Angie Arms - Flame Series 03 (11 page)

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Garrick stared into the flames of the fire.  Beside him, sitting silently was Cyrille.  As usual the big man sat a little apart, further away from the fire, deeper in the shadows.  Garrick never
knew what to say to the man, not when he thought he could conquer all Christendom, and especially not now when the man was hideously scarred by a Saracen blade and flames, where they attempted to burn him.  They all gathered around the campfire.  Ryann shared the log Garrick sat upon, her leg brushed his from time to time, her shoulder brushed his arm, and each time it made him tense.  Why he couldn’t say.  It was as if his body was curled in anticipation ready to spring, but it had nothing to do with what would come at dawn.  She had listened to the stories the men told, until her head was falling over onto him, and he finally told her to go to bed.  Damien had sought his bed some time ago, along with the other men, leaving him alone with Cyrille.  It was just fine with him, of all the men he could be sitting with on this melancholy night, it was the silent one he preferred.

His hands worked, rubbing against one another as he leaned forward
, his elbows on his knees, going through the plan of attack for tomorrow, down to the last man.  Each scenario of what could happen at each level of attack ran through his head, and again he worked through the plan to insure they would be ready for anything.  He was no fool to think battle would go anything like Halvor’s plans.  He did not know why he sat worrying over the battle tomorrow.  He dealt with the night before battle usually by finding a whore to comfort him, in the only way they could, then found his bed, but slumber was elusive on this night.  Perhaps, because there were no whores with them on this journey.

His eyes strayed above the flames and fell on the slumbering Ryann.  She was curled up in a tight ball, her hands tucked beneath her chin.  In the darkness of the night, with only the flickering light casting a soft glow on her face
, he could see none of what Stroud’s men had done to her.  He remembered her vivid blue eyes full of life looking up at him, as she had earlier with trust, and something else he dared not delve to deeply into.  He studied her peaceful face, so innocent, even now, despite all that he had allowed to happen to her. 

“Is she what you expected?” Cyrille’s whispered voice came to him.  If the man used his voice beyond a whisper
, it was raspy and did not last long before dwindling to nothing.  Garrick refused to look at him, could not look at him, because he did not wear his hood.  Without his hood, it was a reminder of what could have befell them all, if only they had been brave enough to try to protect one another.  Only Cyrille, and now he was a reminder to them all that bravery came with a price. 

“No,” Garrick said
, dropping his eyes back to the flames.  Now was no different than any other minute of this day, and his eyes were drawn back to her.  He shrugged, “I don’t know what I expected.”

Silence fell again.  “She’s nice.”

“She is too nice,” he said in the same whisper.  It sounded strange, felt strange, to take into consideration someone else.  Those nearby, but mostly Cyrille.  His own whisper made it all seem better, as if they were never held prisoner, as if all the things that came after did not matter.

“How can anyone be too nice?”

Garrick knew he should end the conversation there.  But there was comfort in this moment, the night before he attacked yet another keep with innocent people inside.  Some would die.  Some always died.  He found more comfort than he ever found with a whore, with Ryann sleeping the most peaceful of sleeps and a friend, perhaps, next to him.  Friend.  His hands twisted with one another again, before he forced them still, and turned to look at Cyrille. 

It was a brave man he saw.  A strong man
, who managed with his sacrifice to save their lives, at least one of their lives.  If no one’s life but his brother’s.  When had Garrick ever saved a life?  He was a braver man than Garrick would ever be, because Garrick would not sacrifice himself for another man.  “She sacrifices herself to help others,” he said quietly.

Cyrille’s one eye studied him.  Garrick could not imagine surviving his eye cut from his head.  Cyrille was stronger than any man he knew
, and he envied him that.  He found it difficult to believe he envied this man for surviving his torture.  “She’ll be okay.  She has you to watch over her.”

