Chapter Thirteen #3
Sian shook his head. “I dinna send any,” he said, his smile fading as his gaze moved to her belly. “I dinna want tae give advanced word because I wanted tae see how they are really takin’ care of ye. And now I see.”
The thrill on her face dampened, her gaze suddenly moving between her father and Creed. She knew by the look in her father’s eye that something very bad was about to happen unless she threw out a block to stop it. She spoke quickly.
“I am very happy here,” she said. “I have a wonderful husband and I could never have wished for such happiness as I have found here with my friends. Ye mustna be angry; there is no call. Ye should be happy that yer daughter is expecting a grandson.”
Sian’s jaw was ticking. “And ye never thought tae get my consent for this marriage?”
She tried to appear firm but her guilt was evident. “It happened rather quickly; there wasna time.”
Sian’s gaze was on her belly and he could not help the grunt of disgust that escaped his lips. “Good God, lass,” he muttered. “Dunna tell me… I raised you better than that, for God’s sake. Did ye let him take liberties with ye so that ye had tae marry him?”
Carington shook her head so hard that her black hair snapped in her face. “Ye have no call to accuse me of wrong doing,” she glared at him. “Our son was conceived after we married, I’ll have ye know. He never touched me before we were properly wed.”
It was fairly personal information that she was spouting for all to hear but Creed did not care; he was watching Laird Kerr’s body language closely, wondering if he was going to have to protect his wife from the man.
But Sian and Carington seemed oblivious to the host of English standing around, listening to them argue.
“Then who is this man who would demand ye marry him without the proper consent of yer father?” Sian demanded.
Carington cooled somewhat. “I love him, Da. He is yer son now and I forbid ye to punish him.”
Sian’s mouth popped open. “Ye forbid me?”
She was in his face. “Aye, I do. It was my decision to wed just as much as his. We love each other, Dada. Can ye not understand? He is the most compassionate, wise, gracious and powerful man in the world and I’ll not have ye scolding him.”
It was clear that her father was not pleased. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. “I can see he’s done nothin’ tae make ye more obedient. Well? Do ye run all over him as ye run all over me?”
Beside Sian, Creed cleared his throat softly. “Nay, my lord, she does not,” he said quietly. “But she is quite demanding, something I personally blame you for.”
Sian turned to look at Creed with eyes as wide as the sun. He just stared at him, the enormous English knight that was more than a head taller than he was. He could have taken his statement as a challenge but somehow, he knew it was not. He knew it was the truth. But that did not stop his glare.
“And I will accept the blame, knight,” he said with certainty. “But ye still should have asked for my consent.”
Creed did not back down. “You are correct, my lord, but we wanted to be married right away. To have sought your consent would have taken time and, quite possibly, you would have denied us. In this case, we chose to marry anyway and beg for forgiveness after the fact.”
Sian lifted a disapproving eyebrow at him. “And so ye did. But did ye not stop to think if Cari was already betrothed?”
Creed did not hesitate. “I did not. But it would not have mattered; I love her more than words can express and would have killed anyone who stood in my way.”
Sian could see that he was serious. It only made him realize that it was the truth; he could see, plainly, that this was no marriage of opportunity. It was a marriage of love. His harsh stance began to waiver.
“Good God, girl,” his eyes moved to Carington. “What is it that ye’ve done?”
Carington could see her father was surrendering. She wrapped her small hands around his arm and laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve married a very fine man,” she murmured, gazing up at him. “And I am giving ye a grandson. Is that not reason enough to be joyful?”
Sian sighed heavily, eventually patting her hand. “Give me time tae settle this in me own mind, lass,” he muttered. “Perhaps some ale would help.”
For the first time, Creed took his eyes off the man and noticed Richard standing several feet away.
He was hovering with Anne, Edward, Gilbert, Julia, Kristina and Stanton’s young son, Henry.
All of them were gazing at the Scots laird with some measure of curiosity and apprehension.
But Richard had heard the man’s request; it would not go unsatisfied.
“My lord,” Richard stepped forward. “Perhaps you will come with me to the great hall where we may rejoice in our alliance.”
Sian recognized Richard; he had seen him those months ago when the terms of the treaty had been agreed upon. He nodded his head resignedly.
“So you would have one of yer knights marry me daughter, eh?” he made one last stand at being indignant. “I wasna aware that hostages were married off to their captors.”
Richard eyed Creed, then Carington. “Your daughter is most persuasive. I had no choice.”
Sian grunted. “Aye,” he shook his head wearily. “I know the feeling.”
Richard took them into the great hall, followed by his wife, Carington and the rest of the crowd.
Creed kept glancing back to make sure his wife was within sight and she would smile at him on the arm of Lady Anne.
Kristina, Gilbert and Edward were somewhere in the middle with Julia bringing up the rear with young Henry.
Once inside, the women and children held back while the men seated themselves at the table and servants began to bring out food and drink.
Creed poured ale for his wife’s father first before pouring his own draught. Sian watched the man, more than curious about this man his daughter had fallen in love with. He was certainly a big one with enormous hands that gripped the cup.
Richard collected his own cup and held it aloft for a toast. “To our alliance,” he said.
Creed lifted his cup and looked Sian in the eye. “To family.”
Sian choked but managed to get the liquid down. As Creed sat, he extended his hand to Carington, still standing near the entry with Anne. Carington went to her husband and sat on his enormous knee as he wound his arm around her growing torso.
For a moment, no one said a word. They just stared at each other.
Richard eyed Anne for moral support, who promptly joined her husband at the table.
Gilbert and Edward followed their mother and climbed on the table, staring boldly at the Scots.
Anne eyed her boys grimly but Richard seemed not to notice or care until Gilbert piped up.
“Is he our enemy, Papa?” he demanded.
Richard looked at his son as if fearful of what would come out of his mouth next. “Nay, boy,” he told him. “Laird Kerr is our neighbor and ally.”
“But he talks funny!” Edward chimed in. “He talks like her!”
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 at 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 riveted 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.”