The Lethal Flame (Flame Series)

by Arms, Angie

  Her body ran cold thinking of the consummation of the vows. They would have to be consummated. Wasn’t this better for Kennet? She could send word that the children were to be “found.” Once that was accomplished he could step into his role of future lord of Langley and Bewcastle. Wouldn’t the man she was being sent to marry want a son to take over for him one day? A titter from one of the women broke through her thoughts and brought her eyebrows snapping together.

  “Are you two done yet?” she asked crossly wanting to be rid of the two women. Whatever her fate she would gladly face it if she could leave these two idiots behind.

  “We have to do your hair,” one of them said picking up a brush.

  “Leave it,” Keri snapped taking a step away.

  “Oh no, we couldn’t do that,” the red head said stepping in front of her while the brunette began to run the brush through Keri’s hair. For an insane moment Keri tried to pull away but the thought occurred to her, what did it matter? She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the words of joy for Keri’s situation that were coming out of their mouths. As they stepped away she couldn’t help but look at them, for the first time she saw what they were seeing. A woman, already a mother of two who had been passed around who only knew how many times. Not only were these marks against her but she had also been accused of rebellion and witchcraft, a catch she was not. Yet she was going to a titled man who owned property, a much more hopeful life beyond drudgery awaited her. These women would have to use their bodies to get beyond servitude. In retrospect wasn’t it the same with her. Keri dug in her heels as the door opened and the guards waited her exit. She could accept this marriage and keep her title or she could walk away and be free. That is until Richard found her and had her killed for her blatant disregard of his command. Kennet. Alive and married she had a better chance of providing a better life for her children.

  Head high and shoulders back she left the chamber and followed along the corridors to the square where she was ushered into a royal coach. She had no luggage or servants she heard one of the guards tell the coachman. Then the horses were straining and the wheels began to roll carrying her ever closer to what she did not know.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Damien leaned against the wall outside the stable waiting for Bolton Elspeth and his companion to emerge. Pierson’s information had been right on for he had recognized the two upon immediately entering the town. They went from one trader to the other and by the ever increasing size of the bags tied about their waists it seemed as if they were gathering funds for the rebels. Their act went unchallenged which told Damien this town did not support the current king. Quietly Damien slipped out of town and waited for the men to leave on the road to Bewcastle.

  The evening wore over into night, then dawn broke the sky and the sun had risen to nearly its peak before the sound of hoofs clomping in the road came to his ears. It was his prey, their postures made it appear as if they had been deep in their cups the night before. Good, he thought, it gave him a bigger advantage against the two.

  He circled as planned around the hill so he came out on the road ahead of them. Within a moment he was upon them and they were pulling their horses to a stop, swords drawn ready to protect the money.

  “Are you Bolton?” Damien asked tentatively as if he did not know it was indeed the name of one of the men.

  “Aye,” the taller of the two said.

  “Pierson sent me to you. Said he needed someone he could trust giving you an extra hand.”

  The man studied him for a moment before nodding and motioning for him to fall into step with them. Damien suspected he would not have been accepted so readily if they had not had such a big night the night before. As it was he was where he wanted to be and he would soon find out who was the ringleader of the men Richard wanted and he would gladly take him their heads knowing they threatened the crown.

  Damien rode with them throughout the day. Their pace was a slow one, any speed jarred their apparently aching heads and they had to stop often to relieve themselves and stretch legs and backs that had grown stiff. Long before dusk the two men stopped to set up camp. Damien moved about as if he had no agenda for the night, offering to hunt and bringing back two birds he cleaned and set to roasting over the fire. While he was away the men had settled in and had commenced to drinking again. Another thing in his favor.

  After the meal and the sun retreated from the sky the three of them stretched out near the fire the silence lengthening out as the night creatures began to move about in the shadows. “What’s waiting in Bewcastle anyway,” Damien asked in an irritated voice as if he was finding it annoying following the rebel leaders about the countryside.

  “The means to our victory,” Bolton declared taking another drink. Daniel already seemed to be losing a battle with consciousness.

  “I’ll be ready for this stalemate to end and get down to business,” Damien declared as if he had any idea what he was talking about.

  Bolton laughed, “Why did Pierson send you to us? We’re just collecting the money, Crisp is seeing all the action.”

  “Who is Crisp?”

  “Lord Crispen.”

  Something about Damien’s reaction sent a warning to Bolton who studied him. “Who did you say you were?”

  “Pierson didn’t send you,” Bolton declared but his realization was too late to save himself. Damien lunged at him, pulling the dagger from his belt as his body slammed into Bolton’s knocking him to the ground. “Who is Lord Crispen and why does he go to Bewcastle?” Damien demanded with the knife pressed into the man’s ribs.

  “Who are you?” Bolton asked. His question ended in a gasp as the point of the dagger pierced Bolton’s skin threatening to drive between his ribs.

  “Lord Crispin?”

  “Crisp was to take Langley when Prince John is crowned but Sir Damien Le Forte burned it,” Bolton hurriedly explained. The man’s eyes widened. “You’re him aren’t you? You’re Le Forte.”

