Guardian of Darkness (41 page)

His grin broke through; she ate nothing but sweets these days and then would cry because she was not fitting into any of her clothes.  In truth, he was quite enjoying it because she was animated and humorous when she was not raging with the change of the hour. He kissed the top of her head and let her go.

 “Then if I am to go into town, I must get my armor together and collect my horse,” he said. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Nay.”

“Are you sure you do not want to go?”

“I am sure.”

“Do you want to accompany me to the armory?”

She nodded moodily and he took her hand, leading her out into the weak November sunshine.   It was cool this day but not tremendously so. Carington was clad in a long sleeved woolen shift and surcoat and was quite warm.  But she was pouting and miserable and Creed kept kissing her hand as they crossed into the outer bailey to one of the squatty towers that contained the armory.  Somewhere in their walk, Stanton emerged from the stables and ran to catch up to them.

“Good morn to you, Lady de Reyne,” he said pleasantly. “It is a fine morning today.”

He was making small talk with her but Carington frowned at him. “’Tis a terrible day, Stanton de Witt, and I’ll thank ye not to be so sweet and pleasant around me.”  

Stanton pressed his lips into a flat line, fighting off a grin as Creed cast him a long glance.  Now was not the time to laugh at her unless he wanted to end up missing an eye.

Stanton knew that; he’d spent the past nine months with a pregnant woman of his own. “My wife was wondering if you would sit with her today,” he asked. “She is bored to tears lying in bed all day awaiting the birth of our child.”

Carington nodded. “I know,” she lost some of her pout. “Tell her I’ll join her for the nooning meal. I’ll sit with her a while.”

“Thank you,” Stanton replied sincerely. “She will look forward to it.”

Carington stopped him before he could move away. “What of yer son? Will ye need me to tend him while she sleeps?”

He shook his head. “Your offer is most gracious but Lady Julia is tending him today.”

Carington just nodded, watching him stroll off across the compound.  She shook her head as they entered the armory tower.

“Stanton’s wife is enormous,” she remarked. “She looks to be birthing a small city any day now.”

Creed did not comment one way or the other; anything he said could be misconstrued as a personal insult or slander, no matter how innocent.  As quick to temper as Carington had been before her pregnancy, it was double now and growing worse. So he mounted the spiral stairs in silence, helping her up behind him, until he came to the second floor room that held most of the fine armor.  He sat Carington in the corner and began dressing himself.  He was about a quarter of the way through when his tall blond squire suddenly joined them.

Carington held her legs up and out of the way as James went to work slapping greaves on his master’s shins.  The boy moved quickly and efficiently.

“How did ye know he was here?” she teased him gently. “Ye must have eyes and ears everywhere.”

The lad blushed furiously; he and the lady had gotten to know each other when Creed had taken Ryton’s body back to Throston Castle for burial.  Over miles of travel, they had ended up talking to pass the time and genuinely liked one another.  While Creed dealt with his aged father’s grief, James had kept company with Lady de Reyne in his lord’s stead and the two had developed a bond. 

“I must have eyes and ears everywhere, my lady, or Sir Creed will have my hide,” he replied.

Carington laughed softly, gazing up at her husband.  He merely wriggled his eyebrows.

“He’ll not touch ye,” she told the lad firmly. “I would not allow it.”

“Allow it or not, that is my fear nonetheless, Lady de Reyne.”

Carington just shook her head sadly. “Dunna be afraid of him, James,” she told him. “He wouldna lay a hand on ye. But it is right that ye should respect his strength.”

James’ head was lowered as he worked on Creed’s thigh protection.  His fingers moved like lightning.  Carington watched the lad a moment before returning her attention to her husband.

“English,” she cocked her head as she looked at him. “Do ye not believe it is time for James to become a knight? Young Steven has already been knighted, after all, and he’s not much older than James.”

Creed held on to the breast plate as James fastened straps. “I believe I know my squire’s talents better than you,” he scolded gently. “I will determine when the boy is to become a man.”

She scowled fiercely. “Dunna take that tone with me. ‘Twas merely a question.”

He looked at her as James stood up and began fussing with his shoulders. “I am sorry, love,” he said sincerely, though he did not mean a word of it. “I simply meant that James will be knighted soon enough and I do not know what I will do without him as my squire. He has spoiled me to anyone else.”

James blushed furiously as Carington cooled.  She looked thoughtful as she watched the squire finish with her husband’s armor.

“I suppose I will go into town with ye,” she said, unwinding her legs and standing up. “I want to shop for the bairn.”

Creed rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it; a strangled grunt came out instead and he quickly pretended to busy himself with his gauntlets as Carington turned to a suspicious eye to him.

“Did ye have something to say to that?” she demanded.

He fussed with a glove. “Not really,” he said casually. “But do you not believe the baby has enough things right now? He has more possessions than I do and he is not even born yet.”

