He watched Marcus present her with something wrapped in a cloth. She leaned down slightly, her unbound hair falling around her face as she did so. Then she looked at him and smiled. In return Marcus smiled and reached a hand out and touched her face gently. The side of her face where it was hard to discern where the burn scars ended and the cuts from a fall from a horse began. Despite her forgiveness and constant assurances that it had been as much her fault as his for provoking him, he still felt the weight of his guilt. He marred the woman’s flawless face, and if Marcus had not taken to her he would have ruined her chances of being anything other than the lowliest of whores.
He scanned the tall woman’s body, clad in leggings that only accentuated their curves, and the belted tunic that showed the flair of her hips. Strapped to her waist was a sword and dagger, he knew she also hid a dagger in her tall boots, at all times, even if she was wearing one of the expensive dresses Marcus tried to win her with. Garrick didn’t know how the man expected to be able to win her over with clothing and jewelry, she was the woman of an emir after all. She already could have had everything she could possibly want. Yet, she chose to ride with the men. She proved herself as a warrior, so he allowed her to think she was one of his men, but he only allowed her to ride with them because Marcus wanted her next to him. If he knew it would lead to this, and an entire entourage riding with his men, he would not have indulged his second in command.
The way Marcus touched her Garrick knew instinctively it reassured the woman that the scars did not matter. He reached a hand up to touch one of his own, the one that could have so easily ended his life. Ended his life before he had ever come to know Ryann and the kindness of her soul. What person would give of themselves and the things they had, to others as she did to the orphans, Winford and his mother?
“My lord,” Ros said, from behind him. Garrick suppressed a startled jump and turned, dropping his hand away from his face as he gave his attention to his man. “Una follows us.”
“How far away is she?”
“Not far, but far enough I fear for her safety.”
Garrick stared at this warrior who rode with him for years, rising through the ranks from a squire. He never gave much thought to the men he did not feel threatened by, and Ros was one of those. He never joined with the other men when they were wreaking their horrors on innocent people.
“Go watch over her, see that she stays safe.” He watched a slight smile begin on the stout knight’s face, before he suppressed it. “Thank you Garrick,” he said, but realized what he said and amended, “Yes my Lord.”
Garrick turned back around in time to see Alena reach a hand out to take Marcus’s in hers. The look on his second’s face was one of rapture at her touch, then she leaned forward and planted her lips on his cheek. He knew Marcus, and for all his proclamations that Alena was his woman, he had not touched her, a fact that was torturing him. He watched the man now, his fists tightly balled after reaching for her, but drawing away. Alena pressed her body against his and that’s when Marcus lost the battle. He grabbed her around the waist and the gentle kiss ended as he took over. When they separated, they stared at one another for a long moment, Alena with confusion and Marcus with shock. Then Alena’s lips rose in a sensuous smile, before turning and walking away, with her hips swaying provocatively with each step. Marcus watched her so intently he never heard Garrick’s approach.
“Did you get the guards posted?” Garrick asked, trying to hold on to his patience.
“I was going to do that now,” he said, avoiding Garrick’s gaze before walking away.
His eyes wondered to the sleeping Ryann. “What has placed that scowl on your face?” Alena asked approaching him, a fact he took no note of as he stared at his wife.
“With you women about my men are going to be slaughtered,” he said bitterly, turning to her.
“With us about?” she questioned, mutiny jumping in her eyes.
“Yes!” he said, his voice rising, edged with venom. “Ros is off to look after Una, who insists on following us. Marcus is neglecting his duties, and there my wife lays on the ground when she should be back at Kilkenny.”
“This is our fault?” she asked.
“Yes,” he roared.
“It seems as if your men just can’t keep their minds on task. Perhaps you should have some lessons on how to focus. Or perhaps your men just tire of your highness,” she spat, crossing her arms over her heaving chest.
“I see why Marcus doesn’t touch you, you’re a shrew,” Garrick said coldly, his temper rising.
“He doesn’t touch me because he is a gentleman, not a whore’s bastard.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her forward, so her body slammed into his. He stared at her, a thousand thoughts running through his mind as he tried to figure out how to control this woman. When she cried out Garrick thrust her away so hard she stumbled and fell. He moved to stand over her, his booted foot he planted on her neck so she couldn’t rise, and when she tried, it cut off her own breath.
“You say I’m scarred but I can still fight. A scarred woman however has no use, it verily sickens me to look at you.” He bent over her, his face terrifying in all its anger. “Did you ever think this is why Marcus does not touch you? He looks upon your ugliness and his manhood shrivels.”
He stepped away from her then and turning his back, walked away. He heard the rush of feet and instinct kicked in, turning quickly his arm rose to defend himself, and with the momentum from his turn, and Alena’s run, the hand that struck her sent her to the ground.
“Watch yourself Lena. I can kill you as easily as I can feed you.”
As Garrick stomped out of the camp he spared a glance to his wife. Alena’s shouting had awakened her, and she sat staring at him, but beyond shock, the distance was too great for him to detect what else she might be feeling about his display. He scowled and stepped into the darkness away from the light, and the people who would surely feed off Alena’s defiance.
