Garrick felt no anger at the taunt, but the smirk he offered her he knew twisted his features and scars upward. “You are a bitch Lena,” he said, loud enough that Ryann and anyone standing near could hear. “I sent her to do nothing. That’s the difference between the two of you, she is brave and loyal, while you spit on the kindness and mercy Marcus shows you.”
“Marcus shows mercy, but we all know you have no mercy,” she yelled at him. Then as an afterthought she added, “My Lord.”
“I have no mercy,” he said, in a deceptively calm voice, grabbing her by the elbow and yanking her forward so she could not escape his anger. “You still breathe do you not,” his fingers dug into her arm, and she futilely tried to pry them off as she winced.
“Garrick!” Ryann said in a gasp. He glanced her way, annoyed she would interfere. For an instant her actions confused him. She looked his way, but beyond him, and she took a hasty step forward. Garrick tried to turn, but wasn’t fast enough as a body struck him from behind. Still having hold of Alena, he felt himself falling forward, tripping over her feet, and then he was falling and he heard Alena’s gasp and his grunt, as he landed on top of her.
Then Garrick was being pulled off of her and thrown a distance away. He landed, rolled and came to his feet, turning to meet his attacker. He hesitated seeing Marcus, giving him the advantage. Marcus’s big fist drew back and landed on the side of his face. He staggered not just from the blow, but the shock of being attacked by his closest friend.
“What was that for?” Garrick roared.
“That’s for Alena,” Marcus said, still advancing with another fist to the other side of Garrick’s head.
“Marcus!” Alena yelled.
“You're going to fight with me over that bitch?” Garrick asked incredulous. Marcus moved toward Garrick who was over his shock of the attack, and was anxious to go from defensive to offensive as his anger grew.
“That’s enough Marcus!” Alena yelled, moving toward the two men. Christopher grabbed her and pulled her back, knowing that these two men would likely trample her before they were aware she was near. He was grateful they were only intent on bashing each other, and not killing one another, because each carried their swords sheathed at their sides.
Garrick moved toward Marcus swiftly, calculating his best opening. Apparently finding it, he landed a might blow to his ribs, as Marcus landed another to the side of his head. Both staggered, both saw stars as they moved in on each other again. Blow after blow landed and no one watching could tell who was winning. Two campfires were destroyed in the process as Marcus was thrown into one, sparks flying, he quickly rolled out standing up without any flames catching him. The second was a little hairier as both grappling men landed in the flames, and both came up with arms on fire. Still their fight continued, arms flaming, until they got enough reprieve from each other to put themselves out.
Ryann stepped to Alena’s side. “What do we do?” she asked, all malice between the two forgotten in light of this new drama playing itself out.
“I say we let them kill each other,” she said, but a small smile twisted at the corner of her mouth.
“Do you find this amusing?” Ryann asked, but no anger edged her voice.
“This is good for Garrick, he has a lot of anger in him. A lot of anger for Marcus that he does not know.”
“But Marcus is close to him.”
“So close I think Garrick wonders why he bares all the scares of their battles and Marcus has none. I’m sorry my Lady, I don’t know what comes over me at times. I hated Garrick for so long, for asking me to be something I did not want to be. I’ve always had a temper, and these men help me to release it. They don’t walk away from a fight, even if it is with me, so my tongue has become sharper when I don’t mean it to be. I stopped hating Garrick long ago, he only does what he must, and struggles to make it right around him.”
“Do you like them fighting over you?” Ryann asked, with sensor in her voice.
“They do not fight over me, perhaps Marcus might think this is what it’s about, but Garrick’s anger comes from what Marcus let happen to you. He let Garrick down, and allowed Stroud in, and you were harmed in the process. Was it terrible?”
Ryann shrugged, “I still do not remember it all, just bits and pieces.”
“Perhaps that is for the best,” she replied
Ryann could only shake her head. How could she tell the other woman that she wanted to remember it all, so that she might be able to forget? It only came back to her in flashes. Moments of terror that would suddenly assault her when Garrick touched her, it wouldn’t be his hand at that moment, but another. Last night, his arms wrapped around her and she awoke fighting him, screaming for him to release her. In the dim glow of the fire she saw his surprise at her attack, then the pity where it came from, and finally rage for the men who caused it.
She looked at Garrick now, and as he laid another blow across Marcus’s face, she sprang forward, filling the gap as the two men’s bodies separated. She stood before her husband, unsure what to do. He breathed heavily, sweat mixed with the blood from a gash, and ran down his forehead and into the scars, running the length of them, before trickling off his chin. A warrior stood before her, strong, undefeatable, but she did not see the cold death there as he allowed his eyes to leave his opponent and fall on her. He stared down at her, waiting.
“Come, let’s clean you up,” she said, taking another step toward him, and taking his big hand in hers, she led him back to the fire Winford had started for them. She gently pushed him down onto the ground, where he leaned against a tree. He stared up at her as she stood over him, and she saw a man who was tired, she didn’t think it was just due to the fight, but she saw the wariness resting on his soul.
