Page 133 of Historical Hotties
His dusky blue eyes moved appreciatively up the massive stone walls, lit by the bright spring sun. Rays of light filtered in through the oaks that lined the road and he was glad to be home again.
“There are Lord Richard and his wife, the Lady Anne,” he said. “They are kind and decent people. You must remember that. They have two sons, Edward, who is six years, and Gilbert,who is eight. You must mind the boys; they have a fondness for fighting and spitting and are quite spoiled. There are also two foster girls, the Lady Julia and the Lady Kristina. They are approximately sixteen or seventeen years, I think. You might find companionship with them.”
She snorted. “I am older than they are.”
“Is that so?”
“It ’tis. I have seen nineteen years.”
He fought off a smile at the haughtiness of her voice. “Then you can be an older, wiser friend.”
She snorted again, this time making a face. “Pasty-faced Sassenach lasses. I dunna know if I want to be a friend.”
He cocked an eyebrow, turning his neck slightly to make eye contact with her. “None of that. You will behave yourself.”
She matched his cocked eyebrow, ending when she backed down and returned her gaze to the looming castle. “What if they are mean to me?”
“Then you will tell me. I will deal with them.”
“So I canna even defend myself?”
He shook his head with faint regret at her combative attitude. “Cari, they’re not going to attack you. Show them how kind and intelligent a Scot really is. You are representing your people, honey. You are here as an emissary of peace. That is a very honorable and important task.”
She was still torn between reluctance and acceptance. “But what if…?” she suddenly blinked, looking up at the side of his helmed head. “What did ye call me?”
He lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, wrestling with the horse when it threw its head. “Cari?”
“Nay.”
“What?”
“Ye called me… honey. Ye’ve called me that before.”
The horse tossed its head again and he cuffed it on the top of the head. “Have I? Forgive me for my forwardness, then. I did not mean to offend.”
She eyed him. “Ye did not,” she said. She lowered her head and looked back to the trees. “Ye may call me that if ye wish.”
A grin spread across his lips. “I wish.”
Her cheeks flushed furiously and she hid her smile by pretending to look down at herself, fussing with the dust on her scarlet surcoat. She was a mess but almost did not care. Creed’s pet name had her caring about little else.
The escort passed through an enormous gate built into the perimeter wall, spilling them out into a massive bailey. The equally massive keep was on the motte to her right, soaring a hundred feet into the blue English sky. It was bigger than anything she had ever seen. Carington was staring at it when Creed brought his horse to a halt and dismounted. He held his arms up to her.
“Come along,” he said. “They are waiting to meet you.”
She looked at him and he saw the fear, but she obediently slipped into his arms. He lowered her to the ground, his hands loitering on her waist perhaps a bit longer than necessary. Their eyes lingered on one another, appraisingly, until she offered a weak smile.
“Better to get this over with,” she said with forced bravery.
He smiled in return, collecting some items off his saddle before taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.
“If my lady will follow me,” he said.
She would indeed follow him. She had already decided that. It no longer made any difference that Creed was a hated Sassenach; he was a kind man and quite handsome. Having experienced all that she had with him over the past two days, there was a definite attachment beginning and she no longer possessed the will to fight it.
They followed Ryton and Burle across the outer bailey with Stanton bringing up the rear. Jory was under orders to disband the escort and they could hear his high-pitched shouts above the roar of the ward. Gripping Creed’s elbow with her left hand, she brushed at her surcoat with the right. There was dust everywhere and she noticed grass stains from when she had fallen in the grass. She lamented the stains as they crossed into the inner bailey.
“My coat is so dirty,” she brushed at the green streaks. “These Sassenachs are going to think I am a filthy little pig.”
