Guardian of Darkness (28 page)

“That is because she only came to Prudhoe yesterday.”

“A savage Scots in your midst, eh?”

“I think you would be surprised.”

Galen thought on that a moment, downed the last of his ale and slammed the cup on the table. “If she can bring peace to our world, then I support her presence.  God knows, I want peace for my boys.  I do not want them to grow up in a world that is constantly at war. I am weary of it as well.”

“You used to be quite eager to kill Scots.”

“That was before I was married. I would rather live long enough to see my sons grow up.”

Creed did not say anything for a moment.  Then he gestured to his friend. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To meet the savage in our midst.”

With a curious expression, Galen followed Creed back to the cab that was parked under a grove of young oaks. He wait several feet away as Creed went to the carriage and peered in through the door window.

Carington was lying across the bench, her eyes closed.  Creed hissed at her. “My lady?” he whispered, then more loudly: “Carington? Are you awake?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up too quickly; her dark hair ended up hanging across her face.  She blew it away from her lips and wiped it from her wide eyes.

“What is it?” she sounded sleepy. “Is something wrong?”

Creed suppressed a grin; she was half-awake and disoriented.  He stuck his head into the cab. “Compose yourself,” he whispered. “I would like you to meet someone.”

She blinked her eyes, looking at him curiously. Smoothing her hair, she moved to get out of the cab.  Creed opened the door and held out a hand, helping her to disembark. 

Carington’s eyes fixed on the unfamiliar knight with the light brown eyes.  He was tall and handsome, looking at her with some suspicion.  She could see it in his face.  Creed tucked her small hand into the crook of his arm, almost possessively.  Carington instinctively moved closer to him, somewhat wary of the enemy knight.

“My lady,” Creed said. “This is Sir Galen Burleson, a knight at neighboring Hexham Castle.  Galen, this is the Lady Carington Kerr. She is a guest at Prudhoe.”

Galen’s gaze drifted over her; as most did when beholding Carington for the first time, he could not help but notice her heavenly figure. She was petite, with dark green eyes and black hair. She was, in fact, extremely beautiful.  Galen dipped his head in her direction.

“My lady,” he greeted evenly. “Welcome to England.”

Carington looked at Creed before replying. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Sir Galen.”

“I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

She thought a moment about her trip from Wether Fair; the long days, the death of Bress.  She could not muster the strength for a fabricated reply.

“It was not worth remembering, m’lord.”

Galen glanced at Creed at her strange answer. “I hope you have at least found English hospitality to be warm.”

“Warm enough,” Carington looked at Creed. “Sir Creed has been very kind.”

Galen grinned faintly as he also looked at Creed. “That is because Creed is a man of astonishing patience and amiability,” he replied, his gaze moving back to Carington. “Then I will wish you a good stay at Prudhoe, my lady. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”

With a lingering glance at the petite Scots, he turned away and went back to his ale and pork.  Carington watched him go, turning to Creed only to notice that he was gazing intently at her.  She smiled timidly.

“Why do ye look at me so?” she asked.

His gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer before answering. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Is that not reason enough?”

She flushed furiously and lowered her eyes, too overwhelmed for a snappy reply.  In fact, it was the first time he had so openly complimented her.  Any other time that he had come close to praising her, she had to practically drag it out of him. 

Creed’s eyes twinkled at her discomfort.  He patted the hand that was still on his elbow. “Let us go and see if your garments are ready,” he took pity on her. “I think enough time has passed.”

The change of subject was welcome and she nodded, happily accompanying him across the dirt avenue.  But they did not quite make it to the seamstress’ shop before a knight and ten men at arms suddenly rounded the corner of the avenue and charged straight for them. 

It was loud and startling; dust flew into the air and horses snorted. Creed was not particularly worried because Burle, Stanton, Galen and the three more Hexham knights were only a dozen or so feet away. They were close enough and armed enough should any hostilities begin. But it took Creed a moment to realize that the intruding knight was Ryton and oddly enough, only then did his guard go up. There was no reason why his brother should be here unless something unpleasant had occurred. He did not even want to guess.

He left Carington standing a few feet away as he walked up to his brother, who had now come to a halt.  The horse danced around and Creed cuffed it in the neck when the beast came too close to him.

“What is wrong?” he asked his brother before the man could speak.

Ryton flipped up his visor, his dusky blue eyes focusing on Creed. “You must return immediately,” he lowered his voice before his brother could press him. “A papal representative is at Prudhoe. He wants to speak with you.”

Creed just stared at him. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“No questions, Creed. Just come.”

Creed, in fact, did not have to ask any more questions; he already knew the answers. God help him, he knew. He met his brother’s gaze and silent words of confirmation passed between them; so the rumors Jory told us of were true.  Creed’s stomach tightened with anxiety but he managed to maintain his composure.  He merely nodded his head and turned to Burle.

“Take the lady in hand, de Tarquinus,” he told the big blond knight. “I am required back at Prudhoe.”

