Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (29 page)

Roland stepped into camp and froze.  Emma slept, her red hair spread out on her arm she used as a pillow, her mouth slightly ajar, but her restlessness told him she was having a nightmare.  He could easily guess what that nightmare was.  She didn’t have them until he came along.  She lived a quietly sheltered life until he came into it, uprooting her, taking her to the King of all people.  What the hell was wrong with him?  He should have fled her, in the opposite direction.  But he did not, instead choosing to take her into the viper’s den.  He heard Halvor’s stories of the Lady Jillian, and how she suffered at the hands of her husband.  He saw it on the faces of many women, the soulless eyes, and the fear their husbands would raise their hands to them at the slightest whim.  Yet, he took her to the King, and offered her up to that kind of future, on a silver platter.  It had to be anger.  Anger for everyone, even the beautiful redhead who taunted him into rage.  But now that anger was replaced by fear.  How much longer would it be before Emma realized she was pregnant? 

Lillian
, it seemed, knew to the minute when she became pregnant with both their children.  She was so eager to care for them, and raise them into a good man and woman.  She wanted to have many more.  It was only the day before she died, she announced she would be having his third child.  A boy she declared, it felt as if she carried a boy, and he did not doubt her, and was looking forward to having another son.  But he would not have been angry if it was another daughter.  With Emma everything was different.  He couldn’t take her back to their little home.  It was once warm and cozy, now it was a torment to behold, filled with Lillian’s screams and the tears of his children, and fear.  It held fear for all of them.  In the time since Lillian, Roland knew he became an evil man.  What other kind of man would turn his back on his children after their mother was dragged away and killed in front of them?  Roland couldn’t even remember what he did to make Damien order him to serve under Garrick for a time.  There was so much time after Lillian that was a blur.  That was the way he preferred it.  So much time, and so many bad deeds.  Why on earth did he touch Emma that first time, or the second, and all those times afterward?  He knew she wanted to be pregnant, to show her new husband he should want her enough to accept a bastard into his household.  Roland didn’t have the heart to tell her, her new husband would be likely to kill the bastard to get him, or her, out of his way, so he would not have to feed or protect the child.  Their child. 

Their child.  It was amazing the force those two words ha
d.  He wanted Emma.  He came to realize that long ago.  He wanted Emma more than he wanted to draw his next breath.  He wanted to go to her, tell her she carried his child, celebrate with her, and feel her cling to him for joy.  Roland wanted to scream from the roof tops he was going to be a father again.  But fear always rushed in on him.  So much fear it was debilitating, took away his ability to reason, to think clearly. 

A rustle of leaves sent him to a crouch.  It was no wonder he was full of nothing but fear.  Someo
ne was following them.  They were from the beginning.  It had to be one of Mercadier’s men.  Who else would follow them for so long, without making their presence known?  This man was clever, Roland had to give him that.  Never did Roland see him.  He wasn’t sure if he heard him, but he knew he was there.  Roland feared he only followed to find out where they went.  He would then return and give Mercadier his report, and the man’s entire army would come and take Emma away.  If the man was going to attack, he would do so.  Perhaps, it was just an attempt to follow, while leaving a clear trail for the army, and they would never reach their destination.  Either way, Roland was unable to protect Emma, and his unborn child, from the danger that followed close behind. 

Roland silently moved back into the cover of the for
est, and toward the sound he heard.  The man was good.  After the first noise all grew quiet in the nighttime woodland.  But Roland would find him.  Roland had to find him before they reached Scotts Manor.  Otherwise they would know where he went, and know where to find Emma.  Reaching the area of the noise, Roland crouched, listening, and watching.  It seemed as if an eternity passed with no noise, then he heard it, to his right.  He moved stealthily in that direction.  Nothing.  He waited, listening.  It was there, to the right.  The man was toying with him.  Of course he was, why wouldn’t he.  The man was far superior at the cat and mouse game than Roland. 

It seemed an eternity that he chased the noises about the forest.  By dawn the noises h
ad led him far from the camp.  Realizing his mistake, he ran full tilt through the forest to get back to Emma.  Her turquoise eyes widened when he crashed into the tiny clearing.  His heart hammering in his chest, his eyes raked over her, from head to toe.  Soon she would grow round with his child.  Would it have his blue eyes, or her turquoise ones, her red hair or his brown?

