Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  “Where’s Cyrille?” Roland asked, his voice sounded shaky to his own ears.

  “Cyrille has not left his room for two days,” Damien replied, and in the man’s voice he heard his concerned desperation.

  “We know Cyrille does not sleep, so we are yet to figure out what a man does in his room alone for this amount of time,” Keri said, casting a nervous look Damien’s way.

  “Has he killed him…?”

  “No!” Damien said quickly and loudly. He cast his eyes back to his food, everyone at the table knew the man feared his brother would kill himself eventually. “He tells everyone to leave him alone,” Damien mumbled.

  “He’s not alone,” Emma said, in a quiet voice.

  All eyes turned to her and Roland saw her visibly grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Grace is with him.”

  “Who’s Grace?” Roland asked.

  “What if he has hurt her?” Alena asked.

  “He wouldn’t hurt her,” Keri defended him.

  “I know he wouldn’t mean to, but if he did, that would explain why he has not come out of his room in all this time,” this from Ryann.

  “Who’s Grace?” Roland asked again.

  “She grew up with us,” Damien said.

  “She’s my friend,” Emma replied at the same time.

  Roland quickly stood. “I’ll be back,” he assured Emma, who stood with him. He quickly left the room and hurried down the hallway to Cyrille’s chamber.

  One nock brought no noise. A louder one did, “Go away.”

  “Let me in Cyrille. We’re all concerned about you.”

  “Go away!” Cyrille's voice cracked, and Roland heard him cough.

  “Let me in!” Roland demanded, banging his fist loudly on the door.

  “Leave!” Cyrille demanded.

  “No!” Roland insisted. When nothing further came from the room, Roland pounded again. The room on the other side of the door remained quiet. All the doors within the Manor were built the same way. The doors had no keys, but each of the doors could be barred from the inside by a strip of leather, to afford privacy. Some keeps had doors barred by a large piece of wood that made it impossible to breach without a battering ram. Luckily this was not such a place. Roland lifted his foot, and with all his weight behind it, slammed it into the door in the vicinity the leather was fastened. It gave a little, but did not open entirely. With all his strength, he slammed his shoulder into it, using his entire body to force the door open. This time the leather gave, and he nearly fell into the room.

  The first thing he noticed was there was more light in the room than Cyrille usually allowed. The second was the bed held two figures. One of those figures threw the covers back and charged from the bed. Roland had not expected to be attacked by a nude Cyrille when he exploded into the room, but that was what he was suddenly faced with. Fury marked his scarred face as he came at Roland. Roland wanted to retreat, but the door slammed open then banged closed behind him, when he fell into the room.

  A low growl escaped from Cyrille. Roland felt he was cornered by a wild animal as the big man kept coming. Roland cast a quick look to the bed and saw a woman sitting up with her mouth open in shock. Confusion clamored within his brain. “Grace?” The name escaped in a squeak, as Cyrille grabbed Roland by the throat, and slammed him against the wall. Cyrille’s strength surprised him, but not as much as the woman in his bed.

  Roland wanted to speak, because he realized it was probably the only way to save his life, but he looked into the face of an enraged Cyrille. Roland was as close to Cyrille as Damien, they were brothers, just not by blood, but this Cyrille was different. Despite the growing panic within Roland, unable to breath, he still did not fight the stockier man.

  “Cyrille.”

  The hand released and Roland wasn’t sure if he heard the quiet name spoken from the woman in the scarred man’s bed. Cyrille turned away, as if he did not just try to kill Roland, and went back to his bed, climbing into it and pulling the covers over him and the woman. “Leave,” was the only thing he said, as he leaned over the woman.

  “Do you wish to leave?” Roland asked of the woman. So much happened to Cyrille, Roland would not be surprised if he snapped, raped the woman, and was keeping her prisoner.

  “She stays,” Cyrille ground out, in his gravelly voice.

  “I’m…,” the girl began to speak.

