by Arms, Angie
“We have found them at last,” Damien said trying to sound relieved. He straightened his shoulders. It was time to finish what he had started so long ago. He would kill Liam whether he harmed Keri or not, then take her to the king. He could wash his hands of it, have his service completed and never look back as he tried to put the pieces of his shattered family back together.
“No, we have found the horses they were riding. They are another matter all together.” The man turned and left the stable leaving the two brothers to trail along behind him.
“Who do you think he sides with?” Damien asked Cyrille quietly.
“Who do you side with?” Cyrille asked in return.
Chapter 15
Following behind Garrick the brothers’ heads swiveled back and forth, up and down, scanning the crumbling walls, the roofs of the sparse buildings inside the keep, the weeds growing helter-skelter in the courtyard. Clouds gathered ever darker above the tall towers and the feeling of foreboding only grew inside Cyrille. He was not a superstitious person, did not believe in white or black magic, good luck or bad, he did not believe for one minute Keri was a witch. Looking at the forbidding walls, the dark holes of the doors he could not help the feeling that this place they had entered was evil.
Their steps faltered but it did not seem as if Garrick noticed as he drew ever closer to the small hall adjacent to the largest tower of the two. The wind picked up, swirling dust and whistling through the windows and cracks of the stones. Cyrille was surprised there were two women here, let alone a third who held a title. His steps faltered again and he came to a stop before the door of the hall. No noise came from within, the silence settling over Cyrille made the hair on the back of his neck rise and a chill settled into his bones.
“I don’t like this,” Damien whispered before they stepped across the threshold together and into the dimly lit hall. The hall was heated by the hearth on the opposite end but it did nothing to chase away the shadows or the chill in the room. Garrick’s steps echoed through the hall as he approached the head table. Is the man so evil he does not notice the evil chill in this place, Cyrille wondered. The table was flanked by two female servants whose youthful faces were alight with welcome. On one side stood a blond whose height told of long legs and whose stature hinted at feminine strength. At the other end stood the petite black haired creature that was as delicate in appearance as the other was in warrior grace.
Cyrille came to a stop in the shadows at sight of them. Beauty was his opposite. It was the beauties who looked upon his scars with the greatest horror. Damien hesitated but did not look back as his steps regained their confident stride. Only Cyrille could detect the hesitancy as his brother continued to follow in Garrick’s wake.
He watched the tiny black headed woman step to Garrick. He stared down at her, his black brows coming together in a scowl. She smiled at him and taking his hand tried to lead him forward. The man looked at their hands for a moment then jerked his away, straightening to his full height. A hard look crossed his face and she smiled again then stepped aside to motion him toward the table. He walked forward but watched the woman warily.
Cyrille’s gaze fell back on Damien who was being seated by the blond. She bent over his shoulder to say something in his ear as if the hall was full of people and she had to move close to be heard. He watched his brother’s eyes cast a weary glance to her face, and look at its perfection and he was sure he would be able to smell the scent of her as her soft golden locks fell down around her face framing hers and his with her close proximity. Damien said something that brought on a big smile to her pink lips curling upward to reveal gleaming white teeth. She turned and left. Before Cyrille could step from the shadows the two women who had first greeted them entered from a door set into the wall next to the hearth. They stepped to the side and another woman entered. The first thing that struck Cyrille was her hair as it flamed red underneath the glow of the fire while her graceful strides carried her into the room. Both men at the table scrambled to their feet and offered bows for the lady. As she paused in front of the hearth Cyrille fancied he could see the outline of her body underneath her thin gown. She was not as tall as the blond or as small as the black headed woman. She looked to be a descendent of the warrior queens long since gone from the land. The curves of her breasts let him know each would be more than a handful for his large hands. Her hips flared giving her a figure that made him want to weep for what he could never have again. She moved toward the chair at the head of the table but before taking a seat she turned her head and Cyrille felt her eyes on him.
