Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  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 them from all directions. Steven practically jumped from the wall walk and James cam
e 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.”

  In de La Londe’s arms, Carington suddenly came alive. “I told ye not to call him a coward, ye stupid Sassenach,” she snarled. “If I get my hands free, ye’ll find yerself missing teeth.”

  De La Londe squeezed her, hard, to still her. Carington grunted with pain, grinding to a halt purely out of necessity. He had squeezed the breath from her. Then she tried to kick him in the groin and he shifted his grip, grabbing her silky black hair close against her scalp where it was most painful. She gasped with pain as he yanked her head back brutally. When she attempted to stir again, all he had to do was pull and she immediately ceased. He had her effectively trapped.

  “That will be enough of that,” de La Londe growled at her before turning to Burle again. “I will repeat my plans; I am taking the lady back with me to London. If you stand in my way, I will kill her.”

  Burle was stone-faced. “If you kill her, you will never make it out of Prudhoe alive.”

  There was something in Burle’s gaze that made de La Londe dare to glance around him; there was an implied threat in the knight’s voice that went beyond the normal rhetoric. He caught a glimpse of archers on the parapets, their arrows aimed at him. One word from Burle and they would unleash a rain of death. But de La Londe remained cool; he knew he held the larger advantage and he intended to use it.

  “Open the gates,” he ordered quietly. “We are leaving.”

  Burle continued to meet his gaze. He was preparing to reply when Richard came rushing in from the inner bailey, his dark eyes wide with surprise and anger. He pushed through the cluster of knights and soldiers, putting himself in between Burle and de La Londe. He held up his hands in a quelling gesture.

  “Gentlemen, I beg for calm,” he said quickly, looking at Carington in de La Londe’s cruel grasp. “Knight, what are you doing with the lady?”

  De La Londe lifted an eyebrow. “I am taking her to London to stand trial for her husband’s crimes. This is the king’s command.”

  Richard’s dark eyes morphed into cool, simmering intensity as he put his hands down, slowly. “This lady only gave birth less than a month ago and nearly died in the process. She is still recovering. You cannot risk her over hundreds of miles of open road.”

  “I care not for her health, my lord.”

  “You are a knight. It is within your code to protect the weak.”

  “It is within my code to obey the king above all things.”

  Richard cocked his head in disbelief. “Do you want a prisoner so badly that you would portray the actions of a dishonorable knight by savaging a lady? If taking a prisoner is so important, then go find her husband. He is your true target. Capturing a small, unhealthy woman is cowardly.”

  Something menacing flickered in de La Londe’s expression but was quickly gone.

  “Unlike you, my lord, I follow the king’s orders,” he rumbled. “I do not hide fugitives from the king’s justice.”

  Richard lifted an eyebrow. “If I were you, I would watch my tongue. I would be well within my rights to have you punished for slander.”

  De La Londe knew his limits and backed down; he would not tangle with an earl. “You would indeed, my lord, but I plan to leave Prudhoe at this moment. My punishment will have to wait.”

  It looked like there was no way out for Carington and she was verging on panic. But the sentries on the walls suddenly began shouting, distracting those in the bailey from the increasingly volatile situation. The soldiers near the gatehouse were apparently very excited about something. Burle did not move, nor did Lord Richard, so Stanton and the two young knights raced up to the battlements to see what the commotion was about. All movement in the bailey seemed to cease for a moment as everyone’s attention was diverted to the parapets.

  Stanton did not move for quite some time; it was apparent that he was studying whatever had the sentries so excited. Then he began waving his arms at the soldiers at the main gate, who bolted into action and began churning open the great oak panels. The portcullis began wheeling up. When all was in motion, Stanton slid down the ladder to the bailey below, jogging back towards Burle and the others with his mail jingling a crazy tune. He was winded by the time he reached them.

  “What is happening?” Lord Richard demanded.

  Stanton’s blue eyes looked from his liege, to Burle, and finally to Carington. He was staring at her when he spoke.

