“I do not break my promises. What do you expect we can do?”
Keri shrugged, and in her eyes he read the trust she had in him to make things right. For a heart stopping moment it ran through his mind he could force her to ride far away, and she would never see Damien again. Eventually she would be able to forget, if not forget, at least move on. But Cyrille could never live with himself. He knew where Keri was coming from, he knew what the right answer was, as well as she. It wasn’t to run, but to find more soldiers, and stand with him, come what may. How many times had they done the very thing against the odds?
“You forget this is news to you, but not to me. This is why I go to Kinsey. There is a chance Richard has sailed, and taken Garrick with him. If that is the case, we only have an army to worry about.”
“Truly, an army is better than one man?”
“Truly.”
He felt her shiver and wanted to put a comforting arm around her, instead he forced his fingers open, and released her all together. She did not do what he expected, which was move away, but settled in the crook of his arm, against his side, close to him. She looked up at him again, and he saw the worry written plainly on her face, and the hollow of her neck vulnerable.
His hand came up and his thumb and index finger stroked down either side of her throat. He felt her stiffen, but she did not move away in fear for her life, knowing he could snap her neck with one touch.
“Cyrille?” she questioned, her eyes searching his face.
He wanted to smile at her, to offer reassurance but his smile could do no such thing now. His smile twisted and contorted the scars, bunching them until his face was even more mangled by flame and blade.
“You are my brother’s wife,” he told her, as if they both did not know.
She nodded her head, and he felt her swallow when he did not move his hand away. Instead he stroked her neck, his fingers nearly wrapping around it, as he felt the soft skin his hand touched.
“Cyrille?”
Perhaps she did sound a little nervous. “You belong to my brother.”
Any other woman he felt would be hysterical at this point, but Keri remained where she was, still leaning into him, but her eyes were full of questions. Did she trust him that much? How could he betray such a trust with the thoughts that were in his head? He yanked his hand away and opened his arms wide. “Get away from me,” he told her.
Keri remained where she was, her brows knit into a frown. “Now, or I will forget you belong to my brother.”
She scrambled away then, fleeing to the other side of the fire, where she stood staring at him. She did so for several minutes. “It is okay Cyrille.”
Her words stung. She knew he couldn’t get a woman. Why being aware of her knowledge disturbed him, he could not say, because it was a foregone conclusion a man such as he could not.
“I will be more considerate in the future.” She stared at him awkwardly for a moment, before dropping to the ground, and settling into the makeshift mattress of leaves covered by a blanket with her children.
Cyrille watched her sleep for a long time, nestled between her two children. He wanted what his brother had so bad he could scream. The only thing that kept him from sliding a blade into his throat and taking what he had, was the simple thing called love. Despite how much he longed for his woman, and the comforts of home she provided just by being near, he could never do it. He knew a part of him looked forward to their escape together. He knew that was why he did not come up with a solution how to help Damien fight, because he had the knowledge if he did nothing, he could have it all. But it would be nothing if he did not have Damien.
He had to get used to this life of loneliness, devoid of the soft touch of a woman. He craved to have a soft body pressed against him, to hear her pleasure mixed with his own. He had fallen in love with women from the first time he held one in his arms and kissed her. How he wished he could go back, and if this was to be his fate, he never would have that first kiss. Cyrille knew it must be punishment for his past, perhaps the hearts he broke, though he never lied to them. He did not have to, because they always came willingly to his bed. Now, he could offer them a lifetime of riches, and they would still shun him, because he was a monster.
It was amazing that he did not even feel like the same man. He still had the same desires, but he found his patience gone, replaced by surliness he seemed to not be able to shake. Perhaps it was because of the way he was looked at. No amount of kindness made a difference when interacting. He guessed he just fell into the role that was expected of him.
~ ~ ~
The next afternoon, the little group road through the gates of Kinsey. Keri felt apprehension weigh heavy on her chest. Cyrille was leading her into the lion’s den. But did she not choose this path? Tomorrow she would send the children to her father, then her worry would decrease tenfold. She could not allow harm to come to her children because of her foolish nature.
Cyrille was prepared for a fight, but she saw his reluctance to face it since awakening this morning. He admitted to her he had no chance of protecting her against Garrick. Keri did not know to hope Garrick was here, or away. She did not doubt Cyrille’s assessment of their situation. He had been in the King’s service a long time, and knew Garrick far better than she. But if Garrick was here, perhaps he could be reasoned with.
If he was not here, there was little chance his wife would know his exact whereabouts. It was not likely he would send a messenger to inform her he would be home, as soon as he killed Damien or herself. At least if he was here, they would know fairly quickly whose side he was on.
Garrick was a married man, perhaps he no longer did the King’s dirty work, and Cyrille was just not informed yet. His wife was a kind, gentle lady, who seemed to adore the man. If Garrick was who Cyrille said he was, how could she care for him as she did? She knew the Countess was the last effort in his quest to rise above his birth. It seemed more likely Garrick would follow Damien’s lead, and not go to meet the King.