They raked over him. He could feel their heat, as they assessed him. He shook himself back to reality and what had to be the realization she could not see him. She turned away, spoke to Damien then her eyes were back on him. Suddenly his mouth went dry and he felt as if he were an untried youth seeing his first woman naked. She rounded the table and her strides were so graceful they appeared to make her float as she neared, moving from the light into the shadow with him.
“Sir Cyrille,” her voice said coming to him like a gentle breeze. Her scent wafted to him, the smell of flowers and spring. “Please come forward.” Her touch was soft, the gentlest of caresses as she laid her hand on top of his. “We are all friends here.”
“Where are your men?” Cyrille asked but his body followed her movement as she stepped toward the light, her hand still upon his.
She turned and standing on tiptoe she whispered in his ear. “Not here,” she said, her fragrance assaulted him. Her curves pressed against him as if there was no fabric of their clothes separating them. He felt her heat, he felt her lust and then she was stepping from him, turning and moving toward the light once again.
The two servants were placing plates upon the table followed by bowls of stew as he took his seat beside the lady. Once settled she leaned toward him, her breath tickled his ear even through his hood. “You cannot eat with that upon your head. Please, enjoy your meal,” she said bringing an arm around him. It took a moment for his mind to register she held her arm before him which she bared. Slowly his eyes travelled down to the graceful curving arm, her skin like cream but not perfect like her face but was a charred mess, the scars like his from fire. It disappeared underneath her sleeve and he wondered how much of her had been marred by the flame.
She straightened from him, her arm sliding up his chest, toward his neck. Her fingers paused to caress the skin at his throat underneath the hood. Cyrille turned his head to see what reaction his two companions would have but found they were in conversation with the blond servant who leaned between them. Around the bottom of his hood the woman caressed coming to the tie in back. She bent forward and leaned her head next to his as she pulled the hood slowly upward until he felt the air hit his face, and her breath caress his ear.
“That is much better,” she said, the hand holding the hood flattened against his chest and slid downward lightly caressing all the way to his lap where she laid the hood against his rising need he hoped was still concealed beneath the layers of his clothing.
She took her seat again, looked him in the eye and offered him a smile. It was not the radiant golden smile of the blond but a serene smile that relayed to him his disfigurement did nothing to deter her from enjoying his company. A glance back at the other two men found Garrick looking his way with a hint of terror mirrored in his eyes while Damien had already dove into the stew and was shoveling it hungrily into his mouth. Garrick’s attention turned to his food and Cyrille turned back to the redhead beside him. She smiled and lifted a spoonful of the stew to her lips inviting him to eat his fill.
The meal was quiet, with only the hungry men and the one woman eating at the table. They ate their fill of the stew that seemed to be the best food he had had in what seemed ages. The servants came forward again to refill their ale mugs and both women lingered nearby.
“I noticed the other horses in the stable with ours,” Garrick said settling back in his chair. He stretched his legs out b
efore him, folding his hands in his lap. He turned and gave the black headed girl a weary gaze.
“I thought you might be interested in those horses Sir Garrick,” Lady Sylva’s silky voice flowed down the table to the man.
“They belong to Lord Liam.”
Sylva’s lips curled into a smile as if to say this was not news to her. “Please, take advantage of my hospitality tonight. It is late and I do not wish to rouse my other guests.” A woman materialized from the shadows and bent to her lady’s ear. “My lady-in-waiting, Darlene,” she said as an introduction to the girl who straightened beside her, “Tells me the snow is falling hard and the temperature has dropped. Suffice it to say no one will be leaving before dawn so all matters can wait until then.”
Lady Sylva rose and Cyrille would swear the woman appeared to be floating. “Please, take advantage of all the comfort I offer to you men.” The woman motioned to the two women hovering. They perked up and moved toward the men. Garrick’s face broke into a weary smile while Damien’s face was unreadable as the blonde advanced on him. The lady Sylva laid a hand upon Cyrille’s wrist and he felt as if she was lifting him from the chair. He stood on shaky legs as he looked at his brother. He seemed to be wobbling to and fro, but Cyrille thought it must perhaps be his own eagerness and apprehension flooding in on him. This beautiful woman was touching him, not shrinking away in horror like all the others.
