Guardian of Darkness (37 page)

Julia did not like the way he was looking at her; it was terrifying.  Instinctively, she took a step back. “What do you mean it has already begun?”

A hint of a thin, wicked smile came to his lips. “It started yesterday.  He will pay.”

“I do not understand.”

He just stared at her in a way that made her skin crawl. “The blow that killed his brother did not come from a Scots,” he muttered. “It was a Scots morning star, that was true, but I picked it up from the ground where it had fallen.  Ryton never saw me come up from behind and smash it into his skull.”

Julia’s jaw dropped in horror. “You killed Ryton?”

Jory’s eyes narrowed. “For every insult, every beating, every offense,” he repeated, almost sing-song. “That was just the beginning.”

Julia took another step back, thinking quite seriously about running away screaming. “You are mad.”

He grabbed her before she could get away. “Tell anyone and I will kill you,” he seethed. “Help me to exact my vengeance on Creed and you shall live.”

She struggled with him. “So it is your vengeance after all? I thought you said it was mine.”

He shook her so hard that her neck snapped. “What I do, I do for us both,” he growled, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Creed has ever affronted me. He shadows me with is self-righteousness, always ensuring that he has the upper hand.   I will not allow him to dominate me any longer. I will not allow him to win.”

Julia could see her death in his eyes.  She stared at him a very long time before nodding her head, just once. Jory let her go and smiled broadly.

“There, my lady,” he said sweetly. “That was not so difficult, was it?”

Julia was trembling and terrified. “What would you have me do?”

He told her.

***

Lady Anne had turned the small chamber on the fourth floor of Prudhoe’s keep into a wonderland of warmth and comfort.  Slender tapers burned every where, filling the room with a gentle glow.  Upon the large bed was a fluffy linen coverlet stuffed with feathers, which Lady Anne had covered in the dried petals of wild flowers that grew beyond Prudhoe’s walls.  Fresh rushes covered the floor and a warm fire blazed in the small hearth.

Carington ran her hand over the coverlet and tossed it back, realizing that the sheets were made of fine cotton and woven until very soft.  She fingered the material, never having felt anything so fine. Over her shoulder, she noticed that someone had brought her two satchels and bedroll and had stacked them neatly in the corner.  The room was truthfully very tiny and there was hardly enough room to turn around it, but Carington found it extremely comfortable and inviting. She was much more at home here than in the larger ladies’ chamber downstairs.  She looked up at her husband as he stood next to her, also inspecting the bed.  She smiled when their eyes met.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful room,” she said. “It looks as if angels sleep here.”

His eyes glittered as he touched her cheek. “One does.”

She blushed modestly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Her nervous eyes darted about the room until her gaze fell upon a small table with a pitcher and two cups.  She moved around Creed and went to pour them some wine.

“Libations on yer wedding night, m’lord?” she smiled as she extended him the cup.

He took a step towards her and accepted it, watching her as she collected her own cup.  They gazed into each other’s eyes as they both drank deeply.  He drained his, took her still half-full cup away from her, and set both cups down on the table.  Then he took her hand and led her over to the bed.  He sat on the mattress as she continued to stand.  With his height and her petite size, they were nearly at eye level.

He gazed into her sweet face, studying the woman who had very quickly come to mean the world to him. “Although I had always hoped to marry at some point, I never imagined it would come about like this,” he said.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Nor did I.”

He laughed softly. “Any regrets, my lady?”

She shook her head and sat down next to him. “Not-a yet.”

“Not-a yet?” He repeated in her heavy burr with a snort, watching the firelight play off her nearly black hair. “Hopefully there will never be any. I will do my best to ensure that there are not.”

His reached out an enormous hand, gently touching her hair. She instinctively leaned into his hand and he cupped her head gently.

“Tell me something, English?”

He loved hearing her delicate voice, the way her Scots accent enunciated each word.  “Anything, honey.”

“Are we always to live at Prudhoe?”

His warm expression faded. “Nay.”

“Then where will we go?”’

His dusky blue eyes took on a distant look. “Throston Castle, eventually.  It is where I was born.”

“Does yer family live there, then?”

“My father does. My mother passed away some years ago.”

She cocked her head, looking at him rather strangely. “Yer father lives there alone? Why do ye not live there with him?”

He took his hand off her head and pulled her into his arms. It was one of the rare times when he did not have any armor on, a harsh barrier between him and her tender flesh.  She was soft and warm and he snuggled against her, delighting in the feel of her.

“Because my father has many knights serving him, men whose families have served the Hartlepool Baronetcy for generations,” he told her. “I went to foster at a young age, following Ryton.  Ryton did not want to serve my father; he wanted to be independent and not under the constant shadow of my father. I wanted the same, as did Lenox, which is how all three of us ended up at Prudhoe.  When I return to Throston, it will be as Baron Hartlepool at the death of my father. The title was supposed to go to Ryton, but as of today, it is mine.”

