Chapter Five
Without a horse, she had been given the choice of riding with Creed or in the wagon.
Because Creed had disappeared before she had awoken and when he returned seemed distant and cold, she chose the wagon.
It was not the most comfortable of rides, but it was better than sitting with someone who clearly disliked her.
The escort moved out at dawn, heading south.
Carington overheard Ryton say that they should arrive by the nooning meal.
With that awareness, her nervousness began to take root.
She had no idea what to expect or what her escorts would tell Lord Richard of her behavior.
She was back to feeling alone, frightened and defiant.
She did not even have Bress to bring comfort.
Without Creed’s kind support as the only Sassenach who seemed willing to tolerate her, she was retreating into her shell.
Creed rode slightly behind the wagon, just close enough to keep an eye on her but not close enough so that he had to talk to her.
Perched beside the soldier driving the team, Carington ignored him just as he was ignoring her.
She was not about to show him just how troubled she really was.
Ryton was up at the head of the column, Stanton and Burle in relatively close proximity to the front of the wagon, but Jory was nowhere to be found.
As the column rode for one solid hour in silence, then two, the morning around them brightened as the landscape flattened out somewhat.
Carington had never been this far south before and turned her attention to the lands beyond.
Clad in a soft linen shift and a scarlet surcoat that was striking against her dark coloring, she was enjoying the weak warmth of the sun.
Her dusty tartan was folded neatly beside her on the wagon seat.
Her long, curling dark hair was pulled back away from her face, secured at the back of her head with a butterfly-shaped pin her father had given her and her lips were coated with the Elder flower oil, giving the slightly-pink lips a glossy sheen.
She was unaware that there was not one man in the escort that did not think she was delightful to look at, including and especially Creed.
Aye, he was riding behind her, but it was mostly for self-protection.
He had been both disappointed and glad when she had chosen to ride in the wagon.
He had never slept so well as he had with her in his arms and the knowledge confused him greatly.
He did not want to be her protector in the first place and was angry at himself for being glad that he was.
It was stupid. He was stupid. As he watched the back of her dark head, lost in thought, he was caught off guard when Jory suddenly rode up beside the wagon.
The young knight was in fine form that morning, seemingly happier than he had been in a long time. He flipped up his three-point visor as he focused his unwanted attention on Carington.
“My lady looks well today,” his brown eyes glittered as he spoke to her. “Did you sleep well?”
Creed could see Carington stiffen, turning to Jory with great contempt in her manner. “Well enough,” she replied in a clipped tone.
Creed spurred his charger forward, closer to the wagon, as Jory continued. “And your sup,” Jory went on. “Did you enjoy that as well?”
She looked at him, wondering why he looked so pleased with himself. She had no idea why the man was even talking to her after two hours of total silence.
“It was fine,” she said as she turned away from him.
By this time, Creed was on the opposite side of the wagon, turning up his visor and glaring daggers at Jory.
“Leave the lady alone, d’Eneas,” he growled threateningly.
The brown-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 and 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 and he tossed it off, hearing it land several feet away. “’Tis all right, honey. Just relax. Relax and breathe.”
She heard his words, soft and soothing, but she could not do as he asked.
She was ill, verging on a faint. Horrified beyond description, she went limp against him.
The heaving had stopped for the moment but still the tears came.
Creed sighed heavily with great regret, and held her tightly against him.
“I am so sorry,” he breathed against her dark hair. “I did not know what had happened until it was too late. None of us did.”
Carington’s hand was at her mouth, covering it, as she struggled to breathe. “I… I ate him!”
It all came out as a strangled cry that cut him to the bone.
“I know, honey, I know,” Creed’s gloved hand was on her forehead, holding her head against his shoulder in an effort to both support and comfort her.
“But I stopped you before you went too far. I am only sorry that I did not prevent the entire circumstance.”
“You cooked him!”
“Nay, lass, I did not cook him. I was burning the carcass and the men smelled the meat cooking and thought it was for eating. It was all a horrible mistake.”
She wept as if her heart was broken. Creed heard footfalls crunching in the grass behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Ryton and Burle standing several feet away. His brother looked sickened while Burle just looked angry.
“Get her up, Creed,” Ryton said quietly. “Do not let her wallow in this. We must be on our way.”
“Give her a minute, for Christ’s sake,” Creed snapped softly. “Keep moving. I will catch up to you when she has calmed sufficiently.”
Ryton’s gaze was fixed on his brother, apparently trying to keep the hysterical hostage from running any further by the grip he had on her. As he watched, the lady heaved again and more stomach contents ended up on the mashed grass. With a heavy sigh, he motioned Burle back to his charger.
“Do not be too long, then,” he said to his brother. “Lord Richard is expecting us around noon. We cannot delay.”