Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (30 page)

The Countess couldn’t keep up with her.  Grace slowed her gate considerably to accommodate the struggling woman, but she was still falling farther and farther behind.  Grace couldn’t really blame her.  Warner did not bother to feed the Countess since he took her prisoner.  Grace snuck her a little food, but she knew it was not enough.  Plus, the woman was taken in delicate slippers she already lost, so her feet were being torn to shreds.  Thinking her feet was tougher than a Countess’s, Grace gave her her shoes, yet still the woman lagged behind.  It didn’t help Grace insisted they stay away from the road.  The woods were a nightmare without shoes, and Grace hoped they would soon come to a field, or something, before her feet gave out. 

The briars picked and tore at their clothes, until they appeared to be beggars.  Along with them, the limbs that whipped across their skin left scratches and whelps across their arms, faces, and legs.  It appeared as if they went through a war, when all they accomplished, was their escape.  If Warner found them, they would not have a chance. 

Finally, the forest opened into a little field, and Grace nearly fell from shock and relief.  Grazing in the small field, apparently set aside for hay or grain, stood two saddled horses.  Grace had to force herself to still.  Where were the riders?  Who were the riders?  Could it be a couple of Warner’s men, or someone else?

“That’s Malik,” the Countess said, behind her.  The sound of her voice sounded like a clap of thunder echoing across the quiet landscape, and startled Grace.

Grace looked at the Countess.  “My husband’s horse.”

“Wait,” Grace called in a frantic whisper, as the Countess moved past her, and into the open field. 

Grace looked franticly around them, knowing as soon as she followed, both of them would be exposed.  Perhaps Warner now had Garrick, and it was a ploy to get them to come into the open.  Common sense told Grace, Warner could not possibly know which way they went.  She knew Warner well enough to know he would not think her wise enough to take the rough terrain, but would figure them to be simpletons and stay to the road.  She was sure it would take him some time to figure out which way they really went.  Still, the horse was a mystery.

Grace decided to follow the Countess, who was clucking softly to one of the horses.  One still grazed, but the gray’s head shot up, and his ears pitched forward.  To Grace’s astonishment the horse moved toward the Countess, all the way up to her, and let her take hold of his bridal.

When Grace arrived at her side, it was to find the woman crying softly.

“What is wrong?” Grace asked, feeling the urge to touch her with a reassuring hand, but knowing better.  Despite what they were just through together, and what they still faced, the woman beside her was still a countess.

“This horse is my husband’s pride and joy.  He would not be alone here, if something did not happen to him.”

Grace wanted to tell the Countess she couldn’t care less about her husband at the moment.  Her goal was to get the woman to safety.  But Grace already decided she would move hell or high water to get Countess Ryann free, and Grace knew the woman
loved her husband, and she would not truly be free until Lord Garrick stood at her side again. 

“Get the other one.  We will try to find him,” the Countess said, as she moved to mount the gray. 

Grace was out of her element when it came to horses.  She was able to get her hands on the other animal, but she had to wait for the Countess to assist her in mounting.  Once upon the horse’s back, she felt as if she was going to fall off the other side, but out of a strong will and a tight grip on the horse’s mane, she was able to stay in the saddle.  Luckily her horse was willing to follow the Countess’s, so all she was left to do was try to remain on its back.

Will felt helpless waiting with the grieving women.  It was not a feeling he was fond of.  His nightmares came from those useless times in his life.  The fact Jill was hiding somewhere at Scotts Manor, also made him anxious.  He was not too concerned for her safety, she was a master at hiding, but he knew she would be alone and afraid.  Will heard the talk about King Richard, and his desire to kill Lord Damien.  He also knew Lord Garrick was supposed to do the killing.  When he fled with Jill to Scotts Manor, he did not know what happened, or was yet to happen, so he told Jill to hide.  He knew Jill could hide better than anyone, because Will taught her how.  Any time there was trouble brewing, or their father had too much to drink, Jill felt safest when she could hide.  At first it was under a table, or behind a tapestry, but once Will noticed her need, he taught her how to find better hiding places.  Now, she often gave him a scare, because she became so good, he found it impossible to find her.  Sometimes it was by luck he happened upon her, other times it was only because she chose to come out.  Despite the fear it built in him, when he couldn’t find her, it made his sister feel safer, and that was important to him.

“Will?” the whisper came behind him.  It wasn’t one of the other women, and caught off guard, he spun quickly to come face to face with the Countess.