The corner of Garrick’s mouth drew up into an unfamiliar smile.  Since when had he begun to smile?
“She went toe to toe with Lena,” Garrick said, feeling pride suddenly flow through him for his small wife.

“I heard Marcus tell Damien the story.  That must have been a magnificent sight.”

“I thought Lena would kill her.”  He watched Cyrille’s eye move to gaze at the woman across from them.  Suddenly Garrick had an urge to make him stop, to shield her in all her vulnerability.  He looked quickly away from Cyrille, and again his eyes fell on his wife.  Her hair glowed in the sliver of the moon poking through the canopy of trees.

He heard Cyrille get to his feet.  He heard the hesitating shuffle the man made in the effort.  It was not as bad as it had been in the beginning, now the man was learning to use his injured body better, learning to compensate.  The question of friendship came to his mind again. 
With the question also came the question did he trust Cyrille, or anyone for that matter, for surely a friend was someone who could be trusted.  He scowled angrily to himself for even thinking such a thing.  A long time ago he told himself to trust no one, for everyone had a secret agenda, always.  Cyrille’s faltering steps quietly faded away, and all that was left was the muffled sounds of the night camp.

Across the way he saw his wife’s face twist in a grimace
, then relax once again.  He wondered not for the first time what it would be like to mate with her.  He barely suppressed a snort at that thought.  They weren’t animals.  What did he plan to do, throw her down and fuck her like he did one of the whores?  The thought made him shudder.  He was not that kind of man.  He didn’t want to be that kind of man.

The Countess Ryann Fenton rolled a little backward, her hands rose slightly
, and pain etched its way across her brow.  He stood and moved quietly around the fire, keeping his eyes on his new bride.  She was in the throes of a nightmare.  He cursed Stroud again inside his own head, and made a vow before he reached her side that tomorrow he would kill the man for that nightmare, and all those that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.

Standing over her
, he was witness to her terror as he had been when they first found her.  He wanted to end her nightmare, but he would have to wake her, so he hesitated.  A whimper escaped her, and he stooped down toward her, ready to reach for her and release her from dark clutches.  Before he could, she gasped and was sitting up straight.  For the briefest of moments he saw fear so intense he drew back.  Within a breath of time that fear was filled with sadness, and a tear trickled down from her eye, glowing in the moonlight.  His hand could not be controlled as it extended to wipe the tear from her cheek, a finger following the path down to her chin.  Such a delicate face.  He seized her by her shoulders, dragged her from her bed, and pulled her roughly against himself. 

He cursed himself, expecting her to be frightened.  Instead she adjusted her position and cradled herself in his arms.  Burying her head in his chest she cried quietly, only her shaking shoulders told him the
kind of sorrow she succumbed to.  Eventually she grew still.  He held her for another moment or two, then kissed the top of her head, smelling her scent, then he released her and laid her back on her bed.  He went so far as to pull the furs overtop her, before he turned away.

He sought his own bed and lay awake for what seemed hours, feeling her curled in his arms.  So small and frail snuggled against him.  He couldn’t treat her like one of his whores.  She was his wife, his to protect for a lifetime.  She would carry his children, perhaps another man’s, but soon those men would be dead and it would not matter.  He would raise it as his own, male or female
, because wasn’t it entirely his fault.  He should have listened to Christopher, the man who protected her for so long.  That was the problem of late, his mind was too fuddled with thoughts of his wife.  He had not wanted a man he did not know anywhere near his wife, and there was no clear reason why he should be that way. 

With that thought came the one that plagued him before.  Christopher knew his wife, had known her for years, had protected her
, and he did not like it.  It was as if he still held his wife cradled against him, he could still smell her hair.  He recalled her movement earlier that brought her closer to his side, no one had ever moved closer to him just to be closer to him.  She smiled every time he came near.  Perhaps this was because she was ready to have children.  Wasn’t she already of an age to be having babies?  He could not detect any ulterior motives, anything that would make it to her benefit to pretend, as it seemed she was pretending.  Any children she had with him would be legitimate, unlike all those others she had taken in.  Of course, that was it.  She was seeking an heir as was he.  He smiled to himself and suddenly the feel of her in his arms took on a different meaning, and he grew rock hard.  She was just across the way.  His by all rights.  But he knew he could not take her that way.  She would need gentleness to accommodate for her innocence and hellish treatment.

