Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (28 page)

“I think they killed every man that was there.  They raped Carling.  He threatened to rape some of the other ones if Ryann did not go with him.”

“Who was it?” Garrick asked.

“He did not give his name.”  Alena fell quiet, and Garrick knew she had more to say.  “He wants you dead Garrick.  He only took Ryann because he wants to see you suffer before he kills you, by torturing your wife in front of you.” 

Garrick felt his heart drop to his feet.  “
Tomorrow, you will take me back to the place you were ambushed.”  After a moment Garrick stopped walking and turned to her.  “Did they hurt you Lena?”

Alena shook her head.  “No, I am okay.”

He studied her rigid form in the darkness for a moment, before he turned and moved back to camp.  Garrick did not try to sleep, but sent the women to lie down, in the morning he would send them to Scotts Manor, and Alena would take him to find Ryann.

“To arms!” Garrick called the warning an instant before men swarmed the camp.  They were like a pestilence of biblical proportions.  The enemy must have been watching the camp.  It was likely the women were followed after the ambush and they lay in wait, until Garrick arrived.  The camp just settled back in not long before, when the men rushed from out of the bushes.  Had they approached, Garrick would likely have warning, but the men were already there, hidden about the small camp.

Alena was immediately at his side, swinging her sword like Garrick taught her.  She was nearly as fast and nimble as Garrick, yet still there were too many.

“Halt!” the voice called above the din of the battle.  Garrick heard, but did not hesitate to continue the battle.  “Now or this little one dies!”

He felt Alena turn, and immediately her sword dropped to the ground.  The battle was over, the men surrounding Garrick and Alena stepped back.  Not ready to give up the fight, Garrick turned and saw a man standing with Halvor’s smallest sister in his arms, a knife pressed to her throat.  Garrick hesitated.  He was not a man who relinquished a fight.  He was the man who fought against strong numbers, and out of sheer will and determination, was the victor.  But now, with the girl’s brown eyes huge as she stared at Garrick, he knew he had no ch
oice.  The time was long passed that he would sacrifice a life for a victory.  Slowly, he relaxed the hand holding his sword.  He felt it slowly begin to slip from his grasp, and then it fell to the ground with a muffled clank.

The man who stopped the fight moved toward Alena, and as he reached her, he flung the little girl away from him.  In the same quick motion, he grabbed Alena, placing his arm around her neck, another on the side of her head.  All it would take was one twist, and the woman’s neck would be broken.

“The infamous bastard,” the man said, with an evil gleam in his eyes. 

“Are you the coward who took my wife?” Garrick asked, undaunted by the man who had the upper hand.

The man smiled, “I am, such a fine piece of pussy too.”

Garrick knew Marcus and Halvor made his army strong, because they could remain calm when Garrick was consumed with fury.  There was no one to stop the sudden rage that took over Garrick at the thought this man forced himself on his wife.  He lunged forward, drawing his dagger.  Five men were on him, forcing him to the ground, and twisting his knife from his hand.

“Watch yourself Garrick.  I would like to say I would hate to snap this woman’s neck, but I find I like the sound of a good neck breaking.”

“Let her go.  You wanted me, and you have me,” he ground out.  The men still held him down, flattening him to the ground, making it hard for him to draw breath.

“Aaah, perhaps you are fond of this woman.  A mistress perhaps?” 

The man pressed her head sideways, exposing an expanse of her neck.  He ran a finger down it and further to one of her breasts, he cupped in his hand. 

“A woman this one.  Tell me, which one would you like to see gutted first?”

“Leave her alone you coward!”

The man laughed, a genuine sound of merriment.  “Tell me, what is your name?”

The man’s voice took on a seductive quality as he asked the question of Alena.

“Alena.”

“Alena,” the man repeated.  “Who does Garrick prefer, you or that little blond wife of his?”

Garrick was amazed at the quick thinking and response the tall woman gave, he suspected in an effort to protect Ryann.  “Me of course.  Do you think a man such a Garrick could find pleasure with such a little child as that bitch wife of his?”

