Page 167 of Historical Hotties
“My cakes,” she looked up at Creed. “Did ye bring them back with ye?”
He realized he had forgotten about her custard cakes and shook his head. “Nay, lady, I did not,” he said. “I forgot them. I am sorry.”
Her face fell somewhat. “’Tis all right,” she said. Then she perked up. “Perhaps we can get more when we go to pick up my other gowns?”
Creed nodded. “We can get as many as you wish.”
“And more soap?”
“Do you not think you should use what you have before we purchase more?”
She looked away coyly. “I want new soap for every day of the week.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her but he was still grinning. “I see,” he murmured. “I suppose I shall have to begin my new career as a highway robber in order to pay for this expensive new habit.”
She laughed brightly. Ryton watched the expressions between the two of them, realizing with sickening certainty that the lady felt for her brother the same way he felt for her. It was obvious. But it was further obvious that she needed to be told the change in plans, especially with the papal legate still at Prudhoe. They would need to present the picture that Creed was trying to keep himself out of trouble, at least until the man left. There was no time to waste on that account.
“Well,” Ryton stood up, stretching his big body. “I have duties to attend to before the evening meal.” He looked at Burle and Stanton, on either side of Creed and Carington. “Good knights, go about your duties.”
It took Burle a moment to understand that Ryton was chasing them out of the hall. Stanton, however, did notcomprehend the meaning until Burle reached down and grabbed him by the arm. Only then did the pale young knight rise and follow. Carington was left sitting next to Creed, watching the fire pop and smoke and thinking on her new acquisitions. Creed sat next to her, still as stone. When the room was vacated and they were finally alone, a massive hand moved to collect her small one.
She looked up at him, then, smiling into his still-mailed face. She reached up and touched his helm.
“Why are ye still wearing yer armor, English?” she took her hand away from the cold steel. “And why did ye leave me back in the town? Is something wrong?”
He sat there and looked at her, his attitude towards her shifting from that of her assigned protector to that of a man who was clearly in love with her. The line between duty and want began to shape-shift and it was difficult to stay focused. But he knew there was a great deal he needed to say to her. He could only hope that she would be receptive. Gazing into her emerald eyes, he realized that he was actually afraid to tell her, afraid she did not feel the same way. But it was a chance he was willing to take.
“That depends,” he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It would seem that you and I must have a conversation.”
She cocked her head, tendrils of black curls brushing against her cheeks. “What about?”
He sighed, not sure where to begin. He let go of her hand and removed his helm, setting it upon the table. Then he pulled off his gauntlets, peeled back his hauberk and scratched his damp hair. The dusky blue eyes refocused on Carington.
“Earlier today, my brother told you of some trouble I have experienced with the king.”
She nodded, looking rather awkward. “He did,” she replied timidly. “And I told ye that I was sorry I had reacted so poorly to what Julia had told me. I acted like a….”
He shushed her softly and reclaimed her hand. “Your reaction was natural. I do not blame you for it. But it would seem that the situation my brother has told you of has taken another twist.”
Carington stared at him, feeling her stomach lurch. “That canna be a good thing.”
He smiled wryly. “It is not,” he replied. “You saw the wagons and banners of the church when you rode in, did you not?”
She nodded fearfully. “I did. Did they come to arrest ye?”
He fought off a grin. “Nay,” his grin faded as he watched her reaction to what he was about to say. “But they did come to investigate me. It would seem that the queen is pregnant and she is telling the world that the child is mine.”
Carington just stared at him. She looked as if she wanted to say something but was not quite sure what to say. Creed continued in a low voice.
“The child is not mine, Cari,” he murmured. “I never touched the girl. But that does not prevent her from trying to exact some measure of revenge on me for spurning her attention those months ago.”
Carington seemed to snap out of whatever shock held her and she put her fingers against his lips to silence his explanation.
“I know,” she assured him. “Sir Ryton told me the entire story. Ye needn’t justify yerself to me.”
Creed seemed to lose some of his confidence. “In a sense, I do,” he ran his free hand through his hair again. “Everything has become far more complicated than it was even a day ago. To begin with, I will no longer be your shadow here at Prudhoe. That duty will be given to Burle.”
That bit of information brought a strong reaction; Carington’s eyes flew open wide and her mouth popped open in outrage. She shot to her feet and began waving her arms angrily.