As he followed the Lady from the room he felt as if his feet did not touch the floor. Out into the courtyard she led him, into the swirling snow that blocked the entire world from him. He paused, raised his head to the falling snow, the cold flakes landing on his warm skin but doing nothing to clear the haze that had seemed to consume his brain. He lifted a palm to his own cheek feeling the coldness of the flakes, the scars of his face too tough for the lightness of it to penetrate. Her hand slid from his wrist, down to his hand, twining her fingers in his. When the warmth of her body pressed into him he lowered his head. Her features were not discernible in the darkness but by the outline of her face he saw her head tilted upward toward his. He stared down at her and marveled at her softness, at her warmth. He belatedly realized she had no cloak about her shoulders and by all rights should be freezing but seemed content to share his heat.
“We must get you inside,” he said, his arm squeezing her about the waist. She laughed a seductive sound as she left his arms and led him by the hand still entwined with hers.
~ ~ ~ ~
“You look so lonely?” the blond woman said coming up behind Damien as he watched the Lady Sylva lead his brother from the hall. Nothing was right here but how could he call a stop to it when he didn’t know what it was and the lady of the keep, a beautiful one at that, was seeking Cyrille’s company. Damien could never imagine what his brother lived with daily with a visage even a whore couldn’t be bought to lie with. How could he stop it now? The woman’s hands came out to rest on his shoulders, the tips of her fingers skittering lightly across the skin on his neck. She rubbed outward with hands that were strong yet gentle as they slid to his arms. Leaning down her breath fanned across his ear, close enough her breasts were pressed against his back, “My name is Danielle.”
Sliding down his body, spreading like warmth, came a feeling of peacefulness. He fought the sensation, shaking his head to clear it of the serenity. He fought it so it would not take over for it was wrong here in this place but with each moment that passed his defenses began to crumble. He felt as if he floated just outside his own body as the woman caressed him. He felt her touch and to some extent he found himself aroused by it but it was such a far away feeling it was beginning to take on the feeling of a dream.
He looked over to Garrick. The disjointed picture made no sense to him. The black headed woman crouched on the table, her skirt tucked up above her knees. Garrick stumbled to his feet. It appeared as if he twisted and turned all about the room before he stood still. The woman was in front of him and he held her wrist and the girl an arm’s length away from him. The knife in her hand flashed. Blood was everywhere, pouring from Garrick whose hands had gone to his throat to hold his own life inside himself. Damien could only blink. When his eyes opened again it was to see Garrick wasn’t holding his own throat but had his hand wrapped in the black hair of the girl as he held her head tightly as he kissed her.
Damien made to rise but at the first hint of movement Danielle pressed herself down onto him, securing him to his chair. Damien would have been willing to bet his horse that he was stronger than her but he found himself unable to rise. Her hands travelled down pressing all the way to his lap, her fingers wrapping around his manhood. It felt as if he had nothing on, there was nothing between him and her fingers. He wanted to speak to Garrick, to warn him she had a knife but he did not know if she did or didn’t. The activity beside him still came at him disjointed as Garrick forced the girl onto the table and yanked her skirt up. The woman tried to claw at him, tried to push him away but the man was too strong and he was hurting her, forcing her to submit. Was Garrick like this with his women? Damien wanted to look away but found he could not as Garrick unleashed himself and plunged into the dark headed girl.
Belatedly Damien felt Danielle in his lap grinding her crotch against him. Had he entered her? He wasn’t even undressed was he? His eyes lingered on the other pair for a moment. How could this woman feel so good? She wasn’t supposed to feel good, he wanted Keri, and he didn’t want this one. He turned his head to look down surprised they both still had clothing between them.