Chapter 5
Ryann awakened at Garrick’s first angry words and watched the argument unfold before her. When Alena brought up not only her husband’s heritage, but his scars as well, she became furious at the woman. When she charged him to attach and he struck her, she found satisfaction in that, glad she had not had to deliver the blow herself. As soon as he left the camp she made to follow, but Winford stopped her. She ordered him to stay behind, insisting she would be fine. However, by the time she entered the woods, there was no sign of Garrick.
Why was she drawn to this man beyond recognizing him as her husband? Perhaps because he wasn’t the old man she had resigned herself to marry. Perhaps it was because she had seen the flashes of pain, and knew there was some light within the man’s darkness. She moved around a copse of trees and saw him. The relief flooded through her at the sight. He sat on a log, his elbows rested on his knees, his face buried in his hands. She stopped and watched him, and the truth came to her. After her ordeal she was more drawn to him than ever. She had seen evil, and despite this man’s reputation, he was not.
“What do you do here Ryann?”
She started at the sound of his voice. He did not raise his head, but still knew it was she who approached. Not knowing what to say, she moved closer until she stood before him.
“Go back to camp Ryann.” When she remained where she was, he lifted his head to look up at her. She watched his eyes search across her bruised face, before colliding with her own.
She fidgeted with the folds of her tunic, but was unable to look away. It was as if the only thing that kept her from fleeing was the abyss she looked into. “I wonder what it is you expect of me,” she said. He only stared at her, and finally she had to look away from the void. She looked down at her hands as they twisted, and she forced them open, and rubbed her palms down across the fabric.
She moved the final step to him and sank down onto her knees before him, placing herself between his legs. “As your wife.” Heart hammering in her chest she raised her
eyes and saw that he looked down at her from his rigid position.
Again, his eyes searched across her face, pausing for the briefest of time on the scratch at her chin. She pushed away the vision of the blow that created it, and moved just the slightest so his eyes locked with hers. She drew in a steadying breath.
“Perhaps,” Garrick began, and she was surprised to hear hesitation come from him. “You can first tell me what it is you expect of a husband.”
Quickly she looked away, down at her hands she had twisted in her tunic again. She released the cloth, and tentatively raised her hand and placed it on his thigh. He remained rigid, so she dropped her hand away, and sat back on her heels. It felt again as if he towered over her, looking down on her. She marveled at how a man with his past could make her feel beneath him. “I have known my entire life I would marry Lord Lenox, that I was to be a wife. I wanted to be a good wife, but I did not know if I could be one with him. I used to dream of how it could be if I had a choice, and what I wanted.” When he said nothing she continued, “I wanted everything Lenox was not. My husband would be young, tall and dark. I heard Lenox was a coward, and his loyalties scattered, so I wanted a husband who would be brave and I could depend upon. I heard he would be taken over by rages, so I wanted a man who would be gentle and never raise a hand against me. He was stupid because he believed my excuses for not marrying him, and the man I would choose would be intelligent. When he lost his keep to a man such as you, I was grateful he was dead, for he was none of these things, and would not be able to protect our home on top of it all.”
She made eye contact with him, but the blackness told her nothing. Then his gaze fell to her face again and he leaned forward, the back of his knuckle gently grazed her bruised cheek. “I need you, so you must disabuse yourself of such dreams,” he said in his cold voice, as his hand dropped away and he straightened again.
“But you are those things,” she declared, and his eyes were back on hers, making her swallow uncomfortably.
“You see me as all these things?” he asked, and his expression changed for a brief moment.
“These things and more. I am glad you are my husband.”
“But I did not protect you,” he said, and as he looked down upon her she saw it in the lines on his face, the strain in his shoulders, that he carried that regret.
She rose swiftly to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. “You can protect me for the rest of our days.” His hands were around her wrists and pulling her away, pushing her back so she was at arm’s length.
“You cannot see me as those things. I do what I do, and I am not those things.” His voice was cold and menacing, his eyes empty, but she could not deny what she saw in him.
“What are you that you are not those things?”
He stood and moved a short distance from her, then turned to face her once again. “I am the Fenton Bastard. I command an army that shows no mercy, no quarter to the King’s enemies, and that makes us the King’s best. It makes me indispensable to the Lionheart.”
Ryann shook her head slightly. “That is what you do. That is what you must do. But that is not who you are.”
He began to turn away, but he stopped at her next words. “You must be strong, you must not falter.” She closed the space between them. “But I am not one of your soldiers. I see a boy who was unwanted, helpless, who grew into a man who refused to feel that way. I see a man who bravely leads this army, despite he grows tired of war. You are the man who spares me pain, despite you can rightfully take what those other men did. You are the man who will lay claim to the child who may grow inside me, so that the child will never be unwanted. You are a strong, brave man, and it is not because you are the King’s man, but your own, and do what you must so you, and those you command, do not find yourselves helpless.”
