Angie Arms - Flame Series 03 (3 page)

He looked down at her, the fear for the children of her keep clearly written on her face.  He had the urge to punch Marcus for seeing her like this
, but that would not make him unsee.  He also did not want either to know how angered he was that his man saw what was his.  Never had he experienced jealousy before.  He reached out, closing the blanket more securely around her, thus concealing her more fully, before turning back to Marcus.

Marcus’s eyes were on the Countess when he continued
, and Garrick felt his patience slip a notch further.  “The kitchen boy and stable boy demanded to see the Countess.  When their wish wasn’t granted, they talked the other children into revolting as well.  They are not only getting in their parents’ way, but holding up anything that needs to be done in the castle.  This includes preparing a meal for the hungry men.”

Garrick shot a glance to Ryann.  “Let me talk to them,” she demanded.

“No,” he started for the door, but she darted in front of him.  Where was the frightened little thing from just a moment before, he wondered irritably.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, picked her up and sat her to the side.  As soon as her feet touched the ground and he released her
, she darted back in front of him.  He reached down and closed the robe again, grinding his teeth in frustration, and fighting a desire like no other he ever felt.  “I will deal with this.”

He made to go around
, but she stopped him, “Winford and Daley are just concerned for me.  They’re just boys.”

He grabbed her by her hands holding the blanket
, and yanked her against him.  “You will obey me or I will beat you,” he said calmly into her face, but every muscle screamed to release the tension that was building in him.  He wanted to feel her lips against his, taste those succulent breasts that were pressed into his chest.  There must be no dissension in the ranks here, no question as to who was in charge.

The fear was back on her face.  “Stay here,” he emphasized
, shaking her slightly.

He turned only to find her blocking his path again.  He itched to strike her for her
blatant defiance, for that was what was done to defiant children and women.  Not that he had to deal with any defiance since he himself had been a child.  He reached for her.  “Do you plan to go bare chested?” she asked.  His hand dropped away and he stared at her.  No one had ever been concerned whether he was bare chested or not.  He offered a smile, but realized it came out more as a grimace, for he was not a man used to smiling.  He turned and led Marcus from the chamber.

“Where are these little rebels?” Garrick asked.  The tension of the day was barely contained in him
, and he knew Marcus heard the evidence of this in the edge of his voice.

“The kitchens.”

When Garrick strolled through the door the babble one would expect from a group of children and the adults trying to bring them into line, immediately ceased.  A pin could be heard landing on the stones.

“Who is responsible?” Garrick demanded
, as he scanned the faces all turned toward him in rapt wonder or fear, he cared not which.

“I will not play this game. 
Winford, Daley, the Countess said you two might be responsible.”

“That’s a lie!” one boy exclaimed
, stepping forward.  In the blink of an eye Garrick drew his dagger, grabbed the boy, and had him pinned with the blade at his throat.

“Please my lord,” a woman said.
  “Winford is my son.”  She was being held to the side by one of Garrick’s soldiers.  He was surprised and pleased that none who were trying to quell this situation had gone against his wishes, and were raping and pillaging.  For if any of the women in the keep were as attractive as this one, not much would stop his men.  She was tall and willowy, her black hair was thick framing a pale angelic face that appeared even paler with the dark brown, nearly black eyes peering out at him.

The boy he held looked to be the
male, adolescent version of her.  “The boys are only being foolish,” she pleaded.

“It’s not foolish,” a young man said
, stepping forward.  He was tall, nearly as tall as Garrick, his hair was pitch black, but his eyes were such a pale blue they looked white against his darkly tanned skin.  He was a handsome young man, and Garrick took and immediate liking to his loyalty and bravery.  “It is our duty to see to the safety of the Countess.  If her guard cannot then we must.  We demand to see her.”

The anger jumped in him.  He pushed Winford toward Marcus and had his sword in his hand held to the boy’s throat, unwaveringly close to ending his life.  Only Garrick’s pledge before riding into the keep to his men kept him from releasing
his anger with this impertinent boy’s blood. 

“I would like your name before I spill your blood.”

“Daley, my lord,” he squeaked out.

“What is your purpose here?” Garrick asked
, his voice was strained as he struggled for patience.

“My purpose is to insure the Countess’s well being.

