Page 135 of Historical Hotties
“Indeed,” Richard said proudly. “His brother Gilbert is eight.”
A glance to the older boy showed him picking his nose. Carington lifted an eyebrow at his bad manners and the child ripped his finger from his nose and pointed at her with it.
“Papa,” he marched over to them. “I do not like the way she looked at me. It was disresponsible.”
Richard’s proud stance seemed to waver. “You mean disrespectful, Gilbert.”
The boy continued to point the boogered finger at her. “I want her whipped.”
“Whipped!” Anne grabbed her son by the shoulder and turned him back towards the table. “You and your brother sit down and remain silent. Another word and I will blister your backside.”
“But, Mama, she is our enemy,” Gilbert tried to point out to her. “She is our prisoner. Is that not what Papa said?”
“Nay,” Anne said firmly, shoving her son onto the bench seat. “She is our guest.”
“But Papa said.…”
“I do not want to hear any more. You will remain quiet or you will go to bed. Is that clear?”
Gilbert was not happy with his mother but he obeyed. Anne practically yanked Edward off the table and planted him next to his brother. The younger boy whined and she slapped a hand over his mouth, turning to Carington and the rest of the knights with a forced smile.
“If everyone will sit, we will commence with the meal.”
Carington immediately sought out Creed but Richard was there, taking her hand and leading her towards the table. As he directed her to sit, she was aware of the two young women standing on the other side of the table. When she met the girls’ eyes, they gazed back at her with a mixture of distain and curiosity. She did the only thing she could do; she smiled weakly.
“Ladies,” she said as she took her seat.
Richard sat down next to her. “Lady Carington, this is the Lady Julia le Tourneau,” he indicated the shorter girl with light-brown hair, “and the Lady Kristina Summerlin. Ladies, you will greet our guest with graciousness.”
The girls dipped into a practiced curtsey. There was no warmth to the gesture; they were simply doing as they were told. But the taller blond girl at least appeared civil; the brown-haired lass was glaring. Carington’s neutral expression faded and she glared back.
Creed was suddenly on her right, sitting beside her and collecting an earthenware pitcher of watered ale. He poured her a measure himself but when she looked at him with a grateful smile, he gazed back at her quite unemotionally. The moody gaze with the lightning bolt eyes had returned. It was like a dagger to her heart and the smile died on her lips. In a room full ofstrangers, he had been her only hope of familiarity and he had failed her. She looked down at her trencher.
The young ladies and the boys sat across from them. Anne sat on the opposite side of Richard, chatting pleasantly as the meal was served. Ryton, Burle and Stanton were seated at the end of the long table, mostly keeping to themselves. Glancing up from her trencher of roast beef and boiled carrots, Carington noticed the other knights sitting far away. She suspected that Creed was upset with her because he was sitting beside her, as if she had expected him to. Perhaps he would rather sit with his comrades.
“Ye should go sit with your knights,” she said to him, very quietly.
He picked up his chalice. “Yet I am not.”
She lowered her head to her trencher. “I dunna need ye, Sassenach. Go and sit with yer men.”
He was not looking at her, either; his gaze was moving across the table at the two foster girls and the young boys, who were collectively staring at Carington as if beholding a strange and terrible creature. He could sense a storm coming and he wanted to be at her side to fend off the inclement weather. Moreover, he realized that he simply wanted to sit next to her.
“Eat your meal, my lady,” he said steadily, taking a long drink.
His tone was cool. Carington felt tears sting her eyes, having no idea why he was being so moody with her. It had been a long and difficult day and he had been her only source of comfort. Now her source was turning on her. She felt disoriented, sad and furious all at the same time. He told her to eat her meal, but she set her knife down and refused to take another bite.
Creed noticed right away when she stopped eating. But he continued to devour his food, watching the wolf pack across the table for any sign that they were about to strike. Although they were children, they could still cause a good deal of misery forher. She did not need the added emotional stress of unruly and jealous children.
Jory entered the hall when the meal was about half over, taking a seat on the other side of Stanton and harassing a serving wench for his trencher. Richard saw him come in, eyed the man as he crossed the room, and spoke to him just as he collected his food.
“Jory,” he said casually. “What has happened to your face?”
Jory’s brown eyes came up, looking at Burle, who glowered back at him. He lowered his head back to his trencher. “I fell off my horse, my lord.”
Richard had known Jory a long time. He knew it was not the truth but he did not press. He left the discipline of the knights to Ryton and if Ryton had dispensed brutal justice to an offense, so be it. Jory undoubtedly deserved it. He turned his attention back to Carington.
“Did you enjoy your trip, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.
