Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (16 page)

She did so
, and again tried to cover herself.  “Arms at your sides.  Good girl,” he said, when she complied.  His voice held a tone as if he was gentle and coaxing, but instead his voice made fear work its way into her mind.

Warner studied the girl for a moment.  She couldn’t really be called a girl, her body was rounded into that of a woman
, with firm breasts and a stomach and thighs that showed him how much this woman danced.

“I want to watch you dance.”

She only stared at him.

“Do you dance in any other performances?”

She nodded tentatively. 

“Good, let’s see one of those.”

After a few moments hesitation, the girl began to move.  The beginning of the performance was awkward, as she kept casting worried glances his way.  Warner remained rooted to the floor.  Even the awkward movements were fascinating as he watched her undulating, spinning, and floating.  As she loosened up and the movements came more naturally, he saw in her the true beauty of woman.  He never saw the fairer sex in such a light.  Always, they were his outlet for all his dark thoughts to be expended on.  But this ethereal beauty was a true specimen of human superiority.  He knew before she finished he would not be touching her.  She was far superior to him, to anyone.  As soon as her body came to a stop, Warner knew he had to leave, immediately, and find someone to relieve his bloodlust upon. 

“Remain here,” he said
, as he moved quickly to the door.  He spared enough time to take the coins lying on the table top, knowing if he did not, she would be far away by the time he returned.  He found her in the decrepit little shacks many called home.  Warner learned long ago this was the place desperate people lived.  Most of the women would do anything for a little coin.  In the end it seemed like a waste, because this woman paled in comparison to the one waiting on him in his room.  It wouldn’t take long after the sun lit the sky before someone would find her body, but he doubted anyone would care.  By the time he crossed the threshold into his sanctuary, the sky was beginning to lighten, and he was afraid she left without the money, but she was there, waiting for him.  Grace, how fitting the name was. 

“I leave this morning.  Come with me,” he said
, as he closed the door behind himself.  He was disappointed to find she was dressed again.

“Why would you want me to come with you?”

“I don’t know,” Warner replied honestly.  “I’m intrigued by your body when you dance.  I need you,” he hurriedly explained, when she moved wearily toward the door, giving him a wide berth.

The woman scoffed, “You don’t need me.  Just a couple hours ago you did not know I existed.”

“But I do now.  Come with me.”

“No,” she said, stopping more than arm’s length from him
, as he stood close enough to the door to keep her from bolting for it.

Finally, she looked up at him
, and he saw intelligence in her hazel eyes.  “This night I was under the king’s protection.  Who will protect me when I am with you?”

He moved toward her and she stood her ground
.  “I can protect you better than even the King.”  He saw by the look on her face she was not a believer.  “Do you know what I do for the King?”

“Stand at his shoulder and wipe the soup from his mouth?”

He wanted to strike her for that, he really did, but contained himself.  “I kill those he wants killed.”

She studied him a moment, her breasts heaving
as she breathed, he watched her nostrils flare. 

“I
could kill you,” he whispered, moving closer to her, making her stiffen.  “If you do not choose to go with me.”

“What of the King?”  He could hear the tremble in her voice.

“I do not fear the King,” he stated. 

“But the King does not wish me dead,” she argued. 

“He will be delighted that you are under my protection.  When we see him again, we will show him what a true treasure we have found.  Soon I will be a legend,” Warner stated, standing straight and looking down on her.  “The King wants the Fenton Bastard dead.  We can be legends together, if you come with me.

“What did the Bastard do to him?”

“He didn’t kill Damien LeForte like he was supposed to.  Now I get to finish what he started.  I will give you a comfortable life, wealth you could never have dreamed of.”

“Why would a man as powerful as the King wish Damien dead?”

Warner shrugged, but he realized the woman truly wanted an answer.  She was very different than any woman he ever knew.  She had a keen mind and a sharp wit, coupled with her lithe body, he knew he would do anything to keep her with him.  “He refused to fight for the King.”

“Is this the same LeForte the legends speak of?”

“I know of no legends,” he replied annoyed.  What did it matter what LeForte it is.

“The LeForte of the legends is
undefeatable.  He fought in the Crusades alongside his brother.  They returned favorites of the King, and were entrusted to bring the rebels back in line.  No one dares betray the crown, because it is said he will destroy everything, because he lets no one weaken the King’s position.”