Fear entered his mind for he did not know how to be gentle.  He did not know how to ready a woman to receive him.  What if he hurt her?  What if he terrified her?  He wanted to do none of those things.  She had already experienced both
, and he would rather not have an heir if he had to subject her to it again.  Where did that thought come from?  He would have to talk to Alena, she would know what he needed to do to make it easier for her.  With that thought in mind he finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 7

Garrick had two armies at his back and at one time he would have unleashed them all onto the keep, to the victors the spoils.  Now he had Daley’s safety to worry about
, if the boy still lived.  He took with him the men he knew could get the job done, Damien, Cyrille, Halvor, Roland, and Marcus through the gate ever weary of a trap.  These people weren’t his enemy he kept telling himself, as the peasants fell back allowing them clear passage.

“Stroud!” Garrick yelled at the top of his voice
, as he stood in the center of the courtyard.

An older knight stepped forward
, offering a bow but refusing to come too close.  “Lord Garrick, Barron Stroud left before your arrival.”

His first instinct was to drive a sword through this man and have the keep ransacked.  That would do no good.  He was not here
, to seize or even destroy anything.  He wanted to return Daley to Ryann and spill Stroud’s blood for bringing harm to her, not make the innocent suffer.  Enough already had.

“Where’s the boy?”

“In the master’s chamber,” the man said, pointing toward the hall. 

“Gather everyone outside the walls,” Garrick ordered Marcus
, before moving in the direction indicated.  Cyrille fell in step with him and he almost sent him away, but thought better of it.  Each chamber door they checked, ordering those out who hid within, until they reached the master chamber.  Garrick tried the door, but the keyed lock was bolted.  Without a word spoken Cyrille stepped forward and heaved his bulk into the door.  Two more times and the door gave way, spilling him inside.  Garrick was immediately through behind him, his eyes darting left and right, first for danger, second for Daley.  What he saw he was not prepared for.

The boy who had stood up to him for his lady
, huddled nude on the far side of the bed.  His knees were drawn up to his chest, ankles crossed, his hands were clutching his knees with such force it would likely leave similar bruises to what was already there.    He quivered with his fear, and never raised his head to see who intruded.

“Daley,” Garrick said in a calm voice
, though he did not think it was very soothing.  “Daley,” he said again, and this time he could not keep from his tone the note he expected to be obeyed, regardless of the circumstances. 

Finally
, the boy lifted his head slowly, his role here was one of submission, and it appeared as if he had learned it well.  His pale eyes were ringed by fatigue and fear, as they met Garrick’s.  They nearly fell back to the bed had Garrick not called his name again.  His eyes darted back to his, and slowly it was as if recognition began to dawn.  He cast a look past Garrick to Cyrille, and beyond, to the empty doorway before he decided it was okay to unwind his legs.  Slowly he crept across the bed until he stood his full height, and shame filled his features as he looked at his lord.

“Are you well?”

His skin held whelp marks across it, but the boy nodded after only a brief hesitation.  “Where is Stroud?”

Fear flickered through his eyes before fury took its place.  “He knew you would come.  He left yesterday.” 

“Cyrille,” Garrick began to speak, but the man was already gone.

“I need your help finding him.  I have never met the man.”

The boy hesitated only a moment, before nodding his head. 

“Do you have clothes?”

Daley shook his head in a way that told Garrick this too shamed him.  There was only one reason Stroud would have taken the boy, so it had not come as any surprise to find him here.  “Stay here.”