She gathered water and a cloth, returning to her husband’s side, she stooped before him, wetted the cloth, and began cleaning the blood from his face. She felt his eyes on her, studying her as she concentrated on the work at hand. He never winced as she touched on the bruises, scrapes and cuts that made up his wounds, nor did he falter from studying her. When she finished cleansing his face, she sat back on her heels.
“Remove your tunic,” she commanded him.
“Remove it for me,” he shot back, leaning forward from the tree to allow her access. She scowled at him and he arched a brow, a smirk crossing his lips.
She leaned forward, gripped the bottom of his tunic and proceeded to raise it, the backs of her knuckles grazing his skin as she moved it upward. He grabbed her hands and pulled them against his chest, the cloth gripped in her fingers. “Do you know how bad I want to take you right here?” he snarled, leaning close to her. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine at the passion she saw in his eyes.
He released her, tearing her hands from the cloth, and removed it the rest of the way himself. Several places were already beginning to bruise across his ribs. “Nay,” he said, when she reached a hand out to touch his bare skin. “I will heal, take yourself off to bed,” he said, as he pushed himself to his feet. “Dawn comes early.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“You are a fool Marcus,” Alena admonished him as she tended to his cuts.
“Quiet woman,” he snarled, wincing as she laid a wet cloth heavily on his tender cheek.
“Do you not have better sense than to fight with Garrick?” she asked, raising the cloth then slapping it back down.
“Do you not know when to keep your mouth shut?” he snapped back.
“I know well enough,” she said, placing her hands on his thighs and leaning over him. “I also know a man who courts his own death,” she said, raising the cloth and dipping it into the cool water, before slapping it back onto his cheek.
“God’s teeth woman,” he hissed, reaching up to grab her hands to stop her from torturing him more. “Women are supposed to have a delicate touch, but I think Garrick was easier on my face than you.”
“Then maybe you will not be so foolish the next time.” At Marcus’s sco
wl her face softened. “It is not your fault what happened to her.”
“If not mine than who’s?” he asked, looking up at her with all the guilt he carried mirrored in his eyes.
“A man who is bent on revenge. You did not know she would be in danger.”
“They stole something from Garrick he can never get back.”
Alena scoffed before sinking onto the log beside, reaching out a hand she placed it in his. “You know these are things Garrick has allowed to happen to other women?”
Marcus shot her a scathing look. “Of course I know.”
“Do you think one is any better than the other?”
“You tell me?” he said, looking at her, and his face softened.
“It is not,” she replied quietly. “My point was going to be,” she said irritably, rallying. “I see he cares for the Lady Ryann.”
“She is his wife,” he stated with a scowl.
“Not just for that reason. I see how he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching. Perhaps what has happened to the Lady is a good thing, and will make Garrick understand how he has hurt other women, and he will no longer.”
“I do believe he grows weary of that game.”
“As do you,” she said, reaching up to his face to smooth the lines on his forehead.
“Aye,” he replied simply, watching her as she concentrated on what her fingers were doing. When she looked at him he offered a small smile and she returned it.
Marcus did not know how much longer he could wait for this woman to come to him. He wanted her from the first day he laid eyes on her. He waited patiently for Alena to make the first move. She was the first to touch him, to remove his shirt, to kiss him, and Marcus remained patient knowing he could wait for this particular woman a lifetime.
~ ~ ~ ~
Dawn found Garrick far from the camp he left hours before. They would wait until later in the morning before leaving, giving Lord Damien and his men a chance to reach them. Marcus suggested extra manpower would be beneficial when getting the boy back, and Garrick relented. He knew without a doubt he was dangerously close to growing soft. What did he care about the boy? He watched the light chase away the dark sky, and had a fleeting thought of his wife’s smile lighting up his very soul. He frowned, the thought of the woman had no business in his mind this morning, he should be focusing on the battle ahead, not Ryann. He knew she would be a distraction when they started on this journey. How could he focus on what he had to, when all he could think about was burying himself in his wife?
He moved lightly in his saddle and the horse followed his lead. Always ready for battle, Malik had a heart similar to his. Would that ever change in him? He wanted the title and had gotten the title, he wanted a wife and now he had one. All that was left was the children, would he feel content wiling away the days. The anticipation of such gave him a feeling of urgency to lighten his load of men, and spend the rest of his days impregnating Ryann.
He experienced men fighting by his side, defending his back, while he defended theirs. Never had he had a woman fight a battle for him, nor anyone worry about his comfort, tend to his wounds with such gentle care. He did not know what to make of it, was she genuine in her care, or did she have an ulterior motive. He had been racking his brain to think of what she would gain by pretending to be a caring wife, but he could not think of the first thing other than to appease him. Was she afraid he would beat her? She had been terribly mistreated. It wasn’t as if he was known for his gentle nature. As a matter-of-fact, he relished in the fear he saw in others. Some tried to hide it, but perhaps she was better than most. It also occurred to him she could be playing nice, so that when his guard was let down, he would be vulnerable. His scowl deepened and with a curse, he turned Malik back toward camp.
Chapter 6
Dawn brought aches to joints Ryann didn’t know she had as she fought the shivers from the cold morning. Never had she slept anywhere other than her own bed, full of her plush pillows, so she was unprepared for sleeping on the ground. That was discounting her time as a prisoner, which was a different matter all together.
