At first, Maximus didn’t pay any attention although Garran did. As Maximus paid the spice vendor for the products he had acquired, Garran went to the door of the stall and casually looked out to see what the fuss was about. He caught sight of it about the same time a massive wave of smoke blew into the spice merchant’s stall, catching Maximus’ attention.
“What is it?” he said to Garran. “Where is the smoke coming from?”
Garran’s features were bordering on concern as he pointed to the south. “A building is on fire,” he said. “It looks as if people are trapped.”
Thanking the merchant, Maximus went to the door, looking in the direction that Garran was indicating. Across the avenue and on the corner of the street where several hostels were located, smoke was billowing out of the first floor of a three-storied building. The entire area was filling up quickly with smoke and people were beginning to panic; a fire such as that, in the cramped quarters of the city, could spread quickly. Already, merchants were starting to pack up their wares with the intention of fleeing. As people began to run away from the fire, Maximus handed his recent purchase back to the merchant for safekeeping as he and Garran headed towards the flames.
As the knights drew closer, they could see that the first floor of the building was quickly becoming engulfed. A layer of heavy smoke was clogging the avenue and they could see through the haze that there were people on the second and third floors of the building that was burning. There didn’t seem to be any flame on those levels but it was only a matter of time; smoke was already filling the rooms, swirling from the windows as the people inside began to throw their possessions out the windows. In fact, people were starting to come out of the windows as well.
Two women and a small child jumped onto the street below, suffering no injuries by pure fortune. The crowd gathered at the base of the building was carrying buckets to extinguish the fire, encouraging the people trapped inside to jump. As Maximus and Garran came to the west side of the building, the side that fronted the Street of the Merchants, a young woman and a girl appeared on the third floor above.
The young woman, coughing as the smoke swept upward, had what looked to be a rope of material of some kind in her hands. It was clear that she had tied items together to form a rope, a very clever and resourceful action, and Maximus and Garran ran towards the rope as she lowered it.
“Make sure you secure the end of it,” Maximus shouted up to the young woman. “Tie it tightly. We will help you!”
As the young girl cowered in the window, the woman disappeared inside and they could feel the cloth rope tugging.
“Hopefully she is tying it to something sturdy,” Garran said, squinting up at the smoke-filled window. “What is this place, anyway?”
Maximus, holding on to the end of the rope, glanced about. “I am not sure,” he said. “A hostel, mayhap? People are throwing cap cases and satchels out into the street.”
Garran glanced around, too, and was forced to agree; there were possessions strewn out all over the avenue. As he watched, a pair of children stole a few items in the mud and ran off with them, disappearing into the quagmire of alleyways and avenues beyond. Garran cocked a disapproving eyebrow.
“And they are making it easy for thieves,” he commented, returning his attention to the women above them. “She had better hurry; the fire is gaining. It will reach the upper floor soon.”
He was correct. It had already reached the second floor and had engulfed at least two of the rooms. More people were jumping, landing in the mud and hard-packed earth of the avenue below, but those on the third floor, as this woman and girl were, had a bit more of a challenge. It was more of a jump. As they seriously began to wonder what happened to the young woman, she suddenly appeared into the window next to the girl.
“Hurry down the rope!” Maximus yelled up to her. “Send the little one down first!”
Already, the young woman was rushing the girl onto the rope, but the girl was frightened; she wept and struggled a bit, fearful of the general chaos going on around her. The young woman was firm, however, and she coughed, laboring against the smoke, as she forced the girl onto to the linen rope.
Once the girl was on the rope, she froze, crying, as the young woman encouraged her to slither down. Garran, seeing that the girl was very uncertain on the rope, positioned himself underneath her should she fall. His instincts had been correct, for the girl had hardly moved at all before she lost her grip and, screaming, tumbled right into his arms. A flailing fist caught Garran in the mouth, drawing blood, but he didn’t utter a word about it or even acknowledge it as he carried the girl away from the burning building. He was well clear when he set the terrified child to her feet.