The woman ground herself against him again, rolling her body downward with the motion, to rise back up to whisper in his ear. “I can be her.”
Damien straightened as he stared at her. “Keri,” she whispered in his ear before she licked it. Unbidden his body shuddered. He tried to raise his arms but found them unable to move.
“What is going on here?” Damien asked casting a weary glance back to Garrick.
“You don’t want me?” the woman asked. His eyes darted back because the eyes weren’t Danielle’s but Keri’s. The woman that sat in his lap was Keri, fully nude and he could feel himself already cradled inside her. She moved against him, rolling her body back and forth, her head thrown back.
“Garrick,” Damien tried to call to the man next to him but his voice only came out as a croak.
“Relax Damien,” Danielle said, her voice nearly hissing in his ear. “Let me be her tonight,” she pleaded grinding herself against him again.
A screaming began, thrumming in his head but he could not pinpoint it. Could it be Cyrille? He had to focus all his thoughts to remember where his brother had gone. He finally managed to turn his head and the vision before him made him want to scream as well. The dark headed woman had her legs wrapped around Garrick’s back, her heels digging into it, holding him against her. Her arms were stretched upward, her fingers turned into sharp claws that had sunk into Garrick’s chest with blood flowing around them. It was Garrick who screamed. A blood curdling scream as he tried to get away from the woman.
Again Damien tried to rise but the woman on his lap held him down. Slowly his head turned back to her and found it was Keri again. The sensation overwhelmed him as she surrounded him, bringing him close to the edge. The screams echoed inside his mind but he could not bring himself to stop enjoying the woman riding him.
“How do you like that,” Danielle asked, her golden face looming inches from his. He batted his eyes in disbelief, he was losing his mind. He tried to rise, tried to push himself back from the table but he found he did not have the strength in his arms or legs. “Say you like me,” the woman said trying to regain his attention. “Say you like me.”
Damien stared at her, wanting to get away, to look away, something but his body was not moving as he struggled for it to do so.
“Say you like me,” the woman insisted.
The screaming seemed to have stopped but he could not make his head turn in Garrick’s direction. “Say you like me,”
�
�Release me,” Damien finally managed to say.
“Say you like me,” said Keri’s seductive voice from between Danielle’s pink lips. “Say you like me.”
“Get off me,” he snarled.
The screaming next to him started again then stopped just as quickly. “Say you like me.”
Damien tried turning his head but the woman in his lap placed her hands on either side of his face and refused to let him move it. “Say you like me,” she insisted directly into his face.
Another scream rent the air in the hall. “Say you like me,” Danielle ordered, her voice rising.
Damien franticly tried to shake his head but her hands were too strong or he was too weak. “Say you like me,” she insisted her voice rising in pitch. “Say you like me.”
Damien tried to rock to the side but her thighs tightened keeping him in his chair. “Say you like me,” she screamed into his face. Closing his eyes Damien used all his strength to lurch sideways. Hands held him back. Not the hands of a woman but the strong hands of warriors. He opened his eyes and he was in an all too familiar place, watching the guards drag Cyrille away. Damien fought, he struggled, forgetting this was not the place he was. He was suddenly plunged back into his past but knew now they were intent on burning his brother. Large fists hit him, beat him until he felt the blackness coming to surround him.
~ ~ ~ ~
Garrick raised his hands to see that there was no blood on them. His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears, his breath came out in short pants. The light faded quickly from the hall, plunging it into darkness. He could no longer see the hand in front of his face. Despite all the battles he had experienced never had he felt the level of fear he felt now. This was something he could not fight his way out of. A sword would not protect his mind from what was going on around him. Was it worth the title and the wife? He had the strong feeling Damien cared for the girl they hunted so the task of turning her over would be another one of those right or wrong dilemmas he was not good at deciding. Perhaps this was his time to answer for the things he had done and was yet to do.