Page 131 of Historical Hotties
“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 plunged 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. Withhis 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.”
