Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  The Strongest Flames

  Angie Arms

  ©2014 by Angie Arms

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-for example, electronic, photocopy, recording - without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  In medieval England wives were property of their husbands. There were no women’s rights, if a husband wanted to treat his wife like an animal, there was nothing to stop him. The main purpose of women was for breeding, and the church considered it sinful if pleasure was had during mating. That being said, it would be difficult to breed if the man did not find his pleasure.

  Please, if you do not have the stomach for violence and war, this series is not for you. I tried to reflect accurately the life some people may have faced, and it was not a time truthfully known for fairytales and happy endings.

  Perhaps, the most horrifying event of all in this book, the skinning of young Pierre, has a place in history and was carried out by Mercadier, a mercenary for King Richard. This book is not for the faint of heart, and may not fit into the traditional romance genre.

  - Angie Arms

  Chapter 1

  Hawknest Keep, England 1196

  Jillian’s hands shook and she pushed them into the folds of her skirt to hide them. A messenger brought news of Sir Halvor’s impending arrival yesterday. If she was not so stricken with fear at the announcement, she would have questioned the messenger at his predicted arrival time, dawn. If he arrived the evening before, why not come on inside the keep and sleep within the walls. But she did not think about it until she lay her head down for a restless night of sleep. What kind of man sat an arrival time for dawn? What if the household wasn’t ready to receive him and his men at that time? She was up long before, pacing her chamber, vomiting into the chamber pot until her stomach was empty, but it didn’t stop it from lurching in protest. When she heard the shouting from the wall and the gates opening, she knew her soon to be husband had arrived. His arrival sent her back to the chamber pot, the dry heaving made her weak as she struggled to empty her already empty stomach, and that was how her servant found her.

  “Lady Jillian,” she said with concern. She rushed into the chamber, took Jillian by her shoulders, and tried to pull her from the floor. “What ails you?”

  “The arrival of my husband,” she gagged out, as she grabbed the chamber pot and stumbled up out of the floor.

  Hildred settled her into the chair by the hearth, and moved to the basin of water. She dipped the cloth beside it into the water, and carried it back to her lady. Jillian opened her eyes to see the tiny woman holding the cloth out to her. She scowled and swiped it from her maid’s hand, before placing it against her cheek, to sooth the hammering that was threatening to make her head explode.

  “Have you seen him?” Jillian asked, pressing the cloth more firmly to her forehead.

  “I have my lady,” she said hesitantly.

  Jillian dropped the cloth and stared at the servant waiting. Apparently Hildred was going to make her wait for an eternity. “Well,” she snapped.

  “He’s big my lady.”

  “Big? Bigger than Bruce?”

  Jillian felt she would faint when the servant nodded her head. Bigger than Bruce, he would kill her. The last husband she had been saddled with was a monster of a man. He for the most part paid her no attention, for which she was grateful for. It was those times he did pay attention to her that she feared. Whether in the main hall or the privacy of their chamber, he expected her immediate compliance to his needs. He had been a big brute of a man, and could lay her abed for days.

  It was not only Bruce‘s treatment of her that made her glad he breathed no more, but his treatment of the people under his lordship, her people. After Lord Garrick overran her uncle’s lands and killed him to gain the property, and the riches it offered, he then placed Sir Bruce in the position of vassal, and gave him the niece of the former lord, to keep the people appeased. Land her father, grandfather and great grandfather fought for, and died for, was now left in her hands. To keep the line going on the property she had to stay, to accept the marriage arrangement. He did not once ask after the land or its people, when he arrived at her doors. He immediately took what she did not willingly give him, with her people watching, as many of them too faced the same humiliation at the hands of his knights. He then demanded food, and this became his level of existence at Hawknest.

  With him he brought his own steward, who cared only for the same things, drinking and women. In order for her people to survive, she learned if she sacrificed herself to her husband, he ignored her people, and left the care of them in her hands. It also insured his big fists did not rain down on her, breaking bones while he still took what he wanted. As long as everyone did as he bid, and stayed out of his way, no one was punished. Jillian talked everyone into their role of submission with the reasoning things did not last, and a change would one day come.

  And so it had. But if this man was bigger, what hope did she have? She came from a long line of kings and queens and now, as it did when she married Bruce, her hold on the land would depend on one vow. Jillian’s guts twisted at the thought, and she lurched forward, placing the chamber pot before her.

  “Tis enough!” Hildred snapped at her. “It isn’t good for the baby.”

  “Do you think this baby will have a chance anyway?” Jillian gasped, as the pain continued, but she settled back, knowing she had nothing left to empty from her stomach. She carried this child nearly the required length but she was afraid. Afraid she would lose this one too, for her other two pregnancies ended early, with a great deal of blood and pain. The loss of this child was something she had resigned herself to from the beginning, but she was afraid of how big this child had grown. Never had she seen an expectant mother so big, and she still had at least two fortnights to go by her calculation. She did not doubt she was having better luck with this one, for Bruce had died shortly after conception. He died before he could beat her when her stomach was round with the child.

