Chapter Sixteen
Five days after Carington’s return from the dead, the skies cleared and all of the Northumberland was a brilliant winter wonderland. As far as the eye could see, a vibrant white blanket covered the landscape and the sky above was a magnificent shade of blue. It was cold and crisp and delightful.
Little Henry de Witt ran around the outer bailey and threw snow balls at his father and at Kristina, who had been hit a couple of times in the head.
Henry had surprisingly good aim. But Kristina laughed it off, playing with the child who had so recently lost his mother.
Stanton was still struggling with his grief but he was making a good effort at tending his son.
Inside the de Reyne cottage, Burle and his wife, a grossly rotund woman with a round head and frizzy red hair, helped Carington with baby Emma.
Lady Anne had duties with her own boys who had been sorely neglected while women gave birth and babies died within the walls of Prudhoe.
So Burle and Lady Frieda, having three grown daughters, lent a hand with Lady Carington who was only just now able to get out of bed.
Frieda would fuss at her but Burle would encourage her.
Then they would start bickering and Carington would find herself breaking up the fight.
Like protective parents, they wanted to take care of her and she found it touching.
Business went on as usual now that things were settling somewhat.
John’s men were still at Prudhoe, still housed in a corner of the outer bailey away from the rest of the life at the fortress.
The knight in command, Denys de La Londe, stayed well clear of anyone at Prudhoe except for Burle and Lord Richard.
He did not deal with the rabble. And his impatience in Creed de Reyne’s return was increasing.
In Creed’s absence, Burle had been placed in charge.
Since they only had two seasoned knights and one new knight for the whole of Prudhoe’s five hundred man army, Burle had knighted Creed’s squire, James, and now the tall blond lad had sentry duty along with his counterpart, Steven.
They made a young and vigilant pair upon the battlements.
It was close to the nooning meal when there was a soft knock at Carington’s door.
Burle had long since left her to go see how his two newest knights were progressing so it was just Carington and Lady Frieda in the warm little cottage.
As Carington sat near the hearth and fed Emma, Frieda went to the door and irritably opened it; she had expected to see her husband.
But a strange knight was standing there, his blue eyes piercing.
“I have been informed that Lady de Reyne is in better health,” he said. “I have come to speak with her.”
With Emma suckling hungrily at her breast, Carington could see de La Londe standing in her doorway.
He, too, had caught a glimpse of her so there was no use in denying that she was well enough for visitors.
With her luscious dark hair freshly washed and pulled away from her face and clad in the yellow lamb’s wool surcoat, she looked pale but healthy enough.
Frieda was about to throw the knight out on his ear but Carington stopped her.
“Let him in, Frieda,” she instructed evenly, grasping the end of the infant’s blanket and discreetly covering her bosom. “I will speak with him.”
De La Londe was a big man. He entered the cottage, his blue eyes inspecting every shadow, every stone.
Such were the senses of a trained knight and Carington remembered that her husband did exactly the same thing when entering new surroundings.
Their movements bordered on suspicion as if waiting for a sword to come flying out at them.
Carington ignored the wary stance and indicated the stool across from her for the knight to sit.
“How can I help ye, Sir Knight?” she asked politely.
De La Londe gazed down at her; he had no intention of sitting and he had no intention of engaging in idle chatter. He moved straight to the point. “We must discuss your husband, my lady.”
“What of him?”
“You are well aware that he is supposed to return to Prudhoe,” de La Londe lifted an eyebrow. “I sent the priest who has been protecting him with a message.”
Carington remained cool even though she did not like what the man seemed to be hinting at. “You did? I was not aware.”
“I know. You have been ill since my arrival.”
There was a strange rebuke in that statement but she ignored it. “What message did ye send?”
De La Londe did not mince words and he had no sympathy for the fact that the lady had delivered a dead infant three weeks earlier; he was only interested in finding de Reyne. The longer he was forced to wait, the more impatient he was becoming.