“Are you well, lass?” he asked her, not unkindly. “Did you hurt yourself?”
The girl sniffled, wiping her running nose with the back of her hand. “N-Nay,” she stammered. “I did not hurt myself. But you must help my sister!”
She was pointing to the third floor where the young woman was trying to mount the rope. The smoke was thicker now, billowing out of the window in great black clouds and swirling around the young woman as she tried to get a good grip on the rope, repeatedly trying to get a grip on it. It became evident that her palms were sweating, or perhaps injured, because she was having a difficult time grasping it. The more she tried, the more it seemed to slip through her fingers.
Maximus was standing directly beneath the rope that the young girl had attempted to use. He could see that the woman was nearly swamped with smoke at this point and flames were beginning to shoot from the windows of the chamber next to hers. There was no more time to delay, sweating palms or no, and he took hold of the end of the linen rope, holding it steady.
“Lass!” he boomed up to her. “Come now! Use the rope!”
The woman was hurrying; he could see it. Her movements were quick, determined, yet futile in most instances. Maximus could see the orange glow behind her now as the flames made their way into her chamber and the woman, feeling the heat behind her, made a desperate leap onto the rope.
Unfortunately, her grip wasn’t very strong. As the flames began to flick out from the window, the woman tried to lower herself down the rope. She slipped but caught herself, desperately attempting to hold on to the linen that seemed as slippery as silk. Maximus held on to the other end of it, holding it steady, as she lowered herself slowly and precariously.
“That’s it, lass,” Maximus called up to her, encouragingly. “One hand over the other. Do not panic; steady, lass, steady.”
The woman was able to lower herself to the second floor level, which was a miracle considering her weak grip and uneven progress. She was valiantly trying to descend and Maximus watched her with some concern as she made progress. Gazing up at her feet and at the dark green surcoat as it blew about in the wind that the fire storm was creating, he realized he could see up her skirt and was trying not to look at her very shapely legs. He could also see the hem of her fine white shift and, as it billowed about, he’d caught a glimpse of naked buttocks.
Maximus wasn’t hard pressed to admit that he found the show tantalizing, but he knew his thoughts were grossly out of place considering the circumstances. Therefore, he tried to focus on her hands and the upper, well-covered portion of her torso. Anything to keep his gaze from wandering to her legs and smooth arse. Unfortunately, the Winds of Fate had other ideas.
Abruptly, the linen rope went slack as the fire burned through whatever the young woman had anchored it to. All Maximus could see was the woman as she came sailing down upon him; the skirt, caught by the wind as she fell, belled out and Maximus soon found his head covered by it. Her feet hit his shoulders and glanced off, her heels sliding down his shoulder blades as her bum came to rest on his collarbone.
It was a hard hit against his throat and he pitched backwards with the momentum of her fall, realizing that a woman’s pink, tender center was suddenly in his face. It was the only thing he could see. As he hit the ground,
the woman fell atop him, her fuzzy notch squarely on his face.
Maximus lay there as the woman essentially knelt over him in an extraordinarily provocative position. From the way they had fallen, her skirts were tangled around them so she couldn’t rise immediately. He was trapped, his face against that sensual core, and in spite of the circumstances, it was the most arousing experience he’d ever known. Had he stuck out his tongue, he could have easily lapped her. But she was grunting unhappily, struggling to climb off him, and Maximus had to pull himself away from that rather beautiful sight to restore the woman’s dignity. He shifted so she could at least pull her skirts out from underneath him.
“Sirrah!” the woman gasped, trying to yank her tangled skirt away from his head. “Let me go!”
Maximus realized that his arms were tangled in her skirts as well. “I am trying, my lady,” he assured her. “Kindly push yourself up and I will be able to move.”
Evidently, the woman could feel his hot breath against her woman’s core as he spoke because she suddenly shrieked and began pummeling his head, still half-wrapped up in her skirts.