Groaning she climbed to her feet, her clothes wrinkled, she looked down her aching body to insure her limbs and torso weren’t grotesquely deformed. Seeing she was still put together as she should be, she raised her arms above her head, stretching them. She arched her back, feeling the muscles screaming at her. As she straightened her eyes caught Garrick’s unreadable expression, watching her.
She offered him a smile, but felt it quickly fall when he turned away. She watched him take a final drink from his wine skin and handed it to his squire Harold, without glancing down at the boy. Before he could move away, Marcus joined him, they spoke briefly with her husband pointing toward one group of men, and then to another. Without hesitation, Marcus turned away to carry out whatever order he issued.
“Can I bring food?” Winford asked from behind her, making her nearly jump out of her skin.
At the mention of food her stomach growled, up until that moment she had been unaware she was even hungry. She turned away from her husband, and followed the young man.
The morning was half over when Garrick found Ryann, he sat upon the indestructible Malik, with Fleet in tow. She hid a smile as she lifted her skirt and stepped up into the seat, and followed where he led. They rode at a canter up the small incline that looked down over the army camp. To the left was their small encampment, but spread out before them was the mass of campfires, evident from the night before.
Across the encampment her gaze wandered, looking farther she saw another approaching army, the banners still too far away for her to make out. She looked to her husband for an answer. For a moment he refused to look in her direction. When he finally did, his face appeared to be etched from hard stone, his eyes held no warmth for her.
“Lord Damien LeForte,” Garrick said, turning back to watch the approach. “I did not wish to jeopardize Daley, so I sent for some of his soldiers.”
She turned to him, a thank you on her lips for his consideration to the boy, but he nudged his horse down the incline toward the armies. As she moved Fleet to his side she heard him grumble, “I did not expect for him to send his entire army.”
Their approach was slow, but so was the incoming army, for it was outside the Fenton’s encampment that Garrick came to a halt and waited the final few paces that would bring the leader abreast of him.
“Lord Damien,” Garrick said, in a tone of voice as if this man had not just moved his army for him, but they were just becoming acquainted.
“It didn’t take you long to find trouble Garrick,” was the big man’s reply. Ryann noted his age was a little older than her husband’s, he was slightly taller and broader of build, but unlike her husband, his eyes were not full of death, but sparkled in their gray-green intensity as they fell on her. He studied her for a moment as Fleet shifted beneath her, feeling her uncertainty. With a scowl he turned back to Garrick, “You should be filleted alive you cur.”
The anger flashed so suddenly she was taken aback, before she remembered her appearance and the cuts and bruises that created a myriad of colors upon her face. She opened her mouth to defend her husband, but Garrick whipped his head around to glare at her, and ordered in a tone not to be argued with, “Silence.”
Dismissing her, he turned back to Damien, “She is of no matter to you,” he said, with deadly intent edging his voice. “Stroud has taken exception to my position, and it would seem my marriage. He killed some of my men and now holds one of them.”
The other Lord’s eyes were back on her, and she wondered if he was merely looking again at what he believed to be Garrick’s handiwork, or for confirmation of her husband’s story. To help with the latter she gave a nod. The tightening around Garrick’s lips told her he had seen the gesture, and did not appreciate it.
“Then we will make him regret it,” Damien declared, dismissing her, and giving his full attention to her husband.
“Your men are welc
ome among mine.” Ryann suddenly realized there was something different about her husband when he was near this man. He seemed more rigid, if such a thing was possible, more guarded, yet more cunning as if the man Damien was a mouse and Garrick was the cat that had been toying with him, before he would kill him. Ryann’s eyes moved from one to the other, appalled such an idea would place itself in her head, let alone that she would be certain of this. Garrick turned his horse, bumping into Fleet while doing so, but gave no indication he was aware of this, and left her to follow in the wake of the two lords.
~ ~ ~ ~
Garrick thought Damien’s presence would create a welcome distraction from his new wife, but he found his eyes straying back to her time after time. Even with the two armies between them, his senses were full of her presence. He found it unsettling. Especially since he had Damien with him, and he had to keep an eye on him.
“Does she not please you?” Damien asked, as they sat next to one another, sharpening the blades of their swords to prepare for the dawn. How many times had they done exactly that? The knights Halvor, Roland and Cyrille sat with them. The sound of the wetted stones swept along the blades, each man had their own rhythm, but like many things, those too had changed over the years. Cyrille and Roland had once whistled together, matching rhythm together, even competing in one ludicrous way or another as they completed the task. Now both men were silent. Damien’s strokes would become increasingly agitated as his brother’s antics grated on his nerves. Now his strokes remained steady and even. Halvor’s strokes were always steady in their rhythm, but now he seemed distracted. Probably worrying over his sisters, he had not seen them in a while. Perhaps Garrick’s were the only strokes that remained the same. His hands stilled as he watched his bride, as she and Winford appeared to be playing a game together. Then Damien’s words registered inside his distracted head, and he cursed himself for allowing his mind to wonder.
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