  “Creed is coming.”

  Richard and Burle passed shocked glances. “Are you sure?” Richard asked.

  “Sure enough, my lord. I can recognize the man’s armor from a mile away,” Stanton looked at his liege. “It looks as if he has brought an army of Scots with him, but more than that, I saw Hexham banners as well.”

  Richard’s eyebrows flew up. “Kerr and Hexham united?”

  Stanton couldn’t help the smile of satisfaction that flickered across his lips. “United behind Creed.”

  As Richard and the others pondered the amazing scenario, Carington suddenly went mad. She began to fight crazily, jabbing de La Londe’s dagger into her neck enough to cause a small blemish that streamed a tiny river of blood. It was a sheer miracle that she had not impaled herself as she struggled.

  “Nay!” she screamed. “Tell him to go! Tell him to turn back! I will go to London in his stead; I am not afraid!”

  De La Londe still had her by the hair so there was not much opportunity for her to fight him, but she was making a valiant attempt. He was forced to drop the dirk and put a big arm around her to keep her from flying out of control.

  “Still yourself, woman,” he growled.

  But Carington ignored him. “Burle!” she was focused on the big Prudhoe knight. “Tell him to turn around! Tell him…!”

  De La Londe managed to slap a hand over her mouth. In Carington’s weakened state, it did not take long for her to wind herself. She simply did not have the strength she once did. Tears began to replace the energy so recently expended and she wept softly against de La Londe’s hand. She tried to speak, several times, but her words were muffled against his glove. More than that, de La Londe’s attention was now diverted to the open gates of Prudhoe; everyone’s was.

  An odd scene was unfolding before their eyes. Beyond the yawning gates, they could see a vast assortment of men in various stages of battle dress. Hexham colors flew overhead. But the strangest thing of all was that there were indeed
a good many Scots intertwined with the English, their dark tartans seen against the white landscape.

  As the army came to a halt, a group of mounted men continued down the road towards the main gate; in fact, an entire army that began to spill into the outer bailey and de La Londe instinctively took several steps back, away from the trickle of men in armor.

  There was a particular knight in the front of the mass that continued to head in his direction even as the others stopped just inside the gate. De La Londe recognized the size of the knight, knowing Creed de Reyne on sight; the man was a giant whose legendary size only seemed to grow with time. Creed was coming at him like something horrifying and powerful, eventually dismounting his war horse and continuing on foot.

  De La Londe continued to watch, feeling his heart beat with a rise of excitement; his prisoner had arrived and with that realization was also a hint of trepidation. As Creed raised his visor, de La Londe suddenly reclaimed the dirk he had once held at Carington’s neck.

  “Come no further, de Reyne,” he pointed the tip at her white flesh. “Remove your weapons this instant. You are under arrest.”

  Creed’s dusky blue gaze was fixed on a knight he had once considered a friend. Oddly enough, he did not stop. He kept walking. He walked right up to de La Londe and, as fast as lightning, yanked the dirk away from Carington’s neck. Soon, she was trapped between them as Creed simultaneously pulled her from the man’s grip and lashed out a big fist, making contact with de La Londe’s jaw and sending him stumbling back.

  “Had you not been holding my wife, I would have killed you where you stood,” Creed rumbled. “The mere act of touching her warrants your death. You would do well to treat her like the Virgin Mary; untouchable by mortals and due your worshipful respect. Is this in any way unclear, Denys?”

  De La Londe glared at him. “You are lucky I did not kill her. I could have easily slit her throat as you sought to engage in husbandly heroics. Be thankful I showed mercy.”

  Carington was sobbing softly at the sight of her husband but dare not attempt to speak to him. She did not want to distract him. Still, his presence beside her and the power of his hand on her arm was enough to drive her to tears. She could not adequately describe the intensity, the joy, of that moment. Creed shifted his grip on her as he pulled her gently behind him.