Her lips moved into the familiar pout and Creed put up a gloved hand in surrender. “As you wish,” he said quickly. “Wait a moment and I will escort you home so that you can retrieve your cloak.”

She waved him off and began to carefully descend the stairs. “No need. I will meet ye in the bailey.”

He watched her dark hair until it disappeared down the stairwell.  With an annoyed purse of the lips, he caught his squire looking at him.

“Mind that you remember that women, in general, are mysterious things.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Do you plan to marry?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Make sure she is docile.”

“You did not, my lord.”

Creed eyed him a moment before breaking out into a smirk. “Nay, I did not,” he shook his head. “And my life is richer for it. Forget what I said, then.  Make sure she is full of spirit and you will never know a dull moment.”

“I want a Scots wife just like your lady wife, my lord.”

Creed groaned. “God help you, lad.”

James finished dressing him with a grin on his face.

Down in the outer bailey, Carington was strolling across the ward towards the inner bailey,  She could see Burle  across the bailey, running about a dozen new recruit soldiers through a drill, while Steven, Creed’s former squire, was on sentry duty up on the wall walk.  With Ryton and Jory’s deaths, they had quickly promoted the young man and he was proving an excellent asset.  All seemed peaceful and bright and Carington was thinking about the fabric she would purchase for the baby when a shout suddenly echoed off the walls.

She looked back to see Steven lifting a hand to Burle, who in turn left his recruits to run to the wall.  He disappeared inside the gatehouse only to emerge up on the wall walk.  Carington came to a pause, watching curiously.

By this time, Creed and James had emerged from the armory and Carington watched as her husband and his squire jogged across the bailey towards the gatehouse.  Following the same path that Burle had taken, they emerged from the tower onto the wall walk above.   After a few minutes of discussion, whereupon Carington grew bored and began to resume her path back to her cottage, Creed suddenly emitted a piercing whistle and the bailey came alive.

Soldiers emerged from the barracks against the north wall and began running.  Somewhat startled, Carington scurried out of the way, standing near the gate to the inner bailey as she watched the activity.  She was so busy watching the soldiers run back and forth that it took her a moment to realize that Creed had come down from the wall and was heading towards her.  She watched him cross the ward, his powerful strides and determined stance. Her heart did a little dance, as it always did when she watched him. There was a time once when she thought he sucked up all of the air surrounding him; it was still true, but now in a good way. The man could positively make her heart sing.

He was upon her in a flash. “Go into the keep, honey.”

Fear clutched her at the grim expression on his face. “Why? What is the matter?”

His jaw was ticking as he took her elbow and turned her in the direction of the keep. “Scots,” he said softly. “I must assess the threat and until I do, we will assume they are hostile. Get into the keep and bolt the door.”

She suddenly dug her heels in. “If they are Scots, then I must be present,” she insisted. “They wouldna dare attack Prudhoe with Sian Kerr’s daughter within her walls.”

The ticking in his jaw worsened. “Cari, I do not have time to argue with you. Please do as you are told
. Please
.”

He said the last word as she opened her mouth to protest. With an expression of extreme reluctance, she gathered her skirt and hurried for the keep. Creed stood there and watched her until she entered and the door shut.  Only then did he begin shouting at the soldiers to seal up the inner ward.

He joined his men on the wall walk again, trying to spot the colors of the group in the distance.  He knew they were Scots simply by the clothing and armor they wore; tartans and leather and very little pieces of metal or mail.  They were still too far away to distinguish colors.  The next few minutes would tell them who, exactly, approached as their tartans came more clearly into view.

Stanton eventually joined them in their waiting game.  Young Steven had grown several inches in the last few months and was now as tall as Burle.  He wore Ryton’s armor, given to him by Creed because he knew Ryton would not have minded.  Moreover, armor was expensive and Steven had not yet amassed any fortune to pay for it.  He needed something to wear. The young knight hovered over the edge of the parapet, watching the approaching party with his youthful vision.  Finally, the young man straightened.

“Kerr tartan,” he said. “That is all I see. And I do not see men riding for battle; it looked like an escort party.”

Creed’s brow furrowed as his eyes strained to see in the distance. “An escort?” he repeated. “That is odd.  Did we receive any missive announcing their arrival?”

The knights shook their heads. “None that we are aware of, my lord,” Stanton replied.

Creed did not stand down his troops from alert status but he did go down to the bailey and open the gates.  The portcullis remained closed and he stood, watching the Kerr tartans approach, feeling his stomach quiver with apprehension. He was positive they were there with regards to Carington and he wondered if Sian Kerr was, in fact, riding in the party. For months, Richard had refrained from sending any word to Laird Kerr for the sheer fact that he would not take the chance that the man would wage war upon them. He wanted Prudhoe, and Creed, to know some peace after a harrowing summer.  Creed did not disagree, especially after finding out that his wife was with child. He wanted her to know peace as well.  It was selfish, he knew, and now he worried that his selfishness was about to cost them dearly.