Guardian of Darkness (10 page)

“Inside,” he threw a thumb back at the tent. 

Burle nodded shortly and the bear of a man went to the tent, disappearing inside.  Fighting of a smirk at the thought of the lady’s reaction when she saw the big knight seated beside her like a watchdog, Creed headed off in the direction of the dead horse.

By the time Creed reached the carcass, Jory had commandeered a few men at arms to haul the animal to an area where they could get a good fire going.   Four men had tied ropes to the horse and were dragging it towards the road where they was more dirt and less wet grass.  As he approached Jory, he realized that his anger, so recently fled, was returning at the sight of him.  On behalf of the lady, he was outraged.

“I would have a word with you, d’Eneas.”

The young knight with the black eyes gazed at him warily. “What would that be?”

“Privately.”

“You can say whatever you have to say right here.”

Though Creed was beckoning him out of the hearing range of the men, Jory was not obeying.  Irritation growing, Creed stood next to him, easily twice his size and several times his strength, and breathed down into his pale, sweaty face.

“I saw you relieve yourself on this animal,” he rumbled. “What’s more, the lady saw you. Would you care to give me a reason for your display before I take your head off?”

Jory was intimidated by him, that much was clear.  Still, he put up a weak front. “Why are you so concerned about a dead animal?” he asked, almost flippantly. “’Tis just a dead beast that belonged to that Scots wench. Why do you care so much about it?”

Creed’s jaw ticked, never a good sign. “Perhaps no one ever explained to you the rights and wrongs of proper conduct. It is right to treat a hostage as a guest, no matter what her lineage. It is wrong to show such disregard to her, and the living in general, by befouling an object that meant something to someone. Why is it so difficult for you to conduct yourself with restraint and common sense?”

Jory lifted a black eyebrow. “You should have been the first one to pee on the horse, de Reyne. She shamed you most of all by running from you. Do not take your anger out on me for your lack of control over the lady.”

It was the wrong thing to say, but strangely, Creed’s anger went no further. He was beginning to feel a good deal of contempt, and contempt ran like ice through is veins.

“Jory,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “You and I are going to come to an understanding here and now. On the battlefield, I shall defend your life as necessary because we serve together. But off the battlefield, my loyalty to you ends. I pounded you when you attacked the lady last night but I should have wrung your damnable neck. The next time I see or hear of an offense against Lady Carington, in any shape or form, and you will meet with a beating the likes of which you are unlikely to fully recover. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Jory’s smug expression was gone. “Are you threatening me? I shall go to Lord Richard if you are. He will send you back to the king so you can face off against those charges that are lodged against you.”

Creed had visions of wrapping his hands around Jory’s neck and squeezing him until his head exploded. But he kept his hands at his sides.  And he kept his cool.

“One more offense and you will pay.”

“You do not frighten me, de Reyne.”

“Then that is your most grave mistake.”

With that, he turned on his heel and marched up on the men who were hauling Bress’ carcass.  After a few short orders, he had the men dropping the ropes and running for shovels. They would dig a pit to fire the carcass in and be done with it.  As the men began to shovel out a pit, Creed stood over the big blond animal, crossed himself, and muttered a prayer. He had, after all, promised.

Jory watched the big knight move. He was indeed afraid of him and knew that the man would not hesitate to do as he threatened. Creed de Reyne had a strong standing reputation throughout England, and a flawless one, until six months ago. Now he was hiding from the crown until the issues involving him and the king’s betrothed cooled. Lord Richard and Ryton de Reyne were shielding him, protecting him like a coward. 

Jory wiped at his nose, still glaring at Creed, thinking of ways he could get back at the man. He could turn him over the king’s guard, but he would need help with that and no one at Prudhoe would help him. He could go after the Scots bitch again because in doing so, he could show how ineffective Creed was in protecting her.  He would show everyone Creed’s weakness.  He would make him pay.

Jory wiped his nose again, thinking hateful thoughts about Creed and concocting a thousand ways to discredit the man. If one failed, surely another would work.  De Reyne would suffer in the end.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was not that she was frightened of them. On the contrary; she felt absolutely no fear. But Burle, later joined by Stanton, stood next to each other on the opposite side of the tent and just stared at her. Carington was beginning to feel as if they expected her to grow horns or burp thunder. The way they were looking at her was most strange and it was turning into a very odd stand off.

She was supposed to be resting. But she could not sleep with Burle and Stanton watching every move she made. So they ended up playing a very odd staring game, with Carington watching them and the knights watching her. Had she not been so exhausted, she might have found it humorous.  But her tolerance was fading.

“Sir Knight?” she was looking straight at Burle. “What is yer name? I have forgotten.”

