Page 184 of Historical Hotties
“Did he hurt you, Lady de Reyne?” he asked.
Carington felt a flash of pleasure at hearing her new title but she was too exhausted and hurt to acknowledge it. “He beat me well enough,” she replied weakly. “But ’tis nothing I willna recover from.”
Richard looked sick. “Perhaps I should call a physic. There is a fine physic in Newcastle; ’tis not too far from here.”
Carington tried to shake her head, struggling to sit up in her husband’s embrace. “Nay,” she said with more strength. “No physic. I will be fine. I just need to rest.”
Richard nodded regretfully, passing a lingering glance at Jory’s still form. “Get him out of here,” he told Burle.
The knights heaved Jory’s body off the floor and Burle took him over one of his big shoulders. Creed could not even muster the will to look at the corpse as they removed it from the room. Had he not been more concerned with Carington at the moment, he would have taken much delight in defiling the body. For all of the anger and anguish he was feeling, he would have liked nothing better than to gore the man a thousand times over and call it justice. So it was best that he not look at all.
When the knights had left with a trail of blood behind them, Creed tucked the coverlet in tighter around Carington and continued to rock her gently. Anne remained seated on the bed behind him, her gentle hand on Carington’s forehead to give what comfort she could. Kristina stood in the doorway, sobbing.
“Is… is she all right, my lord?” the pale blond asked timidly.
Carington heard her friend and her head came up, her emerald eyes focusing on her. She smiled wearily.
“I am all right,” she said. “Dunna stand there; come in here and sit with me a while.”
Kristina moved reluctantly into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling bravely through her tears. Carington moved an arm out from beneath the coverlet and extended her hand to the young girl. Kristina clutched it eagerly.
“I believe ye are more talented than ye know,” she said softly.
Kristina sniffled, looking confused. “What do you mean?”
“Yer card game; did it not predict death and chaos?”
She had meant it as a joke but Kristina’s eyes opened wide as she remembered her predictions. “I am going to burn all of my cards,” she suddenly burst into tears. “I never want to play with them again.”
By this time, Creed’s head had come up from where it had been resting on top of Carington’s dark head.
“What cards?” he asked.
Carington squeezed Kristina’s hand. “My friend has magic cards that divine the future. She told my fortune yesterday and, so far, everything has come true.”
Creed smiled faintly, noting that Kristina seemed truly despondent. “Cards do not foretell the future, my lady,” he assured her. “I would not worry overly.”
They continued to sit in silence for a few moments, each to their own thoughts; Kristina of her foreboding cards, Creed of how close he came to losing his wife, Carington of going back to sleep, Anne of how tenderly Creed held his wife, and Richard of how he was going to tell Jory’s father that his son had been killed. No matter that it had been in the course of a brutal crime and clearly Jory deserved what he received, the fact remained that Jory’s father, Baron Hawthorn, was going to take issue with it. Richard wondered on the repercussions.
Richard finally went to the bed, patting his wife on the shoulder. “Leave them to rest,” he instructed quietly. “They have had enough excitement for one day.”
With a final stroke to Carington’s head, Anne rose from the bed and took Kristina in hand as they quit the chamber. Richard followed, his gaze lingering on the horrific state of the room and wondering if any more horrors await them; in the past two days, Prudhoe had seen its fill.
“I will send Burle back up to you,” he told Creed softly. “He will be outside your door should you require anything.”
Creed simply nodded, hearing the door shut softly behind him. When they were finally alone, he fixed on her.
“Tell me the truth,” he murmured. “How badly did he hurt you?”
She sighed faintly. “He beat me around the head and shoulders, but he dinna do any real damage.”
“That is not what I meant.”
She gazed at him, realizing what he meant by the expression on his face, and she fought off a blush. “He dinna do what ye are asking,” she replied in a whisper. “He tried, but he dinna do it.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing, I swear to ye.”
