Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  That expression became so familiar to him, he was seeing it everywhere. Even in his chamber, when he wanted to pass into another drunken oblivion. He closed his eyes as the heat of the water nauseated him. He opened them again to see the Red-haired-bitch standing before him.

  First thing he noticed was she was small, she would be nothing to lift, her hips flared and begged for him to run his hands over them. And her breasts made him want to drool, he could imagine her nipples puckering as he ran his tongue over them.

  “Why are you still looking for me?”

  Roland’s first thought was to lurch from the tub and grab his weapon. He was only half way out of the water when his dagger, pointed at his throat, made him freeze. Her turquoise eyes revealed triumph, he noticed this at the time he noticed turquoise was the best color to use, because they were neither green nor blue. He suspected the clothes she wore would alter their color. He wondered which color would be most dominate without clothing on. In his inebriated state, Roland felt a moment of doubt as he eased back into the tub.

  He took his time as he studied her, the tunic belted at her slim waist, her hose hugged shapely calves encased in snug fitting leather boots to her knees. Her long locks of red hair were pulled snuggly back into a braid, and lay across her right shoulder. He saw impatience flash through her eyes, as she waited for an answer.

  Roland propped his arms on the side of the tub and grinned, satisfied he had the upper hand, despite she held his dagger. “I hunt rebels for the King. I hunt you because I want to see your head upon the King’s chopping block, and will deliver you personally.”

  “Oooh,” she said, as if he were a child who just injured himself. “Are you mad because I took your knife,” she asked with a frown, but her words were condescending.

  The grin slipped from Roland’s lips, and anger bubbled inside. No one dared taunt him, least of all this Red-haired-bitch.

  “You don’t play well with others do you?” she asked, with a knowing grin parting her pink lips.

  “Whose whore are you?” Roland asked, his eyes travelling over her body in a way he knew would make her skin crawl.

  “I am no one’s whore,” she stated, with anger flashing in her eyes.

  “Honey you are bound to be a whore, running around the woods, living like an animal. What man pulls your strings?”

  “No one pulls my strings,” she replied indignantly.

  “Whatever you say,” Roland replied, giving her a smirk that told her plainly he wasn’t believing her story.

  “No,” she said, raising her voice. “It’s not whatever I say.” She began to say something else, but clamped her mouth together. “Why me?” she asked again, taking a step back.

  “Because you took my dagger,” Roland said, rising halfway from the tub, and leaning forward, he stared angrily at her.

  “If I gave your dagger back, would you go away?” he detected a note of hope in her words.

  “No,” he said, squashing her hope like a bug beneath his boot. “As I said, I have a special purpose for you. You will have to answer to the King.”

  “I don’t understand.” He saw frustration written across her face, and he could not help smirking.

  “Of course you don’t. It is not in you simple people to understand.”

  “Simple people?”

  “Servants of your kind. You all obviously belong serving someone of worth.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Are you a descendant of the King, or even a lord?” he asked, relaxing in the tub. Though she held his dagger, and he was finding a great deal of pleasure in goading her, he did not think she would attempt to kill him.

  “Of course not,” he said, when she only stared at him. “I can tell by that red hair of yours. You probably come from some poor Scottish fish village.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer in her indignation. “You are not so high and mighty. I see a man who is past his youth, and no woman will have you.” He could not help the tick that began at the corner of his eye, despite his effort to stay impassive at her stinging words.

  “You are no spring chicken yourself,” he said, running his eyes over her body once again. “What are you, 40?”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she took another step forward. “I have never known a man to be such an ass!”

  He smirked again. Did she really think that was an insult? “Speaking of asses, you have quite a fine one. If you weren’t so inbred, I would like to experience the pleasures such a body as yours might have. But I would be afraid to impregnate you, and that would just spread more of your kind, like a pestilence across England.”

  “A pestilence?” she nearly shrieked, taking another step closer.

  She did not realize her mistake, until her leg brushed against the edge of the tub, but it was too late. She lunged backward, as he lunged forward, grabbing the hand that held his dagger. With a twist he pulled her back, and she stumbled, falling halfway into the tub, her waist and legs still hanging out. Standing, he used his weight to push her down, pinning her head under the water. She thrashed, the water splashing onto the floor. She flailed, and he realized she was far stronger than she first appeared, and he found it was all he could do to keep her submerged. When she finally dropped the dagger, he picked it up from the bottom of the tub, and slung it across the room, out of her reach.

  With one hand, he pulled her head out, and she gasped and coughed, trying to catch her breath, as he twisted her about again by her wrist, and jerked her up and out of the tub, so she landed hard on the floor next to it, face down. He was out and crouching over her, as she continued gasping and coughing. She still had fight in her, though not much, and he placed a knee into her back, applying enough pressure to keep her still.