“No, your purpose.  What do you do to earn your keep?”

“I work in the stables.”

“You are mighty bold for one of your position.”

“Is it not our duty to see to her safety?”

“You think you would withstand me if I wished to do her harm?”

Daley’s eyes dulled for a moment
, before flaming back to life with his stammered declaration, “But I don’t stand alone.”

“But you will be the first to die.  And your friend will be second.  Who will stand up to me then?”

“Please spare them my Lord,” this from the black headed woman.

“I see no reason to spare them,
” he snapped at her, wondering what was wrong with the women in this place.  They did not know how to keep their mouths shut.  For that matter, the children seemed to be unruly as well.

“Winford is all I have.  I will do anything if you spare them?” the woman pleaded.

Garrick dropped his sword, resheathing it, and turning strolled toward the woman.  He grabbed her roughly by the elbow and dragged her away from his man.  “Disperse immediately or I will begin by killing your mother,” Garrick hissed, as he passed Marcus who had a hand clamped around Winford’s arm.  He was passing through the doorway when the vision before him brought him up short, and he released the woman’s arm, forgetting her. 

Chapter 2

Ryann paced back and forth in the chamber.  What was taking Garrick so long?   Was he slaying the children of the keep?  Her heart tightened at the prospect.  So many of
them were orphans that she lost track long ago, but to have them die by a blade before ever reaching their potential made her close to panic at her own uselessness.  She would be damned, she thought angrily as she threw the fur off her and crossing to her chest, grabbed the first tunic on top and threw it on.  It was a nightgown, the fabric was a gift, from whence it came she did not know, but the texture was silky and the cloth itself was woven so delicately, it was all but transparent.  This she did not think about as she hurriedly yanked it over her head, already moving toward the door.  Getting out of the chamber was another matter all together.  She did not doubt if the guards left outside her door didn’t try to accost her, they would definitely not allow her to go after Garrick.  Her best course of action she decided, was to throw the door open, and bolt. 

Would Garrick really beat her, she wondered as she faced the door, ready to yank it open.  It did not matter it took her no time to decide.  She would rather take a beating than let her children die.  She felt hysterical laughter threaten, her a virgin, had countless children she considered her own.  This would surprise her husband at one point or another, either that she had so many children
, or that his wonderful gift for their wedding night was still intact.  The thought sickened her, frightened her, and sparked anticipation for what she had waited her entire life for.  With a scowl she pushed those thoughts away.

With one hand she drew the hem of her gown up to her knees
, and with the other she yanked the door open and bolted.  She startled her two guards who leaned against the corridor’s wall.  She passed them before they could collect themselves, and hurtled down the steps.  By the time she searched the hall and courtyard and neared the kitchens she was out of breath, and the men who chased her grew in number, but by how many she couldn’t tell.    When Garrick appeared in the door with Helen in hand, she put the brakes on, sliding, nearly losing her balance and righting herself, just before colliding with him.

She saw the rage jump immediately to his face
, but at the moment she did not care, she only cared that the children lived.  “Have you harmed the children?”

He flung Helen away from himself so hard she stumbled and hit the floor with a groan.  She heard two of the men behind
her hastily explain how she came to be away from her chamber.  The fear in their voices sent alarm bells through her head.  He would beat her, she was sure of this.  The fact he had been beaten only frightened her more.  He would not have received such scars across his back if he had not.  She knew it would not make him stay his hand.  It only ensured he knew how to dole a beating out, by the look of his scars, a very thorough beating.   He advanced on her, his eyes promising swift and violent retribution.  He grabbed her by the arms and she saw stars as he jerked her sideways, to slam her back into the wall.

“Why won’t you obey me?” he asked, punctuating each word with her body slamming into the wall. 

“Let her go,” she heard Daley’s voice from behind Garrick.

He did
, with one final slam that knocked the breath from her, then turning drew his sword and advanced on him.  “Please,” Ryann gasped, taking every ounce of her strength to launch herself at Garrick.  She slammed into him, but did not accomplish her goal, which was to knock him off balance.  Marcus grabbed for Daley at the same time Garrick turned on her, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her back against the wall.  A chorus of disapproval rose from the children, led by Winford.  She watched them advance on Garrick and the soldiers jumped in, grabbing several and slinging them toward the others.  Ryann heard the scrape of numerous swords as they were pulled from their sheaths. 

