Page 132 of Historical Hotties
He lifted an eyebrow; she was starting to sound like her old self and he stood up, taking her with him. “Aye, you do,” he said evenly. “You are a strong woman. You will show them this.”
It was a good thing that Creed had a strong grip on her because her knees were very unsteady. Her hands were still on her mouth, tears still in her eyes. She folded over at the waist.
“Sweet Jesus,” she wept softy. “My sweet Bress.”
He still held her, one big arm around her torso as she bent over and retched one last time. He found himself pulling her long hair back, out of the way, so it would not become soiled.
“Cari,” he said softly. “I know you are upset. But you must get hold of yourself. Please, honey. It is important.”
She remained folded in half, breathing loudly, struggling to catch her wind. But her hands and legs were feeling strangely tingly, strangely light. As Creed continued to hold her, shesuddenly went limp and he had to put both arms around her to keep her from tumbling into the grass. Knowing she had passed out from sheer nerves, and rather relieved that she had if only to force calm upon her, he carefully collected her into his arms and went in search of his horse.
The charger was several yards away, munching on plump green grass. Creed shifted Carington in his arms, a mere featherweight to his strength, and gazed into her pale, lovely face. She’d certainly had a rough time of it already and the day was not even over yet.
“’Tis all right, honey,” he murmured, though she could not hear him. “You needn’t worry over anything any longer. I’m here.”
They caught up to the column in little time. Creed saw the bloodied welt on the side of Jory’s face but did not ask where he got it. He had an inkling that he already knew.
*
Prudhoe was atruly impressive sight to see. Built on a strategic crossing over the River Tyne, it sat atop a massive motte that was at least one hundred years old. The castle was unique in that there was a good deal of heavy trees around it, almost right up to the massive wall that encircled the castle. When the bastion had suffered through a bad siege from the Scots about thirty years prior, those trees had proven strategically detrimental to the defense of the castle. The Scots climbed them and launched their weapons from their branches. But the great oaks had stood there hundreds of years and they still stood to this day. No one seemed to have the heart to cut down the mighty grove.
Carington sat behind Creed, her arms wrapped around his trim waist, her eyes drinking in the sight of her new home. Until this very moment, the castle had been a theory, a dream,certainly nothing real. Now that she saw it in all its glory, it was a terrifying and awesome sight. Although she had been calm for a few hours, her nerves began to return again. Stomach twitching at the sight of the mighty bastion, she turned her head away so she would not have to look. She laid her cheek miserably on the plate protection covering Creed’s back.
The day was going from bad to worse. She did not know what she had expected, but the enormous castle shocked her. It was gloomy and foreboding even in the bright sunlight. She could feel the doom radiating off of the gray stone, a silent testimony to her dismal future. Face still against his back, she watched the giant oak trees pass by as they plodded along the road towards their destination.
“Sir Creed?” she asked quietly.
“Just Creed,” he reminded her.
Since the episode a few hours ago, he had been inordinately considerate with her. It was as if that experience had somehow bonded them together, a new element added to their association. It had brought it to another level, a level of comfort and trust. She was not sure if he still entirely trusted her, but she was coming to trust him. It was an important milestone.
“Are ye going to be my shadow even at the castle?” she asked.
He could feel her leaning against him, her slight body weary and drained. “I am my lady’s shadow wherever she goes.”
“I feel better knowing that,” she said softly. “I dunna know anyone but you.”
“Untrue,” he said. “You know Sir Ryton and Sir Stanton and Sir Burle. They will be your protectors as well.”
“I hit Sir Stanton in the face. I dunna believe he has forgiven me for that.”
Creed thought about the young knight he knew, the one who had too much compassion and pity for his own good. “Aye, hehas. You needn’t worry over Stan. He would protect you with his life.”
She digested that a moment. “But the big man… what is his name? I wasna very nice to him; I yelled at him. I dunna believe he likes me, either.”
Creed glanced over his left shoulder, seeing Burle and Stanton several yards behind him and Jory almost to the rear of the column as if exiled there. He turned back around. “Did you see the injury to Jory’s face?”
When she had awoken from her dead faint, the dark young knight happened to pass into her line of sight. She had seen that the entire right side of his face was bruised. “Aye.”
“Burle did that.”
“Why?”
“Because Jory made you cry. Burle has three daughters, my lady. He is very protective of womenfolk in general.”
Carington lifted her head long enough to look back at the two knights, now through new eyes. Surprised at their chivalry to the point of being speechless, her thoughts were distracted as they came into the shadow cast by the massive keep of Prudhoe. She glanced up, straining to look around Creed so she could gain a better look. All she saw was more stone and more walls. As anxious as she was, she was also curious about the mysteries the great structure contained.
“Will ye tell me something of the people who live here?” she asked.