“You beast!” she cried. “You dirty, foul beast! Remove yourself!”
She was landing some heavy blows to his head and Maximus put his hands up, grabbing her fists as they swung at them. He could only see her with one eye because of the skirts still around his head, but that one eye was glaring.
“You will cease your fit,” he growled. “I am not here by choice, lady. You fell on top of me. If anyone should be angry between us, it should not be you. Now, stop beating me and pull your skirts away from my head unless you wish to remain in this position for the rest of your life.”
The young woman was embarrassed and frustrated; Maximus could see it in her expression. She was also the most utterly beautiful woman he had ever lain eyes on; with long blonde hair secured in a braid, she had a sweet oval face, lush lips, and big eyes the color of a hot summer sky. She was absolutely ravishing. But that beautiful face was twisted into a serious frown.
Grunting miserably, the woman yanked at her skirts, trying to push herself off of him. Maximus was able to get his arms free and he reached out, taking her by the waist as he sat up. He was able to set her to her feet before rolling over and rising to his knees. He watched as the woman ran over to the young girl, pulling the child into a relieved embrace.
“Are you well, Issie?” she asked softly. “Did you hurt yourself?”
The young girl shook her head, holding tightly to the woman. “Nay,” she replied, looking at Garran, who was standing a few feet away. “He… he saved me.”
The young woman looked at the big, black-eyed knight. “You have my thanks,” she said sincerely. Then, she reluctantly turned to Maximus, who was just rising to his feet and brushing the dirt off his leather breeches. It was clear that she was torn between her embarrassment and her gratitude. “And to you, sirrah… I suppose I should thank you also. Had you not been here, the outcome might have been considerably different for my sister and me.”
Maximus moved away from the flaming structure, which was starting to collapse. Pieces of building were falling onto the avenue and, silently, he and Garran moved the women away from the danger to the other side of the street. It was a chivalrous habit to protect the weaker female sex and had nothing to do with his overall concern for the women. Considering the ungrateful lady had beat him around the head, he would just as soon leave her where she stood.
“Your gratitude is unnecessary,” he said, realizing he was having difficulty looking her in the eye and not thinking of that sweet morsel between her legs that had presented itself so unexpectedly to him. “If you are uninjured and do not require further assistance, then we shall be along our way.”
He didn’t even wait for an answer; he found that he was increasingly confused as to his reaction to the woman, as if she had somehow cast a spell over him. Something about her was pulling him towards her whether or not he wanted to and he didn’t like it, not one bit. As he and Garran turned away, heading back for the Street of the Merchants and to the business they were there to conduct, the young woman’s soft voice called after him.
“Sirrah,” she said. “I should like to know your name so that I may tell my father. He will want to thank you.”
Maximus paused and he turned to face her. Her voice had a silky, sensual quality, something he found quite alluring. A siren’s song, he thought ominously. She is trying to bewitch me with that honeyed tone.
“As I said, gratitude is not necessary,” he said somewhat stiffly. “We were honored to be of assistance.”
He turned to leave but, again, the woman stopped him. “Wait, please,” she said. By the time he turned around with some impatience to look at her, she was walking towards him, clutching the little girl beside her. Her lovely features were considerably softer. “I… I am sorry I became angry with you when you were only trying to help. I am afraid that my fear got the better of me. If you would forgive my behavior, I would consider it a personal favor.”
Lord, but that tone was smooth and gentle. He almost closed his eyes to it, letting it flow over him, infiltrate him, and he knew that if he let himself go that she could talk him into anything with those dulcet tones. He wanted to walk away from her and away from the situation; he truly did. He had no involvement here and was anxious to be about his business. But gazing into those bright blue eyes, he realized he couldn’t simply walk away from her. Something about her had reached out to grab him.
“There is nothing to forgive, my lady,” he said, less stiffly. “Your fright is understandable.”
