Page 149 of Historical Hotties
Wicked, she thought. I should be praying, yet I am thinking of a man who took liberties with me. She smiled faintly, hoping God would forgive her. God made passion, after all. Perhaps he would not be too upset that she could focus on nothing else.
The prayers seemed to drag on for days when, in fact, it was only a matter of a half hour or so. Carington thought she might have actually dozed off, on her knees to thoughts of Creed’s touch, when she was jolted from her kneeling position by Kristina’s gentle voice. A bit groggily, she rose, watching Richard and Anne leave arm in arm, followed by Gilbert and Edward. The boys had apparently forgotten about their newest nemesis and paid Carington no mind as they left. They were more interested in tripping each other. Julia was the next one to leave, followed by Kristina. Carington was right behind them, taking a moment to observe the empty chapel with its very precious glass window above the altar. By the time she finished her observation and turned for the door, a very large body was suddenly standing in front of her.
Startled, she gazed up into Creed’s dusky blue eyes. His expression was as emotionless as ever, but something in the eyes had warmed up. Until this moment, his eyes always held a cold quality about them when he looked at her. But not today; she could not help the smile that spread across her lips, so very glad to finally see him. It was difficult not to appear giddy.
“Sir Creed,” she said, mindful that Burle was still standing near the door a few feet away. “Have ye just arrived? I’m afraid prayers are over.”
He looked rested and washed. His skin was smooth, as if he had even shaved. The overall picture was, in fact, striking; she’d only known the man to be dirty and weary from travel for the past few days. But standing in front of her in clean clothing, he looked like an entirely different person. He looked magnificent.
Creed shook his head in response to her question, his dark hair shaking back and forth.
“I have not come for prayers, my lady,” he said. “I have come for you.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Me?”
He nodded, sweeping his hand in the direction of the door and indicating for her to quit the chapel. “Indeed. I told you that I would be your shadow.”
Clasping her hands primly before her, she obediently left the chamber. “But yer brother said that I was no longer the knights’ responsibility. Has something changed?”
A few things, in fact, Creed thought as he followed her down the stairs, but he would not tell her the whole of it. His gaze was predictably drawn to the clinging yellow dress; the soft curve of her backside enough to set his male instincts to raging again. She paused politely at the base of the steps, looking up at him expectantly. He realized she was waiting for an answer. Meeting her emerald gaze, he realized he had never more willingly accepted an assignment.
“It has been decided that, as a special hostage, your position demands more protection,” he said, holding his elbow out to her. She took it immediately, her soft fingers clutching his enormous arm. “Since you and I have established a rapport, this duty has been asked of me.”
She continued to gaze up at him. “A duty?”
He smiled faintly. “A pleasure.”
A broad smile spread across her face. “How kind for ye to say so.”
Lord God, he thought as he gazed into her face. Her magnificent smile was enough to cause his knees to go weak, a strange warmth filling him. Never in his life had he felt such giddiness, like a drunken man with too much time and pleasure on his hands. Her smile could make him walk through fire without another thought.
But as foolish and weak as it made him feel, he knew in the same breath that he must conduct himself very carefully. What had happened yesterday would undoubtedly happen again, but he could not, must not, allow it to go further. Creed was not surewhat he was feeling for her yet; it had occupied his thoughts all night when he should have damn well been focused on his sentry duties. Even as he tried to catch a few hours’ sleep just after dawn, he could not sleep for thoughts of her. When his brother had told him of his assignment regarding the lady, it was all he could do to not shout for joy. Instead, he had showed his brother a clearly bored expression. He was pleased that Ryton had bought into it.
He did not say anything more as they crossed the ward back towards the keep; his wink had said it all. He was aware that he felt oddly puffed up, pleased to have her on his arm, as they made their way across the bailey. He knew every man in the place was watching them and he felt a strange sense of both pride and protectiveness.
Shouts up on the wall distracted him from his thoughts. Glancing up, he could see that the soldiers on the parapet were attempting to gain his attention. He took her hand gently off his elbow, turning in the same motion to Burle several paces behind them.
“Burle,” he made sure to put her hand into the big knight’s outstretched palm. “Take the lady, if you please. And do not let her out of your sight, for any reason. I shall be right back.”
Both Burle and Carington watched him jog across the bailey and mount one of the many wooden ladders up to the wall. Burle watched Creed until he mounted the parapets before turning to the lady.
“Would you like to return to your chamber now, my lady?” he asked politely.
Carington tore her gaze away from Creed’s distant form to focus on the big blond man. “Nay,” she said after a moment. “I would like to see this place that would be my home for a while. Will ye show me?”
Burle nodded and began walking slowly with her on his arm. “What would you like to see, my lady?”
She shrugged. “Everything. I’ve never seen a fortress this size before.”
He just started walking, pointing out things like the stables, the buttery, the tanner’s shack. The outer ward was wide and long and there was much to see. The kitchens were separate from both the hall and the keep, a stone structure that had holes near the roof line to allow the smoke to escape. They must have been baking because she could smell the bread and she was hungry. Burle took her inside the very warm, very smoky structure and procured a newly baked loaf from the red-faced cook. Happy, she pulled the bread apart and tore into it like a common soldier. Crust and crumbs flew all over the place.
Burle watched her with a grin on his face. She stuffed bread in her mouth and asked about the kitchen in general, including the big copper pots used to make ale. The cook was also the ale wife and produced most of Prudhoe’s liquor. As she ate, Carington engaged the woman in a conversation about her ale process. Burle stood by the door in silence, listening to Lady Carington discuss the various methods of brewing at her home of Wether Fair. It was apparent that she knew a great deal about it.
Before Burle realized it, Carington and the cook had grasped one of the big copper tubs and were obviously preparing to utilize it. They moved it to the enormous hearth, big enough to cook several people in, and set it upon an extended iron hook that hung from a chain secured into the stone of the chimney.
A conversation with a servant was becoming manual labor. The women could barely move the pot between them but somehow managed as Burle stood there, dumbfounded. He was not sure if he should stop her or not; she seemed very determined and very knowledgeable. He knew it never did himany good to try and stop his own wife from doing something once her mind was set, so he was hesitant to interfere.
“Sir Burle,” Carington jolted him from his thoughts, waving him over. “We require yer strength, if ye please.”
