She turned her head; he was so close that if she had stuck out her tongue, she would have licked him. Her heart thumped harder and faster, threatening to burst from her chest as she gazed into his dusky blue eyes with their fringe of thick dark lashes. The lightning bolts were still there but, this time, they were far tenderer and far less shocking.
“How would ye know what I am made of?” she asked.
“Because I can tell.”
She cocked her head. “Ye believe that I have strength?”
He smiled in reply, gazing into her lovely face, knowing that he was going to kiss her and there was not a damn thing he could do to stop himself. His grip tightened, pulling her cheek very close to his mouth, and his lips went to work. Very gently, his mouth moved across her cheek to her chin. As it did so, he felt her body quiver violently and it fed both his passion and his curiosity; he was wildly curious to taste her lips. He thought she tried to say something but he could not be sure; before she could get the words out, his lips slanted over hers and he fed his curiosity with her delicious flesh.
Clutched tightly against Creed’s chest, Carington knew she should, at the very least, be protesting his actions. She had tried, sort of, but his mouth had claimed her own and the protest died on her lips. Now she was experiencing the searing heat of his mouth, scorching her like nothing she had ever known to exist. She’d never been kissed by a man before and hardly knew what to expect, but Creed’s gentle lips wordlessly instructed her on how to respond. In a very short amount of time, she was aptly doing so. In fact, it was as if a flood gate suddenly opened and her passionate Scot nature exploded in ways she never knew it could.
Her small fingers found their way into his inky hair, gripping his head as he devoured her. His tongue licked at her lips, tenderly prying them open, and she gasped as he invaded her honeyed mouth. Carington savored the sensations, each one so new and exciting, feeling his flesh against hers, his massive arms around her slender body. There was such excitement and comfort and passion, sensations she had never felt before, and she mimicked his actions, matching him suckle for suckle because it seemed like the most natural thing to do. She could taste him, his distinct musk and saltiness, and it was exhilarating.
Creed was kissing her so lustfully that he nearly swallowed half her face. She was delectably sweet, like nothing he had ever sampled before, and the fact that she was responding eagerly to him only increased his fervor. She was so small that his arms encircled her torso and then some, and he could feel the swell of her left breast against the palm of his left hand. It was firm and warm. With the figure this woman had, curvaceous and slender in all the right places, having her in his arms only served to excite him more.
The kiss was growing more heated. A bevy of unexpected emotions and sensations were beginning to crop up, seeds of obsession and intimate curiosity that he could not seem to control. Creed was suckling gently on her tongue when a soft knock sounded at the chamber door. Startled, his head came up and they both stared at the door a moment as if unsure they had heard anything at all. But a second knock came shortly thereafter, stronger than the first, and Creed lifted her up and set her on her feet as if she weighed no more than a child. Carington wobbled, giggled, and he smiled in response, putting a finger over his lips to indicate silence. He noticed her face was rather red, her lips glossy-wet from his kiss, and he gently wiped his hand over the lower half of her face to remove all traces of his loss of control. Carington wiped her face with her own hands just to make sure. He could see that her hands were shaking.
“Stay here,” he commanded softly.
She remained still, her emerald eyes following him as he moved across the floor and opened the door. The Lady Anne entered immediately, her eyes wide between Creed and Carington.
“I came to see how our guest is faring,” she said hesitantly to Creed. Then she looked at Carington. “Are you feeling better, my lady?”
Carington nodded slowly. “Aye, m’lady,” she could hardly speak, still reeling from Creed’s wicked mouth. She glanced at him before continuing. “Forgive me for ruining yer sup. I… I dunno what came over me.”
She said the last part purely for Creed’s sake. She really was not sorry and she was fully aware of what came over her. Yet she realized that she wanted to please Creed. But his face was emotionless as Anne moved towards her.
“You are simply exhausted,” Anne said, studying her closely as if to gain a better, more in-depth view of her new charge. “I will put Julia and Kristina in another chamber for tonight. I am sure you will want to rest alone.”
“I dunna wish to displace them, m’lady.”
Anne smiled. “You are not. Enjoy your rest, then.”
Carington nodded, somewhat humbled and uncertain. “Thank ye, m’lady.”
Anne’s dark eyes lingered on her a moment before turning for the chamber door. She was almost out of the room when she paused, turning to Creed as he still stood by the chamber door.
“You did not punish her, did you?”
“Nay, my lady.”
“Good. Go and get her some food and then leave her to rest.”
Creed nodded obediently and watched as Lady Anne swept out into the hall and down the steps. His gaze moved back to Carington, still standing where he had left her. She had not moved.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Send a servant with it, Creed. Ye need not cater to me.”
“I do not intend to. But I will bring you the meal you were denied.”
Again, she shook her head, moving towards him. “I am not particularly hungry.”
“You have not eaten all day. I would see you eat something before you retire. Please.”
His softly uttered plea cut off her refusal. A faint smile creased her lips as she gazed up at him. “Why are ye so kind to me?”
They were standing a few feet apart but he could feel her heat from where he stood. He found himself staring at her mouth, remembering how her lips tasted. It was horribly unhealthy and he knew it, but at the moment, he did not particularly care.
