Angie Arms - Flame Series 03

by The Darkest Flame

  Garrick watched her and as soon as she freed herself from the memory, he leaned toward her. “Shh. Shh. Shhhhh,” he soothed, the last came out against her lips. With feather lightness his tongue came out to caress the skin on her broken lips. His eyes held hers, and she was mesmerized by the restraint he exhibited. She could feel the power coiled in him, but it was with utmost care his lips caressed hers. When he pulled away she felt the loss, and wanted him close again.

  His eyes were again on her wound and when he touched her, she didn’t flinch away. He worked with excruciating slow gentleness, and upon reaching the end that disappeared beneath the rob he reached his hand out and slowly pulled the material away, and Ryann couldn’t help but tremble as the back of his knuckles collided with the skin on her upper arm. “Shhh,” he soothed, as his eyes sought hers again. A heartbeat passed before his eyes fell away, and were looking at the scratches and the breasts he uncovered. She watched him as he looked at her, at the damage rough hands did to her, the bruises and cuts. Had he lifted his eyes to hers then the sob would have been torn from her, but he only moved to coat his fingers in the salve and slowly worked it into the marred skin. She felt each touch of his fingers beside her breast, on them, and a sigh escaped her. She watched Garrick’s jaw tighten and his hand paused, his eyes raising toward hers, but never reaching them. He stared at the space between her breasts and her neck for several moments, before dropping his gaze again to the task at hand. When he finished he reached out and gently pulled the robe back onto her shoulders, closing it around her neck.

  His eyes met hers and they were again the calculating eyes of a warrior. “Come,” he said, standing and reaching a hand out to her. “You can wed in the robe and we’ll finish after the vows.”

  With Garrick’s support, Ryann made it to the chapel. The ceremony was a blur, the words streaming together as she looked upon the man that became her husband. He stood tall in his armor, an impenetrable force beside her, but she knew beneath the cloak of invincibility he was but a man. A man that was hers to care for now. Had anyone ever taken care of Garrick? She hadn’t noticed before, but she saw fatigue etched around his eyes, darkening them, his shoulders drooped ever so slightly, but she suspected only she detected this, because this was her husband, and suddenly she felt destiny pulling her toward him. Perhaps it had been her fate all along to be bound to this man. It was fate that kept up her delaying tactics, fate that finally killed Lenox to clear the way for Garrick. She would send word for a bath to be prepared, along with food and ale as soon as the ceremony ended.

  When the priest proclaimed them husband and wife the pair turned from the altar and Ryann couldn’t help but think Garrick was a better choice, if she was given a choice. In a whisper she sent Alena to see to the arrangements for Garrick’s comfort, and all too shortly they were walking back to her chamber, their chamber. He walked with his arm extended down her back, his hand resting on her hip as he guided her, or kept her from running. Would he expect to bed her tonight? The thought horrified her. There was nowhere he could touch her without sending pain and a flood of memories over her. The only reason his kiss and touch had not repelled her was because of the gentleness of it. Could he be that gentle when he took her body as his wife? From her experience, limited as it was, she did not think so.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Garrick felt the falter in her step and wondered what caused it, what thought crept into her mind and took her away from him for that brief span of time. He craved to be away, craved to have Stroud‘s blood dripping from his sword for the pain he caused Ryann, for taking what was his. But he also had a need to stay with his wife, to treat her wounds, to heal her and wait patiently for the day he could have her and wash away her memory of the other men. How many women had he left with the same bitter memory, the bruises and cuts on their bodies because he took them with his violent anger? It did not matter they were whores, because they were still women. He knew there were many more cuts to put the salve on. He knew her thighs would have many, he knew because he forced many apart to allow him entry into the unwilling, for despite payment some whores still did not like lying with him. His mind told him he needed to go ahead and take her as the other men had, to show her he was no better than them, that he was worse. He was wasn’t he? There was no gain except his own pleasure when he bought the other women, they were not pawns in a show of power, they were for his pleasure and once he had found it, he had tossed them to the side and forgot them. How many? Countless women since he began taking the power he so craved. It wasn’t as if the faithful wives who cared for their husbands, bore their children had not been hard to deny, for he knew they could hold great pleasure for him. They did not carry with them the smell of dozens of men, but the smell of their homes, of their labors to care for their husbands and children. But in the end they all hated him, and he found pleasure in that as well. He welcomed the all consuming emotion as these women looked at him, it insured him he was not going soft, that he did not crave the simple life of family and hearth over one of death and destruction. His men saw the marks he left on his whores and it bolstered them, encouraged them that their leader was one of them. When they saw the hate, they knew their lord was not weak, that he took what he wanted and if they followed him, they could too. That was why his army was undefeatable. They lived it. They breathed it.

