“Give her to me,” she whispered.
The physic laid the baby beside her and Carington found herself gazing into big blue eyes; they were Stanton’s eyes. Her grief softened just a little more as she pulled back the neck of her shift, exposing a fully engorged left breast. As Lady Anne and the physic hovered over her to see if their little experiment would work, Carington offered her swollen nipple to the baby and was rewarded when the child quickly latched on to her. She latched on a little strongly, in fact, and Carington winced as the child suckled hungrily.
Lady Anne smiled gently at her, putting her soft hand against Carington’s forehead in a motherly gesture. “Stanton will be so happy,” she said softly. “He has worried greatly for his daughter since Vivian’s passing.”
Carington cradled the baby close, watching the little mouth work furiously. She touched the downy-blond head, imagining that it was her own daughter that she held. Somehow, it helped ease her heartache.
“What is her name?” she asked Lady Anne, still standing over her. “Vivian had not yet decided last I heard.”
Lady Anne’s gaze was soft on the blond haired infant. “As I recall, she liked Emma and Stanton wanted Mary,” she said. “I do not know what they decided.”
Carington looked back at the baby, now gazing up at her with her bottomless blue eyes. She stroked the blond head. “I like Emma,” she said, lifting a dark eyebrow at Lady Anne. “Tell Stanton that Vivian and I have named his daughter. If he has issue with that, then he can discuss it with me. But warn him that he’ll not like my response.”
Lady Anne laughed softly, watching the infant tug at Carington’s breast. “I doubt he will, my lady,” she said. “In fact, I am sure he will unquestionably agree with you.”
With a faint smile, Carington continued to nurse Emma until she fell asleep against her breast. When Lady Anne checked on the pair later that day, she found both Carington and the baby snuggled close in slumber.
The childless mother and the motherless child had found each other.
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.
Richard joined her a few minutes later. He tried not to be too obvious about staring at her in the yellow wool dress; she had lost all of her pre-pregnancy weight but her engorged breasts gave her an hourglass figure the likes of which he had never seen. If she had looked good before, she looked even better now. It was difficult not to look at the woman and stare like a fool.
“You are looking well this day, Lady de Reyne,” he said truthfully.
“Thank ye, m’lord,” she replied.
“How is baby Emma?”
“She is growing quickly,” Carington told him, but her smile quickly faded. “I am afraid I have come to ye with a problem, m’lord. Creed always trusted ye with such matters and so will I. May we speak?”
His brow furrowed with concern. “Of course. What is the problem?”
Carington sighed faintly. “That knight – de La Londe – came to see me earlier. He told me that he sent a message to Creed with Massimo telling Creed that if he dinna return to Prudhoe, I would be taken back to London to stand trial in his stead.”
Richard nodded his head faintly, lifting a pensive eyebrow. “I know,” he said. “Massimo told me as much before he left for Scotland. I was hoping to spare you that little bit of information for a while, anyway. You have had a rough time of it.”
She lifted her shoulders in resignation. “Although it is kind of ye to want to protect me, I fear that the knight intends to follow through on his threat. What shall I do?”
Richard rubbed his chin in thought. Putting his hand on Carington’s elbow, he gently steered her into the small solar near the entry. The truth was that he had been contemplating this very thing for weeks. Now, he would have to make a decision. As bad as it would have been for de La Londe to capture Creed, it would be worse should he capture Carington.
“I have been attempting to figure out that problem myself,” he admitted. “It is only a matter of time before de La Londe reaches his limit of patience. While you were ill, it was not an issue, but now that you are recovered, there is no longer any excuse to prevent him from taking you.”
“I understand. Have ye figured anything out?”
He looked at her with a serious eye. “Aye,” he said quietly. “Remove you from Prudhoe and send you back to Wether Fair.”
She liked that idea. “We would have to be very careful,” she told him. “We wouldna want de La Londe following me. The path would take him straight to Creed.”
“Which is why leaving by darkness is our best option.”
“Who will take me?”
“Stanton. Burle should stay here in case de La Londe and his men decide to cause trouble.”
“When?”
Richard wriggled his eyebrows. “I suspect there is no time to delay. Do you feel strong enough to travel tonight?”
She nodded firmly. “I’ll be ready, my lord.”
“Good.” He turned her towards the entry. “In the meanwhile, bolt your door and try to stay away from de La Londe. I will do what I can to keep him away from you.”
She nodded, feeling confident now that a decision had been made. Moreover, she was excited at the prospect of seeing Creed again. With a smile at Lord Richard, she quit the keep with a sense of purpose. She would have to pack her necessities and then….
She suddenly came to a halt at the bottom of the steps. What was she to do about Emma? True, the child was Stanton’s, but Carington had effectively been her mother for the past several days and they had bonded tremendously. Carington was torn between knowing she should leave the infant with her father yet wanting very strongly to take the baby with her to Scotland. Emma had helped heal so much in her that she could not bear the thought of leaving the baby behind. She had to find Stanton and talk to the man; perhaps he would let her take the baby. At least, temporarily.
Carington crossed through the inner bailey, into the outer ward where most of the activity was happening on this cold, bright day. Shading her eyes from the intense sunlight, her gaze moved over the battlements in search of Stanton. She saw Steven, who now seemed to be a permanent fixture on the walls, and young James who, because he was so tall, looked older and more formidable than his years. She waved to James when he looked down at her and he lifted a gloved hand in response. Still, she did not see Stanton. Lowering her hand, she was preparing to head for Stanton’s cottage when someone suddenly grabbed her from behind.
Carington shrieked as her arms were wrenched behind her brutally and someone began to bind them. She looked up, shocked, to see de La Londe’s face in profile as he concentrated on wrapping leather around her wrists. At that moment, all rational thought ceased to exist; she turned into a screaming, kicking banshee that brought the entire castle running to her aid.
De La Londe had her strongly in his grip. He had most of his soldiers with him, men loyal to the king who began unsheathing their swords as Prudhoe soldiers and knights began running at th
em from all directions. Steven practically jumped from the wall walk and James came flying down the ladder from the parapet so fast that he nearly lost his balance when he hit the dirt below. Soldiers were swarming from their posts and the outer ward was soon in chaos. The screaming, the fighting, had stirred up a hornet’s nest.
De La Londe could see what was happening; he had expected it. He also knew that he had the advantage as he withdrew a small dirk, pulled Lady de Reyne against him, and put the razor-sharp blade to her neck.
“Come any closer and she dies,” he bellowed.
The madness rushing at him came to an unsteady halt. Men were breathing heavily, looking at each other with uncertainty, wondering what they should do. Young Steven held de La Londe’s attention while James circled around behind to try and catch the king’s knight off guard, but the man was too seasoned. He knew what they were doing and he retreated into the huddle of his soldiers for protection.
“James!” came a holler. “Steven, back away before he gores her!”
Burle had bellowed the command as he came upon the group, his blue eyes serious. Stanton was right next to him, who had less control over his expression and looked mad enough to kill. But Burle was collected, and without his sword, as he faced de La Londe.
“What is the meaning of this?” Burle asked, although he already knew the answer. “How dare you betray the hospitality of Prudhoe by assaulting one of our women.”
De La Londe was in no mood for games. He did not remove the dirk as he faced Burle.
“This lady’s husband is a fugitive from the king’s justice,” he said. “Since her husband is too cowardly to face justice, I am returning her to London to face justice in his stead.”
Brides of the North Page 31
