his visor and glaring daggers at Jory.
“Leave the lady alone, d’Eneas,” he growled threateningly.
The black-eyed knight lifted an eyebrow. “Why? I am doing nothing harmful. I merely asked how her supper was.”
“You will keep silent and move back to your post.”
Jory’s smug expression faded. “You are not my commander, de Reyne.” He refocused on the lady. “You have Creed to thank for the evening’s meal, you know. Without him, we would not have had such a feast.”
Stanton and Burle turned around to see what was transpiring; they both knew what had happened, well after the fact, and were disgusted with Jory’s underhanded actions. Creed had sought them out that morning just after dawn to find out what they had known about it. Neither man had been aware that the lady’s dead horse had been on the menu; their squires had brought them supper and they had not questioned the lads as to what it was. Upon questioning the boys, the squires proceeded to inform the knights that Sir Jory had instructed them to feed the army from the smoldering horse. He had, in fact, cut the meat himself.
The normally very calm and very cool Creed had been mad enough to kill after that. Only his brother’s intervention and promise of punishment from Lord Richard had kept him from snapping Jory’s neck. The knights had vowed not to say anything to the lady, for obvious reasons. But Jory had not been a part of that vow.
Much to Creed’s horror, Jory was apparently intent on letting the lady in on his sick little joke. Not a word all morning and suddenly the man was running amuck at the mouth. Before Creed could issue another threat to him, Carington replied to Jory’s statement.
“What feast?” she inquired, looking first to Jory and then to Creed. “What feast does he mean?”
Creed met her inquisitive gaze. “The bread and cheese, I am sure,” he said quietly, mostly because he did not want Jory to hear him and contradict him. “I did nothing more than bring it to you. I would hardly call that a feast.”
“He is much too modest,” Jory had indeed heard him, now gleefully shouting it out for all to hear. “He cooked your horse for all of us. We feasted on your tough Scottish steed last night. Did you not recognize the flavor?”
Carington looked to the foolish young knight as he spoke the words, not truly understanding him for a few moments. But as the words settled became understood, Carington’s emerald eyes flew open so wide that they nearly popped from their sockets. Horrified, her hands flew to her mouth and she looked to Creed with an expression of panicked accusation. His dusky blue eyes were steady and intense.
“My lady,” he began, feeling as if he was about to stem a mighty flood with a toy shovel. He could see the chaos in her eyes. “’Tis not as he makes it sound. It was.…”
She screamed with horror. Before Creed could grab her, she was bolting off of the wagon, landing on her bum just behind his charger, and scrambling to her feet. As she screamed again and ran off, he reined his charger around and tore off after her. Together they plunged into the bramble, one after the other. What Creed did not see was Burle rein his horse in Jory’s direction and slug the knight so hard in the face that he toppled off and cracked his head on the side of the wagon. At the moment, Creed was only concerned with a hysterical young lady.
Carington was crying uncontrollably, running full bore like a crazy woman. Creed leapt off his charger, caught her around the torso, and they both tumbled into the tall grass. Once he had her on the ground, he could feel her supple body start to heave. With his arms around her, she proceeded to vomit up everything she had eaten over the past day and then some. Even when there was nothing left, she still continued to retch. Creed just held her.
“’Tis all right, Cari,” he murmured. His helm was bumping against her heaving head
“Leave the lady alone, d’Eneas,” he growled threateningly.
The black-eyed knight lifted an eyebrow. “Why? I am doing nothing harmful. I merely asked how her supper was.”
“You will keep silent and move back to your post.”
Jory’s smug expression faded. “You are not my commander, de Reyne.” He refocused on the lady. “You have Creed to thank for the evening’s meal, you know. Without him, we would not have had such a feast.”
Stanton and Burle turned around to see what was transpiring; they both knew what had happened, well after the fact, and were disgusted with Jory’s underhanded actions. Creed had sought them out that morning just after dawn to find out what they had known about it. Neither man had been aware that the lady’s dead horse had been on the menu; their squires had brought them supper and they had not questioned the lads as to what it was. Upon questioning the boys, the squires proceeded to inform the knights that Sir Jory had instructed them to feed the army from the smoldering horse. He had, in fact, cut the meat himself.
The normally very calm and very cool Creed had been mad enough to kill after that. Only his brother’s intervention and promise of punishment from Lord Richard had kept him from snapping Jory’s neck. The knights had vowed not to say anything to the lady, for obvious reasons. But Jory had not been a part of that vow.
Much to Creed’s horror, Jory was apparently intent on letting the lady in on his sick little joke. Not a word all morning and suddenly the man was running amuck at the mouth. Before Creed could issue another threat to him, Carington replied to Jory’s statement.
“What feast?” she inquired, looking first to Jory and then to Creed. “What feast does he mean?”
Creed met her inquisitive gaze. “The bread and cheese, I am sure,” he said quietly, mostly because he did not want Jory to hear him and contradict him. “I did nothing more than bring it to you. I would hardly call that a feast.”
“He is much too modest,” Jory had indeed heard him, now gleefully shouting it out for all to hear. “He cooked your horse for all of us. We feasted on your tough Scottish steed last night. Did you not recognize the flavor?”
Carington looked to the foolish young knight as he spoke the words, not truly understanding him for a few moments. But as the words settled became understood, Carington’s emerald eyes flew open so wide that they nearly popped from their sockets. Horrified, her hands flew to her mouth and she looked to Creed with an expression of panicked accusation. His dusky blue eyes were steady and intense.
“My lady,” he began, feeling as if he was about to stem a mighty flood with a toy shovel. He could see the chaos in her eyes. “’Tis not as he makes it sound. It was.…”
She screamed with horror. Before Creed could grab her, she was bolting off of the wagon, landing on her bum just behind his charger, and scrambling to her feet. As she screamed again and ran off, he reined his charger around and tore off after her. Together they plunged into the bramble, one after the other. What Creed did not see was Burle rein his horse in Jory’s direction and slug the knight so hard in the face that he toppled off and cracked his head on the side of the wagon. At the moment, Creed was only concerned with a hysterical young lady.
Carington was crying uncontrollably, running full bore like a crazy woman. Creed leapt off his charger, caught her around the torso, and they both tumbled into the tall grass. Once he had her on the ground, he could feel her supple body start to heave. With his arms around her, she proceeded to vomit up everything she had eaten over the past day and then some. Even when there was nothing left, she still continued to retch. Creed just held her.
“’Tis all right, Cari,” he murmured. His helm was bumping against her heaving head
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