  By the time they reached her chamber door he made up his mind to take Ryann tonight. She would rise on the morrow with the story of his brutishness, with the memory of him and his rough hands, and not the memory of Stroud and his men. When he entered the chamber the smell of the food and steaming tub made him pause.

  “I thought you might enjoy a bath and something for your stomach,” she replied, hesitating beside him. He looked down at her and mingled with his usual coldness, was a look of surprise, and perhaps a little gratitude.

  Garrick decided then that he would leave her be. Her thoughtfulness touched him and it occurred to him this was his wife, the woman who would bare his children, and take care of his home, of him.

  “I have to join my men in the morning.” Garrick said.

  “Stroud?” she asked, taking a step to stand in front of him. Garrick nodded and stepped around her, moving toward the hearth. “Is it because of me?”

  Garrick turned and watched her as she came to him. “It’s because he took something from me. Now I will take something from him.”

  She did not doubt he referred to the other man’s life, and that knowledge released something in her. She stared at this big man, his brawn and frigid stare made a shiver race up her spine. This man would shoulder the burden of her hate, pain, fury, and frustration from then on. Suddenly she saw her husband in an all new light, saw him for the warrior he was. He would be her avenging angel. Not one of those men who harmed her would live. The pain and loss Stroud’s men heaped on her left her. All she was left with was a desire to make his time here comforting.

  He turned and knocked the chair by the hearth over onto its back and she jumped. She began to back away when he turned the fire tools over in their rack, kicking them across the room with his foot, and scattering them. He went to one of the tapestries and ripped it from the wall. But his actions grew stranger when he pulled his dagger and cut the back of his hand. He bent and smeared the blood onto the tapestry that lay in a heap. Her virgin’s blood? She had the overwhelming urge to go to him and wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. She knew what the name bastard did to a child, after all, she had numerous running about the keep. She would be forever grateful to this man, because if she carried a child, it would not grow up with that stigma.

  “What is your first desire?” she asked, and only when he looked at her sharply with a look filled with such raw lust that she felt fear creep into her.

  He was one stride from her and covered that distance in a flash. He didn’t touch her as he leaned over her, his face a breath away from her ear. The scent of her hair as it cupped his face next to her cheek nearly sent him recklessly over t
he edge, but he pushed it reluctantly away. “The only reason you will not lay under me tonight is because I must rest,” he whispered this, as if he was telling her something in confidence in a room where they were alone.

  He straightened, looked into her eyes for a moment, calculating, his cold scrutiny made her weary. Then he walked behind her, his arm gently rubbing against her as he moved behind her, around her. He came to a stop at her shoulder and as he leaned himself into her, she knew he felt her shudder. “Shhh,” he said ever so quietly, his breath fanning over her ear. She willed her body to quiet. “I will kill Stroud and every man who touched you. When you do lay under me, you will forget their touch.” His whisper trailed off, and she felt his breath on her shoulder the robe bared. Then she felt his lips, their gentle caress followed by his tongue. For the briefest of moments she felt his teeth graze her skin, and she started at the flop in the pit of her stomach.