In no time Garrick
found clothes that could fit the boy, then led him down the stairs.  Searching for Stroud was a long process and once completed, Garrick was furious and Daley had a look of fear crossing back into his features.

“I will find him,” Garrick assured him.  “Come, there is someone who has been waiting a long time to see you.”

Garrick heard the boy’s steps falter behind him.  “She’s here?” he asked, the prospect did not sound as if it was good news to him.

“Yes, she would not let me come get you without her.”

Daley shook his head.  “I can’t see her.  She’ll know.  She’ll be disgusted.”

Garrick took two angry strides to the boy and raising his hand
, backhanded him.  It wasn’t enough to leave a mark, just enough to sting, and get the boy’s attention.  “Could you stop that?”

“N-no,” Daley replied
, stunned as he raised a hand to his cheek.

“Nor could you stop Stroud and all he did that day he took you and Ryann and every day since.  If my past stopped me I would not be here today.  I look forward not behind, and I demand the same from my men.”  Garrick used the voice he used when ordering his men, a voice that brooked no argument
, and Daley nodded slightly, and fell into step with him.

~ ~ ~ ~

Ryann waited by the small cam
p.  When Garrick exited the gate she saw him, watched him cross the field to the safety of the camp.  With them was Daley, his stride was different, the way he carried himself was different, and her heart plummeted.  She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him, but instinct told her it could only make matters worse.  He was a young man, and dignity at this point was imperative.  Garrick brought him all the way to her.  She looked up at the young man and it took all her strength to keep from bursting into tears.  She saw it on his face, his innocence was gone, and in its place was shame.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said
, settling with taking his hand in hers.  She felt him tremble.

“Thank you my lady,” he said
, giving her hand a squeeze, and for just an instant she felt him cling to it, and then he released her.

“Are you hungry?” she ask
ed.  He looked as if he had missed a few meals.

“Later,” he began hesitantly.  “I…I would like a bath if possible.”

“I have soap and cloths, and there’s a nice pool just through those trees,” she said pointing.

“Will you come with me?  I don’t want to be alone,” he asked of her.  The bo
y turned to Garrick, Ryann could tell he struggled with his words.  “Would you please come as well?” he asked.  Unspoken was the request he come with them to protect them.

Garrick gave a nod
, and waited for Ryann to retrieve her items, then followed her to the stream.  Daylight was beginning to give way to the black night when she stood on the bank with Daley.  She remembered him as the young kid who was endangering himself on the street.  She hoped that one day his devil may care attitude would return, and this morose young man would disappear. 

“Today is nearly done,” Daley muttered in the adolescent voice that wasn’t quite man
, but was far beyond child.

“Tomorrow will be a brand new day,” Ryann declared. 

Daley cast a look behind them to Garrick, who by all appearances was not paying any attention to them.  He turned back to the water with a forlorn sigh, then began to unclothe himself.  When he was younger she had held the boy in the tub with one arm, and used the other to scrub him when he did not want to bath.  She had mended scrapes throughout the years, even a huge rash that had covered him from head to toe recently, so his nudity was nothing out of the ordinary.  He took the soap and cloth from her, then stepped down into the water.  He walked out to hip level, stood with his back to her a moment, before sinking down into the water.  That’s where he stayed for such a long time she became concerned, and called out his name.  She said his name again, and still received no response.  She kicked her slippers off her feet and stripped her tunic off, tossing it onto the ground near the shoes.  She spared a look at her husband who watched her, but made no comment.

She stepped into the water
, the chill of it took her breath away.  Daley had to be desperate to brave such cold water.  She walked out to him, sinking down into the water behind him, before laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, fighting away the tremors so he would not send her away when he needed her most.  Daley turned toward her and studied her for a moment, his chest rising and falling, no longer the thin chest of a boy, but growing into a broad expanse of a man’s.  Then he burst into tears and reached for her, clinging to her as she wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair as she did when he was a child and she soothed his pain.  He sobbed, his head tucked under her chin, allowing her to comfort him.  It struck her this would probably be the last time she would hold him in this manner, as a mother would hold her son.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” he whispered
, pulling away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” she replied
, because she was supposed to have protected him.  She had known beyond a doubt Garrick’s orders were foolish, but had let him have the last say regardless.  No man was infallible, not even the great Lord Fenton.

