Page 211 of Historical Hotties
He pulled back, grinning, and released her. “Complaining?”
She shook her head slowly, her emerald eyes filled with reverence. “Never.”
He began to close up his helm in preparation for mounting his warhorse. Carington watched him proudly, gradually distracted by the squabbling in the cab. Forced to look away from her beloved husband, she glared at her tussling daughters.
“Cora,” she snapped. “I am going to sit in that cab between ye and Gaira for the entire ride to Prudhoe and so help me, if either one of ye utter a harsh word, I’ll tan yer hides.”
Cora and Gaira immediately shut their mouths, their eyes wide at both their mother and father. That lasted about two seconds until Moira decided she was chilly and yanked the traveling blanket off of Gaira. That started the avalanche all over again and Creed stuck his head into the cab.
“Ladies, please,” he said softly, reaching out a massive mitt to still the tussling hands. “If you behave yourselves, I promise that when we arrive at Prudhoe, I will take you into town and buy you all something very pretty.”
The girls squealed with excitement. “Me, too, Dada?” Annabella wanted to know. Being the only obedient girl in the bunch, she didn’t want to be left out of the bribe.
He reached out and touched her dark head. “Of course, honey. All of you.” He looked back at the three squabblers. “Agreed?”
“Agreed, Dada,” they said in unison.
Creed stood back from the cab and winked at his wife. He was not sure if he believed the girls but he had to try; he hated to see their mother punish them and he knew from experience that she would. Carington just pursed her lips at him in disapproval.
“Ye spoil them, Creed,” she admonished softly.
He took her elbow and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I treat them like I treat you.”
Carington had no snappy reply to that. She allowed her husband to help her into the cab, receiving a tender kiss from him as he departed. The last she saw of her husband was as he made his way back towards the head of the escort.
Creed was smiling as he made his way to his warhorse. Life was good and there was no reason not to smile. Furthermore, he was thinking of Ryton this day, so many years after the man’s death at Hexham. Every time he returned to Prudhoe, he thought of his brother. He wished the man could see him now.
A conversation lingered in his mind, one he had reviewed many times over the years as one daughter after another was born. He could just see Ryton’s reaction to six daughters; the mere thought always made him laugh. He knew what Ryton would have said.
Creed, you’re a saint.
He was not a saint. But he had certainly found heaven.
