Page 205 of Historical Hotties
As the army came to a halt, a group of mounted men continued down the road towards the main gate; in fact, an entire army that began to spill into the outer bailey and de La Londe instinctively took several steps back, away from the trickle of men in armor.
There was a particular knight in the front of the mass that continued to head in his direction even as the others stopped just inside the gate. De La Londe recognized the size of the knight, knowing Creed de Reyne on sight; the man was a giant whose legendary size only seemed to grow with time. Creedwas coming at him like something horrifying and powerful, eventually dismounting his war horse and continuing on foot.
De La Londe continued to watch, feeling his heart beat with a rise of excitement; his prisoner had arrived and with that realization was also a hint of trepidation. As Creed raised his visor, de La Londe suddenly reclaimed the dirk he had once held at Carington’s neck.
“Come no further, de Reyne,” he pointed the tip at her white flesh. “Remove your weapons this instant. You are under arrest.”
Creed’s dusky blue gaze was fixed on a knight he had once considered a friend. Oddly enough, he did not stop. He kept walking. He walked right up to de La Londe and, as fast as lightning, yanked the dirk away from Carington’s neck. Soon, she was trapped between them as Creed simultaneously pulled her from the man’s grip and lashed out a big fist, making contact with de La Londe’s jaw and sending him stumbling back.
“Had you not been holding my wife, I would have killed you where you stood,” Creed rumbled. “The mere act of touching her warrants your death. You would do well to treat her like the Virgin Mary; untouchable by mortals and due your worshipful respect. Is this in any way unclear, Denys?”
De La Londe glared at him. “You are lucky I did not kill her. I could have easily slit her throat as you sought to engage in husbandly heroics. Be thankful I showed mercy.”
Carington was sobbing softly at the sight of her husband but dare not attempt to speak to him. She did not want to distract him. Still, his presence beside her and the power of his hand on her arm was enough to drive her to tears. She could not adequately describe the intensity, the joy, of that moment. Creed shifted his grip on her as he pulled her gently behind him.
“I understand it was your intention to return her to London to face the charges levied against me,” he said. “For that extremely cowardly and despicable act, you have incurred mywrath. It was for that reason alone that you find me returned to Prudhoe.”
De La Londe knew he was in a bad way; he could see all of the men that Creed had brought with him and he knew he was easily outnumbered. He and his fifty men had no hope of taking Creed with this mob supporting him. And with that knowledge, anger began to bloom.
“Your threats do not frighten me,” he replied. “Neither does the army you have raised to protect you. If they fear the king’s retribution, then they will stand down and you will go peacefully. Otherwise, I will leave this place and return with an army such as you have never seen. Prudhoe will be laid to waste and you with it.”
By this time, Galen Burleson had silently made his way to Creed, gently taking Carington from his grasp. Without even looking to see who had taken her, for Creed knew that it was one of his trusted men, he let her go and marched to de La Londe, his dusky blue eyes intense with fury.
“What has happened to you?” he hissed. “You were once someone I considered a friend. You were part of the escort that brought Isabella back to England and were privy to everything that happened during that time. Why would you come to Prudhoe and threaten my wife against charges you personally know are false?”
De La Londe seemed to lose some of his confidence; he looked strangely at Creed, his jaw working as his emotions got the better of him.
“Someone must stand trial for the queen’s indiscretions,” he said frankly. “You are the most logical choice since she has named you as the man who fathered her child.”
“But you know that is false.”
“I know that you must stand to trial.”
Creed’s brow furrowed slightly, attempting to figure out the true motives behind his former friend’s actions. “What have I ever done to you to make you turn on me like this?”
De La Londe’s composure was slipping by the second. His breathing began to come in harsh, deep draws and he took a step back from Creed, his hands working and his jaw flexing dangerously.
“I am following the king’s orders,” he said, an odd strain to his voice.
Creed moved upon him, drawing closer. He would not let the man back out of this. “Answer my question. Why would you turn on me like this?”
De La Londe unsheathed his sword, drawing a gasp from Carington several feet away. In fact, Galen also unsheathed his sword, followed by dozens of others as they saw Burleson move; he was the only one close enough to actually see what was happening. The deathly sound of metal grating against leather in a sing-song ring filled the cold air of the ward.
Creed threw up a clenched fist, silently ordering his men to stand down. He could hear their weapons being drawn and did not want his men to move; at least, not yet. He wanted an answer to his question which, so far, de La Londe seemed unwilling to provide. His dusky blue eyes pummeled the man with their intensity.
“Answer me, Denys,” he rumbled. “Why are you so determined to see me punished for a crime you know I did not commit?”
De La Londe’s eyes narrowed dangerously even though it was apparent that his control had fractured. He was trying to take a stand and was not doing a very good job.
“Because someone has to take the fall,” he finally replied. “It must be you.”
“Why?”
The sword in his hand twitched. “Because the king is going mad thrashing the men who accompanied Isabella from France,” he finally snapped; it sounded as if he had sharply exhaled the entire sentence. “You have no idea what it has been like, Creed. He has taken our lands and tortured our families. He took my own wife as prisoner and will hold her until I return you to London. Is that explanation enough for you?”
Creed just stared at him; suddenly, a great deal made sense. He understood why it had appeared the man had betrayed him. More than that, he was not shocked by the king’s actions. He was, however, appalled.
“My God,” he breathed. “Is this true?”
