Angie Arms - Flame Series 03

by The Darkest Flame

  Chapter 17

  Garrick stared at the whore as she leaned over him. In her eye was the promise of making his coin worthwhile, if he was willing to offer it. She was a beautiful example of a female. Her hair was nearly crimson, her eyes a dark almond shape, dark brown in color. Her breasts were more than a handful he could feel as she pressed one against his arm, as she leaned into him. Her waist tapered down to flaring hips, her lines were pressed so tightly, against him he could feel those too.

  She smelled like a whore. He never knew the smell for what it was, but his wife did not hold that smell. Now he knew it was the smell of other men, and he found the smell of sex clinging to her repulsive.

  In the past, a woman built like her, he would pay handsomely to lie with. She was tall, warrior like in her build, such a contrast to his small wife. He no longer found pleasure looking at a woman such as the whore. No desire burned within his blood for the redhead. He only felt a pang of regret he could not hold his beautifully petite wife.

  “I do not require your services,” Garrick said, standing to move away from her. Across the way he caught the eye of Marcus, who nodded toward the door of the little tavern. Just then the man, who was on his way out, turned to see Marcus gesture. The man saw the direction of Marcus's gaze, and followed it to lock eyes with Garrick. The blood drained from his face, and then he bolted.

  Garrick moved quickly, pushing two older men out of his way, he heard one stumble and curse behind him. He reached the door, nearly crashing through it before getting it open. Into the light of the day, the sun blinding, he caught the movement as the man rounded the corner to his right. Turning quickly, he nearly fell but managed to keep his feet beneath him. He heard Marcus behind him as he gained the corner, and saw the man in an all out run toward the cluster of shacks just ahead, it would be easy to hide among them.

  As they closed in on Stroud, assuming Damien’s information was correct, a few well placed questions and Garrick learned one of the men who had hurt Ryann was here in this village. Before he killed the first two, one of them told him the name of the others, and what they looked like. The information had been extremely helpful as he hunted for them.

  Just as Garrick was ready to reach for the man, he dove left, and Garrick took an extra moment to respond to the change in direction. Just as the man tried to make a sudden turn to the right, Garrick was there, his body slamming into the larger man, knocking him off his feet. They rolled together, slamming into a wall, before coming to rest. The other man had the advantage, landing on top, twisting and grabbing Garrick by his arm. Using his legs he quickly pulled up beneath him, Garrick pushed backward, rolling on top of the man, twisting and slamming the heel of his boot into the man’s face. He felt the cartilage in his nose give way, and the man grunted, releasing him.

  Garrick quickly rose to his feet, grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, and lifted him. He sagged, blinded by pain as Garrick pulled the dagger from its sheath.

  Marcus arrived and stood behind him. “Where are David and Carlton?” The man’s head lolled from side to side, as he tried to focus through the haze of pain.

  Garrick shook him and the man groaned. “Tell me. Are they still with Stroud?”

  The man tried to speak, then nodded franticly. Garrick released him and he fell roughly to his knees. He wobbled for a moment, watching Garrick move around him. The other man let out a squeal when Garrick grabbed a handful of hair on the top of his head. With one fast movement he cut the man’s throat, deep, so he was dead before he could open his hand and let the body fall.

  He bent and wiped his blade off on the other man’s clothes. If the man had anything of value on him, he left it for the people who found him. It would likely be the residents of the shacks, and they could use it far more than he. Rising he turned and avoided Marcus’s gaze.

  “Let’s go.” Quietly Marcus fell in step with him.

  “Do you think Damien’s information is right?”

  “It had better be. We have to finish this.” Garrick never told Marcus how his meeting with the King went, and he never asked. Garrick had been ready to tell King Richard to take as much of his army as he wanted to fight with him, but he was staying with Ryann. Now he believed Richard was true to his word, and would find someone who would eventually get to Ryann. All he had to do was go with Richard, do what Richard wanted, and Ryann would be safe. The answer seemed easy, and for the first time since beginning this journey, Marcus would not be with him. He trusted only two of his men to leave with Ryann and see to her safety. He needed Halvor to command his troops, so that left Marcus to see to Ryann and his interests at home while he was away. Until the task of hunting down Stroud was complete, there was no point in burdening the men with the next battle.

  They rode back to camp, the armies were an impressive and intimidating force spread across the land. As they neared the camp two sentries were posted across the rise they rode across. Garrick pulled Malik to a halt, and Marcus did the same with Ebony. They sat in silence, watching the men as they doused their fires, packed their horses, and went about their usual camp chores. Were any of them as weary of war as he was? The sentries kept their distance, keeping vigilant, especially with the Bastard within shouting distance.

  “The King has given you a new task,” Marcus finally said. It was not a question. Garrick supposed the man knew him well enough he could not keep it a secret from him.

  “He has,” Garrick said, refusing to take his eyes from the armies below them.