  “Leave,” Cyrille growled. “She stays.” When Roland’s feet did not immediately carry him from the room, Cyrille turned, his eye menacing. “Now or I will kill you.”

  The challenge being issued from any other man would not send Roland fleeing, but Cyrille was a different matter all together. Roland quickly left, allowing the door to bang behind him. Back to the others he went. Suddenly, there was something to occupy his mind rather than his own future.

  “He has her in his bed,” Roland said, as soon as he stepped across the threshold. “He will not let her leave.”

  Damien began to rise, but Keri laid a hand on his arm. When Roland cast a glance at Emma he saw her face was alight with joy. He sent her a questioning look.

  “She wants to be there.”

  “How do you know?” Ryann asked, concern written across her face.

  “She asked me how to get him to take her,” Emma’s voice began strong, but trailed off under everyone’s gaze.

  “What did you say?” Roland demanded.

  Emma looked down at her hands in her lap before mumbling, “I told her to just take her clothes off.”

  Halvor choked on his laugh.

  “What?” Roland thundered.

  Emma looked up at him, her face infusing with anger. “That’s all it took for you,” she declared.

  Roland was speechless, and felt frozen to the spot as every eye turned to him.

  “Cyrille is different,” he declared, but lowered his voice.

  “She loves him,” Emma explained.

  “What?” exploded from him again.

  “I’m surprised you even had to take your clothes off for Roland,” Ryann said, and as Roland swung her way he saw the mischief in her brilliant blue eyes.

  Roland quickly glanced to Garrick, hoping the man would silence his wife, but saw there would be no help for him there.

  “Roland does like his women,” Alena responded, and Roland wanted to smack her.

  “Insatiable,” Damien declared, holding his mug up, offering him a salute.

  “Now’s not…,” Roland tried to get out.

  “He is always trying to raise some poor woman’s skirts,” Halvor chimed in, but quickly remembered the company, and cast scowls toward his sisters. “He didn’t touch any of you did he?”

  “He tried to lift mine, but I wouldn’t take them off for him,” Brenda said, and Halvor smiled because he recognized his sister was teasing. If any women in all of England were safe from Roland, it was Halvor’s sisters, because he knew the big man would kill him.

  Roland’s quick glance at Emma showed she wore a mask over her face. Was she furious, or enjoying the accusations at Roland’s expense. With Emma it could go either way.

  “How many children have you sired?” Garrick asked.

  “Enough!” Roland declared.

  “I’m curious too,” Ryann replied. “With all the women…”

  “This is not appropriate,” Roland argued.

  “Emma is bound to know how strong your appetites are. She admits to climbing into your bed,” Damien said with a smile.

  “This stops now!”

  “You have two legitimate children, how many will be coming to knock on my door with your dark blue eyes?” Ryann asked.

  “Stop!” Roland demanded.

  “Tell us how many,” Keri urged.

  “Emma is the only woman other than my wife who carries my child,” Roland screamed at them, something inside him snapping. How little they thought of him. Never could he imagine planting his seed in any woman other than Lillian and Emma. He realized his mistake when he saw the c
olor drain from Emma’s face. Unmindful every eye on the room was on him, he quickly moved to her side, kneeling beside her.

  “I’m sorry Emma. I wanted to tell you,” he said, taking her hands in his. He gripped them tightly as she stared at him. “I have two children, so I know the signs.”

  “Wh…wh.” Emma fell silent, the words not forming. She looked scared to death.

  “It will be all right, I promise you,” Roland tried to reassure her. “Please say something,” Roland urged, as a deep fear imbedded itself in him. She was unmarried with a child on the way. If she had any sense at all, she would go running to John and demand her husband and title.

  “We are going to have a child?” she finally asked. The question took him by surprise, but not as much as the wonder in her voice.

  “Yes,” he said gripping, her hands tighter. How would he ever be able to let her go?

  “Roland,” Garrick said, drawing his attention. “Though you have pledged your allegiance to Damien, I feel after all we have been through, you are also one of my men. I have a manor not far from here. It is a little too far away for my tastes, but close enough here you could still easily serve Lord Damien. It is yours.”