But there she stood alone on the steps, the Countess Ryann Kinnard. Her blond hair glowed in the afternoon sun, and Keri swore she could see the blue radiance of her eyes from several paces. She was a tiny woman, if Garrick was as evil as Cyrille believed, he could have easily crushed her. As they drew to the bottom of the steps, Keri saw the confusion on her face, as she descended to them.
“Sir Cyrille, Lady Keri, what has happened?”
She had genuine concern for Damien’s household, Keri could tell by the tone of her voice.
“Is Garrick here?” Keri asked, sliding to the ground.
“No,” Ryann replied. “He was summoned by the King.”
Keri cast a quick glance to Cyrille, before reaching up to lift Waverly from her little pony.
“You are welcome here of course,” Ryann said, ever the gracious hostess, but she still wore a mask of confusion.
“I’m sure the children are thirsty after their long ride,” Keri said, moving toward Cyrille.
“Of course. Please allow me to see to their comfort. I will meet you in the solar in a few moments. Do you remember the way?”
“Of course,” Keri said, ignoring the scowl Cyrille sent to her when she took control of his horse’s head, to hold him still.
Stiffly Cyrille climbed from the saddle. It had been a long journey for the injured man, and she could tell by the way he moved, even before dismounting, he was in a great deal of pain. She convinced him earlier to leave his hood off his head, so he could feel the sun on his face. It was a rarity for him she knew, and she was glad to encourage it. The first time she saw him, she would never have believed he would ever come to mean as much to her as he did. She knew the story of his, injuries and how he saved her husband from the fate. How could she not love the man, who loved his brother so much, he sacrificed himself?
She could not blame him for his reaction. He was a man who lived alone among so many, and she forgot he may not be as comfortable with her, as she was with him. She did
not think he desired her. Damien once tried to give her to his brother, but he refused. How wrong she was. She saw his passion burning in his eye, but it had been too late. Now all she felt was guilt for not realizing. Of course a man such as Cyrille would not be comfortable with her leaning against him, sitting closely, when he could not touch her, or any woman.
“What do we do now?” she whispered, as three boys came from the direction of the stable, and took the horses away. She immediately recognized Roland’s son, Will, who offered her a bow and a concerned smile, before leading her horse away.
“I think it would be wise to stay here until we know what our next move will be.”
“You don’t know?”
“Of course not, but I believe this will be the last place Garrick will look, if he was sent for you. Tomorrow we will send the children away as planned. Garrick has taken his army with him, so I will not ask the Countess to spare any men. We will have to find help somewhere else.”
Keri nodded, and walked slowly up the steps beside the limping man, a feeling of futility creeping upon her.
Chapter 4
Garrick’s back ached as he shifted his leg from one foot to another. The King summoned him, and now he waited, as he waited since dawn this morning as the sun marched its way across the sky and was setting again, still Garrick waited. The morning was cool as he and his men prepared to set sail, but the last minute summons from the King brought him here, and the ship with his army sailed without him. Apparently that was the King’s order, while Garrick was left waiting. He sweated throughout the humid afternoon on the dock, and now the chill was back in the air. All he wanted to do was get the inevitable over with, so he could get food in his grumbling belly.
“Lord Garrick,” the steward said, from the top of the gangplank. “His majesty will see you now.”
It’s about damn time, he thought to himself, as he made his way up to the deck of the King’s ship.
He knew why he was here, and not with his men. Lord Damien did not appear at the King’s summons, nor did he send his army to join Richard on his conquest to take back Normandy. Garrick knew Damien well enough to know he would not begrudge the King his army, but Garrick knew the King well enough to know, he wanted not only Damien’s army, but Damien as well. The King would take a hard line with Damien and insist he be here, as he insisted Garrick be here. Damien wasn’t stupid, he knew if he did not meet the King here, he would need all his men to defend against those sent to punish him.
The steward opened the door and motioned him inside, bowing as Garrick entered, and then the door was shut firmly behind him. The King sat at his dinner table, where food abounded. The aromas would make Garrick’s mouth water if he was not so damn thirsty after waiting all day.
“Garrick,” the King said, jovially enough, but did not rise. “I regret I will only have your army fighting with me, and you not leading them, but I have another task for you.” Richard picked up his wine and took a long swallow from it, before sitting the goblet back on the table.
Garrick refused to show any sign that the King’s delay in seeing him caused him any discomfort. He kept a steady gaze on the King’s face, and did not let it falter.
“Damien refused my summons. I have no doubt he is right this moment conspiring with John,” Richard said, with a sneer.
Plowing his wife was more like it, Garrick thought. Exactly where Garrick wanted to be, at his own home, with his own wife, not here in the King’s state room tied to a dock, with his belly grumbling, and his mouth dry with thirst. Still his gaze did not falter.
“I thought I might give him one more warning. Threaten to send the Bastard after him, but he knows the consequences just as you did.” The King rose from his chair, took his wine in hand, and walked around the table to stand in front of Garrick.
Sometimes Garrick thought the man tried to goad him. After all, Garrick held the title of Lord, which Richard himself bestowed upon him. Yet Richard never stopped calling him bastard in front of his face. No one else dared. Garrick kept a passive face, despite the anger that was beginning to bubble inside.
