Page 209 of Historical Hotties
Annabella suddenly appeared, carrying her satchel with her. She was a lovely girl with her father’s dark hair and dusky blue eyes. She had his temperament, too. She smiled at her mother as the only obedient child in the lot. Carington touched her daughter’s cheek affectionately and indicated the open entry.
“Go to yer father,” she instructed. “Yer brothers and the nurses are already in the carriage.”
“Can I hold Ramsey, Mama?” Annabella wanted to know. “Emma always gets to hold him and I want to hold him for a while. Please?”
Ramsey Ryton de Reyne was three months old, a fair haired son that was beginning to look a good deal like his long-dead name sake. Carington nodded shortly, trying to hasten her daughter out the door.
“Aye, of course,” she said hurriedly. “Now scoot.”
Annabella disappeared out the entry as Carington turned back towards the stairs; one daughter down and five to go. She could hear her youngest daughter’s saucy voice, a child who she had personally dressed an hour ago. She had been ready to go then and Carington was at a loss to understand the delay. She hollered up the stairs again.
“Rossalyn de Reyne!” she snapped. “Ye come down here this instant. If I have to go up and get ye, ye’ll be sorry!”
Little Rossalyn appeared on the stairs as if by magic. The spitting image of her dark haired, green-eyed mother, she looked like a little porcelain doll. Her father was especially attached to her.. Rossalyn took the stairs timidly and Carington reached up to lift her off the last several steps. She gently set the child down.
“What are yer sisters doing up there?” she asked.
Rossalyn was as sassy as a jaybird. She lifted her shoulders disinterestedly. “I do not know,” she fidgeted. “Mama, can I have some cake?”
“Not-a now,” Carington took the child’s hand and forced her to stand next to her. “Stand here with me and be a good lass.”
As Carington and her squirming daughter waited for the next wave of girls to descend the stairs, a scream suddenly caught their attention. Carington looked to the keep entry in time to see her eighteen month old son Cormac burst through the door with his father hot on his heels. Creed grabbed the boy before he could run any further, swinging him up in the air and listening to him squeal. As he kissed the boy’s red cheeks and the baby shoved at him, trying to break free, Creed’s gaze fell on his wife and youngest daughter.
“He got away from me,” he explained as Cormac tried to twist his way out of his father’s iron grip. “Where are the rest of the girls? Annabella is the only one in the carriage.”
Carington nodded with limited patience. “I have been attempting to get them downstairs.” She raised her voice so that those upstairs would hear her. “I am about to go up there and blister backsides.”
Creed knew she meant it. He handed Cormac over to his mother. “Let me see if I can impress upon them the importance of getting themselves down to the carriage before their mother lets loose.”
Carington repressed a grin as Creed took the steps. “Dunna coddle them, Creed,” she said sternly. “They’ll only argue with ye.”
Creed waved a patient hand at her as he maneuvered his enormous shoulders through the narrow stairwell. The first face he came into contact with was Emma; gorgeous, blond and blue eyed Emma was the image of her father, Stanton. But those years ago when Carrington had tended the newborn had seen the two irrevocably bonded. Stanton allowed Carington to take his infant daughter and raise her as her own, something Creed was not displeased with. She was such a sweet, delightful girl that Creed could not have loved her more had she been his own flesh. He smiled at her as she went to him for an affectionate hug.
“Where are your sisters, Em?” he kissed her on the top of the head. “Your mother is about to have fits.”
As if on cue, Cora, Gaira and Moira emerged from their large, shared chamber with their arms full of bags and blankets. They began thrusting the items at their father, who held out his enormous arms to accommodate the clutter. They piled it on.
“Dada, I want to wear Cora’s green traveling cloak but she will not let me,” Gaira complained. “Tell her that she must let me use it, please?”
Creed shook his head. “If she does not want you to wear it then that is her choice,” he said evenly. “You have many other cloaks to choose from.”
Gaira’s lip stuck out in a pout, much as her mother’s did in times of displeasure. She did, in fact, look a good deal like her fine-featured mother and Creed kissed the little girl on the forehead. “Your blue cloak is lovely, honey. Please wear that one; it would make me happy.”
Gaira brightened, though only slightly. “Very well,” she said, turning for the chamber. She happened to pass Cora on the way in and she stuck her tongue out at her. “Selfish.”
Cora stuck her tongue out in return but did not pause on her way out of the chamber. She went straight to her father. “Dada, how long are we staying at Prudhoe?”
“For a few days,” he replied. “Until Gilbert’s wedding is complete. Are you ready to leave? We must hurry.”
Cora was another fair-haired child in a family that was dominated by black hair. But she had brown eyes when no one else in the family did and was already quite the doe-eyed beauty. Fussing with the traveling cloak that her sister had so wanted to wear, she indicated to her father to help her secure it. He obeyed and fastened the ties.
“Will there be dancing at the wedding feast?” Cora turned to him, adjusting her collar.
Creed nodded. “I would expect so.”
Cora cocked her head thoughtfully. “And plenty of young men?”
This time, Creed’s composure took a hit. He puffed out his cheeks. “Good lord, lass; you are only nine years old. Why are you asking about young men?”
