Guardian of Darkness (43 page)

He was pointing at Carington, who was gearing up to defend her father until Creed shook her gently.  When their eyes met she backed down. Sian’s vibrant blue eyes were riveted to the boys.

“Yer sons, Laird Richard?” he asked.

Richard nodded proudly. “They are fine boys, curious and strong. They will make fine allies with the Kerrs someday.”

“He does not wear breeches,” Gilbert pointed out to his father. “Why do Scots wear skirts?”

“’Tis a kilt, lad,” Sian could not decide if he was impressed by their boldness or if they needed a whipping. “We wear it because it is our way.”

Gilbert frowned. “Englishmen do not wear kilts.”

“Nay, they dunna. That is the difference between us.”

Edward suddenly ducked under the table.  They could hear the little boy scuttling around underneath until he suddenly crowed.

“He is not wearing anything underneath!” he screeched. “I can see his…!”

“Edward!” Anne cried, reaching under the table and grasping him by the arm. She practically twisted it off in her attempt to flush him out from underneath the table. “Go stand with Julia and Kristina.  Go before I take a switch to you.”

She had nearly pulled his arm from its socket and he rubbed his shoulder as he did as he was told.  Anne yanked Gilbert off the table and shooed him away with his brother. Meanwhile, Richard cleared his throat and prayed for a better subject.

“Did you have a pleasant trip to Prudhoe, my lord?” he asked.

Sian nodded. “Good weather,” he returned his attention to Carington, more interested in his daughter’s life since her arrival to Prudhoe than in rude English children. “Tell me, lass; when did ye marry Sir Creed?”

Carington’s smile faded, remembering that May night when Ryton had been killed. “The night after the Scots attacked Hexham Castle.”

Sian’s expression did not change; his eyes were rivet to his only child. “When was this?”

“In May.”

He scratched his chin and averted his gaze. “I dinna know of this. Attacked Hexham, you say?”

Creed just looked to his cup but he could feel Carington tensing beneath his arm. “How can ye say that?” she hissed at her father. “There were Kerr tartans among those of Eliot and Graham.”

Sian lifted an eyebrow. “Kerr, ye say? If that is true, it was not by me own command.”

“Do ye not know where yer men are?”

“Of course I do.  But we have a large clan, lass. There are those who act on their own with the right persuasion.”

Carington knew it was the truth; men from the clan could be bought or coerced by other clans. That was not an unusual happenstance. But this was different; this act of betrayal had resulted in horrific results on someone she had once considered the enemy.

“Creed lost his brother in that raid, Da,” she said seriously. “Killed with a morning star to the head; I saw it myself. Do you mean to tell me you have no control over yer men?”

His vibrant blue eyes were piercing on her. “I have no control over me own daughter, ’tis a fact.”

She sat back against Creed, as if her father had struck her with his words. He was attempting to unbalance her and had managed to do so. After a moment, she looked at her husband and put an arm around his neck. Her gaze went from hard to soft in an instant as she beheld his face.

“Then what good is a peace treaty if no one but the hostage honors it?” she smiled sadly at her husband as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Although I am deeply sorry for Ryton’s death, I am not sorry that I was pledged to Prudhoe for harmony’s sake.”

Sian watched his daughter’s expression as she looked at her husband, the gentleness of it.  It was something he had never seen before. Somewhere in the past several months, his daughter had grown up. She had moved from a spirited young girl to a spirited young woman. More than that, there was something in her manner that Creed seemed to bring to it; there was deep compassion and tenderness. She seemed settled and calm. Sian could see it quite clearly. And at that moment, he began to gain some respect for the English warrior. If Carington thought so much of him, then perhaps there was something there.

“Well,” Sian turned back to his cup, pouring himself more wine. “I dinna hear anything about the raid on Hexham.  If my men were a part of it, they kept it well hidden from me.”

“Perhaps because they knew it was in violation of your peace with Prudhoe,” Carington tore her eyes away from Creed and looked at her father. “Perhaps they did it behind yer back. That smells of betrayal to me.”

Sian lifted an eyebrow at her. “Still yer tongue, girl. I will get tae the bottom of this and find out why my men had tae do wi’ it.”

“I willna still my tongue,” she fired back. “Creed’s brother died in that raid and I would know who has betrayed our peace.”

“And do what?”

“Punish them!” Carington stood up, agitation in her manner. “I would know who did this to my husband’s brother. He was a good man, a fair man, and he dinna deserve for his skull to be smashed by dishonorable savages.”

Sian’s temper flared and Creed could see, in that brief moment, where his wife got her temper. “I’ll not have ye callin’ yer kin dishonorable when ye dunna know the entire story,” he threw up his hands. “Ye dunna even know who killed the man. It could have been anyone!”

She scowled angrily. “Ye defend men who would go to battle without yer blessing? Since when are ye so ignorant?”

Creed removed her, then.  He stood up, pushing her gently away from her father and putting a barrier between them should her father decide to physically demonstrate his fury. Sian leapt to his feet behind Creed.