Quickly Will bowed to her, his heart hammering in his chest.  She wasn’t supposed to be here.  She was supposed to be somewhere the army could protect her, not him.  Not only him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked of him.

Gathering his wits, he began to relate the story of his escape from Kinsey, up to Lord Damien leaving him to stay with the women, while they went in search of her and Lord Garrick.

“We have to find the armies,” the Countess said, motioning behind her.  Another woman appeared, leading Malik and Gold. 

Will found it difficult to pull his eyes away from her.  The woman was not stunningly gorgeous like Mistress Alena, nor was she adorable like the Countess whose stature was small like her companion.  No, this woman could be described as perfectly beautiful.  Her brown hair was alight with a myriad of shades.  The freckles across her nose and cheeks humbled her perfect complexion, and added to the sparkling amber effect of her hazel eyes.

“We have to find Lord D
amien,” the Countess said, while Will stood dumbfounded by the perfection of the other woman’s coloring. 

Immediately, Will shook his head no, his attention flying back to the Countess.  He was told to stay there.  One thing he knew for certain, when Lord Damien told him to stay
, that was exactly what he should do.  The Countess scowled at him.  “We leave to find Lord Damien,” she said again.

Will shook his head wildly.  “You must stay here with me, so they will find us when they pass through again.  This was Lord Damien’s order.”

The Countess drew herself up, seeming to puff out her chest and despite being as tall as the 10 year old boy, managed to look down her nose at him.  “Lord Damien is a mere lord.  I outrank him, and I am telling you, we go to find them.”

Will took the opportunity to give her words consideration.  As a countess her title did outrank Lord Damien.  Militarily, however, Lord Damien could have him skinned alive for disobeying his direct command.  The Countess was the only one who knew exactly w
here Lord Garrick would be.  The sooner the armies could locate him, the sooner they could be on the move back to Scotts Manor, and his sister.  He suddenly felt as if he would not make a good knight, because the decision he made was a purely selfish one.

“Yes, my lady,” Will replied
, with a gallant bow his mother would be proud of.

With a feeling of dread, so strong it made him sick to his stomach, he retrieved a horse and set out with the two women.

As they rode, Will made a valiant effort to remain alert.  He had the life of the Countess upon his shoulders, but he guessed his fatigue kept making his mind wonder.  If he wasn’t thinking about Jill being alone and frightened, he was thinking of the intriguing woman who travelled with them, or his mother and father.  He wondered, as he often did, what his father would think of him.  Would he be proud of how he handled things, or would he be disappointed, and ashamed of him?  That was the biggest fear that his father would one day take notice of him again, and be ashamed of the person he became in the years his father spent away. 

His parents always made him happy when they were with each other.  His mother always smiled, and hummed as she went about her work.  His father spent a great deal of time walking about with smiles and winks.  When he was away however, it seemed as if the sun set, and would not rise again until his father’s return.  Now Will knew it was his mother who was the sunshine in their lives, not their father.  Will was grateful his parents loved e
ach other, but he thought if his father had not loved her so much, he would be with them now, because Jill would not be such a horrible reminder.  Will dreaded when Jill would grow up, because she would be the living image of their mother.  But Jill was not to blame.  He too resembled their mother a great deal.  But his features mixed more with his father’s, only his eyes were clearly not his father’s.  He knew how difficult it was to look into the eyes of his mother, now long gone, because he did so daily. 

Maybe it was different for a father than
a brother.  There was no replacement for a brother.  His father made sure they were cared for, had roofs over their heads, and safety.  They had food in abundance, and as much wealth as they needed, as far as Will understood.  His dad must think that was enough.  Will knew it would not be enough, as Jill’s brother, if he left her.  No, a brother was a brother.  He heard knights speak of brotherhood, even his father.  He knew the brotherhood was strong and loyal, so a true brother must be the same.

His thoughts were so intent the horse he rode, shied at another horse’s whiny.  They arrived at the armies and Will rode right upon them, unaware.  Yes, shame is what his father would feel for him.  To the very front of the line the Countess rode.  Will wanted to hide behind her, or blend in with the other soldiers, but he was the one who brought her, he would have to answer for his deed.

They could not pass through the ranks unnoticed, and a murmur followed them as they moved along the line.  By the time they reached the front of the long procession, Lord Damien and Sir Cyrille were stopped, and watched their approach.  Lord Damien’s eyes skated over the Countess, before landing on Will.  He felt confused by the look, it was not filled with the promise of punishment for not carrying out his duty, but it was not filled with gratitude for bringing the Countess to him.

