Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (6 page)

Roland exchanged an uncomfortable look with Marcus
, before speaking.  “Regardless we cannot stay here,” his eyes moved to the place his children set, but he looked away so quickly, Marcus knew his eyes did not have time to settle on them. 

“I will find Garrick and hope the King has decided he has no need for Damien.”

“We leave in an hour,” Roland declared, and Marcus heard desperation there.  It did not come from his fear Damien or Garrick could not handle themselves, it was the fear he needed to leave quickly and be far away from his children.  For Marcus the declaration tore at his heart, because he would be leaving Alena.

Marcus looked to the hearth and Alena sitting next to it
, staring into the flames.  How could he leave her?   He would be no good to her if he stayed.  He couldn’t even get near her.  So what difference did it make?  His place was with Garrick now.  He left him to bring Alena back to safety, now it was time to return to his duty.

Marcus stood and moved toward Alena.  He stopped more than an arm’s length away
, and crouched down in front of her.

“I wanted to let you know I’m leaving
, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”  Alena gave no indication she saw or heard him.  What had he expected?  “You are safe here now.” Her eyes looked through him, as if she could still see the flames behind him.  He moved a little closer, but only as close as she would allow, her stiffening body told him he was close enough.  “I know you may not be able to understand why I gave you that knife, but one day I hope you will,” he whispered.  “Once your mind is clear, you will be able to sleep soundly at night, knowing he will never come for you again.  If that has taken you away from me, I will mourn the loss, but never will I regret my decision.”  Were her eyes looking at him?  The green orbs were so blank he was not sure, but he thought he saw a subtle change in them, as she looked at his face.  Marcus lowered his gaze to the floor as he gathered his thoughts, when he raised his eyes again he was positive she was looking at him.  “Bad things are getting ready to happen, and I fear my time with Garrick comes to an end.”  He swallowed, because goodbye was harder than he ever thought.  “I don’t know what fate has in store for me.  Either I will go to war, or I will be faced with some very hard decisions.  Either way, I am not likely to make it back here.  This was my home, but I cannot live here any longer.  I must close the door on this part of my life.  It is something I should have done long ago.  The decision to stay with Garrick has led me down a path I feel is the wrong one, and now I must choose.  I’m sorry, but it means I must take the path that takes me from you.”  Marcus stopped, swallowed several times, as he stared at her.  “I am just glad you are safe now, and regardless of where you go from here, I hope you can lay your head down at night, and know in your heart, you did the right thing in Cairo.”

Marcus abruptly rose and stared down at Alena, her head did not bend backward to look up at him.  Perhaps she had only been staring
, and heard nothing he said.   “If forgetting me brings you peace, I hope you do, but know I will never forget you.  I will never forget the first time I saw you.  I will never forget our fights, your touch, and your voice.  Always, you will be in my heart, because I have loved you from that first time you walked into my life.”  Alena did not move, so Marcus fled, his strides carried him quickly from the hall, and out into the courtyard. 

Dusk would soon be upon them
, but by then they would be far beyond the walls.  He stood on the steps, his mind telling him he made the wrong decision, but his heart told him it was the only decision he could make, he swore an oath to Garrick.  He scared Alena now, so he had no place here.  If anyone could heal her, it was the gentle Lady Ryann. 

“I will care for her,” Ryann’s voice came from behind him
, as if she read his thoughts.

Marcus began to tell her he knew this
, but a sob was stuck in his throat. 

“In return I must ask a favor of you.  Two actually.”

Marcus turned to look at her.  “Bring Roland back to his children, they need their father, and please bring my husband back to me.”

“You love him don’t you?” Marcus asked
, turning back around to stare at the activity that would end in their horses and supplies being packed, so he and Roland could begin another endless journey.

“I do very much.”

Marcus turned to her quickly.  “I think we are the only two in the world who loves him.”  Ryann’s blue eyes moved over his face, and he knew she saw the tears he fought to control, but they wanted released, and as he stared down at her they came in a small trickle that ran down his cheek, and dripped off the end of his chin.

“I think we love him so much
, it is enough.”

Marcus looked down at the tiny blond
, and he marveled that Garrick’s wife could be no more opposite him than this woman.  Garrick was dark, and she was light, he was harsh, while she was gentle, he was a murderer, and she was a healer, but somehow she saw all her qualities buried in her husband.

“I will do all that is in my power to see he returns to you.”

“I know you will, even if I had not asked it of you.”

Marcus only nodded
, and did not look at her again as he descended the steps.

Chapter 3

Scotts Manor

It hurt.  It hurt so bad he wanted to puke, to cry, to call out for salvation.  He clinched his jaws tight enough his teeth and jaw hurt to the point they might break.  Beads of sweat wet his face, he could smell his own blood, his own urine, and body odor.  He heard the click as the wheel slid into its stop, and the man at the lever stepped back.  But the pain rolled on and on.  His legs, arms, and back were stretched beyond endurance, every joint ready to be severed. 
I will not talk!  I will not!