Warner scoffed and he watched her scowl.  “You should not believe in legends and fairy tales.  This LeForte did fight in the Crusades with his brother
, but that is where the similarity to the legend ends.  He was a coward and sacrificed his brother to be burned beyond recognition.  Though they both still live, they have turned into animals, with no respect for higher powers.  The brother is of no consequence, he is too weak to lift a battle ax, or even mount a horse.  He even wears a hood to hide behind.  But the King wishes the oldest dead, to bring all of his men back into line.”

“Sounds as if LeForte is a threat to the crown.”

“LeForte is a mere inconvenience.”  Warner turned and paced away, his movements fluid.  “My real prize is the Bastard,” he said, turning back to her.

Grace studied him
, for some reason, Warner felt uncomfortable under her gaze.  “I am a wealthy man.  I can give you so much more than that handful of coins.”

“I do not wish to be a whore.”

“I will not make you a whore.  If you will but dance for me as you did last night, I can find other ways to expend my lust.”

“How does a man such as you expend your lust?”

Warner walked slowly to Grace so he looked down on her.  He was pleased she did not back away, telling him she had more courage than he would have originally thought.  He leaned down so his lips were close to her ear.  “I might show you one day.”  He felt her shiver.

When he straightened she met his gaze.  “What will keep me safe with you?”

“Your perfection.”

Grace relented and agreed to accompany him.  She left to tell her friends with the troupe
, farewell.  He followed, and found the reason behind her need for money.  The oldest member, and leader, was ill and the troupe needed a roof over his head to help him heal.  The coin helped, but Warner, despite not understanding her need to be kind to the man, gave them enough to live on comfortably for more than a year.  It was his way of purchasing Grace, for what purpose he was not sure.  Perhaps just to perform.  Knowing others might be as enthralled by her as he was, was an exciting feeling.  It connected the innocent to his own lusts, and made him want to sneer at them, while they watched and lusted after her. 

Chapter 9

Helthpool

Emma lay beneath the rock overhang, her heart pounding with her fear
, but she forced her breathing to steady, so she could listen to the man standing overtop, on the ledge above her.  She clutched a dagger protectively against her chest, and had the insane urge to giggle.  She didn’t know why this man was still hunting her.  She knew his companion left days ago, yet the blue-eyed-man remained, and now lived at Helthpool alone, with only the tortured souls to pass the time with.  Perhaps he grew insane amongst the dead, and he did not truly know what he did. 

He found them in their camp.  The man was growing adept at finding them
, and got closer each day to catching them.  There were not many secretive places left they could hide.  Her father and uncle told a number of stories about being hunted, and eluding their pursuers, but her father admitted they never were hunted by a man as adept at his job as The-blue-eyed-man.  She remembered his eyes vividly.  Never did she see eyes so sad, so lost, as that man’s.  Perhaps it was living at Helthpool.

She heard the man shuffling around over her head
, and again she suppressed her urge to giggle.  There was something about this man, and seeing his frustration that amused her.  There were two instances where he thought she got away, but she was near enough to see his anger, and the small tantrum which reminded her of a child.  She knew she was playing with danger.  The fact her father and uncle were weary of the man, should be enough to make her want to stay far away from him.  But she could not, and she wondered if there was a chance she wanted to be caught.  What would life be like not hiding in the woods?  Could there ever be a life for her anywhere but here?

The man grumbled
, his voice deep, and she imagined his face, his well defined jaw working in his agitation, his low brows drawn together over his magnificent eyes.  She pressed her face against the rock she lay on, to suppress the giggle.

Perhaps
, this was one of those instances where she went too far.  She hid herself in the brush next to the camp, as he rode after those who fled, and quickly disappeared in the woods.  Never did they set up camp in a place where there was not thick trees and underbrush that would conceal their escape.  They survived for generations as rebels against the crown, they were not foolish.  But perhaps she was.  She saw his attention on those fleeing, so she hid herself.  Emma watched him when he returned, kicking their abandoned supplies around.  Perhaps that was the most devastating of all, not that they would have to set up a camp somewhere else, but they would have to try to replace the supplies at a time when most people starved.

