Chapter Fourteen
The snows had come early this year. As Carington sat with Lady Vivian de Witt, cooing softly at the newborn girl in her cradle, she kept watching the snow outside as it collected on the windowsill.
Lady Vivian was not feeling well after the birth of her daughter and had been growing steadily weaker for days, something that greatly concerned Stanton.
Lady Anne had sent to Newcastle for the physic and the man insisted that the lady was greatly taxed from the birth, prescribing such things as boiled beef’s blood and other strange things.
But still, Lady Vivian was not improving.
Carington and the other ladies would take turns sitting with Lady Vivian to tend both her and the infant who was, in fact, a lusty little girl with her father’s blond hair.
But Lady Vivian could not feed the child so a wetnurse had been hired from the village.
When the woman was not nursing the babe, she was busying herself with little Henry.
On this cold and snowy day as Vivian slept, Carington had baby watching duty.
She reached into the cradle and scooped up the fussing infant, walking the length of the floor and singing softly to soothe her.
She considered it good practice for the day when her own bairn would arrive.
The door to the cottage blew open and two knights entered. Snow blew in after them until the smaller knight shut the door firmly. Carington stood back, shielding the baby from the harsh weather as Creed wiped the snow from his eyes. Stanton went straight into the bedchamber to see his wife.
“The weather is worsening,” Creed commented, eyeing the fat-faced baby in his wife’s arms. “How is the child?”
“Fine,” she said, then lowered her voice. “But Vivian is not well at all. I fear for her, English. She is growing weaker by the minute.”
Creed drew in a deep breath, his gaze moving to the open bedchamber door. He could see Stanton seated on the edge of the bed as he spoke softly to his wife. After a moment, he shook his head and looked back to Carington.
“I do not know if I would be half as composed as he is,” he murmured, looking into her emerald eyes. “He shows a great deal of strength.”
Carington knew he was thinking about her and the perils of childbirth; she had seen this rise in fear in him for weeks. It had worsened since Vivian gave birth to her daughter. She reached up and patted his icy cheek.
“I’m as strong as an ox,” she assured. “I’ll be on my feet an hour after birthin’ this bairn. There is nothing to worry over.”
He kissed her palm, watching her put the baby back in the cradle.
He was trying not to let the event of the birth frighten him, but in truth, he was terrified and excited at the same time.
All he knew was that his wife must survive, no matter what.
He did not know what would become of him if she did not; he could not even think about it.
“I came to tell you that we have sighted an incoming party about a half mile out,” he changed the subject. “It looks to me as if they are flying papal banners but I cannot be sure. The blowing snow obscures much.”
Carington whirled to him, her eyes wide. “The priest returns?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I am not sure,” he replied. “But I think you should be with me if it is him.”
“Of course I will,” she insisted, watching his expression for any signs of apprehension. “The queen’s bairn should have been born a couple of months ago. Do ye believe it is news of the birth?”
“It is possible.”
She gazed up at him, trepidation in her eyes. “Oh, English,” she murmured. “I am frightened. No word for months and then….”
He leaned over to kiss her gently; he did not want to touch her because his armor and mail were like ice. “I know,” he murmured, kissing her again. “But we knew this time would come. We expected it. We can do nothing more than face it.”
Her eyes began to well. “But what if he wants to take ye to London?”
He pulled off a glove and tenderly grasped her face. “There is no use in worrying about it until the time comes.” He let go of her face and hunted around for her cloak. Finding it across a chair, he held it up for her. “Come along, love. Let us to go the great hall and await the visitors.”
Sniffling, she allowed him to help her into her heavy woolen cloak with the fur lining. He fastened the ties and pulled her hood on, securing it around her sweet face. Letting Stanton know he was confiscating the baby sitter, he took her out into the snowy ward.
The wind was kicking up something fierce as he took her into the inner bailey and directly to the great hall. Once inside the entry, the heat from the roaring fire was like a slap in the face. It was almost too warm. Creed pulled off his gauntlets and helped Carington remove her cloak.
“Now,” he took her gently by the elbow. “Go and sit by the fire and I shall return with our visitor.”
