by Arms, Angie
“Sir Garrick,” the whispered voice of the dark headed girl tickled his ear. He felt her breath but could feel nothing else of her. Up until that moment he had thought he was alone in the hall. Then her hand was on his leg, her lips on his neck. He felt instant pleasure at her touch, he wanted to melt into it. When had he ever found pleasure with a woman he had not paid for, especially a woman like this? She was all that he could want in a woman, seductive, pretty with lush lips that sent fire shooting through him. When she touched his manhood he gasped and threw his head back, his eyes closed tightly. When he opened them again the room was as it should be with the light flickering against the walls.
He raised his head and met the dark eyes of the brunette. There was none of the lust that should be there. He fought the feeling of peace and felt himself swimming upward, out of the haze that was trying to drown him. He fought against the girl’s hands, fought against the soft caress of her lips and tongue as they threatened to imprison him. How she could do this he was not sure but he knew he had to fight. He thrust her away and stood.
“Sir Garrick,” the girl called to him pleadingly reaching for him. “Lord Garrick.” Her voice turned to a plea as the hall swirled around him, blurring his vision. He blinked against the dizziness and saw his friend. The soldiers had her down on the ground, he smelled her hut burning behind him. Ropes held his arms down by his side. The butcher’s daughter pleaded for him to help her, again and again she cried out his name, pleaded with the soldiers to leave her alone. He felt the same enraged helplessness he had felt when he was ten, the day he swore he would never be helpless again.
“Sir Garrick,” the woman purred advancing toward him. He grabbed her and thrust her away but she bounced back like a strong cat. He grabbed her again and thought to intimidate her into leaving him alone. His snarl brought a gigantic smile to her face and she laughed at his scowl. His frown deepened as his anger rose at her blatant disrespect for her own position. She should be shaking in fear that he would rip her heart out.
His hand slid to the sword that was always at his side but he felt only his hip and leg, there was no sword. Why hadn’t he noticed the missing weight? “What is wrong Lord Garrick?” the woman asked her voice husky. The palms of her hands flattened on his chest and she stepped up against him, her heat radiated to him. He brought his hands up to deflect her but they came to rest on the curves of her hips. He was surprised at the curves under his hands, her smallness was misleading, and she was amply endowed. He tried to push her away again but she had snaked her hands around his neck and wouldn’t let him go. She had a freakish amount of strength as she held on. He raised his hands to her neck intent on pushing her away but his hands wrapped around her instead.
The room spun again and he held on tight as she gasped and clawed at his hands. Faces moved across his vision, memories of other women, each as fleeting and insignificant now as they had been in his past. “What pleases you,” the brunette asked. “Who pleases you?”
“Wh-What?” Garrick stammered.
His hesitation allowed an opening for the girl to move closer and she stood on tiptoe, her hands gripping the front of his tunic.
“Sir Damien wants the Lady Keri and Sir Cyrille wants anyone,” the woman said with a shrug. “But I can see no pleasure in you. I see no peace.”
Garrick grabbed her and pushed her away, she staggered backward, landing on her rear. “Because there is none,” he declared moving away from her. He heard the rush coming from behind him but he could not turn fast enough to defend himself from the blow that took him off his feet.
~ ~ ~ ~
Damien’s eyes snapped open. He felt a mattress beneath him, his head pounded when he tried to move. He tried to lift his hand but it would not move. He twisted his arm, moved it slightly back and forth testing if it was because he was tied. He felt no bonds but why couldn’t he move. He turned his head and his breath caught in his throat.
Keri sat facing the hearth, the robe dipped on her shoulders revealing the gentle curve of her back. Her head was tilted to the side as she brushed her wet hair. He watched her for a moment, unsure how she had found him but he felt the peace washing over him. She turned her head and her brilliant smile brought joy to him as they watched each other.
Damien was confused how he had gotten here, what had happened to his brother and Garrick but all that mattered was that he was here now and Keri was with him. She rose from her seat and came toward him, the robe dropping to the floor when she was halfway to the bed. She came down on top of him and his arms immediately enveloped her. She didn’t feel right. This wasn’t Keri for she did not fit perfectly in his arms as she should. He opened his eyes to see the blond smiling down at him. He tried to jump from the bed but found he could not leave it. “You know you can’t have her,” Danielle replied.
He stared at her as she moved over him. “Can’t have who?” Damien asked.
“The Lady Keri.”
“What do you know about it?” Damien asked with a great deal of anger he hoped would propel him from the mattress but he still could not move.
“You men think we are here to serve you. You should serve us, you should worship us. But all you men see are titles and money. We can be thrown away as easily as a ham bone.”
“Where is Keri?”
The girl smiled, standing over him. “She’s safe here.”
“I want her,” he demanded shoving at her but he could not get her away from him.
“You’ll never find her.”
“I will and I’ll level this place when I do,” he threatened.
“Shhh,” she soothed.
“You will all pay for this game you play.”
“Shhh.” He felt as if he was falling. Down, down into the mattress his arms and legs felt disjointed. He tried to shake his head in an effort to deny the sensation as the darkness began to take over.