Again the man laughed.  “It makes sense now,” he finally said.  “Come along then,” he said in a cheerful voice, that led Garrick to believe the evil this man was capable of, was just beginning.  “We are going to have a lot of fun.”

Garrick put up one final attempt at escape.  It was a struggle that was short lived, as blackness swooped in on him.

Chapter 17

April 6, 1199 France Chalus-Chabrol

Viscount Aimar’s forces were decimated.  No one stood in the way of Richard and his gold, M
ercadier thought bitterly.  No one, except one small boy who shot the arrow into the King, from atop the castle’s puny walls.   When Chalus-Chabrol fell, Mercadier found the boy, and took him before the King, knowing Richard would have the boy slain.  He was furious when Richard not only let the boy go, but sent him away with 100 shillings.  It did not matter that Richard’s army killed not only the boy’s father, but his two brothers as well.  This was war, and there should be no mercy shown.  Now that the King was dead, his mercy was at an end, and Mercadier would not only find the boy named Pierre, but Roland and his little whore too.

The coward
s were still hiding, but Mercadier knew he would find them, once he dealt with Pierre.  He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the woman, and watch the knight come apart, as he did when Mercadier killed his last woman.  He strolled into the tiny courtyard.  One of his men had the boy, holding him by his shirt.  The kid looked like he put up a fight, but Mercadier knew it was more likely the man holding him took it upon himself to lay fists to the boy.

“I charge you with treason,” Mercadier said
, reaching the boy’s side.  He uncoiled the rope he carried in his hand, and slipped the noose around the boy’s neck.  The boy appeared truly frightened, and Mercadier found some satisfaction in that, but still, there was no mercy for him.

“King Richard has pardoned me,” the boy tried to argue. 

Mercadier cut any further argument off, by yanking on the end of the rope he held in his hand, and pulling him into the center of the courtyard.  “Pierre Basile, you are guilty of treason against the high king of England, and will die accordingly.”

Mercadier
turned and pulled the boy behind him, up to the wall surrounding the keep.  He called for two more ropes, and when they were brought, he tied one end securely around the boy’s hands, another at his feet.  He easily lifted him to lay him on the ledge, and his men tied his hands and feet tightly, stretching him out.  Mercadier tied the end of the noose himself before going back to the boy, using his knife, he cut his clothes from him. 

As soon as Mercadier cut into the boy’s skin
, his bravery fled and he let out a blood curdling scream, and began to plead for his life.

“We have to do something,” Emma insisted, standing beside Roland as they watched the chaos surrounding the tiny castle they called home for a short time.  Roland looked down at her and saw desperation lighting up her eyes, his heart went out to her.  When word came Richard’s army was on the move, Roland and Emma fled to the woods, next to the small keep.  There they waited until they could make their escape, but once Pierre shot the King, they decided to wait.  No punishment came to the boy, but the King developed an infection, so Roland decided to wait longer, for news of his recovery or death.

King Richard
was dead.  The arrow Pierre shot into the King thirteen days before, finally killed him.  Thirteen days, Roland couldn’t say he was heartbroken to hear the King suffered for thirteen days, fighting the infection that took his life.  Roland’s only regret was the King had his mother by his side, and didn’t die alone, like he deserved. 

From their hiding place
, they watched the decimation of the people they came to know.  Emma begged him to allow her to help them, for both of them to help them, but he stayed staunchly against giving up their hiding place.  He saw the accusations on her face each time she looked at him.  It was a look he grew used to on his children’s faces.  He was disconcerted to find Emma’s brought on just as much guilt as his children’s.

Now Mercadier
found the boy.  They watched him stretch Pierre out on the wall of the castle, as the handful who survived gathered at the foot of the wall, to see what would be done.  Roland knew what would be done.  The one man who helped defend the walls after the initial attack, already hung from the parapets, but Roland knew there would be more to Pierre’s death than a quick hanging.

