Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  On and on the torture continued, with Emma curled in a tight ball beneath him. Despite his viselike grip on her head, he knew he did not block out the cries of the boy. The cries became weaker, then Mercadier sliced the ropes that held the Pierre stretched out, and slid him from the wall. The flaying did not kill him, but the snapping of his neck did, as his body reached the end of the rope. Roland did not think it was loud enough for Emma to hear, but he heard it, saw the boy’s leg kick one final time before he came to rest, dangling from the very wall he shot the King from.

  Roland was awash with the vision before him, and memories of the past. It was debilitating, and he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to rage at the brutality of life. Pierre did not deserve to die that way. There were so many lives extinguished that did not deserve to die that way.

  Emma shifted beneath him, and he knew they had to run. Mercadier would be searching for them next, and it was only a matter of time before they entered the woods in that effort. He rose, putting his back to the castle, and blocking Emma from the horrible scene behind him. He pulled her to her feet and tried pushing her away, but she would not have it. She twisted from him, and her eyes fell on Pierre’s body. Her mouth twisted into an “o” of horror, and her eyes immediately filled with sorrow, followed by tears. Roland grabbed her face and brought his down in front of hers, so she would focus on him.

  “We have to go. Now.” It took a moment for her eyes to collide with his, and his heart was seized. If he could charge out into the army and let their swords bring him down and wipe the look of horror from her face, he would do it. But there was nothing he could do, not before, and not now.

  He none to gently turned her around and pushed her back toward their camp. Quickly, he threw their supplies onto the horse. When he reached for Emma, she backed away with a panicked look in her eye. Roland couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed his face. Perhaps, that was the worst of all, after he spent himself with the screaming and fighting, after Lillian‘s body grew cold, he went to his children and saw their accusations. They did not know he could do nothing, no matter how hard he fought. The King already decided Roland, and the rest of his knights, would live and Lillian would die. Just as Mercadier decided Pierre would die, and Roland had a strong feeling, he wanted Emma dead as well. Roland did not understand how killing his wife could spark a need in the man to torture him even more, years later. But Emma he still had, and he could still protect. Even if she placed Pierre’s death at his feet, he had to get her away.

  He grabbed her and lifted her onto the horse, giving her no time to argue the matter, he was in the saddle and moving it through the woods.

  Roland pulled the horse to a stop and looked behind them. He held his breath, the tired horse taking the time to stand quietly, so only the noise of the forest could be heard. Emma didn’t have to ask him what he was doing. He did the exact thing hundreds of times since trekking across France, and arriving back on English soil. They were being followed, according to Roland. Emma spent her fare amount of time in the forest, being hunted by the very man she rode with, and she never heard or saw anything that would make her believe they were being followed, but Roland believed it. He believed it so much he did not sleep, even when she offered to keep watch. He spent their days franticly looking behind them, and his nights pacing around their camps, listening, watching, and waiting for something Emma did not think was out there.

  After a few moments, Roland seemed satisfied, and moved the horse again. Their days were long, their nights even longer, as Emma spent most of the night lying awake, wanting nothing more than Roland next to her. But he never rested. It was as if he thought by remaining vigilant, he could bring Pierre back, and keep them from danger.

  As night began to take over the sky, Roland pulled them to a stop, and directed an elbow back to her. He never cast a glance her way as he locked his arm. She used it to slide to the ground from her seat on the horse behind him. He said not a word. He didn’t have to. Setting up camp was the same this night as every night before. Emma would begin gathering twigs, sticks and logs for a fire, while Roland circled the camp on the horse, getting a feel for their surroundings, and their level of safety, before he would return and unsaddle the animal. She began her task, listening to the sound of the horse moving through the trees, before the sound dwindled and was gone. For those few minutes Emma was frightened, alone in the world, her only solace was that Roland would return to her.

  During this time her mind always wondered, what if Roland did not return. What would she do, where would she go? She didn’t know what became of her father and uncle. Men were supposed to be sent to kill them, and all the rebels she grew up with. If they were still there, how could she possibly find her way home, alone? Could she ever find home again, without Roland at her side? He became so much a part of her, she found she ached to see his face grow gaunt, and his eyes haunted by his own imaginings. If the danger was real, one day his torment would come to an end. But this torture going on inside him was frightening, and Emma prayed daily she would find a way to stop it.

  Emma’s joy was so great when she heard the horse returning she nearly cried, but instead kept her face averted from Roland while he unsaddled the horse. When he came close, her heart soared, but he only dropped a hare by the fire, already cleaned and ready to be roasted. She set to work doing that task, while he went about setting up a comfortable bed for her. Even with his mind slipping he was considerate of her, more so now than ever. It was as if his role switched when they fled. He was no longer her lover, but the one who saw to her comfort and protection. On their previous journey, if he hunted without her, he would bring the kill back, still needing to be gutted and cleaned. More often he told her if she was hungry, to hunt it herself. But now he was different, and all she wanted was for the other Roland to return, the somewhat inconsiderate man who touched her, and made her feel like a woman. Not a burden that was driving the man insane.

