Chapter Seven #2
Carington felt comfortable conversing with the girl; her guard was gradually slipping. “My da is frugal also. He doesna believe in spending money on anything foolish.”
“Surely he does not mind spending money on his daughter. Would he not buy you whatever you wish?”
Carington laughed, a beautiful gesture that lit up the room.
“Hardly; sometimes we have traveling merchants that stop and seek shelter for a night and my da acts as if I am torturing him if I want to buy the smallest trinket. Why, only last month we had a man who had traveled all over France and Italy. He had the most marvelous oils and pastes. I wanted to buy one that smelled of flowers, such a wonderful smell, but my da pretended to take sick and took to his bed until the man left. As soon as the merchant departed, he was miraculously healed. What a deceiver he is!”
Kristina giggled as Carington continued to snort at the memory. Julia, seeing her companion warming to the hostage, suddenly leapt to her feet.
“Since you have no need for us, we will return to Lady Anne and tell her so,” she grabbed Kristina by the arm and practically yanked the girl to her feet. “You should be mindful that Chapel is at mid-morning. Lord Richard expects everyone to attend; even you. I would suggest you prepare yourself.”
The warmth that Carington had felt for Kristina vanished when addressing Julia. “I will be ready,” she said evenly. “I will thank ye both for your offer to assist me this morn.”
Julia did nothing more than nod her head and turn away, heading for a large wardrobe that was against the opposite wall. Kristina lingered, still smiling hesitantly at Carington.
“We must get dressed for Mass,” she said. “I hope we will not disturb you.”
Carington could see that Creed had been right; Kristina was a sweet girl. She was close enough to put a hand on the girl’s arm.
“Ye couldna disturb me if ye tried,” she assured her.
Removing her hand, she went back to her borrowed bed where the contents of her satchels were spread out.
Her leather boots were by the bed, ugly and durable, and she pulled them on over her hose.
As she dressed, she could not help but notice that both Julia and Kristina wore fine slippers. She did not own anything so nice.
Sitting on her bed, which seemed the least bit hard now that she was actually resting upon it, she continued to comb her nearly dry hair, all the while watching Julia and Kristina dress.
Julia called in a couple of the serving wenches, who were cinching her up in a girdle, while Kristina dressed silently and alone.
Kristina’s clothes were fashionable while Julia’s were quite expensive and lavish.
Carington looked down at herself in her mother’s surcoat, thinking she looked sorely out of place among the finely dressed Sassenach ladies.
She was coming to feel slightly embarrassed for her appearance but she would not let on.
She would act as if she did not care they had fine clothes while she looked like a worn-out peasant.
When her hair was finally dry, Carington pulled the front of it away from her face and secured it on the back of her head with the brass butterfly clasp that had once belonged to her mother.
Her dark hair had a natural wave to it and curled down her back, glistening like strands of satin.
Some Elder flower oil went on her dry lips.
She had no idea that, even for her simplicity, she absolutely outshined every woman in the room.
Julia and Kristina finished dressing while Carington pretended to fuss with her satchels.
She probably should have unpacked into one of the wardrobes, but she was not going to lower herself to ask either girl for guidance or assistance.
She would just as well keep everything in her bags.
When the young women were finished dressing and primping, Julia was the first one out of the door without a word. Kristina, however, paused to speak.
“We should go now,” she said to Carington. “Lady Anne will scold us if we are late.”
Carington rose and obediently followed Kristina from the chamber.
They descended the narrow spiral stairs to the second floor and took a larger spiral staircase to the first floor.
The door was open to the bailey and Carington followed her roommates out into the dusty ward.
It was only the second time she had been outside any of the Prudhoe structures; she lagged behind as she peered up at the walls, over to the buttery, and back over towards the stables.
She found it fascinating and full of activity, much different from her stark and barren home of Wether Fair.
Prudhoe was a massive place, full of soldiers and peasants, and more than once she almost collided with someone when she did not pay attention to where she was going.
She did not even know where the chapel was, keeping her eye on Kristina’s blue surcoat as they crossed the bustling ward.
She trailed the blue garment to the outer bailey in the midst of the organized chaos that seemed to pulse through Prudhoe.
Coming around a sharp corner of the great hall, she ran straight into Jory.
From open interest in her surroundings one moment to apprehension the next, Carington’s veins ran cold at the sight of his heartless brown eyes.
She had hardly seen him since the unfortunate Bress incident and had been thankful to forget about him.
But here he was, alive and breathing before her, and she could feel anger and fear stir within her.
For Jory, however, his expression was one of naked joy; he peered at her, the sound of intense pleasure in his tone.
“My lady,” he said. “How nice to see you this morn. You look ravishing, as usual.”
Carington was gearing up for a verbal assault when Kristina suddenly reached an arm around Jory and tugged at her.
“My lady,” she said insistently. “We shall be late.”
Carington allowed the girl to pull her along and was thankful for the reprieve. All she could feel for the man was hate.
Jory’s gaze tracked her as she moved away. “Another time, my lady,” he called after her.
She could hear him laugh. Disgusted, Carington was aware that Kristina had not taken her hand away.
In fact, her soft warm hand was gripping Carington’s fingers.
They walked several more feet along a dirt path, into the shadow of the great wall, and ascended a narrow flight of stairs built into a tower.
On the second floor of the gatehouse tower was Prudhoe’s lovely little chapel.
Burle was standing by the door. Carington looked up into his round face and found comfort with his acknowledging smile. She could not help but smile in return as she allowed Kristina to lead her into the room where the d’Umfraville family was gathered.
It was a small chapel, a tower room that had been converted into a place of worship.
The floors were dusty due to its proximity to the main gate, with much dust floating in through the long windows that faced the bailey.
Lady Anne and Richard were already kneeling on delicate rugs before a small but elaborate altar while Edward and Gilbert were near the oriel window that faced to the north, thumping each other on the head and generally tussling.
But they stopped their battle when they lay eyes upon the latest addition to Prudhoe.
“Do you even know how to pray?” Gilbert walked directly towards Carington with Edward in tow. “My father says that Scots are barbarians. Do you even know who God is?”
Anne looked up from her silent prayers, glaring over her shoulder at the boys. Richard continued praying as if nothing was amiss.
“Gilbert,” Anne snapped softly. “Another word and you will go from this room. Be silent.”
As his mother returned to her prayers, the little boy dutifully shut up but stuck his tongue out at Carington. She stuck hers out at him in response. He then tried to kick her. She reached out and pinched his arm.
“Ow!” the boy howled.
Jolted from her prayers again, Anne turned sharply to her son. “Gilbert, I said not another word!”
Gilbert was rubbing his arm. “But she pinched me!”
Lady Anne looked to Carington, who merely lifted her shoulders. “An accident, m’lady.”
Anne’s gaze lingered on her as if surprised she had even admitted such a thing. Truthfully, she was not quite sure what to make of it. Lacking a better response, she did nothing more than return to her prayers.
When the woman’s back was turned, Carington glared menacingly at Gilbert and shook her fist at him.
He made all manner of fighting gestures in her direction, kicking and throwing his fists to threaten her, but made no actual move to physically touch her.
It was apparent he was furious but unwilling to provoke his mother.
When his little brother whispered at him, he reluctantly went with his brother back to their seats by the window.
Carington did not take her eyes off the boy.
She did not trust him not to slip up behind her and whack her on the head.
Julia was already on her knees, head bowed in prayer, as Kristina pulled Carington alongside.
When Kristina went down on her knees, so did Carington.
The room fell silent as heads were bowed and the boys thankfully shut up.