Page 143 of Historical Hotties
She shrugged, her gaze coming up to meet his. “Perhaps. But I would rather sleep on dirty Tartan than clean Sassenach finery.”
He nodded faintly, studying the way the light flickered off her dark hair. He was not sure what more he had to say to her; in fact, he did not really know why he had come at all. He knew she was safe, so other than giving himself another opportunity to see her, there was no reason for him to be here. He should not have come. It was only indulging the foolish sentiment he was coming to feel for her.
“As long as you do not require anything,” he said quietly, turning for the door. “I shall go about my duties.”
But she was not going to let him go so easily. He was the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable situation and she was eager to cling to that brightness, even if he was moody and cold at times. “Creed,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. When he looked at her inquisitively, she fought off a blush. “I… do ye have to go? Can ye not stay and talk awhile?”
He sighed faintly; she heard him. “I am expected at my post, my lady,” he said. “And you should be sleeping.”
“Please, Creed?”
He gazed at her, feeling himself relent and knowing that he should not. His control had snapped earlier in the day when he had kissed her. Now, in the quiet of the night with no one to disturb them, a similar loss of control would not be healthy. He could not guarantee that he would not go further than simply kissing her. With her sweet face and marvelously delicious figure, his male drives would overwhelm him. He had to resist. For both their sakes, he had to be strong. He closed his eyes to block out the temptation and turned away from her.
“Go to bed, Cari. I will see you on the morrow.” He closed the door in her face before she could say a word.
Carington stood, staring at the door, a hollow feeling filling her. The only person that had shown her any kindness had effectively shut her down. It was like a stab to her heart and tears sprang to her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she was sobbing. Creed had only served to reinforce the fact that she was alone, unwanted, cast aside… a hostage. A stranger in a strange land. The loneliness made her cry harder, the loss of Bress finding its way back into her thoughts as if to drive home the point. There was no one left for her.
Black, desolate feelings filled her exhausted mind. Perhaps she should simply throw herself from the window and be donewith the pain. She could think of no other way to ease it. She was still standing at the door, weeping, when it suddenly flew open. She was too close and the heavy oak panel smacked her in the forehead, sending her falling backwards onto her bum. Startled, she looked up to see Creed descending on her.
“Honey, I am so sorry,” he pulled her to her feet. “Are you all right? I did not mean to hit you.”
Carington threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him. Her forehead was fine, if not slightly stinging, but if it would keep him with her she would give him the opportunity to feel sorry for her.
“It… it hurts,” she sobbed.
Feeling like a lout, Creed swept her effortlessly into his arms and carried her over to the bed by the lancet window. Carington held tightly to his neck, her head on his shoulder. She was not about to let him go. When he sat on the mattress, it was with her in his lap. He held her like a baby.
He let her weep a moment. “Let me see what I have done,” he said softly, pulling back to look at her. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting the red welt on her forehead. He sighed. “I have done a good job of bruising your head. I am truly sorry, honey. It was an accident.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes like liquid emeralds as water filled them. “Why did ye come back?”
The dusky blue gaze was steady, unrevealing. Whyhadhe come back? Should he tell her the truth; because he heard her crying and her tears had destroyed his resolve? He was not sure that she should know that. Moreover, he did not want to admit it. After a moment, he simply lifted his big shoulders.
“It is of no matter,” he said softly. “What matters now is that you are going to have a lump on her head that I am responsible for. Lady Anne will have my hide.”
Carington shook her head, wiping away the last of her sniffles. “I will tell her I smacked it on the wardrobe. Ye needna’ worry.”
“That is noble but unnecessary. I will take responsibility for my actions.”
She was still looking at him, studying his masculine features. He was so cool, so professional, his calm demeanor interspersed with moments of genuine warmth. It was beginning to wear on her. She was not very good at controlling her mouth or her emotions, especially given the fact that she had just come off of a crying jag.
“May I ask ye a question?”
“Aye.”
“Why are ye so cold to me one moment and so warm the next?”
His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” she repeated, outraged. “I mean that ye were so kind to me during our trip to Prudhoe and I surely did not imagine yer kiss this afternoon. Yet ye walked from this chamber not a minute ago as if ye wanted nothing to do with me. ’Tis not the first time ye’ve turned cold and hard on me, Creed de Reyne, and it’s making my head spin. Yer the moodiest man I’ve ever met and I want to know why.”
He just stared at her. After an eternal moment of holding her intense emerald gaze, he looked away.
“All you need know is that I am a knight sworn to protect you for your duration at Prudhoe,” he mumbled. “Nothing else matters.”
Now it was her turn to stare at him. She felt the wind go out of her, as if he had struck her with one of those powerful fists. After a moment, she climbed off his lap and moved a proper distance away from him, her heart hurting in a way that shecould not begin to describe. It hurt so badly that her entire body ached.
“Then get out,” she said quietly, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. “If ye are simply a knight and I am simply a hostage, then it is not proper for ye to be here alone with me.”