“We have to go,” he said
, hurrying forward.  Emma obediently began to bundle up the camp supplies, while he franticly readied the horse.  It was only a few minutes after entering the clearing that they rode away.  Roland knew it was not fast enough, Mercadier’s man followed.

Emma stared at the flames of the camp fire.  She was growing pale.  He noticed she wasn’t eating in the morning, and would eat very little when he stopped at noon to let her rest and get food.  He wondered if she knew she was pregnant and just wasn’t telling him.  Roland guessed she did not put it together yet, because she still looked at him expectantly.  If she knew she had a child growing in her she would want safety, something she obviously would not have with him.  He wanted nothing more than to get her to safety, and assure her they came through unscathed.  He kept looking for the hurt in her eyes he witnessed in his children’s eyes, after he let their mother die.  Rage and sorrow overwhelmed him as he watched Emma’s unmoving back.  His children were not the only ones to lose someone special that day.  He lost her too.  While his children and Emma were guarded from witnessing death, he watched, he mourned, and he knew there was nothing his strength and sword could do to stop it.  He was honed to be a fighter, a defender, but he could defend no one he loved.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as he stared at Emma from his vantage point
.  Love.  With Emma by his side, she fit comfortably there, and made him feel secure.  She gave him confidence to be himself, to be a warrior once again, not a shell of a man who failed.  Now that she wasn’t that part of him, he felt it, the loneliness, and the sadness, that she was gone.  He loved her.  For a brief moment he wondered if he loved her more than Lillian, but quickly slammed the thought shut.  It would be impossible to gauge what woman he loved more, because he loved them for totally different reasons.  Lillian brought him the comforts of home, warmth, gentleness he never knew before.  Emma brought him peace from his tortured mind, and passion to his shriveled soul. 

Silently he stepped back into the cover of the forest and let its shadows engulf him.  How could he have the nerve
to love Emma?  He ruined her life by coming into it.  She deserved one of the lords the King lined up for her, someone who had wealth to provide for her, a safe home to raise their children in, and a heart to love her with.  Just the thought of love shattered his, left it lying and bleeding at his feet.  He heard steps.  They were close.  He turned quickly, but saw nothing.  Mercadier’s man was being bolder, testing Roland.  They neared Scotts Manor, was within a day or two, and by the man’s boldness, Roland knew the attack would come before they ever reached the safety of its walls. 

Roland trekked around the camp, looking and listening.  He nervously rubbed the hilt of the sword still sheathed at his side.  He couldn’t remember the last time he removed it from his waist.  The noise was just behind him
, and he swung quickly, drawing the familiar weight of his sword.  There was nothing, not even a leaf moved in the trees.  All was quiet.  Too quiet.  The only time a forest grew that quiet was when the creatures smelled the danger of men.  Several of Mercadier’s men were nearby, or all the forest creatures would not be holding their collective breaths.

Roland slinked around the camp, listening for the army closing in on him.  He did not think the forces would attack at night
, but he was surprised too many times before to place his faith in that assumption.  For endless hours he moved about, staying close enough to the camp he could be there quickly, if the danger were to appear.  He wanted them to come out.  Have the face off once and for all, before making it to Scotts Manor.  He didn’t want them anywhere near his safe haven.  He heard the rush of feet and turning quickly, found no one there.  He moved in that direction, careful to pick his way through the debris of the forest floor quietly.  Movement to his right.  He turned, his sword at the ready, but there was nothing there.  He took a step in that direction, and heard the rush of feet behind him.  He turned quickly, bringing his sword up, ready to cut through thin air. 

His heart began to pick up its rhythm.  He tried to call his breathing back to normal.  This was battle, life and death.  He had to pace himself, prepare himself for what was to come.  Movement turned him around again.  Where were they?  Where the hell were they?

“Come out you cowards,” Roland whispered aloud.  Nothing.  Not a creature stirred.  He listened intently, his head began to ache as he held his breath.  Nothing. 

Roland began to put his sword back in its sheath
, but the rush of feet behind him stopped the action as he spun around.  Nothing. 
Damn you
, he thought.  He slid the sword back to its resting place, and moved a little closer toward their camp.  A twig snapped.  He pulled his sword and moved quickly in that direction, no longer trying to conceal his own steps.  He found nothing.  Shadows were thick, but not thick enough to conceal all movement and sound.  He moved in them for hours and was well adjusted to the light and sounds.  There were still no sounds.  Where were the men?

“Come out you bastards!” Roland said loudly into the night.  It was time to end it.  Time to let them attack, overrun
him and Emma, kill them both, then neither of them would know this torment.  “Come get me!”

Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Movement, to the left.  He spun already in a sprint toward it before they could disappear again
, but they were gone as if he chased ghosts.  “Nooooo!  Nooo!” he screamed.  In the morning they would be leaving the safety of the woods for the open farmland, and then there would be nowhere for any of them to hide.  Not even Roland and Emma.

Movement behind him, running feet.  He lifted his sword, spinning ready to slice through his enemy
, but his enemy wasn’t there.  Emma stood, halfway in the deep, deep shadows of the undergrowth.  He stopped the arc of his blade a moment before it would slice the top of her head off.  She gasped, her eyes wide, and he quickly let the blade fall to his side.  He felt the comforting weight of it and knew, if he was not as familiar with it as he was, Emma would be dead.

“We have to go.  If we leave now we can be to Scotts Manor by nightfall.”  Roland knew he sound
ed insane.  He was adamant about not traveling at night, but was finally giving in on this last night.  But he almost killed her.  Men were close, he felt it to his very core.  Men who wanted them dead and out here, alone in the forest, he could not defend them.  Perhaps Damien would not turn him away, would forgive him for all the things he did, and give them his protection.  At least give Emma his protection.  He believed if Emma could be safe anywhere, it was with Damien.  Surely if Damien would not take her in, Garrick would.  Garrick who owed him nothing, and whose wife was caring for his children all this time.  A new fear began.  What if they turned him away?  He would have no safe place for Emma and his child.  He never heard Emma’s response, but propelled her forward, back toward camp and the horse.  Tomorrow they would know soon enough, when they arrived at Scotts Manor.

Chapter 18

The two armies moved slowly, despite Cyrille’s sense of urgency.  Richard could be outside the walls of Scotts Manor, and the two armies Cyrille recruited, would go a long way in keeping the walls secure.  They would do no good if they were caught outside.  Richard’s army would decimate them.  Perhaps if Roland was leading them, it could have a different outcome, but not with him leading them.  Cyrille found it taxing enough just to keep them moving.

These days seemed to be harder than those past.  He had Grace to thank for that.  She gave him a small taste of what life could be.  She was just a reminder he did not want.  Now everything seemed to be a constant reminder of what he had, what he could have, and what he could never have again.

His thoughts were so involved; he did not see the group of riders, until a shout came from the group of knights behind him.  Ashamed, he went from an injured knight to one so caught up in himself, he was oblivious to danger.  He drew rein and held up his hand, to stop the group behind him. 

“Cyrille!”

A horse broke away from the group and advanced at a fast trot.  A couple knights moved up beside Cyrille and drew their swords.  Cyrille waved them back because he recognized the voice.  If the deep voice didn’t give it away, the tall, broad stature did.

Halvor and Marcus drew alongside Cyrille, moving their horses close.

“The Countess has been taken,” Marcus said in greeting.

Cyrille felt as if he was gut punched.  Countess Ryann was the gentlest, kindest person Cyrille knew.  He did not understand how anyone could mean her harm.

“I think they’re after Garrick.  Have you seen anyone travelling this area?”

Cyrille shook his head.  “Where is Garrick?”

“He’s not been told yet,” Marcus replied.

“Why?” it seemed a simple enough thing, to inform a man his wife was missing.

“We hoped we could find her first.”

Cyrille studied the two men on either side of him.  Clearly, their judgment
s were not what they once were.  Marcus was the Bastard’s right hand, and Halvor commanded his undefeatable troops.  The fact they did not tell Garrick, made them reckless, and was a sure way to earn their leader’s displeasure.

Finally, making the decision they should have already made, Cyrille cleared his throat.  “Halvor, take these men to Scotts Manor and bar the gates, await Richard’s arrival.  Marcus and I will continue to search for the Countess.”

Halvor nodded, and Cyrille swept his hand forward, to indicate Marcus was to lead the way in the continued search. 

Will heard the horses approaching and turned, placed his index finger over his lips, to indicate the women hiding in the foliage behind him, were to be quiet.  Exhaustion was his friend this day, it enveloped him, beckoned for him to lie down on the ground and close his eyes.  He knew it would not take long for sleep to take him away from this horror that was unfolding. 

