Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  “It’s not your fault.” The voice startled her, but she did not have to turn to know it was Halvor.

  Alena wanted to argue that it was, and no assurances from him would change that. She turned to look at him. He sat on the small hill a few paces away, his arms resting on his knees. He too seemed to not care he was getting soaked from the rain and the moisture of the ground. She said nothing before turning back around to stare at the mound.

  “The first time I was put in charge of an army it was King Henry who placed me there. I wasn’t ready. He and I both knew I wasn’t ready, but neither of us had a choice. Much of the army was already decimated. There were some older men, more experienced men, but they were ‘hot heads,’ as Henry described them. I didn’t want the command. All I wanted to do was get out of there and forget what I saw that day. I was the only one who could possibly rally the men and keep them focused, and think clearly enough to form a fighting strategy. I knew it at the time, but even now I can look back at that day and think of several ways I could have saved more men, if only I had done this or that. That day made me a better commander. Every fight, whether a loss or victory, I take something from it to learn from, and I mourn the men who did not survive.”

  Silence fell between them. So much time passed Halvor could have left, but Alena did not turn around to see before she spoke. “I killed your sister.”

  “Ella is dead, but the Countess is not, nor any of my other sisters. I mourn my sister’s loss, but I will always hold the commander who brought all the others home to me in the highest regard.”

  Alena fought the tears beginning to form in her eyes. She was not a crier. Crying made a person appear weak, it fueled those wanting to hurt and humiliate. She spent years building a strong façade, but she felt it crumbling now. She encountered a great deal of kindness among these people, but to have Halvor forgive her his sister’s death, was the epitome of thoughtfulness. Silence fell again, and finally the tears dried. A chill ran through her and she became aware of the setting sun, and the cold creeping into the night.

  Stiffly she stood and turned toward Halvor. He looked up at her, and Alena did not see accusations, but his own raw grief. She walked to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Walk me back to the Manor?”

  Halvor looked up at her and snickered. “You need no one to walk you.” He looked back to the grave. “Besides, I’ll stay. It’s her first night here.”

  Alena squeezed his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles of a warrior beneath her palm. He continued to stare ahead, so she left him. Before descending the hill she looked back at him. She did not see the undefeatable commander of the Bastard’s army, but a brother, who loved his sister and could never tell her again.

  Chapter 21

  Scotts Manor

  “What was it like?” Emma’s enthusiasm for Grace’s lifestyle as a thespian surprised her. The evening meal was a late one, after the long day of Ella’s funeral.

  Roland still slept, so Emma was as displaced as Grace. Thankfully, Grace thought as she sat at the large table with her new friend. “I enjoyed it, except the nights I was hungry and cold.” Grace thought a moment, “which was often.”

  “Did you ever get scared of the crowd watching you?”

  “No, it was a thrill at times when the crowd enjoyed it. There were times we had stuff thrown at us.”

  “You can’t be serious, why would they do such a thing?”

  Grace shrugged. There were any number of reasons, the biggest reason was one idiot deciding it was a good idea, and the rest following suit. It didn’t warrant mentioning she decided.

  “What was it like growing up in a forest?”

  Emma chuckled. “I didn’t actually grow up in the forest. Until recently, I had a roof over my head. My father and uncle were the ones being hunted, I was only a child who didn’t know what any of it meant.”

  “Are you truly titled?” Grace asked. Though most of those she was with the last couple days bore a title or two, none were her friend like Emma.

  “I would have to marry who King John told me to.”

  “Do you wish to do that?”

  “No. I thought I once could. It is a title with money and land, after all. I never could even dream of such. But I hope there is never mention of me in John’s court, and I never have to go back.”

  “Me too,” Grace said, reaching out to squeeze her friend’s hand. “Will you marry Roland?” Grace asked after a moment.

  Emma shrugged. “He has not mentioned it. I would, I think. I love him. But I do not think he will ever marry again.”

  “Again?” Grace asked, loving a good story.

  “Roland has two children by his first wife. King Richard had her killed and threatened to do the same to the women of Damien and all his men, if they did not kill the rebels.”

  Grace fell silent for a moment as her heart went out to Cyrille, and the fear he must have lived with while doing something he knew was not right. Perhaps that was why he seemed in such turmoil where she was concerned.

  “How did you get Roland to take you to bed?” Grace asked bluntly.

  Emma did not look nearly as shocked as Grace thought she might, even sat a moment giving the question some thought. “Why do you ask?” she finally questioned.

  “I want Cyrille, and I know he wants me, but he refuses. I thought there might be something I could do to make him want me enough to stop fighting.”

  “Cyrille, that is the man in the hood?” Emma asked. Grace loved Emma all the more because it did not sound as if she was being judgmental at all in her choice of men.

  “Yes,” Grace responded, glad she finally found someone she could speak with about it. “He is a very beautiful man. I want to marry him, I have for what seems a lifetime. I just think he will not let himself feel anything for me, even if it is just desire.”

  “I took my clothes off.”

