Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  Grace nodded, offered a smile, and the hand released her. “Good girl. Meet me in the courtyard. I have something to do first.”

  The night was a dark one, and long after the crowd dispersed, she was looking for Warner. She didn’t notice he slipped from the crowd, but at some point, he usually did. Nervous about staying in the same area of the town’s square, she moved into the shadows. Perhaps, he was unaware of the time passed. She did not know what he did, she really did not care, until she had to wait in the growing chill of the night air.

  Her wondering feet led her to the dilapidated buildings of the poorer town’s people. They offered little shelter, but enough, such places were a godsend when she was with the troupe, and they were allowed to stay in such a place. It was amazing, in such places as this, even the thieves and whores often shunned the troubadours. Once she freed the Countess, she was ready to better her life. Though fearful, being with Warner showed her a more comfortable way of life she forgot. Just having a place to lay one’s head at night was a relief.

  Grace paused and looked around herself, listening. The night was a quiet one and most were long asleep, tucked away in the safety of their homes. She found herself annoyed that Warner came here tonight. They would have half a night’s travel to get back to the convent. Grace was ready to turn away when she heard the noise again. A sob. She moved toward the hut, a dim flicker of light escaped from around the hide hanging over the door frame, which leaned with the walls of the small structure.

  She paused again, listening. A gasp this time. Slowly, Grace moved to the side, and peered through the slats of wood. At first she did not understand what she was seeing. A woman lay on the bed, tied she noticed, as she continued to look. A rope was tied around her neck. As she watched her try to draw in a breath, Grace realized it allowed the woman to breathe, but not enough.

  She followed the woman’s gaze to the dirt floor and nearly gasped aloud. Warner. He knelt over another woman, quite young. The shadows of the room were so deep, the low flickering candle on the little table did not chase them away. It did, however, provide enough light that she saw the woman in the floor had her face turned toward her. For a brief moment Grace thought she was staring at her, but realized though her eyes were open, they could see nothing, because the woman was dead.

  Warner stood. She saw in the light he was without his pants, and the horror of what was happening began to settle over her. The woman on the bed opened her mouth to scream, but it was quickly cut off, as Warner yanked the end of the rope he held, and she began choking. He released it in time for the woman to gasp in the oxygen she needed to survive. Then he was on the bed with her. When she tried to protest, he pulled the rope again.

  When the woman’s choking sounds began, Warner thrust himself into her. Only this time he did not allow the rope to loosen. Long after the woman stopped making sounds, Warner violated her. Grace hurried away from the shed, and expelled her stomach. Tremors took hold of her, and she found she could not control them.

  A few moments later Warner stepped from the hut. He looked back once, and then walked away, disappearing among the huts. Quietly, Grace moved back toward the hut he just came from. Reluctantly, she pulled the hide away, and entered. The smell was horrifying. One quick glance at the woman on the floor, and she gagged. Warner pierced one of her lungs with his knife. He found pleasure while she slowly drowned in her own blood, and the woman tied to the bed watched. A quick check, and both women were dead. Grace quickly fled, filled with fear for her and the Countess.

  “There you are my dear,” Warner said, as he spotted her a few minutes later, entering the town square. “I hope I did not keep you waiting too long.”

  Grace wanted to speak, but no words would form inside her brain, so she only shook her head.

  “I found your performance fascinating. We will have to do this again real soon,” he said, stepping to her and placing her hand on his elbow. She smelled the smells of the hut on him, and she realized with a shock, it was a smell she noted before. This was not the first time Warner had killed. She wanted to pull her hand away and run. But she could not leave the Countess alone with this man. The smell of him nearly made her gag in her panicked mind.

  “Are you well dear?” Warner asked. His smile was not warm. It appeared only a reflex, and she realized it never reached his eyes.

  “I am just tired,” she replied, surprised her voice came out calmly, and not terror filled.

  “Then let’s get you home,” he replied, leading her toward the horses.

  Numbly Grace followed. It took a great deal of will to keep her horse moving with Warner’s. Her mind was filled with the sights and smells of Warner’s handiwork. Did he have plans to do the same to her? She knew he had evil plans for the Countess and Garrick, but she thought that was steeped from revenge. Instead it was just another evil desire.

  Dawn was nearly upon them when they rode into the courtyard. Warner moved to help Grace from the saddle, but she quickly slid off the other side.

  “I’m going to rest,” she mumbled, as she fled toward her little room.

  She spent several hours pacing in the confines of the room she would never feel safe enough to sleep in again. Many times she wept from the predicament she found herself in, but she could not come up with a viable option, other than staying and helping the Countess.

  Eventually, she crept into the corridor and went in search of Warner, hoping she would find him asleep. If she could catch him asleep, they could sneak away, and she would not have to spend another horrifying moment in his presence. Her luck was against her this day. He stood in the doorway of the Countess’s room, just staring at her.

  “I guess you are aware I have found the Countess,” he said, not turning her way, as she approached him.

  “Yes.” Grace found it difficult to swallow, and her feet refused to move any closer to the man who dealt pain and death with a passion.

