The Devil's Fire

by Sara Bell

  Gareth left the king's chambers a moment later, feeling more uneasy now than when Holden had delivered his warning. It seemed he was starting to believe in curses, after all. If ever a man was hexed, he was.

  * * * *

  Alric stood on the balcony, watching as Gareth of Lachlan walked back across the great hall. The man was even more glorious than their moonlight encounter had led Alric to believe.

  Gareth was tall, with close-cropped hair the color of golden sand and a strong profile that spoke of confidence and power. Alric wondered what it would be like to be possessed by such a man, to be touched by those wide, long-fingered hands.

  Pushing himself away from the railing, Alric shook his head to clear it of foolish notions. No man would ever really want him again, least of all a man like Gareth. Once the truth of what he was came to light, Alric would either be used as before or cast aside. He was hard pressed to tell which fate was worse, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

  * * * *

  An hour after his meeting with Kray, Gareth stood in the sun-dappled courtyard with Tristam by his side, the two of them waiting for the ceremony to start.

  "Are you certain the only reason Kray gave for having the ceremony today was the risk that Denmar might be coming here?"

  With the toe of his boot, Gareth kicked a stone towards the makeshift alter of rose vines and ivy. “As sure as I was the first three times you asked me that question."

  "Sorry.” Tristam ran his fingers through his hair. “I just can't believe Kray's insisting on having the wedding today. ‘Tis usual to have at least a week of prenuptial celebration before the speaking of the vows."

  "Kray is wise enough to know I'd get out of this if I could,” Gareth said. “Perhaps he wants me wed to his son before I think of a way to save myself."

  Before Tristam had time to respond, the priest approached them. The old man wore the hooded saffron robes of the Burl order and carried an ewer of water in his hands.

  He bowed to Tristam, then turned to Gareth. “Lord Lachlan, I take it?” At Gareth's nod, the priest said, “I'm Father Arden. If you'll follow me, I'll see you sanctified before the vows."

  Gareth left Tristam standing near the altar and followed the priest to a quiet alcove a fair distance from the courtyard. Arden administered the sanctification rites, then asked Gareth if he had anything he needed to confess. Gareth thought long and hard about confessing that he'd rather be picked apart by wild beasts than get married, but in the end he decided against it. He had a feeling Father Arden was simply asking because he had to, not because he really cared to know.

  As soon as Arden was done, he instructed Gareth to say his prayers to The Creator and then left him alone in the alcove. Gareth muttered a few memorized verses and then turned to go back into the courtyard proper. Not until he heard a loud grunt did Gareth realize he'd run headlong into someone else.

  Gareth reached down to help the man to his feet. Instead, he found himself staring into the most captivating gray eyes he'd ever seen. Eyes like liquid silver.

  Those same eyes danced with mischief as they looked up into Gareth's. “I'm beginning to think this is how we're to start all our meetings."

  That voice. Gareth knew it instantly, recognizing the husky timbre and rich quality.

  Alric of Kray sat in full daylight, no shadows to hide his slightly crooked nose or the chiseled angles of his face. He hoisted himself aright, brushing the grass from his hose with his fingertips.

  He stood almost as tall as Gareth, and not even the lightless black hue of his clothing could hide the sculpted lines of his muscular body.

  Alric smiled when he caught Gareth staring at him. “Don't tell me one solid knock has rendered you senseless?"

  "No.” Gareth shook his head, more to clear it than to disagree. “I was searching for a way to apologize yet again for pummeling you to the ground."

  Alric laughed. “No harm done.” He pushed wayward strands of midnight hair away from his face. “If your aim is to get me flat on my back, I know of much easier ways to go about it."

  Images flashed in Gareth's mind then, pictures of heated flesh and bodies entwined. He stepped back involuntarily, unable to understand or accept the unwelcome effect this man had over him. “I assure you, I had no such intent."

  "As I said, no harm done.” If Alric took offense to Gareth's curt response, he didn't show it. “Father Arden bade me fetch you. He's ready to start the ceremony whenever you are."

  Gareth nodded and was about to follow Alric to the altar when a horn sounded from close by.

