Page 130 of Historical Hotties
“Proper or not, it is nonetheless warm. Are you going to argue with me all night or do you intend to accept it, shut up, and go to sleep?”
She twisted her neck back to look at him; his face was hovering over her left shoulder, his dusky blue eyes holdingnothing lascivious or indecent. In fact, he looked rather neutral about the whole thing and for some reason, she was disappointed. Nay, not disappointed, but certainly she had thought he would treat her more than just a bit of furniture. He might as well have been holding a chair for all of the warmth she saw in his eyes. What had she expected?
Frustrated at her foolish thoughts, she struggled to remain neutral as well. “I willna refuse ye if ye are so determined to help me,” she mumbled, turning around so she would not have to look at him. “I will sleep now.”
Creed did not reply. With her gathered in his arms, he lay on his left side and took her with him. She was still stiff as he shifted her around to find a comfortable position, but gradually, she began to relax. The initial awkward moments were fading as comfort set in. She settled back against him, wriggling her bum in an effort to get closer to his heat, and he had to close his eyes against the sweetness of it. He had seen the shape of that particular part of her body and it was round and perfect. Now it was brushing against his groin, although there were several layers of fabric in between them. He had to close his eyes, focus on something else, or all would be lost.
He did not know what possessed him to wrap himself around her in the first place, only that she was so cold that her face was pale and her nose was red. He gave off heat like a bonfire. His instincts took over, whether chivalrous instincts or just plain male instincts, he did not know. But now that he had her in his arms, he was sorely regretting it and sorely pleased with it all at the same time.
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 backtowards 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.