  “That is wonderful,” Ryann said, clapping her hands together.

  “How is that wonderful?” Marcus demanded. He stood angrily and advanced on Roland, who straightened. “You dishonor your wife by turning your back on her children. If this is the kind of man you all embrace it sickens me,” he said to the rest of them, before leaving the room.

  Roland continued to grip Emma’s hand, but all eyes left them and fell on Garrick. Garrick turned and pinned Alena with his eyes. The woman looked frightened as she frantically looked around at the people still seated at the table. Slowly she stood, as if reluctant, and left the room.

  Grace wanted to cry. After two days of her dreams coming true, Cyrille was dressing. He did not say a word as he climbed from the bed and began to don his clothes. They made love again after the man called Roland barged in. But now it was over. She should be glad she got that. It was really more than she expected, but it wasn’t enough. She had a thousand questions to ask him, but did not know where to begin. In the end she remained silent as he opened the door, stepped from the room, and closed it quietly behind him.

  Finally, she climbed from the bed and dressed in the clothes Keri gave her. The house was empty except a couple of the servants. After offering them help and being denied, Grace went out into the courtyard. The turndown did not bode well for her employment here. It was probably for the best anyway, she thought. The sun was on its descent in the sky. She was seeking out Emma, but she stood a distance away with one of the squires, apparently giving him pointers on the proper us of the crossbow in his hands. She watched them for a moment, the boy looked put out by the woman’s interruption, until she cleanly shot through the strip of cloth she managed to talk his friend into holding up. Within a moment she had a crowd of boys gathering around her. It was quite the skilled shot, Grace never saw anything like it, despite all the time she watched Cyrille on the practice field with the others.

  Grace turned away and caught sight of Roland, who she recognized from barging into Cyrille’s room. He watched Emma with a wistful smile, seeming to take in her every movement. Grace had a yearning so strong for Cyrille to look at her with such open love, it nearly knocked her down. She turned quickly away and caught the Countess’s eye. She stood with Jillian, and both their husbands. She wondered if the men were aware of their wives’ love for them. Probably not, men were complete idiots, she thought bitterly. They easily talked among themselves, with Jillian staying true to form, and saying very little. She envied the woman and her quiet reserve. Halvor looked different today, more at ease with a slight upward twist to his lips. Despite his size, he was the least intimidating of the men, now that the shock of his sister’s death was gone. She did not see the coldness in the man who stood with them. Lord Garrick was battle scarred, but she saw gentle warmth in his eyes each time he looked down at his wife. Grace discovered she envied the Countess all the more.

  Damien immerged from the corner of the Manor, followed closely by Cyrille and two of his men. Grace watched them, the way they carried themselves. There was a time Cyrille walked with cockiness in his stride, with a superior air that mirrored his brother’s. Now the way he carried himself was different. Grace could best describe it as deadly. He did not limp as badly, nor bend against the back pain. He walked with his head up, his shoulders back, and with the hood covering his head Grace saw what he wanted them to see. A man as strong as a tree, as unbreakable as a strong boulder, and as cold as a strong wind blowing from the north on a freezing winter day. But she knew why he walked this way. He saw himself as weak now, easily crushed. She wished he and everyone could see him for the man he was. Warm, intelligent, strong despite his injuries, and braver than anyone she would ever meet.

  She followed them, through one gate, around the little dwellings for the guards to give them respite from harsh conditions. She must talk to Cyrille, one last time. If he could see what she saw, she would be able to go away, maybe not happy, but feeling a little more at peace knowing there was some kind of future out there for him.

  They moved past the dwellings and further along the line between the two walls, intent on their conversation. She did not hear the horse, until it thundered through the outer gate. Until that moment she did not realize the gate stood open. Perhaps, she would have waited with the others in the courtyard if she did, there was still the danger of Warner. But she grew complacent here amongst these people, the threat nearly forgotten, until she turned and saw him barreling through the small dwellings toward her. Several men flowed through the gates on foot. Grace turned to run, casting a glance to Cyrille. All the men turned, including Cyrille. He took a step toward her, his hand already drawing his sword. He was still fast, but not fast enough to stop the hands that came down and pulled her off her feet.