  “That is all?” Grace asked, reluctant to believe it would be so simple.

  Emma shrugged. “Perhaps it is different with Roland. He already knew much about women. Does Cyrille?”

  “I think. Thank you,” Grace said, quickly standing. She hurried down the hallway, the meal forgotten. She knew where to find Cyrille’s room. It was in the back of the Manor, separate from the rest of the house. Perhaps it was the nightmares, she speculated. He had several last night as he slept, sitting up next to her.

  Reaching his door she raised her hand to knock, but hesitated. Pressing her ear to the door she heard no sound. Slowly she pushed the door open to peer inside. One candle chased away the total darkness of the chamber. Lying in his bed was Cyrille, with the flickering candle on the table next to the bed. Slowly she eased herself into the room and moved toward the bed. She stopped two paces from it and looked down at his uncovered face. She would admit she saw the scars, it was impossible not to. But she saw more than the scars, because they were still on the face of the man she fell in love with so long ago.

  “What do you want Grace?”

  His unexpected whisper made her jump. “I came to ask you to take me into your bed again.”

  His one eye popped open and he looked at her for only a breath of time, before he closed it and said, “Go away.”

  “I fear I can’t.”

  “Just turn around and let your feet carry you in the direction you came from,” he said. His voice no longer sounded sleepy, but distinctly annoyed.

  She did not hesitate to begin removing her clothing. By the time she was done, Cyrille was watching her. She stood beside the bed nude, staring down at Cyrille, hoping he would not send her away. Long after she grew uncomfortable, he raised himself slightly, scooting backward, and lifting the covers to allow her space in the bed beside him. Quickly she stepped forward and slid beneath the covers.

  His hunger was great, for he attacked her as a wild animal would its prey. He was leaning over her, his lips on hers, his hands cupping her breasts, kneading them, rubbing his thumb over her nipples. His
mouth and tongue would stray downward to suckle her breasts, before coming back to lay kisses on her lips, as if he was drinking her up.

  “Please Cyrille,” she finally begged. She long since grew moist with her desire, ready for his entrance, but he still toyed with her, refusing to move beyond her breasts and lips.

  “You are the one who wanted in my bed, so do be quiet.”

  She groaned to let him know she did not appreciate dismissing her needs, but grinning because she knew he would satisfy them, eventually. Cyrille did not disappoint, as soon as he entered her she exploded around him, clinging to him. She felt the scars of his back from the whip pressing into her palms, as she clung to him, but all that mattered was the paradise the man released in her. He continued thrusting in and out, grinding, coaxing her until she exploded around him again, just as he found his own release. He called out her name as if he was calling upon salvation from an angel. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her reverently as their heart beats settled back to a normal rhythm. Long after Cyrille fell asleep and snored beside her, Grace lay awake watching his peaceful face. When it began to twist into a nightmare, she rubbed her hand over it, shushing him with a gentle voice, and he settled back down.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Alena said, as she entered the stable.

  She knew Garrick well enough to know he always checked on his horse before finding his own slumber. This night was no different, despite the sadness of the day.

  “What do you want?” Garrick asked. There was never any preamble between them. She felt she understood Garrick, at least the drive that put him where he was, better than most.

  “You need to talk to Marcus.”

  “Marcus can hang for all I care.”

  Not exactly what Alena hoped to hear.

  “He is loyal to you, and I cannot believe you question that.”

  Garrick turned from Malik and moved toward her as if he was stalking her. It was a move that would at one time intimidate her, now it had little effect. “Stay out of it Lena.”

  “How can I? It is over and done with. Marcus gave his life to you, and now you’re turning your back on him.”

  “How is it your business? Last I heard he’s nothing to you.”

  “He’s not nothing, and neither are you.”

  “Are you saying we are friends?”

  “I am.” Alena didn’t know how or why, but she suddenly felt cornered.

  “Then tell me Lena, if we are your friends, why did you allow him to not tell me what was happening with my wife. My wife. I nearly lost everything. It isn’t about the property or the wealth, it is about Ryann.”

  “You have fallen in love with her.”

  “Is that a weakness I am going to regret telling you about?” he asked, and his voice sounded deadly with an unspoken threat.

  Alena shook her head. “No, I wonder how you can love.” Garrick shook his head, not understanding.

  “You never knew love before Ryann. How do you know how?”

  Garrick shrugged, his black eyes seemed lifeless as they watched her.

  “I want to, at least I think I do, but when I think of love, I think of losing that person, and it doesn’t seem worth it.”

  “If this is about Marcus I care not to hear it,” Garrick said, pushing past her.

  “It's about all of you,” she said, and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to her.

  “You are all my family. At least the only family I have known for a long time. We look out for each other, yet each time I think of my fondness I have for each of you, I feel the grief.”

  “Lena,” Garrick said, shaking his head, and she read sympathy on his face.

  He straightened and stared at her another moment. “I will talk to Marcus and forgive him, but you must do something in return.”

  “What?”

  “Take him to your bed.”