“I want you to take care of Lord Damien,” Richard said, as he took a drink, then turned away to walk to the portal, and look out at the sea.
“Am I to convince him to join your campaign?” Garrick asked, watching the King closely.
He saw the back of Richard’s head move, as he shook his head no. “I already gave him his chance. It’s just as well, I don’t trust him.”
Garrick could tell him Damien was a much more trustworthy Lord to have in his realm than he himself. Garrick was not so sure if John promised him a dukedom, he would not slit Richard’s throat. There were times he wanted to do it just for the pleasure, now was no different. Still his face did not falter.
Richard turned back around to face Garrick, and took the two strides that brought him to stand in front of him. “How does your lady fare?” Richard asked.
Garrick forced himself to remain impassive. Never had Garrick imagined the control the King would have over him, when his majesty granted his marriage to the Countess. Now the King could just snap his fingers and have the lovely young woman’s life extinguished. Garrick would not allow it. Whatever the King wanted, Garrick would give it to him, to keep his family safe.
“She is doing well.”
“That is good,” Richard said, clasping his hands behind his back, and taking a couple strides in a circle in the small cabin. “We must do what we must to keep our women safe, do we not?” the King asked, stopping to face him again.
“Indeed,” Garrick replied. He pressed his teeth tightly together, but was of a conscious enough mind, he left his facial muscles relaxed, and for all the King could tell, there was not a thought in his head.
“Rid me of Damien.”
He stared at the King, and a bitter taste came to his mouth.
“Take care of his wife too,” Richard said. “I need her son when he gets old enough to take his properties. But kill the rest of them, that way Kennet will have no one to give him ridiculous ideas about defying me.
“And the sister?”
Richard snorted. “Of course get rid of her. What use is she to me?”
Garrick knew Richard did not require an answer to his question, so remained silent. Thankfully the King dismissed him. As always he refused to bow his way from the room, he did after all, provide the King with an indispensible service, so felt confident the King would not have him beheaded for such a slight in respect. The man probably thought with Garrick’s upbringing he was not aware it was required not to turn his back on the King when leaving his presence. Garrick was not so ignorant, he just refused.
~ ~ ~
It was the witching hour. Warner didn’t believe for one minute there were witches about, only people like him. The ones who preyed on the innocent, benefited from other’s pain, and whose souls were as black as the night around him. He was at home this time of night. This was his time to lurk about. Only the dregs of society found their places in the early morning hours.
The Fenton Bastard was one of those. He was fascinated by the man’s success. He was a kindred spirit. He recognized another man who sold his soul to the devil. Only Warner didn’t do it for power, money, or survival, he did it for the sheer pleasure. He didn’t care who wore the crown of England.
He followed a distance behind the Bastard now, keeping to the shadows as he moved among the decrepit little shacks, the lowest human forms called their homes. This was where the Bastard would find his whore for the night. Warner knew much about the man, and his tastes. He knew until his wife came along, Garrick only went to the whores. Unlike Warner, he only went to them for sex. Warner learned long ago whores were easy targets. If he could not find an innocent life to take, a whore did just fine, though not as satisfying, a kill was still a kill.
Garrick came to a stop in front of a doorway, perhaps at the worst looking shack of all. The pine bough roof was missing at one corner, the rest was dried with age an
d should have been replaced long ago. The walls were also dry and brittle. It suddenly occurred to Warner a fire in such a place would take everything from these people, some even their lives, because the old, dry buildings would go up like a torch.
Garrick called out to the person inside the structure, and a young woman stepped out into the light of the low hanging moon. She was pretty, still too young to have the lines of a lifetime of sorrow marking her face. When Garrick was done with her, Warner would play. It would be quite the thrill to kill the woman the Bastard just lay with. It would complete the circle, and make them a team.
Garrick spoke to her and then followed her quickly into the structure. It was but a short time before the Bastard stepped back out. Warner had to admire a man who got his business done and moved on. Warner waited in the shadows until the Bastard was out of sight, then he moved toward the small shack.
~ ~ ~
He might be the King’s assassin but he did not want to be caught here. Whoever found him, would likely try to kill him. There was a time a place like this was his home. A time so long ago, he was glad it was a memory he left far behind. He was lucky he was born a boy with enough ambition to rise above such a horrid place. For his older sister, there was no hope. Born to a lowly whore, her destiny was already planned out, from which there was no escape. Their mother sold her to her first man when she was still a child, before Garrick was even born. His sister died several years ago, but not before passing the torch of misery to her own child. Garrick did not even know his niece’s name, but he knew where to find her.
Garrick did not know what to expect when he laid eyes on her for the first time. He did not expect her to be so pretty, or young. She still had a lifetime of misery ahead. He wanted to offer her so much, she was his only living relative. But he never knew his sister, merely had her pointed out to him once, that that particular whore in the shack down from his mother’s was his sister. They never spoke, but he came to know his sister was as despicable a human being as their mother was. He knew he was the last person who should judge such a thing, for he carried that family tradition in his own way. The only thing he could offer his niece was money, because if she was like her mother, and her grandmother before her, he did not want her anywhere near Ryann.
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