Free Guardian of Darkness by Kathryn Le Veque

pulling at her cold hands, watching him unroll the bedding.  Her mind was beginning to work. Emotional, exhausted, the words came spilling out whether or not she wanted them to.
    “If… if I insulted ye with my actions, then I am sorry,” she spoke haltingly. “Ye’ve been kind to me, Sir Knight, and I am sorry if I offended ye.”
    He did not reply right away. Truth was whatever fury had held him captive for the past several hours was gone.  The lady was safe and that was all that mattered, though it might have been very gratifying to spank her for her insolence.  Still, it was done. And he was not a beating kind of man. Moreover, she had been punished enough for her actions by the event of her dead horse. He could not have made a greater impact on her than that.
     When the bedroll was finally laid out, he stood straight and put his hands on his hips.  “How I feel is of no matter. What matters is if you plan to do it again.”
    She fixed him in the eye with her emerald gaze, her eyes glittering in the weak light like rare and precious stones.  After a moment, she lowered her gaze, wringing her hands furiously. “Nay,” she said softly. “If I knew that my escape attempt would kill my horse, I would never have gone. I swear I wouldna have.”
    Creed did not say anything; he was not sure if he believed her. Aye, he knew she was sorry how things had turned out. Frankly, he was too. But had things worked in her favor, she would not have regretted anything.  At the moment, he did not trust her in the least in spite of her obvious remorse.
    “Rest,” he told her, moving for the exit. “I shall see to your animal and I’ll bring back something to tend that cut.”
    She had forgotten about the scratch on her neck, touching it absently when he reminded her of it.  But it did not deter her from thoughts of her horse.  “Bress,” she murmured, her eyes glittering with emotion. “He… he was a good horse. I was…I was hoping.…”
    She trailed off, unable to finish. Creed paused. “What were you hoping, my lady?”
    She was back to wringing her hands.  She almost did not tell him, waving him off, but she took a deep breath for courage. “I was hoping ye could say a prayer for him,” she finally said. “He was my friend.”
    Praying over a horse. Creed’s first reaction was to snort at the foolishness of the request, but he could see by her expression how serious she was. He should not have felt such pity for her, but he did.
    “If that will comfort you.”
    “It would.” He turned from her but she called to him again. “Sir Knight?”
    He stopped, hand on the tent flap. “My lady?”
    She took a timid step towards him, emerald eyes riveted to moody, dusky blue. “Could I come with ye? I would like to be with him while you… when you….”
    She trailed off, hoping he could read her mind and know what she meant. She could not even bring herself to say it. Creed wondered if she had the stomach to watch it; for her own sake, he doubted it.
    He shook his head. “My lady, you should remember your horse as he was, strong and beautiful and whole. I would not want your last memory of him to be a stiffening carcass going up in flames.”
    Her face paled, at both the description and the denial, but she remarkably held her tongue.
    She watched him walk from the tent, the big man with the enormous hands.  She wondered if she could repair whatever trust she had damaged, but in the same thought, she wondered if she might not make another attempt.  It simply was not in her nature to surrender, no matter how foolish or tragic the results.
    As Creed quit the tent, he spied Burle immediately. The fat knight was several feet away, driving stakes into the ground to secure another tent. Creed called to him and the man made his way over to him, his armor jiggling on his fat rolls.  His thinning blond hair was standing up in wispy strands, blowing lightly in the breeze.  It looked like a crown of feathers.
    “My