The Lethal Flame (Flame Series)

by Arms, Angie

  “You know you will never be dressed and ready to fight by the time he is already done or in the process of doing what it is he has in mind.” Cyrille looked irritably her way only to find she was looking at him. Her eyes met his in a way no one but Damien’s had since he had been scarred. They were direct and unafraid as they looked past the outside and saw the shattered man beneath. Then he knew her eyes were going to look elsewhere and he would have yelled for her to stop but he was too late. Her eyes fell downward, slowly, seeing the burns did not end on his face and hands, he was burned at the stake after all. She saw the scars of a whip, the scars of blades, so many scars and he saw the sympathy but no fear or revulsion. On down and settled on that one part of him that was not, his one protected area along with his inner thighs that had miraculously not been burned. Perhaps that had been the biggest punishment of all to be left with functioning testicles and penis so he still wanted to bed the fairer sex that was now repulsed by him.

  “The tunnel was your idea?” he asked, anything to make her stop looking at him. He was sure he was cursed for the one woman in all creation that could stand to look upon him belonged to his brother.

  Stiffly he sank back into the tub so she only had the parts sticking out to look at. She met his gaze surprised and it seemed a little embarrassed she had been ogling him.

  “Yes,” she replied a little hesitantly.

  “You are as wise as you are fierce,” he said with appreciation. “What did you do to earn the blanket from my brother?” he asked and hoped Damien had quit torturing himself and claimed her. It wasn’t like she was some virgin to be soiled. She was a widow with two children and no one would blame Damien if he had a taste of her. Just as no one would blame him if he did, but there in lay the problem. He knew his brother well enough to know he burned for this woman that was his prisoner. He tried to strip her down all the while adding fuel to her fire that no longer seemed to be a bitter hatred. No woman had ever stolen his interest as this one had and Cyrille hoped his brother would act upon it before it was too late. He didn’t delude himself into thinking Keri would choose him over his brother, if given a choice he knew she would choose neither. But a man was only so strong and if her gaze kept showing an interest in his scared body he would take the choice away.

  “I put a few stitches in him and allowed a truce to be called between us for a night.”

  Cyrille sat to work tending to himself. How he missed the days he could call nearly any woman to wash him, feel their delicate hands running over his body. They had often lingered and invited him to scoop them up and carry them to his bed. No more, those days were over he chastised himself, a part of him disliking Keri because she made him forget.

  “You would do well to return Damien’s interest. He would more likely give you your freedom.”

  “I am no man’s whore,” she spat, turning her back angrily on him.

  “Yes, I can see that is far worse than a slave chained to her master’s wall,” he replied sarcastically.

  “Would you submit?” she yelled at him, swinging back around to point angrily at him. “Did you give in and give up your brother? I will not give up my…” She paused, obviously searching for a word, her hand dropped to her side as she tried twice to continue the argument.

  “What will you give up?” he asked his voice encouraged her to find the reason. “What would you give up that you have not already lost?” he asked pausing as he scrubbed soap into his hair to watch the horror of her situation wash over her in a way it had yet to. “You quit being an unappreciated wife when Damien killed your husband.” Cyrille paused for a length of time before he spoke again. “You quit being a mother when Damien sent them away to live a better life than the children of a slave. You have only slave to call yourself now. What will you have gained if Damien is sent to another battle for a slave you still will be?” It had taken Cyrille a long time to expel his thoughts and he wanted to scream in frustration but she patiently waited.

  “I am not a slave,” she declared at his last words, her hands balled angrily into fists. “My ancestors were not slaves nor will I be.”

  Cyrille nodded with a look that plainly told her he thought her declaration was a stupid one since she stood there in a chain. He went back to washing.

  Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky when he climbed from the tub. She refused to look at him, curled in a corner she pretended sleep and Cyrille left her alone. The sooner she accepted her fait the sooner she would submit and he could rid her from his mind. He sent servants to remove the water and make preparations for a fresh bath for his brother when he defeated Donalds. No one inside the castle was privy to his plans although the majority of the troops inside the wall had been ushered out through the tunnel. A move that did not bode well for Donalds and his men.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  He pushed the fatigue away as dawn prepared to break itself over the horizon. Along with it he pushed away the memory of Keri’s face when it lit up at sight of Cyrille. He should be happy a woman would react to his brother in that way but he could not because he wanted that woman to react that way to him. Of all the women, he would give any of them to his brother, but not the warrior in his chamber, he could not. He found himself thinking of her again and not the task at hand. He swung the sword in his hand as if the blade slicing through the air could banish her, if only it were that easy. He had enough men to surround Donalds and now they had the advantage. Donalds did not have his brother’s life to hide behind like a coward. They had no leverage to keep his anger at bay, nothing to still his blade that yearned to end the threat to his family. No, now they only had themselves to stand against him and they would die this day.