He studied her, but his eyes refused to find hers. After a moment he looked to the ground. “I wanted an obedient wife. That is all I wanted.”
Ryann felt the need to apologize, but Garrick looked up at her at that moment. “I was born with nothing, to a mother who hated me, so I have never had anything or anyone to lose. I have forgotten feeling anything, until I felt fear for you. I don’t know what that means, but I like the way you look at me.”
Ryann scrunched her brow.
“You look at me like a woman looks at a man. Not the way one would look at the devil. I will try to be all those things to you, as long as you never look at me like I’m a monster.”
Garrick watched her smile and the way it lit up the blue in her eyes, and made the dimples appear in her cheeks. “Then I shall be a good wife to you.”
Garrick nodded, his nostrils flaring, but he remained silent as he looked down at her. Hesitantly, she reached for his hand and took it in her own.
~ ~ ~ ~
Garrick’s first urge was to jerk his hand away, simply because someone was touching him. Instead, he squeezed her hand, before beginning the trek back to the camp. He marveled at the softness of her hands and the frailness of her bones, as he rubbed his thumb across the back of it. When they reached a log across their path, he gently lifted her over it, lingering longer than necessary with his hands on her waist, standing close to her. She felt so right next to him.
When they reached the edge of camp he hesitated. He did not want to release her hand, to leave her side, but he would have men watching as soon as they entered camp. How would they see him if he walked with his wife’s hand in his?
“Eat and rest,” he said, but those weren’t the words he wanted to say to her. He wanted to apologize to her for not holding her hand when they walked into camp, but the words were difficult, so he let the moment pass. Until Ryann came into his life he never had the desire to apologize, not even at the cost of the skin on his back. Now he felt the need to apologize, at least to explain why he couldn’t accompany her into camp. Instead, he released her hand and prodded her forward into the light.
She cast a glance back to him before walking forward. He watched her move into the light to immediately be joined by Winford and Christopher. Now that he was wed to her, he was not nearly as frightened for her among his men. His men knew he would slay anyone who stood in the way of his future.
He watched her speak to Winford, and the boy hurried off toward the cook fire. Then she turned to look up at Christopher, and he saw her smile, but what disturbed him greater was the way Christopher looked at his wife. There was a kind gentleness there Garrick knew he could never match. They moved toward the area Winford set up for the two women, and breathed a sigh of relief that Alena was not there. Surely Ryann saw and heard the fight. He suspected that was why she made a point to tell him his actions were gentlemanly. For the first time ever he worried what someone thought of his actions. Would she know he lost his temper because Alena had hit a sensitive spot for him? Another thought occurred to him, did his men see him lose his temper over her words, and now did they see that weakness in him? It suddenly became clear what he had to do. He had to retrieve Daley, avenge Ryann, and then he would take her to Kinsey, and start weeding out those men who would turn on him if they did see a weakness. He knew he had some very loyal men in his ranks, but he also knew he had many of the others. It was time to stop his attacks, it was becoming quite tiring to watch his back every minute of every day. It was time to settle in, and only worry of defending what he had, and at the same time reward those like Marcus who were loyal. And the rest of his time would be spent breeding sons upon his lovely little wife.
From his vantage point he spotted Marcus and Alena. The man tended to her bruised cheek and Garrick rolled his eyes. Alena was a hell cat and could very well take the knockdown he gave her. He was surprised she hadn’t come at him again. He struck her on the scarred side of her face, and considering he felt very little on and around his scars, he didn’t think it hurt her nearly as bad as the average woman. But there was the fool acting as if she was a delicate flower, ready to wilt away from the smallest touch.
His eyes w
ent back to Ryann as she sat eating the light fare that had been prepared. Christopher stood over her and Winford lay a short distance away, by his breathing the boy looked to already be asleep. Alena walked toward Ryann, he watched his wife stand, and glare at the tall woman. Surprisingly, Alena stopped midway to her bed. Ryann held her gaze for a moment then his wife turned, stalked to the blankets that were laid out for Alena, and bending, yanked them off the cushioned ground. As if that wasn’t enough to demonstrate her feelings, she then kicked the material Winford took pains to gather and place just so for their comfort, scattering them about. She then walked over to Alena and threw the blankets down at her feet.
Garrick hurried out into the camp, lest the woman should attack his wife in her vulnerable state, at the same time taking pride in his wife’s will to fight despite her injuries. “Never speak to my husband with such disrespect,” he heard her grind out, her voice was calm and patient, but one not to be disobeyed. “If you do not apologize to him you will not be welcome in my home again.”
With that, she turned and stomped back to her bed. Alena stood silently for a moment, then bending, picked up the blankets and turned. The woman was beginning to cry, he could see the tears pooled in her green eyes, and her ivory face was taking on tinges of red. She spotted him, and hesitatingly walked to him. She began with her eyes cast downward. “My apologies my Lord, but I did not intend to insult you.” Her meekness only lasted for that short time, before she looked at him, her eyes flashing. “I did not know you would send your wife to fight your battle for you.”
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