~ ~ ~ ~
Cyrille allowed himself to be led into the main keep, along corridors, up and down stairs. He found himself frightened that he was hopelessly lost but Sylva’s presence, her smell, her very essence mesmerized him. Into darkness, into the dungeon. He felt the keen presence of fear budding within him but it was not strong enough to battle his euphoria.
“Don’t worry,” she coaxed as she led him into the depths of the dungeon. The smell of the hole made sweat pop out on the top of his lip but he could no more stop himself than he could take away the memories of his past. Darkness surrounded him. The smell of smoke and burning flesh came to him. Ahead he saw the flames and it was Sylva’s voice that screamed in agony as the fire began to devour her. His grip tightened on her hand, unsure what was happening because the woman stood beside him.
Pain suddenly licked up his feet, further up his legs and he choked on the smell of his own flesh burning. He bit down on his lip to keep from screaming then just as suddenly it was gone and he was in an elegantly equipped chamber with the redhead lying before him, her legs bent her thighs open to him. His hands rested on her knees and he found himself staring down at her in horror. It took a moment for his mind to take hold of the fact the woman was lying in front of him and he wasn’t burning. He saw quickly the scars on the woman’s arms were not the only ones on her body. Her scars nearly matched his, she too had been burned.
“You were burned?” he asked her ever so quietly as he tried to clear his mind from the fog.
“Yes.”
“Why were you burned?” he asked knowing he should be doing more than talking to this beautiful woman spread out before him. Yet, not even his desire could get him to forget what his mind was telling him. Something was not right about this place.
Sylva laughed, her green eyes appeared to be a feline’s as they slanted upward at the corners as she looked at him with a predatory smile. “Because I’m a witch,” she said on a sigh as her arms rose from behind her head, fanning her luscious locks of red hair out on the bed behind her.
He had not noticed the scar around her pale neck until her hair
did not cover it. She reached a hand up, her body coming closer until she wrapped her arm securely around his neck, locking herself to him. “Now you know what I am,” she whispered in his ear. “Do not turn me away.” That was the last thing he wanted to do he realized as he entered her. His surroundings became hazed in his peripheral vision as he enjoyed the feel of such an exquisite woman wrapped around him. Moaning her delight at each of his thrusts. The orgasm was jolting as he gave one final thrust to the delight of a scream from her as he held on for the draining ecstasy. The scream came again and he realized it came from him as the ecstasy was turned to agony as the flames devoured him.
“Cyrille,” the name sounded like a chant from Sylva’s lips, her arms and legs wrapped around him brought him back from the fire. He stared down at her feeling as if he might vomit as panic began to build inside him. “Shhh Darling’,” she cooed in his ear. “I know how it feels. They burned me too, they’ve hung me, and they’ve drowned me.”
His hand came up between them and he pushed her back down onto the mattress so he could look at her. “How is it you did not die?”
“But I did.”
A drumming sounded in his ears, like wings flapping, taking on a frantic, erratic beat.
“Then how come you are here?”
She smiled that feline smile that made Cyrille feel uneasy. “I’m a witch.”
“What do you want from me?”
Agilely she rose to settle on her knees in the middle of the bed. She was clothed now, they both were he realized in a haze. She shrugged. “I did not bring you here. I brought Lord Liam who brought me Keri.”
Slowly Cyrille rose from the bed. “What do you want with Keri?”
“I do not want Richard to burn her.”
“What do you know of this?” he asked edging further from the bed, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I hear whispers. They are already whispering her name, I cannot even tell if she is truly a witch but already they say her name. It is I who am and always will be the most powerful. If she burns they will not cross themselves with the fear of my name upon their lips.” The last of the woman’s words came out in a hiss and her entire body seemed lither, agile as she glared at him.
“What will you do with her?”
“Kill her.”
The chant of those two words pierced his skull until the pain made it feel as if his head were going to explode. He closed his eyes against the pain. He couldn’t draw in breath, smoke was choking him, he could feel the flames again, feel the heat and he was suddenly too much a coward to open his eyes. It continued to move upward. He wanted to scream, he wanted to call out to God, and he would even sell his soul to the devil, to anyone if they would stop the flames.
~ ~ ~ ~
Garrick found Damien in one of the long abandoned chambers. His sword lay on the floor in front of him while his commander knelt on his knees staring down at his hands in horror. Garrick took him by the shoulders and shook him. This place they were in was haunted by what he could not name. It tried to claw its way into his subconscious. It wasn’t strong enough for him. It didn’t know how to get inside him for his own wickedness outmatched it he supposed. It seemed most dangerous to good men, like Damien and Cyrille.
Garrick could hear Damien’s labored breath as he sucked in great gulps of air. His eyes seemed to focus on the hands he held in front of his face. He rubbed his hands together, and then bent forward to pick up his sword, studying the blade.
“What is happening?” Damien asked remaining on his knees, staring downward in frozen shock.
“Commander,” Garrick called. Time passed but the man made no move. “Sir Damien,” he said in the authoritative voice he used to command his own men.
