She sighed in his embrace, a sound of utter contentment. He could feel her body relax and her breathing grow even. Creed lay there with his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, totally unable to rest. He was taut with the sensations he was experiencing. He knew she was asleep when she rolled back towards him, wedging herself even more intimately against his body. She was half on her back, half on her left side, the side of her head up against his chin.
The black hair licked at him and he could smell the very faint scent of Elder flower in his nostrils. Christ, if she was not a sweet little thing. Slowly, he rubbed his stubbled cheek against the black head, just once, feeling the silken strands against his skin. It had been so long since he had felt anything even remotely feminine that he was almost giddy with it. But he dare not do more. He should not have even done that.
As the night progressed, he could feel himself gradually relaxing. It was hard not to find comfort with her soft little body against him. He was not aware when he finally drifted off to sleep, but when he awoke a few hours later, his first realization was that Carington was now facing him, pressed up against him as far as she could go, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he wondered if he had not unknowingly orchestrated the death-embrace they seemed to be positioned in. His logical mind was thinking one thing but his body was apparently thinking another. She was warm, soft and wonderful, and his male impulse, even in sleep, had acted naturally. Her face was in his neck, her hot breath against his skin.
Hating himself, allowing a stolen moment to enjoy the sensation, he tightened his grip and drifted back off to sleep again.
Carington awoke at dawn to find herself quite alone by the cold vizier.
CHAPTER FIVE
Without a horse, she had been given the choice of riding with Creed or in the wagon. Because Creed had disappeared before she had awoken and when he returned seemed distant and cold, she chose the wagon. It was not the most comfortable of rides, but it was better than sitting with someone who clearly disliked her.
The escort moved out at dawn, heading south. Carington overheard Ryton say that they should arrive by the nooning meal. With that awareness, her nervousness began to take root. She had no idea what to expect or what her escorts would tell Lord Richard of her behavior. She was back to feeling alone, frightened and defiant. She did not even have Bress to bring comfort. Without Creed’s kind support as the only Sassenach who seemed willing to tolerate her, she was retreating into her shell.
Creed rode slightly behind the wagon, just close enough to keep an eye on her but not close enough so that he had to talk to her. Perched beside the soldier driving the team, Carington ignored him just as he was ignoring her. She was not about to show him just how troubled she really was. Ryton was up at the head of the column, Stanton and Burle in relatively close proximity to the front of the wagon, but Jory was nowhere to be found. As the column rode for one solid hour in silence, then two, the morning around them brightened as the landscape flattened out somewhat. Carington had never been this far south before and turned her attention to the lands beyond.
Clad in a soft linen shift and a scarlet surcoat that was striking against her dark coloring, she was enjoying the weak warmth of the sun. Her dusty tartan was folded neatly beside her on the wagon seat. Her long, curling dark hair was pulled back away from her face, secured at the back of her head with a butterfly-shaped pin her father had given her and her lips were coated with the Elder flower oil, giving the slightly-pink lips a glossy sheen. She was unaware that there was not one man in the escort that did not think she was delightful to look at, including and especially Creed.
Aye, he was riding behind her, but it was mostly for self-protection. He had been both disappointed and glad when she had chosen to ride in the wagon. He had never slept so well as he had with her in his arms and the knowledge confused him greatly. He did not want to be her protector in the first place and was angry at himself for being glad that he was. It was stupid. He was stupid. As he watched the back of her dark head, lost in thought, he was caught off guard when Jory suddenly rode up beside the wagon.
The young knight was in fine form that morning, seemingly happier than he had been in a long time. He flipped up his three-point visor as he focused his unwanted attention on Carington.
“My lady looks well today,” his brown eyes glittered as he spoke to her. “Did you sleep well?”
Creed could see Carington stiffen, turning to Jory with great contempt in her manner. “Well enough,” she replied in a clipped tone.
Creed spurred his charger forward, closer to the wagon, as Jory continued. “And your sup,” Jory went on. “Did you enjoy that as well?”
She looked at him, wondering why he looked so pleased with himself. She had no idea why the man was even talking to her after two hours of total silence.
“It was fine,” she said as she turned away from him.
By this time, Creed was on the opposite side of the wagon, turning up his visor and glaring daggers at Jory.
“Leave the lady alone, d’Eneas,” he growled threateningly.
The brown-eyed knight lifted an eyebrow. “Why? I am doing nothing harmful. I merely asked how her supper was.”
“You will keep silent and move back to your post.”
Jory’s smug expression faded. “You are not my commander, de Reyne.” He refocused on the lady. “You have Creed to thank for the evening’s meal, you know. Without him, we would not have had such a feast.”
Stanton and Burle turned around to see what was transpiring; they both knew what had happened, well after the fact, and were disgusted with Jory’s underhanded actions. Creed had sought them out that morning just after dawn to find out what they had known about it. Neither man had been aware that the lady’s dead horse had been on the menu; their squires had brought them supper and they had not questioned the lads as to what it was. Upon questioning the boys, the squires proceeded to inform the knights that Sir Jory had instructed them to feed the army from the smoldering horse. He had, in fact, cut the meat himself.
