Page 125 of Historical Hotties
She took a timid step towards him, emerald eyes riveted to moody, dusky blue. “Could I come with ye? I would like to be with him while you… when you….”
She trailed off, hoping he could read her mind and know what she meant. She could not even bring herself to say it. Creed wondered if she had the stomach to watch it; for her own sake, he doubted it.
He shook his head. “My lady, you should remember your horse as he was, strong and beautiful and whole. I would not want your last memory of him to be a stiffening carcass going up in flames.”
Her face paled, at both the description and the denial, but she remarkably held her tongue.
She watched him walk from the tent, the big man with the enormous hands. She wondered if she could repair whatever trust she had damaged, but in the same thought, she wondered if she might not make another attempt. It simply was not in her nature to surrender, no matter how foolish or tragic the results.
As Creed quit the tent, he spied Burle immediately. The fat knight was several feet away, driving stakes into the ground to secure another tent. Creed called to him and the man made his way over to him, his armor jiggling on his fat rolls. His thinning blond hair was standing up in wispy strands, blowing lightly in the breeze. It looked like a crown of feathers.
“My lord?” he asked politely.
Creed gestured to the tent. “Stay with her. Do not let her out of your sight. I am going to see to her horse.”
Burle nodded. “Would you have me inside or outside?”
Creed thought a moment; though he was sure the lady would prefer to rest alone, he would admit he felt better having her escort by her side. Especially Burle; the man was as strong as ten men, but due to his flab he could not outrun an infant. At least if he was next to her, he would have a chance of grabbing her before she got away from him.
“Inside,” he threw a thumb back at the tent.
Burle nodded shortly and the bear of a man went to the tent, disappearing inside. Fighting off a smirk at the thought of the lady’s reaction when she saw the big knight seated beside her like a watchdog, Creed headed off in the direction of the dead horse.
By the time Creed reached the carcass, Jory had commandeered a few men at arms to haul the animal to an area where they could get a good fire going. Four men had tied ropes to the horse and were dragging it towards the road where there was more dirt and less wet grass. As he approached Jory, he realized that his anger, so recently fled, was returning at the sight of him. On behalf of the lady, he was outraged.
“I would have a word with you, d’Eneas.”
The young knight with the brown eyes gazed at him warily. “What would that be?”
“Privately.”
“You can say whatever you have to say right here.”
Though Creed was beckoning him out of the hearing range of the men, Jory was not obeying. Irritation growing, Creed stood next to him, easily twice his size and several times his strength, and breathed down into his pale, sweaty face.
“I saw you relieve yourself on this animal,” he rumbled. “What’s more, the lady saw you. Would you care to give me a reason for your display before I take your head off?”
Jory was intimidated by him, that much was clear. Still, he put up a weak front. “Why are you so concerned about a deadanimal?” he asked, almost flippantly. “’Tis just a dead beast that belonged to that Scots wench. Why do you care so much about it?”
Creed’s jaw ticked, never a good sign. “Perhaps no one ever explained to you the rights and wrongs of proper conduct. It is right to treat a hostage as a guest, no matter what her lineage. It is wrong to show such disregard to her, and the living in general, by befouling an object that meant something to someone. Why is it so difficult for you to conduct yourself with restraint and common sense?”
Jory lifted a black eyebrow. “You should have been the first one to pee on the horse, de Reyne. She shamed you most of all by running from you. Do not take your anger out on me for your lack of control over the lady.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but strangely, Creed’s anger went no further. He was beginning to feel a good deal of contempt, and contempt ran like ice through is veins.
“Jory,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “You and I are going to come to an understanding here and now. On the battlefield, I shall defend your life as necessary because we serve together. But off the battlefield, my loyalty to you ends. I pounded you when you attacked the lady last night but I should have wrung your damnable neck. The next time I see or hear of an offense against Lady Carington, in any shape or form, you will meet with a beating the likes of which you are unlikely to fully recover from. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Jory’s smug expression was gone. “Are you threatening me? I shall go to Lord Richard if you are. He will send you back to the king so you can face off against those charges that are lodged against you.”
Creed had visions of wrapping his hands around Jory’s neck and squeezing him until his head exploded. But he kept his hands at his sides. And he kept his cool.
“One more offense and you will pay.”
“You do not frighten me, de Reyne.”
“Then that is your most grave mistake.”
With that, he turned on his heel and marched up on the men who were hauling Bress’ carcass. After a few short orders, he had the men dropping the ropes and running for shovels. They would dig a pit to fire the carcass in and be done with it. As the men began to shovel out a pit, Creed stood over the big blond animal, crossed himself, and muttered a prayer. He had, after all, promised.