“Because you warrant it.”
She laughed softly, her teeth straight and white in her bow-shaped mouth. “I’ve done nothing but fight ye all the way back from Scotland. How can ye say I deserve anything kind from ye?”
His dusky blue eyes glittered at her. “Because you do.”
She regarded him a moment. “May I ask ye something?”
“You may.”
“What possessed ye to kiss me?”
He stared at her; he was wondering about that very thing and had no clear cut answer. He honestly did not know what had possessed him other than an overwhelming feeling. After a moment, he lifted his big shoulders.
“I do not know. It seemed like a good idea.”
“Was it?”
He grinned, a coy gesture, as if he did not want her to see just how he really felt about it. “Aye,” he muttered. “But it is not something that should become public knowledge. I am in a position of trust and what I did could be considered a violation of that trust.”
She looked serious. “I would never betray ye, Creed. And if I hadna wanted ye to do it, I would have whacked ye.”
A smile flickered across his lips, but he did not know what to say to that. It was obvious she had responded to him as readily as he had to her, an attachment between them that was deepening by the hour. He was terrified, sickened, and thrilled by it all at the same time. He did to Carington exactly what Isabella had accused him of doing to her, only this time, he was truly guilty. He had kissed the little firebrand and was not the least bit sorry about it. So he had to leave the room, if for no other reason than to clear his head. The mission to collect sup was a convenient excuse.
Creed quit the chamber in silence, leaving Carington standing there, heart fluttering against her ribs and the flavor of him still on her lips.
True to his word, he brought her back a huge tray of supper and sat with
her while she ate. This time, Ryton was with him and the two of them sat her down at the small table in the ladies’ chamber. It was the first time she had seen Ryton without his helm and she was not surprised to note that he looked a good deal like his younger brother; with the exception of very short, light-brown hair, they had similar facial features. But Creed’s features were more solid and masculine. In her view, Creed was most definitely the beauty of the family.
He was also the more persuasive of the two. The men discovered early on that Carington was a picky eater, and not a particularly big eater, so after the third bite of bread with butter and honey she acted as if they were torturing her. Creed took the bread from her plate and fed her as if she were an infant. As long as he was holding the bread, she would eat it. But if he put it down, she would make no move to feed herself.
Ryton sat in a sturdy oak chair, still looking as if he’d been on the road for three days without reprieve, and watched his brother force feed their hostage. Not strangely, Creed had a manner about him that would soothe a savage beast, which was exactly what he had on his hands. Creed had always been a gentle giant, more apt to use understanding and communication before force. Carington was responding to him, but not happily. Had it been Ryton, he would have given up long ago. He simply did not have the patience that his brother did.
Halfway through the meal, the lady focused her emerald green eyes on Ryton. He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed and feeling his exhaustion when she focused in on him. He noticed her intense stare and his guard went up.
“Why are ye here, Sir Ryton?” she half-asked, half-demanded. “Did ye come to make sure yer brother feeds me as he’s been ordered to?”
Ryton gazed back at her steadily. “I came to see how you were faring. You have been a handful for my brother and although the man has patience, he is not invincible.”
Carington seemed to back down, passing a long glance at Creed as he cut away a succulent piece of beef from the bone.
“I am sorry I have been difficult,” she said quietly. “It was never my intention to be burdensome.”
“You have not been.” Creed held the beef up to her on the knife and she shook her head. Patiently, he removed it from the sharp knife and held it out to her with his fingers. She just stared at him until he put the beef almost to her lips; only then did she open her mouth and he popped it in like a mother bird feeding a chick. He turned back to the beef. “You have had a most difficult few days and you would have to be either dead or stupid not to react in kind.”
Ryton scratched his head. “Creed, you are a saint,” he muttered. Then he looked back to the hostage. “Can I assume you are beyond any more escape attempts, then?”
She swallowed the beef in her mouth. “I have nowhere to go, Sir Ryton.”
“That is not an answer. Do you plan to escape again?”
She made a face at him, mockingly. “Nay, I dunna plan to escape again.”
Creed hid a smile at the way she snarled at his brother. He found her to be quite funny at times. But Ryton pursed his lips at her insolence.
“Very well,” he said. “Then I will place you in the wardship of Lady Anne and her majordomo. You will no longer have Creed to torment.”
Creed did not react; he was cutting another piece of beef. But Carington looked startled by the suggestion. “But… but I dunna know them. I dunna want anyone else to watch over me.”
“Creed has other duties to perform,” Ryton replied. “He has completed his task by bringing you unharmed to Prudhoe. Now he must go about his regular duties, of which you are not a part.”
Her reaction was to stare at Ryton a long moment before averting her gaze. She dare not say any more, fearful that whatever she was feeling for Creed might be obvious. Moreover, Creed was not protesting in the least. Perhaps he was glad to be rid of her.
“As ye say,” she hung her head, turning away from Creed when he offered her another bite.
“Eat,” he said softly. When she shook her head, he gently grasped her by the chin and pushed the beef into her mouth.