  Alric tensed. “The alarm. Only an approaching enemy would cause the horns to sound today.” He made for the courtyard.

  Gareth matched Alric stride for stride as they wound their way back through the bailey. “Does Kray have many enemies?"

  Alric shook his head. “I can think of but two.” He might have said more had the King of Kray not chosen that moment to come barreling from the castle.

  Kray's face was a ghastly shade. “'Tis Denmar. He's been spotted on the ridge, and with him a full contingent."

  Tristam came to stand beside them. “The scum dares interrupt the union of our heirs, and with an army, no less?” His eyes flashed hatred. “If ‘tis a battle he's after, I say we give it to him."

  "War is not his intent.” Alric's lips fell into a grim line. “He's sending me a message."

  Gareth wasn't certain what those words meant, but the tone of Alric's voice chilled him to the marrow. The cold dread intensified when Alric said, “Father, go back to your rooms and have the healer take a look at you. I'll handle Denmar."

  "I'll not have you riding out to confront that mongrel.” Kray shook his head with violence enough to rattle his teeth. “Let the soldiers deal with him."

  "No. ‘Tis me he's after.” Without giving his father a chance to argue further, Alric headed for the stables.

  Tristam looked to Gareth, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Surely we aren't going to allow Denmar to come and go without giving him our own personal greeting?"

  Gareth's smile was pure malice. “I wouldn't dream of it."

  "Only remember your promise to me, brother.” Tristam took hold of Gareth's arm. “You cannot claim vengeance against Denmar for Kiel's death. Not until all is in place."

  "I'll keep my vow unless Denmar proves foolish enough to challenge me.” Gareth salivated at the thought. “If that happens I'll slit the whoreson's throat and not think twice about it."

  Tristam didn't answer, nor did Gareth expect him to. For the moment, nothing else needed to be said.

  * * * *

  By the time the horses were saddled, Denmar had reached the castle wall. Clad in mail and fully armed, Alric—flanked by an equally protected Gareth and Tristam—led an even mixture of Kray and Drystan's soldiers toward the gates.

  Gareth rode at Alric's left, his head full of questions. Alric had said that Denmar was after him, but why and to what purpose? His unease grew when they came to the gates and Wycaster, the captain of Kray's guard, rode up beside Alric.

  "Prince Alric, I must advise against this.” Wycaster's face was obscured by his helmet, but the man's worry was apparent.

  "Your concern is noted,” Alric said, “but ‘tis my choice to make."

  "As you wish, my prince.” Wycaster bowed his head, then turned his horse back into position. “You've only to say the word and my guards will step in."

  Alric nodded, then gave the signal for the watch commander to open the gates. Once the chore was done, Alric kicked his horse forward and led the way out.

  Denmar sat astride a roan stallion several paces from where the rest of his men waited. His wiry body was leaned forward on the horse, alert and ready. He was clad in mail but wore no headgear, exposing the wicked flash of his dark eyes. He looked exactly the same as he had the last time Gareth had seen him save for one thing: his right cheek was marred from eye to chin with the crisp red aftermath of a burn.

  Alric edge
d his horse forward until he and Denmar were a stone's throw apart. Gareth and Tristam were right with him, swords at the ready. Denmar gave both Tristam and Gareth a nod of acknowledgment, but his soulless eyes remained fastened on Alric.

  "Greetings, sweet prince.” Denmar's sneer made mockery of the endearment. “When I came to pay my respects to you and Lord Lachlan, I never expected to receive a personal audience. To what do I owe this honor?"

  Gareth was about to say something, but Tristam gave a subtle shake of his head, the message clear: Denmar was Alric's to deal with.

  "Your respects—such that they are—have been noted.” Alric looked Denmar in the eye. “Now I suggest you leave my land before I get the impression you're here to make trouble."

  "Is that anyway to greet me?” Denmar snaked his tongue over the top of his white teeth. “I remember a time when you craved my company."

  A muscle in Alric's jaw twitched. “Leave now, Lord Denmar, ere I call my army to deal with you."