  After the meat finished cooking, Roland came to squat next to her by the fire. He said not a word, tearing a piece of the meat off, casting one quick look in her direction, before staring into the flames. Emma wanted to reach for him, to beg him to touch her, but the sadness was so deep in his blue eyes she did not think she could ask such a thing of him, without weeping over the loss she felt keenly in her heart. After only a few bites he turned back to her, holding the rest of the meat out to her. She shook her head, still holding a leg in her hands. He rose, dropped the rest of the meat into the fire and turned away, wiping the residue off his hands absently onto his tunic, as he moved away from her.

  For a moment her appetite dwindled, but came back quickly enough. In the evenings she was ravenous, but the mornings brought only anxiety of the ride ahead that twisted her stomach to the point she could no longer eat the light breakfast Roland always supplied them, without having to rush for the bushes to expel it from her rolling stomach. She couldn’t wait until the journey came to an end, when her feet could be planted on the ground for an entire day, without the feel of the horse rolling beneath her. Getting her fill, she cleaned the remainder of the meat from the carcass and lined it up along the edge of the fire to dry. Hopefully, Roland would feel up to eating it before they left. She cast a glance about her, searching for Roland. Though she did not see him, she knew he was nearby, so went to the makeshift bed and settled into it. As usual sleep was elusive, filled with nightmares and the screams of a young man who would never quite make it to that prestigious title.

  Roland stepped into camp and froze. Emma slept, her red hair spread out on her arm she used as a pillow, her mouth slightly ajar, but her restlessness told him she was having a nightmare. He could easily guess what that nightmare was. She didn’t have them until he came along. She lived a quietly sheltered life until he came into it, uprooting her, taking her to the King of all people. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have fled her, in the opposite direction. But he did not, instead choosing to take her into the viper’s
den. He heard Halvor’s stories of the Lady Jillian, and how she suffered at the hands of her husband. He saw it on the faces of many women, the soulless eyes, and the fear their husbands would raise their hands to them at the slightest whim. Yet, he took her to the King, and offered her up to that kind of future, on a silver platter. It had to be anger. Anger for everyone, even the beautiful redhead who taunted him into rage. But now that anger was replaced by fear. How much longer would it be before Emma realized she was pregnant?

  Lillian, it seemed, knew to the minute when she became pregnant with both their children. She was so eager to care for them, and raise them into a good man and woman. She wanted to have many more. It was only the day before she died, she announced she would be having his third child. A boy she declared, it felt as if she carried a boy, and he did not doubt her, and was looking forward to having another son. But he would not have been angry if it was another daughter. With Emma everything was different. He couldn’t take her back to their little home. It was once warm and cozy, now it was a torment to behold, filled with Lillian’s screams and the tears of his children, and fear. It held fear for all of them. In the time since Lillian, Roland knew he became an evil man. What other kind of man would turn his back on his children after their mother was dragged away and killed in front of them? Roland couldn’t even remember what he did to make Damien order him to serve under Garrick for a time. There was so much time after Lillian that was a blur. That was the way he preferred it. So much time, and so many bad deeds. Why on earth did he touch Emma that first time, or the second, and all those times afterward? He knew she wanted to be pregnant, to show her new husband he should want her enough to accept a bastard into his household. Roland didn’t have the heart to tell her, her new husband would be likely to kill the bastard to get him, or her, out of his way, so he would not have to feed or protect the child. Their child.

  Their child. It was amazing the force those two words had. He wanted Emma. He came to realize that long ago. He wanted Emma more than he wanted to draw his next breath. He wanted to go to her, tell her she carried his child, celebrate with her, and feel her cling to him for joy. Roland wanted to scream from the roof tops he was going to be a father again. But fear always rushed in on him. So much fear it was debilitating, took away his ability to reason, to think clearly.

  A rustle of leaves sent him to a crouch. It was no wonder he was full of nothing but fear. Someone was following them. They were from the beginning. It had to be one of Mercadier’s men. Who else would follow them for so long, without making their presence known? This man was clever, Roland had to give him that. Never did Roland see him. He wasn’t sure if he heard him, but he knew he was there. Roland feared he only followed to find out where they went. He would then return and give Mercadier his report, and the man’s entire army would come and take Emma away. If the man was going to attack, he would do so. Perhaps, it was just an attempt to follow, while leaving a clear trail for the army, and they would never reach their destination. Either way, Roland was unable to protect Emma, and his unborn child, from the danger that followed close behind.

  Roland silently moved back into the cover of the forest, and toward the sound he heard. The man was good. After the first noise all grew quiet in the nighttime woodland. But Roland would find him. Roland had to find him before they reached Scotts Manor. Otherwise they would know where he went, and know where to find Emma. Reaching the area of the noise, Roland crouched, listening, and watching. It seemed as if an eternity passed with no noise, then he heard it, to his right. He moved stealthily in that direction. Nothing. He waited, listening. It was there, to the right. The man was toying with him. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he. The man was far superior at the cat and mouse game than Roland.

