Page 157 of Historical Hotties
It was abig escort for a little lady; three massive knights and twenty men at arms swooped into the town named after the castle. The berg of Prudhoe was a fairly large metropolis that was populated with almost as many Scots as English. It was a true border town that had persevered through generations of conflict.
Creed knew that there was a seamstress located on the second avenue of merchants, next to the main thoroughfare. It was a woman from the Teutonic region who did a good deal of sewing for Lady Anne. He took the entire party to the woman’s shop, clogging up the avenue with men and horses. As the dust kicked up with their cluttered presence, Creed dismounted his charger and moved to the small carriage that contained Carington.
She was practically hanging out of the window, inspecting her surroundings with some fear but mostly awe. Creed opened the cab door and held out a hand to her. He did not have a chance to say a word before she was bubbling over with excitement.
“’Tis such a big town,” she exclaimed softly as she put her hand in his. “I dinna know it would be so big. I saw a few Scots when we entered; did ye see them, English? They wore Douglas tartan. My da has been allied with the Douglas clan for many years. They married one of his sisters.”
She was prattling. Creed fought off a smile as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and took her to the seamstress’ shop. Even then, she continued to chatter like a magpie.
“Do ye suppose they know of my da’s alliance with Lord Richard?” she suddenly noticed the shop before he could answer. “Look at all of the fabric; I have never seen fabric like this before.”
He directed her into the crowded, dark hut. It was made from stone with only a couple of very small windows for light and ventilation. And it was stuffed to the rafters with fabrics and notions. Carington looked around in awe, tripping on her own feet because she was not paying attention to where she was going. Creed steadied her as a small, round woman approached from the rear of the shop.
The woman snapped herself in half in a brusque bow. Carington instinctively recoiled with equal swiftness because the gesture had been so abrupt. The corner of Creed’s mouth twitched as Carington scowled at the woman as if the salute had been something challenging.
“My lord,” the woman said in a heavy Teutonic accent. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Creed knew the woman vaguely; they recognized each other from the times he had escorted Anne and Richard into town. The woman was Anne’s favorite seamstress. He indicated Carington.
“Lady Anne would like to commission several gowns for her honored guest, the Lady Carington,” he replied. “I have been asked to engage your services.”
The woman turned her pale blue eyes to Carington appraisingly. Her gaze moved to the old garment she wore, perhaps noting the deteriorated condition. There was distain in her expression, quickly gone. Carington felt self-conscious as the woman mentally dissected her.
“Such a lovely lady,” the woman said after a moment. “I could make garments for her that would outshine the sun. She would look magnificent.”
“Which is why Lady Anne would entrust this task to you,” Creed replied. “Do what you must in order to accomplish it. Meanwhile, Lady Anne was hoping you would have a few garments that were already made that we could take with us until the commissioned garments were completed.”
The woman reached out and took Carington gently by the arm. She continued to scrutinize her, turning her around so she could see the width of her buttocks and the breadth of her torso. Carington’s emerald eyes fixed on Creed as the woman very nearly manhandled her. Creed gazed back steadily, reassuringly. When the woman put her hands on Carington’s waist to measure it, Carington tensed and balled up a fist. She felt the woman was becoming a bit too familiar with her. But Creed shook his head at her and she reluctantly relaxed. She relaxed further when he winked at her.
Finished with her measurements, the woman spoke. “I have three or four garments that I will prepare for you to take with you today,” she said. “How many gowns did Lady Anne wish to commission?”
Creed crossed his massive arms and braced his legs apart thoughtfully. “At least five. You will include undergarments and accessories, of course.”
“Of course,” the woman agreed. “Any preference in color or fabric?”
Creed’s eyes found Carington’s; he gazed into the emerald depths, feeling an odd liquid warmth spread across his chest. It was a delightful, unfamiliar sensation. The longer he gazed at her, the stronger the feeling became.
“Rich colors,” he told the woman, realizing he sounded gentle as he said it. He could not help it. “As you said, she is a beautiful woman. I will trust you to enhance that beauty.”
Carington smiled at him, her eyes riveted to his dusky blue orbs. She could feel her cheeks flushing as the intensity of his eyes reached out to grab her. There was an incredibly strong pull between them, something that she had noticed from the beginning of their association but had fought desperately to suppress. Within the past couple of days, her resistance to it had fled entirely. The sweet looks, the stolen kisses, his kindness to her even when she had been horrid had worked their magic. And whatever misunderstanding had occurred back at Prudhoe Castle had somehow strengthened what she was feeling for the man; she knew that she indeed felt something. She just was not sure what it was yet.
As the two of them gazed steadily at each other, the woman ran her hands across Carington’s shoulders one last time before finally releasing her.
“Give me an hour and I shall have something prepared for her,” she said.
Creed nodded his thanks and took Carington by the arm, gently escorting her to the door. Once outside in the cool sunshine, she turned to him.
“What do we do for an hour?” she asked as she looked at him, shading her eyes from the sun.
His gaze was steady upon her, his handsome face framed by the lifted visor and mail hauberk. He put his hands on his hips.
“I am sure we can find something.”
“Like what?”
By this time, Burle and Stanton had come to stand next to them. Burle was smiling at the lady while Stanton looked curiously between the four of them. But Creed only had eyes for Carington.
“More shopping, perhaps?” he suggested. “There is a merchant on the street behind us that carries all manner of goods from around the world. He has many mysterious things in his shop.”