  “You are quite the foolish lass,” he said with a tisk. “I never dreamed you would make it this easy on me. All this time I was hunting you, I could just let you come to me.” He froze, suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he felt like a fool.

  “It was you that night, looking for your friend.”

  “Who did you think it was?” she gasped, trying to use her arms to push herself up, but he applied too much pressure on her back to make it possible.

  Roland wasn’t about to tell her he thought her a ghost. He grabbed her braid in his hand, and held her head back. “You have no clue what you are.”

  “What?” she asked, trying to turn her head toward him. Her turquoise eyes full of confusion. Her struggles ended, and he eased off her. She rolled to a sitting position, but he supposed the naked man standing over her, kept her seated.

  “You have a title you know.”

  “You are insane,” she said, as her eyes roved over every inch of him, before returning to his face. She swallowed, then quickly looked away, down at herself, her soaked clothes, the water pooling around her.

  “Not about this,” he assured her. “William declined giving your great grandfather Turstin FitzRou a title, but promised it to his great granddaughter, you, once you married.”

  “What?” she asked, her eyes darting back to him, agitation written plainly across her soft features.

  He crouched before her. “You are titled, and I will be the one to take you before the King. You will make quite the magnificent gift,” he assured her.

  Her eyebrows drew together, “What’s in it for you?”

  He shrugged. “Not a thing that I can think of, just revenge for all you have done.”

  “You think getting a title would be revenge?”

  Roland smiled a most chilling of smiles, “You will not be allowed to run about in britches, carrying a bow and arrows. You will have to marry, and bear your husband children. I think it befits the crime, seeing how you will have to conform to common etiquette here on out. I most difficult task I would assume, for your kind.”

  Red anger flooded her features, “I don’t believe you.” Before he knew it, she attacked him. As he fell backward, slipping on the wet floor, she was fleeing
out the door. He gave chase. Despite his nudity, he chased her all the way into the woods, before the sticks and pebbles hurt his feet, forcing him to stop.

  It was true. She saw the guilt on both her father’s and uncle’s faces, as they shared the telling of how it came about their family hid in the woods, while she was heir to a title. The betrayal was enough to seize the very breath from her chest. The blue-eyed-man was telling her the truth. He wasn’t after her because she and her family were rebels, but because he could lay claim to quite the mystery at court. She felt she could no longer take everything for what it appeared, for suddenly her entire life felt altered, tainted with the missing truth.

  “What are you thinking Emma?” this from her uncle. He was such a kind, fun loving man. She found it hard to believe he could keep something of such magnitude from her. They were close from the beginning.

  “I do not understand why you would keep such a thing from me.”

  “We did it to protect you,” her father said. His eyes, as blue as a summer sky, were sad and pulled at her heart. “You have a title and wealth set aside for you. The only catch is to take a husband of the King’s choosing. I loved your mother with all my heart. She wanted to be with me, despite what I am. I do not want you to marry a man who will not love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

  She turned to Lucas. Guiltily he looked away and shrugged. “For me it was purely selfish on my part. I did not want to give you up.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You have to make a decision,” Gabe replied. “Do you want to stay here, or go to the man who is hunting you? We are still what we are,” he said, motioning between him and Lucas. “We will be met with swords and not open arms.”

  “I will not leave you. Either of you.”

  “We are glad to hear it. We’ll keep you safe. Don’t you worry,” Lucas said. She stared at him, the chill of the night made her shiver. Both men looked old suddenly. They spent their lives in these woods, staying hidden, at times barely surviving. If she had wealth, she could help change that for them. They could not survive their older years, living the way they did. She knew that time was coming upon them. She grew up running the woods with them, it was their playground, and she realized it would be their graves if she did not do something.

  For two days she mulled over her decision, putting off the inevitable, before finally she walked the path to Helthpool, and stood in the courtyard, staring up at the tower. She did not know if she could do this. It was truly an unknown life to her. She knew nothing of being a wife, let alone a noble’s wife. Perhaps she made a terrible mistake, she thought as she stared up at the windows, knowing the horrors that occurred there. She turned to flee and stopped short, seeing the blue-eyed man moving toward her, at a leisurely pace.

  “Did you come in hopes of finding me in the tub again?” he asked, in that obnoxious voice that left her feeling dirty, especially with his eyes roving over her as they did.

  “I want you to take me to the King.”

  “You do?” he asked, confused. Then he scowled. “I guess money can buy even those who are free without it.”

  Emma wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “Are you saying you will not take me now?”

  “I said no such thing,” he said quickly. “You just disappointed me. I thought of you as a person to stand up for her convictions.”

  “You have judged me from the beginning. Please stop, you know nothing about me.”

  He studied her for a minute, his eyes were different as they looked at her, and she could not help the feeling of devastation with their coldness. “Yes your highness,” he said with a bow, before he turned and walked toward the hall.

