The Devil's Fire

by Sara Bell

  Holden turned when he heard Gareth approach. His eyes twinkled with a mischief that didn't bode well for the success of their meeting.

  "Hello, Gareth.” His lips opened into a wide, white-toothed smile. “You're looking well."

  Gareth inclined his head in lieu of proper greeting. “If you're waiting for me to return the compliment, you're going to be disappointed."

  Holden clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “As I recall, you were once quite taken with my charms. You were totally besotted."

  Gareth crossed to the table on the other side of the hearth and poured himself a generous helping of his strongest wine. “A condition you cured me of the day I found you in bed with Lachlan's chief man-at-arms."

  Holden offered no apology. “If you'd been a bit more attentive, I'd have had no need to seek my release elsewhere."

  Gareth took a hefty drink, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Was there something you wanted, Holden, or is it safe to have you thrown out of here now?"

  Holden didn't answer. Instead, he sat down in one of the chairs on the dais and looked around the room. “I like this place, it is so much nicer now than when you first inherited Lachlan from your father. Kiel's doing, I suspect."

  Gareth tightened his grip on the cup. “Stop stalling and tell me why you're here."

  "I come bearing news. Why else do you think I'd make my way from the glorious realms of Stiles to this tiny little hamlet?"

  Calling a substantial holding like Lachlan a “tiny hamlet” was meant to be an insult, but Gareth refused to be goaded. Affecting a serene expression, he said, “If you've come to tell me of your betrothal to Denmar, I already know."

  "Heard about that, did you?” Holden grinned. “Father was ecstatic."

  "No doubt he feels as I do, that you and Denmar deserve one another.” Gareth set his cup aside before coming to stand in front of Holden's chair. “Now that you've imparted your news, feel free to leave."

  "Ah, but I'm not finished,” Holden said. “I came here to discuss not my marriage, but yours."

  "Kiel is a subject closed to you.” Gareth kept his face an emotionless mask. “Don't test me."

  "You misunderstand me, Gareth.” Holden leaned back in the chair, lounging as if he owned the castle itself. “'Tis not your former marriage but your pending nuptials I wish to speak of."

  Gareth cringed in spite of himself. “Good news travels fast, I see."

  "I doubt you'll think the news as good when I tell you what I've learned about your intended."

  "Save your gossip for someone who gives a damn."

  "Oh, but this is so much more than mere gossip.” Holden was glowing, a bad omen. “The way I hear it, Alric of Kray is a man of unusual talents, indeed."

  "Enough, Holden.” Gareth was done with the man. “You're boring me."

  "But you've yet to hear all the little details I gleaned. Things I imagine King Tristam forgot to tell you when he arranged this match.” Holden looked up at him. “Then again, King Tristam may not have forgotten, after all. Perhaps he knew you'd never marry Alric of Kray if you were privy to his darker nature."

  Holden's insinuation that he'd been deliberately deceived didn't sit well with Gareth. “Tristam and I have no secrets between us."

  "Really?” Holden draped one arm over the back of the chair. “Then I suppose Tristam mentioned the special name given Alric by his father's people."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The villagers in and around the castle call Alric the Devil of Kray."

  "Why would they call him that?” Before he could stop himself, the question spilled from Gareth's lips.

  "You mean you didn't know?” Holden feigned surprise. “Why, Alric is cursed, of course."

  Chapter Two

  "Cursed?” Gareth stopped just short of laughing outright. “I thought you a little old to believe in fairy stories."

  Holden wasn't the least offended. “Laugh all you will, but these particular ‘fairy stories’ have a nasty edge. Indeed, ‘tis said in addition to being cursed your Alric is quite mad."

  "Madder than a grown man who gives credence to curses and gossip?"

  "Make light of it all you will,” Holden said, “but we'll see who's laughing when you find yourself shackled to a crazed demon for the rest of your life."

  "Fine. The man is cursed.” Gareth didn't want to listen to another word, but he had a feeling hearing Holden out was the only way to get rid of him without a scene. “So, what is it, then? A hideous pox on his skin? The need to change from man to dog in the pale moonlight?"

