Guardian of Darkness (14 page)

“Are ye going to be my shadow even at the castle?” she asked.

He could feel her leaning against him, her slight body weary and drained. “I am my lady’s shadow wherever she goes.”

“I feel better knowing that,” she said softly. “I dunna know anyone but you.”

“Untrue,” he said. “You know Sir Ryton and Sir Stanton and Sir Burle. They will be your protectors as well.”

“I hit Sir Stanton in the face. I dunna believe he has forgiven me for that.”

Creed thought about the young knight he knew, the one who had too much compassion and pity for his own good. “Aye, he has. You needn’t worry over Stan. He would protect you with his life.”

She digested that a moment. “But the big man… what is his name? I wasna very nice to him; I yelled at him. I dunna believe he likes me, either.”

Creed glanced over his left shoulder, seeing Burle and Stanton several yards behind him and Jory almost to the rear of the column as if exiled there.  He turned back around. “Did you see the injury to Jory’s face?”

When she had awoken from her dead faint, the dark young knight happened to pass into her line of sight.  She had seen that the entire right side of his face was bruised. “Aye.”

“Burle did that.”

“Why?”

“Because Jory made you cry. Burle has three daughters, my lady. He is very protective of womenfolk in general.”

Carington lifted her head long enough to look back at the two knights, now through new eyes. Surprised at their chivalry to the point of being speechless, her thoughts were distracted as they came into the shadow cast by the massive keep of Prudhoe. She glanced up, straining to look around Creed so she could gain a better look.  All she saw was more stone and more walls.  As anxious as she was, she was also curious about the mysteries the great structure contained.

“Will ye tell me something of the people who live here?” she asked.

His dusky blue eyes moved appreciatively up the massive stone walls, lit by the bright spring sun. Rays of light filtered in through the oaks that lined the road and he was glad to be home again.

“There are Lord Richard and his wife, the Lady Anne,” he said. “They are kind and descent people. You must remember that. They have two sons, Edward, who is six years, and Gilbert, who is eight. You must mind the boys; they have a fondness for fighting and spitting and are quite spoiled. There are also two foster girls, the Lady Julia and the Lady Kristina. They are approximately sixteen or seventeen years, I think. You might find companionship with them.”

She snorted. “I am older than they are.”

“Is that so?”

“It ‘tis. I have seen nineteen years.”

He fought off a smile at the haughtiness of her voice. “Then you can be an older, wiser friend.”

She snorted again, this time making a face. “Pasty-faced Sassenach lasses. I dunna know if I want to be a friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow, turning his neck slightly to make eye contact with her. “None of that. You will behave yourself.”

She matched his cocked eyebrow, ending when she backed down and returned her gaze to the looming castle.  “What if they are mean to me?”

“Then you will tell me. I will deal with them.”

“So I canna even defend myself?”

He shook his head with faint regret at her combative attitude. “Cari, they’re not going to attack you.  Show them how kind and intelligent a Scot really is. You are representing your people, honey. You are here as an emissary of peace. That is a very honorable and important task.”

She was still torn between reluctance and acceptance.  “But what if…?” she suddenly blinked, looking up at the side of his helmed head. “What did ye call me?”

He lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, wrestling with the horse when it threw its head. “Cari?”

“Nay.”

“What?”

“Ye called me… honey.  Ye’ve called me that before.”

The horse tossed its head again and he cuffed it on the top of the head. “Have I? Forgive me for my forwardness, then. I did not mean to offend.”

She eyed him. “Ye did not,” she said.  She lowered her head and looked back to the trees. “Ye may call me that if ye wish.”

A grin spread across his lips.  “I wish.”

Her cheeks flushed furiously and she hid her smile by pretending to look down at herself, fussing with the dust on her scarlet surcoat. She was a mess but almost did not care. Creed’s pet name had her caring about little else.

The escort passed through an enormous gate built into the perimeter wall, spilling them out into a massive bailey. The equally massive keep was on the motte to her right, soaring a hundred feet into the blue English sky. It was bigger than anything she had ever seen. Carington was staring at it when Creed brought his horse to a halt and dismounted. He held his arms up to her.

“Come along,” he said. “They are waiting to meet you.”

She looked at him and he saw the fear, but she obediently slipped into his arms. He lowered her to the ground, his hands loitering on her waist perhaps a bit longer than necessary.  Their eyes lingered on one another, appraisingly, until she offered a weak smile.

“Better to get this over with,” she said with forced bravery.

He smiled in return, collecting some items off his saddle before taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“If my lady will follow me,” he said.

She would indeed follow him. She had already decided that. It no longer made any difference that Creed was a hated Sassenach; he was a kind man and quite handsome. Having experienced all that she had with him over the past two days was seeing a definite attachment begin and she no longer possessed the will to fight it.