  Damien remained quiet as he stared down at the man he would soon kill. “John will reward Crisp when he gets the throne by giving back his title and land in addition to others.”

  “What does Crisp have to do?”

  “Get rid of the Langley heirs, John has a man ready to take control that Richard has put his trust in.”

  “What of Bryson’s widow?”

  “She has no claim since Richard has married her to another.”

  “Who?” he asked in a deadly cold voice.

  “The Lord of Wooler.”

  Fury filled Damien and his knife bit deep into the man’s side, cutting into his vital organs and killing him nearly instantly. Cleaning off his blade he turned to the other man and saw he was unaware of his surroundings. Damien contemplated the next task for a moment. He did not want to kill a man in his sleep, his mind screamed at him but he moved to the prone man and with quick work cut his throat. Soon he had their heads severed from their bodies and they joined the other man’s in the bag before he rode quickly toward Bewcastle.

  Chapter 19

  She was terrified. She felt the driver get out of his seat and onto the ground and in her head she became adamant about not leaving the coach. The driver could take her anywhere but here. Coward, she spat at her mind as the door opened. She stared at him for a moment, felt her head give a slight involuntary shake before she stopped it. She could not be a child, she refused to be a child. She would survive, as she always had.

  With her head high she stepped onto the uneven cobblestones and got her first glimpse of her home. It wasn’t bad, was her first thought. Even in its poor condition it was more welcoming than Langley which had always been cold, almost menacing. At one time the keep, which was little more than a manor house with a stone wall around it, was well cared for and boasted of numerous flower beds that had been overtaken by weeds. Vines grew up the walls, some wilted, and some were completely dead giving the place an abandoned look. The handful of servants who gathered in the courtyard was the only evidence it w
as not.

  “My lady Keri,” an older, plump woman said stepping forward with the offer of a curtsy.

  “I am Beatrice, I run the house and this is Sir Michael, he is the last of the knights who guarded the castle that once stood here.”

  Keri found it difficult to imagine this frail old man defending anything. He stepped forward with a wide grin on his face and a joyous greeting in his blue eyes and she felt welcome. Beatrice continued the introductions which included an upstairs and downstairs maid, the cook and her assistant whose young son also helped with some of the household chores.

  “The driver is leaving with your things,” Sir Michael declared taking some hurried stiff steps in the direction the coach was going raising an arm to hail him.

  “No,” Keri said rushing forward to grab the knight’s waving hand. She heard the gasps from a couple of the servants and stepped quickly away from the man now that he was stopped and had turned toward her. “I brought nothing with me,” she explained in a low voice. Why should she feel embarrassed that she came to her new home with no possessions? Because she was a lady, and not just any lady but one the king felt was deserving of another titled husband. Panic threatened to set in. What kind of authority would she have here, she had arrived destitute? Worse off than they themselves were, and they were supposed to take her orders?

  “Well that’s no matter,” Beatrice said without missing a beat. She stepped forward, wrapped a reassuring arm around Keri’s shoulders and led her toward the house.

  The entire household followed them about as Beatrice gave a tour of the manor that was deceptively small from the gate and courtyard. The large house stretched out in the back to accommodate not only single servants but entire families so that all who worked at the manor was housed inside the one structure on the first floor with the lord and lady’s quarters on the second floor.

  “Where is the lord?” Keri asked Beatrice tentatively as the last of the other servants turned and went about their task.

  “He is yet to arrive,” the motherly woman explained.

  “Is he kind?” Keri asked in a rush that left her feeling as if she had revealed too much.

  “I do not know,” Beatrice said. “Lord Marcus Scott died nearly 6 years ago with no living heirs. It wasn’t until a few days ago when we received word to expect a new lord and lady and here you are.”

  “Do you at least know the name of this man?” Keri asked, hopeful yet dreading an answer all the same.

  “We were not told,” Beatrice said with a sympathetic shake of her head.

  Keri felt as if she would go mad but managed to dismiss the woman politely, declining food or any assistance for the rest of the evening. She had to have time to think, time to bolster herself again for what she had to do. It did not help that she was left waiting. She just wanted to get it over with, at least end the suspense at the kind of man she would be sharing this house with, her life with, even her children with.

  She spent the evening and much of the night roaming the rooms and halls trying to get a feel for the house. But in the end it still felt blank. There was an important piece of the puzzle still missing and until her future husband arrived it would remain so. She returned to the master room and stared at the large bed. There was an adjacent room, the bed smaller, the space itself considerably smaller. That was supposed to be the lady’s room. She stared at the connecting door with disdain. Of course the man would get the better portion. He could inherit when all a woman was good for was a brood mare. The man always got the head of the table, the biggest steed, the evening to prop his feet up and do nothing. By god her husband wouldn’t she vowed. She stalked to the large bed and slung the covers back crawling into the warm comfort it offered. Tomorrow she would start accumulating her own things into this room, making it clear this was her room and he would have the smaller portion when he arrived.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bewcastle stood eerily quiet as Damien approached the gate the sun had long since started its descent and was not long from casting its long shadows of evening. “Halt, who goes there?” a voice rang out from the guardhouse.

