Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

Movement behind him, running feet. He lifted his sword, spinning ready to slice through his enemy, but his enemy wasn’t there. Emma stood, halfway in the deep, deep shadows of the undergrowth. He stopped the arc of his blade a moment before it would slice the top of her head off. She gasped, her eyes wide, and he quickly let the blade fall to his side. He felt the comforting weight of it and knew, if he was not as familiar with it as he was, Emma would be dead.

  “We have to go. If we leave now we can be to Scotts Manor by nightfall.” Roland knew he sounded insane. He was adamant about not traveling at night, but was finally giving in on this last night. But he almost killed her. Men were close, he felt it to his very core. Men who wanted them dead and out here, alone in the forest, he could not defend them. Perhaps Damien would not turn him away, would forgive him for all the things he did, and give them his protection. At least give Emma his protection. He believed if Emma could be safe anywhere, it was with Damien. Surely if Damien would not take her in, Garrick would. Garrick who owed him nothing, and whose wife was caring for his children all this time. A new fear began. What if they turned him away? He would have no safe place for Emma and his child. He never heard Emma’s response, but propelled her forward, back toward camp and the horse. Tomorrow they would know soon enough, when they arrived at Scotts Manor.

  Chapter 18

  The two armies moved slowly, despite Cyrille’s sense of urgency. Richard could be outside the walls of Scotts Manor, and the two armies Cyrille recruited, would go a long way in keeping the walls secure. They would do no good if they were caught outside. Richard’s army would decimate them. Perhaps if Roland was leading them, it could have a different outcome, but not with him leading them. Cyrille found it taxing enough just to keep them moving.

  These days seemed to be harder than those past. He had Grace to thank for that. She gave him a small taste of what life could be. She was just a reminder he did not want. Now everything seemed to be a constant reminder of what he had, what he could have, and what he could never have again.

  His thoughts were so involved; he did not see the group of riders, until a shout came from the group of knights behind him. Ashamed, he went from an injured knight to one so caught up in himself, he was oblivious to danger. He drew rein and held up his hand, to stop the group behind him.

  “Cyrille!”

  A horse broke away from the group and advanced at a fast trot. A couple knights moved up beside Cyrille and drew their swords. Cyrille waved them back because he recognized the voice. If the deep voice didn’t give it away, the tall, broad stature did.

  Halvor and Marcus drew alongside Cyrille, moving their horses close.

  “The Countess has been taken,” Marcus said in greeting.

  Cyrille felt as if he was gut punched. Countess Ryann was the gentlest, kindest person Cyrille knew. He did not understand how anyone could mean her harm.

  “I think they’re after Garrick. Have you seen anyone travelling this area?”

  Cyrille shook his head. “Where is Garrick?”

  “He’s not been told yet,” Marcus replied.

  “Why?” it seemed a simple enough thing, to inform a man his wife was missing.

  “We hoped we could find her first.”

  Cyrille studied the two men on either side of him. Clearly, their judgments were not what they once were. Marcus was the Bastard’s right hand, and Halvor commanded his undefeatable troops. The fact they did not tell Garrick, made them reckless, and was a sure way to earn their leader’s displeasure.

  Finally, making the decision they should have already made, Cyrille cleared his throat. “Halvor, take these men to Scotts Manor and bar the gates, await Richard’s arrival. Marcus and I will continue to search for the Countess.”

  Halvor nodded, and Cyrille swept his hand forward, to indicate Marcus was to lead the way in the continued search.

  Will heard the horses approaching and turned, placed his index finger over his lips, to indicate the women hiding in the foliage behind him, were to be quiet. Exhaustion was his friend this day, it enveloped him, beckoned for him to lie down on the ground and close his eyes. He knew it would not take long for sleep to take him away from this horror that was unfolding.

