The Lethal Flame (Flame Series)

by Arms, Angie

  Damien pulled his finger away from his lip and stared at her another moment before looking down at the tip of it. His eyebrows snapped together in irritation. Without a word he lunged for her again. She tried to jump up but the now slick stone floor made a quick escape impossible when she could not get purchase on its slick surface. He grabbed her ankle, his fingers biting into her flesh as he gained purchase on her wet skin. With a mighty pull he jerked her toward him, her body had no resistance and before she could straighten after he released her ankle she was again shackled. He grabbed his sword and dagger then strolled from the room.

  The man must be out of patience for her and could not care about her dignity for a stream of servants came in to remove the tub. She scrambled backward, bracing her back against the wall, drawing her legs to her chest, ankles crossed with her arms hugging her knees she did her best to cover herself. Each servant gawked at her, some sneered but they all ignored her attempt to speak to them. Left alone she shivered miserably in the floor, no warmth to protect her wet skin from the darkening chamber. She looked wearily to the window and the waning light then picked up her candle, clutching it to her knowing full well it would do her no good if there was no flame to brighten the wick.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Damien made it to the kitchens before his lip stopped stinging. The woman had bitten a hole in it or so it had felt at first. He directed the woman at the hearth in gathering food and ordered her to send salves for the cuts on Keri’s feet and hands. He didn’t want the Lady to go without food, despite the stand he tried to take. Not that she was actually a lady anymore he reminded himself.

  Tray in hand he moved back out of the kitchen and toward his chamber. He should just send her away let someone else deal with her and her rebellion. But he was the one Richard had entrusted to run the rebels out, wasn’t he making a mess of that, he couldn’t help thinking. Besides who else would not deal with her cruelly? And what was he doing letting her sit and sleep on the cold hard floor? How did the candle even compare to a blanket? Damien suddenly felt stupid because the light could chase away the nightmares of a dungeon. He picked up his pace, the light outside fading quickly.

  He nearly slammed through the door but slowed his pace soon enough and walked calmly through. He sat the food next to the map on the table and immediately went about lighting the sconces in the room. He laid his weapons back on the table then picking up the tray moved to the edge of it.

  “Has any man ever made you feel like that?” he asked knowing it was a slippery slope he trod but could not stop himself.

  Brown eyes met his. She looked beyond exhausted. It appeared as if her hands needed as much tending as her feet.

  Her eyes raked over him, lingering on the food in his hands. “Never.” Her eyes followed the food as he came closer and stooped down in front of her. When she raised a raw hand to take the food he pushed it away and sat in front of her and began to feed her.

  The food was nearly gone before she raised her eyes to his. The softness of her brown eyes held him mesmerized and for a brief moment the world outside the chamber ceased to exist and he craved for it to remain that way.

  “What’s wrong?” Keri asked snapping him back to reality and the fact he had been staring at her mouth for who knows how long.

  “Nothing,” he denied and she raised a hand to indicate she had had her fill.

  Damien rose, took the tray to the table then stepped to the door and retrieved the salve and bandages left there. He shut the door quietly behind himself and moved back to Keri.

  “I’m not sure how good this stuff is. If Cyrille were here he could tend you but he’s not so we’ll have to see.” He sat down in front of her and reaching out touched her leg, drawing her foot into his lap. He kept his head down, concentrating on the tiny foot that rested in his lap, dangerously close to his groin. He tried to block from his mind this woman sat before him naked, within easy reach, and he could not remember ever wanting a woman like he wanted her. All he had to do was look up and see what he wanted to see, what he wanted to feel himself sink into even more, but he refused because he was not made of stone.

  “Where is Cyrille?” she asked on an intake of breath as he touched a tender spot.

  “I sent him to follow Liam and his men.” His eyes shot to hers because he did not know if she would remember the man she met on her return to Haltwhistle. “I suspect he is a rebel raising forces against us.”

  “You think this place will be attacked?”

  “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “What of my children? Are they safe?”

  He saw the concern for her son and daughter in the depths of her eyes and he could only imagine how fierce this woman could be if they were threatened. He had threatened them, he chastised himself, when he attacked Langley, and she not only protected them but their way of life as well.

  “I have sent them on to King Richard,” he lied.

  He watched the moisture form in her eyes and he watched her throat working to swallow the cry that threatened. “Will they be safe?” she whispered.

  He nodded slightly and suddenly felt guilty for not sending them away, to a safer land than this one he was supposed to hold. It would be no easier sending them then keeping them. If he sent them away they would likely never see their mother again and their lives would be held precariously. Here they could very well die with the rest of them but at least for the moment they were well cared for.

  His eyes fell back toward her foot but the body that lay between distracted him. He felt the air warm around him and he couldn’t swallow as he imagined his hands and lips touching every inch of her. He wanted to work moans of pleasure from between her lips, to be incased in her as they both found their release.

  “What happens if they come to attack?” she asked and her voice was enough to pull him from his distraction and his eyes were back on her foot as he continued applying the salve.

  “We hold.”