The normally very calm and very cool Creed had been mad enough to kill after that. Only his brother’s intervention and promise of punishment from Lord Richard had kept him from snapping Jory’s neck. The knights had vowed not to say anything to the lady, for obvious reasons. But Jory had not been a part of that vow.
Much to Creed’s horror, Jory was apparently intent on letting the lady in on his sick little joke. Not a word all morning and suddenly the man was running amuck at the mouth. Before Creed could issue another threat to him, Carington replied to Jory’s statement.
“What feast?” she inquired, looking first to Jory and then to Creed. “What feast does he mean?”
Creed met her inquisitive gaze. “The bread and cheese, I am sure,” he said quietly, mostly because he did not want Jory to hear him and contradict him. “I did nothing more than bring it to you. I would hardly call that a feast.”
“He is much too modest,” Jory had indeed heard him, now gleefully shouting it out for all to hear. “He cooked your horse for all of us. We feasted on your tough Scottish steed last night. Did you not recognize the flavor?”
Carington looked to the foolish young knight as he spoke the words, not truly understanding him for a few moments. But as the words settled and became understood, Carington’s emerald eyes flew open so wide that they nearly popped from their sockets. Horrified, her hands flew to her mouth and she looked to Creed with an expression of panicked accusation. His dusky blue eyes were steady and intense.
“My lady,” he began, feeling as if he was about to stem a mighty flood with a toy shovel. He could see the chaos in her eyes. “’Tis not as he makes it sound. It was.…”
She screamed with horror. Before Creed could grab her, she was bolting off of the wagon, landing on her bum just behind his charger, and scrambling to her feet. As she screamed again and ran off, he reined his charger around and tore off after her. Together they p
lunged into the bramble, one after the other. What Creed did not see was Burle rein his horse in Jory’s direction and slug the knight so hard in the face that he toppled off and cracked his head on the side of the wagon. At the moment, Creed was only concerned with a hysterical young lady.
Carington was crying uncontrollably, running full bore like a crazy woman. Creed leapt off his charger, caught her around the torso, and they both tumbled into the tall grass. Once he had her on the ground, he could feel her supple body start to heave. With his arms around her, she proceeded to vomit up everything she had eaten over the past day and then some. Even when there was nothing left, she still continued to retch. Creed just held her.
“’Tis all right, Cari,” he murmured. His helm was bumping against her heaving head and he tossed it off, hearing it land several feet away. “’Tis all right, honey. Just relax. Relax and breathe.”
She heard his words, soft and soothing, but she could not do as he asked. She was ill, verging on a faint. Horrified beyond description, she went limp against him. The heaving had stopped for the moment but still the tears came. Creed sighed heavily with great regret, and held her tightly against him.
“I am so sorry,” he breathed against her dark hair. “I did not know what had happened until it was too late. None of us did.”
Carington’s hand was at her mouth, covering it, as she struggled to breathe. “I… I ate him!”
It all came out as a strangled cry that cut him to the bone. “I know, honey, I know,” Creed’s gloved hand was on her forehead, holding her head against his shoulder in an effort to both support and comfort her. “But I stopped you before you went too far. I am only sorry that I did not prevent the entire circumstance.”
“You cooked him!”
“Nay, lass, I did not cook him. I was burning the carcass and the men smelled the meat cooking and thought it was for eating. It was all a horrible mistake.”
She wept as if her heart was broken. Creed heard footfalls crunching in the grass behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Ryton and Burle standing several feet away. His brother looked sickened while Burle just looked angry.
“Get her up, Creed,” Ryton said quietly. “Do not let her wallow in this. We must be on our way.”
“Give her a minute, for Christ’s sake,” Creed snapped softly. “Keep moving. I will catch up to you when she has calmed sufficiently.”
Ryton’s gaze was fixed on his brother, apparently trying to keep the hysterical hostage from running any further by the grip he had on her. As he watched, the lady heaved again and more stomach contents ended up on the mashed grass. With a heavy sigh, he motioned Burle back to his charger.
“Do not be too long, then,” he said to his brother. “Lord Richard is expecting us around noon. We cannot delay.”
Creed gave him a brief nod, feeling the lady’s body convulse under him once again as her stomach struggled to bring up more bile. “It would be wise if you kept Jory out of my sight,” he rumbled. “I cannot guarantee my control if I see him.”
“I will take care of d’Eneas, have no doubt,” Ryton replied. “You tend the lady. And do not be over long with it.”
Ryton’s footfalls faded across the grass, leaving Creed and Carington alone in the cluster of trees. Creed returned his focus to the lady, no longer retching but struggling to calm her breathing. The hysteria of tears had faded to a soft weeping and he continued to hold her in silence, feeling tremendously guilty. At some point, he started to rock her gently, as one would an ill child. It was an instinct and nothing more. Carington clung to his big arm with one hand, the other still pressed against her mouth.