  He feared for the Countess. She was more than the lady of the keep, more than his guardian, she was his friend. He felt he didn’t have many of those these days. He stopped being able to relate to the children his age years ago, and the adults still saw him as a child, so he spent his days acting like a man, but when he lay his head down at night, he cried like a lost child. It was hard to handle life alone, especially with a little sister looking up to him, as if he had all the answers. So many times he wanted to tell her there were no answers, but he could not crush Jill in such a way.

  Terror quickly pushed the exhaustion to the far reaches of his mind. When their camp was attacked, Will rounded up the youngest girls, and told them to run, and hide in the woods. He tried to fight, but everything happened so fast. Within moments of the attack, the enemy was riding away with Garrick and Alena, and three of the women, including Halvor’s sister Ella, were dead. With the women stricken by grief from the loss of their loved ones, Will was left to make the decision what they would do. His first idea was to leave the dead behind. They could travel faster that way, but the women would not allow it.

  They could have easily struck out early, and moved toward Scotts Manor, sticking to the road, but sneaking off into the underbrush if danger appeared. With the bodies, such a thing would not be so easy. First, he had to retrieve the scattered horses. It was a feat that took half the morning, and yielded only half the animals. So they put the bodies on two of the horses, and split up to ride double, the smallest riding three to a horse. Now as the sun reached its peak in the sky, he heard the first approach of horses ahead of them. He franticly got everyone off the road, and the horses hidden deep, but feared the animals would call out to the passing horses, and give up their hiding place. And he waited. Soon, the sound of horses approaching from the direction they travelled let him know it was not just one or two, but several, possibly even an army. At the same time, he heard the approach of horses from the opposite direction.

  It seemed the wait was an eternal one, as Will anticipated the passing of both groups, while fearing they would be discovered. He alone could not protect the women. He knew what kind of men walked the earth. Not men like his father or Lord Damien and Lord Garrick, but bad men, men who raped and killed innocent women, innocent sisters, and innocent mothers.

  His anxiety was at such a peak by the time the first horse’s head came into sight, he nearly sighed with relief the wait was at an end. It was a few more paces before the rider came into view. It was impossible to see the features of the rider through the foliage, but the way he sat his horse and moved with him, let Will know who the man was. Lord Damien! Will grew up watching the man drill with his dad, and all the other men. There was no mistaking the way the great knight rode.

  Will broke from the cover of the forest, and rushed into the road, in front of the great destrier. The horse immediately pulled back, his ears lay back, and Will knew all it would take from Damien was a touch of his heels, and the animal would trample him.

  “Will,” he heard the surprise in the man’s voice.

  There was a time, not so long ago, he looked upon Lord Damien as a god. He feared being in his presence, feared he would earn the man’s wrath, while at the same time, hoping one day the Lord would notice him, and make him a knight as he did his father. Now he knew no mortal man was a god, men were only men, and could be crushed as easily as a bug. Now, he did not fear to look the Lord in the eye as he began to explain.

  “We found the women, but we were attacked. They took Mistress Alena and Lord Garrick.”

  He turned quickly to see two of Halvor’s oldest sisters moving from the cover of the forest. He turned back to Lord Damien.

  “There are men coming from that direction,” he quickly said, pointing. He was just in time to draw Da
mien’s attention back to the road, and the ears of a horse, as it began to crest the hill.

  “Get back,” Will ordered the women. He moved toward Damien when he motioned him to, and reached a hand out to be pulled onto the horse behind Damien, as the big man drew his sword. He felt the destrier beneath him shift, anxiously, ready for the fight he was bred for.

  By the time the first horse came into view, Lord Damien’s army was spread out, ready to fight. When Will felt Lord Damien relax, he peered around his broad back and saw Halvor led the approaching group. Will felt the subtle shift of Damien’s legs, when he sent his horse forward to meet Sir Halvor.

  Before the two men began to speak, Damien reached behind him, and slid Will back to the ground. Will wanted to scream at him that he was capable of hearing what was about to transpire. He had a stake in the matter too, because Countess Ryann was as close to a mother as he would likely ever have again. He wanted to be a part of what the men planned to get her back. In the end he was excluded, told to keep the women hidden, while they went to find Garrick and Ryann. He tried to tell Lord Damien which way he witnessed the man named Warner taking the Countess, but they were intent on ignoring him. He was, after all, just a boy.