In a
final bout of frustration, he pulled his dagger from his belt, and slung it to embed in the tree near where Emma hid.  When he threw his head back to roar his anger at the blue sky, she jumped at the opportunity to steal that dagger.  So she had.  She was already fleeing deeper into the woods when he caught sight of her, and began to give chase.  She was never concerned he would catch her.  She was as nimble as a rabbit in the woods, and knew the rock overhang well.  It appeared there was nothing beneath it, but if one gripped the ledge and slid over it and swung inward, there was a smaller one beneath.  It would be a challenge for the strength of her upper body to climb back up, but she knew it was well worth it. 

He mumbled again, cursing her.  Eventually he left
, and she pulled herself out from beneath the overhang, tucking his dagger in her belt with a satisfied smile.

The steam rising from the water in the tub made all the wine Roland drank want to come up.  He laid his head back on the rim of the tub, and the moment the room began to spin around, he wished he ate something that evening.  All he could think about for the last three days was the bitch who stole his dagger.  He knew it was the same woman who ran naked in front of them, taunting them, to distract them from her father, or was it her uncle?  She was a brazen little bitch, to have done such a thing, then stole his dagger on top of it all.  He returned to the ledge many times, but he never discovered where she disappeared.  He went to sleep hearing her condescending laugh, and woke up seeing the superior smile of victory written across her face.

That expression beca
me so familiar to him, he was seeing it everywhere.  Even in his chamber, when he wanted to pass into another drunken oblivion.  He closed his eyes as the heat of the water nauseated him.  He opened them again to see the Red-haired-bitch standing before him.

First thing he noticed was she was small, she would be nothing to lift, her hips flared and begged for him to run his hands over them.  And her breasts made him want to drool, he could imagine her nipples puckering as he ran his tongue over them.

“Why are you still looking for me?”

Roland’s first thought was to lurch from the tub and grab his weapon.  He was only half way out of the water when his dagger
, pointed at his throat, made him freeze.  Her turquoise eyes revealed triumph, he noticed this at the time he noticed turquoise was the best color to use, because they were neither green nor blue.  He suspected the clothes she wore would alter their color.  He wondered which color would be most dominate without clothing on.  In his inebriated state, Roland felt a moment of doubt as he eased back into the tub.

He took his time as he studied her, the tunic belted at her slim waist, her hose hugged shapely calves encased in snug fitting leather boots to her knees.  Her long locks of red hair were pulled snuggly back into a braid
, and lay across her right shoulder.  He saw impatience flash through her eyes, as she waited for an answer.

Roland propped his arms on the side of the tub and grinned, satisfied he had the upper hand
, despite she held his dagger.  “I hunt rebels for the King.  I hunt you because I want to see your head upon the King’s chopping block, and will deliver you personally.”

“Oooh,” she said
, as if he were a child who just injured himself.  “Are you mad because I took your knife,” she asked with a frown, but her words were condescending.

The grin slipped from Roland’s lips
, and anger bubbled inside.  No one dared taunt him, least of all this Red-haired-bitch.

“You don’t play well with others do you?” she asked
, with a knowing grin parting her pink lips.

“Whose whore are you?” Roland asked, his eyes travelling over her body in a way he knew would make her skin crawl.

“I am no one’s whore,” she stated, with anger flashing in her eyes.

“Honey you are bound to be a whore, running around the woods, living like an animal.  What man pulls your strings?”

“No one pulls my strings,” she replied indignantly. 

“Whatever you say,” Roland replied
, giving her a smirk that told her plainly he wasn’t believing her story.

“No,” she said
, raising her voice.  “It’s not whatever I say.”  She began to say something else, but clamped her mouth together.  “Why me?” she asked again, taking a step back.

“Because you took my dagger
,” Roland said, rising halfway from the tub, and leaning forward, he stared angrily at her.

“
If I gave your dagger back, would you go away?” he detected a note of hope in her words.

“No,” he said
, squashing her hope like a bug beneath his boot.  “As I said, I have a special purpose for you.  You will have to answer to the King.”

“I don’t understand.”  He saw frustration written across her face
, and he could not help smirking.

“Of course you don’t.  It is not in you simple people to understand.”

“Simple people?”

“Servants of your kind.  You all obviously belong serving someone of worth.”

“How dare you?”

“Are you a descendant of the King, or even a lord?” he asked, relaxing in the tub.  Though she held his dagger
, and he was finding a great deal of pleasure in goading her, he did not think she would attempt to kill him.

