Chapter Five #3
“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, there was a definite attachment beginning 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 are 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.
“She is from Scotland, lad,” Richard said patiently. “All Scots talk this way.”
“But it’s funny!”
“It is their way and you will not laugh at her. Do you understand?”
The giggles muted but did not die altogether. Carington cast a sidelong glance at the little boy, who caught her eye and stuck his tongue out at her.
“That must be Edward,” she said quietly, though Richard and Anne heard her. When they turned to her curiously, she hastened to explain. “Sir Creed told me that ye had two sons and that the youngest was Edward.”
“Indeed,” Richard said proudly. “His brother Gilbert is eight.”
A glance to the older boy showed him picking his nose. Carington lifted an eyebrow at his bad manners and the child ripped his finger from his nose and pointed at her with it.
“Papa,” he marched over to them. “I do not like the way she looked at me. It was disresponsible.”
Richard’s proud stance seemed to waver. “You mean disrespectful, Gilbert.”
The boy continued to point the boogered finger at her. “I want her whipped.”
“Whipped!” Anne grabbed her son by the shoulder and turned him back towards the table. “You and your brother sit down and remain silent. Another word and I will blister your backside.”
“But, Mama, she is our enemy,” Gilbert tried to point out to her. “She is our prisoner. Is that not what Papa said?”
“Nay,” Anne said firmly, shoving her son onto the bench seat. “She is our guest.”
“But Papa said.…”
“I do not want to hear any more. You will remain quiet or you will go to bed. Is that clear?”
Gilbert was not happy with his mother but he obeyed. Anne practically yanked Edward off the table and planted him next to his brother. The younger boy whined and she slapped a hand over his mouth, turning to Carington and the rest of the knights with a forced smile.
“If everyone will sit, we will commence with the meal.”
Carington immediately sought out Creed but Richard was there, taking her hand and leading her towards the table.
As he directed her to sit, she was aware of the two young women standing on the other side of the table.
When she met the girls’ eyes, they gazed back at her with a mixture of distain and curiosity.
She did the only thing she could do; she smiled weakly.
“Ladies,” she said as she took her seat.