“You have to do something,” Emma demanded of him again, going as far as to stomp her foot to relay her agitation to him.  “If you don’t I will.”

“There’s an entire army Emma.  He will kill you too.”

“We have to do something.”

“There is nothing.”

“Something,” she insisted, her eyes angry, accusing him of being the coward he was.

“Nothing,” he insisted, holding on to her when she began to turn away from him.  He knew if he let her go, she would go to her bow and arrows, and try to take on an army that was large enough to defeat the army of France. 

Then Pierre screamed
, a sound full of pain and agony.  Emma froze, and she looked to the wall where the boy was stretched.  The scream went on and on as Roland squinted to see what was being done.  He made it out, just as Emma did.  She blindly ran forward, toward the edge of the forest, and away from cover.  Roland grabbed her just in time, tackling her, and driving her onto the ground.  He covered her body with his, wrapping his arms around her, covering her head, hoping to block the sound of Pierre’s cries.  He heard Emma’s muffled cries, and for a brief moment she fought against him, before finally lying still, curled beneath him.  Roland raised his head and watched Mercadier’s knife slicing Pierre’s skin, heard the boy’s screams as Mercadier took a piece of the boy’s skin he worked loose, and began to peal it down the boy’s body.  Roland witnessed people being flayed alive, but never a child, never someone he cared for.

On and on the torture continued
, with Emma curled in a tight ball beneath him.  Despite his viselike grip on her head, he knew he did not block out the cries of the boy.  The cries became weaker, then Mercadier sliced the ropes that held the Pierre stretched out, and slid him from the wall.  The flaying did not kill him, but the snapping of his neck did, as his body reached the end of the rope.  Roland did not think it was loud enough for Emma to hear, but he heard it, saw the boy’s leg kick one final time before he came to rest, dangling from the very wall he shot the King from. 

Roland was awash with the vision before him
, and memories of the past.  It was debilitating, and he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.  He wanted to rage at the brutality of life.  Pierre did not deserve to die that way.  There were so many lives extinguished that did not deserve to die that way. 

Emma shifted beneath him
, and he knew they had to run.  Mercadier would be searching for them next, and it was only a matter of time before they entered the woods in that effort.  He rose, putting his back to the castle, and blocking Emma from the horrible scene behind him.  He pulled her to her feet and tried pushing her away, but she would not have it.  She twisted from him, and her eyes fell on Pierre’s body.  Her mouth twisted into an “o” of horror, and her eyes immediately filled with sorrow, followed by tears.  Roland grabbed her face and brought his down in front of hers, so she would focus on him. 

“We have to go.  Now.”  It took a moment for her eyes to collide with his
, and his heart was seized.  If he could charge out into the army and let their swords bring him down and wipe the look of horror from her face, he would do it.  But there was nothing he could do, not before, and not now. 

He none to gently turned her around and pushed her back toward their camp.  Quickly
, he threw their supplies onto the horse.  When he reached for Emma, she backed away with a panicked look in her eye.  Roland couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed his face.  Perhaps, that was the worst of all, after he spent himself with the screaming and fighting, after Lillian‘s body grew cold, he went to his children and saw their accusations.  They did not know he could do nothing, no matter how hard he fought.  The King already decided Roland, and the rest of his knights, would live and Lillian would die.  Just as Mercadier decided Pierre would die, and Roland had a strong feeling, he wanted Emma dead as well.  Roland did not understand how killing his wife could spark a need in the man to torture him even more, years later.  But Emma he still had, and he could still protect.  Even if she placed Pierre’s death at his feet, he had to get her away. 

He grabbed her and lifted her onto the horse, giving her no time to argue the matter
, he was in the saddle and moving it through the woods. 