The big blond knight perked up from his post by the tent flap. “I am Burle, my lady.”

“And yer skinny friend?”

Burle and Stanton looked at each other. “His name is Stanton, my lady. You hit him in the face when you escaped the first time.”

Carington’s dark green eyes moved over the slender, pale knight.  She was not sure if Burle’s comment was supposed to make her feel guilty, so she let it go without acknowledgement.

“Yer not very old,” she said to Stanton. “How old are ye?”

“I have seen twenty years and four, my lady,” he answered.

“Are ye married?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Are ye, now? How grand. Do ye have children?”

“A son, my lady. And my wife is again expecting.”

“I see,” she looked back at Burle. “And ye, Sir Burle? Are ye married?”

The flabby knight nodded his head. “Aye, my lady.”

“And do ye have children also?”

“Aye, my lady. Three daughters.”

“Marvelous,” Carington stood up from the small three-legged stool she had been seated on.  But her warm expression vanished and fire flashed in the green eyes as she planted her hands firmly on her slender hips. “Do ye think yer wife or daughters would appreciate a strange man staring at them as you have been staring at me? What kind of manners do ye have gawking at me as ye do?”

Burle struggled not to appear off-guard by her sharp tone. “If it was for their own protection, I am sure they would understand. And we were not gawking.”

“Not gawking?” She threw up her hands. “Then what do ye call it? Ye’re staring at me as if ye’ve never seen a woman before.”

She was quite possibly yelling. Burle and Stanton were somewhat surprised, but both maintained their even disposition. Especially Burle; he was used to emotional females. He had married one.

“I apologize if you think we have been rude, my lady,” he said quietly. “That was not our intent. We only mean to keep you safe until Sir Creed returns.”

“Ye mean that you only mean to keep me in this tent until he returns,” she supplied with a tinge of nastiness. “Dunna think for one minute that I dunna know what ye’re up to. You are here to keep me from running off again.”

Stanton just looked at Burle; he would let the older man provide all of the answers.  “Possibly, my lady,” Burle answered.

She lifted a dark eyebrow and crossed her arms; so bullying them had not gotten her very far. She did not even know why she had done it, only that she was tired and irritated and overwrought from the events of her misguided escape. But it was a foolish reaction, in truth. She had come to discover over the past day that she was a foolish woman beneath all of the stubbornness and pride.  She lowered her gaze and returned to her seat. When she spoke, it was in a more civilized tone.

“I am not planning on running again,” she said, almost wearily.  “Ye dunna have to worry about that.”

“That would be a pleasant change.”

Creed spoke as he entered the tent, having heard her last sentences. His dusky blue eyes fixed on her and he realized, to his surprise, that he might actually be glad to see her.  The thought was so startling that he angrily chased it away and his demeanor darkened as a result. “I heard the shouting across the field,” he said lowly, enormous fists resting on his hips. “What seems to be the problem?”

Carington stared up at him; he was sucking all of the air out of the room again.  Her heart seemed to be fluttering strangely at the sight of him but she pushed the awareness aside, refusing to analyze it. Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps she was just tired. The fact that she started experiencing these strange symptoms the moment Creed entered the tent had nothing to do with it.

“No problem, m’lord,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I… I was simply coming to know my guard dogs better.”

Creed passed a glance at both knights; Stanton’s gaze was steady and wide-eyed, while Burle’s was a bit more seasoned. He and Burle had served together for years and they knew each other well. He trusted the older knight’s sense of things.

“Is all well?” he asked the man.

Burle nodded with the trained patience of one used to dealing with women. “It is, my lord.”

“Then you may go and get your supper. Send someone with the lady’s, if you will.”

Both men acknowledged his request as they left the tent.  Creed removed his gloves, scratched the back of his neck, and generally settled himself without as much as a glance to Carington the entire time.  She sat on the small stool, shivering in the chill, watching every move he made. She was attempting to ascertain his mood, trying to figure out if he was still angry with her for her earlier escapade.  He seemed rather glum. She had no idea why she should be concerned with his mood but she was.

“My horse,” she began hesitantly. “Did… did all go well?”

“It did.”

She did not say anymore, realizing that Bress was in flames somewhere outside and not wanting to think about it. The thought made her sad again, and sadness brought another round of brimming tears. She discreetly chased them away, not wanting him to think she was weak and weepy.  Carington had never been the crying sort. But the past two days had seen that particular characteristic change.

Creed was not immune to her tears; he was well aware of them. His gauntlets, breast plate and greaves ended up in a heap on the floor.  As Carington sat with her back to him, he whistled low in his teeth and watched her jump at the sound. Immediately, his two squires vaulted into the tent.