  “When did you become a witch?” Hildred asked irritably.

  “I’m not a witch,” Jillian sighed. Hildred took a large part in raising Jillian. Jillian’s father was killed defending Hawknest, and her mother chose then to return to her place of birth, leaving Jillian in the incapable hands of her uncle, who inherited Hawknest. But he never had children with his wife. Jillian would be surprised he even touched the woman, his taste running more toward men. So Jillian would still inherit Hawknest through a husband. Hildred had been there through it all, a constant companion and mother figure, to help her through the tough times.

  “You must be a witch if you know what the future holds. Come you must get dressed, he is already requesting the entire household present themselves in the main hall.”

  “And so it begins,” Jillian grouched, as she rose from the chair onto shaky legs.

  She hurried through preparations, deliberately not putting an effort into her appearance. She left her hair unbound, only pulling it from her face and binding it with a strip of leather. Her dress was simple, not much would fit around her waist as far along as she was with Bruce’s child, her child, she corrected in her head, just in case they both survived the birth.

  She stepped out of her chamber, her feet growing heavy outside it. Her heart drummed erra
tically in her ears, and her breath felt tight in her chest. Fear was a common enough emotion for her. She looked down the corridor, toward the door of the tower, leading to the inner bailey and the nearby hall. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rail against someone, tell them it wasn't fair, appeal to Lord Garrick to take back his decision, to send another man for her to wed. What else could he do? He had property to protect. What else could she do? She couldn't hold the keep without a man, and she would not give up her home. Too many of her ancestors died holding this piece of land, and she would not be the one to lose it. It would change from her hands to her child's hands, even if it was Bruce's. She rubbed the mound that had become her stomach, but she could not dredge up any feelings that would be considered motherly.

  Most likely the land would not revert to the child she carried, assuming it survived beyond birth, but the next one she gave birth to. Her thought immediately went to the conception, which could be as soon as the vows were spoken, at least the act of it. And the thought made her fight the urge to run back to the chamber pot. She swallowed, taking a couple deep breaths to push away the bile. She would submit to Halvor as she had Bruce. She would not deny him. She felt the coward for her actions. Anyone who would threaten to destroy Hawknest was supposed to be her enemy. Yet, she did not fight, her relatives would be very disappointed in her.

  Turning, her feet moved with the greatest effort of will. Perhaps Halvor was a fighter, and he would soon go to war. As long as he did not bring war to them, she would be as content as the situation would allow.

  Jillian was on the third step from the bottom, when the pain ripped through her. It was a pain she became accustomed to, as if her insides were being ripped from her body. Bile rose again as she grabbed for the wall, to keep herself from tumbling down the rest of the steps. She bit down on her lip, but it did not stop the pain. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. She knelt for another moment, as she brought her breathing back to normal, before she climbed awkwardly back to her feet.

  Her steps were unsteady across the open ground to the hall with the door standing open. She stepped inside, entering beside one of the two hearths that heated the structure in winter. She saw him talking to Nathaniel, the steward, and she wanted to flee. For the briefest of moments she wanted to hand over her family's land, and not face the man who was so much bigger than Bruce. He stood by the dais, and though she did not know the man, she knew he was not happy.

  Her steps faltered, and she envisioned the man was Bruce the first time she saw him. Standing upon the dais, waiting to exchange vows with his bride-to-be. How naive she had been through the ceremony and the short time afterward, as she sat by her new husband during the feast. Then she found his big hand upon her breast. She was shocked and tried to pull away, but his other hand clamped around her arm. The one on her breast had squeezed her painfully.

  That's when the allusion of the content life she had envisioned vanished, and she was left with the cold reality of her future. Her wedding night had turned into a nightmare that became hazed by the pain, fear and humiliation of losing her virginity before all those who had been celebrating in the hall. The jeering faces of Bruce's knights as they crowded the dais, and cheered their leader on. She remembered how Bruce proudly displayed her blood upon his member, as her head rang with his blows. The humiliation had not ended there, but she was forced to sit by her husband's side into the wee hours of the morning. Then he took her to his chamber where she had been introduced to the true meanings of pain and fear. She awoke the next morning in her chamber, with no memory of how she got there. Her body ached, bones were broken, and Bruce came to her again. I can't do it again, her mind screamed at her in a panic. I can't.

  The pain ripped through her again, and if she was not near a table, she would have fallen. One of the serving girls started her way, but Jillian shook her head franticly as the pain ebbed. The girl looked quickly toward Halvor, then back to her lady, and nodded before she went about her chore.

