Guardian of Darkness (15 page)

“She is from Scotland, lad,” Richard said patiently. “All Scots talk this way.”

“But it’s funny!”

“It is their way and you will not laugh at her. Do you understand?”

The giggles muted but did not die altogether. Carington cast a sidelong glance at the little boy, who caught her eye and stuck his tongue out at her.

“That must be Edward,” she said quietly, though Richard and Anne heard her.  When they turned to her curiously, she hastened to explain. “Sir Creed told me that ye had two sons and that the youngest was Edward.”

“Indeed,” Richard said proudly. “His brother Gilbert is eight.”

A glance to the older boy showed him picking his nose. Carington lifted an eyebrow at his bad manners and the child ripped his finger from his nose and pointed at her with it.

“Papa,” he marched over to them. “I do not like the way she looked at me. It was disresponsible.”

Richard’s proud stance seemed to waver. “You mean disrespectful, Gilbert.”

The boy continued to point the boogered finger at her. “I want her whipped.”

“Whipped!” Anne grabbed her son by the shoulder and turned him back towards the table. “You and your brother sit down and remain silent. Another word and I will blister your backside.”

“But, Mama, she is our enemy,” Gilbert tried to point out to her. “She is our prisoner. Is that not what Papa said?”

“Nay,” Anne said firmly, shoving her son onto the bench seat. “She is our guest.”

“But Papa said.…”

“I do not want to hear anymore. You will remain quiet or you will go to bed. Is that clear?”

Gilbert was not happy with his mother but he obeyed.  Anne practically yanked Edward off the table and planted him next to his brother. The younger boy whined and she slapped a hand over his mouth, turning to Carington and the rest of the knights with a forced smile.

“If everyone will sit, we will commence with the meal.”

Carington immediately sought out Creed but Richard was there, taking her hand and leading her towards the table.  As he directed her to sit, she was aware of the two young women standing on the other side of the table.  When she met the girls’ eyes, they gazed back at her with a mixture of distain and curiosity.  She did the only thing she could do; she smiled weakly.

“Ladies,” she said as she took her seat.

Richard sat down next to her.  “Lady Carington, this is the Lady Julia le Tourneau,” he indicated the shorter girl with light-brown hair, “and the Lady Kristina Summerlin.  Ladies, you will greet our guest with graciousness.”

The girls dipped into a practiced curtsey. There was no warmth to the gesture; they were simply doing as they were told. But the taller blond girl at least appeared civil; the brown-haired lass was glaring. Carington’s neutral expression faded and she glared back.

Creed was suddenly on her right, sitting beside her and collecting an earthenware pitcher of watered ale. He poured her a measure himself but when she looked at him with a grateful smile, he gazed back at her quite unemotionally. The moody gaze with the lightning bolt eyes had returned.  It was like a dagger to her heart and the smile died on her lips. In a roomful of strangers, he had been her only hope of familiarity and he had failed her.  She looked down at her trencher.

The young ladies and the boys sat across from them.  Anne sat on the opposite side of Richard, chatting pleasantly as the meal was served.  Ryton, Burle and Stanton were seated at the end of the long table, mostly keeping to themselves.  Glancing up from her trencher of roast beef and boiled carrots, Carington noticed the other knights sitting far away. She suspected that Creed was upset with her because he was sitting beside her, as if she had expected him to.  Perhaps he had rather sit with his comrades.

“Ye should go sit with your knights,” she said to him, very quietly.

He picked up his chalice. “Yet I am not.”

She lowered her head to her trencher. “I dunna need ye, Sassenach. Go and sit with yer men.”

He was not looking at her, either; his gaze was moving across the table at the two foster girls and the young boys, who were collectively staring at Carington as if beholding a strange and terrible creature.  He could sense a storm coming and he wanted to be at her side to fend off the inclement weather.  Moreover, he realized that he simply wanted to sit next to her. 

“Eat your meal, my lady,” he said steadily, taking a long drink.

His tone was cool. Carington felt tears sting her eyes, having no idea why he was being so moody with her.  It had been a long and difficult day and he had been her only source of comfort. Now her source was turning on her.  She felt disoriented, sad and furious all at the same time.  He told her to eat her meal, but she set her knife down and refused to take another bite.

Creed noticed right away when she stopped eating.  But he continued to devour his food, watching the wolf pack across the table for any sign that they were about to strike. Although they were children, they could still cause a good deal of misery for her.  She did not need the added emotional stress of unruly and jealous children.

Jory entered the hall when the meal was about half over, taking a seat on the other side of Stanton and harassing a serving wench for his trencher.  Richard saw him come in, eyed the man as he crossed the room, and spoke to him just as he collected his food.

“Jory,” he said casually. “What has happened to your face?”

Jory’s black eyes came up, looking at Burle, who glowered back at him.  He lowered his head back to his trencher. “I fell off my horse, my lord.”

Richard had known Jory a long time. He knew it was not the truth but he did not press.  He left the discipline of the knights to Ryton and if Ryton had dispensed brutal justice to an offense, so be it.  Jory undoubtedly deserved it.  He turned his attention back to Carington.

