Guardian of Darkness (39 page)

Creed had been trying not to think of his brother all morning but now found his attention focused on him. “That depends; when do you intend to tell Cari’s father about our marriage?”

Richard gave him a lop-sided smile. “I can wait until you return from burying Ryton if that is what you are concerned with.”

“That is exactly what I am concerned with. I do not need an irate Scotsman overrunning Prudhoe while I am gone.”

“I thought you said he would not dare attack Prudhoe because he would consider us kin?”

“You are asking me to anticipate a father who had no say in the marriage of his only daughter?”

Richard laughed softly. “Having no daughters myself, I can only imagine Laird Kerr’s reaction. Put yourself in Sian Kerr’s shoes.”

“I have,” Creed was thinking heavily on going to find something to eat. “If it were me, I would overrun Prudhoe and take great pleasure in it.”

“God help us, then. Let us hope you never have any daughters who marry without your permission.”

The very idea made Creed grin. “With my luck, I shall have eight of them, all with their mother’s disposition.”

Richard laughed out loud. “Now there is a happy thought.”

Creed was about to reply when an odd sound filtered in through the lancet window.  It took them both a moment to realize it was screaming.

***

As she had been instructed, Julia had run to tell Jory when Creed left his marriage chamber.  She had been flushed and, Jory thought, weeping as she told him, but he had ignored her distress and ran from the knight’s quarters to the keep.  It was not particularly busy at this time of the morning and the main entry door had been unmarred by servants or anyone else who might wonder why he was there.  It was not normal for the knights to enter the keep.  But Jory was on a mission.

It was quiet and dark as he made his way up to the third floor; he could hear Gilbert and Edward fighting in their bower to his right and he quickly slipped up the stairs to the fourth floor before Lady Anne could come out of her chamber and scold the boys.  He could already hear her voice as she lifted it, in conversation, to her husband behind their closed bedchamber door. Jory’s boots were silent upon the stone steps as he spiraled his way to the top of the structure.

His breathing was coming in heavy gasps by the time he came to the landing. Two small chambers were on this level; one to the right and one to the left.  Carefully, he put his hand on the latch of the chamber to his right, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he slowly opened the door.  One black eye peered inside, long enough to note that it was cold and empty.  Letting go the latch, he moved to the chamber on his left.

He half expected to find the door bolted but was both surprised and relieved to find that it was not.  He could not keep the smirk from his face as he carefully and silently lifted the latch, opening the door inch by inch, stopping abruptly when it began to squeak.  He could see a portion of the chamber how, including the end of the bed.  He waited to see if anything stirred.  When all remained still, he continued.

The door opened enough for him to slip in without making any further noise.  Jory ducked into the room, spying Carington fast asleep upon the bed.  He shut the door be hind him and bolted it.

He stood there a moment, his gaze lingering on her black head as she lay on her side, snuggled against the linen coverlet.  There were flower petals on the floor and burned out tapers everywhere.  A small fire burned in the hearth, kicking some smoke into the room.  If he inhaled deeply, he could smell the sex that had taken place over the past several hours.  He had no doubt that Creed had taken advantage of the lady all night.  From the way she was sleeping, heavy and still, he could only imagine the extent of their nocturnal activities.  It excited him to think about it.

He thought a moment about his next move. Clearly, nothing gentle or quiet would work. The lady was a fighter and the moment she realized he was upon her, she would resist.  It would be loud and violent.  He therefore determined the best course of action would be the element of surprise and he intended to take full advantage of it. Ripping the coverlet off, he pounced; a hand went over the lady’s mouth and he pinned her small body down with his weight. 

Startled out of a deep sleep, Carington’s eyes flew open in a panic, her emerald gaze immediately falling on Jory’s taut face.  Without delay, she began to scream and kick, her cries muffled in his hand.

“If you fight me, I will kill you,” he hissed, feeling her naked body struggle beneath him. “Cooperate and you shall live. Those are the terms.”

Carington was almost incoherent with terror.  She ignored his demands and managed to get a hand free, jabbing him in the eye as hard as she could.  Jory howled and fell back, his hand coming free from her mouth.  She screamed so loud that it echoed off the thick keep walls.

Jory fell off the bed, his hand on his eye, as Carington leapt up and grabbed the nearest thing she could find. It was a taper sconce, heavy and sharp.  Though he was blind in one eye, Jory saw the iron looming over his head and he put an arm up to block what would have surly been a direct strike to his skull.  As it was, the sconce hit his head anyway and sharp edge gashed his forehead.

Naked as the day she was born, Carington wielded the sconce like a club and whacked him several times over the head with it.  She was screaming like a banshee, praying she could do enough damage to at least get away.  Jory was wallowing on the floor, trying to defend himself, but somewhere in the middle of it he got hold of the sconce and yanked it from her. 

Carington almost toppled over as he pulled it out of her grasp.  Shrieking, she raced to the door and tried to open it, only to realize that it was bolted.  She could hear voices on the other side and she screamed again for help.  As she fumbled with the iron bolt, Jory grabbed her from behind and tossed her onto the bed.

She hit her back on the wooden frame, momentarily stunning her. But her fight did not leave her and she put her fists up as Jory came crashing down on top of her. One fist hit his nose but he grabbed her wrists, struggling to pin her arms.

