Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  Marcus charged at one of the enemy who was too busy circling Roland to notice the two just arrived from the stable. Marcus cleanly ran the man through, his blow quick and deadly. “Alena,” Marcus said, with the quiet command of control in his voice, despite what was happening around them. He easily tossed the dead man’s sword in her direction, before motioning her toward one side of the manor as he moved toward the other. Together they would be able to take down the men who were moving in to flank those fighting in the courtyard. As long as the men could hold their own and not become surrounded, it could mean the difference between victory and death.

  Emma reached the middle of the courtyard and was continuing on, toward the wall.

  The boys were not only fighting and protecting her, but retrieving the arrows she was shooting from her bow as they moved along. Alena was close enough to one of the men she took a swing, slicing through the back of his neck, nearly severing his head. He fell and she moved on, her eyes going back to Emma. There was purpose to her direction, Alena did not know what it was. Everything was happening so quickly she nearly panicked as she slid her blade into a man’s side. He fell as she spun away, moving slightly behind Emma now, helping the boys protect her as she moved, her arrows expertly embedding in the men who wore little, if any armor. Anyone with a chest plate got an arrow in the head, otherwise she shot them in their hearts, and as they got close enough, a boy would run forward, pull the arrow out, and return it so Emma did not run out of arrows as they moved.

  They reached the other end of the courtyard and Alena thought Emma would turn and move toward the continuing battle, but the boys parted, and the redhead hiked up her skirts, and raced up the wall’s steps.

  They took her. Emma heard the story from Keri, what the other women went through with Warner, and how Grace played a key part in the rescue that saw the Countess Ryann to safety. The first yell Emma heard was a warning, “He’s taken her!” followed quickly by “To arms!” as the intruders began to attack. Emma noticed Grace followed after the men a few moments ago, and could only guess the man who grabbed her was Warner. The men who fought she knew right off were not soldiers. She grew up around rebels who fought in the back woods. They were fighters who would never be able to hold their own in the open against real soldiers. Though they were many in number, there was little chance they would be victorious here. But they weren’t after the Manor, they were bought to keep everyone busy while Warner got away with Grace.

  Emma reached the stone wall and raised her bow. They were already near the distance of her arrow. She took an extra moment to track the fleeing horse, before she let her arrow fly. It hung in the air for eternity, before embedding itself in the man’s back. He arched backward, then fell from the horse, taking Grace with him. Both lay still and the yells below her brought her around to see the line of men at the gates, one of which was Grace’s Cyrille. She shot three of the men they fought, with her three remaining arrows. She cast a glance to the road and the horse who was taking the opportunity to flee, and the two figures that remained still. The thought ran through Emma’s mind she killed Grace. The horse was moving fast, the fall could have broken her neck. She turned and fled along the wall, back to the bottom of the steps. Some of the boys moved away, helping the men, but Alena took command of those remaining and helped them retrieve the arrows, as she took down man after man with her sword skill.

  The closest boy held up three arrows. Emma quickly took them, loading one, and turning her aim toward the gate. They moved quickly toward the opening. The men of Scotts Manor were beginning to even the odds. The poorly armed men had little chance, and within a moment the path to the gate was clear. Emma threw the bow to one of the boys, hiked up her skirts, and ran toward the two figures still lying prone on the ground. When she reached them it was to find Grace lying quietly beside Warner. Warner’s eyes were open, staring off into nothing, his chest still, he was dead. Grace on the other still breathed. Her eyes were closed, but her chest was still rising and falling. Emma bent to touch her hand, it was still warm. She lifted it, tugging and shaking, to get her friend to come out of whatever held her unconscious.

  “Grace!” so much fear resided in the woman’s name as Cyrille stiffly knelt beside them. He reached a hand out to touch her face, it shook as he touched her with such sweet gentleness Emma wondered if the other woman could feel it. “Grace.”

  Then Roland was there, his arm slipping around her as she knelt, wondering what to do. She did not have to turn to know it was him, she just knew.

