Page 140 of Historical Hotties
“Creed has other duties to perform,” Ryton replied. “He has completed his task by bringing you unharmed to Prudhoe. Now he must go about his regular duties, of which you are not a part.”
Her reaction was to stare at Ryton a long moment before averting her gaze. She dare not say any more, fearful that whatever she was feeling for Creed might be obvious. Moreover, Creed was not protesting in the least. Perhaps he was glad to be rid of her.
“As ye say,” she hung her head, turning away from Creed when he offered her another bite.
“Eat,” he said softly. When she shook her head, he gently grasped her by the chin and pushed the beef into her mouth.
She chewed slowly, laboriously. Creed stopped cutting beef, wiping his hands on a square of linen. She had already eaten a goodly amount and he would not push further. Ryton watched her lowered head a moment before rising on his weary legs.
“You must understand what is expected of you now, lady,” he said. He was so exhausted that he was weaving unsteadily. “You will obey Lady Anne and her majordomo without question. If you are insolent in any way, punishment will fall to me. Not Creed, but to me. You will also be assigned certain tasks about the household, of which you shall perform without question. Any disobedience in this will be met swiftly. Lastly, you are not to stray beyond the inner bailey. If you are found in the outer bailey or outside the walls, it will be considered a violation of hostage terms and will be dealt with as an escape attempt. Is any of this unclear so far?”
Her head snapped up, the emerald eyes flashing. Creed watched her face, knowing the storm was rising.
“So ye are to treat me like a prisoner,” she hissed. “I am to be confined like a criminal.”
“For now,” Ryton said evenly. “Until you prove yourself trustworthy, we must establish rules. Already you have tried to run, twice I might add, so you have brought this upon yourself.”
There was a soft knock on the door, distracting them from the rising tension. Creed went to the door and opened it; afew servants were on the landing with Carington’s baggage. He motioned them inside the chamber where they deposited it quickly and fled. When they were gone, Creed closed the door quietly.
The brief interruption had allowed Carington’s temper to cool somewhat. Creed continued to stand over by the door, not wanting to be close to Carington and possibly get sucked into her emotional turmoil. He clearly felt for her, and clearly felt something for her, but his brother could not know. For both their sakes, Ryton had to be oblivious to whatever was occurring. Creed did not even understand the all of it and there was no way he could explain it to his brother.
“Do you have any questions, my lady?” Ryton had softened somewhat by the time the servants departed; he was not truly trying to be cruel. “Anything at all?”
Carington shook her head. Ryton watched the dark head, thinking perhaps to say something more, but thought better of it. It had already been a long and trying day. Any words of solace at this point, however minor, would seem trite.
“If you need anything, please do not hesitate to send for either myself or Creed. Even if we are not directly responsible for you, we are nonetheless at your service.”
She just nodded her head, once. Ryton’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before departing the chamber. He motioned his brother to join him as he did so. Creed did not dare look at Carington as he followed his brother from the room, but he knew for a fact that he would be back.
CHAPTER SIX
“Sorry to havetroubled you with such a burden,” Ryton was into his fourth cup of wine and feeling no pain. “She was a tax on even your steady demeanor, Creed. God help you.”
Burle and Stanton laughed at Creed’s expense. Seated around the well-used table in the common room of the dismal knight’s quarters, the four of them were enjoying some time away from their duties. They oft spent their precious off-duty hours drinking and blowing off tension, just the four of them, as they were close friends that had seen a good deal of life and death together.
“She was not entirely awful once she stopped being belligerent,” Creed’s lips crinkled with a smile. “She was actually quite humorous when all of the fire and fight was out of her.”
“Humorous, did you say?” Ryton repeated. “Then it must have been a momentary lapse in sanity. Surely there is nothing humorous about that firebrand.”
Burle and Stanton laughed again, the ever-ready audience for the comedy team of the de Reyne brothers. Creed just shook his head and took a long drink of wine; it was his fifth cup that evening. He had hoped it would help settle his confusion over their earlier kiss when, in fact, it had only increased it. More than that, he realized that he actually missed her. That thought made him drink more.
“She is a firebrand, no doubt,” he replied evenly, wanting off the subject because he was afraid the wine would loosen his tongue. “Now that our task is over and she is here, what now, OGreat Brother of mine? We are to have alleged peace with Clan Kerr and their allies. Dare we believe it?”
Ryton’s eyebrows wriggled. “I do not know. I would hope so. After losing Lenox against the Clans, I would hope all of this would be finally ended.” His good humor faded as he stared into his cup. “But the cost was too high. I would rather have my youngest brother back than all of the peace in the world.”
Creed’s thoughts drifted to their baby brother, killed in a vicious battle at Kielderhead Moor five years ago. He had fallen on the battlefield and they had not found him until hours later. By then, he was dead. The best they could deduce was that he had survived the initial injury only to be killed by the Scots after the battle had ended when he had lain crippled, unable to defend himself.
He could still see Lenox de Reyne on the last day of his life, newly-knighted and ready to kill Scots. His light brown hair and dusky blue eyes were ingrained into their memories. Where Ryton could be emotional and Creed was so calm that he was oft accused of being dead, Lenox had been the excitement of the family. He laughed easily, played pranks, and was generally a thorn in their side. Many a time Creed had captured his mischievous brother while Ryton punished him by good–naturedly beating him. But it had all been in fun and they both missed him tremendously; much more than they would admit when they weren’t drunk. It seemed that something was missing now, a hole in their lives. Though death was part of their profession, losing a gifted brother that had only seen twenty three years had been a true tragedy.
But Ryton did not want to linger on the past. It always made him feel horrendously guilty; he had been in command that day and it was a guilt he still lived with.
“So you ask what is next,” he shifted the subject as he poured himself more wine. “I am told that Lord Richard has plans tomeet with his allies regarding the hostage situation. It should comfort everyone to know that the Kerrs, for the moment, have consented to peace. But more than that, I do not know. I would hope we will know some quiet along the borders for some time to come.”
“That may be, but I doubt we will have any peace here at Prudhoe.”
The blurted statement came from Jory, entering the room from the bailey with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He let the heavy bags plummet to the floor just inside the door. Only Ryton was looking at the knight; everyone else was focused on their drink.
“Why do you say that?” Ryton asked, though he did not really care what the man had to say.