  Straightening she hoped her people would see her moment of courage, before Halvor took that away from her. She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and forced her feet forward.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was well past dawn, and neither the lady nor all the servants had gathered in the hall as he ordered. Why else would he send the messenger ahead? Those who gathered now trembled in a corner in fear, merely with his command that they wait for the arrival of the others. Though Halvor kept his battle armor on, he did not fear an attack from this group, there wasn’t a fighter among them.

  “Where is everyone?” he bellowed, his patience had come to an end long ago. Halvor halted and took stock of his irritation. His demeanor was so untypical of him. He had seven younger sisters after all, and not one of them could be managed by raising his voice. His nerves had him on edge, which was atypical of him as well. Again, with seven sisters, one had to have nerves of steel, so as not to murder them, not to mention the battles he fought in, but mostly his sisters. So why was he so edgy?

  The Lady Jillian. He had not seen her in years. Not since the morning after her wedding to Sir Bruce. Halvor thought he would be able to serve under the man, but after seeing how he treated his wife on their wedding night, he left the next morning. Halvor would be unable to stand idly by and allow him to abuse the girl. Halvor’s interference would only cause trouble for everyone. She was just a child the last time he saw of her.

  “Here is the steward,” Devlin said, pushing a man forward that appeared to be as wide as he was tall. This man was soft, unused to any kind of labor. He appeared as if he could not even make it up out of his chair.

  “Did you receive word of my arrival?” he asked, as the man was shoved forward by his lieutenant, recently knighted. The man stumbled, and nearly fell upon his knees, but righted himself with a grunt before colliding with Halvor. He straightened, but shrank from the man’s towering height.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Why is everyone not gathered?”

  “I…,” the man stammered. “Lady Jillian was to see to it,” he rallied. Immediately Halvor didn’t like the man for his lack of loyalty to his lady. If he had to guess, this man was placed in his position by Bruce.

  “How many servants in the household?” Halvor asked, in an attempt to discern if this man had a finger on the pulse of what was now his property.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Halvor’s jaw clamped so tight, he thought his teeth might snap. How did anything run around here? “How does your cook know how much food to prepare, therefore how many potatoes will be allotted for a meal, and how will you know how many servants it will take to dig them?”

  “I…I,” the man clamped his mouth shut. knowing his stammering was not improving his plight.

  “There are 25 in the immediate household,” a female voice said from behind him. He swung quickly to see the most pregnant woman he had ever seen. “With the current harvest of potatoes it will take two per person, which means one man can dig that in a reasonable amount of time."

  He stared at the pregnant woman, pleased that someone here knew what was going on.

  “Of course,” the steward chimed in. “I told her to release two of those, which is why I was unsure of the number.”

  Halvor swung back to the steward. “Who is this woman that does your job for you?”

  The man was suddenly speechless he noted irritably. He turned back to the woman who tilted her head in a way that spoke of defiance.

  “I am Lady Jillian,” she replied, offering a bow that would have been quite humorous with her rounded belly hampering her movements, if Halvor was not shocked speechless. No one warned him his soon to be bride was carrying her first husband’s child. By the looks of it, she would be giving birth any moment. She looked pale and extremely afraid, if her trembles were any indication. It did not surprise him she gave no indication she recognized him.

  “How many horses are in my stable?” Halvor asked, glancing to the steward.r />
  The man’s face contorted in panicked confusion. He scowled at the man, before turning back to the Lady.

  “There are 37,” she supplied, her voice quivering nervously.

  “What is your job here?” Halvor asked, angrily turning to the steward.

  “I am the steward. My duties are so vast I don’t bother myself with trivial matters of the household.”

  “Does he speak the truth?”

  Halvor never took his eyes from the steward, so did not mistake the threat that clearly crossed his face.

  “He does busy himself with other concerns,” Lady Jillian replied diplomatically.

  He knew well the kind of man Bruce was. The only thing good that could be said of the man upon his death, was he was a good fighter. Halvor did not want the same at the time of his own death. This is why he was here, to have a wife and children, and a home to pass on to them. But here the mother of his children stood, ready to give birth to another man’s child. It was enough to make him see red, but to know his bride not only lived in fear of her late husband, but this man as well, made him want to shed his blood. It was apparent the steward was cut from the same cloth as Bruce.

  “To whom are you loyal Lady Jillian?” Halvor asked, turning toward the woman and drawing his sword.

  Her brown eyes widened, and a protective hand came up to rest on her abdomen. “To the King and Lord Garrick,” she stammered. “I thought that went without saying. I married Bruce, I carry his child, and now I am to marry you, all because they have decreed this is what I must do to remain in my home.”

  “I mean, Lady,” he said, advancing to stand over her. He looked down on her auburn head that glowed in the morning light coming through the windows high on the walls. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and he saw the frightened child fed to the wolves so many years before. “Do you lie for your steward, or do you tell your husband the truth?”

  He watched her swallow, and blocked her view of the man who seemed to frighten her more than him. “I will tell you the truth,” her voice quaked.