  She screamed and struggled, but the hands were vices as she was slung over his lap and the horse turned. She tried to wiggle, but one hand held her down, while the other guided the horse through the outer gate. She felt the horse pick up its speed once they were on open ground. It happened so fast her head was spinning, and she thought she would vomit, but the fear kept everything within her frozen.

  Chapter 22

  Scotts Manor

  Alena’s heart beat thundered in her ears. She hoped to find Marcus in the chamber he shared with Halvor and Garrick. The arrangement left another chamber open to accommodate her, Ryann and Jillian. She didn’t mind it so much, Jillian was quiet, and Ryann seemed to always be with Garrick, so it was as if the chamber was hers alone. She was disappointed to find no one in the room. She searched the manor, albeit sluggishly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do if she found him. The thought terrified her.

  By the time she reached the courtyard, it was filled with what seemed the entire household, but no Marcus. She moved toward the stable, an uneasy feeling settling on her. She silently entered through the open doors, pausing to wait in the darkness for her eyes to adjust. “Marcus?”

  She heard him moving about before she saw him. He stood on the other side of his horse, adjusting the saddle he just placed there.

  “I need to speak with you,” Alena said, advancing to stand in the aisle where she was able to see him. He said not a word, and refused to look at her.

  “I don’t know how to do this, if I am even supposed to ask, but I am going to anyway. Will you sleep with me?”

  Marcus’s hands stilled and he stood staring at the horse, his back to her.

  “Garrick thought it would be a good idea if you did,” she hesitated, because somehow when it was said out loud, it sounded awful. “I mean we were talking…”

  “Why does he call you Lena?” Marcus asked, turning suddenly to stare at her.

  “What?”

  “Garrick. I’ve noticed he calls you Lena.”

  “I don�
�t know.”

  “Does he have a claim on you?”

  “What?” Confusion raged inside her head. She asked him such a personal question, and he was asking her about Garrick. “No. He is my friend, that is all.”

  Alena watched Marcus run his hand through his hair. It was short enough to stand up in little spikes that, for some reason, made her want to smile. “It seems you are getting quite a few of those.”

  “It would seem,” she said, annoyed he was avoiding her question. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think? I must admit I am not very thrilled that my lord has told you to bed me.” Marcus stood in the aisle, his gray-blue eyes studying her.

  “It’s not like that. It is not to be just about mating. I want you to touch me because you love me. I want to know what that is like.”

  Marcus looked annoyed at her. “I am leaving,” Marcus said, turning back to his horse.

  “Leaving? When will you return?”

  She heard him scoff, then respond, “Never.”

  “Why are you leaving?” Alena asked, stepping toward him.

  “Why would I stay?” He walked around the front of the horse to work on the other side, her view of him now hindered by the large animal.

  “Kinsey is your home.”

  “Kinsey is Garrick’s. I thought perhaps after I gave my life to Garrick he would return the favor, but he is hell bent on driving me away, so I will grant him this one final wish.”

  A yell came from the courtyard. Marcus froze. “To arms!”

  Marcus was in motion, shoving past her as she turned to move toward the door. Chaos was ensuing as they rounded the corner. It was apparent the men of the Manor were outnumbered.

  “Emma!” Roland fought fiercely nearby. His swings were powerful and frantic, as he tried to fight his way forward. Emma was on the other side of the courtyard, with the squires surrounding her, fighting a path toward the center of the courtyard. Three men, one with a spear, another with a knife, and the third a club, fought desperately to bring Roland down, before his sword could cut into them. Soldiers they were not. The courtyard was filled with such men, fighting with any manor of weapons, but swords were scarce in their arsenal. When Roland killed one, it seemed as if two took his place, and he was having no success moving toward Emma.