  “Sir Damien Le Forte. Is Charles about?”

  A man stepped from out of the little house and approached him. “Sir Damien,” he said and a light of recognition lit his eyes then relief flooded them. “Lord Charles has gone hunting and is late in arriving back.”

  “How late?” Damien asked as dread settled upon him.

  “He was supposed to return around midday. We sent a couple groups out to look for them.”

  “Them?” Damien asked.

  “He and Kennet had this hunt planned for days, just the two of them. This morning Waverly would hear none of it and refused to be left behind so they are all gone.”

  “Where did they plan to hunt?”

  “Toward the west, near the forest of caverns. I will show you,” the man said hurrying toward the stable.

  The ride took no time and Damien hoped they had just gotten led farther afield. As the day wore off and night began to take hold, their search yielded nothing. Camp was set up leading into the Forest opposite the manor and shifts of men were sent out with torches searching every inch the three could have possibly covered. Damien kept himself moving, exhaustion had no place inside his brain, only desperation to find those missing. Yet his mind grew frantic and the weight of what he had done settled in on him. He had sent Keri’s children back to her father. He was the reason they were again in harm’s way.

  In the early hours of morning when dawn had not yet broken the darkness he heard the sound, a small whimper. Only a few hours before he would have been moving too much to hear it, with the dwindling sounds of the night the noise was unmistakable. He froze, straining to hear it again. Just when he thought it was only his imagination, a small sniffle. He turned toward it, handing his torch off to someone else without a word. Moving quietly forward he stooped down, moving a few low branches that provided a perfect hiding place. Waverly. His knees nearly buckled at sight of the child. Her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her knees, the baby doll held caged against her chest. Her mother’s light brown eyes stared at his boots before traveling slowly upward and landing on his face. She shivered again and fear was all he could read on her face. He reached for her, she never moved away or unfolded from her protective cocoon.

  He lifted and carried her back toward camp. Well after dawn he was still trying to talk to the little girl to find out what happened to her brother and grandfather but she acted as if she was too frightened to speak to anyone. Finally, they broke camp and Damien made the decision to take the girl to her mother. If her son and father were dead she would need her daughter. He knew a great deal about loss and wanted the two to have each other. Maybe once Waverly saw her mother she would then be able to tell them what happened to her brother. He took a dozen of Charles’s men and the rest were left to search in hopes the two missing would turn up.

  Damien pushed them hard to Haltwhistle arriving long after nightfall. Damien carried Waverly through the torch lit corridors to the room he hoped would be familiar to her and tucked the sleeping child in. He left Lottie with her in hopes if the room didn’t bring her back the old woman would.

  He found his bed it had been so long since he had climbed into and let the night engulf him. Dawn came all too quickly and Damien met it in the hall as it began to come alive with activity. He sat at the head table, watching the other tables begin to fill, finding it curious he felt an increasing sensation of being home as the number of familiar faces grew. He watched Lottie enter with Waverly. She led the girl by the hand but the child seemed unaware of her surroundings, only following and doing things when she was bid.

  “Brother!” Cyrille’s rasping voice carried across the hall as he stumbled up the steps and to Damien’s side. He clapped on enthusiastic hand on his shoulder nearly knocking him from his chair. A loud gut wrenching shriek rent the air and everyone froze, a pin could be heard falling onto the rush strewn floor.<
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  “Cyrille?” Waverly screamed again before jerking from Lottie’s hand and rushing toward the dais. Her little feet flew over the rushes and did not hesitate as she careened up the steps and flung herself at Cyrille. Once in his arms she began to sob, great racking sobs. Damien had to listen closely to catch the words that came out in a rush. When the men had attacked them their grandfather had held the men off while the children had run. No one had chased after her but all those not busy with grandfather took off after Kennet. Eventually they had come back empty handed and had gone away with her grandfather who was so still he must have been dead. She had waited hoping Kennet would find her but he had not.

  Cyrille reassured her, comforted her and she settled down and eventually he sent her back to Lottie. Damien filled his brother in on Lord Crispen and his plan to return Waverly to her mother before continuing the search not only for the boy but his own prey. Cyrille seemed disturbed to hear the news Richard had already sent her to wed another man. Damien felt anger at Cyrille’s reaction which left him feeling foolish. It wasn’t as if she would have married Damien he had to tell himself over and over to tamp down the anger he felt at everyone. It was no one’s fault but his own Keri was getting married while he was doing the king’s work. It had been a choice he made years ago and had no desire to change it now. He refused to recognize the trepidation that filled him as they prepared to ride to Wooler.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The hill she sat upon gave Keri a wide view of the two roads which converged and led to the manor. So she spent hours each day sitting there, waiting, but her husband still had not arrived. It wasn’t just her husband she waited on, but her children. As quickly as her husband arrived and she deemed it safe for her children she would send for them. She had already decided if the man was abusive she would allow them to stay with her father, despite missing them already to nearly a point of insanity. It wouldn’t be forever. If he was mean she had already found a dozen ways a person at the manor might injure themselves. What bothered her about her plan was it brought no remorse.