“Warner has my husband in an old convent,” the Countess told Lord Damien in greeting.  Perhaps he
underestimated the power of a countess. 

“Where?” was the Lord’s only response.

Will knew the old convent.  He knew the area well.  He and Jill spent two days there when they thought to run away.  Will learned it was not wise, and nearly impossible, for a then eight year old to support his younger sister.  They had returned to Scotts Manor, and it seemed as if they were not missed. It was shortly after that Lord Garrick was married, and they were carted off to live with him and the Countess.  Will knew, despite all the other children running about, the Countess would miss them if they disappeared again. 

“I can show you the way,” Will spoke up.  All eyes were on him.  All eyes but Sir Cyrille, his gaze was directed over Will’s shoulder.  Will turned to find the Countess’s companion sitting her horse, returning Sir Cyrille’s gaze with a half smile on her face.  She knew him.  Sir Cyrille did not invoke reactions like hers, from people who did not already know him. 

“Lead the way,” Lord Damien ordered, forcing Will’s attention back to him.  Dismissing Sir Cyrille and the woman’s strange reaction to him, Will kicked his horse forward, and took the lead of the armies.  Without a doubt, if his father saw him, he would be proud, because Will was leading one of the armies his father once led, when he was still his father.

Chapter 19

Cyrille risked another glance in Grace’s direction.  As he looked away, he caught the smile on Ryann’s face.  Cyrille scowled at her, forgetting for a moment she could not see the action behind his hood, but just for a moment.  He turned away and urged his horse to move up the line to ride beside Damien.

“He’s turning out to be a fine young man,” Damien said, giving a nod toward Will, who rode a little ahead of everyone.

Cyrille nodded.  It did not surprise him Will was turning out as he was.  Roland and Lillian raised them well.  Add to that Will’s desire to please his father and live up to the Deveroux name, he of course would make a good soldier, and an even better leader.

“He should already be fostering somewhere,” Damien continued thoughtfully.

That was something, as his father, Roland should have already taken care of.  Instead the boy was working for Lord Garrick as a lowly stable hand.  It occurred to Cyrille, that Roland’s inattentiveness as his father might yield his son a better life.  What kind of life did Roland and Cyrille have after giving theirs to the crown?  Roland was unhappily widowed and he, well he wouldn’t think about his future.  He turned to look over his shoulder at Grace.  She rode beside the Countess, and despite the situation they faced, Grace said something to Ryann that made her laugh out loud.  Cyrille had the urge to smile, but quickly turned away. 

“When Roland returns I will ask if he minds Will fostering with Garrick or I.  He can stay close to his family.”

Cyrille cast a quick glance at his brother, then back to where his wife rode among them.  The Lady Keri changed him, Cyrille sometimes did not recognize the man his brother was now.  Always, his brother was a soldier, but their king’s actions were making him waver.  He was becoming lost, before fate put him with Keri.  Now his brother smiled, his life had meaning outside the ranks, and he was happy. 

Cyrille cast another glance in Grace’s direction to see both women smiling.

“Who is she?” Damien asked.  Cyrille’s eye quickly glanced to his brother, who was staring at Grace, before turning back to him.

“Grace Baxtien,” Cyrille said, his voice low, and he wondered briefly if there was too much noise going on around them for his brother to hear.

“Baxtien?  I haven’t heard that name since DeMerle’s.”

“That was her family.”  Silence fell again as Damien turned halfway in his saddle to stare openly at her, and made Cyrille feel like squirming.  It was a few moments after Damien turned back around, that Cyrille spoke.  “She fancies herself in love with me.”

Damien nodded, but Cyrille saw the smile his brother fought admirably to hide unsuccessfully.  Cyrille felt like rolling his eyes.  He knew Damien, if given half a
chance, would over simplify things.  Despite their closeness, Damien could no longer relate to him and the life he was living.

Will held up his hand and Damien shot forward to be at the boy’s side. 

“I wish you didn’t leave the next morning,” Grace said in a soft voice beside him.  His place was once at his brother’s side.  He carried orders, helped command the men.  Now he was little to no use.  For the first time ever, he felt gratitude for his injuries, because he had a moment to stay by Grace’s side.