Roland pulled the horse to a stop and looked behind them.  He held his breath, the tired horse taking the time to stand quietly, so only the noise of the forest could be heard.  Emma didn’t have to ask him what he was doing.  He did the exact thing hundreds of times since trekking across France, and arriving back on English soil.  They were being followed, according to Roland.  Emma spent her fare amount of time in the forest, being hunted by the very man she rode with, and she never heard or saw anything that would make her believe they were being followed, but Roland believed it.  He believed it so much he did not sleep, even when she offered to keep watch.  He spent their days franticly looking behind them, and his nights pacing around their camps, listening, watching, and waiting for something Emma did not think was out there. 

After a few moments
, Roland seemed satisfied, and moved the horse again.  Their days were long, their nights even longer, as Emma spent most of the night lying awake, wanting nothing more than Roland next to her.  But he never rested.  It was as if he thought by remaining vigilant, he could bring Pierre back, and keep them from danger.

As night began to take over the sky
, Roland pulled them to a stop, and directed an elbow back to her.  He never cast a glance her way as he locked his arm.  She used it to slide to the ground from her seat on the horse behind him.  He said not a word.  He didn’t have to.  Setting up camp was the same this night as every night before.  Emma would begin gathering twigs, sticks and logs for a fire, while Roland circled the camp on the horse, getting a feel for their surroundings, and their level of safety, before he would return and unsaddle the animal.  She began her task, listening to the sound of the horse moving through the trees, before the sound dwindled and was gone.  For those few minutes Emma was frightened, alone in the world, her only solace was that Roland would return to her. 

During this time her mind always wondered, what if Roland did not return.  What would she do, where would sh
e go?  She didn’t know what became of her father and uncle.  Men were supposed to be sent to kill them, and all the rebels she grew up with. If they were still there, how could she possibly find her way home, alone?  Could she ever find home again, without Roland at her side?  He became so much a part of her, she found she ached to see his face grow gaunt, and his eyes haunted by his own imaginings.  If the danger was real, one day his torment would come to an end.  But this torture going on inside him was frightening, and Emma prayed daily she would find a way to stop it. 

Emma’s joy was so great when she heard the horse returning she nearly cried
, but instead kept her face averted from Roland while he unsaddled the horse.  When he came close, her heart soared, but he only dropped a hare by the fire, already cleaned and ready to be roasted.  She set to work doing that task, while he went about setting up a comfortable bed for her.  Even with his mind slipping he was considerate of her, more so now than ever.  It was as if his role switched when they fled.  He was no longer her lover, but the one who saw to her comfort and protection.  On their previous journey, if he hunted without her, he would bring the kill back, still needing to be gutted and cleaned.  More often he told her if she was hungry, to hunt it herself.  But now he was different, and all she wanted was for the other Roland to return, the somewhat inconsiderate man who touched her, and made her feel like a woman.  Not a burden that was driving the man insane.

After the meat
finished cooking, Roland came to squat next to her by the fire.  He said not a word, tearing a piece of the meat off, casting one quick look in her direction, before staring into the flames.  Emma wanted to reach for him, to beg him to touch her, but the sadness was so deep in his blue eyes she did not think she could ask such a thing of him, without weeping over the loss she felt keenly in her heart.  After only a few bites he turned back to her, holding the rest of the meat out to her.  She shook her head, still holding a leg in her hands.  He rose, dropped the rest of the meat into the fire and turned away, wiping the residue off his hands absently onto his tunic, as he moved away from her.

For a moment her appetite dwindled
, but came back quickly enough.  In the evenings she was ravenous, but the mornings brought only anxiety of the ride ahead that twisted her stomach to the point she could no longer eat the light breakfast Roland always supplied them, without having to rush for the bushes to expel it from her rolling stomach.  She couldn’t wait until the journey came to an end, when her feet could be planted on the ground for an entire day, without the feel of the horse rolling beneath her.  Getting her fill, she cleaned the remainder of the meat from the carcass and lined it up along the edge of the fire to dry.  Hopefully, Roland would feel up to eating it before they left.  She cast a glance about her, searching for Roland.  Though she did not see him, she knew he was nearby, so went to the makeshift bed and settled into it.  As usual sleep was elusive, filled with nightmares and the screams of a young man who would never quite make it to that prestigious title.