“Since when do ye speak tae yer father wi’ such disrespect?” he bellowed.

Although Creed had her around the shoulders, Carington strained to get a glimpse of her father.

“Since my father is apparently such an idiot,” she bellowed in return. “Creed’s brother was killed when there was supposed to be peace; killed by Scots, some of whom wore Kerr tartan!”

It was turning into a shouting match.  Creed gently but firmly pushed his wife away from the table, attempting to calm her.  There was chaos building, so much so that they were all startled when Julia suddenly spoke up from the shadow.

“The Scots did not kill Ryton,” she said calmly.

Creed and Carington looked sharply at her; she stood near the hearth, her hands folded primly and appearing calm.  She had been, in fact, extraordinarily quiet since the night of Creed’s wedding. She had been withdrawn and odd and most attributed it to the fact that the man she had been longing after had taken a wife.  Carington, in fact, had barely heard two words from her during all that time and was understandably surprised to hear her voice in the midst of a family argument.

Lady Anne was the first one to speak. “Julia, now is not the time,” she said quietly, firmly. “Please take the boys back to the keep.  Kristina, go with her.”

But Julia would not budge; her gaze was fixed on Creed “I am sorry if I am speaking out of turn, but I meant what I said,” she said. “The Scots did not kill Ryton.”

Creed’s brow furrowed as he gazed at the pale young woman. “How would you know this?”

Julia took a few timid steps toward him. “Jory told me.”

Creed’s confusion deepened. “What did he tell you?”

Julia seemed quite composed; but suddenly, she erupted into a very odd cry and began to tremble. Her hands flew to her head as if to keep her head on, for she grasped at it and clawed her hair dramatically.  By this time, Sian and Richard were on their feet, looking at the young woman as if she was losing her mind.  In fact, it very much appeared so; arrogant, surly, proud and plain Julia appeared to be crumbling right before their eyes.

“He made me do it,” she suddenly hissed. “He made me do it and I cannot keep silent any longer. Not when… you must not believe that the Scots killed your brother. They did nothing of the kind. Jory killed him.”

Creed’s expression turned to one of horror.  He went to Julia, putting his enormous hands on her arms to trap her. His dusky blue gaze burned into her.

“If you have ever thought to lie to me to get my attention, now would not be the time,” he growled. “I will not believe your attempts to gain my trust or my compassion.”

She was shaking horribly, her voice littered with spikes and quivers. “The time has long since passed that I would try to gain your attention,” she warbled. “Your wife has your attention completely and I am not a fool. But I must ease my conscience on this matter because the knowledge of it is driving me mad.”

Creed shook her but Carington was there, her hand on her husband’s massive arm. “Nay, Creed,” she begged softly. “Dunna be rough with her. Let her speak.”

Julia looked at Carington with a wild look to her eye. “You,” she murmured. “I hated you. I hated you for what you took from me and Jory offered to help me gain my vengeance.  But it was really his vengeance he was seeking.”

“Jory’s vengeance?” Creed repeated. “Make sense, woman. What do you know?”

Julia began to cry and laugh at the same time. “The night you were married he came to me and offered to help me exact my revenge upon you for spurning my feelings,” she said. “I asked him why he would help me do such a thing and he told me that he was, in fact, determined to get even against you. He said it had already started when he took a fallen morning star and smashed it into your brother’s skull. His next step was defiling your wife. He made me help him or he told me he would kill me.”

Creed’s eyes widened and his grip on her tightened.  Carington saw the woman flinch with pain and she put both hands on Creed’s arm, trying to pull him away from her.

“English,” she said firmly. “Let her go; do ye hear me? Let her go.”

But Creed was not listening.  He continued to squeeze, unable to voice the sheer horror that was filling his veins. Carington passed a panicked look at Richard, who rushed over to Creed and took hold of the other arm that was preparing to crush Julia.  Sian followed on his heels and aided his daughter in removing Creed’s hands from the very fragile young woman.  When his grip was released, Carington pressed herself against her husband and threw her arms around his tight midsection.

“Creed, calm yerself,” she said softly, urgently. “Listen to what she has to say. Ye canna turn yer anger against her for being truthful.”

Julia watched, eyes wide with fright and madness, as Creed wrapped his arms around his wife. He seemed to draw a great deal of calm from that gesture. But his dusky blue gaze was still deadly.

“Continue,” he said through clenched teeth.

Julia was shaking so badly that it was difficult for her to stand. “He made me tell him when you left the chamber the morning after your wedding,” she said hoarsely. “He knew when you had left because I told him. Then he attacked her.”

Creed remembered that morning well. He had always wondered how Jory had known Carington was alone. Now he knew.

“It was you,” his jaw was flexing dangerously. “You enabled the attack against my wife.”

“I had no choice,” Julia insisted pathetically. “He told me he would kill me if I did not.”

“And so you told him,” Creed had no compassion for her. “And my brother? Do you swear he told you that he had killed him?”