  “Shhhh,” he said, his head raising and caressing upward so she felt every soft wave of his hair as it tickled its way up her neck, her cheek. “You will only know me.”

  He rose to his full height. “Help me from my armor. I will bath,” he said, giving her his back as he moved closer to the hearth.

  She helped him from the mail and hauberk, then began to turn shyly away and took a seat across the hearth from the tub, her body suddenly weak. Garrick shed his shirt, his bare chest was chiseled out of stone, the muscles rippling across his chest and abdomen as he moved, his eyes boring into Ryann’s as she watched him. Emboldened, he unfastened his braies and pushed them downward to pool at his feet. He smiled when her eyes travelled down in a plain perusal of his body. When her eyes finally lifted to his, she saw the humor in his eyes and she arched a brow in a challenge, and he smiled ever so briefly before turning toward the tub. She dozed in the chair while he bathed. She knew she dozed for when she awoke Garrick was wrapping a sheet around himself, and looking at her.

  “Go to bed,” he ordered. “I will eat then join you there.” Stiffly she stood from the chair, and going to the bed, gently climbed underneath the covers turning her back to him. The last thing she knew was the sinking feeling as her body tiredly settled onto the mattress as her eyes closed heavily against the candlelight in the chamber.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “What’s this?” Garrick demanded reaching the courtyard to see his wife already mounted, with Christopher also mounted and waiting by her side.

  “I’m going with you to get Daley.”

  “You are doing no such thing,” Garrick said, striding angrily toward her, knowing full well everyone gathered watched them. “A battle is no place for a woman,” he declared with finality.

  “And a lord’s bedchamber is not place for a young defenseless boy.”

  “I’m telling you for the last time to get off that horse,” he said, his voice rising. Did she really think she would be going with him he wondered, as she sat defiantly on top of her horse? Not a lady’s palfrey, but a full grown sleek gelding that looked like he could race the wind. That this horse could outrun any danger had been another mistake Marcus made, allowing her only to leave the keep on a lady’s mount.

  Garrick learned his wife had two passions in her sheltered life, rescuing orphans and working with the two rescued horses. One was the gelding near death from starvation, she brought him home and after nursing him to health, discovered his strength. The other horse, a destrier, a black stallion beaten, starved and nearly crazy with hatred for his knight, she bought him and somehow got the crazy out of him, and he was now gentle enough for her to handle. After hearing this tale, Garrick went to the stable and admired the massive stallion, his magnificent body marred by the scars of battle, and patted the side of his head when he pressed it to the bars of his stall. He felt ridiculous, but it gave him a fleeting flash of hope that all was not lost for his own battle scarred soul.

  In two quick strides he was to her, and despite her effort to pull away, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her off the back of her horse. He pulled her against him so she slid down the front of his body, before her feet hit the ground.

  “Why do you not obey me?” he asked with some astonishment, as he held her against himself.

  “I cannot sit here while Daley is in trouble. You will be there to protect me,” she said, with a great deal of calm. He looked down into her battered face. Everyone must think he did that to her, he had been sure to send that message out with Marcus and Christopher. A small part of him was bothered by this necessity, because he came to realize he could never raise a hand against her, even if she did not obey him. He did not know why, and was still trying to come to terms with this. He wished he could show everyone this side of him that wasn’t the monster, but he could not and remain in control.

  “You are injured and we need to move with all do haste. You will only slow us down.”

  “Not with Fleet.”

  His arms tightened around her, he felt her stiffen from fear, and he guessed the pain it created in her bruised body. She tried to pull away, but he leaned close, his mouth coming to her ear, “Shhh,” he crooned softly. As soon as he felt her body relax, he eased his grip, but kept her trapped, bringing a hand up to her hair, plunging it deep to the scalp.

  “I will not be able to do what I need with you nearby. You are my wife I yearn to claim, but I cannot touch.”