  "So formal, calling me by my title as if we were nothing more than passing acquaintances. There was a time when you called me Lucien, or have you forgotten?” Denmar lowered his voice, though he kept up enough volume so all could hear. “'Twas always such a sweet sound when you called my name, especially when we were beneath the blankets together."

  Gareth jerked back as if slapped, then trained wide, unbelieving eyes on Alric. “What's this he says?"

  Before Alric could reply, Denmar said, “You mean Alric didn't tell you?” A smile played across his lips. “Alric, you wound me."

  Just the possibility of what Denmar was implying made Gareth ill. “Are you claiming to be Alric's lover?"

  "Lovers? Of course not.” Denmar's smile widened into a chilling grin. “Alric was my husband rightly wed."

  Chapter Four

  Alric wanted nothing more than for the ground to open and swallow him whole. He could tell by the look on Gareth's face that he hadn't known about Alric's marriage to Denmar. He swallowed. There'd be time enough to deal with Gareth later. Now's task was to rid himself of Denmar.

  "Was is right,” Alric said. “I was your husband, before the High Council annulled the marriage for the ill-formed abomination it was.” He narrowed his eyes. “I suggest you leave now before I lose my temper."

  Denmar caught Alric's meaning at once, but he wasn't cowed. “We both know that will never happen, don't we?” He folded his hands over the stallion's neck. “You would never attack a man who poses you no threat."

  Denmar's very existence was a threat and they both knew it. Alric lifted one hand in warning. “Care to try me?” Behind him, a series of whistling snicks told him his soldiers were unsheathing their swords.

  Denmar laughed. “Peace, Alric. I've done what I came for.” He glanced first at Gareth, then at Tristam. “From the look of it, I arrived just in time."

  He motioned his men to turn back, then said to Alric, “Before I go, allow me to make you an offer. If by some chance Lord Lachlan should find you ... lacking, please feel free to call on me.” His eyes gave Alric a frank going over. “I'd break my betrothal to Holden of Stiles in a scant second for a chance to renew my vows with you."

  Denmar's expression sickened him. Alric wished by all that was holy he could forget all the man had taken from him. Knowing it was futile, Alric said nothing, just watched in silence as Denmar turned to go.

  Denmar guided his horse in the opposite direction, but stopped short a second after he'd started and turned sideways in his saddle. He pulled a smallish sack from his saddlebags and tossed it high in the air, giving a satisfied grunt when Alric caught it. “A token of our marriage,” he said. “Perhaps ‘twill inspire fond memories.” With those words hanging in the air between them, Denmar and his men rode off.

  Having a good idea what was inside the sack, Alric dared not open it in front of the others. Instead, he tucked the thing into his belt and then guided his horse back through the gates and into the bailey. He knew from the sounds behind him the others had followed him in.

  Wycaster approached as Alric was dismounting. “With your permission, my prince, I'll send a contingent to escort Lord Denmar and his army to the border."

  "That won't be necessary.” Alric handed his stallion over to a stable boy. “Denmar poses no further threat this day. By his own words, he did what he set out to do.” He swallowed against the bile stinging his throat as he watched Gareth and Tristam dismount. “If you'll excuse me,” he said as the two closed in on him, “I must see to my father.” Alric headed for the castle main without giving either of them a chance to reply.

  Gareth and Tristam caught up with Alric as he entered the great hall. Tristam stepped into his path, blocking Alric's way to the staircase.

  "This is an outrage,” he said. “Your father deliberately misled me."

  "Since I was not privy to your meetings with my father, I have only your word on that.” Alric tried to sidestep him. “Regardless, your concerns will have to wait. ‘Tis possible Denmar's appearance caused my father a setback. I must attend his needs."

  "No doubt he knows his lies have been exposed.” Tristam again thwarted Alric's exit, this time grabbing him by the arm. “Tell your faithless sire I'll not bind my heir to a family of lying scum."

  Alric felt the rage gathering inside him then, the heat licking at his fevered brain. He whirled, giving Tristam no time to prepare for the hand that grabbed his throat.