  “Garrick.” Alena’s voice cracked from her dry throat. No response came from the unconscious man lying bound in the corner. It was more than an hour since they arrived, at what appeared to be an old convent.

  Shortly after she and Garrick were brought to the room and shackled to the wall, she heard chaos ensue. Apparently, Ryann and a woman named Grace were missing. It wasn’t until he left, that one of the men left behind attacked her.

  Alena vowed long ago she would fight any man who tried to touch her, and so she had. But he was a brute. Now her body ached and there was probably not a piece of skin that had not been scratched or bruised. Her head throbbed from the blows, and she was slipping in and out of consciousness.

  “Garrick,” she called to the man again.

  This time he began to stir, and suddenly he was flying into a sitting position. He looked down at the rope binding his hands, also his arms to keep both immobile. He looked around franticly for a moment, before his eyes fell on her.

  “Lena.” His voice was sad, remorseful, seeing her condition.

  “Ryann escaped,” she said, hoping a little good news would help.

  He leaned his head back against the wall. It must have been a mighty blow to keep him sleeping for such a long time. She guessed his head was ringing nearly as much as hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, raising his head again to look at her.

  “Don’t be sorry Garrick. It’s not as if I am some sort of virginal prize that was taken. We have to find a way out of here.”

  Garrick coughed, sucking in his breath as he did so. He looked down at himself, tested his ropes, then the shackle about his ankle. Slowly his eyes scanned the room, before falling back on her.

  “Any ideas?”

  Alena had none, although she was tied less securely than Garrick. Only a rope tied her hands above her head. Her legs, of course, were left unchained. Couldn’t let that get in their way, she thought bitterly, the anger threatening to take away her reasoning. She looked away from Garrick quickly, took a couple of deep breaths, to calm her racing heart.

  Slowly, she worked her stiff and aching legs beneath herself, and stood. Her strength was gone, the fight took everything out of her. Her legs quaking beneath her, she studied the rope. The end of the rope not bound around her hands, was tied to a wall sconce. Taking the loose rope in her shaking hands, she wound what she could around them, and then used her weight to pull back on it. It did not give. She pulled harder, using more of her strength and weight, but still it did not give. She had to get them out of there. She had to. That brute would be back or another like him, if not them, then Warner, and he already told her what he would do to her as he made Garrick watch.

  She pulled again, franticly, but it did not give way. She gripped the rope tighter, placed a foot against the wall, and pulled. Still the sconce did not give. She pulled harder, twisting her body, using every ounce of her weight and strength. She felt the rope biting into her hands and wrists, but that was the least of her worries. She turned back around and took a different approach. She yanked on it, and the sconce shook. Again, she gave a hard yank, the rope biting into her flesh more. Was the sconce coming loose? A yank, then another, and another. She yanked and pulled, twisting, crying out as the rope bit dipper. Again, but the sconce was not loosening. It had to loosen. It had to, there was no other way out.

  “Lena!”

  How weak she was in the face of this new challenge. The rope would not give, the sconce would not give, and her spirit was quickly dying. She knew the signs well. One more man touching her, one more fist slammed into her head to make her comply, one more knife threatening to cut her throat if she did not unclench her thighs, and she would be broken. How many times before? How many? She hit the floor hard, the rope wrapped in her hands, cut viciously.

  “Stop, Lena!” She raised her head and looked at Garrick. “Stop. You are only hurting yourself.”

  She opened her hands and the rope slipped out, letting her exhausted body sag against the wall, as her butt hit the floor.

  “It’s okay, we’ll find a different way.”

  It was maddening to hear Garrick’s gentle voice. When she first met the man, she would swear he did not have a gentle side. He had no compassion for the downtrodden, no sorrow when he looked upon the broken. But now she saw it in his obsidian eyes. She looked from him, to the sconce, then at her bloodied hands.