  Silence fell between them. He bandaged the one foot before moving on to the other. Once both feet were bandaged he allowed his eyes to move back to hers via the floor and wall beside her, not wanting to risk her lush body mesmerizing him again. His control was held by only a thin thread at best when he was near her. He either wanted to throttle her for her foolish rebellion or sink himself into her. Either one he promised himself he would not do for the time being. In the back of his mind he knew his time with her could only end one of those ways.

  Taking hold of her thighs he pulled her forward until she sat cross-legged, her knees touching his and belatedly he realized she lay open to him. He tightened his jaw, clamping his teeth tightly together to keep his mind on task. Taking her hands he laid them on his knees and began the process of applying the salve to them. He cursed himself for she was too close and all he would have to do was release himself from his braies and pull her into his lap. He glanced to the hearth to find it was still banked from the day. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and began to bandage the first hand.

  “How long will you keep me like this?” she finally asked.

  “For as long as I wish to,” he said taking her other hand in his. He turned the palm up, staring at the long gash across it.

  “What kind of answer is that?” she demanded testily trying to pull her hand back. He tightened his grip and looked at her.

  “It is the only answer I have at the moment.” They stared at one another before he turned back to his task.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice sounded small and he fought the urge to look at her for he felt his resolve growing weaker by the minute.

  His finger covered with the salve he gently smoothed it across the cut, stroking her palm gently. Her fingers lay open, relaxed, her hand was small in his big rough ones. He did not think before their wounds they would have been very delicate hands. No one wielded a battle ax like her without being coached in its use, and have the calluses to show for the hard work.

  “Y
our word you will not fight against your king.”

  “And if I give you that?” she asked. Her voice held none of the fight he had become familiar with. Was she close to surrendering now? “Will you release me?” She had a plea in her voice, a plea to get away from him as fast and as far as she could.

  He paused, staring down at her hand and he did not have a ready answer for her. By all rights she would be free to go, but he knew he would not release her. He would have to find another reason to keep her with him.

  “I will decide when you have given it.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she spat trying to draw her hand away. “I will never obey Richard and I will never forgive him for sending you to destroy us.” Unspoken it hung in the air that she would never forgive him either.

  He kept his grip on her hand and felt total confusion over the joy he felt at her continued rebellion. Confusion was not something that set well with him. He had been going for years on the clear cut notion kill or be killed. Now here this woman sat in front of him, without a stitch of clothing on, declaring she would battle him again and he did not kill her. If she was not chained to the wall would she try to kill him in his sleep? That did not matter and that knowledge left him scowling. By the time he finished with her bandages his anger had peaked and she was in danger, but he was in such a state of confusion he could not say in danger of what.

  Rising he sat the left over salve and clothes on the table then went to the hearth and poked at the fire, adding more wood until it burst to life. He extinguished several of the candles he lit earlier then went about preparing himself for bed. He felt her eyes on him as each garment was drawn away. Down to his braes he turned to her and her eyes were glued to his chest and he felt himself grow warm under her gaze. Did she feel any desire for him at all? He did not think himself a god but he was strongly built and put together in a manner he knew first hand was pleasing to women. So what of the one who stood before him? Did she appreciate his broad chest with the muscles well defined there from years spent on the battle field compared to the man who was once her husband who had breasts nearly as large as a woman and no muscle tone under his sagging skin? Her eyes fell to his lean stomach and the well chiseled muscles there that disappeared beneath the band of the braies which had to be a stark contrast to the wide girth of Bryson whose waist flowed over his waist band. Her eyes fell even further, to his strong thighs and he could remember her bare bottom resting on them and he knew she had to remember the feel of his hard muscles that had moved against her.

  He took a step closer and her eyes flew to his. “I can supply you with a warm bed tonight,” he said and was surprised by the huskiness of his voice. He stepped closer until he stood over her. She stood braced against the wall as if she had been waiting all day for her feet to be treated so she might stand with less pain. Now her brown eyes looked up at him void of the hostility but filled with another emotion he found comfort and hope in.

  “Is it one I must share with you?” she asked. He stepped closer until his body was pressed against hers, surrounding her.

  “It is,” he said and his head swooped down and claimed her lips. She tasted of berries as she yielded to him. Her soft lips parted and he dove into the warmth of her mouth and he felt the groan escape between her lips as he pressed her more firmly against the wall. Her bare breasts pressed into his bare chest and he felt her nipples harden. His hands came up to clamp onto her hips pulling her against him, feeling his erection pressing against the warmth between her legs as he lifted her. So close, he had only to pull himself free and settle her onto himself then fill her. He imagined glorious warmth to be found there like he never had before. What was it about this woman that drove him crazy? What was it about her that made him want to consume her, to be burned by her fire?

  Her body stiffened and he knew in an instant her enjoyment had turned into something else. Before he could pull away she used all the strength in her body to push herself from the wall. Damien dropped her in mid shove but belatedly realized this put her in the better position for her body slammed into his, knocking him off balance and he felt himself falling backward, his momentum continued as he stumbled over her leg and landed on the stone floor with a thump that knocked the breath from him. Her defense turned into a full scale attack in the blink of an eye. He saw it in her eyes as he lay prone on his back. He turned and rolled to his feet but before he could gain his full height the chain that kept her tied to the wall was around his neck and his breath was halted.