  At the first light that spilled over into the darkness banishing the night Damien raised his sword. Those along the line did the same, waiting. With his brother safely inside the walls of Haltwhistle blood would flow and he yearned for Donalds’. With one swipe downward the charge began. With blood curdling cries his men rushed into camp, the men there who had tried to play soldier were unprepared. It was a blood bath from beginning to end and Damien’s thoughts of fatigue and Keri were gone from his mind and only survival and revenge pumped in his veins. The ground under their feet turned into slippery mire as the rain mixed with the blood. It was a horrible place to fight, an even worse place to die.

  Damien lost nine men in the battle, dozens of the enemy died and the battle grew silent before the hazy ball of the sun made it fully above the horizon on the dawn of a new day. Few men had a chance to flee from the blades of Damien and his men but among those few had been Donalds. They took to their horses and scoured the countryside for miles but found no sign of the fleeing men. Damien was too exhausted to be enraged and he needed to be at the moment, he needed to feel something, to have succeeded in something that was of his own making. The only victory today had been Keri’s and that did not sit well with him.

  As the bodies were piled into a mass grave outside the walls of Haltwhistle Damien road into the courtyard and eased from the saddle. Roland stood over the prisoners only two had survived, unable to flee so now they were Damien’s problem.

  “Where did he go?” Damien asked approaching them, pulling his sword from its sheath. He stood over them, the point of his sword pressed into one of the men’s tunic. The blade still needed cleaning, he had tried to wipe the blood from it after the battle but places had still turned brown from the dried blood he missed. This man’s blood would be spilled by it if he could not tell him where Donalds had disappeared to.

  The man grimaced, his filthy hair matted to his head like a helmet from the sweat and grime of the battle. His gaping stomach wound would probably take the man’s life before Damien could. He tried to speak but no words came out. He lowered his blade to the giant wound and hovered over it. Weakly the man shook his head, a gargling issued from his lips. Damien pressed his blade into the wound and a shriek escaped the man then abruptly ended his life. He turned his attention to the young man less injured. />
  The man tried to raise himself up, his only injury a deep gash in his leg. He had been found trying to flee, dragging his injured leg behind him but he had not made it to safety. Now Roland was behind him, a hand pressing down on his shoulder to keep him seated a look of triumph on his face. Damien felt sick.

  “Where is Donalds?” Damien asked his voice deceptively quiet, a fact that was not lost on the man at his mercy. He quivered before him and shamefully wet himself there on the ground as Damien’s blade came to rest against the injured leg.

  “I don’t know where he went,” the man stammered between great gulping gasps of air. Damien used the blade to probe at the injury. The man, boy really, ground his teeth together against the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead and lip. “Why does he want Haltwhistle?”

  “He doesn’t,” the boy said shaking his head wildly. “He wants the witch.”

  “What are you talking about?” Damien asked angrily but pulled his blade away since the boy was talking.

  “The witch of Langley. You have her and Donalds wants her.”

  “I have no witch!” Damien declared with vehemence. There was a thundering of a thousand wings in his ears.

  “It is the Lady of Langley. Many there swear they have seen her perform witchcraft.”

  “Chain him,” Damien said turning quickly away. He strode purposely into the hall and beyond, all the way up the stairs to his chamber door. The wood nearly cracked as it hit the wall with a force that echoed around the room.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Keri bolted to her feet, her heart hammering in her chest to see Damien standing in the door way, the sound of the door slamming open still reverberated around the chamber. He was every bit the warrior standing there, sword in hand, chest heaving. As she studied him she saw the darkness of a storm gathering on his brow. Her eyes fell to the weapon he held and saw the blood stains upon it. She would have given her soul in that instant to know his intent.

  He stepped into the room and she could feel the heat of his anger reach her where she stood. He reached his hand out to close the door, the sun caught the blood stained mail as if he were a messenger of the devil himself. She could not help the tremble that ran up her spine. She clasped her hands tightly into the fur she held around her throat. It did nothing to chase away the icy tendrils of fear that chilled her from the cold look of his eyes.

  “Why would the people of Langley think you a witch?” He seemed to just notice he held his sword in his hand and re-sheathed it.

  Fear filled her mixed with anger toward the ignorant people of Bryson’s. What should she tell him? She wondered fleetingly what he knew.

  “Tell me,” Damien roared.

  “There were rumors on my wedding day. I thought it was because Bryson did not like me when we first met on our wedding day.”

  Damien scoffed, “Is that all?”

  “No,” she replied and the smile on his face fell. “They say I cast a spell to wed Bryson who I cast another spell over to get control of his holdings.”

  “That is not so….”

  “There’s more,” she said interrupting him. “It was said that my guard I brought from my father’s were possessed by me. They said they were undefeatable demons,” a raw chuckle escaped her that threatened to turn into a sob. “I guess you proved that wrong. They said my daughter was a witch too and tried to drown her.”

  “I saw they did not succeed,” Damien stated flatly.

  “I caught them in the act and cast a spell upon them so they would let us go. Not a real spell,” she hurriedly explained holding her hands up to quiet any outburst. “I just yelled at them in gibberish, gesturing and spitting and they let us go. They would have drowned us both. Bryson thought it nonsense but did nothing to stop the rumors.”

  She didn’t know what Damien found funny about that but he burst into laughter. Laughter so deep and true he had to wipe the tears from his eyes as he got hold of himself. “I can imagine my little warrior doing something like that.” He sobered quickly.