  "Call me anything you like. Slander my name, curse the air that I breathe.” Alric increased the pressure, his fingers digging deep into Tristam's neck. “But should you speak against my father again, not even The Creator Himself will be able to save you."

  From the corner of his eye, Alric saw that Gareth had his sword and was advancing on him. Unwilling to allow the debacle to become a blood bath, Alric let go of Tristam's throat in a movement so sudden Tristam staggered back.

  Giving them both a last glance, Alric said, “I'll convey to my father your wishes to void the contract.” He left them standing where they were as he made for the stairs on the other side of the hall.

  Not until he reached the outer door of his father's chambers did Alric realize Denmar's gift was still tucked into his belt. He pulled it free and released the strings, staring down at the grizzly contents for a long moment before summoning a passing servant.

  The woman bowed low. “How may I serve ye, me prince?"

  Alric passed her the sack. “Burn this.” He opened the door to his father's chamber and stepped inside without looking back.

  Immediately, his ears were hit with the strident sounds of an argument. He rounded the corner to find his father lying in bed. The healer was standing over him, the two of them in the middle of a heated debate.

  "I told you I'll have no more of that vile brew,” Declan said, “and no amount of your poking and prodding will force it down me."

  The healer, a stoop-shouldered man of indeterminate years, wasn't backing down. “And as I told you, Sire, drinking the potions I mix for you is the only way to purge your body of the sickness."

  "I'm dying, you fool.” Declan waved the man away. “You could pour a barrel of that down my throat and ‘twould be of no use.” He caught sight of Alric then. “My son, tell this old goat to leave me alone and let me die in peace."

  "Certainly, Father. I'll tell him just as soon as you take your medicine."

  Declan eyed Alric like a petulant child for a long moment before grabbing the cup from the healer and downing the mixture. When he'd finished complaining about everything from the temperature of the stuff to the taste, Declan bade the healer leave and turned to his son. “Well? What did Denmar have to say for himself?"

  "You know why he came here.” Alric sat down in a chair next to the bed. “How could you lead me to believe Lord Lachlan and King Tristam knew of my marriage to Denmar?"

  "You mean they did not?"

  "Don't play the fool with me, Father. It doesn't suit you."

  Declan leaned back against
the pillows and sighed. It pained Alric to see how frail and lifeless his father was becoming, but he dared not let Declan see his reaction lest the proud man take it for pity. Instead, Alric sat silently by the bedside and waited for an answer.

  Declan was quiet for so long, Alric thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep. Finally, Declan said, “I knew if Tristam learned of your marriage to Denmar—however brief the union—he'd never agree to match you with Lachlan."

  "You had to know Tristam and Gareth would find out.” Alric bit back a groan over the mess his father had made. “No matter how well you kept my previous marriage hidden, you knew Denmar would brag of it the first chance he got."

  "He has not the right to brag on it, damn him.” Declan's face turned from yellowed chalk to pulsing red. “That marriage never should have taken place."

  Alric got up to grab a clean cloth from a chest near the bed. He dipped it into the bowl of water the healer had left on a nearby table, then, with gentle fingers, he mopped his father's ruddy brow. “You mustn't upset yourself."

  "Denmar won't rest until he has you again,” Declan rasped. “You need a protector. A man like Gareth of Lachlan."

  "I can take care of myself.” Alric laughed, a sound totally devoid of humor. “Considering Gareth hates the very sight of me now, the contract is null."

  "Denmar's announcement today changes nothing.” Declan pushed Alric's hand away. “The documents have been signed and the banns have been read. Were Tristam to cry off now, ‘twould be a grievous breach. Not even the High King or the Council would fault me for going to war over such an insult."

  Alric was so stunned he dropped the cloth to the floor. “Father, you cannot think to force this marriage."

  "I can and I will."

  "I refuse to go through with this,” Alric said. “Gareth already had his reasons for not wanting this alliance. I won't force his hand."

  "If you refuse to say the vows, I will go to war against Drystan, and your brother-in-law will stand with me.” Declan folded his arms over his chest. “Not only will King Tristam and his heir be crushed, you'll risk Rowan's life and the lives of his men in the process."