  "The King of Kray is so secretive when it comes to his son, no one seems to know the true nature of Alric's affliction.” Holden lowered his voice. “I do know the man is much feared, not only because of the curse."

  Gareth shook his head. “What could be more fearsome than a curse?"

  "Murder, perhaps?” Holden smiled as he said it. “They say Alric killed his stepmother in cold blood."

  If Holden was hoping for a showing of surprise on Gareth's part, he wasn't going to get it. Keeping his expression impassive, Gareth said, “I don't believe you."

  "You never were one to see the truth. ‘Tis why you and Kiel made such a fine pair.” Holden cut his eyes up to meet Gareth's. “Poor Kiel never listened to reason, either."

  Gareth stilled. “What do you mean by that?"

  "Nothing, save that Kiel made a grave error when he turned down my Lord Denmar's advances.” Holden stood and walked over to where Gareth was standing, stopping within a hairbreadth of his face. “I wonder if he'd accepted Denmar's hand when the man first offered it, would our dear little Kiel be alive right now?"

  Gareth's fist shot forward of its own free will, grabbing a handful of Holden's tunic and lifting him clear off the floor. He threw Holden down on the table, using his body to pin him against the coarse wood.

  "What know you of Kiel's death?"

  "Why, Gareth, I never knew you liked to play rough.” Holden gave him an oily smile. “I'm not averse to a little pain, myself."

  "Tell me what you know, damn you.” Gareth lifted him again, then slammed Holden down with all his strength.

  Still, Holden kept silent. Gareth was just before repeating the action again when a loud clearing of the throat registered in his rage-fogged brain.

  Still pinning Holden in place on the tabletop, Gareth turned his head to see Marcus standing behind him.

  "Beg pardon, my lord, but I thought certain you'd be alone by now."

  "What is it, Marcus?” Gareth didn't relinquish his hold on his prisoner.

  "A messenger from the King of Drystan is here, my lord.” Marcus eyed Holden, who was fighting in vain to free himself from Gareth's grasp. “Shall I tell the man to wait?"

  "That won't be necessary.” After a full moment's hesitation, Gareth released Holden and stepped back. “The Prince of Stiles was just leaving."

  "I should report you to my father and have you disemboweled for putting your hands on me.” Holden glared up at him with defiance, but Gareth could see he was shaking.

  "You and I both know you won't do that.” Gareth matched him glare for glare. “You glean far too much pleasure from these twisted games of yours to bring them to a permanent end.” He folded his hands, making himself the picture of serenity. “Now get out of here before I do it again."

  "You can toss me about all you like, but it won't change anything.” Holden gathered himself from the table and brushed the wrinkles from his clothes. “In the end you'll be sorry you didn't listen to me."

  "What I am sorry for is ever letting you in here.” Gareth kicked at the rushes near Holden's feet. “Get out of my sight before you regret it."

  Something in Gareth's eyes must have convinced Holden he meant what he said. For once the man did as he was told without having to hear the order twice.

  * * * *

  Gareth read the missive from Drystan four times before the words sank in. The arrangements had been made
, and the marriage banns were to be read at the High Council in three weeks. In little over a month, Gareth would travel to Drystan, teaming up with Tristam and his forces before journeying on to Kray.

  In the back of his mind, Holden's warnings echoed, but there was little Gareth could do about it, even if the rumors were true. For better or worse, Gareth was committed to a marriage he neither wanted nor needed. He only hoped going through with it would not prove a fatal mistake.

  * * * *

  Gareth's sleep that night was shallow and troubled. He rolled and tossed, the moon streaming through the high, narrow windows of his bedchamber in silent witness to his torment. This was the bed he'd shared with Kiel, the place he'd passed his nights in peace and pleasure, but tonight he found no comfort. Finally, after waking from the fourth or fifth restless nap of the evening, Gareth walked over to the high chest on the other side of the room, poured himself a stiff draught of dark ale, and downed it in one bracing gulp. For good measure, he poured himself another and repeated the action. Once his brain was numb enough, he climbed back beneath the covers and again sought sleep.