  “Let’s get her back to the Manor,” Roland said, reaching for her.

  Cyrille nearly growled as he blocked the man’s arms, and leaning forward, gathered Grace in his arms, and stood with her. The effort was a painful one for him, Emma and Roland both saw this, but they knew there would be no reasoning with the man where Grace was concerned.

  The courtyard was eerily quiet when they returned. Bodies lay about and she could smell their blood. Emma turned away and followed closely behind Cyrille, with Roland at her side. Emma felt like protesting when Cyrille passed the other chambers to take her to his. It was farther from everything, making the care of her all that more difficult, but she didn’t dare mention it.

  He laid her upon his bed stiffly, his body not moving fluidly as someone else might, but he accomplished the task. “I need water,” Emma said, moving forward. Her aim was to place herself between Cyrille and Grace, so she could tend to her, but Cyrille refused to budge.

  “Bring it to me,” he said, as he stared down at her through the one slit in his hood. Emma knew without a doubt he was not a man to be disobeyed. She turned away with Roland dogging her steps, as she left the chamber.

  Many of Damien’s men were alerted to the attack, and though they were too late for defending the Manor, they were in time to help with the removal of the bodies. Despite the extra hands, the task of removing the bodies for burning outside the walls took all afternoon, and the sun was beginning to slip over the horizon by the time the torches lit the fuel stacked beneath them. Marcus’s opportunity to leave disappeared, and he had no choice but to wait until the following morning. He wasn’t happy about that, and as everyone gathered for a late meal, he considered skipping it, but his stomach protested at the thought.

  “How is Grace?” Keri asked, as Emma and Roland entered the room behind him.

  “I do not know. Cyrille will let no one else near her. She still breaths, that is all I know,” Emma replied, taking her seat.

  Marcus slid into his and looked at the faces around him. Alena was missing, along with Cyrille and Grace. His eyes landed on Garrick, who returned the gaze. Marcus wanted to put his fist into the man’s face, because he gave no indication of what he was thinking. His black eyes were their usual cold orbs, and his face was chiseled from granite.

  “Where’s Lena?” Garrick finally asked.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Marcus responded with irritation. “I’m not her keeper.”

  “I had something to say and I hoped she would be here.”

  Marcus shrugged his indifference, as he took a bite of his food, trying to ignore Garrick as his irritation increased.

  “The Countess and I will be leaving Scotts Manor in the morning,” Garrick announced, as he stood on his feet, commanding everyone’s attention. “We will not be returning to Kinsey, but making our home at Kilkenny.” All eyes watched Garrick, but no one spoke. “Ryann misses her home and the comforts there. I feel it is the least I can do now that she carries my child.” Garrick’s face transformed before Marcus, and despite the many years of knowing him, and calling him friend as well as lord, never did he see the proud triumph light his face as it was now.

  “That is wonderful,” Keri said, standing to move to her friend’s side and hugging Ryann. Congratulations went up around the room. There was a time Marcus would be thrilled for Garrick, but there seemed to be a seed of bitterness growing within him.

  “I have told no one this, other than my wife,�
� Garrick began, his eyes falling on Marcus, pinning him to his chair. “When the messenger’s came from the King, I sent a petition to him seeking to turn Kinsey keep and all its land back over to the Kinsey family. I also asked that he return the title of Lord of Kinsey to Marcus as well. The title served me well, as did the man who bore it before me, and it is the least I can do to return it to my loyal friend.”

  Marcus could not swallow, Garrick’s gaze would not allow it. The food lodged in his throat, along with a thousand thoughts. It was a strange feeling, the bitterness and anger directed at Garrick was shedding from him as he thought of what Garrick was saying. The messengers left while Garrick was still in his throws of anger. No wonder the man’s reaction was so disconcerting, and threw Marcus into the chaotic confusion within his own mind. It was unlike Garrick to hold his emotions out for all to see, whether it was love or hate, he kept it well hidden. To suddenly become otherwise, was more frightening than anything Marcus experienced with the man. And he realized it was Garrick’s punishment for leaving him out of the loop with Ryann’s kidnapping. It wasn’t a dismissal, but a cold shoulder to protect Marcus’s life, he now thought, because if Garrick was truly as angered as he acted, nothing would stop the man’s blade from cutting him down.