“Did you enjoy your trip, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.

Jolted from her morose thoughts, she sat straight and faced him. “Aye, m’lord,” she replied. “I… I have never been this far south before.”

Across the table, the children tittered and pink crept into Carington’s cheeks.  Richard pretended he did not hear anything. “We are quite happy to introduce you to Prudhoe and the surrounding country,” he said. “I am sure you will find the English people very warm and friendly.”

She smiled weakly. “I am sure, m’lord. The Scots people are also warm and friendly, in spite of what the English may think of them.”

Edward suddenly burst out with loud laughter, spraying food all over the table. “Papa, she talks funny again!”

Carington dropped her face straight down, staring into her lap, as Anne leapt into the conversation. “Edward, another word and you leave this table,” she said sternly.

Little Edward was a genuinely cute child but he was, as most occupants of Prudhoe believed, a monster in disguise.  He looked at his mother with wide-eyed innocence. “Mama, can we teach her to talk like us?”

“You cannot teach a Scot anything,” Gilbert snapped from his other side. “Besides, she is too old.”

“She is
not
too old,” Anne stressed to her eldest. “Gilbert, you will be polite to our guest or you will join your brother in his punishment.”

“But I was not being rude, Mama. I have heard Papa say many times that Scots are dense.” His gaze drifted to Carington. “She is older than Julia and Kristina. And she is shorter. Is she married?”

Carington had about all she could take.  They were speaking of her as if she was not sitting right in front of them, hurling insults with no rebuke. Her head snapped up and she focused on the ill-mannered child.

“I am not married, Master Gilbert,” she said, tension in her voice evident. “And I am indeed older than yer pasty-faced companions. I am also far better mannered than the lot of you, so shut yer yap before I drive nails through yer lips to close them.”

She was practically yelling when she finished and the reaction to her speech took various courses; Richard sprayed his ale all over the table, Anne’s jaw dropped, Kristina and Julia yelped as if they had been mortally insulted. Strangely, Gilbert and Edward were actually silenced; their eyes were as wide as the heavens as they stared at the venom-tongued Scot.  For a split second, no one moved, including Creed. The shock was too great. Then, the boys suddenly leapt to their feet and began screaming at Carington.  She responded by shaking her fist at them and threatening to jump over the table.

Creed’s moment of surprise quickly vanished when he realized the situation was plummeting. In truth, he was having a difficult time holding a straight face. Carington had said everything to Edward, Gilbert and the two haughty girls that he had always wanted to say but could not. It would not due to insult his liege’s children or wards, and he was especially unwilling to insult the man who risked his neck to remove him from the king’s wrath.

But he had to do something; Carington was all but threatening to throttle Richard’s boys.  In fact, she was already up and putting her feet on the bench.  He could easily picture her hurling herself over the table and tackling the children.  Bolting to his feet, he grabbed Carington around the waist and hauled her away from the table.

“My lady is exhausted,” he said to Anne as he passed her with his snarling bundle. “Forgive her uncontrolled behavior. Please allow her to rest from this day.”

Anne was more concerned for Carington than she was for her boys at the moment. “Do not punish her, Creed,” she said as he walked towards the yawning exit. “She is simply overwrought. Please take her to the ladies’ chamber at the top of the stairs. We have prepared a bed for her.”  The last words were shouted as he disappeared from sight.

The knights watched Creed carry her out.  Ryton rose and followed. He caught his brother as the man crossed the bailey and was preparing to enter the three storied keep to the north of the hall.

“Creed,” he put his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “I shall take her. Return to the hall and finish your meal. I fear I have burdened you with an unwieldy task and you have more than performed your duties. I shall take the chore now.”

Creed knew his brother meant well. He could hear guilt in his voice. But he shook his head. “No need,” he replied. “I assumed this responsibility. I shall see it through. The best thing you can do is to go back and calm the throng so they do not form a lynch mob against the lady.  I fear what Gilbert and Edward will do in retaliation.”

“Anne will control them,” he eyed Carington’s red face. “Are you sure you do not want me to take her?”

Creed shook his head as they entered the keep. There was a small spiral stair off to the left and he half-carried her, half shoved her onto the first step.                “Nay,” he grunted as she resisted his efforts. “I have grown accustomed to these little tantrums. I think I am better adept at handling them than you are.”

“Dunna speak of me as if I am not here,” Carington was trying to turn around to yell at them both. “And if ye expect me to apologize to those two spoiled bairns, then I can tell ye that I willna. They deserved everything I said!”

Creed cocked an eyebrow, turning her around and swatting her behind firmly when she resisted. “They may have deserved it, but you have a good deal to learn about decorum and tact.”

Carington yelped when he spanked her, a sharp sting. But it was enough to make her stop her struggles and glare at him. “Ye’ll teach me nothing, Sassenach. I’ll die first.”

Creed did not reply. The last Ryton saw of his brother and the lady, he had her under the arms and was lifting her up the stairs.