Despite feeling like he was playing with fire, he allowed Grace to come along beside him.  He could tell quickly she was not used to sitting a horse’s back.  As she wobbled unsteadily in the saddle with the animal’s movement, he fought the urge to sweep her of its back. “I couldn’t stay.”

“I am normally a light sleeper.  I guess the bed was that comfortable.”

Cyrille felt his heart drop from his chest, but at the same time he was glad he provided that peaceful rest.

“I hope you have since found a bed to sleep in?”  As soon as the question was out, he did not want to know the answer.

“I did, but it came at a high price.”

His horse shifted beneath him, resting his weight on his left side, instead of its right, and then was as still as Cyrille’s breathing.  After a moment, he felt as if he could breathe again, but it seemed even longer before he could feel his heart begin to beat.

A low whistle came from his brother.  Cyrille knew on the first note it was Damien’s call.  Gratefully, he turned and moved his horse to his side.  Below, in a small alcove between hills, was the convent.  It was a simple structure, would burn easily, the walls could be brought down, the old doors would crack beneath a battering ram.  Cyrille knew this place would fall before night. 

As they watched, a figure caught Damien’s attention, and he was pointing it out for Cyrille to see.  It wasn’t one, but two men, moving quickly toward them.  They moved along the old fence line, staying low, perhaps so they could remain unseen to anyone within the convent.

“Go see who it is,” Damien ordered Will.  The boy did not hesitate to do his Lord’s bidding.  A young Roland in the making, Cyrille mused.

It was but a moment, and he returned with a huffing and puffing Marcus and Halvor behind him.   Immediately Ryann slipped from her saddle and moved toward them.  Marcus, whose eyes were on Damien, quickly glanced to the Countess and widened.  The man forgot his fatigue and raced forward, grabbing the woman’s hands, kissing the back of her knuckles, and falling to his knees.  Once he expended his breath, he pressed her hands to his cheeks, closing his eyes.  Marcus mumbled something too low for Cyrille to catch.

“He has Garrick now,” Ryann replied.  Marcus dropped her hands and lunged to his feet.  “And Alena.”

“Alena?”  Clearly the man was stunned, and for the briefest of moments, his emotions flicked across his face, total loss.

“But we’re here to get them back,” Ryann assured him.  Marcus only stared at her, so she stepped forward to grip his hands tightly in hers.  “We will get them back,” she said.  She let loose of one hand to raise hers and gesture about her.  “We will level the place if we have to.”

Cyrille smiled at the small woman’s confidence in the armies lined up behind her.  Of course they would level the place.  The convent only had walls lining the tiny courtyard.  Warner had men, but the forces could not be large if they were not camped around the structure. 

“Halvor,” Damien said, his voice made it clear he was about to give the man an order. 

Halvor straightened slightly and looked Damien in the eye, waiting.

“Take four dozen men around the back.  Marcus, to the left with the same number.  Cyrille to the right.  Let’s move.” 

Cyrille turned quickly, gathered his men, and was ready for battle.  As he positioned his men he waited, casting his eye toward the hill where his brother sat.  His army was ready for the fight, and so was Cyrille’s.  The whistle came and Cyrille motioned his men forward.  One blow from a well placed foot, and the tiny door splintered inward. 

Chaos erupted as the convent was filled with the sound of battle. 

Alena heard the chaos erupt, and fear filled her.  Was that Warner returning?  She turned quickly and began the battle anew with her bound hands. 

“Lena!” Garrick said sharply.  She did not know how long he tried to get her attention, but only when exhaustion began to take hold, did she hear him.

Then the door burst open and the brutes were swarming in.  He was one of them.  She could not help it, despite her will to remain strong
, her knees felt weak as they moved quickly toward her.  She grabbed the rope over her head with her hands and holding tightly, she lifted her legs off the floor, and kicked the first man backward.  He stumbled over his companion behind him, and they both sprawled onto the floor. 

More men flowed in, they hesitated at the door, then mayhem broke loose.  The room filled to capacity and beyond, the men’s faces became a blur as she tried to bring some sense of reason to what was happening.  But there were too many men crowded in the room, too much blood.  Just as suddenly as it began, it was over.  Someone was yelling in the corridor, but Alena’s heart was racing too quickly to comprehend.  One man came toward her, reaching for her hands.  She fought him, but another man closed in on her.  She began screaming.  One more time, that was all it would take and she would be broken.  She knew this.  She knew this when the last men dragged her back
and tied her to the sconce.  It seemed to her as if she fought a lifetime to remain strong, a lifetime lost.