Much to her credit, Carington did not call out to him or demand to know why he was leaving her.  She simply stood there and watched as he moved to collect his charger, mounted, and galloped off with his brother.  Even with Burle and Stanton joined her and gently took her in the direction of the seamstress, she did not ask questions and she did not utter a sound.  Something in the expression on Creed’s face told her it was better if she did not.

***

His name was Massimo. He was not English; he was straight from the heart of Rome where the pope had appointed him a special papal legate to London. His superior was the Bishop of London but he answered directly to Rome. He was surprisingly young and well-spoken, but beneath the youth and tact lay the heart of a hunter.  Massimo was on a hunt on behalf of the church and he would have his answers.

Creed sensed that from the onset.  Father Massimo was in the small solar of Prudhoe where Lady Anne had settled him.  Upon his return to the castle, Creed was directed into the solar by his brother and the door was shut behind him.  Alone with the priest, Creed stood by the door with his legs braced apart and his arms folded.  All that he had been trying to forget over the past six months was swamping him again like an unwelcome tide and he was growing uncharacteristically furious; furious at the girl-queen, furious at the king and furious that the circumstance had happened in the first place.  He was holding a particular hate for the church at the moment for stirring up the bad memories.

Massimo was polite as he introduced himself and asked Creed to sit.  The knight did so reluctantly, perching himself on the edge of Richard’s great oak chair because it was the only one in the room that could handle his bulk.

The priest watched him sit stiffly, noting the air about the man. He was extremely big and obviously unhappy. Massimo had been involved in the dealings with the queen’s pregnancy for almost five weeks now and the name Creed de Reyne had come up again and again. He felt as if he knew the man personally and was not surprised to be met with such resentment. He knew the history of the case. Furthermore, it had taken some wrangling to track the man down because he had been taken from London and hidden by some powerful friends. But Massimo had a job to do and he feared the wrath of God more than the wrath of the knight. He moved straight to the point.

“I have come on the church’s business,” the priest began. “It would seem that there are matters concerning the queen that must be clarified. I am told you are a man who can give me answers.”

Creed looked at him, his jaw ticking furiously. “What answers would those be, my lord?”

Massimo could already tell that this was not going to be a simple thing.  The big knight was noticeably hostile. He folded his hands and lowered his voice.

“I am under no false delusions that you do not know why I am here,” he said quietly. “Surely you knew this time would come. Sooner or later, it had to.”

“Make yourself clear, my lord.”

“Very well,” the priest cleared his throat softly. “Six months ago, you led the escort that brought Isabella of Angoulême to England’s shores.  She was, at the time, unmarried to the king.  That occurred two months later.  It is a fact that the queen is now six months pregnant, which means that she conceived before her marriage to the king. Now, you must understand that I am not here on behalf of the king. It is well known that you were rumored to have had an affair with the queen and fled London to escape the king’s wrath.  I am here on behalf of the church that would ensure the child the queen carries is of royal blood. Only a royal must ascend the throne and I must know the truth, Sir Creed.  I must know what happened between you and the queen as it pertains to her pregnancy.”

Creed’s gaze was steady. “Who told you to seek me out?”

“All of London knows the rumors regarding you and the queen.”

“Who told you?”

“It does not matter. Suffice it to say that the rumor was confirmed by several different sources.”

“I would know who told you.”

Massimo sighed. “Does it matter?”

“It does. It is my right to know.”

“Then the queen herself told me.”

It was Creed’s turn to sigh.  But his gaze never left the priest. “What, exactly, did she tell you?”

“That you seduced her and begot her with child.”

“So she told you that the child was mine?”

“She did. From her own lips, she did.”

Creed was not particularly surprised but he was growing increasingly angry. It was becoming a struggle for him to keep his normally-dormant temper down. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he mulled over the priest’s words. After a moment, he simply lifted his massive shoulders.

“It would do no good for me to refute her,” he said. “It would be my word against hers and we clearly know who would be believed.  Even if she is a lying, petty, spoiled child, by the respect due her royal blood, she will be believed in all things.”

The priest shook his head. “Not necessarily.”

Creed gave the man a disbelieving look. “Would it do any good for me to tell you that it is a well known fact that Isabella has not been a virgin since she was a child?” his eyebrows lifted in emphasis. “As you so callously claim that everyone knows of the rumors regarding my association with her, can you also deny the rumors that Isabella has seduced as many men as the king has seduced women? She lists her own uncle as a conquest, for God’s sake. Everyone in France is aware of it and her adulterous ways are common knowledge.  When I escorted her to London, know that she set her sights on me nearly the moment we were introduced.  When I refused her, she flew into a rage and told anyone who would listen that I raped her.  She was a little girl spurned, my lord, and nothing more. Now that she is pregnant with what I can only assume is another man’s child, she would seek to focus the blame away from her and onto me.  She seeks to destroy me for no other reason than that.”