With a growl Garrick released her and turned quickly to the melee that was going on behind him.  “Put away…”

A cry of horror and pain rang out, and Ryann watched in sickening shock as one of the children was cut down by a soldier’s blade.  “Enough!” Garrick screamed.  “Here’s your countess, now disband before any more of you die.  Go on about your duties, we’ll be feasting soon,” he ordered his men.

“Cealie,” Ryann cried
, charging forward to the fallen child.  She was dead, as quickly as that, the little child’s light had been extinguished by the large blade that drove into her chest.  By the time she reached her, Garrick grabbed her around the waist.  She screamed at him, beat on his chest, his head, until he grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder.  She continued her assault on his back, the tears streaming down.  She was filled with a rage so blinding she felt she couldn’t breathe.  She was aware of orders being given to his man Marcus, and that he was carrying her back to her chamber, but she continued pummeling him, screaming, crying.  By the time her chamber door closed behind them with a slam, her voice was hoarse and the fight drained from her body.

He dropped her onto the bed and she crawled quickly away
, to curl into a tight ball on the far side, a pillow clutched tightly to her.  She was too tired for tears now, consumed by a feeling of emptiness, of loss for one of her children.  She felt the mattress shift, and heard the weary sigh that came from Garrick as he sank onto it.  “I had that under control.  If you had only obeyed me.”

Incredulous she sat up, his broad back was to her, the scars glaring at her.  His shoulders were slumped and he looked weary, sitting there.  “She was just a child,” she declared sadly.

His only response was to nod his head.  After more silence he asked, “Who was she?”

Empathy she did not think was possible for a man such as this
, filled her.  As he sat with his head slightly bowed, he was only a man who had the guilt of a child's death upon his shoulders.  She did not know how this man could be the man she heard the stories about.  Spent, but no longer furious with Garrick, because she realized he tried to stop it, she moved forward, stopping to kneel at his shoulder.  “I don’t know.  A merchant came here two years ago with her.  She was skin and bones, beaten.  We got her away from him and have taken care of her.”

“You did that for an unknown child?” he asked
, turning toward her.  His black eyes looked at her, but she saw something there she did not fear.

“She was but a child,” she replied and had to hold back the tears that threatened anew.  “When were you beaten?” she asked
, desperate to get her mind from Cealie, she reached out and gently touched a scar on his back.

He jumped slightly at her touch and shot a look she could not interpret her way.  “Whenever I was weak.”  He looked forward, his head no longer bowed, staring at the wall across the way, his body tense.

“Was your mother really a whore?”

“Yes,” he said
, after turning back to her and studying her for a minute. 

He turned away to stare down at his hands, squeezing and unsqueezing
, as he rubbed them back and forth.

“Who whipped you?” she asked
, sitting down on her haunches, but still tracing the scars with a light finger.

“I was with Richard in the Crusade,” he said, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at his working hands.  “In Acre Richard ordered every man, woman and child killed.  We were sent ahead
, but Saladin’s men overwhelmed us, imprisoned us.”  He stopped.

“Then what?” she asked
, staring at the hard set of his jaw.

“They wanted our commander, for the secrets he carried.  What he knew could give Saladin the means to victory.  What he didn’t
count on was his brother taking our commander’s identity.  The emir who held us suspected, but was not sure, so began to torture the men who rode with the brothers.”  He looked away from his working hands to her.  His black eyes burned into her, and she felt every bit like the hunted and he the hunter.

They were cold, dark eyes that bore into her very soul
, and she felt as if he was taking her measure.

He looked back at his hands
, and she could see the dark intensity of his eyes as he stared at them.  It was sadness so bleak she read there, she felt the urge to cry for him.  She reached a hand out, laying it on top of his.  His hands stilled and he looked at her hand on his for some time, his jaw working.

He shifted and suddenly he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down into his lap.  The pain he created in her wrist as he forced her down made her gasp
, and brought tears to her eyes.

He grabbed her other hand and pressed it down agai
nst her chest, which in turn pinned her in his lap.  “I don’t need your sympathy Countess.”

