Guardian of Darkness (18 page)

“She is a firebrand, no doubt,” he replied evenly, wanting off the subject because he was afraid the wine would loosen his tongue. “Now that our task is over and she is here, what now, O Great Brother of mine? We are to have alleged peace with Clan Kerr and their allies. Dare we believe it?”

Ryton’s eyebrows wriggled. “I do not know. I would hope so. After losing Lenox against the Clans, I would hope all of this would be finally ended.” His good humor faded as he stared into his cup. “But the cost was too high. I would rather have my youngest brother back than all of the peace in the world.”

Creed’s thoughts drifted to their baby brother, killed in a vicious battle at Kielderhead Moor five years ago. He had fallen on the battle field and they had not found him until hours later. By then, he was dead. The best they could deduce was that he had survived the initial injury only to be killed by the Scots after the battle had ended when he had lain crippled, unable to defend himself.  

He could still see Lenox de Reyne on the last day of his life, newly-knighted and ready to kill Scots. His light brown hair and dusky blue eyes were engrained into their memories.  Where Ryton could be emotional and Creed was so calm that he was oft accused of being dead, Lenox had been the excitement of the family. He laughed easily, played pranks, and was generally a thorn in their side. Many a time Creed had captured his mischievous brother while Ryton punished him by good –naturedly beating him.  But it had all been in fun and they both missed him tremendously; much more than they would admit when they weren’t drunk.  It seemed that if something was missing now, a hole in their lives. Though death was part of their profession, losing a gifted brother that had only seen twenty three years had been a true tragedy.

But Ryton did not want to linger on the past. It always made him feel horrendously guilty; he had been in command that day and it was a guilt he still lived with.

 “So you ask what is next,” he shifted the subject as he poured himself more wine. “I am told that Lord Richard had plans to meet with his allies regarding the hostage situation. It should comfort everyone to know that the Kerrs, for the moment, have consented to peace.  But more than that, I do not know. I would hope we will know some quiet along the borders for some time to come.”

“That may be, but I doubt we will have any peace here at Prudhoe.”

The blurted statement came from Jory, entering the room from the bailey with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He let the heavy bags plummet to the floor just inside the door.  Only Ryton was looking at the knight; everyone else was focused on their drink.

“Why do you say that?” Ryton asked, though he did not really care what the man had to say.

Jory snorted, making his way over the table where the alcohol was. He had a smug expression on his face; but, then again, he always seemed to have some manner of exaggerated swagger. It was one of the characteristics that made him truly unlikable. The question hung in the air as Jory reached for a cup.

“If we do not have trouble with the Scots, we could have it with the king,” Jory made sure he was standing next to Creed as he poured his wine. “We have some traveling merchants staying here for the night.”

Ryton lifted an eyebrow. “So? What does that have to do with the king?”

Jory took a long, satisfying swallow, making sure to draw out the answer. “I heard some gossip from the travelers,” he said, taking another drink. “Most interesting news.”

Ryton’s patience was at an end. “What in the hell did you hear?”

Jory was enjoying the moment. He gazed at the wine in his cup, casually, swirling the dregs. “Rumor has it that Queen Isabella is pregnant,” he said, hoping the statement had as much impact as he thought it would. “Six months pregnant, that is. Of course, she and the king were only married a few months ago, so she conceived this child well before they were wed.  On the trip from France, in fact, as rumor would have it.”

Creed did not react but Burle slammed his cup to the table and bolted to his feet. “Do you want another beating, d’Eneas?” he jabbed a finger at the shorter, smaller knight. “I would be happy to shut your mouth permanently.”

Ryton held up a hand to calm the knight, watching as he angrily sank back into his chair.  He gazed steadily at Jory.

“Did you really hear that?” he asked slowly. “Or are we again privy your lies and assumptions?”

Jory grinned, a hatefully confident gesture. “It could be only gossip, but the merchant’s guards were quite free with the information. It seems that all of London is in an uproar because if it and I would suspect the king is not entirely happy, either.”

Ryton looked at his brother for the first time to see how he was reacting. “Lies, all of it,” he looked away from his Creed’s emotionless face and back to his cup. “Who is to say the king is not the father? There is no proof otherwise.”

“No proof except for the gossip that the queen had a knightly lover in France.  Rumor has it that the Church is now getting involved.  We certainly cannot have a bastard heir to England’s throne, can we? I am told the Church is starting an investigation.”

“Then that is the king’s fault for marrying a whore.”

No one had much to say to that.  Jory took another long drink of his wine. “No one would know that better than Creed. He was one of her escorts from France, after all. I would imagine he would be one of the first people the Church will interview.”

Burle tensed again but a glance from Ryton stopped him.  He wondered just how far Jory was going to go before Burle snapped and there would be no stopping him. Or, worse still, if Creed snapped. His brother was so powerful that he could break Jory’s neck and not even raise a sweat.  He had never seen Creed lose his control, but there was always first time for everything, especially when dealing with so sensitive an issue.

“I suggest you drop the subject, d’Eneas,” Ryton said quietly. “No one cares about your foolish prattle. If you want to gossip, go congregate with the serving women. They are the only ones who would care what you say.”

