Brides of the North

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Carington and Kristina watched the last of the torches fade into the distance as the great gates of Prudhoe were closed and bolted. Night had fallen and suddenly everything was dark and quiet. Richard and the boys were still standing in the bailey, only by this time the boys were thrusting their swords at each other. Richard finally grabbed his sons and shooed them into the hall where the evening meal was about to be served.

  The boys ran past Carington without as much as a glance, to which she was grateful. She was hoping they had grown tired of harassing her. When she took her eyes off of the little boys who were now running and shouting all over the great hall, she found Kristina staring at her.

  “Well,” Carington squared her shoulders, trying not to let her melancholy show. She did not want rumors to get started about her feelings for Creed; from their conversation, she knew it would only bring about great harm to them all. “I have been ordered to retreat to my chamber and stay there. Are ye coming?”

  Kristina moved to her side and looped a companionable arm through hers. Carington was a little startled at the familiarity at first but quickly got over it; she was coming to genuinely like Kristina and did not mind after all. In truth, she’d never really had a friend and found the English girl’s manner comforting.

  “They always order us to our chambers when the army leaves,” Kristina told her. “They are always concerned that it is a ruse to draw the army away from Prudhoe so we will be vulnerable to attack.”

  Carington looked at her with concern. “Is this always true?”

  Kristina nodded. “Twice, it has been. We were attacked by a great Scots…,” she suddenly trailed off, looking at Carington with horror. “I did not mean to say… that is, they were Scots, but I am sure….”

  Carington put her hand up to quiet her. “No harm, m’lady,” she said softly. “I know we have been enemies in the past. But I hope no longer.”

  Kristina sighed, relieved that she had not offended her. “Nay,” she nodded. “No longer.”

  The great hall was warm and fragrant and a grand meal was served in due time. Lady Anne and Julia joined them, Julia seated next to Kristina and clearly attempting to orchestrate her companion’s kind attempts towards Carington. But Carington did not particularly give notice to the petty girl; her mind was with Creed, now riding towards Hexham Castle and conflict. She found herself praying twice in one day, this time for his safe return.

  So much had changed over the past few days. Her life had become something she did not recognize but was not uncomfortable with. From reluctant hostage to exhilarated bride, she was having a difficult time grasping the turn her future had taken. Not even Gilbert’s taunting or Edward’s bad manners could dampen her spirits. At the moment, she could think only of Creed and their future together.

  When she slept that night, it was with dreams of a Sassenach knight with dusky blue eyes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Morning came and Prudhoe’s army had not returned from Hexham. Lord Richard seemed unconcerned with his absent army but Carington was so edgy that she could not eat her breakfast. As was customary when the army was not at residence within Prudhoe’s walls, the occupants of the castle were allowed to the great hall to break their fast, but afterwards were directed to stay in their bolted chambers and the entire fortress was locked down. Very little activity could be seen, mostly the remaining soldiers on the walls and a few servants dashing from place to place. And because of the lockdown, the papal legate was unable to leave. He was imprisoned in the keep just like everyone else.

  Carington remained locked in her chamber with Kristina and Julia. She was dressed in one of her new surcoats, a pale yellow lamb’s wool that fit her body like the skin of a grape. It was incredibly flattering, bordering on indecent, but she only knew that it was soft and warm. She never noticed the stares of Richard or a few male servants during the morning meal. She was simply thrilled to be in something other than rags.

  Thankfully, Julia had kept silent for the most part during the sequestered existence in their chamber, still working on a great piece of embroidery that was strapped to a large frame. She was very good at sewing and Carington would occasionally glimpse at the ambitious work. But her attention would always return to the window next to her bed, gazing over the lush Northumbrian landscape for any signs of the returning army.

  She sat for what seemed like hours. The nooning meal came and went, brought to them by a couple of serving women who provided them with a wide array of fruit, cheese and bread. But Carington hardly touched it, even when Kristina brought her a lovely apple and a great hunk of white cheese. Carington thanked the pale-haired lass kindly but she simply was not hungry. So Kristina returned to her section of the chamber, brought forth a great deck of colorfully painted cards, and came back to sit on the bed next to Carington.

  Carington eyed the colorful cards as the girl carefully organized them. “What is it ye have there?” she asked.

  Kristina began to carefully lay them out on the coverlet. “These are fortune cards. They can tell your fortune.”

  Carington smiled faintly at the thought of a piece of wood divining the future. But she was willing to play along. “Did they tell ye that ye would be sealed up with me in a room today?”

  Kristina giggled. “They did not,” she wagged a card in Carington’s direction. “You must be serious or the cards will not tell you anything.”

  Carington pretended to wipe the smile from her face, finding enough distraction with the game to tear herself away from the window. “Very well,” she leaned against the wall and watched her new friend deal out the cards. “What are they telling ye?”

  Kristina collected the cards she had just laid out, shuffled them around, and then indicated for Carington to take one. Carington obliged and Kristina took the card out of her hand, laying it on the coverlet. She peered at it closely. Because she was, Carington peered closely at it, too.

  “What do ye see?” she asked.

  Kristina’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It is The Chariot,” she said thoughtfully. “It means conquest and pride. It is the card of a warrior.”

  Carington looked closer. “It does?” She looked up at her friend. “Perhaps it is telling ye something about the battle at Hexham.”

