Read Online Guardian of Darkness by Kathryn Le Veque - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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could not muster the strength. Being stubborn had gotten her horse killed.
“Because,” she said softly; he barely heard her. “I dunna want to be a prisoner.”
“I told you that you were not going to be a prisoner. But if you continue to behave like this, we will have no other choice but to lock you up.”
She did not have an answer to that. She was still thinking on Bress, the results of her actions, and she looked over her shoulder again to see Jory standing over the golden body in the distance. She came to a halt and Creed with her. He noted the concerned expression on her face.
“That knight,” she said haltingly. “I dunna… I dunna like him. I dunna want him tending my horse.”
Creed eyed Jory in the distance as well. “My lady, he cannot harm your horse. The horse is dead. He is simply going to dispose of the body.”
“How?”
“More than likely, he will burn he corpse.”
She sighed; he heard the soft, wistful hiss. He expected more protests but she remained silent. Just as they were turning around to resume their walk, something caught her attention and the emerald eyes flew open wide. Creed turned to see what she was looking at and they both watched as Jory relieved himself on the dead horse. He peed all over him. Carington looked accusingly at Creed, fully prepared to berate him, but the words would not come. She burst into tears instead.
“He… he peed on him,” she sobbed pitifully. “My sweet Bress. He fouled him.”
Creed sighed heavily, turning her for the camp and putting his enormous arm around her shoulder so she would not turn around again.
“I am sorry, my lady, I truly am,” he said, his voice a gentle growl. “I will take care of Jory, have no doubt. I shall avenge what he has done to your horse. Do you believe me?”
She was tucked into the curve of his torso, the plate metal of the armor jabbing her in tender places. But it was a strangely comforting position. She gazed up at him, the dusky blue eyes and square jaw. Something passed between them, a jolting flicker of warmth that almost made her forget her tears. Whatever it was came right out of those amazingly moody eyes. Lightning bolts! She thought to herself. I felt the lightning bolts!
“I-I believe ye,” she sniffled and stammered. “But my horse….”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I will see to him myself if it will make you feel better. For now, let us get you some food and into bed. You need to rest.”
Carington fell silent the rest of the way back to the encampment. In fact, she was singularly focused on the big knight’s arm around her shoulders and trying to figure out why she was not demanding he remove it. Prudhoe men had set up a nice little tent city near the outskirts of the small village where the knights from Gilderdale had found her. Creed took her back to the tent she had occupied the night before, a larger shelter with a large flap of an opening. The rising wind was beginning to whip it about.
He took her into the dark innards, made spooky by the strong breeze. The oilcloth fabric was cold and uninviting, but the vizier was sitting in the middle of the tent, lit and weakly sparking. Carington’s possessions lay in a neat pile near the door where someone had put them.
“It should warm up in here shortly,” he said, letting go of her the instant they entered the tent. He bent over and began to untie her bedroll. “Now would be a good time to rest before sup.”
She stood there and watched him; now that he had removed his thick arm from her, she was able to focus on his demeanor somewhat. He was acting as if nothing in the world was wrong, as if she had not run from him. He had, after all, been relatively considerate the entire time she had known him. To have run from him was to have slapped him in the face and, more than likely, destroyed his trust in her in the process. She was coming to feel guilty for a multitude of reasons.
She stood there a moment,
“Because,” she said softly; he barely heard her. “I dunna want to be a prisoner.”
“I told you that you were not going to be a prisoner. But if you continue to behave like this, we will have no other choice but to lock you up.”
She did not have an answer to that. She was still thinking on Bress, the results of her actions, and she looked over her shoulder again to see Jory standing over the golden body in the distance. She came to a halt and Creed with her. He noted the concerned expression on her face.
“That knight,” she said haltingly. “I dunna… I dunna like him. I dunna want him tending my horse.”
Creed eyed Jory in the distance as well. “My lady, he cannot harm your horse. The horse is dead. He is simply going to dispose of the body.”
“How?”
“More than likely, he will burn he corpse.”
She sighed; he heard the soft, wistful hiss. He expected more protests but she remained silent. Just as they were turning around to resume their walk, something caught her attention and the emerald eyes flew open wide. Creed turned to see what she was looking at and they both watched as Jory relieved himself on the dead horse. He peed all over him. Carington looked accusingly at Creed, fully prepared to berate him, but the words would not come. She burst into tears instead.
“He… he peed on him,” she sobbed pitifully. “My sweet Bress. He fouled him.”
Creed sighed heavily, turning her for the camp and putting his enormous arm around her shoulder so she would not turn around again.
“I am sorry, my lady, I truly am,” he said, his voice a gentle growl. “I will take care of Jory, have no doubt. I shall avenge what he has done to your horse. Do you believe me?”
She was tucked into the curve of his torso, the plate metal of the armor jabbing her in tender places. But it was a strangely comforting position. She gazed up at him, the dusky blue eyes and square jaw. Something passed between them, a jolting flicker of warmth that almost made her forget her tears. Whatever it was came right out of those amazingly moody eyes. Lightning bolts! She thought to herself. I felt the lightning bolts!
“I-I believe ye,” she sniffled and stammered. “But my horse….”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I will see to him myself if it will make you feel better. For now, let us get you some food and into bed. You need to rest.”
Carington fell silent the rest of the way back to the encampment. In fact, she was singularly focused on the big knight’s arm around her shoulders and trying to figure out why she was not demanding he remove it. Prudhoe men had set up a nice little tent city near the outskirts of the small village where the knights from Gilderdale had found her. Creed took her back to the tent she had occupied the night before, a larger shelter with a large flap of an opening. The rising wind was beginning to whip it about.
He took her into the dark innards, made spooky by the strong breeze. The oilcloth fabric was cold and uninviting, but the vizier was sitting in the middle of the tent, lit and weakly sparking. Carington’s possessions lay in a neat pile near the door where someone had put them.
“It should warm up in here shortly,” he said, letting go of her the instant they entered the tent. He bent over and began to untie her bedroll. “Now would be a good time to rest before sup.”
She stood there and watched him; now that he had removed his thick arm from her, she was able to focus on his demeanor somewhat. He was acting as if nothing in the world was wrong, as if she had not run from him. He had, after all, been relatively considerate the entire time she had known him. To have run from him was to have slapped him in the face and, more than likely, destroyed his trust in her in the process. She was coming to feel guilty for a multitude of reasons.
She stood there a moment,
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