“Ye knew,” she said it so softly that he hardly heard her. “That is why ye took the meat away from me last night. Ye knew and ye didna tell me. Ye knew and said nothing!”
There was an accusation in the statement. Creed rocked back on his heels, shifting her so that she was sitting on his thighs and off of the cold, dirty grass.
“You still would not know if I had any say in the matter,” he said frankly. “I did not expect Jory to announce it to you but I suppose I should have. The man is an idiot.”
“I told ye that I dinna like him,” her voice was a breathy whisper. “He is evil and malicious. Any man who would… who would.…”
She was beginning to sob anew and he shushed her softly. “No more,” he said. “You are going to make yourself ill. What is done is done. It is over with. You have expelled your grief and we must move beyond it.”
“I canna move beyond it. Could ye?”
“I would have to if there were more important things on the horizon, such as meeting the family I am going to live with for the next few years. You do not want them to meet a red-eyed and pale faced woman, do you?”
“I dunna care what they think!” she spat, regaining some of the fire he was becoming familiar with. “If they think ill of me, I dunna care.”
He lifted an eyebrow; she was starting to sound like her old self and he stood up, taking her with him. “Aye, you do,” he said evenly. “You are a strong woman. You will show them this.”
It was a good thing that Creed had a strong grip on her because her knees were very unsteady. Her hands were still on her mouth, tears still in her eyes. She folded over at the waist.
“Sweet Jesus,” she wept softy. “My sweet Bress.”
He still held her, one big arm around her torso as she bent over and retched one last time. He found himself pulling her long hair back, out of the way, so it would not become soiled.
“Cari,” he said softly. “I know you are upset. But you must get hold of yourself. Please, honey. It is important.”
She remained folded in half, breathing loudly, struggling to catch her wind. But her hands and legs were feeling strangely tingly, strangely light. As Creed continued to hold her, she suddenly went limp and he had to put both arms around her to keep her from tumbling into the grass. Knowing she had passed out from sheer nerves, and rather relieved that she had if only to force calm upon her, he carefully collected her into his arms and went in search of his horse.
The charger was several yards away, munching on plump green grass. Creed shifted Carington in his arms, a mere featherweight to his strength, and gazed into her pale, lovely face. She’d certainly had a rough time of it already and the day was not even over yet.
“’Tis all right, honey,” he murmured, though she could not hear him. “You needn’t worry over anything any longer. I’m here.”
They caught up to the column in little time. Creed saw the bloodied welt on the side of Jory’s face but did not ask where he got it. He had an inkling that he already knew.
Prudhoe was a truly impressive sight to see. Built on a strategic crossing over the River Tyne, it sat atop a massive motte that was at least one hundred years old. The castle was unique in that there was a good deal of heavy trees around it, almost right up to the massive wall that encircled the castle. When the bastion had suffered through a bad siege from the Scots about thirty years prior, those trees had proven strategically detrimental to the defense of the castle. The Scots climbed them and launched their weapons from their branches. But the great oaks had stood there hundreds of years and they still stood to this day. No one seemed to have the heart to cut down the mighty grove.
Carington sat behind Creed, her arms wrapped around his trim waist, her eyes drinking in the sight of her new home. Until this very moment, the castle had been a theory, a dream, certainly nothing real. Now that she saw it in all its glory, it was a terrifying and awesome sight. Although she had been calm for a few hours, her nerves began to return again. Stomach twitching at the sight of the mighty bastion, she turned her head away so she would not have to look. She laid her cheek miserably on the plate protection covering Creed’s back.
The day was going from bad to worse. She did not know what she had expected, but the enormous castle shocked her. It was gloomy and foreboding even in the bright sunlight. She could feel the doom radiating off of
the gray stone, a silent testimony to her dismal future. Face still against his back, she watched the giant oak trees pass by as they plodded along the road towards their destination.
“Sir Creed?” she asked quietly.
“Just Creed,” he reminded her.
Since the episode a few hours ago, he had been inordinately considerate with her. It was as if that experience had somehow bonded them together, a new element added to their association. It had brought it to another level, a level of comfort and trust. She was not sure if he still entirely trusted her, but she was coming to trust him. It was an important milestone.
“Are ye going to be my shadow even at the castle?” she asked.
He could feel her leaning against him, her slight body weary and drained. “I am my lady’s shadow wherever she goes.”
“I feel better knowing that,” she said softly. “I dunna know anyone but you.”
“Untrue,” he said. “You know Sir Ryton and Sir Stanton and Sir Burle. They will be your protectors as well.”
“I hit Sir Stanton in the face. I dunna believe he has forgiven me for that.”
Creed thought about the young knight he knew, the one who had too much compassion and pity for his own good. “Aye, he has. You needn’t worry over Stan. He would protect you with his life.”
She digested that a moment. “But the big man… what is his name? I wasna very nice to him; I yelled at him. I dunna believe he likes me, either.”
Creed glanced over his left shoulder, seeing Burle and Stanton several yards behind him and Jory almost to the rear of the column as if exiled there. He turned back around. “Did you see the injury to Jory’s face?”
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