  She pushed herself away but only far enough to look up at him. She reached a tentative hand to Garrick’s face and touched one of the scars there lightly. “I fear for you, for the man you don’t let me know, the man who holds me now, gently so he does not hurt me. That is a man I want to know. You are my husband,” she said cupping his scared cheek in her hand. “I must go with you, as surely as I must go for Daley.”

  At her touch Garrick felt himself softening. He released his hold on her and she did not skitter away, but remained close, touching his face, his scars. When he was young and first gathered his power and riches, women vied for his attention, flocked to his bed. Now they ran in fear, cringed at his scars and reputation, except this woman who stood before him.

  Without another word he lifted her and sat her back on her horse. He felt the need to tell Christopher to not leave her side, but refrained knowing Christopher already knew his duty. Surprise lit Ryann’s eyes when he stepped back and looked up at her. She presented him with a slight bow and a radiant smile.

  Garrick turned away, tamping down the urge to return that smile. The urge fled when he saw Winford mounted as well as Alena. Ryann followed his gaze.

  “Winford refused to be left, and Alena can help heal any injuries that might ensue.”

  Garrick stepped back to his bride in name only, gritting his teeth. “Lena has no healing abilities,” he immediately saw this did not sway his bride. “Are you aware Winford is just a boy and can be made to obey?”

  Her head went up a notch, and her defiance flashed in her eyes. “I am aware he is a young man whose friend is in grave danger.”

  “This is war madam, not a parade.”

  “If you would forbid him to ride with us, what message will that send to our people of loyalty?”

  He scowled at her, but turned and strode purposely to Malik. Throughout the day he couldn’t help but feel as if his control was spiraling away. Never before had he had a child ride with him against forces. The only women who travelled with them was Alena, because she was Marcus’s woman and he wanted her safe, and Una because she was crazy as a bat and could not be left to follow. Perhaps Una would find her a home in Kilkenny, and her mind could begin to mend. She suffered greatly at the hands of his warriors and survived as few did. One minute she hated Garrick, and the next she was begging and pleading for him not to leave her behind. His men had lost interest in her, but Garrick had to wonder if most of her craziness was just an act. She seemed to have performed her job with Ryann well enough, a sign she had not lost all her senses. Suddenly gardening struck him. Kilkenny had a number of luscious flower beds that made the keep look grande
r than any of Garrick’s. Perhaps tending those would make Una happy, something outside of the walls, but still within his protection. When he returned he would have to ask her.

  Garrick swore under his breath. If it wasn’t his wife filling his thoughts it was one of the other women who recently wiggled their way into his life. Why was life intent on giving him the responsibility of other people’s lives? Here he was riding for Stroud’s head, and not just for revenge, but to release Daley from his clutches. Garrick knew of men like him, preferring boys over the soft body of a woman, and he never understood them. If all parties were willing he guessed it to be none of his business, but for Daley the horror he must be facing drove Garrick a little faster.

  When dusk was coming swiftly Garrick called his troops to a halt. There was a flourish of activity as they went about setting up camp. He put Winford in charge of seeing to the ladies’ comfort, thereby freeing him of the chore, but he found as he went about his own tasks, his eyes were often drawn to Ryann. He found it disturbing that he did not have to search the many people to locate her, but knew where she was at all times. It was as if his body honed in on hers. By the time darkness over took them, Winford had gathered pine boughs and lord knew what else, to fashion into beds for the two women.

  Before the men he put in charge of feeding the masses completed their task, he saw Ryann sought her bed and was fast asleep, despite the noise going on about camp. Winford sat loyally by her side, apparently providing comfort that he would be watching over her as she slept. Garrick knew she needed food to sustain her, but he also knew she needed rest, so left her to the latter, knowing food could come later. He searched out Marcus and found him ignoring his task of setting up the guards for the night and stood with Alena, her midnight hair blazing in the light of the many campfires. He watched his second in command, a man who despite it all, never changed from the optimistic knight who first joined his ranks. Garrick guessed it was because he didn’t bear the scars of battle and the pain that made him wish more than once for his own death.