“Your husband is a fugitive, my lady,” he replied. “My message to him is simple; if he does not return to Prudhoe immediately, I will take you to London to stand trial in his stead.”
Carington’s heart began to pound and her pleasant mood evaporated. “How dare ye enter my home and threaten me,” she hissed. “Get out before I kick ye out.”
De La Londe was not moved in the least. “My lady, it is very simple,” he was matter-of-fact.
“Your husband committed a crime. He must stand trial for that crime. Since he chose to flee like a coward, I plan to put you on trial in his stead. If he does not want this to happen, then he must return to Prudhoe and surrender.”
Carington just stared at him. Then, she silently stood with the baby still attached to her breast and disappeared into the bedchamber.
De La Londe watched her go, listening to her rustling about in the chamber as she cooed gently to the infant.
Impatiently, he shifted on his legs, eyeing the round woman with the frizzy red hair who was gazing at him harshly.
His gaze moved around the room, growing more irritated with each passing moment, when the door to the chamber suddenly flew open and a fire poker came flying at his head.
He saw it in his peripheral vision but was not fast enough to duck it entirely; Lady de Reyne caught a portion of his helm and sent him reeling into the wall. Before he had a chance to gain his balance, she swung it again and clobbered him on the shoulder.
“Get out!” she screamed, wielding the poker in front of her. “Get out before I beat ye within an inch of yer life. How dare ye come into my home and slander my husband. I’ll kill ye the next time ye say such things about him!”
De La Londe leapt out of her way before she could swing the thing again. He glared at her viciously, his ears ringing from the blow to his head.
“That,” he snarled, “was unwise. I do not care who your husband is; attack me again and I will snap your neck.”
Carington was not entirely sure that he would not do as he threatened but she raised the poker again. “Get out,” she growled. “I’ll not tell ye again.”
De La Londe backed up to the door, opening the panel although his eyes never left the lady. After a moment, he simply nodded his head.
“I will go,” he muttered. “But rest assured, I will return. And when I do, it will be with shackles.”
Carington did not reply; she kept her eyes riveted to him and the poker raised. When he shut the door behind him, Frieda rushed forward and threw the bolt. The women faced each other with shock and fear.
“Dear God,” Carington breathed as she lowered the iron poker. “I thought he was going to strike back at me. Thank God he dinna.”
Frieda rushed to her and put her fat arms around her. “You were so brave, my lady,” she said gently. “He will think twice before threatening you again.”
Carington let the woman hug her for a moment before gently pulling free and leaning the poker back against the wall.
“It isna me I’m worried about,” she said, suddenly weary; her strength still had not fully returned. “I worry for Creed. If I know the man, and I believe I do, he is on his way back to Prudhoe. He willna let these men take me to London to stand trial against his charges.”
“What will you do?” Frieda wanted to know.
Carington simply shook her head. “I must speak to Laird Richard,” she replied. “He will know what’s to be done. You’ll stay with the babe, won’t ye?”
Freida nodded fearfully, going to the door as Carington peered from the windows to see if de La Londe was still around. Not seeing his big blond form, she nodded to Frieda, who opened the door.
“Lock this door when I’ve gone,” she told the woman. “If I see Burle, I’ll send him to ye. He will protect ye and the babe from that awful knight.”
Carington bolted out of the door and into the bright, cold day.
She heard Frieda throw the lock behind her as she made her way out into the slushy bailey.
She was on edge as she scanned the bailey for signs of de La Londe but she saw none.
She could, however, see his encampment on the western side of the inner bailey.
She picked up the pace towards the keep.
The great keep was cold and dark as she entered.
A servant was coming down the stairs as she closed the door behind her and she sent the man back up to Lord Richard’s chamber.
As she waited, she kept wandering back to the door and peering out into the bailey, waiting for de La Londe to come charging in after her.
She had remembered the man from when she had been in labor, how he had forcefully entered the room in spite of the protests of Lady Anne.
She would not put it past him to do something bold and underhanded, like drag her off in chains. She would have to be on her guard.