She chewed slowly, laboriously. Creed stopped cutting beef, wiping his hands on a square of linen. She had already eaten a goodly amount and he would not push further. Ryton watched her lowered head a moment before rising on his weary legs.
“You must understand what is expected of you now, lady,” he said. He was so exhausted that he was weaving unsteadily. “You will obey Lady Anne and her majordomo without question. If you are insolent in any way, punishment will fall to me. Not Creed, but to me. You will also be assigned certain tasks about the household, of which you shall perform without question. Any disobedience in this will be met swiftly. Lastly, you are not to stray beyond the inner bailey. If you are found in the outer bailey or outside the walls, it will be considered a violation of hostage terms and will be dealt with as an escape attempt. Is any of this unclear so far?”
Her head snapped up, the emerald eyes flashing. Creed watched her face, knowing the storm was rising.
“So ye are to treat me like a prisoner,” she hissed. “I am to be confined like a criminal.”
“For now,” Ryton said evenly. “Until you prove yourself trustworthy, we must establish rules. Already you have tried to run, twice I might add, so you have brought this upon yourself.”
There was a soft knock on the door, distracting them from the rising tension. Creed went to the door and opened it; a few servants were on the landing with Carington’s baggage. He motioned them inside the chamber where they deposited it quickly and fled. When they were gone, Creed closed the door quietly.
The brief interruption had allowed Carington’s temper to cool somewhat. Creed continued to stand over by the door, not wanting to be close to Carington and possibly get sucked into her emotional turmoil. He clearly felt for her, and clearly felt something for her, but his brother could not know. For both their sakes, Ryton had to be oblivious to whatever was occurring. Creed did not even understand the all of it and there was no way he could explain it to his brother.
“Do you have any questions, my lady?” Ryton had softened somewhat by the time the servants departed; he was not truly trying to be cruel. “Anything at all?”
Carington shook her head. Ryton watched the dark head, thinking perhaps to say something more, but thought better of it. It had already been a long and trying day. Any words of solace at this point, however minor, would seem trite.
“If you need anything, please do not hesitate to send for either myself or Creed. Even if we are not directly responsible for you, we are nonetheless at your service.”
She just nodded her head, once. Ryton’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before departing the chamber. He motioned his brother to join him as he did so. Creed did not dare look at Carington as he followed his brother from the room, but he knew for a fact that he would be back.
CHAPTER SIX
“Sorry to have troubled you with such a burden,” Ryton was into his fourth cup of wine and feeling no pain. “She was a tax on even your steady demeanor, Creed. God help you.”
Burle and Stanton laughed at Creed’s expense. Seated around the well-used table in the common room of the dismal knight’s quarters, the four of them were enjoying some time away from their duties. They oft spent their precious off-duty hours drinking and blowing off tension, just the four of them, as they were close friends that had seen a good deal of life and death together.
“She was not entirely awful once she stopped being belligerent,” Creed’s lips crinkled with a smile. “She was actually quite humorous when all of the fire and fight was out of her.”
“Humorous, did you say?” Ryton repeated. “Then it must have been a momentary lapse in sanity. Surely there is nothing humorous about that firebrand.”
Burle and Stanton laughed again, the ever-ready audience for the comedy team of the de Reyne brothers. Creed just shook his head and took a long drink of wine; it was his fifth cup that evening. He had hoped it would help settle his confus
ion over their earlier kiss when, in fact, it had only increased it. More than that, he realized that he actually missed her. That thought made him drink more.
“She is a firebrand, no doubt,” he replied evenly, wanting off the subject because he was afraid the wine would loosen his tongue. “Now that our task is over and she is here, what now, O Great Brother of mine? We are to have alleged peace with Clan Kerr and their allies. Dare we believe it?”
Ryton’s eyebrows wriggled. “I do not know. I would hope so. After losing Lenox against the Clans, I would hope all of this would be finally ended.” His good humor faded as he stared into his cup. “But the cost was too high. I would rather have my youngest brother back than all of the peace in the world.”
Creed’s thoughts drifted to their baby brother, killed in a vicious battle at Kielderhead Moor five years ago. He had fallen on the battlefield and they had not found him until hours later. By then, he was dead. The best they could deduce was that he had survived the initial injury only to be killed by the Scots after the battle had ended when he had lain crippled, unable to defend himself.
He could still see Lenox de Reyne on the last day of his life, newly-knighted and ready to kill Scots. His light brown hair and dusky blue eyes were ingrained into their memories. Where Ryton could be emotional and Creed was so calm that he was oft accused of being dead, Lenox had been the excitement of the family. He laughed easily, played pranks, and was generally a thorn in their side. Many a time Creed had captured his mischievous brother while Ryton punished him by good–naturedly beating him. But it had all been in fun and they both missed him tremendously; much more than they would admit when they weren’t drunk. It seemed that something was missing now, a hole in their lives. Though death was part of their profession, losing a gifted brother that had only seen twenty three years had been a true tragedy.
But Ryton did not want to linger on the past. It always made him feel horrendously guilty; he had been in command that day and it was a guilt he still lived with.
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