  It seemed an eternity that he chased the noises about the forest. By dawn the noises had led him far from the camp. Realizing his mistake, he ran full tilt through the forest to get back to Emma. Her turquoise eyes widened when he crashed into the tiny clearing. His heart hammering in his chest, his eyes raked over her, from head to toe. Soon she would grow round with his child. Would it have his blue eyes, or her turquoise ones, her red hair or his brown?

  “We have to go,” he said, hurrying forward. Emma obediently began to bundle up the camp supplies, while he franticly readied the horse. It was only a few minutes after entering the clearing that they rode away. Roland knew it was not fast enough, Mercadier’s man followed.

  Emma stared at the flames of the camp fire. She was growing pale. He noticed she wasn’t eating in the morning, and would eat very little when he stopped at noon to let her rest and get food. He wondered if she knew she was pregnant and just wasn’t telling him. Roland guessed she did not put it together yet, because she still looked at him expectantly. If she knew she had a child growing in her she would want safety, something she obviously would not have with him. He wanted nothing more than to get her to safety, and assure her they came through unscathed. He kept looking for the hurt in her eyes he witnessed in his children’s eyes, after he let their mother die. Rage and sorrow overwhelmed him as he watched Emma’s unmoving back. His children were not the only ones to lose someone special that day. He lost her too. While his children and Emma were guarded from witnessing death, he watched, he mourned, and he knew there was nothing his strength and sword could do to stop it. He was honed to be a fighter, a defender, but he could defend no one he loved.

  His heart began to hammer in his chest as he stared at Emma from his vantage point. Love. With Emma by his side, she fit comfortably there, and made him feel secure. She gave him confidence to be himself, to be a warrior once again, not a shell of a man who failed. Now that she wasn’t that part of him, he felt it, the loneliness, and the sadness, that she was gone. He loved her. For a brief moment he wondered if he loved her more than Lillian, but quickly slammed the thought shut. It would be impossible to gauge what woman he loved more, because he loved them for totally different reasons. Lillian brought him the comforts of home, warmth, gentleness he never knew before. Emma brought him peace from his tortured mind, and passion to his shriveled soul.

  Silently he stepped back into the cover of the forest and let its shadows engulf him. How could he have the nerve to love Emma? He ruined her life by coming into it. She deserved one of the lords the King lined up for her, someone who had wealth to provide for her, a safe home to raise their children in, and a heart to love her with. Just the thought of love shattered his, left it lying and bleeding at his feet. He heard steps. They were close. He turned quickly, but saw nothing. Mercadier’s man was being bolder, testing Roland. They neared Scotts Manor, was within a day or two, and by the man’s boldness, Roland knew the attack would come before they ever reached the safety of its walls.

  Roland trekked around the camp, looking and listening. He nervously rubbed the hilt of the sword still sheathed at his side. He couldn’t remember the last time he removed it from his waist. The noise was just behind him, and he swung quickly, drawing the familiar weight of his sword. There was nothing, not even a leaf moved in the trees. All was quiet. Too quiet. The only time a forest grew that quiet was when the creatures smelled the danger of men. Several of Mercadier’s men were nearby, or all the forest creatures would not be holding their collective breaths.

  Roland slinked around the camp, listening for the army closing in on him. He did not think the forces would attack at night, but he was surprised too many times before to place his faith in that assumption. For endless hours he moved about, staying close enough to the camp he could be there quickly, if the danger were to appear. He wanted them to come out. Have the face off once and for all, before making it to Scotts Manor. He didn’t want them anywhere near his safe haven. He heard the rush of feet and turning quickly, found no one there. He moved in that direction, careful to pick his way through the debris of the forest floor quietly. Movement to his right. He turned, his sword at the ready, but there was nothing there. He took a step in that direction, and heard the rush of feet b
ehind him. He turned quickly, bringing his sword up, ready to cut through thin air.

  His heart began to pick up its rhythm. He tried to call his breathing back to normal. This was battle, life and death. He had to pace himself, prepare himself for what was to come. Movement turned him around again. Where were they? Where the hell were they?

  “Come out you cowards,” Roland whispered aloud. Nothing. Not a creature stirred. He listened intently, his head began to ache as he held his breath. Nothing.

  Roland began to put his sword back in its sheath, but the rush of feet behind him stopped the action as he spun around. Nothing. Damn you, he thought. He slid the sword back to its resting place, and moved a little closer toward their camp. A twig snapped. He pulled his sword and moved quickly in that direction, no longer trying to conceal his own steps. He found nothing. Shadows were thick, but not thick enough to conceal all movement and sound. He moved in them for hours and was well adjusted to the light and sounds. There were still no sounds. Where were the men?

  “Come out you bastards!” Roland said loudly into the night. It was time to end it. Time to let them attack, overrun him and Emma, kill them both, then neither of them would know this torment. “Come get me!”

  Nothing. Nothing at all. Movement, to the left. He spun already in a sprint toward it before they could disappear again, but they were gone as if he chased ghosts. “Nooooo! Nooo!” he screamed. In the morning they would be leaving the safety of the woods for the open farmland, and then there would be nowhere for any of them to hide. Not even Roland and Emma.