“Alena!”  Hands were on her. Pulling at her, trying to drag her from the room.  Garrick was her only salvation, but what could he do?  She had to stay with Garrick.  They wanted to kill them, she had to stay with him.

“Alena!”  She was out in the hall now, and it was filled with so many men she wanted to weep.  Everything blurred from her panic, and she began screaming for Garrick.  She screamed his name over and over again as she fought.

“Lena!”

She heard his call, and she knew he was no longer bound in the room.  This was it, their time of death.  “Garrick!”

Nothing.  She was propelled along, the hands rough as she fought against every one of them.  Then suddenly they let her go, and she stumbled, banging her knees hard against the cobblestones of the courtyard as she fell.  Hands were there, touching her, and she froze.

“Marcus?”  His name came out in a sob.  It wasn’t Marcus, but Halvor. 

Alena could not shake the fear so quickly, despite knowing here was another ally.  “Garrick, where’s Garrick?”

“He’s all right,” Halvor replied in his steadily calm voice, as he easily lifted her to her feet.  She looked around him and saw the dark man exiting the building.  Despite her weak knees, she catapulted herself forward and when she reached him, she flung her arms around his neck. 

“You’re okay,” she heard Garrick’s voice breaking through the fog of terror.  She did not cling to him long for he did not reciprocate.  It dawned on her this was the Fenton Bastard, of course he had no comfort to offer.  Quickly she released him, and for a moment, she saw nothing there in his coal black eyes, until a cry came from the other side of the courtyard.

“Garrick!”  Hearing the woman’s voice, so many emotions flowed through the man’s black eyes, Alena stepped away.

Garrick and Ryann met in the middle of the courtyard, flinging their arms around each other.  They held to each other like lifelines.  They broke away long enough to stare into each other’s faces, before clutching each other tightly once again.

“You’re hurt,” Marcus’s voice broke through her thoughts as she stared at the couple.  She turned quickly, her hopes and fears she was sure were mirrored in her eyes.  Marcus gasped, and his hand came out as if he was going to stroke her face, but his jaw tightened and his gray-blue eyes darkened.  “They hurt you?”

The answer to his question was obvious
, and Marcus did not wait for a reply.  With lightning speed he drew his sword, turning away from her, went back inside the convent.  Suddenly, Alena felt cold.  Why couldn’t Marcus be happy to see her as Garrick was Ryann?  Because she drove him away, or perhaps she had had too many men rutting on her.  She was a whore, not worthy of another man’s love.  Where did that leave her?

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Halvor said next to her.  How could a man as large as him be so gentle?  “This is my wife Jillian.  She has a very gentle touch.”

Alena could not believe it when the woman blushed.  What was it with these people and their love?  It wasn’t as easy as they made it look.  In fact, it wasn’t easy at all.  She numbly allowed them to lead her to the well, and Jillian went to work cleaning the dirt and blood off her.

Marcus watched Alena move about the camp.  Their camp was heavily fortified, because Warner was not among those at the convent.  He was still out searching for Ryann, but he was bound to know by now everyone was safe and out of his grasp.  Tomorrow they would arrive back at Scotts Manor, dig in, and make that bastard come to them.  At least that was what Damien and Garrick planned.  Marcus had to get away.  Everything was eating at him, the nightmares, the gnawing hunger for Alena, the inability to protect her, and just being near her was a torture to his very soul.

“Why would you not tell me my wife was in danger?” Garrick’s voice came from behind him.  It was a voice Marcus knew well, it was a voice so cold and devoid of emotion, Marcus knew it hid rage.

“Your wife is safe, is she not?” Marcus asked, his posture remained relaxed as he leaned in a supine position, his elbow braced on the ground supporting him.

“I asked you a question.”

Marcus looked up into a face devoid of any humor.  It was amazing Ryann could find happiness there, at one time Marcus saw a brother.

“I’m not in a mood for this,” Marcus warned. 

“I don’t care what you’re in a mood for, you will answer my question.”

Slowly Marcus rose from the ground.  He was taller than Garrick, broader, but never did he notice, because he allowed the Bastard in his head and believed, like everyone else, he was larger than life. 

“I wanted to get her back before you ever knew.”  Marcus decided he would lay the truth out for him, show Garrick he was only human.

“Do you think you can make decisions for me?  That was my wife, you had no right leaving me out, putting her at risk.”

Marcus shrugged.