  “Lena,” Garrick said again, drawing her attention back to him after a moment. “We will find another way.”

  Alena saw it in his eyes, he truly believed they would find a way to escape. She knew escape was a magnificent thing to dream about, but that was usually the only place it was successful. Unless someone came for them, they would soon be dead. Warner would gut her, and then cut her eyes from her head, while Garrick watched. Then the same would be done to Garrick, after Ryann. She felt sympathy for the man they called the Bastard, he would watch the woman he loved, die in front of him. At least she would be the first killed, and she would not witness the torment of her two friends. She looked back at her hands, yes, she could be grateful for that.

  The Countess couldn’t keep up with her. Grace slowed her gate considerably to accommodate the struggling woman, but she was still falling farther and farther behind. Grace couldn’t really blame her. Warner did not bother to feed the Countess since he took her prisoner. Grace snuck her a little food, but she knew it was not enough. Plus, the woman was taken in delicate slippers she already lost, so her feet were being torn to shreds. Thinking her feet was tougher than a Countess’s, Grace gave her her shoes, yet still the woman lagged behind. It didn’t help Grace insisted they stay away from the road. The woods were a nightmare without shoes, and Grace hoped they would soon come to a field, or something, before her feet gave out.

  The briars picked and tore at their clothes, until they appeared to be beggars. Along with them, the limbs that whipped across their skin left scratches and whelps across their arms, faces, and legs. It appeared as if they went through a war, when all they accomplished, was their escape. If Warner found them, they would not have a chance.

  Finally, the forest opened into a little field, and Grace nearly fell from shock and relief. Grazing in the small field, apparently set aside for hay or grain, stood two saddled horses. Grace had to force herself to still. Where were the riders? Who were the riders? Could it be a couple of Warner’s men, or someone else?

  “That’s Malik,” the Countess said, behind her. The sound of her voice sounded like a clap of thunder echoing across the quiet landscape, and startled Grace.

  Grace looked at the Countess. “My husband’s horse.”

  “Wait,” Grace called in a frantic whisper, as the Countess moved past her, and into the open field.

  Grace l
ooked franticly around them, knowing as soon as she followed, both of them would be exposed. Perhaps Warner now had Garrick, and it was a ploy to get them to come into the open. Common sense told Grace, Warner could not possibly know which way they went. She knew Warner well enough to know he would not think her wise enough to take the rough terrain, but would figure them to be simpletons and stay to the road. She was sure it would take him some time to figure out which way they really went. Still, the horse was a mystery.

  Grace decided to follow the Countess, who was clucking softly to one of the horses. One still grazed, but the gray’s head shot up, and his ears pitched forward. To Grace’s astonishment the horse moved toward the Countess, all the way up to her, and let her take hold of his bridal.

  When Grace arrived at her side, it was to find the woman crying softly.

  “What is wrong?” Grace asked, feeling the urge to touch her with a reassuring hand, but knowing better. Despite what they were just through together, and what they still faced, the woman beside her was still a countess.

  “This horse is my husband’s pride and joy. He would not be alone here, if something did not happen to him.”

  Grace wanted to tell the Countess she couldn’t care less about her husband at the moment. Her goal was to get the woman to safety. But Grace already decided she would move hell or high water to get Countess Ryann free, and Grace knew the woman loved her husband, and she would not truly be free until Lord Garrick stood at her side again.

  “Get the other one. We will try to find him,” the Countess said, as she moved to mount the gray.

  Grace was out of her element when it came to horses. She was able to get her hands on the other animal, but she had to wait for the Countess to assist her in mounting. Once upon the horse’s back, she felt as if she was going to fall off the other side, but out of a strong will and a tight grip on the horse’s mane, she was able to stay in the saddle. Luckily her horse was willing to follow the Countess’s, so all she was left to do was try to remain on its back.