She smiled faintly and Maximus went weak in the knees; he simply couldn’t help it. He’d never seen such a beautiful smile. “You are too gracious,” she said. Then, she indicated the girl in her grasp. “This is my sister, Lady Isadora de Lara. I am Lady Courtly. My father is Kellen de Lara. Mayhap you know of him.”
Maximus cocked an eyebrow. “The Lord of the Trilateral castles?” he asked. “Trelystan, Hyssington and Caradoc Castles. Your father is Viscount Trelystan.”
Courtly nodded. “He is, indeed,” she said, surprised that the man should know her father in such detail. “Then you know him?”
Maximus nodded. “I do,” he replied; he had a mind like a steel trap and never forgot anything once he’d learnt it. “The Marcher lords of de Lara hold nearly the entire southern portion of the Welsh marches as the Lord Sheriffs. Everyone knows of your family, my lady; they are great and powerful. And I know your father well; he is a fine and just man.”
Courtly’s smile grew. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I should like to tell him who saved my sister and me from certain death.”
Maximus hesitated for a moment; a modest man, he wasn’t one to easily accept praise or accolades, but he saw no harm in giving the lady his name. Moreover, he wanted her to know it. As foolish as it was, he wanted her to know him.
“De Shera,” he replied. “I am Maximus de Shera and my counterpart is Garran de Moray.”
He was pointing to Garran beside him but Courtly didn’t look at Garran; she was focused on Maximus as the smile faded from her face.
“De Shera,” she murmured, mulling the name over. “I believe I have heard my father speak of you. You have brothers, do you not?”
“Two.”
She nodded as her recollection returned. “Indeed, I have heard my father speak of you and your brothers,” she said. “One of your brother’s is an earl, is he not?”
“The Earl of Coventry.”
“My father says the de Sheras are de Montfort’s muscle.”
Maximus shrugged. “De Montfort has many men that fit that description,” he replied humbly. “We are simply part of a group under de Montfort’s command.”
Courtly eyed the very big, very broad knight; he had brown hair, close-cropped, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache the embraced his square-jawed face. His eyes were a very dark blue, a color of the lapis lazuli stone she had seen once on a p
iece of jewelry her father had given her mother. His features were even and well-formed, and he had shoulders so broad that she was sure the man couldn’t fit through a doorway with ease. His hands were the size of trenchers.
He was exceptionally handsome, which did nothing to ease the embarrassment of what had happened when the linen rope had given way and she had fallen on top of him. The man’s face had been pressed right up against her genitals; she could still feel his scratchy beard against her tender core. The recollection of it sent shivers through her body, a quivering she did not understand, but all she knew was that it fed her embarrassment and caused her palms to sweat. Or perhaps there was more to it than simply embarrassment, something primal and wanting; she simply didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d never known anything like it.
“I am sure you are being modest,” she finally said. “I am not even a warrior yet I have heard the de Shera name frequently. I am honored and fortunate that you were here to save my sister and me. It will make a fine story to tell my friends, in any case. They will be quite envious.”
A flicker of a smile twitched on Maximus’ lips. “I hope it does not cause them all to run out and set buildings on fire, hoping I will come around to save them.”
Courtly laughed softly, displaying lovely white teeth. “Would it be such a burden, then?” she teased. “You are a hero, after all.”
He shook his head firmly. “I am nothing of the sort,” he said. “I happen to be here at the right time and that is all.”
Courtly’s eyes glimmered. “As I said, we were most fortunate.”
Maximum simply nodded. The conversation was dwindling but he didn’t want it to; he rather liked talking to her. Her voice was like music to his ears and her smile made him forget all time and space and reason; it was hypnotic. He could have spent all day listening to her laugh. If she was a siren, then he was gladly and quite happily succumbing to her deadly charms. He didn’t care in the least. But he didn’t want to make a fool of himself by lingering over a dying conversation so he cleared his throat softly, sorry to see it end.
Dark Deceptions Page 67