  This time, when oblivion came, it brought Kiel with it.

  He was standing by Gareth's bed, his brown eyes glowing. His skin looked pink and healthy in the moonlight, not the ghastly gray it was the last time Gareth had seen him. He pressed slender fingers against Gareth's cheek, fingers that felt warm and solid and real.

  "You can't be here.” Gareth's voice was a harsh whisper against his own ears. “They told me you were gone."

  "I'm here now.” Just like that, Kiel's clothes were gone and he was standing in nude glory for Gareth to see. “Just the two of us, the way it's always been."

  Gareth swallowed. He wanted so desperately to believe Kiel was here, to lose himself in those arms. “I've missed you."

  Kiel lifted back the velvet coverlet and slid into bed beside him. “Hush now. You called for me, and I came.” He sealed his mouth over Gareth's, and that was all it took.

  Gareth rolled him over without ever letting go of his mouth. He kissed Kiel with the savage passion of a man long denied. He'd always been careful with Kiel before—always made certain not to be too rough—but tonight delicacy was beyond him.

  Kiel didn't seem to mind. He ran his hands up and down Gareth's back, his short fingernails biting into the skin. “I've always loved that you sleep without a nightdress. Have I ever told you that?"

  Gareth didn't answer, just reached between them to stroke Kiel's sweet member. Kiel wasn't an overly large or muscular man—he was lithe, almost graceful—but he had a long, slender prick that always fit perfectly in Gareth's hand or mouth. Gareth moved down, eager for a taste.

  Kiel stopped him.

  "Not now, love. I want you inside me. I want this to last us a lifetime."

  Gareth wasn't about to deny either of them. He spread Kiel's legs wide, using his fingers to open that glorious hole. He was surprised to find that Kiel—who'd always needed a great deal of oil and preparation before their couplings—was stretched, oiled, and ready.

  "I want you now,” Kiel said as if answering the unspoken question. “I don't want to wait."

  Gareth lined himself up and slid home.

  Home. That's exactly what it felt like. After two years of living only a half life, Gareth felt vibrant and powerful again. His Kiel was back. Gareth could breath once more.

  He threaded his hands through Kiel's unruly mop of brown curls and anchored Kiel for his thrusts. Kiel's only response was a low, throaty moan.

  Gareth was on fire. His balls were tight and his cock was aching for release. “Too soon,” he groaned into Kiel's ear. “Can't last."

  "I love you,” Kiel whispered. “Remember that, and remember also that I want you to find happiness with your new husband. Love him, Gareth, the way I have loved you."

  The mention of his upcoming marriage was like a shock of cold water poured over Gareth's back. “Kiel, I'm sorry. I—” He tried to pull away, but Kiel wrapped his legs around Gareth's waist and held him tight.

  "You've nothing to be sorry for. I want this for you.” Kiel tightened his inner muscles in the way that always hastened Gareth's release. “Come for me, my own. One last time."

  Gareth tried to stop it. He wanted to talk to Kiel, to tell him this new marriage meant nothing to him and never would. His body, on the other hand, had a mind of its own and soon Gareth was shuddering in the throes of ecstasy. He opened his mouth to scream and that's when Kiel's image dissolved into the moonlight as if it had never been.

  Gareth woke alone and covered in his own seed. It was a long, agonizing time later before he stumbled out of bed to clean himself and have another drink.

  * * * *

  The sun beat on Gareth's back, making him hot and irritable, but he made no mention of it. The ten-day trek to Kray had been trying enough for him and the more than one hundred soldiers traveling with them. Carrying on like a nagging shrew would help nothing. Besides, Tristam was doing enough complaining for the both of them.

  "I swear, ‘tis usually cooler this time of year."

  Gareth rolled his eyes. “You've said as much four times already."

  "At least I'm making some attempt at conversation.” Tristam wiped the sweat from his brow. “You've hardly said more than two words the entire way."

  "What would you have me say?” Gareth jerked as his stallion tripped over a stone on the rocky terrain.

  "Over two months have passed since I sent my messenger to inform you the match was set.” Tristam led his horse around a grayish rock mass before coming back to Gareth's side. “You've had plenty of time to get used to the idea."

