the church on my side.”

  “I will go with you,” she suddenly bolted up as if she had a million things to do and only five minutes in which to complete them. “I shall pack lightly and we can ride to my father’s home. It shouldna take more than a couple of days.”

  He grabbed her by the hands as she tried to get away. “In this weather?” he was trying to be gentle but he could see that she was beginning to panic. “I will not risk you over miles of open ground. It is foolish.”

  She had a wild look to her eye as her alarm gained ground. “Then ye must go alone,” she insisted, yanking at his hands. “Ye must leave right away. Go to Wether Fair and I will send word to ye when it ’tis safe to return.”

  He shook his head firmly. “I will not leave you, Cari. There is no telling how long we would be separated and I will not miss the birth of my son.”

  Her panic broke through and her high-pitched voice began to quake. “Ye’ll miss his entire life if the ki
ng’s men murder ye,” she cried. “For the love of God, English, get out of here. Go before it ’tis too late!”

  She was yanking fiercely at him and he threw his arms around her to stop the panic. She collapsed against him in terrified tears as he held her tightly.

  “I will not run like a coward,” he murmured into her dark hair, listening to her weep harder. “I did nothing wrong. God will protect me.”

  She was weeping pathetically. “Go, English,” she sobbed. “I am begging ye; for my sake, please go. I canna stand the strain of knowing ye risked yer life just to stay with me. Oh, please… go….”

  She trailed off into heart wrenching sobs. Creed sighed heavily, rocking her gently and trying to soothe her. His dark, anguished gaze found the priest.

  “How far behind you would you estimate the king’s men are?” he asked quietly.

  Massimo wriggled his eyebrows in resignation. “Darlington, perhaps,” he lifted his shoulders. “If they are riding harder than I am, then they will be closer.”

  Carington pulled her face from the crook of his neck, her emerald eyes filled with terror. “Please,” she put her small hands on his face urgently. “Please go. The king’s men will lay siege to Prudhoe if ye stay and ye will risk much. Yer desire to stay with me is not worth so many lives. And what of Lord Richard? Will ye bring hell upon him because of yer selfishness?”

  He gazed deeply into her beautiful eyes. “I do not consider wanting to stay with my wife selfish. Moreover, there will be no siege.”

  She blinked, looking surprised. “No siege? What do ye mean?”

  He leaned down and kissed her wet cheek. “Because I intend to turn myself over to them.”

  Carington flew into a frenzy. “Nay!” she screamed. “Ye cannot do this, not when…oh!”

  She suddenly doubled over and clutched her belly. Creed went from calm to horrified in a split second.

  “What is wrong?” he had his arms on her, supporting her. “Cari, what is happening?”