Chapter Ten #2
The great gates of Prudhoe were slowly opening and in the green fields beyond, they could see a smattering of the returning army, hidden in part by the trees. They could hear the rumble of the footfalls and wagon wheels even from this distance. Carington flew off the bed and raced to the door.
“Where are you going?” Kristina demanded.
“To meet the army,” she said as if the girl was an idiot. “We must welcome them home.”
Kristina shook her head. “We are not allowed to,” she insisted. “We must always stay to our chamber until one of the men release us.”
Carington’s brow furrowed. “Release us?” she repeated. “We are not prisoners. Why must we be released?”
“Because we will only be in the way if we go down stairs,” Julia looked at Carington with veiled contempt.
“It is the rule of the House; we must stay to our chamber when the army returns until Sir Ryton or Sir Creed or another knight releases us. We are not allowed to be underfoot and must stay to our chamber as good, obedient women.”
Carington remembered Creeds words to her; do not leave that room for any reason; not until I return.
It never occurred to her that he meant literally.
She did not want to disobey him, no matter how excited she was to see him.
So she took her hand off the latch and paced back over to the bed, climbing up so she could look through the window again.
By this time, the army was pouring in through the gates and a shocking scene was unfolding.
From her vantage point at the window, she could see that two of the wagons they had brought with them were filled with bodies.
She could not tell if they were alive or dead, for they were stacked together like cordwood.
As she watched in mounting horror, Julia casually rose from her seat and moved to the other lancet window that faced to the north; it did, however, have a narrow view of the front gates.
Together, the three of them watched the influx of weary and beaten men and animals.
Carington was not as concerned for the men in the wagons as she was for the knights.
So far, she had not seen one of them and her panic was beginning to rise.
The army was now filling the bailey in waves; like water crashing upon the shore, wave after wave of men piled into the outer bailey.
Eventually, they moved into the inner bailey and that was where she caught her first glimpse of one of the five Prudhoe knights.
It was Jory, waving his arm at the exhausted men, bellowing something she could not hear.
Stanton suddenly barreled in to the inner bailey as well, riding without his helm.
It was a curious sight. But he turned his head slightly to relay orders and they all noticed a massive bandage that covered one side of his head.
Kristina gasped when Stanton turned his head to show them his bloody bindings.
Carington looked at her with concern, keeping her own horror only slightly at bay.
She, too, was ready to gasp at the sights she was witnessing.
Only by God’s good grace was she holding tight as trepidation welled in her chest until she thought she might explode.
Eventually, Burle passed into her line of sight as he made his way towards the keep. He was on foot.
“I can see Sir Ryton’s charger,” Julia suddenly spoke from her vantage point at the other window. “The charger is tethered to a wagon just now entering the main gates.”
Carington and Kristina looked over at her. “Do you see Sir Ryton?” Kristina asked; she sounded as if she was about to cry.
Julia shook her head. “The horse is riderless and appears wounded.”
Carington was about to jump from her skin. Kristina asked the question that Carington could not bring herself to voice.
“What of Sir Creed?” Kristina went over to Julia’s window and tried to gain a better look at the main gates. “Has he returned?”
Julia did not say anything for a moment; both she and Kristina were straining to gain a better look at the incoming army. Suddenly, Kristina gasped.
“I see his charger,” she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. “I see Sir Creed’s charger. It is tethered to the last wagon.”
That was all Carington could take. She bolted up from the bed and flew to the door before Kristina or Julia could stop her.
She threw the door open with the intention of charging down to the bailey but was stopped by Burle’s massive form standing in the hall outside.
Carington did not see him until it was too late and she plowed right into him.
Burle grunted as she bashed into him, reaching out to steady her as she lost her balance. Carington rubbed her nose where she had smashed it into his mail, gazing up with surprise into his pale, dirty face.
“Sir Burle,” she did not realize that she was clutching at him. “What happened? We saw so many wounded and….”
Burle’s face was solemn; he could read her panic and he knew why.