  They were travelling for two days. At first she was thankful she would not have to stay a night at Helthpool, but traveling with a strange man was awkward, especially when that man was not ashamed to parade about camp without a stitch of clothing on. He left it to her to avert her eyes, or stare at him, either did not matter to him. Along with the nudity, was his habit of not even acknowledging her existence, or offering to assist in a normally difficult task for the fairer sex. She was left saddling and unsaddling her own horse, though she knew nothing of horses. He made it clear she either rode the horse, or she would be tied to the horse, riding double with him was out of the question. So she was learning to balance on the horse, as he set a grueling pace.

  His entire demeanor was unwelcoming, and she was not surprised his friend abandoned him. She settled into her blankets some time ago, but was unable to sleep. She heard Roland moving about camp. He always seemed restless, even in his sleep.

  “Would the King try to marry me to someone who is cruel?” she asked, when he came near the fire.

  “You mean someone like me?”

  “I don’t think you’re cruel,” she was quick to defend him for some reason.

  “He’ll marry you to whomever he damn well pleases,” he replied.

  She hesitated on her next question, but it was something that was on her mind, perhaps even a way to money and not the husband. “What if I’m not a virgin?”

  “Are you?” he asked, so close she nearly shrieked. She was so intent on her thoughts she did not hear him walk around the fire.

  “Yes, but that is easily changed. Would it make a difference?”

  “You’ll still get the husband, it will just be a little less who will be interested.”

  “What is so important about being a virgin to a man?”

  “There is something good about knowing no other man has been there before you I suppose,” he said, and his voice was closer, he was crouching over her. She could see his silhouette, just over her shoulder.

  “How many virgins have you had?” she asked, continuing to stare up at the sky and refuse to look at him.

  “Only one. My wife.”

  “You’re married?” she was incredulous. He did not look the married type.

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Would you have married her if she was not?”

  “I would have married her if it meant the clouds would fall from the sky and all the rivers in England dried.” She was more surprised this man could love than she was about her heritage. The sadness in his eyes, the restlessness, was because this woman was gone from his life.

  “But all men do not find their wives this way?”

  “Very few care for their wives, especially those looking to marry to get their hands on money. But many, in such a position, can also afford to turn down a not pure woman. Course with your flaming red hair and big eyes, the men might be frightened away, so if you’re not a virgin, you might just get your money and title, and the King will be glad to be rid of you.”

  She heard Roland straighten. “Roland,” she said quickly, to stop him.

  He took two steps away, but she heard him stop and turn. She could imagine the irritation across his cocky face.

  “I came to find you, because I was thinking, as my father and uncle age, they will not be able to keep living in the woods with little shelter through the cold months. I thought if I had money, I could give them something, but I don’t want a husband. Least of all a husband who will treat me badly.”

  She paused and Roland replied, “It’s no concern of mine.” She could tell he was turning away again, before he was finished with the words.

  “No, I know it is not.” She swallowed, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes, because fear of the unknown was choking her. “I’m a virgin,” she swallowed, then rushed on. “You are the only man who can change that before I turn my life over to the King. I would at least like to know my husband chose money, or me, rather than that.”

  “But that is how it is done in the world you are about to find yourself in.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  His steps carried him back to her, and his silhouette was standing over her. “I will hurt you.”

  “I’m not going to fall in love with you, if that is what you are talking about.”


  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he smirked. “I mean physically, I will hurt you, more than the average man. I am large, if you have not noticed.”

  Emma swallowed nervously. She had noticed. “Regardless, it is what I want.”

  His silhouette began moving. “Take off your clothes.”

  Nervously she did, until she lay nude between her blankets. She felt her body begin to shake, as he lifted the top blanket from her, and lay down next to her. He lay on his side, staring at her for a moment. She did not know what to do, whether to roll toward him, away, or remain as she was. In the end, she remained where she was.

  “How do you want me to do this?”

  “There are more ways than one?”

  “I can rape you, it will be over quickly. Or I can try to bring you enjoyment as well, but that will require some time.”

  Emma just wanted the deed completed, but rape was such a violent thing, but she did not know how she could find enjoyment with this cold man.

  “What would you prefer to do?” she asked, thinking perhaps his choice might be best.

  He was quiet for a moment. “Rape,” he said definitively, brusquely.

  “Have you ever done such before?”

  He grabbed her wrist and pinned it at her side, moving over her, his knee expertly spreading her legs apart. He did not answer her question, and she worried what that meant.

  “Have you ever taken your time to give a woman pleasure?” she quickly asked, as she felt him pressing himself against her entrance.

  “One woman,” he gritted out, as he tried pushing himself into her.

  Emma forced herself rigid, forcing him back a little. “I want you to do that. I don’t want it this way.”

  “I can be done in two minutes,” he gritted, trying to spread her legs wider.

  “No. You asked me my choice, and I have made it. Are you not a man to honor your word?”