Page 197 of Historical Hotties
She reached out and pulled him to her, her arms around his neck as she held him close. “I am not making ye go, English,” shemurmured against his ear. “I am begging ye to. Please. So ye may live to see yer son grow up.”
He sobbed against her neck, a short burst as he struggled to keep his emotions at bay. Suddenly, he was the vulnerable one and she was his strength. The pain of separation was more than he could bear. His massive hands were on her face, her hair, his lips kissing her tenderly as he whispered of his love for her. When she groaned softly with another pain, he gazed at her with sorrow and anxiety.
“My God,” he breathed. “I cannot go, not now.”
She grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed tightly, her nails digging into him. “Ye promised.”
He nodded swiftly, not wanting to upset her further. “All right, all right,” he said quickly. “Can I at least wait until the physic has examined you?”
She seemed to calm somewhat. “Aye,” she whispered, touching his face to memorize it for the separation ahead. “Everything will be all right, English. Ye must have faith.”
He kissed her hand, her cheek, struggling not to fall apart. “I do,” he closed his eyes, his forehead against hers. “I love you, Cari. Greater than any man has ever loved a woman, I love you. I will return from this madness and we will know peace and happiness again.”
She did not say anything; she continued to clutch him until the physic came and separated them out of necessity. Although it was not the truth, he told Creed that she was simply overwrought. It was a lie that Carington had made him relay because she knew Creed would not have left her otherwise. And it was imperative that he go.
So Creed left into the snowy dusk with Massimo at his side, moving from the outer bailey of Prudhoe and out into the white-encrusted countryside beyond. His destination was Wether Fairin the midst of the Scots border, a place that even the king would not dare breach.
Carington delivered a premature daughter three days later in a complicated birth that nearly claimed her life. The babe did not survive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
January 1201 A.D.
“Ye pace enoughtae wear holes in me floor,” Sian sat in the great hall of Wether Fair, watching his massive son-in-law walk around the room. “Ye’re exhausting me, man. Sit down and enjoy yer drink.”
Creed lifted an eyebrow at him; they had entertained this conversation many times over the past three weeks, since Creed first arrived at the desolate fortress of Wether Fair.
“I would think you would show more concern than you do,” he fired back softly. “It is, after all, your grandson that your daughter is giving birth to.”
Sian made a good show at being unconcerned although inside, he was a mess. He lifted his shoulders lazily. “Worrying will not help,” he said. “She is in the hands o’God.”
Creed stopped his pacing, put his hands on his hips and chewed his lip in a nervous gesture. “Are you really so casual about this?”
Sian’s vibrant blue eyes flared at him before turning back to his drink. “Nay,” he said. “But I willna worry about something I canna control. I sent one of me men with yer priest tae Prudhoe more than a week ago; they should be returning with some news soon. So sit yerself down and drink before I take a stick tae ye. Ye’re makin’ me daft!”
The corner of Creed’s mouth twitched but he did as he was told. “I should have never left her,” he lamented forthe thousandth time. “I should not have let her talk me into running.”
Sian’s expression widened. “And if ye say that again, I am going tae run ye through,” he jabbed a finger at Creed. “Ye did what ye had tae. Had ye stayed, the king would have ye now and ye would never see yer son. Is that what ye wanted?”
Creed sighed heavily, gazing into the blazing fire; the hearth was not particularly well made and smoke billowed out to the ceiling. But he drew some comfort being where his wife was born and where she was raised. He could see her traversing the narrow stairs and walking the great hall. He even slept in her old bed just to feel close to her.
“Nay,” he muttered. “That is not what I wanted.”
“Then stop yer fretting. We will know her fate soon enough.”
Creed sighed heavily again, this time with the displeasure of the waiting game, and reclaimed his cup. He and Sian spent nearly every day here, drinking and talking, when they weren’t out riding Sian’s lands when the weather was better. But this had been a particularly brutal winter and those days were few and far between. Still, it had afforded them much time to get to know one another and Creed was not surprised to realize that he liked his father-in-law. More than that, Sian had formed a strong attachment to Creed. Now, as they sat and entertained one another, it was as friends.
“She is fine,” Creed said as if to convince himself. “I am sure that everything is fine.”
Sian’s vibrant blue gaze lingered on him. “Aye, lad. She is fine.”
So it was another day of the waiting game. The New Year came and went two days ago, but to Creed, it felt as if he had been away from his wife more than just a few weeks. It felt like forever. Massimo had stayed with him for a few days until Sian sent the priest, along with a few Scots, back to Prudhoe to seewhat had transpired. Sian and Creed were still waiting, waiting until Creed thought he would surely go mad. Every day they sat, drank, talked and waited. It was becoming so monotonous that Creed was ready to climb the walls. As the snow blew in through the small, square windows that dotted the keep, all he could think of was Prudhoe and his wife. That made him fairly useless for anything else.
As the afternoon rolled on, Sian tried to interest Creed in a game of dice. Soon they were playing for the assortment of daggers Creed had brought with him against Sian’s collection of a fermented barley drink. As they played through the afternoon, Creed ended up with not only all of his weapons, but most of Sian’s liquor. The angrier Sian became, the more humored Creed grew. He was, in fact, actually enjoying himself when the door to the great hall suddenly creaked open.
Snow blew in from Wether Fair’s bleak bailey as several bodies made their way inside. Creed was not particularly concerned, as there were always Scotsmen walking in and out of Sian’s keep, until he recognized one of the men that had escorted Massimo back to Prudhoe. With a start, he rose to his full, considerable height. His jaw began ticking as the men filtered into the hall and began removing their wet winter clothing.
Massimo was the last man in. Creed did not wait; he went right for him.