Jory drained his cup and poured another. He made sure to walk away from the table before he spoke again. “I did not mean to imply that Creed would have first-hand knowledge of the queen’s activities. Of course he’s innocent. Creed is a fine, upstanding and chivalrous knight. But since he was charged with our lovely hostage, the truth will be known about his knightly character if she turns up pregnant, too.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. Burle and Stanton were up, charging at Jory.  Cups went flying and chairs were toppled. But Creed shot to his feet, grabbing Burle before the man could get past him.  Burle, in turn, grabbed Stanton before the man could get too far. Only Ryton was not holding on to someone or, in turn, being held by someone. But he was on his feet and he was focused on Jory.  He moved past his brother, his dusky blue eyes riveted on his knight. The mood of the room was no longer relaxed; it was deeply brittle as Ryton faced off against his subordinate.

“I will say this one time, d’Eneas, so make sure you understand me clearly,” his voice was low, controlled. “You will not repeat what you heard from the merchant’s guards and you will never again say what you did about my brother. Should any rumors or other slander get started around here, you will be the first one I come for and I can promise that you will not like my reaction.  Do you comprehend me?”

Some of Jory’s smugness faded as he gazed into Ryton’s tense face; he could see serious implications in the glare.  After a moment, he shrugged weakly. “I do,” he said. “I meant nothing by it. I was simply… thinking aloud. Just the thoughts of a tired man.”

By this time, Creed had let go of Burle and was heading from the room.  Ryton watched his brother quit the common room and disappear into the darkness of the bailey beyond.  Had he not been Jory’s commander, he would have throttled the man. Instead, he followed his brother out into the black night without another word in Jory’s direction.  He was more concerned for his brother at the moment than an idiot knight.

Stanton and Burle were slower to disband; Stanton moved back to the table, glaring daggers at Jory, while Burle still stood where Creed had stopped him.  Jory gazed into the knight’s fat face, his smile fading completely. Of all the knights, he knew that Burle was the one that would mostly likely move against him. His head was still swollen from the beating he had received earlier.

“What?” he said to Burle’s menacing stare. “I apologized. What more do you want?”

Burle did not say anything; he started to turn away but thought better of it.  Stanton heard a loud smack followed by a heavy grunt. Something hit the floor hard.  Burle joined the table and reclaimed his cup as if nothing in the world was amiss and Stanton did not turn around to see the source of the loud grunt; he knew for a fact that Jory was lying on the floor behind him in a muddled state of unconsciousness.

Outside, Ryton caught up to Creed just as the man was mounting the wooden steps that led into the keep. He put his big hand on his brother’s arm, stopping the man before he could get away from him. 

“Creed,” he said quietly. “Do not let d’Eneas’ ramblings get to you. He is a bitter little man with a bitter little mind. I would not believe everything he says.”

Creed’s face was emotionless. The ghostly moon glow gave him a stark, phantom-like appearance as he loomed on the steps above his brother.  “He is still angry with me for preventing him from taking advantage of our hostage,” he snorted softly. “I should have strangled him and left his body for the wolves. It would have saved us much grief.”

Ryton nodded in agreement; there was no disputing that bit of wisdom. “Nonetheless, I intend to talk to Richard about him now. I will no longer tolerate his disruptive presence in my ranks.”

Creed lifted an eyebrow. “He is a baron’s son.”

“A baron’s bastard son.”

“Even so, you have been asked to treat him differently from the rest of us because of his father’s relationship with Lord Richard.”

Ryton cast his brother a resolute look. “That may be, but I will not allow him to continue to antagonize you like this. He seems to have a special interest in goading you and that is not healthy for any of us. He only succeeds in provoking Burle and I fear the day when he actually incites you beyond reason. It would be like trying to stop a mad bull.”

Creed simply lifted his massive shoulders, his gaze moving across the quieting bailey. “He will tire of the game eventually as long as I do not react to him.”

Ryton just shook his head. “Creed, you’re a saint,” he slapped his brother across the shoulder affectionately. His gaze, too, moved over the ward, watching the soldiers on patrol as the night deepened. “I suppose I should find out what those merchants really told him. If there really is trouble brewing, we will want to know.”

Creed just nodded, faintly, as if he did not particularly care.  “I am going to check on the lady before taking my usual night watch,” he said quietly, turning up the stairs. “I will see you upon the morrow.”

Ryton watched his brother lumber up the stairs, sensing depression in the man’s manner even though he professed otherwise. Jory’s words had indeed weighed heavily on him.

“Take a weapon with you to protect yourself in case she gets out of hand,” he jested, attempting to lighten the mood. “And watch out for flying torch butts. Remember what happened to Stanton.”

Creed snorted in the darkness; Ryton could hear him. Without another word, the men parted ways and went about their duties for the night.

***

Carington decided right away that she would not sleep in the bed by the window. It was probably sabotaged so she made a firm decision to sleep in one of the other beds. The night was cool and she changed from her surcoat into a sleeping shift. Alone for the first time since leaving Wether Fair, she felt disoriented and homesick. Wrapping up in her dusty tartan for familiar comfort, she lay on either Julia or Kristina’s clean linens.