  "And your point is?"

  "You could at least ask me something about your betrothed.” Tristam raised his voice to be heard over the din of horses’ hooves as their party clattered up the hillside. “Honestly, Gareth, you act as if you care to know nothing at all about the man."

  "I don't.” Gareth reined his mount away from a scrubby pine sapling. “Besides, Holden told me more than enough about Alric of Kray to last a lifetime."

  "Lies, I'd wager.” Tristam curled his lip. “Holden can't stand the thought of you marrying anyone save him. He acted the same way when you wed Kiel."

  "The difference being, I wanted to marry Kiel. Holden knows me well enough to know how I feel about this latest betrothal."

  "I wish Maris were here.” Tristam sighed. “She'd be able to convince you this marriage is exactly what is needed."

  "I doubt it, but if she were here at least you'd have something to occupy your time besides your myriad complaints.” Gareth softened the rebuke with a smile. “Was Maris disappointed about not being able to come?"

  "She was hoping to attend the ceremony, but she understood my reasons for not wanting her to make the trek. ‘Tis too dangerous with Denmar on the prowl and out for blood."

  "I'm sure Maris knows you had only her best interests at heart.” Gareth blinked against the glare as he and Tristam crested the hill. Once atop, he saw a wealth of fertile forestland on the other side. “Is this it?"

  Tristam followed his gaze. “We've reached the Kray border."

  Gareth only nodded. The rising dread in his stomach had him too nauseous to open his mouth.

  * * * *

  They arrived at Kray Castle just as the sun was setting. The walls surrounding the castle proper were at least two score high of polished stone, the gates heavy and escapeless. Over the tops of the walls marched no less than sixty armed men, and readied archers patrolled the watchtowers. Tristam made some inane remark about Kray's fortitude, but it only reminded Gareth the noose was tightening around his neck.

  Gareth and Tristam left their soldiers at the gates and rode into the outer bailey alone. A small contingent of guards and servants awaited them there.

  A nervous little man with a long nose, declining hair, and protruding ears rushed into the courtyard as Tristam and Gareth were dismounting. After ordering the stable master to see t
o their horses, the man bowed low before them.

  "Your Majesty and Your Lordship, welcome to Kray. ‘Tis an honor to have you here.” He straightened. “I am Bertrand, King Declan's steward. If you will but follow me, I'll show you to your rooms so that you may freshen from your journey."

  Gareth and Tristam fell in step behind him. While Tristam conversed with Bertrand about their accommodations, Gareth took a moment to survey his surroundings.

  The outer bailey led way to an inner courtyard of quiet splendor. A bubbling fountain in the center of the yard was surrounded by four low-set stone benches. A wealth of sweet-smelling flowers bloomed throughout the enclosure.

  Gareth barely had time to take in the beauty of the place before Bertrand whisked them through an archway and into a side hall of the castle.

  "These are the guest quarters,” Bertrand said as he led them down the corridor. “You'll find a hallway to your left which leads into the common area of the castle. On the other side of that is a staircase that takes you up to the king's chambers and Prince Alric's, as well.” Bertrand paused long enough to cast his eyes on Gareth. “I imagine you'll be seeing the prince's rooms soon enough, aye my lord?” The rascal had the nerve to wink.

  Gareth was about to respond when Tristam stepped in. “Bertrand, have you any idea when we'll be meeting with King Declan?” His voice was laced with amusement.

  "His Majesty would like to see you first thing in the morning,” Bertrand said. “King Declan wanted to give you time to rest from your travels.” He stopped in front of a row of doors.

  "Your rooms will be on the right, Your Highness,” Bertrand said to Tristam, “and yours are on the left, Lord Lachlan. I took the liberty of ordering trenchers of food and hot baths for you both."

  "I thank you for your kindness, Bertrand.” Tristam glanced back the way they'd come. “I trust that my soldiers are also being cared for?"

  "Without question, Sire. King Declan's chief man-at-arms was ordered to attend the duty himself.” Bertrand took a step back. “Should either of you require anything further, I am at your disposal."