His eyes
changed in an instant, and were filled with cold rage.  He dragged her off the bed and held her in front of him, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes to keep from wrenching her shoulders out of their sockets.  “Do you know how many children I have killed?” he yelled into her face, shaking her as he did so.  She was terrified, her body tense, keeping her close to her hands still locked to her chest.  “Do you know how many women I’ve killed?”  One hand released her to grab her by the back of her head, his fingers digging into her hair.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on me.  I don’t want it,” by the time he finished
, he was screaming into her face a mere inch away.

He stared at her, holding her trembling body tightly.  She could feel his racing heart through her fingertips.   His one arm tightened, drawing her closer.  She was so frightened she couldn’t look away
, and that’s when she noticed it.  In his dark, dark eyes, the war that was being fought inside this man. 

When the nock came on the chamber door she jumped.  He smirked at her an instant before he threw her away.  She stumbled, nearly falling
, but righted herself at the last moment.  Garrick was already striding to the door, having dismissed her.

~ ~ ~ ~

Why didn’t he just filet her guard and be done with it?  So much for a non hostile takeover.  Between the children, the unrest of his own men
, and now the trouble with her guard, it would have been easier to take Kilkenny by force.  The Countess’s guard Christopher glared at Garrick from his chained position in the main hall, as the sun began to rise on a new day.  Garrick had not only missed the feast, but any chance of sleep.  He also had a busted lip and bruised ribs for his leniency, but he had unleashed his own fury on Christopher who looked much the worse for wear.  The problem was the man sat against the far wall glaring back, dead men couldn’t glare, Garrick thought for the hundredth time.

A young servant girl entered the hall
, carrying his breakfast.  She mounted the dais, walked to his side, but as she sat it on the table, she tripped over nothing and all tipped into his lap.  The sizzling meat immediately burned him through his shirt, he had foolishly not donned his jerkin yet.  He jumped to his feet, brushing the food off himself.  By the time he turned toward the girl, she was gone, hurrying back through the doorway to the kitchen.  He resumed his seat, and waited for her to come back with more food.  Marcus finally joined him, food was brought to him by a different servant.  She offered a hurried apology that she didn’t know Garrick was without food, it sounded like sarcasm to him.  She returned within a few minutes, but had to be sent back for his glass of milk.  It was the one luxury he afforded himself each morning he wasn’t on a battlefield.  When the milk was brought it was soured.  By the time the second was brought, he was finished with his over cooked, mostly burnt meal.

By mid day Garrick’s patience had come to an end.  The servants sabotaged everything he laid his hands to, all accidents, all seemingly innocent enough
, but he knew better. He stood far enough away from the practice field and any activity, so that nothing would be spilled, dropped on him, or he would otherwise be accosted. 

“What has you so unhappy?” Marcus asked
, joining him.  The man was a marvel in speed on the battlefield.  He had just demonstrated his abilities, and several of the men now stood on the side, bruised and out of breath.  What Garrick marveled at most was this man who stood beside him in every battle, never suffered a wound, hardly even a scratch.

“You can’t te
ll me you have not seen is going on with these people,” Garrick snapped impatiently.

“Perhaps if you were to let the Countess out
, it would placate her people.”

“They are my people,” he gr
ound out with irritation.  He did not fight battle after battle, pulling himself up from the mud of a whore’s tent, to have his people loyal to a woman a strong wind could blow away.  “They’ll see that as my weakness if I give in to their little game,” Garrick ground out.

“But she will be your wife.  Her people are already your people, that’s why you’ve not gotten a knife in the back, clever group they are.”

“This won’t be me relinquishing the battle to their sabotage?” Garrick asked, always fearful of any sign of weakness his enemies, or even his own men, might see.

“Not everything in life is a battle.  You might remember that when dealing with the Countess.  I’ve heard she has taken in a number of orphans.  I thought you might find that intriguing about her.  Daley is one of those.  He was bounced around since he was born, no one wanted him, then one day he found himself without a home.  The boy became a thief, doing whatever he could to feed himself.  Then he met the Countess and she gave him a home.    Helen was the mistress of the Earl of Harden
, and Winford is his son.  Harden beat them both often, finally friends snuck her away and she ended up here.  You’ll be reassuring them, and all like them, that the Countess they care about is well.”