Damien didn’t resist the effort as Garrick hooked a hand under his arm to help Damien to his feet, but he could tell the efforts of the other man were automatic and the man’s shock had yet to wear off. Garrick led him half way across the chamber before Damien braced his feet and came to a sudden stop. “What?” he asked looking from his hands to the sword he still carried, to Garrick.
“I don’t know, but we have to find Cyrille.”
Garrick took a hurried step away only to take it back to stand before the unmoving Damien. “Your brother,” Garrick reminded.
“I…I don’t like,” Damien stammered. “I think… This place is evil,” he finally whispered.
“Cyrille, we have to find him.”
Damien drew in a deep steadying breath and nodded his head. “Right,” he said on a gulp. “Cyrille. Let’s find him,” Damien said rallying and he was back to the kind of commander Garrick would follow.
Chapter 16
Keri began to tremble, her fear consumed her, threatened to take away her ability to reason. The women had welcomed them, the warmth of the hall had beckoned them in and had been a stark contrast to the disheveled outside. No sooner had she sat down to eat what was being brought to her than the Lady Sylva announced she had brought them there. She had also proclaimed she was not just any witch but the most powerful one of all. She would never have believed her if Liam had not been easily convinced that she, Keri, needed to be killed. He had attacked her, a crazed look in his eyes and she had run.
Keri spent a precious amount of time trying to get out the doors she had just walked through but they did not budge. Liam had come behind her, his dagger driving downward with enough force to wedge it into the wood of the door when she dodged the blade. They seemed surprised by the attack for they stared at one another for a moment before Keri regained her senses, grabbed the knife and ran again.
The old castle was just that, old and rundown. This she found out as she fled along the corridors. With the witches nearby their home was well decorated and lit with luxuries beyond imagination. Outside their presence the place was what it was, a fallen down castle with debris littering the floors. She nearly fell when she entered the first corridor the dim light barely illuminated her path enough to keep her from tripping over the fallen frame work that had found its way onto the floor. The walls, everything was crumbling. She spared a moment to look behind her and saw Liam coming at her, his surroundings still appeared as if they were from a different world.
She turned and hurtled the obstacle, her nimbleness allowed her to pull ahead of Liam. One corridor led into another and in what seemed miles later she burst back into the hall. But this was not the same hall she had first entered. It was a shambles. The tables still stood, glasses and plates were sitting on the dais table, but it was all covered in the residue of time, spider webs, decay, and moisture. She came to an abrupt halt and that’s when she knew Sylva had told the truth, she was a powerful witch indeed.
Liam crashed into the hall, coming to a skidding stop and quickly straightened crossing himself to ward off the evil he was experiencing. The man was so frightened she could not take her eyes from his. Sylva entered behind him, leaned toward him and whispered, “Kill her now.”
Liam did not hesitate but moved toward her. Keri tried to raise Liam’s knife, but her arm would not move and her feet would not move when she tried to flee. She stood with her mind in total panic not knowing what to do to protect herself when her body would not respond to her commands as Liam walked up to her and wrapped his hands around her neck. She couldn’t draw in breath, she was close to passing out when she realized she could move and easily raised the knife and plunged it into Liam’s neck. He released her nearly instantly and she fell to the floor simultaneously with the man she had just killed. She gagged and struggled for breath as she lay there in the floor.
Lady Sylva came to stand over her, her beautiful face contorted by rage. That’s when she saw the scars from rope and fire. “They burned and hanged you,” Keri said her voice coming out in a rasp.
“Yes, but you will die here.”
Keri scrambled backward on her hands and rear until she had enough space to leap to her feet. Once doing so she fled and heard Sylva call after her, “You can run but you ca
n’t hide.”
Keri didn’t know how long she ran through the corridors seeking a way out but every door seemed barred against her. Then he was there, the man that had imprisoned her, the man she could not force from her mind. She let out a sob and launched herself at Damien. He caught her and wrapped her into the warmth of his arms. “Shh,” he cooed his hand stroked her hair.
“It will all be right now,” he said. “Shh.”
She wanted to melt into his arms but it didn’t feel right. She leaned back and looked up at the face of Garrick. His hard angled features scowled down at her in a way that froze her heart and crumbled her soul.
“Garrick?” she asked and realized though her voice still rasped it held a great deal of fright.
He smiled, a smile that could only come from a man who never felt humor, never knew a moment of happiness. “I have found you at last.”
“Let me go,” she demanded.
Garrick shook his head then his arms tightened around her like a vice, cutting off her air. She felt close to panic as he held her caged while he crushed her. She kicked and screamed at him, bit him and scratched him but his grip never loosened. She felt close to passing out but told herself she could not, she had to be alert. When she looked up it was not Garrick but Damien and his visage was the same cold unemotional one she always saw on Garrick.
She tried to say his name but nothing would come out so she did the next best thing in her mind and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a moment the viselike grip ended and he was carrying her. She clung to him, sure that he was taking her to safety. What she did not anticipate was to find herself clinging to him as he leaned her over the edge on top of one of the crumbling walls. The cobblestones below guaranteed her death.