Cyrille opened his eyes and saw the low ceiling over his head.  He heard the two guards talking in their foreign tongue.  He slowed his breaths, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling
, to move his mind a little farther away from this prison, in this barren, God-forsaken land.  He thought of home, his sister.  He would return there one day, both he and his brother.  He just had to endure and King Richard would attack, and there would be no more need for their secrets.

He must have lost consciousness because he awoke in the cell.  Why did he feel so lost?  Bec
ause he wasn’t here.  They already escaped, and the Emir was dead.  No, he wasn’t dead.  The man who tried to burn him alive had somehow escaped.  Cyrille was confused.  How did they end up back in this hell hole?  Did the Emir hunt them down again?  He had come for Alena.  He must have come for them too, only he was having trouble remembering.

He tested the chains holding him to the wall.  He pulled a little
, but they would not give.  He pulled harder, franticly, until it turned into a maniacal frenzy that left him exhausted, panting.  Desperation built and built within his chest, until he felt like sobbing.  This could not happen again.  He could not survive again.  He could not!  He pulled again, braced himself against the wall, pulled again and again, until his arms felt as if they would pull from their sockets.  His wrists were bloody from the effort, and yet the chains would not yield.

Then they had him again. 
He was tied to the table.  He couldn’t move, and the knife was coming at him.  He could see the tip, so close, it blurred in his vision.  The pain.  It exploded in his head, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out. 

Pain, it rolled on and on, washing over him, taking his breath, imprisoning his senses
, so he knew nothing but the pain.  He could not scream, he could not fight.  Where was Damien?  His brother always kept him safe, despite the stupid things he had gotten himself into over the years.  Yet, he knew Damien could not save him, it was his turn to save Damien. That’s why he was here, and not his brother.  He would be strong, because he knew his brother would be.

Oh God the pain!
  He couldn’t move, it took everything from him including, his will to live.  His mind screamed,
kill me
, over and over until there seemed no end to the echo of the words inside his head.  He needed someone to end his agony.  It was not just his head, but every part of him.  He could smell charred meat, burnt hair, and he knew it was himself.  He could feel the pain through the existing pain.  He was burning.  No, he was already burned, already knew the pain, the panic and desperation.

Damien was leaving him.  Cyrille didn’t know where he was
.  He just knew his brother was leaving him here to die, alone.  Fear came and wrapped its tentacles around the pain, interwove with it, until they were one and the same.  He knew he was going to die from the moment they cut his eye from him, but he did not think he would die without his brother.  They were free now, yet Damien was leaving him.  Why couldn’t he just stay a few minutes?  There was so much pain, he could not survive any longer.  Just a few minutes. 
Stay brother.  Stay
.  Repeated itself in his mind, but he could not speak.  He begged and pleaded, but no one heard, as no one heard his screams, or knew of the pain, and now the fear.

Damien was gone.  He felt the emptiness inside himself.  Was he dead?  Yes, he knew he was dead because he felt the loneliness.  It fed the fear
, until tremors took over.  Cyrille did not feel the pain, only fear.  Then he saw him.  On the platform, the flames eating away at him.  Already Damien sagged against the ropes as they burned through, and then his body was falling, disappearing into the flames. 
No!  It’s me.  It’s me.  Don’t hurt him.  It’s me.  Me!

Cyrille sat up in bed.  His body was drenched in sweat
, and tremors took over, the covers clutched in his hands, hugging them desperately to his chest, as he dragged in great gulps of air.  He couldn’t move, he was safe at Scotts Manor with his brother.  Yet he felt the fear and pain all over again, as he huddled in the middle of his bed, the blankets pulled protectively around him, as if they were a cocoon that could keep the reality of his past out.  He did not like the fear, he could live with the pain that was left to him, but the fear that woke him each time he lay his head down and left him a quivering coward, was hard to accept.  He had suffered and he had survived, but he relived it each time he closed his eyes seeking rest. 
There is no rest for the wicked
.

Anger flooded him as he tried to bring himself back under control.  Flinging the covers
off, he climbed from the bed, his back and leg screaming at him, as it did constantly throughout the day and night.  He was no man, just a frightened, worthless child.  He grabbed the candle next to the bed and flung it across the room.  It gave him no satisfaction, so he grabbed the little table and flung it as well.  It crashed into the wall splintering, but that, as he well knew, did not chase away the nightmarish fear and pain that was imbedded in his soul.