  She shook her head and pushed her way past him so she stood in the doorway. “I am not your whore.”

  “No, but you are a woman in love with a man, and you want to learn how to love. I know and you know, Marcus loves you with every breath of his being, but that is still not enough for you to allow yourself to love him in return. It seems your roles are reversed from the traditional male, female role. Usually it is the woman chasing after the man, ‘I love you, I love you’ and the man only relenting when he gets a taste of her. So perhaps if you had a taste of Marcus, it would give you what you need.”

  Alena shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “And I think you have to. Not for me or Marcus, but yourself.”

  “I think it’s a crude idea.”

  “Then don’t do it,” Garrick replied, and Alena knew his patience was rubbing thin with her. If she had to listen to her own conversation, she thought hers would be too.

  She studied him for a moment, before turning away.

  “Lena,” Garrick called from the doorway.

  She turned to look at his shadow. The rain finally stopped, and the night was quiet.

  “I know how to care for Ryann because Marcus taught me.” He looked away from her, he seemed nervous. His hand moved absently to the sword he carried wherever he went, even in a peaceful place such as Scotts Manor. He turned back to look at her, and studied her for another moment. She nearly turned away, suspecting she would not like what was so hard for him to say. “Marcus was the first person in my entire life to voluntarily stand behind me. That day he came into my camp, he could easily have killed me, and no one would touch him. But he didn’t. We rode together a long time before I realized my love for my brother, because he was unselfish in his care and defense of me. He taught me not to be selfish with my own feelings, my own fondness. Until then, all I knew was hate. Marcus gave me a different way to see the world around me. He tempered me, gave me a conscience.” Garrick shrugged and fell silent.

  Alena nodded as she studied Garrick. A man who was larger than life, who a king placed the success of his entire crown upon. But in the end Garrick was just a man, and she was just a woman, if she didn’t change her ways soon, the pressure of everything bottled within her would crush her. She nodded again and walked away.

  Roland was alarmed when he awoke and saw sunlight streaming into his chamber. He rose and swiftly crossed to the window. It was near evening by the tilt of the sun. He quickly donned the clothes he didn’t remember removing. Emma was not in the room and he feared for her among the rest, but he could not say why. Out in the hallway he hurried toward the front of the Manor, stopping at the doorway to the dining room. The meal was underway, he was surprised they weren’t burying the girl. Everyone turned to look at him, then Alena rose from the chair next to Emma and moved farther along the table, to take a tentative seat next to Marcus.

  Emma’s place among them was apparently unchallenged by the small action. He took a seat and hungrily began to pile his plate. He plowed into the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days. After a few moments he turned to Emma.

  “I thought we would bury the girl first,” he whispered to her.

  “We buried Ella two days ago,” she whispered back with a small, nearly superior smile on her face. “You have been sleeping all this time.”

  “What?” he lifted a hand to his face. The beard he was neglectful of during his race to Scotts Manor felt a little longer than it did the last he remember. He turned to Damien, hoping she was only joking, but was appalled when the man nodded his head, to confirm her story.

  “While you were getting your beauty rest, because Lord knows you needed it, and much more,” Damien said. “Our new king sent a messenger to us. I am officially Lord again and Lord Garrick can retain his titles and lands, if we swear allegiance to King John.”

  Damien apparently did not know Roland held his breath, for he placed a mouthful of food in his mouth and slowly chewed. “Of course we swore our oath, he is the King after all.”

  “What does this mean?” Roland asked. His stomach was churning, and the food was sudden
ly making him feel as if he was going to vomit. What new things was John going to find for them to do?

  “It means, if we are content to live quietly, John will be happy to allow us to do so,” Damien said. “The time to take a stand was when we had three armies at our disposal. I dismissed them with my thanks and sent them home.”

  “Are we happy to live quietly?” Roland finally asked.

  “Of course we are Roland. John is the King. If he has no use for us, I am not going to argue against him.” Damien’s gray-green eyes settled on him and Roland did not see the commanding look of his lord there, but the sympathy of a friend. They fought a long time to be allowed a chance at a place to call home, and the peace such brought. Damien and Cyrille were closer to him than anyone else, and Damien knew Roland switched roles with them, and he lived for the fight and not the peace. This windfall to Damien could mean his friend would leave.

  Roland watched Damien’s eyes flick toward Emma, before turning to smile at Keri. Suddenly Roland had no appetite. He cast his eyes around the table. For a group of people who were supposed to be enjoying a peaceful life, he felt animosity residing beneath the surface. By looking at his friend’s faces, he could see who gathered in discomfort. Marcus refused to acknowledge Alena, who cast more glances Garrick’s way than to the man beside her. When Garrick looked to their place at the table, he scowled at both of them, his dark eyes unwavering. Halvor’s gray-brown eyes snapped with irritation that the two men he answered to were falling apart before his eyes, while he apparently was holding it together for his sisters sitting next to him. His wife Jillian, who he had not officially met, sat silently beside him, and instinctively Roland knew, she would be the big man’s rock that would not allow him to waver.