Page 128 of Historical Hotties
“’Tis his fault,” he said, rising on his massive legs. “He is the one who named you.”
Carington shook her head. “Nay, my mother did. Her family name was Carington.”
“I see,” his gaze seemed to linger on her overlong. “I like Cari better. It suits you.”
“Why would ye say that?”
He lifted those enormous shoulders, shrugging as he looked around to see if the squires had stocked the tent with something for him to sit on. “’Tis a sweet name. Petite, like you are.”
A bashful smile crossed her lips and she looked at the ground. “Kind words, Sir Knight,” she said so quietly that he almost did not hear her. “After today, I dinna expect any from ye.”
Not finding anything to sit on, he just stood there, fists on his hips as he gazed down at her. It seemed to be his favorite way to stand. “You certainly do not deserve any.”
Her head shot up, the emerald eyes flashing at him. “Ah, so now it comes. I knew ye were simply biding yer time until yewere ready to let loose on me.” She stood up, matching his fist-on-hips stance. “Well, out with it, then. Do yer worst. Ye canna make me feel any worse than I already do.”
He just looked at her. A snort suddenly bubbled up as he struggled to fight off a grin. “You are faster to rise to anger than anyone I have ever seen. Does it not exhaust you expending that much effort?”
His smirk had her unbalanced. “Do ye taunt me, then?”
He shook his head, still snorting as he turned away from her. “God, no. You would probably gouge my eyes out or rip off my ears if I did.”
Now it was her turn to struggle against a smirk. “Ye’d be lucky if that was all I did to ye.”
He turned to look at her, a full-blown grin on his face. “I have no doubt, Lady Cari. No doubt whatsoever.”
They just grinned at each other, her with a furrowed brow as if she were trying to be stern about it and him with an open expression. It was the first moment of levity they had experienced between them and it was an agreeable one.
“And it’s just Cari, not Lady Cari,” she told him for good measure. “Lady Cari sounds like a disease and I dunna like it.”
He burst out in laughter, his big body shaking with mirth. Carington watched him laugh, enchanted by the straight white teeth and deep dimples that carved big ruts down each cheek. “Christ, you are a spitfire.” He was at the tent flap with the intention on searching for the person or persons bringing their meal, but his gaze lingered on her instead of the encampment beyond. “Very well, my lady. Just Cari.”
She nodded shortly at him as if she had just won a great argument. The smile was still on her lips as she resumed her stool and he tore his gaze away from her long enough to search for their errant meal. He spied his squires across the camp,hands laden as they headed in his direction. He lowered the tent flap and turned back to her.
“I hope you are hungry,” he said. “It looks as if my squires are bringing quite a feast.”
“I am,” she said, suddenly quite famished. “I could eat a horse.”
James and Steven entered the tent carrying trays of steaming food; hunks of meat, bread, and a large slab of white cheese. Creed had the boys set the trays on the bedroll, next to Carington, and they did so with quiet efficiency. As they quit the tent, Carington took a large piece of meat for herself and bit into it with gusto.
Creed lowered his big body down on the bedroll, reaching for another large slab of meat. It was steamy, almost undercooked, but he did not care. He was starving. But the moment he took a bite and sampled the tough, gamey flavor, his chewing came to a halt. He stared at the meat. Carington noticed his puzzled expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it not to yer liking?”
He did not say a word, but a flicker of something very disturbing ignited deep in his mind. He put his hand on her wrist, lowering the meat from her mouth.
“Do not eat that,” he said quietly. “Eat the bread and cheese. I shall return.”
Confusion swept her as she looked down at the meat. “It seems all right,” she suddenly looked stricken. “Do ye think someone has poisoned it?”
He shook his head, rising on his big legs and making his way to the tent flap. “Eat the bread,” he repeated.
“What on earth is the matter?” she licked her fingers of the meat’s grease. “The meat tastes fine. ’Tis venison, is it not?” She licked her fingers again, a puzzled look crossing her finefeatures. “But it does not have such a strong flavor. And it ’tis a bit tough. What kind of meat is it?”
He paused at the tent flap, unable to say what he was thinking.I could eat a horse. Her words echoed horribly in his head. Across the compound, the distant pyre of Bress was burning and he could see, even at a distance, what had happened. His stomach rolled.
Fresh meat was cooking. The soldiers saw no reason to hunt or cook anything else. Horsemeat was tough, but it was not inedible. They would not let Bress go to waste. They were soldiers, hard and bred, and knew when to take advantage of a feast. Then his eyes narrowed, for walking across the encampment was Jory with a massive wooden trencher of meat in his hand. He saw Creed, several yards away, and his brown eyes lit up. He grinned, popped a piece of meat in his mouth, and continued along his way.
Creed’s jaw began to tick; had he possessed any less control, he would have throttled the man there and now. But to do so would more than likely let the lady in on the dark secret. For now, he had to let it go, but the veins in his temples throbbed something fierce. It suddenly occurred to him that he knew who butchered the burning horse and it further occurred to him that his brother probably had not known. Ryton would have never allowed it. But now it was too late to do anything about it.