They followed Ryton and Burle across the outer bailey with Stanton bringing up the rear. Jory was under orders to disband the escort and they could hear his high-pitched shouts above the roar of the ward. Gripping Creed’s elbow with her left hand, she brushed at her surcoat with the right. There was dust everywhere and she noticed grass stains from when she had fallen in the grass.  She lamented the stains as they crossed into the inner bailey.

“My coat is so dirty,” she brushed at the green streaks. “These Sassenachs are going to think I am a filthy little pig.”

Creed glanced down at her surcoat, his gaze inevitably falling on her delicious figure.  The slender torso and full, succulent breasts caught his attention but when she looked up at him, she only noticed that he was looking her in the eye.

“You have been traveling,” he said. “They understand that there is some wear that goes along with that.”

“Do I have time to change?” she asked. “A few minutes is all it would take. And I would feel so much better.”

Creed did not see anything unreasonable with that request.  He turned to his brother, up ahead of him. “Ryton,” he caught the man’s attention. “The lady wishes to change her coat. It will not take long. Would you inform Lord Richard and Lady Anne that the lady will greet them once she has cleaned up from her journey?”

Ryton’s gaze moved over the lady’s clothes; she was dusty and there were grass stains on her garment, but even so, she was still the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Besides that, they were already late and he hated not being punctual.

“No need,” he replied. “She is presentable.”

“It would be the polite thing to do.”

Ryton eyed his brother, a mixture of impatience and intolerance. “Nay, Creed,” he motioned towards the great hall dead ahead. “Get her inside. They have been waiting overlong for her arrival.”

Creed did not look at her; he was busy glaring at his brother for denying a polite request.  They closed in on the wide open door of Prudhoe’s great hall, a massively long structure that was built on the ground floor of the bailey.  It was separate from the keep, unusual for an English bastion. Most great halls were part of the keep and well away from the open bailey. 

Carington observed the carved doorway as they were swallowed up by the dark innards, descending into a place that smelled of must and rushes and smoke.  It was eerie and unfamiliar, and Carington’s eyes widened at the sight.

Creed felt her hesitate.  He looked down at her frightened expression, noticing that she had slowed considerably to the point of stopping. He patted the hand on his elbow.

 “’Tis all right,” he assured her quietly. “These are kind people. You have nothing to fear.”

She gazed up at him, the emerald eyes full of anxiety. “Ye willna leave me?”

He shook his head, his gaze serious. “Nay. I will be with you the entire time.”

She smiled gratefully and he felt his heart skip a beat. Odd; he’d never experienced anything like that before and had no idea what to make of it. He gave her a wink and gently urged her forward.

The dark and musty foyer abruptly opened into a grand and warmly-lit hall. The ceilings were thirty feet high and a gallery spanned the upper circumference of the room. Tapestries hung on the north and south sides with a massive hearth along the western wall.  Fresh rushes littered the floor and, amazingly, there were no dogs about. Carington had never seen anything so enormous and struggled not to gape like an idiot.  Her eyes darted about nervously, trying to keep her wits, as several people came into focus at the great long dining table beyond.

The party at the table rose as the knights and one small lady approached.  Carington’s eyes fell on an older, well-dressed man, a slender well-dressed older woman, and several children. But she was not particularly interested in the children; she was focused on the adults. The man and woman drew closer to her and she could see they held non-hostile expressions. Not knowing what to think, she tried to maintain a neutral facade.

The man extended his hand. “Creed,” he did not take his eyes off of Carington as he spoke. “Will you introduce us to your charge?”

Creed took her hand off his elbow and placed it in the man’s outstretched palm. “Lord Richard d’Umfraville, meet the Lady Carington Kerr. Lady Carington, this is your liege.”

Richard was gallant without being extravagant. He placed his lips gently on her hand in a gesture of respect and, still holding her hand, turned to the lady beside him. “Lady Carington, my wife, the Lady Anne.”

Anne d’Umfraville was a dark-haired, dark-eyed lady with a handsome face. She smiled warmly at Carington and took her hand from her husband’s grip. “My lady,” she had a deep, husky voice. “Welcome to Prudhoe. We are happy to have you as our guest for a time.”

Even though Creed had told her they were kind people, still, she did not expect it. Off-guard, she dipped a brief curtsey for the lady. “My lady,” she looked at Richard. “My lord, I am pleased to be here. Thank ye for yer kind welcome.”

Over by the table, the children suddenly came alive.  Carington looked over to see two young ladies and two small boys, all in varied degrees of giggles. The youngest boy crawled onto the bench, leapt up onto the table, and stomped is feet.

“Papa,” he pointed at Carington. “She talks funny!”

The children burst out into loud laughter and Carington’s cheeks flushed a dull red.   Richard did not react, but Anne cast them all a nasty look.