  With the sudden confusion of loosing Garrick’s support leaving him, his mind immediately filled with the thought of Alena again. “What of Alena?”

  “What of her?” Garrick asked, taking his seat again. He wanted to ask Garrick why he sent her to him to bed her. What did it matter to him? But he still held everyone’s attention, so the words froze before he could ask.

  “This doesn’t affect Alena,” Garrick said offhandedly. “Not really. With the rest of us settling into our own lives, I think we all know we have no place for a woman like Alena. I wish to reward Otto, my armorer for his service, and he has agreed to take Lena with him to the piece of land near the Cotswolds.”

  “But that land has no structures, it is nothing but woods and marsh,” Marcus stated, unsure how the piece of property could be useful to anyone.

  “It will be useful for the timber. Otto, will build himself a little dwelling there.”

  A picture of Alena’s future flashed in Marcus’s mind. Otto was a big burly man with a temper. He did so well as the armorer because everyone who worked under him was afraid of him. He lay a poker up beside one of his young apprentice’s face when he dropped the sword he was moving from the fires to be honed, onto the stone floor, making it necessary to restart the process. He was also a filthy man, who despite his hours among the hot fires needed to ply his trade, did not see the necessity of a bath. Marcus thought by the smell of him permeating his shop it was indeed never.

  “You truly mean to marry her to Otto?”

  “Goodness no. Everyone knows who Alena was before she came here. She is only the reward that makes the property more appealing. Once he tires of her it will be up to her to do what she wants.”

  “Has she agreed to this?” Marcus asked, knowing Alena would not agree to such a thing.

  “Hardly. We are talking about Otto, but he can control her.”

  Marcus doubted that, no matter how big of a brute Otto was. Marcus hesitated a moment before standing. Alena asked him into her bed. Not really the way he imagined it in his own head, but he supposed the end result was the same if one took out the romance and love. He couldn’t just take her to his bed, that was how bastards were made. He knew what a stigma that was, and he would not have his child carrying it. He stood and left the room.

  He found Alena in the room she shared with the other women. She sat alone, curled in a chair next to the fire, the warmth appeared close to making her doze off. As he entered her head snapped around and she glared at him. “Do you not know how to knock?”

  “I do, but I thought you might refuse me entrance.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Marcus shrugged as he moved toward her. Her place by the hearth brought the memory of him leaving her behind at Kinsey rushing back on him, with it came the unknown, and he hesitated in mid stride, stopping a couple paces away from her.

  Alena looked puzzled, slightly annoyed, but she unwound her legs and stood. The green blanket draped about her shoulders deepened the green of her eyes, the fire lit her glowing black hair as if it was on fire. “What is wrong?” she finally asked.

  “Garrick has given Kinsey back to me. King John may even grant me my title.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Alena declared, her face lighting with her genuine joy at his fortune.

  “I came to take you up on your earlier offer.” She stared at him for a moment, her eyes moving over him. Slowly she let the blanket slide from her hands and to the floor. Beneath it she wore a plain tunic, but its dark color only deepened the shadows of her face, her eyes, and her lips.

  It took all his control to keep himself where he was. “I must marry you first.”

  “Why?” she asked. Her direct, bold gaze made him nervous.

  “I will not have my child a bastard.”

  “All those times I was with Ghalib, he never got me with child. I may not be able to have any. He fathered many on his other women.”

  Rage jumped into his heart for the man who touched her before him. “It does not matter. There is still a chance. Even without children, I would marry you.”

  “I am offering no such commitments.”