Since their trip into the town of Prudhoe that day, he had realized what Ryton had; there was something special between Lady Carington and Creed.
And, of course, he was informed of the situation when Creed could not keep his excitement to himself as they rode to Hexham.
Burle had never seen the man so happy. It was a trust they had in each other in that the knowledge would go no further; they were old friends that way.
That was why Burle had made it his duty upon returning to Prudhoe to seek out Lady Carington; he wanted to get to her before anyone else did.
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards the stairs.
“Come with me, my lady,” he said softly.
“Sir Burle?” Kristina’s voice called out to him hesitantly. “May we come also?”
Burle paused and turned to see both Kristina and Julia standing in the doorway, apprehensive expressions on their faces. He held out a halting hand.
“Stay there,” he told the girls. “Remain until someone returns for you.”
Kristina wanted to press him further but refrained.
The expression on his face told her not to.
Puzzled, she and Julia watched Burle escort Lady Carington down the stairs and out of sight.
Only then did Kristina close the door as requested.
But she stood against it, tears welling, wondering where Burle was taking Carington and wondered if it was some place horrible as a result of the Scot raid.
Perhaps he was taking her to punish her.
She was, after all, a hostage. The tears finally fell.
Julia watched her friend for a moment before returning, quite unemotionally, back to the window.
But tears were not something that Carington was thinking of at the moment.
She was frankly too uneasy at the moment.
Burle seemed so grim and that in and of itself scared her to death.
She wondered what would make a battle-hardened knight ripe with gloom.
When they reached the second floor of the keep and prepared to take the stairs into the inner bailey, Burle finally stopped and turned to her.
“I want to prepare you before we go any further, my lady,” he said quietly.
Carington’s composure took a direct hit. “Dear God,” she grasped at her chest, feeling her knees weaken. “Prepare me for what? What has happened?”
Burle sighed heavily. “We lost Ryton.”
She stared at him a moment before his words sank in. Then, the tears welled. “What happened?” she breathed painfully.
It was obvious that Burle was struggling.
“Hexham was overrun when we arrived,” he explained quietly.
“There were Scots everywhere. The bailey had been breached and they were in the process of compromising the keep. Ryton and Creed charged straight into the melee, killing many men. But we only brought three hundred men with us from Prudhoe and the Scots must have had a thousand. It was a brutal battle from the onset.”
By this time, Carington was weeping softly, her hands over her mouth and tears coursing down her face. “Is Creed all right?”
“He was not wounded.”
That brought more relief than she could comprehend. “Did… did ye recognize the Scots?”
Burle looked at her; it was clear that he did not want to answer the question. But he had no choice.
“Aye,” he muttered. “We did.”
“And?”
“Elliot, Graham and Kerr tartans.”
Carington’s eyes bulged and she pressed her hands against her mouth as if to hold back the scream. But it was not enough and she began sobbing loudly. She tried to turn away from Burle but he grabbed her firmly, forcing her to face him.
“Please, my lady,” he begged softly. “I know this is difficult, but you must get hold of yourself. Creed needs your comfort not your tears.”
She continued to sob painfully into her hands. “Creed…,” she wept. “Where is he?”
Burle’s expression took on a distant look as if recalling something of anguish. “He is with his brother. His death has left him devastated.”
Carington wept a moment longer before struggling to compose herself, wiping furiously at her eyes and swallowing her sobs. She pulled away from Burle.
“He will not want to see me,” she hissed. “He will hate me for this.”
Burle shook his head. “You did not lead the attack, my lady. Creed knows this.”
“But…,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “But my kin did. It may as well have been me.”
Burle grabbed her by the arm, again forcing her to look at him. “But it was not you,” he insisted quietly. “We will deal with your kin another time. Right now, Creed needs you. You must be strong, if only for him.”
Her tears faded as she looked at him, suddenly realizing that he was privy to their secret. His tone, his words, told her so. She wiped at her nose, eyeing him closely.
“He… he told ye?” she asked softly.
Burle shrugged. “I have known Creed for many years, my lady. We are friends. There is not much I do not know about him.”