“You little bitch,” he growled. “I am going to take my pleasure with you and then I am going to kill you.”

Tears were threatening now that he seemed to have the upper hand but Carington refused to give up.  She could hear voices on the other side of the chamber door, louder now, and she prayed that someone had run to find Creed.  She had no idea where he might be.  As she wrestled with Jory in an attempt to prevent him from pinning her arms, he suddenly balled a fist and cuffed her on the side of the head.  Dazed, she went limp and bordered on unconsciousness.

When she stopped resisting, Jory went in for the kill.  He fumbled with his breeches, groping her tender breasts and slobbering all over her flesh. He could hear the concerned voices on the other side of the door but he ignored them; he knew no one would punish him.  No one ever did. It was this false sense of security that helped feed his lust, knowing he would get away with what he was about to do.  Lord Richard would surely prevent Creed from exacting any revenge.  If the man wanted to keep the alliance with Jory’s father, no one would harm him.

He lowered his breeches and roughly pulled her legs apart. Carington suddenly came to life and brought a knee up, catching him in his arousal and Jory fell back with a scream.  Moderately lucid, she was preparing to leap over the bed and unbolt the door but Jory grabbed her before she could get close.  She still was not recovered from the last blow when Jory began pounding her about the head again, his hands going for her throat.  Carington could feel his hands tighten around her neck and she struggled to fight him off as the world began to blacken.  She began to think that she was about to die when the door suddenly exploded.

Splinters and debris were still flying through the air as Creed charge into the room like an avenging angel.  Burle was right behind him. Creed was not armed but Burle was; it took Creed a half-second to see Jory with his hands wrapped around Carington’s neck and he yanked the broadsword from Burle’s grasp, driving it deep into Jory’s torso.   Blood spurted as Jory collapsed with a scream.

Carington fell to the floor, only half-conscious.  She was struggling to breathe.  Creed left the broadsword in Jory’s gut as he scooped his wife into his arms and moved her away from the dying knight.  Grabbing the coverlet, he shielded her nakedness from the people now pushing into the tiny chamber.  Chaos and the sounds of dying suddenly filled the room.

“Cari,” he rubbed her cheeks, her neck where Jory’s fingers had left bruises. “Honey, can you hear me? Answer me!”

She coughed as she began to come around.  Her emerald eyes fluttered and struggled to open.

“Creed?” her voice was a raspy whisper.

Burst of fury aside, Creed came apart when he realized that he had just saved her from certain death.  Had he been a minute later, it might have been another story.  Tears welled in his dusky blue eyes as he stroked her face gently, attempting to bring her back to consciousness.

“I am here, honey,” he murmured. “Look at me, sweet. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Behind him, there was a great deal of commotion going on as Jory went through his death throes.  Burle just stood over him grimly, watching the man twitch and foam.  Lord Richard was there, watching with horror but making no move to help him.  Out in the hall, Kristina and Lady Anne were clutching each other and weeping while Edward and Gilbert just stood in the doorway, jaws agape.  Anne finally pushed into the room and made her way to Creed, obviously avoiding Jory.  She could not bear to look at him.

“Let me see her, Creed,” Anne climbed onto the bed where Creed was holding his wife. “Let me see the damage.”

Creed could not even speak; his eyes were swimming with tears as he shifted slightly so that Anne could inspect Carington.  The woman ran gentle fingers along Carington’s head and neck.

“Look,” she stroked a temple. “She has the bruise already.  And her neck is quite red but I do not feel anything broken or out of place.”

Creed started to stay something but emitted an odd noise that sounded more like a strangled sob.  Anne looked at him, concerned, only to see that tears were popping out of his eyes and falling onto his wife.  She could see, at that moment, that he was far more terrified that he was angry.  The man had just lost his brother; now the threat against his wife had put him over the edge. Pity filled her.

“Creed,” she murmured, putting her hand on his head. “I do not see any permanent damage.  She will be all right.”

He emitted a sob and closed his eyes, burying his face in Carington’s shoulder.  As Anne gently stroked his dark hair, Carington began to grow more lucid.

“Creed?” she blinked her eyes, coming out of a strange fog and realizing that her husband was sobbing against her.  She blinked again, seeing his head on her shoulder. “What has happened? Why are ye weeping?”

His head came up, fixed on her.  “Because… hell, because I thought Jory had killed you.” He stroked her dark head with a trembling hand. “How do you feel? Are you all right?”

She was feeling much better than she was just a few seconds before.  The world was righting itself although her head hurt tremendously.  She put a hand to her skull. “I am all right,” she said softly, not wanting him to know how weak and achy she felt. He did not look as if he could take any more bad news and she put her hand on his face to wipe away the tears. “I am fine, English. Nothing to worry over.”

He emitted a heavy sigh and kissed her gently a couple of times.  Then he sat up, taking her with him.  “What in the hell happened? How did Jory end up in here?”

She looked over to the corner of the chamber, seeing Burle, Lord Richard and now Stanton and Galen standing over a crumpled form.  The latter two knights had heard the commotion way out in the outer bailey and had come armed for battle.