  Marcus stood straighter, “But I am demanding them from you. I already love you, but can still walk away. If I take you, I will no longer have that ability.”

  Alena stood watching him for a moment before she bent and grabbing the bottom of her tunic, she lifted it over her head. He concentrated on her face, even when the material blocked it from him as she drew it over her head, he refused to waver. He knew she stood before him nude, he could see it, though he tried desperately not to. Her body was so flawless, it made him want to weep in the presence of God’s perfection.

  Alena walked forward, making Marcus tilt his head to look down at her in order to retain his gaze locked to her face. Desire like he never thought possible slammed through him, and he suddenly understood the men who raped. The only think that held him back was the fear she would run from him afterward. Despite her boldness now, she needed gentleness, a lifetime of it, and he could not give it to her if she took him to bed only this once. Once he felt her arms wrapped around him and himself embedded in her, he would never be able to look back. He would be forever her pawn, and it would only be acceptable if they were a united team with an unbreakable bond between them.

  She lifted a hand to reach for him. He took a sudden step back on an intake of breath. He turned away quickly, close to exploding with a desire that was quickly turning to rage. “Dear God Alena!” he yelled at her, as he crossed to the other side of the room. “I am only a man! What is wrong with you?” His voice suddenly changed to pleas as he turned, his hands held out, palms up, as if he was ready to beg her understanding, “Do you not get that? I am but a man.”

  “I’m sorry Marcus,” she whispered. He strained to hear her. Despite the logic thundering for notice inside his head, he moved toward her. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. I was broken and I don’t know if I will ever not be.”

  “Why won’t you marry me?” he stopped, still out of her reach, but he could not pull his eyes from her in all her glory. The fire glowed off her skin and he fought the desire to close the distance. He watched her swallow, and he wanted to kiss the delicate skin at her throat.

  “You scare me because you love me so much. How can I possibly return something so strong?”

  Marcus moved swiftly toward her. He took her bare arms in his hands, pinning them to her side as he brought his lips down on hers. He did not demand, but caressed her soft lips gently, allowing the tip of his tongue to caress the crease where her lips pressed together. She gasped and he sealed his lips over hers, demanding another gasp, as he suckled her upper and lower lips alternately. His tongue felt the soft
fullness of her lips as it caressed in and out, stroking her lips to expel another gasp, followed by a moan, as he released her arms and gently wrapped his around her waist. He did not crush her, but he caged her, his arms he would not yield if she wanted away from him now.

  He felt the softness of her ribcage as his arms wrapped around her. She felt far smaller wrapped in his arms than she did with her proud stance, the way she carried herself with such confidence. Feeling her frailness now, was as surprising as the first time he held her. It suddenly occurred to him she still did not answer him. He wanted an answer. He convinced himself he needed an answer before he had her, but it did not matter now. He would forever belong to her, if she wanted him or not.

  He raised his arms so he could plunge his hands into her hair, while still holding her against him. His fingers closed over a handful, gripping gently, adding firmer friction, his teeth now gently nibbled and as another gasp escaped her he pulled her head back, released her lips, and suckled her neck. Her hips swayed into him, and suddenly he felt he lost control of the situation. His hand left the back of her head to land on her hips, pulling her closer. He quickly moved her backward so her legs collided with the bed. She fell backward and he was ready, coming down on top of her while using his strength to pull her upward, until she was spread across the bed.

  His lips hungrily moved downward, and clamped over a nipple. She bucked against him, her fingers digging into his scalp as she tried to pull him away at the same time she writhed under him. She was fighting what he was making her feel. She was not frightened entirely, but he felt the tenseness returning to her body. He let go of her nipple long enough to take both her hands and gently pen them beneath him, before running his palm across her nipple. She stared at him until the friction of the action made her hips buck upward slightly. He bent his head and as he took the breast in his hand, his mouth closed back over it. His tongue caressed the tip before he sucked it into his mouth. She moaned loudly, writhing more.