  “And yet you stay. I wonder why that is,” he said, as he turned his cold blue eyes on her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, and heard the fear in her quaking voice.

  “I mean my dearest Grace,” Warner said, as he turned toward her. “You must be quite fond of me.”

  “Fond?”

  Warner laughed, glanced into the room at the Countess, before closing and locking the door. He slipped the key into his pocket, and moved toward her as if he was stalking her. “You think yourself in love with me.”

  “I do?” she asked, immediately surprised at his conclusion. It was the best reason behind her presence, and if he believed it, he would have no need to question her. “How did you know?” she asked, standing her ground.

  He reached a hand out, and ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek. Her body jumped at his touch, but she refused to draw away.

  “It’s okay my dear,” he said, in a soothing voice that made her skin crawl. “I’ll be gentle with you our first time.”

  He was so close, she closed her eyes tight, for fear she might vomit or shriek. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he would hear it. Grace wanted to tell him no, but why would she stay with a man like him? He would not take very well to either reason.

  When she felt his lips on hers, she took a step back, her eyes flying open.

  “Do not be frightened my dear,” he said, reaching for her again.

  “It’s just that I believe if we truly love one another, we should wait.”

  “Who said I love you?” he asked, as if he found humor in her statement.

  Did he say he loved her? her mind franticly asked. No, I’m supposed to love him. The depths of this man’s wicked nature were dreadful.

  “Not even a little?” she asked. She closed her eyes again when he touched her.

  “Aaah, don’t be so heartbroken,” he said, stepping closer. She was grateful he did not have that smell lingering on him. It smelled as if he recently bathed. The knowledge did little to alleviate her fear. “I am willing to give you all that I am capable of. Come t
o my room.” She felt his finger on her chin, lifting it. She resisted for half a second. When she allowed him to tilt her head back, she felt his lips softly touch hers. She refused to open them. This was nothing like Cyrille, and she wanted to cry.

  “If you do not love me, it would be a sin to lay with you,” she whispered, when she felt him lean away.

  Again he chuckled, it was a sound that made her cringe. “You took coin to sleep with me. You are already going to hell.” His fingers were on her chin again, less gentle this time, lifting her face up to his. When his lips came down on her again, they were more demanding.

  “I am not a patient man. I have seen you dance, and though I quite enjoy watching you, I have had my fill. If you wish to stay by my side, I suggest you take what I am willing to give you.” His voice turned hard, chilling. She could not contain the shiver. “Never fear. It will take some time I suspect to grow tired of your other charms. Come.”

  Grace heard him move away, and she opened her eyes. He fully expected her to follow him. Because if she did not, she realized he would throw her out, or worse. The bile rose in her throat, and she forced it back down. She had to get the Countess out of here, but it was not happening before she must face what she thought she was ready to face not too long ago. She resigned herself then, she could do it again. But she knew more of Warner than she did then. Dear God, she prayed, but knew he would not be listening to her because of what she was about to do. Even if it was in an effort to save one of his angels.

  His room was larger than hers, but not by much. Comfort was not a priority in the convent she came to learn, while living under its roof. She assumed a man such as Warner would not be content with such living conditions. As soon as he entered, he began to undress, and looked at her expectantly. She hesitated, ran through a scenario of options, but again came up with nothing tangible.

  “Should we close the door?” she asked nervously, glancing to the only exit from the room he was now blocking.

  “Who’s here?” he asked.

  Something crossed his face that made her blood run cold. It looked as if his mind said, who’s here to hear you scream?

  Numb fingers began to slowly remove her clothes. It was not as if he never saw her naked. He saw more of her than any other man, except Cyrille.

  When she stood naked before him, he moved quickly to her, and she forced herself to stand her ground. When he touched her, she clamped her eyes closed, and kept them that way. She worked hard to conjure up an image of Cyrille. She wanted to imagine it was him touching her, but the feel of the men were too different.

  With Cyrille she felt that gentleness that ran to his soul. His fingers were warm and soft, despite the calluses. Warner’s were anything but gentle, though he was not rough by any means. It was clear to her, he did not care for her pleasure, it was only his own he sought, despite believing she loved him.

  He only ran a hand from her neck down to cup a breast, before he spun her around and pushed her onto the bed. He followed behind her, pinning her in the corner on her hands and knees, as he grabbed her around the hips. He was seated inside her before she could protest, and after a few short thrusts, he found his pleasure, and released her.

  A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She sat back on her haunches still facing the corner, as she tried to gather herself.

  “What is so amusing?”

  “I am just happy this has happened,” she replied quickly.

  “It will happen again if I can count on you to help me when the time comes. I will be getting Garrick this evening. Now lie down. We shall share the bed for a few hours before I leave.”

  Grace did as he bid, facing the wall. He lay down beside her, but thankfully did not hold her as Cyrille did. She closed her eyes again, and remembered his strong arms around her. As Warner fell into sleep, she imagined it was Cyrille’s soft rhythm, and warm breathe tickling her neck.

  It was laughable the difference in the two men. Warner did not make love, it was purely one sided. She imagined having to feel him touching her for hours, but it began and ended so quickly, the relief was invigorating. Not that she ever wanted him to touch her again.