  “When will you tell me what it is?” Marcus asked.

  “When I have to.” Garrick clucked to Malik and the horse took off like lightning down the hill. When he reached the campfire he shared with Marcus and Halvor he brought his horse to a halt. Their squires had already seen to the packing of their things, and a quick look around showed him his men were ready to move.

  “Halvor,” Garrick called, as he looked about him for his commander.

  The large man was not far away, his dark head immediately turned in Garrick’s direction. “Move them,” Garrick called, and immediately a sharp whistle sounded from Halvor’s lips, the men began to form into ranks, and moved out onto the narrow road. Garrick turned the prancing Malik about as the men flowed around him. Upon the hill Marcus still sat. One day the man would get tired of following him. Garrick wondered if that time neared.

  The lodge was a large affair to accommodate the growing village, if the numerous new buildings were any indication. Marcus could not remember the name of the reining lord here. As the armies moved, they tried to avoid the various manors and castles along the way, to avoid conflict. Not many would welcome the Fenton Bastard onto their property. Marcus hoped if the time came to confront one of the lords with an army at his disposal, Damien would be able to keep any misunderstandings to a minimum, they did not have time to spare for a battle. Stroud was moving fast, and they had to catch him before he reached the safety of the King. Stroud was known to often stay over in villages, while his army moved on. Marcus, Roland and Daley travelled ahead of Garrick and Damien’s armies, in the hopes they would find him.

  The lodge offered an evening meal and entertainment in the space left between tables. “Is that a woman?” Roland asked, as one of the troubadours danced by their table. Marcus had been engulfed in his own thoughts of what Garrick might be hiding, to give any notice to the troupe of actors who had been performing since shortly entering the lodge.

  Marcus watched the person in question, and it took him no time to notice what Roland had noticed. One of the actors was a woman. The way her tunic clung to her as she spun about left very little to the imagination, the way she raised her arms, her breasts jutting out against the fabric, the curve of her hips when she twisted and squatted, the shape of her legs in her hose, was entirely provocative. Marcus felt the eagerness spring into the man next to him.

  “What do you have in mind?” Marcus asked, uneasy with the change in Roland, the man who had become unpredictable in every aspect of t
he word.

  “I think she could be bought cheaper than a whore.”

  “Are you having trouble affording your habits?” Marcus asked, making it evident in his voice he did not respect the man for his strong appetites where females were concerned.

  “I like to save where I can,” Roland replied off handedly, as he watched the woman. Marcus had to admit, watching her perform the dance was far more intriguing than watching the other three men who danced, in an interpretation of some story he had not been paying enough attention to, to understand. The way her body moved about, undulating. Marcus wished she was performing the dance alone, so the men would not be getting in the way.

  “I bet I could pay her to dance for me,” Roland said, obviously of the same mind.

  They continued to watch, their ale nearly forgotten. Finally, whatever she symbolized was defeated, and she fell to the floor. Her chest rose and fell from her exertion during the dance, a glow lit up her cheeks. She was no whore, she loved performing, Marcus saw it in the small smile as the play came to a close. Roland was immediately out of his seat and moving after the troupe, as they moved toward the back of the building. Marcus rose quickly to follow, curious, but concerned as well if the woman could not be bought for a coin. Marcus did not know how well Roland would take such news.

  The woman paused before exiting the building into the cold night, giving Roland an opportunity to slip in front of her. Marcus saw her raise her head, and Roland smiled down at her. She looked wearily behind her, and her eyes collided with Marcus. She studied him a moment, before turning her attention back to Roland. In that brief moment he saw what Roland was smiling at. She was an attractive woman, with freckles splattered across her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a light brown speckled with green, giving her an overall enchanted look about her features. Her head came to their shoulders, making her taller than she first appeared.

  “What is your name?” Roland asked her in a gentle voice that surprised Marcus.

  “Grace,” she replied, in a hesitant voice.

  “Come with me, I have coin to buy a moment of your time,” Roland replied.

  Marcus heard the woman chuckle before asking, “What would a man such as you want with a moment of my time?”

  “I wish to fuck you,” Roland stated boldly.

  “What does a moment of my time cost a man such as you?” The woman’s voice sounded a little curious, but Marcus caught an undertone to it. Alena toyed with him a great deal lately, and he heard that same quality in this woman’s.

  Roland dug a coin from the pouch tied at his waist and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. The woman leaned forward as if to peer at it before straightening.

  “A moment of my time is worth far more than that,” she said, as she dismissed him and pushed her way around him to walk through the doorway.

  Roland spared only a momentary glance Marcus’s way, before turning and chasing after her out the door. Snow had begun to fall, blanketing the village as the moon fought its way through the thickening clouds. Roland rushed to cut Grace off again, his hand digging into his pouch again.

  “What about for this?” he asked, holding his hand out.

  She did not even glance his way. Daley joined Marcus as they trailed behind, Marcus unsure why this exchange would even involve him. “I may have given you the wrong impression, but I am not for sell.”