His expression dampened at the thought. It had not truly occurred to him until he had said it.  Carington could see the mood darkening and she hastened to prevent the fall. She knew the man must grieve for his brother but she did not want him tumbling back in the pit of despair when they had only just risen above it.  The days to come would see other opportunities for grieving, but not tonight. Tonight belonged to them.

“Well,” she said decisively, toying with the collar of his tunic, “there will be plenty of time before ye assume yer duties as baron. I had no idea I married into such a noble family.”

He knew she was attempting to lighten the mood; he could tell by her manner. He gave her a lop-sided smile. “Not only will I hold an English baronetcy but a Scottish one as well, courtesy of my wife.  I would assume your father has no male heirs?”

She shook her head. “Just me.” Then her eyes widened. “Ye will be commander of my Da’s men; hundreds of them. Sweet Jesus, they’d just as soon leap over a cliff than take commands from an English knight.”

He smirked. “We shall see about that.”

Her brow furrowed as her head wagged back and forth. “The Clans are not easily won over, English.”

“I won you over, did I not?”

She stopped toying with his tunic and gave him a reluctant smile. “Ye mean ye bullied me into submission. Ye canna do that with every man on the border.”

His embrace suddenly turned into a big bear hug and he buried his face in the side of her neck, growling and snorting.  She squealed with delight, laughing as he nibbled her ticklish neck.

“Bullied you, did I?” he growled at her again. “You hardly put up a fight.”

She giggled again, shrieking one last time when he gave a final nibbling assault and fell still.  But she was wrapped up in his embrace, clutched tightly against his chest as they gazed at each other. There was a good deal of warmth and joy in their mutual expressions.

“I did not really bully you, did I?” he asked softly.

She reached up and put a finger to his lips, feeling the smooth warmth beneath her touch. “Nay,” she whispered, watching him kiss her finger. “Ye dinna bully me. Ye were a true gentleman always.”

His answer was to smile and dip his head low and lower still until he was hovering over her mouth. After a moment’s pause to drink in his fill of her lovely face, his mouth slanted hungrily over hers.

Carington submitted to the powerful kiss. He had kissed her before and she was quickly learning to crave the warmth and power that his lips infused upon her.  She wound her arms around his neck, holding him fast as the strength of his kiss increased. Soon, he was suckling her lower lip, plunging his tongue gently into her mouth as she responded in kind. She mimicked the movement of his tongue, the gentle licking, the tasting.  Her hands moved into his inky hair, holding his head fast against her.  The lust, passion, was growing.

Creed could feel her delectable body arching against him, her aggressive little hands pulling his head down to her lips.  He laid her back on the bed, one hand behind her head while his free hand went to work removing her new surcoat.  He did not want to tear it but he was so eager to remove her from it that he ended up ripping a seam. He came away from her lips, apologizing profusely, but she simply laughed and sat up.  Lifting her hair, she directed him to unhook the stays to the rear of the dress and untie the sash. He did so quickly and, in an instant, the blue surcoat with the birds on it ended up on the stool near the door.

Carington sat with her back to him in her shift, unmoving. She could feel his enormous body behind her, the heat radiating from it like a roaring blaze. She turned slightly when she felt him move and realized that he was removing his tunic. Her breathing began to quicken at the sight of his naked skin, tanned and smooth and glistening in the light of the candles.  She could see his left arm and part of his torso but not much else.  As she gazed at him with her peripheral, he came up behind her and wrapped his big arms around her body.

His mouth went to her neck, suckling gently.  Carington closed her eyes and collapsed against him as his mouth grew more insistent and his hands began to roam. One arm held her firmly around the waist as the other hand moved up her right arm, into her hair and back down onto her shoulder. He massaged her shoulder for a few moments as his mouth began to work across her jaw. He could feel her breathing growing strong and heavy beneath him and it fed his lust.  His hand moved away from her shoulder and came up under her armpit, grasping her right breast from behind.

This time, Carington did not start.  She accepted his hand on her breast, feeling the gentle caress and knowing very quickly that she liked it.  A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as his caress grew firmer, kneading her gently, acquainting her with the feel of his hand on intimate parts of her body. His other hand moved from her waist and gently cupped her left breast.  With both hands overflowing with her delicious bosom, he pulled her back against him and his lips found hers.

Carington’s head was twisted back as his tongue delved deep into her mouth. He was squeezing her breasts gently, his fingers moving to play with her taut nipples.  She heard soft gasps filling the air, hardly aware that they were her own.  Suddenly, his hands moved to the bottom of her shift and in one clean motion lifted it over her head, leaving her only in her pantalets and hose. Pushing her back gently on the bed, the last two garments on her body came free and ended up on the floor with the shift.

On her back, Carington could only submit as he continued his tender onslaught.  She was concentrating on his miraculous hands, unaware when he removed his breeches and boots and kicked them to the floor. There was such passion between them that she was only aware of the heavy breathing as his naked body descended upon her.  When she instinctively parted her legs so that his weight would not crush her, Creed’s desire moved to a higher level.