“Did they hurt you?”

Ryann nodded.  “All the men Stroud left,” she said with a sob trying to catch in her throat.  It was the first time she had ever spoken of it.  “What of you?”

He studied her for a moment
, and she knew he wanted to have someone to help carry his burden.  She smoothed a piece of hair off his brow, and that seemed to give him courage to continue.  “When we arrived, Stroud ordered a bath in his chambers, and for me to take use it.  Then he came in.  He had two men with him, and told me what he wanted me to do.  I-I couldn’t.  Then the men held me down in the water, under it, until I thought I would die.  Stroud told me he did not care if I was alive or dead, my corpse could serve the same purpose for him.  For two days he played his game.”  He fell silent, and his head dropped down unable to look her in the eye.  “I did everything he wanted.”

“It’s survival, Daley.  It took courage to survive, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

The boy nodded his head, and Ryann took that opportunity to begin to bathe him.  “Tomorrow is a new day.  I told you when you first came to me, I was offering you a new day and you took it.  You shed your life as a thief.  You can shed Stroud just as easily.  Wait and see, tomorrow will be better than yesterday.”

Daley nodded, his hand came out to squeeze hers that rested on his bare shoulder.  “Thank you Ryann.  I owe my life to you.”

“Whether you believe it or not, I owe you mine,” and she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek, before returning her attention to his shoulders.

“Does your husband treat you well?”

“People do not know I was attacked.  They believe Garrick beat me on our wedding night, should I become pregnant.  He did not want a bastard born, I think that shows kindness.  Please do not say otherwise.”

Daley turned his head to study her.  “I will not,” he finally assured her
, but she saw her request caused him confusion before turning away from her.

Memories of the lost young boy assailed her
, as she helped wash the memory of the vileness from him.  She prayed silently to take all the memory from him, all the bitterness, but she knew first hand it would never be possible.  All she could hope for, for the both of them, was that time would fade the memory to a dull ache instead of a gaping wound left to bleed and fester.  Long after the night took over, they climbed from the water and with his back still to them, Garrick continued to stand guard while Daley dressed.  With his shoulders squared and his head high, he left them, walking past Garrick and moving back toward camp. 

“Is it worth catching your death?” Garrick’s voice broke the stillness of the night.  He still did not turn
, but must have heard her ringing the water from her skirt, and her teeth chattering.

She never paused in her task
, but studied his back.  He spoke as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer, curiosity replaced the condescension that usually laced his words.

“To help him bathe?” she asked
, unsure of the question.

“Taking him in, all the worry and nightmares to come?”  He turned and glanced over his shoulder at her
, before turning back around.

She finished ringing
out what water she could, and straightened.  “They’re all worth it,” she said, walking toward him.

She stepped beside him, feeling his overwhelming power sheltering her.  Standing next to him she had the strong feeling she would be safe from any storm.

“I have a difficult task to ask of you.  Can you be strong?”

“I’m strong,” she assured him
, looking up at his dark, somber expression.

“You must look over Stroud’s men
, and tell me which ones touched you.”

She swallowed past
the lump in her throat.  “Why must I do this husband?” she finally managed to ask.  She felt better when she added the endearment, for the man beside her was suddenly as hard and cold as stone.

“I must kill them.”  He turned back to look at her
, and even in the darkness, she knew he saw the damage they had done, and remembered what they had taken from him. 

“Wh- What if I do not want you to kill them?” she asked
, as her body trembled with fear and cold.  She wanted to never see those men again, for it would make the memory all the more vivid.  Nor did she want the man she married to kill them, for he had enough deaths haunting him.