Angie Arms - Flame Series 03

by The Darkest Flame

  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 against 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.r />
  ~ ~ ~ ~

  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 tell 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 ground 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.”

  Garrick stared at the man beside him. After all the years they spent together, he still did not understand Marcus. He gave up his title to free the land from his own father. Landry was a harsh man. Marcus could not stand by and let the people continue to suffer, but he was too good of a man to kill his own father. He gave his allegiance to Garrick, and could have gone back on his word and gained it all, but he did not. He never contended the bastard child laying claim to all he was born to, and King Henry earned two good soldiers in return for ignoring Garrick’s heritage. After Garrick returned from the Crusade, he was given a title, Marcus received nothing and never asked for anything. Garrick could not understand this at all.

  “What if her presence creates an uprising?” Garrick asked. Perhaps it was the journey here, or the sleepless night, but fatigue was sitting in, making him weary. He wanted no more problems here. If he took the keep by force, these people would be too terrified to play their tricks on him.

  “The Countess knows her duty. I hear things that lead me to believe she’ll be easy enough to handle.”

  Garrick involuntarily snorted. “She’s more than 20 and never been married. I don’t think that makes for a woman who knows her duty. I need you to find out about our obstinate guard, especially where the Countess is concerned.”

  “Are you thinking there’s something there?”

  Garrick shrugged, “To be honest I think I’m too tired to think anything.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  As soon as Garrick walked into the main hall, Winford came forward. “We grow concerned for the Countess. She has not eaten since your arrival.”

  Garrick glared down at this boy. It was hard to believe this dirty ragamuffin was the son of a lord. It was amazing what title bastard could do to a person. He was skin and bones, but did not seem to know that, as he faced off with The Fenton Bastard.

  Any urge Garrick had to aggravate or frighten his tormentor was swept away when he remembered how badly things turned the previous evening. Weariness washed over him again. “She will be making an appearance in the hall tonight. So you all will know I have not beaten her to death.”

  The kid gasped at the insinuation their new lord had beaten on the countess they all loved, as Garrick stepped around him and climbed the steps to their chamber. Their chamber, what an odd notion, he thought. The two guards nodded to him as he passed. Marcus had stationed them there, he was better at choosing more loyal soldiers than Garrick, who went for brawn and brute potential.

  “I hear you will not eat.”

  “I will not eat until you let me out of here.”

  “You only hurt yourself by not eating,” he said the words edged with steel.

  “And what of those precious heirs I’m supposed to bare you,” he heard the resentment at being used as a brood mare. “Will they come out the worse because I starved?”

  It was a bold decree, one Garrick didn’t know if it could be possible or not. She had to be the first person in many years to stand up to him, and the fact she wielded no sword, not even a knife, made him want to laugh at the same time making him uneasy. Instead he turned saying, “Will you behave and not attack me? Create a riot? If you do not, I will keep you in chains.”

  The hostility in his voice was one he used often to command his forces of blood thirsty knights, but she straightened and looked him in the eye. “I will behave.”

  “Furthermore, you will speak only to those I tell you you may.”

  A delicate, perfectly formed light colored brow arched, and she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. “Will you beat me if I don’t obey?”

  “I will put you in chains until the day you give me an heir, or longer if I so desire,” he said, with all the certainty he had that the sun would rise and set each day.

  Feeling enough of his time had been wasted, he stepped back to her and seized her roughly by the arm and dragged her from the room. He dragged her all the way to the dining hall, and she followed struggling to keep up. As soon as she entered, she saw Christopher chained in the corner. She dug her feet in. “He has been beaten,” she said with concern in her voice Garrick did not like.

  “By me,” he ground out, then yanked her forward, never slackening his pace, and she had to run to keep from being pulled from her feet. They reached the dais and he none to gently pushed her on
to the bench, before sinking onto it beside her. She glared at him, and in doing so, saw his lip was busted. She looked quickly down at the table, not sure the man beside her couldn’t read her thoughts. She watched Christopher’s skills honed as she grew up with him. He took his duties seriously, and was proficient in everything that might be required of him, including hand to hand. He was fast and powerful, that this man beside her only came away with a busted lip, frightened her to her core.

  “Why is Christopher chained?” she demanded, trying to redirect her anger.

  Garrick laughed, but there was no humor in it. “He insists he is loyal only to you and will pledge loyalty to me, only after you tell him it is okay to do so.”

  “Then I will speak to him,” she said, beginning to rise, but his hand came out to clamp over her slender wrist. She settled back beside him, but he stared for a moment more at his big calloused hand marveling at the smooth feel of her skin underneath it. When he looked away, it was to find her eyes on him. He saw that familiar fear there, he could smell it. She was the long awaited prey finally run to ground, and she knew it was only a matter of time before all her worst nightmares might possibly become a reality.

  “How do you fare?” Christopher questioned from his corner.

  “I have beaten her into compliance,” Garrick responded.

  With a sound of exasperation coming from beside him, the small bold voice replied, “I am well. I think it is…”

  Fury raced through Garrick, to keep from knocking the Countess’s jaw out of socket so she would have no choice but to obey him, he slammed his fist down onto the table, making it quake under the blow. “I think it is time you were quiet before someone is punished.”

  The hall grew quiet, and all eyes were on Ryann, because she didn’t know who would be receiving the punishment, she fell silent. A trencher was placed between them and after a few bites Garrick realized she wasn’t sharing in the food.

  “Why do you still not eat?”

  “Because you keep my guard tied like a dog.”