She gazed up at him, her lovely little face round and rosy-cheeked. “I’m scared for ye,” she clutched at him. “What if… what if we hide and tell Laird Richard to tell the church that we ran off months ago? They’ll not know where to find ye.”
He put his cold hands on her face, leaning down to kiss both cheeks. “Wife, you worry overly,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Moreover, it could be good news. If we run, we will never know.”
She was not convinced but took a seat at the table with her back facing the fire. It was warm and wonderful and as her belly brushed up against the old oak table, she could feel the babe moving within her. Creed was just putting his gloves back on when she motioned urgently to him.
“English, come here!” she called excitedly. “Hurry if ye want to feel yer son move about.”
Creed would take any opportunity for that.
He tucked his gloves under one arm and went to her, putting both of his enormous hands on her belly.
His hands were so big that they swallowed up the entire bulge.
He waited with anticipation for a moment, finally rewarded with strong kicking and a few rolls against her flesh. He grinned as their eyes met.
“He is active today,” he said with pride. “He will be a very strong lad.”
She smiled in return, putting her small hands over his. There was such intimate joy in their delight, something that meant the world to the two of them. The baby kicked and rolled a few more times, causing Creed to laugh softly.
“I do not believe he is content in there,” he told her. “He wants to be born and serve with his father.”
She pursed her lips at him. “Ye’ll not rush him into battle,” she told him. “I would keep him with me for as long as I can.”
With a smirk, he cocked an eyebrow at her to let her know how ridiculous he thought her statement was.
They had discussed fostering, once, and she had ended up in tears.
She did not like the idea of sending her child away.
Leaning down to kiss her belly, he stood up and resumed pulling his gloves on.
“I will see to our visitors now,” he told her. “I shall return.”
Carington’s smile faded but she nodded, rubbing her belly as he quit the hall. Trepidation filled her once more as she sat in the quiet room, her imagination running wild with a myriad of horrible scenarios. But Creed had seemed unconcerned. Perhaps she should be as well.
Out in the snow-blown inner bailey, Creed made his way to the outer bailey just as the great gates began to crank open.
The wood was frozen and the ropes sodden, making it difficult to move.
He could see several soldiers trying to strong arm the gates.
As he continued to make his way to the gate, the frozen panels finally jerked open.
As they yawned wide, a small party bearing icy banners of the yellow papal cross entered.
It took another two dozen men to shut the gates behind them.
The snow was past Creed’s ankles and getting deeper as he made his way to the escort party. There was a small carriage in the center of the group and just as he reached it, the door popped open and a familiar face appeared.
It was Massimo. Creed felt his stomach lurch a little at the sight of the man but he greeted him pleasantly.
If the man was traveling in weather such as this, all the way from London no less, then the news must indeed be serious.
He was glad that Carington was inside the hall and away from this scene for the moment.
“Your Grace,” he said, helping the man from the carriage and into the snow. “You picked fine weather to travel in.”
Massimo’s young face was bundled up in woolen scarves. His dark eyes fixed on Creed. “It was not by choice, I assure you,” he said. “I have come with dreadful news and there is no time to waste.”
Creed’s stomach lurched a little more. “What news?”
Massimo put his hand on Creed’s arm. “Take me into some place warm before I freeze to death and I will tell you.”
Creed began to lead the man towards the great hall, wrought with dread as they walked. “Tell me what has happened that would have you traveling in such foul weather?”
Massimo wiped snow from his face. “The queen’s child was born three months ago,” he told him. “The child was early and did not survive. But it was born with a crown of black hair and, I am told, dark blue eyes. Like yours.”
Creed cleared his throat softly. “Be that as it may, it was not mine. And Isabella has black hair.”
“I understand,” Massimo nodded. “But the fact remains that the king went mad with fury and grief and has been demanding your head ever since. He knew that the church has been in contact with you and he further knew that we advocate your innocence in all things. We have made that clear. When I left London six weeks ago to deliver the news to you, we were followed. A small army of the king’s men is not a day’s ride behind me. ”
Creed froze and looked at him. “You led them to Prudhoe?”