Guardian of Darkness (40 page)

“I dunna know,” she said honestly, her head lying against Creed’s massive shoulder. “I was asleep when suddenly he was upon me. He told me to cooperate or he would kill me.”

Creed’s gaze moved to Jory for the first time since he had delivered the death blow.  Blood was pooling underneath him and the man was clearly dead. His anger was beginning to return.

“Damn him,” he growled. “God damn him to hell.”

Richard looked up from Jory’s still form, his face pale as he focused on Carington.  He took a few halting steps in her direction.

“Did he hurt you, Lady de Reyne?” he asked.

Carington felt a flash of pleasure at hearing her new title but she was too exhausted and hurt to acknowledge it. “He beat me well enough,” she replied weakly. “But ‘tis nothing I willna recover from.”

Richard looked sick. “Perhaps I should call a physic. There is a fine physic in Newcastle; ‘tis not too far from here.”

Carington tried to shake her head, struggling to sit up in her husband’s embrace. “Nay,” she said with more strength. “No physic. I will be fine. I just need to rest.”

Richard nodded regretfully, passing a lingering glance at Jory’s still form. “Get him out of here,” he told Burle.

The knights heaved Jory’s body off the floor and Burle took him over one of his big shoulders.  Creed could not even muster the will to look at the corpse as they removed it from the room. Had he not been more concerned with Carington at the moment, he would have taken much delight in defiling the body. For all of the anger and anguish he was feeling, he would have liked nothing better than to gore the man a thousand times over and call it justice.  So it was best that he not look at all.

When the knights had left with a trail of blood behind them, Creed tucked the coverlet in tighter around Carington and continued to rock her gently.  Anne remained seated on the bed behind him, her gentle hand on Carington’s forehead to give what comfort she could. Kristina stood in the doorway, sobbing.

“Is… is she all right, my lord?” the pale blond asked timidly.

Carington heard her friend and her head came up, her emerald eyes focusing on her.  She smiled wearily.

“I am all right,” she said. “Dunna stand there; come in here and sit with me a while.”

Kristina moved reluctantly into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling bravely through her tears. Carington moved an arm out from beneath the coverlet and extended her hand to the young girl. Kristina clutched it eagerly.

“I believe ye are more talented than ye know,” she said softly.

Kristina sniffled, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“Yer card game; did it not predict death and chaos?”

She had meant it as a joke but Kristina’s eyes opened wide as she remembered her predictions. “I am going to burn all of my cards,” she suddenly burst into tears. “I never want to play with them again.”

By this time, Creed’s head had come up from where it had been resting on top of Carington’s dark head.

“What cards?” he asked.

Carington squeezed Kristina’s hand. “My friend has magic cards that divine the future.  She told my fortune yesterday and, so far, everything has come true.”

Creed smiled faintly, noting that Kristina seemed truly despondent.  “Cards do not foretell the future, my lady,” he assured her. “I would not worry overly.”

They continued to sit in silence for a few moments, each to their own thoughts; Kristina of her foreboding cards, Creed of how close he came to losing his wife, Carington of going back to sleep, Anne of how tenderly Creed held his wife, and Richard of how he was going to tell Jory’s father that his son had been killed.  No matter that it has been in the course of a brutal crime and clearly Jory deserved what he had received, the fact remained that Jory’s father, Baron Hawthorn, was going to take issue with it.  Richard wondered on the repercussions.

Richard finally went to the bed, patting his wife on the shoulder. “Leave them to rest,” he instructed quietly. “They have had enough excitement for one day.”

With a final stroke to Carington’s head, Anne rose from the bed and took Kristina in hand as they quit the chamber.  Richard followed, his gaze lingering on the horrific state of the room and wondering if any more horrors await them; in the past two days, Prudhoe had seen its fill.

“I will send Burle back up to you,” he told Creed softly. “He will be outside your door should you require anything.”

Creed simply nodded, hearing the door shut softly behind him.  When they were finally alone, he fixed on her.

“Tell me the truth,” he murmured. “How badly did he hurt you?”

She sighed faintly. “He beat me around the head and shoulders, but he dinna do any real damage.”

“That is not what I meant.”

She gazed at him, realizing what he meant by the expression on his face, and she fought off a blush.  “He dinna do what ye are asking,” she replied in a whisper. “He tried, but he dinna do it.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing, I swear to ye.”

He swallowed hard; she saw it. There was an enormous amount of relief in his manner.