“Of course not,” he said
, when she only stared at him.  “I can tell by that red hair of yours.  You probably come from some poor Scottish fish village.”

Her eyes narrowed
, and she took a step closer in her indignation.  “You are not so high and mighty.  I see a man who is past his youth, and no woman will have you.”  He could not help the tick that began at the corner of his eye, despite his effort to stay impassive at her stinging words. 

“You are no spring chicken yourself,” he said
, running his eyes over her body once again.  “What are you, 40?”

The woman’s mouth dropped open
, and she took another step forward.  “I have never known a man to be such an ass!”

He smirked again.  Did she really think that was an insult?  “Speaking of asses, you have quite a fine one.  If you weren’t so inbred
, I would like to experience the pleasures such a body as yours might have.  But I would be afraid to impregnate you, and that would just spread more of your kind, like a pestilence across England.”

“A pestilence?” she nearly shrieked
, taking another step closer. 

She did not realize her mistake
, until her leg brushed against the edge of the tub, but it was too late.  She lunged backward, as he lunged forward, grabbing the hand that held his dagger.  With a twist he pulled her back, and she stumbled, falling halfway into the tub, her waist and legs still hanging out.  Standing, he used his weight to push her down, pinning her head under the water.  She thrashed, the water splashing onto the floor.  She flailed, and he realized she was far stronger than she first appeared, and he found it was all he could do to keep her submerged.  When she finally dropped the dagger, he picked it up from the bottom of the tub, and slung it across the room, out of her reach. 

With one hand
, he pulled her head out, and she gasped and coughed, trying to catch her breath, as he twisted her about again by her wrist, and jerked her up and out of the tub, so she landed hard on the floor next to it, face down.  He was out and crouching over her, as she continued gasping and coughing.  She still had fight in her, though not much, and he placed a knee into her back, applying enough pressure to keep her still.

“You are quite the foolish lass,” he said with a tisk.  “I never dreamed you would make it this easy on me.  All this time I was hunting you
, I could just let you come to me.”  He froze, suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he felt like a fool.

“It was you that night, looking for your friend.”

“Who did you think it was?” she gasped, trying to use her arms to push herself up, but he applied too much pressure on her back to make it possible.

Roland
wasn’t about to tell her he thought her a ghost.  He grabbed her braid in his hand, and held her head back.  “You have no clue what you are.”

“What?” she asked
, trying to turn her head toward him.  Her turquoise eyes full of confusion.  Her struggles ended, and he eased off her.  She rolled to a sitting position, but he supposed the naked man standing over her, kept her seated.

“You have a title you know.”

“You are insane,” she said, as her eyes roved over every inch of him, before returning to his face.  She swallowed, then quickly looked away, down at herself, her soaked clothes, the water pooling around her.

“Not about this,” he assured her.  “William declined giving your great grandfather Turstin FitzRou a title
, but promised it to his great granddaughter, you, once you married.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes darting back to him, agitation written plainly across her soft features.

He crouched before her.  “You are titled, and I will be the one to take you before the King.  You will make quite the magnificent gift,” he assured her.

Her eyebrows drew together, “What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged.  “Not a thing that I can think of, just revenge for all you have done.”

“You think getting a title would be revenge?”

Roland smiled a most chilling of smiles, “You will not be allowed to run about in britches, carrying a bow and arrows.  You will have to marry, and bear your husband children.  I think it befits the crime, seeing how you will have to conform to common etiquette here on out.  I most difficult task I would assume, for your kind.”

Red anger flooded her features, “I don’t believe you.”  Before he knew it
, she attacked him.  As he fell backward, slipping on the wet floor, she was fleeing out the door.  He gave chase.  Despite his nudity, he chased her all the way into the woods, before the sticks and pebbles hurt his feet, forcing him to stop. 

It was true.  She saw the guilt on both her father’s and uncle’s faces, as they shared the telling of how it came about their family hid in the woods, while she was heir to a title.  The betrayal was enough to seize the very breath from her chest.  The blue-eyed-man was telling her the truth.  He wasn’t after her because she and her family were rebels, but because he could lay claim to quite the mystery at court.  She felt she could no longer take everything for what it appeared, for suddenly her entire life felt altered, tainted with the missing truth.