Page 183 of Historical Hotties
Naked as the day she was born, Carington wielded the sconce like a club and whacked him several times over the head with it. She was screaming like a banshee, praying she could do enough damage to at least get away. Jory was wallowing on the floor,trying to defend himself, but somewhere in the middle of it he got hold of the sconce and yanked it from her.
Carington almost toppled over as he pulled it out of her grasp. Shrieking, she raced to the door and tried to open it, only to realize that it was bolted. She could hear voices on the other side and she screamed again for help. As she fumbled with the iron bolt, Jory grabbed her from behind and tossed her onto the bed.
She hit her back on the wooden frame, momentarily stunning her. But her fight did not leave her and she put her fists up as Jory came crashing down on top of her. One fist hit his nose but he grabbed her wrists, struggling to pin her arms.
“You little bitch,” he growled. “I am going to take my pleasure with you and then I am going to kill you.”
Tears were threatening now that he seemed to have the upper hand but Carington refused to give up. She could hear voices on the other side of the chamber door, louder now, and she prayed that someone had run to find Creed. She had no idea where he might be. As she wrestled with Jory in an attempt to prevent him from pinning her arms, he suddenly balled a fist and cuffed her on the side of the head. Dazed, she went limp and bordered on unconsciousness.
When she stopped resisting, Jory went in for the kill. He fumbled with his breeches, groping her tender breasts and slobbering all over her flesh. He could hear the concerned voices on the other side of the door but he ignored them; he knew no one would punish him. No one ever did. It was this false sense of security that helped feed his lust, knowing he would get away with what he was about to do. Lord Richard would surely prevent Creed from exacting any revenge. If the man wanted to keep the alliance with Jory’s father, no one would harm him.
He lowered his breeches and roughly pulled her legs apart. Carington suddenly came to life and brought a knee up, catchinghim in his arousal and Jory fell back with a scream. Moderately lucid, she was preparing to leap over the bed and unbolt the door but Jory grabbed her before she could get close. She still was not recovered from the last blow when Jory began pounding her about the head again, his hands going for her throat. Carington could feel his hands tighten around her neck and she struggled to fight him off as the world began to blacken. She began to think that she was about to die when the door suddenly exploded.
Splinters and debris were still flying through the air as Creed charged into the room like an avenging angel. Burle was right behind him. Creed was not armed but Burle was; it took Creed a half-second to see Jory with his hands wrapped around Carington’s neck and he yanked the broadsword from Burle’s grasp, driving it deep into Jory’s torso. Blood spurted as Jory collapsed with a scream.
Carington fell to the floor, only half-conscious. She was struggling to breathe. Creed left the broadsword in Jory’s gut as he scooped his wife into his arms and moved her away from the dying knight. Grabbing the coverlet, he shielded her nakedness from the people now pushing into the tiny chamber. Chaos and the sounds of dying suddenly filled the room.
“Cari,” he rubbed her cheeks, her neck where Jory’s fingers had left bruises. “Honey, can you hear me? Answer me!”
She coughed as she began to come around. Her emerald eyes fluttered and struggled to open.
“Creed?” her voice was a raspy whisper.
Burst of fury aside, Creed came apart when he realized that he had just saved her from certain death. Had he been a minute later, it might have been another story. Tears welled in his dusky blue eyes as he stroked her face gently, attempting to bring her back to consciousness.
“I am here, honey,” he murmured. “Look at me, sweet. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Behind him, there was a great deal of commotion going on as Jory went through his death throes. Burle just stood over him grimly, watching the man twitch and foam. Lord Richard was there, watching with horror but making no move to help him. Out in the hall, Kristina and Lady Anne were clutching each other and weeping while Edward and Gilbert just stood in the doorway, jaws agape. Anne finally pushed into the room and made her way to Creed, obviously avoiding Jory. She could not bear to look at him.
“Let me see her, Creed,” Anne climbed onto the bed where Creed was holding his wife. “Let me see the damage.”
Creed could not even speak; his eyes were swimming with tears as he shifted slightly so that Anne could inspect Carington. The woman ran gentle fingers along Carington’s head and neck.
“Look,” she stroked a temple. “She has the bruise already. And her neck is quite red but I do not feel anything broken or out of place.”
Creed started to say something but emitted an odd noise that sounded more like a strangled sob. Anne looked at him, concerned, only to see that tears were popping out of his eyes and falling onto his wife. She could see, at that moment, that he was far more terrified than he was angry. The man had just lost his brother; now the threat against his wife had put him over the edge. Pity filled her.
“Creed,” she murmured, putting her hand on his head. “I do not see any permanent damage. She will be all right.”
He emitted a sob and closed his eyes, burying his face in Carington’s shoulder. As Anne gently stroked his dark hair, Carington began to grow more lucid.
“Creed?” she blinked her eyes, coming out of a strange fog and realizing that her husband was sobbing against her. She blinked again, seeing his head on her shoulder. “What has happened? Why are ye weeping?”
His head came up, fixed on her. “Because… hell, because I thought Jory had killed you.” He stroked her dark head with a trembling hand. “How do you feel? Are you all right?”
She was feeling much better than she was just a few seconds before. The world was righting itself although her head hurt tremendously. She put a hand to her skull. “I am all right,” she said softly, not wanting him to know how weak and achy she felt. He did not look as if he could take any more bad news and she put her hand on his face to wipe away the tears. “I am fine, English. Nothing to worry over.”
He emitted a heavy sigh and kissed her gently a couple of times. Then he sat up, taking her with him. “What in the hell happened? How did Jory end up in here?”
She looked over to the corner of the chamber, seeing Burle, Lord Richard and now Stanton and Galen standing over a crumpled form. The latter two knights had heard the commotion way out in the outer bailey and had come armed for battle.
“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.