 “Will you at least allow me to inspect you for injury?” he asked gently.

She shifted in his arms, moving away from him so that she was in the middle of the bed.  She opened up the coverlet, letting it fall.  Her soft, thoroughly delicious body was revealed in the weak morning light.

“Look all ye wish,” she told him. “I know you dunna believe me when I say that I will be all right. Look and see that I have no broken bones or bloody wounds.”             

His concerned expression was turning lusty as he gazed upon her perfect breasts and narrow waist.  True, she looked well enough except for the red welts around her neck and the lump on her head. She also looked extremely enticing. 

“Are you sure?”

She pursed her lips at him irritably and he knew, in that gesture, that she was indeed going to be all right.  The sass, the spark, was still there.

“How many times are ye going to ask me the same question?”

He smiled at her, reaching out to collect the coverlet and wrap it back around her body.  Like a babe in swaddling, he took her gently in his arms and lay down with her on the bed.

His lips were against her forehead as he held her close.  He kept reliving over in his mind how close he came to losing her, thanking God that he had been in time to prevent it.

“I am so sorry this happened,” he murmured against her head. “Had I had any idea that Jory would have tried something like this, I would have taken much greater steps to protect you.”

She was exhausted, her lids heavy and sleep beckoning. “’Twas not yer fault, English,” she replied. “Ye would have had to read his mind in order to know what he was thinking.”

“Still,” he muttered, “I should have been here.”

She sighed contentedly against him, snuggling close. “Yer here now.”

“I will always be here, I swear it.”

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Late November 1200 A.D.

Creed was having a very difficult time that morning.  He had been privy to hysterics, weeping, fury and pouting. There was a tempest going on around him and nothing he could say would make a difference. Still, he continued trying.  All the while, he could hear Carington in their bower, alternately cursing and crying. She was a mess.

“Honey,” he called gently, struggling to be patient. “My dearest, sweetest love, I told you that we would go to town today to visit Rita.  Surely she has something lovely and delightful that will fit you.”

Two months ago, they had moved into a small cottage that was built into the inner wall of Prudhoe near the great hall.  Richard had ordered the cottage constructed when Creed had made the ecstatic announcement that his wife was pregnant.  Until that time, they had remained in the tiny room on the fourth floor of Prudhoe’s keep but with a baby on the way, they would quickly outgrow the space.  Anne had been most insistent that Prudhoe’s commander and his wife should have their own home with their growing brood and Richard had agreed.

So the cottage with three rooms was built just for Creed.  Carington had been thrilled.  But at the moment, in the bedchamber with the big, new bed that had given her so much delight, she was furious because her surcoats had reached the point where they would no longer fit.  At seven months pregnant, she was already large with child and growing larger by the day. 

But it was the way of things and in spite of Carington’s pregnancy-induced mood swings, life was very good these days. Creed had gotten to the point where he simply did not think about the pending trials he was still waiting to face. No information had been exchanged to any regard; of his marriage, Jory’s death, or the queen. Prudhoe had kept to itself and hadn’t let the rest of the world in. Creed’s life was here and now, and he was happy awaiting the birth of his first child. It was all he could focus on. He would deal with everything else when the time came.

As he stood in the main chamber of their cottage, Carington came huffing into the room with her arms full of garments.  She dropped them on the table near the hearth.

“I canna fit into any of these,” she raged. “Nothing fits anymore. I have grown as fat as a pig.”

Creed gazed at his wife who, he thought, had never looked more beautiful.  Her lovely face was rosy, her delicious body round and ripe with a gently swollen middle section. He adored making love to her this way.

“You are a goddess divine,” he smiled at her.

Her emerald eyes flashed and her lip suddenly went into a pout.  He could see more tears approaching.

“Will ye take these to Rita and ask her to amend them?” she sniffled.

“I told you I would. Do you want to go?”

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. “Nay,” she squeaked.

He went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Why not?”

She began to weep again, falling forward against him as he swallowed her up in his massive embrace. He rocked her gently, fighting off a smile.  She was an emotional wreck these days as the pregnancy wreaked havoc with her thoughts.

“Because I dunna feel well,” she wept. “Nothing fits me properly and my stomach aches.”

“All right, love, do not trouble yourself,” he rubbed her back, her arms gently. “I will go into town and deliver these to the seamstress. Shall I get you some custard cakes while I am there?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I want a dozen of them.  And mind ye dunna forget to go to the merchant with the spice cakes. I would have some of them as well.”