by Arms, Angie
“How are things?” Damien asked drawing his brother’s attention from the naked woman.
“The walls are secured…” he began but the knock on the door interrupted him. Damien bid them enter and the redhead came in carrying a basket and armload of linens. She hesitated when she saw Cyrille but came further into the chamber.
“Put them there,” he pointed to the table at the foot of the large bed.
She moved to it and sat her bundle down. “Will there be anything else my lord?” she asked and her eyes showed she was more than willing to do more for him.
“Yes,” he said walking to his brother’s side. “This is my brother Cyrille and you are to entertain him for the night.”
“Why does he wear the hood?” she asked wearily and speaking to Damien as if she could just ignore his brother.
“They hide the scars he received bravely in battle,” Damien replied irritably.
“Can he speak?” she asked her voice sounded close to panic.
“I can speak,” his brother’s gravelly voice bit out.
The servants face whitened and she shook her head no. Cyrille moved quickly toward her and grabbed her arm. Damien did not know if it was an attempt to secure her or to reassure her. She did the unexpected and grabbed his hood with her free hand and yanked it from his head. Damien thought she might faint but instead she began screeching uncontrollably then turned and fled the room. Damien didn’t see the scars so much on his brother’s face for he still saw the kid he once was, the handsome young man whose charismatic spirit had the women flocking to him. Now they ran in fear or cringed in horror when they looked at him.
He could see the effect the girl’s actions had on him but his brother was good at hiding it. They glanced toward the tub and saw although the lady had seen the scars and the reaction of the other woman she had already dismissed the drama and was doing her best to ignore them now. Her reaction surprised Damien. He was pleased by it, but also felt anger that she would be the one he would offer his brother. His brother’s stare had shown his interest and her lack of reaction had only interested his brother further.
~ ~ ~ ~
The-man-on-the-gray-horse sent for servants and in no time the two women were scrubbing at her and tending to her wounds. She did her best to ignore both men who kept glancing her way as they talked in low tones. She was already on edge enough with The-man-on-the-gray-horse staring at her but when The-man-in-the-hood had entered her blood had turned cold. She saw him plunge his sword into Alec again and she had the urge to fly at him and plunge a candle stick or another object into his hooded head.
The-man-in-the-hood had looked her over when he had entered. She had looked from one man to the other as they stared at her and she wondered which one would demand her as their war prize. It was not unheard of that a lady would remain untouched after a keep was taken. But she was no fair lady in a neat dress, her hair perfectly done. So far she doubted either man looked upon her as a lady and doubted either man had mercy not to rape her or submit her to the number of vile things her husband had over the years.
When the other woman came in and tore the hood from the man’s head and began screaming Keri found her reaction far too harsh. The man was terribly scarred but at least his fat did not slap together when he moved and his flesh did not smell of greasy meat. With that thought she found herself wondering what mating with a man that did not repulse her would be like. Would she only be able to see The-man-in-the-hood’s blade driving into Alec or The-man-on-the-gray-horse’s dagger slicing her friend’s throat? Or would she finally get to know the pleasure a man could give her. Lottie had assured her sex was normally a pleasurable event. Not the act that left her feeling disgusted and dirty.
The men had left while her hair was being rinsed so her mind was whirling by the time she stepped from the water. “Did you see the children brought in with us?” she asked as a giant cloth was wrapped around her body.
The two women looked at each other.
“Please, I only wish to know if they are well.”
They nodded and the younger one said, “They are well.”
“Is that all you can tell me of them? I am the Lady Keri of Langley and those children are all I have left.”
She was immediately irritated to see the women step back and make signs of the cross before them.
“We don’t want trouble,” the older woman said taking a weary step back.
“Then tell me of my children,” she snapped.
“An older lady brought them into the hall just before we were sent up here. They looked to be well cared for, although tired,” the younger informed her, her brown eyes wide with fear.
“Leave me now.” Though her voice had not been harsh by any degree both women jumped and fled the room. The tapestry that served as a door fell back into place and Keri waited for only a moment before gathering the cloth around her body and stepped quietly to it. No noise came from outside so she slipped behind it and into the dimly lit corridor. On nimble feet she made a decision in which direction to take, the trip in had been hazed over with fatigue and pain. She had not made it far when The-man-on-the-gray-horse’s voice rang out behind her, “Stop.”
She hiked the cloth up and bolted. Her bare feet were soundless on the floor and the progress measured by the hammering of his heavy boots on the boards made her heart shudder. The corridor turned right and she made the corner nimbly then smiled to herself when she heard the giant ox of a man slowed by it. She dug in harder, her breath coming in short even bursts as she tried to conserve her energy for a long race. She only had to out distance him. How many times had she had to call on every bit of her strength and endurance in the hopes of beating Alec and the other young boys she had grown up with? She would have no time to get her children, but she would come back for them. She would not leave them in the hands of these men.