  “You know Donalds,” he stated, his face thoughtful. “That day I brought you back you heard his voice and you recognized him because you never turned around. Did you know then he was here for you?”

  “Yes,” she said but refused to feel guilty for keeping the information from him.

  “You put my men at risk,” he said flatly. “You put Cyrille at risk.” He studied her for a moment. “Who is he?”

  “He’s Alec’s older brother.”

  “Commander of your guard?” Damien asked with irritation heavy in his voice.

  “Yes. He was my father’s squire until he was banished from Bewcastle for his outspoken opposition of Henry’s cabinet. Father could not risk the consequence of one of his knights speaking so openly against the crown. His belief did not reflect my father’s so he sent him away, and Alec.”

  “Why did Alec return?” She definitely heard a note of anger in the question.

  “I talked father into bringing him back. His views were not his brother’s any more than they were my father’s. Liam blamed Alec, thought he stabbed him in the back for returning to Bewcastle. The rumors already abounded about my witchcraft and personal guard when I arrived at Langley. Alec thought it was Liam because if they tried to get to me they would have to get rid of Alec first and Liam would have his revenge without actually killing his own brother.”

  “Why would he still be accusing you of being a witch now that Alec is dead?”

  Why did those words still make a lump form in her throat? “Maybe because he is dead,” she choked out.

  Damien nodded then turned and left the chamber without another word. Keri couldn’t chase away the chill from the room or the feeling that doom was settling in on her.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Damien chose to seek a bath and respite elsewhere, his nerves frayed nearly to the breaking point where the lovely Lady Keri was concerned. If it was not one thing it was another with her, one dilemma after another. Richard’s property he was sent to hold was being threatened, not by rebels but those trying to take the woman he should have already killed. What a mess he had gotten himself and his men into. He had to think but each time he tried an image of a terrified Keri clinging to her daughter as the peasants tried to separate them came to mind. Damien could not imagine Keri being anything other than a follower of what was right and good.

  Damien heard the approach of his squire but did not turn from his place by the well where he bent over a bucket splashing the cold water onto his face in an effort to clear his mind. “Garrick has arrived.” In the young man’s voice he heard the same fear lurking beneath the surface as anyone who spoke the Fenton Bastard’s name. Damien tread carefully where the man was concerned. Born to a lowly whore he had no privileges in life and had fought and killed his way to his position as a land holding knight. Perhaps he was the wealthiest man who served under Richard but Damien was yet to know why, after all their years together, he did not tend to his own land. He wiped his face with a linen cloth then turned followed Edwin toward the courtyard.

  He mounted the steps overlooking the activity that abounded at the arrival of the other men. Damien exhaled a sigh of relief that his army was back up to strength but even with that thought came the one that reminded him that no amount of skilled fighting men would help him make the decision that dealt with Keri. He saw three of the men already leading their horses toward the stables and he hastened after them.

  Stepping into the stable his eyes adjusting to the darkness compared to the light of day Damien paused. “How was your journey Garrick?” Damien asked moving toward the man with the magnificently white horse he had obtained from a dessert sheik.

  “The list is complete, not a stone left on top of another,” he said. His deep voice held no sound of victory. Not that Damien even considered for a moment the task he had sent the man on was a burden for him. He had seen the man do far worse than even war allotted. An image that made Damien shudder flashed before his eyes and he pushed it has
tily away, his eyes darting from Garrick for the briefest of moments. When he looked back Garrick was looking at him with his unreadable dark eyes, his face frozen in its stern countenance he had never seen break into a smile.

  His black hair hung down to his shoulders, his skin was darker than most, so were his eyes, light enough to be brown but dark enough to be black. Not as tall or as muscular as Damien, although by any stretch of the imagination was he small, the man was fast and deadly with his weapons and aim. In practice or battle he had never seen a man who could best him, not even himself.

  “Any prisoners?” Damien asked and had the desire for this man to say he had brought at least one with him.

  “None alive,” he said, turning back to the task of settling his horse.

  “Wasn’t that the point, no prisoners,” Marcus scoffed. Damien nodded at Garrick’s right hand man. That was a relationship he did not want to delve into for the first land Garrick fought to take had been Marcus’s who had fought alongside him. Marcus was a good man though, he knew this from the time they spent in the Emir’s prison and watching him with the woman he had rescued when they escaped.

  Uneasily he looked back to Garrick who eyed him openly and seemingly with the knowledge he had broken the rule.

  “Do we have further instructions?” Halvor asked. He was the one to which Garrick trusted all the logistics of his battles. No one could organize or see a hole in a plan as quickly as Halvor. The man liked his life orderly, from sunup to sundown he tried to create sense out of chaos and Damien didn’t know how but he seemed to make enough sense out of it to appease himself. He was also the one to remember conversations, strategies and locations so of course he would remember exactly what Damien said about taking no prisoners.

  “We are to hold here.”

  “Did you just now take Haltwhistle?” Garrick asked.

  “No, it has been mine for a while. We had some trouble but we will talk of all this later.”