He feared for the Countess.  She was more than the lady of the keep, more than his guardian, she was his friend.  He felt he didn’t have many of those these days.  He stopped being able to relate to the children his age years ago, and the adults still saw him as a child, so he spent his days acting like a man, but when he lay his head down at night, he cried like a lost child.  It was hard to handle life alone, especially with a little sister looking up to him, as if he had all the answers.  So many times he wanted to tell her there were no answers, but he could not crush Jill in such a way.

Terror quickly pushed the exhaustion to the far reaches of his mind.  When their camp was attacked, Will rounded up the youngest girls, and told them to run, and hide in the woods.  He tried to fight, but everything happened so fast.  Within moments of the attack, the enemy was riding away with Garrick and Alena, and three of the women, including Halvor’s sister Ella, were dead.  With the women stricken by grief from the loss of their loved ones, Will was left to make the decision what they would do.  His first idea was to leave the dead behind.  They could travel faster that way, but the women would not allow it.

They could have easily struck out early, and moved toward Scotts Manor, sticking to the road, but sneaking off into the underbrush if danger appeared.  With the bodies, such a thing would not be so easy.  First, he had to retrieve the scattered horses. 
It was a feat that took half the morning, and yielded only half the animals.  So they put the bodies on two of the horses, and split up to ride double, the smallest riding three to a horse.  Now as the sun reached its peak in the sky, he heard the first approach of horses ahead of them.  He franticly got everyone off the road, and the horses hidden deep, but feared the animals would call out to the passing horses, and give up their hiding place.  And he waited.  Soon, the sound of horses approaching from the direction they travelled let him know it was not just one or two, but several, possibly even an army.  At the same time, he heard the approach of horses from the opposite direction. 

It seemed the wait was an eternal one, as Will anticipated the passing of both groups, while fearing they would be discovered.  He alone could not protect the women.  He knew what kind of men walked the earth.  Not men like his father or Lord Damien and Lord Garrick, but bad men, men who raped and killed innocent women, innocent sisters, and innocent mothers. 

His anxiety was at such a peak by the time the first horse’s head came into sight, he nearly sighed with relief the wait was at an end.  It was a few more paces before the rider came into view.  It was impossible to see the features of the rider through the foliage, but the way he sat his horse and moved with him, let Will know who the man was.  Lord Damien!  Will grew up watching the man drill with his dad, and all the other men.  There was no mistaking the way the great knight rode. 

Will broke from the cover of the forest, and rushed into the road, in front of the great destrier.  The horse immediately pulled back, his ears lay back, and Will knew all it would take from Damien was a touch of his heels, and the animal would trample him. 

“Will,” he heard the surprise in the man’s voice.

Th
ere was a time, not so long ago, he looked upon Lord Damien as a god.  He feared being in his presence, feared he would earn the man’s wrath, while at the same time, hoping one day the Lord would notice him, and make him a knight as he did his father.  Now he knew no mortal man was a god, men were only men, and could be crushed as easily as a bug.  Now, he did not fear to look the Lord in the eye as he began to explain.

“We found the women, but we were attacked.  They took Mistress Alena and Lord Garrick.”

He turned quickly to see two of Halvor’s oldest sisters moving from the cover of the forest.  He turned back to Lord Damien.

“There are men coming from that direction,” he quickly said, pointing.  He was just in time to draw Damien’s attention back to the road, and the ears of a horse, as it began to crest the hill. 

“Get back,” Will ordered the women.  He moved toward Damien when he motioned him to, and reached a hand out to be pulled onto the horse behind Damien, as the big man drew his sword.  He felt the destrier beneath him shift, anxiously, ready for the fight he was bred for. 

By the time the first horse came into view, Lord Damien’s army was spread out, ready to fight.  When Will felt Lord Damien relax, he peered around his broad back and saw Halvor led the approaching group.  Will felt the subtle shift of Damien’s legs
, when he sent his horse forward to meet Sir Halvor.

Before the two men began to speak, Damien reached behind him, and slid Will back to the ground.  Will wanted to scream at him that he was capable of hearing what was about to transpire.  He had a stake in the matter too, because Countess Ryann was as close to a mother as he would likely ever have again.  He wanted to be a part of what the men planned to get her back.  In the end he was excluded, told to keep the women hidden, while they went to find Garrick and Ryann.  He tried to tell Lord Damien which way he witnessed the man named Warner taking the Countess, but they were intent on ignoring him.  He was, after all, just a boy.

“Garrick.”  Alena’s voice cracked from her dry throat.  No response came from the unconscious man lying bound in the corner.  It was more than an hour since they arrived, at what appeared to be an old convent. 