  “Give me the key,” she demanded. It was not the voice of Lady Keri; mother Keri, or prisoner Keri. It was the voice of a warrior who was only a moment from killing her enemy.

  He brought a hand up to gain purchase on the chain but it was too tight and she pulled it even snugger to discourage him.

  “The key,” she demanded again and gave a violent tug that made him feel as if his neck was being severed from his head. He tried to speak but he was unable to.

  The chain eased slightly. “The key,” she demanded again and again she yanked the chain.

  Damien straightened and pointed to the table and the weapons lying on it. A piece of leather was attached to his sword hilt and attached to the end was the key to her shackle.

  He felt her still and she spent a great deal of time deliberating on her dilemma. At no point could she release him and still maintain the upper hand. Together they could not retrieve the key because despite her present circumstance she was still chained to the wall. Slowly the chain eased from around his neck and he gained some joy in knowing she would not kill him for pure malice sake. Defeated she sprung away. Quickly he gained his feet and turned on her. She stood her body erect, unmindful of her nudity. The Lady Keri looked positively furious as she glared from him to the key that was out of her reach.

  What a fool she was turning him into. Angry strides took him to the table where he grabbed his dagger and turned back to the rebel. “Do you want me to kill you?” he asked moving to her. He stood in front of her, her chain still wrapped around her wrists and he realized he had underestimated her.

  “You should have when you took Langley you cowardly bastard!” she spat at him. She lunged at him, the chain raised and he knew her intent. He grabbed the middle of the raised chain and twisted it in his hand, turning her small frame in the process and slammed her chest into the wall. He felt the air whoosh from her lungs as he pressed her hard, driving his knee between her legs. He could feel her quaking body under him, her arms extended above her head, held their by the chain, her legs spread unable to find purchase to fight.

  “Do you yield?” he asked in her ear, the tip of his knife pressed into the side of her neck ready to spill her blood.

  “Never!” she declared trying to push away.

  He slung his dagger toward the bed to free the hand he brought around her neck, his fingers moved up to grip her chin and he pulled her head back toward him.

  “If you do not yield you will die.”

  A wicked tinkling laugh escaped her. “I do not fear death. I welcome death over you and your king,” she declared.

  He moved his hand down her neck, squeezing its smallness that would be so easy to snap. Down across her collarbone, on down to a breast he cupped in his hand. Her breath hissed on intake and he felt her body quivering with all the rage she could not expend. He kneaded it, pressing her back against him and she let out a shriek of frustrated outrage. “Yield.”

  “Never,” she declared between clenched teeth. His fingers stroked across her nipple and he felt it peak. He tightened his grip on the chain, unconsciously pulling it tighter, raising her arms. He left the one breast to mold his hand to the other as if that was what his hand had been made for and she drew in a gasp followed by a moan as his fingers brushed over that nipple bringing it to life.

  “Do you yield?”

  “No,” she said but her voice sounded lost in despair.

  His hand left her breast to move between them and it took only a moment to free hi
mself from his braies. Guiding himself between her legs he felt the warmth he so wanted to plunge into.

  “Yield,” he demanded slamming the chain and her hands into the wall.

  “No,” she said and he heard the sadness in her voice. His hand came up to grip her waist and he pulled her back so she was bent forward and he had clear access to all that his thoughts had been consumed by. “If you do this you will be no better than Bryson,” she said and he heard the tears in her voice.

  Of all the things she could have said that would not matter those words stopped him cold. He had done many things but the last thing he wanted anyone to think of him was that he was no better than her disgusting husband. He released her hip, covered himself then let her hands go free as he moved quickly from her reach. Coward. He chastised himself. She is a rebel who is supposed to be dead by now so why couldn’t he do it? She was his weakness and if he was wise he would slit her throat now and be done with it.

  Instead he went to his tunic and pulled it on before he blew out the candle by the bed. He strolled to the table, extinguishing a wall sconce as he went. He stopped before her, the candle light flickering against the deep shadows of her corner. All that was left was the candle on the table and the hearth on the other side of the large chamber, the wall outcropping blocked most of its light and with the clouds covering the moon the candle on the table was the last remaining light in her dark corner.

  “Give me the candle Keri,” he demanded, holding his hand out.

  She scowled at him, whether from his informal address or his demand. “I will not,” she stated firmly, grabbing the candle from the floor and backing into the corner.

  “You attacked me, in clear disregard of our agreement.”

  “We have no agreement,” she yelled at him. “You keep me chained here like some animal. You’ve taken my children, destroyed my home and left me with nothing yet you still demand I yield to your command. I will not,” she declared standing tall, her face red with her anger, her eyes flashing like dark diamonds in all her fierce glory. “You kiss me and ask me if I enjoy it,” her voice grew louder, fiercer. “You touch me and ask me to yield. What kind of whore would that make me Sir Damien,” she asked fairly spitting out his name with disdain. “I could care less what you make me feel because you are my enemy, and I will not yield.” With the last word of her near scream dying off she hurled the candle at him. Bouncing it off his chest he numbly caught it and stared at her cocking his head to the side.