Page 161 of Historical Hotties
“I trust you had a pleasant trip?”
She thought a moment about her trip from Wether Fair; the long days, the death of Bress. She could not muster the strength for a fabricated reply.
“It was not worth remembering, m’lord.”
Galen glanced at Creed at her strange answer. “I hope you have at least found English hospitality to be warm.”
“Warm enough,” Carington looked at Creed. “Sir Creed has been very kind.”
Galen grinned faintly as he also looked at Creed. “That is because Creed is a man of astonishing patience and amiability,” he replied, his gaze moving back to Carington. “Then I will wish you a good stay at Prudhoe, my lady. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”
With a lingering glance at the petite Scots, he turned away and went back to his ale and pork. Carington watched him go, turning to Creed only to notice that he was gazing intently at her. She smiled timidly.
“Why do ye look at me so?” she asked.
His gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer before answering. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Is that not reason enough?”
She flushed furiously and lowered her eyes, too overwhelmed for a snappy reply. In fact, it was the first time he had so openly complimented her. Any other time that he had come close to praising her, she had to practically drag it out of him.
Creed’s eyes twinkled at her discomfort. He patted the hand that was still on his elbow. “Let us go and see if your garments are ready,” he took pity on her. “I think enough time has passed.”
The change of subject was welcome and she nodded, happily accompanying him across the dirt avenue. But they did not quite make it to the seamstress’ shop before a knight and ten men at arms suddenly rounded the corner of the avenue and charged straight for them.
It was loud and startling; dust flew into the air and horses snorted. Creed was not particularly worried because Burle, Stanton, Galen and the three other Hexham knights were only a dozen or so feet away. They were close enough and armedenough should any hostilities begin. But it took Creed a moment to realize that the intruding knight was Ryton and oddly enough, only then did his guard go up. There was no reason why his brother should be here unless something unpleasant had occurred. He did not even want to guess.
He left Carington standing a few feet away as he walked up to his brother, who had now come to a halt. The horse danced around and Creed cuffed it in the neck when the beast came too close to him.
“What is wrong?” he asked his brother before the man could speak.
Ryton flipped up his visor, his dusky blue eyes focusing on Creed. “You must return immediately,” he lowered his voice before his brother could press him. “A papal representative is at Prudhoe. He wants to speak with you.”
Creed just stared at him. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“No questions, Creed. Just come.”
Creed, in fact, did not have to ask any more questions; he already knew the answers. God help him, he knew. He met his brother’s gaze and silent words of confirmation passed between them; so the rumors Jory told us of were true. Creed’s stomach tightened with anxiety but he managed to maintain his composure. He merely nodded his head and turned to Burle.
“Take the lady in hand, de Tarquinus,” he told the big blond knight. “I am required back at Prudhoe.”
Much to her credit, Carington did not call out to him or demand to know why he was leaving her. She simply stood there and watched as he moved to collect his charger, mounted, and galloped off with his brother. Even when Burle and Stanton joined her and gently took her in the direction of the seamstress, she did not ask questions and she did not utter a sound. Something in the expression on Creed’s face told her it was better if she did not.
*
His name wasMassimo. He was not English; he was straight from the heart of Rome where the pope had appointed him a special papal legate to London. His superior was the Bishop of London but he answered directly to Rome. He was surprisingly young and well-spoken, but beneath the youth and tact lay the heart of a hunter. Massimo was on a hunt on behalf of the church and he would have his answers.
Creed sensed that from the onset. Father Massimo was in the small solar of Prudhoe where Lady Anne had settled him. Upon his return to the castle, Creed was directed into the solar by his brother and the door was shut behind him. Alone with the priest, Creed stood by the door with his legs braced apart and his arms folded. All that he had been trying to forget over the past six months was swamping him again like an unwelcome tide and he was growing uncharacteristically furious; furious at the girl-queen, furious at the king and furious that the circumstance had happened in the first place. He was holding a particular hate for the church at the moment for stirring up the bad memories.
Massimo was polite as he introduced himself and asked Creed to sit. The knight did so reluctantly, perching himself on the edge of Richard’s great oak chair because it was the only one in the room that could handle his bulk.
The priest watched him sit stiffly, noting the air about the man. He was extremely big and obviously unhappy. Massimo had been involved in the dealings with the queen’s pregnancy for almost five weeks now and the name Creed de Reyne had come up again and again. He felt as if he knew the man personally and was not surprised to be met with such resentment. He knew the history of the case. Furthermore, it had taken some wrangling to track the man down because he had been taken from London and hidden by some powerful friends. But Massimo had a job todo and he feared the wrath of God more than the wrath of the knight. He moved straight to the point.
“I have come on the church’s business,” the priest began. “It would seem that there are matters concerning the queen that must be clarified. I am told you are a man who can give me answers.”
Creed looked at him, his jaw ticking furiously. “What answers would those be, my lord?”
Massimo could already tell that this was not going to be a simple thing. The big knight was noticeably hostile. He folded his hands and lowered his voice.
“I am under no false delusions that you do not know why I am here,” he said quietly. “Surely you knew this time would come. Sooner or later, it had to.”