Shortly after she and Garrick were brought to the room and shackled to the wall
, she heard chaos ensue.  Apparently, Ryann and a woman named Grace were missing.  It wasn’t until he left, that one of the men left behind attacked her.

Alena vowed long ago she would fight any man who tried to touch her, and so
she had.  But he was a brute.  Now her body ached and there was probably not a piece of skin that had not been scratched or bruised.  Her head throbbed from the blows, and she was slipping in and out of consciousness. 

“Garrick,” she called to the man again.

This time he began to stir, and suddenly he was flying into a sitting position.  He looked down at the rope binding his hands, also his arms to keep both immobile.  He looked around franticly for a moment, before his eyes fell on her. 

“Lena.”  His voice was sad, remorseful
, seeing her condition.

“Ryann escaped,” she said, hoping a little good news would help.

He leaned his head back against the wall.  It must have been a mighty blow to keep him sleeping for such a long time.  She guessed his head was ringing nearly as much as hers. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, raising his head again to look at her.

“Don’t be sorry Garrick.  It’s not as if I am some sort of virginal prize that was taken.  We have to find a way out of here.”

Garrick coughed, sucking in his breath as he did so.  He looked down at himself, tested his ropes, then the shackle about his ankle.  Slowly his eyes scanned the room
, before falling back on her. 

“Any ideas?”

Alena had none, although she was tied less securely than Garrick.  Only a rope tied her hands above her head.  Her legs, of course, were left unchained.  Couldn’t let that get in their way, she thought bitterly, the anger threatening to take away her reasoning.  She looked away from Garrick quickly, took a couple of deep breaths, to calm her racing heart.  

Slowly
, she worked her stiff and aching legs beneath herself, and stood.  Her strength was gone, the fight took everything out of her.  Her legs quaking beneath her, she studied the rope.  The end of the rope not bound around her hands, was tied to a wall sconce.  Taking the loose rope in her shaking hands, she wound what she could around them, and then used her weight to pull back on it.  It did not give.  She pulled harder, using more of her strength and weight, but still it did not give.  She had to get them out of there.  She had to.  That brute would be back or another like him, if not them, then Warner, and he already told her what he would do to her as he made Garrick watch. 

She pulled again, franticly
, but it did not give way.  She gripped the rope tighter, placed a foot against the wall, and pulled.  Still the sconce did not give.  She pulled harder, twisting her body, using every ounce of her weight and strength.  She felt the rope biting into her hands and wrists, but that was the least of her worries.  She turned back around and took a different approach.  She yanked on it, and the sconce shook.  Again, she gave a hard yank, the rope biting into her flesh more.  Was the sconce coming loose?  A yank, then another, and another.  She yanked and pulled, twisting, crying out as the rope bit dipper.  Again, but the sconce was not loosening.  It had to loosen.  It had to, there was no other way out. 

“Lena!”

How weak she was in the face of this new challenge.  The rope would not give, the sconce would not give, and her spirit was quickly dying.  She knew the signs well.  One more man touching her, one more fist slammed into her head to make her comply, one more knife threatening to cut her throat if she did not unclench her thighs, and she would be broken.  How many times before?  How many?  She hit the floor hard, the rope wrapped in her hands, cut viciously.

“Stop, Lena!”  She raised her head and looked at Garrick.  “Stop.  You are only hurting yourself.”

She opened her hands and the rope slipped out, letting her exhausted body sag against the wall, as her butt hit the floor.

“It’s okay, we’ll find a different way.”

It was maddening to hear Garrick’s gentle voice.  When she first met the man, she would swear he did not have a gentle side.  He had no compassion for the downtrodden, no sorrow when he looked upon the broken.  But now she saw it in his obsidian eyes.  She looked from him, to the sconce, then at her bloodied hands.

“Lena,” Garrick said again, drawing her attention back to him after a moment.  “We will find another way.”

Alena saw it in his eyes, he truly believed they would find a way to escape.  She knew escape was a magnificent thing to dream about, but that was usually the only place it was successful.  Unless someone came for them, they would soon be dead.  Warner would gut her, and then cut her eyes from her head, while Garrick watched.  Then the same would be done to Garrick, after Ryann.  She felt sympathy for the man they called the Bastard, he would watch the woman he loved, die in front of him.  At least she would be the first killed, and she would not witness the torment of her two friends.  She looked back at her hands, yes, she could be grateful for that.