The corridor ended in stairs winding upward, a direction she wished not to go but had no choice. She bounded up them and had made it up only a few when she tripped in the cloth and she fell, losing a few steps in the process. Then big hands fell on her and were turning her over but she knew instantly it wasn’t The-man-on-the-gray-horse. This man hurt her as he dug his fingers into her shoulder. She saw his face and knew his intent. She fought and bit at him but he was too big to budge. He even managed to hike the cloth up to give himself access and was fumbling to free himself all within the blink of an eye. She was frantic as she panted and strained to throw him off and free herself.
Suddenly his weight left her, his fingers tried to find purchase where they gripped the cloth but they fell away underneath the force that lifted him. A grunt echoed in the stairwell as Keri clambered to her feet, inching up the steps. She made it to only three when The-man-on-the-gray-horse pierced her with his eyes that were a dark gray in the dim light. The motion of his hands drew her eyes and she watched him wipe the blood from his dagger before he let her attacker’s body slide to the floor.
“Come here,” he demanded sliding the dagger into the sheath on his belt.
Keri looked at him numbly and shook her head.
“I’m not asking,” the man said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Again she shook her head, plastering herself against the wall. “When do they teach men that?” she asked her body quaking from what nearly happened.
“Teach us what?” he asked, it was evident in his voice he was trying to remain patient.
“To touch women like that,” she said struggling to convey to him her repulsion. “To take without any consideration. I can’t,” she said shaking her head. “I can’t come with you because it will only begin again.”
“You’re being hysterical,” he declared his voice agitated.
“I am not being hysterical,” she declared indignantly. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“Come here,” he demanded again, pointing beside him where he wanted her.
“No,” she said flatly.
“Don’t make me
come get you.”
“Do you think you scare me?” she demanded feeling ridiculous trying to have a standoff with him.
“I don’t think anything scares you,” he said and she felt as if it was not a compliment. His next words confirmed this, “That is where you are most foolish. Come here.”
His words were gentler this time and she descended to him, what other choice did she have? He nodded to her and began to turn away. She took that opportunity to bolt past him. Agilely she sidestepped him before he could react and flew back along the corridor. Reaching the corner she prepared to make the quick turn when The-man-in-the-hood stepped out before her. She collided with him at full force. He was like a rock wall and she bounced off him landing hard on the floor. She didn’t have time to catch her breath before The-man-on-the-gray-horse was roughly dragging her to her feet.
With a restraining hand on her elbow he guided her down the corridor. “No,” she shrieked trying to jerk away. He jerked her back in line only for her to try to jerk free again. “Let me go!”
With a growl of agitation he picked her up, effortlessly tucking her under his arm as she thrashed. Once he pinned her hands in his free one she had little recourse but to endure the walk back to the room. As the tapestry fell down over the doorway The-man-on-the-gray-horse flung her to the floor. She scrambled to her feet, awkwardly fighting with the cloth all the way. The men had dismissed her so she moved away, first toward the bed then thinking better of it toward the large chest on the other side of the chamber.
The men conversed amongst themselves and she strained to hear but their voices came to her in hushed tones so she chose to ignore them. This created the dilemma that made it impossible to turn her mind off as she struggled with all the fears tumbling about in her head. Her children, their future, her future, would she ever even see her children again?
Their conversation halted and both men were looking directly at her. She lifted her head casting them a look of contempt in an effort to intimidate them into keeping their distance. The-man-in-the-hood did not heed it but walked toward her removing his hood. Her gaze traveled from his hands that were scarred by burns upward, until she was craning her neck back to see him. His face was likewise burned but the scars did not end there. One eye had apparently been mangled by the blade that left the deep scars around it, as if someone had carved it from his head while he struggled. She had to wonder if the people who had done the damage to his eye had also tried to cut his tongue from his head for the scars around his mouth gave a satirical twist to his lips. A blade had filleted his face from his cheekbone down to his chin on both sides. Behind the scars his jaw was strong like Damien’s and they shared the same tilt to the cheekbones, the same gray-green to their eyes, at least the scarred man’s good one.
“I am Sir Cyrille Le Forte,” he said, his gravelly voice must be another result of the flame that had torched his skin. “My brother Damian has kindly given you to me.”
She was cold, from her head to her toes a cold dread settled into her bones because she knew it would begin again. It wasn’t the thought of Cyrille and his scars it was the thought that now her life and body could be given and taken so freely. She dropped her head to stare at her hands, her mind working on how to get out of this. She heard him crouch beside her but like a coward she refused to look at him. He lifted a piece of her damp hair and rubbed it between his fingers before smoothing it behind her ear.
“Does your offer still stand?” he asked turning his attention back to Damian.
Keri lifted her head and looked across the room at the man that now had a name. Somehow it didn’t make the man less surreal. She willed him to retract the offer. Why would she want that, wasn’t one just as bad as the other? He stared at her but she could not read his thoughts behind his strong façade. The time seemed to tick by when his voice finally broke the silence she jumped. “She is yours.” He turned smartly and left the room, the tapestry falling closed behind him as if he had slammed it.