  The time to release the Countess was before Warner awoke. Together they would slip away and perhaps make it to her husband and safety before he caught up to them. She lay with him for a while, listening to his breathing and thinking of Cyrille and what he would think of her now. She was a whore, plain and simple. She took money for her body. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t actually mated with Warner that night, she danced for him, and was prepared to lie under him. That she did such a thing now, to help rescue the Countess, made it no better. Perhaps it was a step up from troubadour, she thought, as a tear escaped. Cyrille would never accept her. If she did travel with the Countess, and their path did lead her to the brothers, he would never feel anything for a person such as her. He was born for so much better, and deserved someone such as the Countess. The thought of him loving someone else made another tear escape. It does not matter, she told herself, as she continued to wait.

  Chapter 16

  Kinsey

  Halvor couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe Alena would do something so stupid, and place his sisters in danger. His angry strides covered the length of the hall and back. His handful of men waited nearby with Jillian seated, a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. He felt he pushed his wife harder today than he should, so they could sleep under the roof of Kinsey. Dusk was coming on quickly, the only men here, were the men he brought with him, so he couldn’t leave Jillian here alone, and he couldn’t go face the man who took Ryann alone, which left him with a dilemma, he did not have the men to do both.

  He raised his hands and ran both through his hair, pulling on the ends of it, feeling the tug of pain, but it did not kill the desperation within his mind. Frustrated, he dropped his arms and turned to look at the small number waiting for his decision. Jillian was deathly pale, but she did not complain once throughout the journey. There really was little choice in the matter. She would have to go with them, because he would not leave her here without enough men capable of defending Kinsey.

  They hurt Carling. He had to tamp down his rage at that thought. Rage had no place within him right now. It would only slow down his strategizing and make his decisions less sane. At first light they would leave in the direction both groups went. He was reassured knowing Carling was not too hurt to go on the fool’s errand, but if he didn’t find them, they could all be dead. Right now, all his sisters could be lying dead by the road somewhere, and the thought brought panic and grief rushing in on him, until the hall tilted unevenly.

  He quickly focused on Jillian. “We will rest here tonight, and leave at first light to find my sisters first, then take back the Countess.”

  She nodded, not even reluctantly. She was strong, she proved it time and again. He moved toward her, offered his arm and when she took it and stood, he guided her to the chamber that was his. He never really thought he would sleep under Garrick’s roof again. He foolishly thought he left all this behind, but peace was quite the elusive thing.

  “Garrick is going to kill us,” Marcus said, as he stared at the road that forked not once, but four times. He stood in the middle of the path, his reins in his hands, as the others waited for some indication in which direction the two groups had gone.

  Halvor was surprised Marcus was not distraught over Alena’s plan. Instead, he was less concerned for her, then for the Countess. He went so far as to try to convince Halvor the women could take care of themselves. Halvor had no such confidence. He knew Alena was a good fighter, but going up against an army she had to be more than just a good fighter. Marcus arrived before dawn on his lathered horse, appearing as if it was ready to fall from exhaustion.

  Now he turned to look up at Halvor. His face was more serious than Halvor ever saw it. On it, was genuine fear for his own mortality.

  “He will not kill us,” Halvor insisted, but a new fear began inside
him. Marcus was the man who knew Garrick better than anyone else, looking at him now, Halvor knew he believed his fear was genuine.

  “I see no tracks. The rain has washed them out.” With a desperate look to his eyes, Marcus turned back to the road and shook his head.

  Halvor had been through a number of campaigns with Marcus, and never had he seen fear in the man. He didn’t know the other man felt such a thing, but now he knew. Marcus did fear, and that fear went by the name Garrick.

  “We’ll split up, see if we can pick up the trail and meet back here in an hour,” Halvor said, making the decision. “Marcus you ride with us. Split into twos, and keep your eyes open,” he told the other men.

  Marcus sprung into the saddle and led the way down one path, with Halvor and Jillian falling in behind. Perhaps, it was the fear for his sisters, and now this new fear that Garrick would kill them if they did not get his wife back, but time slowed to a near standstill. It seemed as if it took hours travelling along the road with Marcus, tediously checking every imprint or broken twig along the roadway. Marcus was a good tracker, but not as good as Roland, and suddenly Halvor remembered the two men had left together. He would have to remember to ask Marcus when he wasn’t at risk of being distracted from his task.

  By the time Marcus halted them and jumped from his saddle, the rain turned from a drizzle into a steady downpour. If he didn’t find something soon, it would be washed away, and they may never know where they went.

  “They came this way,” Marcus said, pointing to the ground, as if Halvor could see the evidence. To Halvor the man only pointed to the ground.

  “Alena’s horse. She always keeps her on the edge of the road, and there is half a print here.” There was an undercurrent to Marcus’s words.

  “What else?” Halvor asked, he heard desperation in his voice.

  “They’re being followed, by someone who doesn’t want them to be tracked. I’ve been confused over these marks on the road, with the rain I wasn’t sure, but someone is following behind them, erasing their trail.”