Chapter Thirteen #2
“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.
So he waited by the portcullis, peering through the iron grate as the Scots drew closer.
Steven had been correct; they did not look like a war party.
Still, his heart was thumping with anticipation as the party paused just outside the tree line whereupon several men dismounted.
Creed watched as they drew closer, recognizing Sian Kerr right away.
Sian Magnus Kerr was not a large man but he was muscular and very youthful looking.
He had Carington’s dark hair and the shape of her eyes, but that was where the similarities ended.
Sian had vibrant blue eyes, now fixed on Creed as he drew near.
He held out his hands as if to show he had no weapons.
“Knight,” he called. “I am Laird Kerr. I’ve come tae see me daughter.”
Oh God, Creed thought. He ordered the portcullis raised, standing in the middle of the gatehouse entry with his massive legs braced apart and his arms crossed. It was a defensive stance.
“I am Sir Creed de Reyne, commander of Prudhoe,” he responded. “If you truly wish to visit your daughter, then order your men to stand back. You will continue alone.”
Sian snapped a hand at the men behind him, burly men with beards and dirty tartans. They came to a halt and Laird Kerr continued. He came to within a few feet of Creed, inspecting him with his vibrant gaze.
Creed examined the man in return; he did not sense hostility but there was something wild and unpredictable in his gaze.
When Laird Kerr flashed him a rather big smile, Creed thought he appeared almost mad.
It was a peculiar expression. Creed found himself glad he was armed; he anticipated having to defend himself against this erratic bulldog of a man.
“I remember ye,” Sian eyed the big English knight. “Ye came tae escort me daughter tae Prudhoe.”
“Indeed I did, my lord.”
“Where is she? Take me tae her.”
Creed did not budge; he remained rooted to the spot. “We did not receive any word of your visit.”
“That is because I dinna send any,” Sian’s smile faded. “Where is me daughter?”
“In the keep,” Creed replied, thinking he had better say something before the man saw his daughter and realized she was with child. “Before I take you to her, there is something you and I must discuss.”
Sian’s smile vanished completely. “What could ye possible want tae discuss wi’ me?”
Creed thought it would be best to get him inside the compound where he could not signal his men to charge.
With a silent tilt of his head, they began to walk across the outer bailey as Creed ordered the portcullis lowered.
He hoped Laird Kerr would not wonder why he was now effectively trapped inside the fortress but Sian was, if nothing else, extremely sharp.
“Ye would treat me as a prisoner, then?” he demanded. “Why do ye close the gate?”
Creed shook his head. “’Tis the way of things at Prudhoe,” he explained. “We always keep the fortress locked down. It is Lord d’Umfraville’s orders.”
Sian cast him a dubious expression but did not argue. “Is my daughter well, then?”
“Very well,” Creed replied, “and very happy. But there is something you should be aware of.”
“What?”
Creed took a deep breath. “Your daughter has fallen in love,” he said softly, coming to a halt just as they reached the inner bailey. “The man she loves is English and of good character and noble birth. He loves your daughter deeply; so much, in fact, that he has married her.”
Sian’s mouth popped open and the vibrant blue eyes breathed fire; Creed could see it. Before he could work himself up into a substantial rage, however, the door to the keep suddenly opened and a woman screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Da!”
Both Sian and Creed turned to see Carington flying down the stairs from the second floor of the keep as fast as her legs would carry her.
When she hit the dusty bailey running, her swollen belly was evident and Sian’s astonishment overtook his rage for the moment.
As he stood there, dumbfounded, Carington hurled herself into her father’s arms.
She was alternately weeping and laughing, squeezing the man to death. Sian embraced her tightly.
“Cari-lass,” he murmured into her dark hair. “’Tis heaven tae see ye, child.”
Carington pulled back to look at him, her lovely face alight with excitement. “I dinna know ye were coming,” she gasped. “I never heard a word from ye.”