Page 204 of Historical Hotties
There was something in Burle’s gaze that made de La Londe dare to glance around him; there was an implied threat in the knight’s voice that went beyond the normal rhetoric. He caught a glimpse of archers on the parapets, their arrows aimed at him. One word from Burle and they would unleash a rain of death. But de La Londe remained cool; he knew he held the larger advantage and he intended to use it.
“Open the gates,” he ordered quietly. “We are leaving.”
Burle continued to meet his gaze. He was preparing to reply when Richard came rushing in from the inner bailey, his dark eyes wide with surprise and anger. He pushed through the cluster of knights and soldiers, putting himself in between Burle and de La Londe. He held up his hands in a quelling gesture.
“Gentlemen, I beg for calm,” he said quickly, looking at Carington in de La Londe’s cruel grasp. “Knight, what are you doing with the lady?”
De La Londe lifted an eyebrow. “I am taking her to London to stand trial for her husband’s crimes. This is the king’s command.”
Richard’s dark eyes morphed into cool, simmering intensity as he put his hands down, slowly. “This lady only gave birth less than a month ago and nearly died in the process. She is still recovering. You cannot risk her over hundreds of miles of open road.”
“I care not for her health, my lord.”
“You are a knight. It is within your code to protect the weak.”
“It is within my code to obey the king above all things.”
Richard cocked his head in disbelief. “Do you want a prisoner so badly that you would portray the actions of a dishonorable knight by savaging a lady? If taking a prisoner is so important, then go find her husband. He is your true target. Capturing a small, unhealthy woman is cowardly.”
Something menacing flickered in de La Londe’s expression but was quickly gone.
“Unlike you, my lord, I follow the king’s orders,” he rumbled. “I do not hide fugitives from the king’s justice.”
Richard lifted an eyebrow. “If I were you, I would watch my tongue. I would be well within my rights to have you punished for slander.”
De La Londe knew his limits and backed down; he would not tangle with an earl. “You would indeed, my lord, but I plan to leave Prudhoe at this moment. My punishment will have to wait.”
It looked like there was no way out for Carington and she was verging on panic. But the sentries on the walls suddenly began shouting, distracting those in the bailey from theincreasingly volatile situation. The soldiers near the gatehouse were apparently very excited about something. Burle did not move, nor did Lord Richard, so Stanton and the two young knights raced up to the battlements to see what the commotion was about. All movement in the bailey seemed to cease for a moment as everyone’s attention was diverted to the parapets.
Stanton did not move for quite some time; it was apparent that he was studying whatever had the sentries so excited. Then he began waving his arms at the soldiers at the main gate, who bolted into action and began churning open the great oak panels. The portcullis began wheeling up. When all was in motion, Stanton slid down the ladder to the bailey below, jogging back towards Burle and the others with his mail jingling a crazy tune. He was winded by the time he reached them.
“What is happening?” Lord Richard demanded.
Stanton’s blue eyes looked from his liege, to Burle, and finally to Carington. He was staring at her when he spoke.
“Creed is coming.”
Richard and Burle passed shocked glances. “Are you sure?” Richard asked.
“Sure enough, my lord. I can recognize the man’s armor from a mile away,” Stanton looked at his liege. “It looks as if he has brought an army of Scots with him, but more than that, I saw Hexham banners as well.”
Richard’s eyebrows flew up. “Kerr and Hexham united?”
Stanton couldn’t help the smile of satisfaction that flickered across his lips. “United behind Creed.”
As Richard and the others pondered the amazing scenario, Carington suddenly went mad. She began to fight crazily, jabbing de La Londe’s dagger into her neck enough to cause a small blemish that streamed a tiny river of blood. It was a sheer miracle that she had not impaled herself as she struggled.
“Nay!” she screamed. “Tell him to go! Tell him to turn back! I will go to London in his stead; I am not afraid!”
De La Londe still had her by the hair so there was not much opportunity for her to fight him, but she was making a valiant attempt. He was forced to drop the dirk and put a big arm around her to keep her from flying out of control.
“Still yourself, woman,” he growled.
But Carington ignored him. “Burle!” she was focused on the big Prudhoe knight. “Tell him to turn around! Tell him…!”
De La Londe managed to slap a hand over her mouth. In Carington’s weakened state, it did not take long for her to wind herself. She simply did not have the strength she once did. Tears began to replace the energy so recently expended and she wept softly against de La Londe’s hand. She tried to speak, several times, but her words were muffled against his glove. More than that, de La Londe’s attention was now diverted to the open gates of Prudhoe; everyone’s was.
An odd scene was unfolding before their eyes. Beyond the yawning gates, they could see a vast assortment of men in various stages of battle dress. Hexham colors flew overhead. But the strangest thing of all was that there were indeed a good many Scots intertwined with the English, their dark tartans seen against the white landscape.