A moment more passed before Cyrille spoke to her. “I will not hurt you.” She swallowed, feeling as if she would choke on the fear that lodged itself there and stole her breath.
“Why would you choose not to hurt me?” she asked the big man beside her, not believing those words.
“I know what it is like to be a prisoner.”
Keri felt like crying wanting so much to believe that she would feel no pain for the rest of this night. Her hands were of no use to her and she had little chance of winning a fight, she felt foolish even giving herself a small chance. She glanced to the big bed. Would she have to share it with Damien tonight if she didn’t share it with Cyrille?
The hands that touched her shoulder yanked her attention from the bed.
“Lie down on the bed,” he said motioning toward it and stepping back.
“I will fight you to my last breath.”
He chuckled, a grating sound that would be frightening if she did not recognize the humor that created it. How was it possible that this man withstood the pain? She watched him move to the table and discerned a limp. She wondered if it pained him to speak or if he just did not like to use his damaged voice. He rummaged through a bag and pulled out bottles and creams coming to the bed with more fresh linens and two bottles. She slowly sank onto the edge of the bed when he returned to her. The reality of her situation was difficult to come to terms with. She had no fight left in her.
“Wounds must be treated,” he said motioning to the bed again. Still reluctant she stood and moved to the bed, what choice did she have? Tentatively she sat down on the edge and held her hands out to him. The first mixture he poured on her burned, making her nearly jump from the bed. By the time he was finished her hands were an angry red and she thought surely they would burst into flames at any moment. The next mixture numbed them giving her relief before he had to touch them to do the wrapping.
“What happened to you?” she finally asked to break the silence.
He paused in his wrapping and was still for a moment before continuing. “I was taken prisoner.”
His one eye looked at her and she knew he watched the color drain from her face.
“Why would someone do that?”
He began wrapping her hand again. “They were trying to get secrets I did not have.”
“What secrets?”
Cyrille stopped again but never looked up. “Secrets that threatened the crown.” He paused another moment before finishing the last wraps on her first hand, tucking the cloth gently to hold it in place.
He had been wrapping a short time on her second hand when she asked, “Why would they think you had the secrets?”
His hands froze and he looked at her and frowned making his face do some strange contortions from the burns and scars. “Because our commander had the secrets.”
For a moment she was confused but she remembered the similarities in size and painted the picture. “They tortured you because you looked just like him?”
He glanced at her face, ducked his head and quickly went back to wrapping as he nodded.
“Damien allowed this?”
Cyrille chuckled, again. “No,” he said shaking his head. “He screamed and damned my soul,” his voice said slowly fading. He finished up with her second hand.
He pulled the linen away baring a shoulder and the top swell of one of her breasts. After the burning ointment was applied he began to dab the other on with the tip of his finger.
“What did they do to you?”
He shook his head, “You are a lady.”
“I think it will make me appreciate the predicament I’m in a little more.”
Cyrille pulled away and looked down at her. “Make no mistake about it. If you remain loyal to John, Damien will kill you.”
“I am no more loyal to John than I am Richard. My husband aligned himself with John and his cohorts. I fought to protect myself and my children because my husband would not.” A lump formed in her throat.
“Damien has killed men
for less.”
“Damien is a cold blooded murderer,” she declared with contempt in her voice.
A scarred hand grabbed her chin, making her look at him as his fingers dug into her flesh. “My brother is many things but a murderer he is not. His orders are to kill all rebels and hold all property and there is no room for mercy.”
“By making me property he has shown me mercy by not killing me as a rebel?”
Cyrille nodded but did not speak.
“Are my children safe?”
“As long as you comply with Damien.” It took him a moment for him to continue, “Lottie tends them.” Silence fell between them again. “You do not ask after your husband.”
“It was Henry’s wish that I marry him. I assume he lives no more”
“You are a widow.”
What kind of woman was she that she found joy in the death of her husband, the father of her children?
Cyrille seemed to read her thoughts. “Damien killed him.”
Cyrille let his words sink in and went back to the wound on her shoulder and chest. She was grateful to Damien for something. The reality of it made her all the angrier at him but for all the wrong reasons.
“First they put me on the rack that is why my leg bothers me from time to time,” he began in a whisper and she realized this way his voice was not raspy and he did not seem to strain to speak. “After that they cut my eye from me. A few days later they cut my face with the threat of cutting out my other eye and my tongue. They threatened to burn me at the stake. When I still had no answers they did.”
“Who saved you?”
“Damien. I don’t know how or how long I burned. It was many days later before I knew I still lived.”
“You are a very loyal brother,” she assured him as he finished with the cut.
He put the cap back on the bottle, motioned her under the covers and settled her there before he replied. “He is the good brother because he kills the rebels and gives me his women.” He walked away from the bed and toward the door. “Rest and I will send you food.”