Page 198 of Historical Hotties
“Well?” he demanded. “Did you see her? How is she?”
Massimo was fairly close to being frozen. He was having difficulty removing his warm outer clothing and Creed eventually went to his aid. He pulled off the woolen travel cloak, the layers of wraps and scarves, eventually shoving the man close to the fire. The priest just stood there and shivered as Sian stoked the blaze. All of his men were very nearly frozen, indicative of the brutal weather they had endured.
Creed had all he could take of delays regardless of the priest’s condition. “Massimo,” he demanded again, though in a gentler tone. “Did you see my wife? Is she all right?”
Massimo turned his pale, frozen face to him. His dark eyes were circled and sunken.
“Sir Creed,” he said through cold, thick lips. “There is much to tell. Get me a chair before I collapse.”
Creed snatched a stool from beside the hearth and practically shoved the priest onto it. The man was so cold that he was having difficulty standing. But he knew that Creed was waiting for an answer; truth was, he was not looking forward to providing him with what he knew. But he had little choice. He fixed Creed in the eye and prayed the man could handle it.
“You are a knight of the realm,” the priest began, a chill quiver in his voice. “You have been trained to control your emotions in all things. You must draw upon that strength now to prepare for what I am to tell you.”
Creed just stared at him. His face suddenly lost all color; both Massimo and Sian could see it. Next thing they realized, Creed had toppled to his knees before the priest, his expression indicative of his struggle. His eyes were wide with horror.
“She is dead,” he breathed.
Massimo shook his head. “Nay, she is not,” he told him. “But much tragedy has befallen her since you last saw her.”
Creed emitted something of a strangled sob. “What, for God’s sake? Why do you not come out and tell me what has happened?”
Massimo reached out and grabbed Creed’s massive biceps as if to hold him fast. “Listen to me and listen well,” he muttered. “We arrived at Prudhoe nearly eight days ago. We lingered in town for a time and spoke with the seamstress your wife is so fond of. We discovered that King John’s men had indeed reached Prudhoe not long after you left. They werestill occupying it, interrogating Lord Richard and the knights as to your whereabouts. Somehow, someway, they discovered that you had taken a wife and that she was in residence at Prudhoe.”
Creed grew even paler than he already was. “My dear God; what did they do to her?”
Massimo shook his head. “They did nothing to your wife, I assure you. They understood through Lord Richard that the damage, to her, had already been done. There was no more pain or suffering that anyone could inflict upon her.”
Creed was so tightly coiled that he was light-headed. “I do not understand.”
Massimo’s grip softened. He touched Creed on the side of the face comfortingly. “Three days after we left Prudhoe for Wether Fair, your wife delivered a daughter,” his voice was soft and soothing. “Creed, there is no way to ease the pain of these facts so I must simply tell you; Carington nearly died in the birth. Your daughter, in fact, did not long survive after she was born and I said Mass for her myself. Her young soul is at rest. But your wife… she lingers still between life and death. I was permitted to see her and to give her last rites and when I left, she had not yet passed. I must be honest when I say that the physic is not hopeful.”
Creed shot to his feet before Massimo could finish, pulling the priest off the stool and sending him sprawling. Sian was there, as were some of his burly men, and when they saw their laird grab for Creed they leapt forward to assist. Creed was going mad before their eyes and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
“I must return to Prudhoe,” Creed was heading for the door with a half dozen men hanging on him. “I must get to Carington.”
Massimo scrambled to his feet and put himself in front of Creed. “Listen to me,” he pleaded. “You must control yourself orall will be lost. The king’s men are aware that I know of your location; they were there the night I arrived and they knew I gave last rites to your wife. They are further aware that I have been your advocate since the beginning and they have sent me with a message for you.”
Creed came to a halt, his dusky blue eyes bordering on insanity. His nostrils were flaring as he spoke. “Who sends this message?”
“A knight named de la Londe.”
Creed’s brow furrowed and his teeth barred in a frightening gesture. “I know this knight,” he hissed. “He was one of the knights who accompanied me on my mission to escort Isabella. What message does he send?”
Massimo hoped that Creed would retain enough sense not to throttle him. “That if you do not return to Prudhoe, they are taking your wife back to London to face justice in your stead.”
Those fateful words sealed Creed’s fury; the temper he kept so controlled and cool was irrevocably unleashed. With a roar, he yanked away from the hands holding him and proceeded to demolish everything in the hall that was within his reach. The benches at the table were smashed and splintered and when he was finished with those, he proceeded to bash and slam the feasting table until the legs came off and the table itself smashed into a hundred little pieces. The ale cups sailed across the room and smashed into the great stone walls and the stool that the priest had been sitting on ended up in tatters.
Sian and his men stood back and watched Creed demolish the hall. It was a terrifying and awesome sight. Massimo tried to stay clear of the flying debris as he followed the man around the room, trying to talk some sense into him. But it was of no avail; Creed was far gone with lunacy, fury and anguish such as he had never experienced bubbling up from his chest and expending itself in his strength. But it was more than that; months ofpersecution and hurtful accusations were finding their way free. Finally, he was expending his turmoil. When everything was smashed, still, he smashed it more until he pulverized it.
Eventually, his fury began to wane and he came to an unsteady halt, his hands and arms bloodied, sweat covering his body. It was a rage that none of them had ever seen before, this man who seemed to be followed by such bad fortune and darkness.
Sian waited a reasonable amount of time before approaching him. He understood, more than most, that sometimes a man must physically demonstrate his anger in order to gain control of his demons. Creed seemed to have his share of demons. He came upon Creed as the man stood near the hearth, sweating and bloodied and breathing heavily.
“Creed,” he said in a low voice. “She’s me daughter. If any man has the right tae feel pain, it is me. I understand your rage, lad, but charging in tae Prudhoe will only get ye killed. Is that what ye want?”
Creed was unfocused and unsteady, staring into the flames and somewhat numb to what was going on around him. But he heard Sian’s softly uttered question.
“Nay,” he muttered. “’Tis not what I want. But I must go to my wife and I will kill anyone who stands in my way.”
