Guardian of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

see Creed’s sharp eyes gazing off across the fog and moors. He looked sleepy but alert. She stared at him a good long while before he finally looked down at her.
    “You are up early,” he said. “Is anything amiss?”
    She shook her head. “I… I couldna sleep. I came outside to see the morning.”
    “Did you sleep at all?”
    Again, she shook her head. “I dunna think so.”
    He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Then this will be an exhausting day for you.”
    She lifted her slender shoulders and looked away. “It is of no matter.”
    He watched her lowered head a moment before emitting a piercing whistle.   Carington jumped at the shrill sound as a lad running in their direction from a group of smaller tents.   The boy was very tall, very skinny and blond, perhaps around fifteen years of age. He went straight to Creed.
    “My lord?” the boy asked breathlessly.
    Creed jerked his head in the direction of the tent behind them. “Gather my things for travel. Bring the lady a meal and some warm water.”
    The young man fled. Carington watched him disappear into the tent, recognizing him from the previous evening when he had brought Creed his meal. “Who is that?”
    Creed’s gaze lingered over the foggy encampment a moment longer. “My squire,” he said shortly. Then he looked at her. “If you wish to wash and eat before we leave, now would be the time.”
    She went silently back to the tent, tartan still wrapped tightly around her. She was freezing. Creed watched her a moment, truthfully very thankful that he had found her standing just outside the tent. He thought she had fled again and his heart was still racing because of it.  But she had surprised him by remaining firm.
    He followed her only as far as the tent flap.  James, his squire, emerged from the tent with his arms full of armor and mail and raced back in the direction he had come from.   As Creed stood sentry outside the tent, watching the increased activity of the camp, another boy with short brown hair and enormous brown eyes appeared shortly with an iron pot of steaming water hanging off one arm and a covered tray in both hands.  Creed flipped back the tent flap and allowed the lad entrance.  When the youth quit the tent less than a minute later, Creed resumed his post, his mind moving to the trip ahead.
    Inside the small tent, Carington was also preparing for the trip ahead.  The tartan was folded neatly on the ground and she was in the process of washing some of the dust from her curvaceous body.  It was cold in the tent, made bearable by the steaming water the boy had brought her.  She had a surcoat of gray wool laid out with a soft white-wool sheath that went beneath it.  Her family was not one of wealth or glory, so she owned no pretty belts or jewelry.  She came from a functional, warring clan and such things were considered unnecessary.  
     But she did own soap and oil, which she used in concert with the warm water to bathe her tired body.   She scrubbed her face vigorously and ran a comb through her nearly-black hair.   To keep it neat, she wove it into a single thick braid, draping it over one shoulder.   The oil she had brought with her was extracted from Elder flower and had a sweet, slightly spicy scent.  It was perhaps the only luxury her frugal father had allowed because her skin often became so dry in the winter time that it bled.  The Elder oil helped tremendously and she rubbed it sparingly into her skin.
    The surcoat and sheath were long of sleeve, of good quality and durable.  She dressed in the garments, pulling on woolen pantalets and finally heavy hose, which were the only pair she owned.   Sturdy leather boots went on her feet; her father did not believe in wasting money on frivolous slippers.  Rubbing some oil on her rosebud-shaped lips, she quickly re-packed everything and emerged from the tent.
    She ran right into Creed.
    “I am ready to leave,” she had both her satchels in her hand. “May I