  Kristina pondered that. “’Tis possible,” she said. “It often means strength and battle.”

  Suddenly, Carington took the cards more seriously. “What else?”

  “Take another card.”

  Carington pulled out another one and handed it to Kristina, who placed it to the right of The Chariot. She suddenly smiled. “Ah, The Empress,” she declared. “It means beauty and desire. Surely that is your card.”

  Carington blushed furiously. “What else does it mean?”

  Kristina was still smiling at Carington’s bashful response. “Surely you know how lovely you are,” she said. “Why, there is not a man at Prudhoe who has not noticed. You are all anyone can speak of.”

  Carington looked at her almost fearfully and shook her head. “Ye mustn’t say such things.”

  “Why not? ’Tis the truth.”

  “Can I pick another card?”

  Kristina laughed softly and held out the deck. Carington plucked out another card and Kristina put it to the left of The Chariot. Her smile faded. “The Tower.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Chaos.”

  The answer came from the other side of the room. Carington and Kristina looked over to see that Julia was addressing them. When she knew she had their attention, she focused her dour predication on Carington.

  “The Tower means Chaos,” she repeated, more slowly as if to drive home the point. “It also means crisis, disillusionment and ruin. It is horror and destruction.”

  Carington instinctively stiffened at the woman’s hostility. She gazed balefully at Julia for a moment before returning to Kristina. “Can I pick another card?” she asked.

  Kristina did not look particularly worried about
The Tower and offered Carington the deck. Carington selected a fourth card and handed it back to Kristina, who laid it next to The Empress. Her smile was back.

  “Ah,” she murmured. “The Lovers. And it is right next to your card, too.”

  Carington looked more closely at the bright cards. “What does that mean?”

  Kristina’s eyes twinkled. “It means that you shall find love soon. Is there anyone special you left behind in Scotland, my lady? Someone who has your heart?”

  Carington shook her head, unwilling to divulge any information. She prayed her expression would not give her away. “Nay,” she replied, still eyeing the card. “No one in Scotland.”

  “This is a very powerful card. It means eternal love and devotion.”

  Carington simply shrugged as if she had nothing more to say to that. Kristina, suspecting there was more to what Carington was telling her simply by her evasive stance, held out the deck of cards.

  “One last card, my lady,” she said. “I need five to tell your fortune.”

  Carington pulled out the last card and handed it to Kristina. The young lady put it neatly next to The Tower. As she did so, the pleasant expression faded from her face.

  “Death,” she muttered. “It sits next to The Tower.”

  Carington already did not like the sound of that. “What does it mean?”

  “It means precisely what she said,” Julia piped up from across the room. “It means there is Death in your future.”

  Before Carington could work herself into a snappish reply, Kristina was shuffling them around and putting them back with the deck. She lifted her gaze to Carington’s curious face.

  “’Tis a silly game,” she insisted softly. “Any fortune I have ever told has never come true. Do not take great stock in it.”

  Carington gazed into her eyes, reading the disquiet, but did not press her. Instead, she forced a smile.

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Only a game.”

  Kristina shuffled the cards around furiously, trying to move on from the lingering Death card. “Let us tell someone else’s fortune,” she said. “Whose should we tell?”

  “How about Sir Creed?” Julia stabbed at her embroidery. “Perhaps we can divine his future. Perhaps we can see if a wife is in order.”

  Carington’s head snapped to the girl, attempting to discern if she was mouthing off because she was in possession of secretive knowledge or if she was simply being her usual malicious self. Her statement could have been interpreted both ways. Carington remembered what Ryton had told her of Julia, that she wanted Creed for herself. If Julia had been even the slightest bit kind, Carington might have felt sorry for her. But at the moment, all she felt was venom.

  Kristina, thankfully, was oblivious to Carington’s mental turmoil. She simply shook her head at Julia.

  “We have told his future too many times,” she reminded her. “It never comes out the way you wish. I would think that you would give up and look elsewhere for a husband. Marrying Creed simply is not in your cards.”

  Carington could not even comment on that statement; she turned away, biting off a smile as she returned her attention to the lancet window. It was mid-afternoon now with evening only an hour or so away. She gazed up at the blue sky with its puffy dusting of clouds.

  “How far is Hexham Castle?” she asked.

  Kristina was shuffling her cards again. “No more than two hours. It is a short and lovely ride.”

  Carington digested the information, thinking that, in fact, the army had been gone quite some time for so short a distance. But she recollected the days when her father had ridden to battle; he would be gone for weeks at a time. She knew that war was a waiting game for those left behind. Almost as strong as her anxiety for Creed’s safety was her desire to know who had instigated the raid. She had told Creed that it could not have been her father; truth be told, she could not be sure. His treaty was with Prudhoe, not Hexham. If allied clans called for Sian Kerr’s aide for arms against an English enemy, she knew that her father would not refuse.

  So she sat back on the bed and played Kristina’s card game. They read fortunes for Burle, Stanton, Lady Anne and Gilbert. By the time they got around to reading a fortune for Edward, an odd sound from the bailey caught their attention. It was a strange grinding noise with echoes of thunder to it. Carington and Kristina looked at each other with some confusion, then apprehension, before they bolted to the window and peered outside.

  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?” Kristi
na 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.