  “You’re for sell when you dance,” Roland argued, stepping in front of her when she tried to go around.

  “But that is different.”

  “Either way you are selling yourself,” Roland insisted, going a third time into his money and presenting his offer to her. She looked this time, telling Marcus there might be a price she would accept. She only shook her head, making Roland scowl. His fingers closed tightly around his coins and irritably pushed his way past his two companions, and back into the tavern. Daley did not hesitate to follow the man back into the warmth the building had to offer. When Marcus turned back it was to find Grace had not moved. She studied him with a keen, intelligent eye.

  His heart began to hammer in his chest because he had a desire for her, his first desire for a woman other than Alena in a long time. He saw a chance, slim though it was, he could possess this woman as he had craved to possess Alena. He took the three steps to stand in front of her, the snow coming down in big flakes now, catching in her hair and somehow adding to the desire he felt. As he looked down at her, he knew the same thing that attracted him to Alena attracted him to this woman. Both women were brave to step from the role set for them, and strong to keep up the fight when it would be easier to give in. Looking at this woman, he could not believe Roland was the first man to offer to purchase her body.

  “I will give you all I have with me,” Marcus said, reaching his hand into his cloak and drawing out his purse handing it to her. She had not stopped looking up at him, and as the fabric of the purse brushed her hand she reached out, instinctively taking it. Her eyes rounded as she felt its weight, looking down at it before back up at him. Still not believing the offer she looked back down, loosening the string to peer inside.

  “I am not a whore,” she said, her voice shaky, but she continued to stare at the money she held in her hand. For a woman of her obvious background, it was more money than she could possibly hope for throughout her entire lifetime.

  Marcus reached a hand out and lifted her face with gentle pressure of his fingers on the bottom of her chin. They stared at one another for a moment before a shiver ran through her. Perhaps it was her indecisiveness, or the fact she was not dressed for the snow and increasing wind. He let his hand fall away and she dropped her gaze, and he followed it to her shaking hands. Marcus placed both his hands around her small ones, his own hands had grown cold, but hers felt frozen as he cupped them.

  “You can purchase many things with that money, including a decent coat.”

  Grace tilted her face up to his. After a moment she nodded and he saw the tears she was close to shedding. Letting her hands loose, he reached up and unfastened his cloak, to quickly drape it over her shoulders, her eyes never leaving him as he completed the task. When her eyes dropped again, his hand came back out to lift her chin. He moved his face closer, “I promise I will not hurt you.” With that he touched his lips lightly to hers, letting them play over hers, coaxing them to relax, tasting her as he did so. She was sweet and compliant and to his joy was kissing him back. How long had he waited to feel a woman he desired show some interest back, because Grace was most definitely returning the kiss.

  Marcus heard the door open and turned his head slightly to see Roland standing in the doorway. He looked from Marcus to Grace, before a smirk crossed his face. Marcus knew it was because the man saw both as fallible like him. Grace could be bought, and Marcus bought her, despite his apparent devotion to Alena. Without a word Roland turned and went back inside the tavern, leaving them alone again in the falling snow.

  The small inn housing the rooms the men rented for the evening was newly built, and still had the pleasant smell of clean linens and fresh paint. Marcus didn’t get the luxury of such a place as this when they travelled. If Garrick sought the comfort of a roof over his head, it was always in the more dilapidated parts of the villages, where the whores dwelled.

  As he and Grace stepped over the threshold, he felt her nervousness. He left her side to go to the hearth, and build up the fire to chase away the chill in the room. While he saw to that task, he was aware of Grace moving about the room, pausing to consider his light armor for a moment. She seemed to appreciate the wealth that went into the making of his sword, and the expert craftsmanship that went into the making of his hauberk. She continued her bold perusal of the room, as he completed his task.

  Standing he moved to her, noting as the snow melted from her hair it made the natural curls draw it up to frame her face. He reached for her, ready to remove his cloak, but as he touched it he curled his fingers around the clasp at the throat and pulled her to hi
m, so her body pressed against his. He dreamed of this moment with another woman so long, he knew every step he planned to take so as not to frighten her, and she would instead welcome his touch.

  Every inch of the woman beneath his hands was hardened muscle, only softened by the delicateness that made her a woman. But she was tense, frightened. She was no whore. If he were to guess, she was a virgin.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Sir Marcus Kinsey,” he whispered, as he stared at her. Thoughts of Alena flooded him. Then the Countess, followed closely by the whores who chose a different life when given a different option, and any desire fled Marcus. It wasn’t fair to this woman, the offer he made. She was obviously no whore, or Roland’s coin would have been enough to lure her. Wasn’t he turning this young woman into a whore by offering her enough money she would be stupid to refuse? He would be no better than the Emir, Stroud, or Roland.

  Quickly he stepped away. “I cannot do this. I am sorry.”