Page 185 of Historical Hotties
He swallowed hard; she saw it. There was an enormous amount of relief in his manner.
“Will you at least allow me to inspect you for injury?” he asked gently.
She shifted in his arms, moving away from him so that she was in the middle of the bed. She opened up the coverlet, letting it fall. Her soft, thoroughly delicious body was revealed in the weak morning light.
“Look all ye wish,” she told him. “I know you dunna believe me when I say that I will be all right. Look and see that I have no broken bones or bloody wounds.”
His concerned expression was turning lusty as he gazed upon her perfect breasts and narrow waist. True, she looked well enough except for the red welts around her neck and the lump on her head. She also looked extremely enticing.
“Are you sure?”
She pursed her lips at him irritably and he knew, in that gesture, that she was indeed going to be all right. The sass, the spark, was still there.
“How many times are ye going to ask me the same question?”
He smiled at her, reaching out to collect the coverlet and wrap it back around her body. Like a babe in swaddling, he took her gently in his arms and lay down with her on the bed.
His lips were against her forehead as he held her close. He kept reliving over in his mind how close he came to losing her, thanking God that he had been in time to prevent it.
“I am so sorry this happened,” he murmured against her head. “Had I had any idea that Jory would have tried something like this, I would have taken much greater steps to protect you.”
She was exhausted, her lids heavy and sleep beckoning. “’Twas not yer fault, English,” she replied. “Ye would have had to read his mind in order to know what he was thinking.”
“Still,” he muttered, “I should have been here.”
She sighed contentedly against him, snuggling close. “Yer here now.”
“I will always be here, I swear it.”
She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Late November 1200 A.D.
Creed was havinga very difficult time that morning. He had been privy to hysterics, weeping, fury and pouting. There was a tempest going on around him and nothing he could say would make a difference. Still, he continued trying. All the while, he could hear Carington in their bower, alternately cursing and crying. She was a mess.
“Honey,” he called gently, struggling to be patient. “My dearest, sweetest love, I told you that we would go to town today to visit Rita. Surely she has something lovely and delightful that will fit you.”
Two months ago, they had moved into a small cottage that was built into the inner wall of Prudhoe near the great hall. Richard had ordered the cottage constructed when Creed had made the ecstatic announcement that his wife was pregnant. Until that time, they had remained in the tiny room on the fourth floor of Prudhoe’s keep but with a baby on the way, they would quickly outgrow the space. Anne had been most insistent that Prudhoe’s commander and his wife should have their own home with their growing brood and Richard had agreed.
So the cottage with three rooms was built just for Creed. Carington had been thrilled. But at the moment, in the bedchamber with the big, new bed that had given her so much delight, she was furious because her surcoats had reached the point where they would no longer fit. At nearly seven monthspregnant, she was already large with child and growing larger by the day.
But it was the way of things and in spite of Carington’s pregnancy-induced mood swings life was very good these days. Creed had gotten to the point where he simply did not think about the pending trials he was still waiting to face. No information had been exchanged to any regard; of his marriage, Jory’s death, or the queen. Prudhoe had kept to itself and hadn’t let the rest of the world in. Creed’s life was here and now, and he was happy awaiting the birth of his first child. It was all he could focus on. He would deal with everything else when the time came.
As he stood in the main chamber of their cottage, Carington came huffing into the room with her arms full of garments. She dropped them on the table near the hearth.
“I canna fit into any of these,” she raged. “Nothing fits anymore. I have grown as fat as a pig.”
Creed gazed at his wife who, he thought, had never looked more beautiful. Her lovely face was rosy, her delicious body round and ripe with a gently swollen middle section. He adored making love to her this way.
“You are a goddess divine,” he smiled at her.
Her emerald eyes flashed and her lip went into a pout. He could see more tears approaching.
“Will ye take these to Rita and ask her to amend them?” she sniffled.
“I told you I would. Do you want to go?”
