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do you think a hostage is?”
    Her ranting came to an abrupt halt. She stared up at him, still rubbing the wrist, but her expression was morphing from one of fury into one of realization.  The emerald eyes begin to waver; the lower lip, to tremble.  He had her and they both knew it.
    But it was not in Carington’s nature to so easily yield. There was much Scots in her, much fight.  She had inherited the intrinsic sense of loathing for the English and those who would seek to take away the liberty that every Scots believed was their inherent right.  No man should rule over another; race should only rule over the same race. The English believed they were more civilized and, therefore, more intelligent to administer over their brothers to the north.  Carington, her father, and her father’s fathers, believed they were quite capable on their own.  They did not need any interference.
    “I hate ye, Sassenach,” it all came out as a blurted, passionate whisper. “I’ll hate ye until I die.”
    He was unmoved. “That is your choice.  But in spite of that, I am still your shadow and will do what is necessary to ensure both your safety and your suitable manners.  You will behave, my lady, or my retribution shall be swift.  I’ll not have you striking out at everyone who upsets you, for clearly, that is frequent occurrence. Is that clear?”
    She looked away, rubbing her wrist and struggling not to weep.  She was so mad that she was verging on tears. But she was also feeling an extreme measure of defeat.  At the moment, there was nothing left for her to do but relent. She was not so foolish that she did not realize that.  But she was not giving up entirely.
    “May I please see to my horse?”
    She asked so softly that he almost did not hear her.  As the squires began to collapse the tent behind them, Creed held out his hand to her and she understood the gesture to walk with him. When he reached to take her elbow, purely as a courtesy, she deliberately pulled away. She did not want the knight touching her. She did not want to show any capitulation to the man whose directives she would be forced to comply with.  She hated him. She would hate him forever.
    Some of the horses were being tended by the time they reached the make-shift area where the horses were tethered. The sky was lightening to a pale gray, enough so that Carington could see the blond head of her tall horse back in the herd.  Without a word to Creed, she ducked under the roped barrier and wove her way among the horses, occasionally slapping a big horse butt that got in her way.   When she came to within a few feet of Bress, she clucked to him softly, calling his name. The horse’s ears perked in her direction and he nickered softly.
    Carington and the monstrous horse came together in an affectionate clash. Creed stood a few feet away, watching her hug and kiss the big golden head.  The horse nibbled on her arm and flapped its big lips at her face when she tried to kiss it.  It was actually quite touching to watch, if he were to admit it.  He could see just by the way she handled the animal that she was very much in love with it.  Without all of the resistance and fight, he could sense that she was a sweet and compassionate woman.  He began to have some doubt as to whether or not he should forbid her from riding the animal; she had indeed ridden it yesterday with no ill effects. Perhaps his brother’s concerns were overrated.
    As he mulled over his thoughts, Carington proceeded to inspect every inch of the horse. When she was sure the animal was unharmed, she turned to Creed.
    “Has he been fed yet?” she asked. “I would like to feed him myself.”
    Creed looked around to the few soldiers milling about, men who usually tended the horses on a long march. “I doubt it,” he said. “Stay here a moment. I’ll see about procuring him some food.”
    She watched him as he wandered off into the lifting fog, studying his confident gait.  To see