He pulled his dark cloak on and grabbed his dark hood, slipping it on over his head
, before he left his chamber.  Despite the late hour he moved along in the shadows, blending with them, the concealing thickness brought him some level of comfort.  Out in the courtyard, he looked at the silhouette of the new wall that now surrounded Scotts Manor.  It was a double layer wall, the inner taller and stronger than the outer, although the outer was not small by any means.  Damien had a family to protect now, and he worked months to see it through to completion.  Soon the King would be at the gates, demanding Damien’s head, for not answering his summons to bring his army to fight in the King’s next war.

Cyrille’s eyes fell on the dark shape standing on the wall
, and Cyrille knew it was Damien.  Stiffly he climbed the steps, and made his way to him.   

~   ~   ~

Damien knew by the shuffle of the approaching stride it was Cyrille who was seeking his company this late at night.  He did not turn from the landscape laid out before him as Cyrille came to stand beside him.  From the corner of his eye he saw his brother remove the hood.  Who did he think he would encounter so late at night?  It was not worth the risk for his brother.  Everyone here knew Cyrille was badly scarred, but most still only saw the man in his hood.  There reaction would always be the same as everyone else’s, horror.

“It’s time,” Damien said
, without looking his way.

He heard Cyrille sigh.

“Don’t tell me where you go.  I think it is safest for Keri if I do not know.”

He watched Cyrille turn to him
, but still Damien did not look at his brother.

“I think the King would stop at nothing to find out her location
, and make sure she was dead alongside me.  I think he would wait until I knew she was dead, before he killed me.”

“Do you think you have angered him to that extent?” Cyrille asked
, in the whisper that did not strain his damaged voice.

“We have served the King a long time.  How many lives have I taken
because they have angered the King?”

“They were not all innocent,” Cyrille said
, in defense of his brother. 
Loyal to the end, that was Cyrille
, Damien thought.

“But some were.”

Silence fell between the two brothers, as they stood side by side.  How many times had they done just that?  How many times had they cheated death together?  This time was different, Damien could feel it.  Too much had changed, and for the first time in his life, Damien ignored the orders of his king.  His actions would not go unpunished. 

“Remember when we took the Lesley twins down to the pond?” Cyrille asked with a deep chuckle.

A feeling of peaceful melancholy blanketed Damien at the memory.  The two girls had been their first, ironic they were identical twins for the two brothers, though not born the same year, were as identical as two could be.  “There father found us coming back, and Christen assured him nothing happened, while Christy wanted him to kill me.”

“It was Christen who wanted you dead.  Christy was my girl
, and apparently I did a better job than you, since she wanted to save me,” Cyrille clarified.

“
It was the three of us against Christen, otherwise I think I would have died that day.”

“And their father
was so angry Christen tried to be deceitful, he sent her off to a convent.”

“The girls always loved you,” Damien said but
, felt like kicking himself afterward.  Cyrille had been the kind, charming one the girls flocked to.  He never had a cold night in his bed, because no woman could withstand his brother’s charms.  Now he couldn’t pay the lowliest whore to climb into his brother’s bed.

“Because I wasn’t grumpy like you.”

“I was not grumpy,” Damien declared, thankful his cruel comment hadn’t sent Cyrille away in anger.  “I just had a lot to plan for.  We were to be the strongest knights of the King after all.”

“You were always go
ing to be the strongest of the King’s men.  I was going to follow you to court, and plow all the pretty maidens.”

Damien laughed because tha
t was how their early years played out.  “You almost ended up tied down when Lord Oscar found you plowing his daughter.”

“Lucky for me
, several of the other men in the barracks came forward to tell how they were there first.”

“You always had an angel sitting upon your shoulder.”

“Not always,” Cyrille replied.

Damien turned toward his brother.  “Always Cyrille
, or you would not be standing here with me now.  You would not be able to take my family to safety.”

“I don’t want to leave you brother,” Cyrille said
, and Damien heard the fear in the words.

Damien studied his brother before him.  He was so scarred, so broken
, Damien wanted to be able to protect him forever, but now he was a danger to him.  If Richard came for him and found Cyrille, he would kill him as surely as he would kill Keri.  All because Damien loved them. 

“We will never leave each other Cyrille.  We will always be a part of each other.  Not even death can take us from each other
, but I need you more than ever.  You must do what I cannot do.”

“I know.”

Silence fell between them and Damien knew he could depend on Cyrille to take Keri far away from Scotts Manor, and the danger she was in if they stayed. 

“How long am I to stay away?” Cyrille asked.

“Never return here,” Damien said, with near panic in his voice.  Cyrille studied him silently. “We have fought alongside the King’s men.  If the first army he sends does not succeed, he will send a larger army.”

“Has the extra months been worth it?”

“It has not just been the extra months.  It’s about the rest of my life.  I wanted to spend it with Keri, not in some desert, or taking a country I care nothing for.”  Damien shrugged, “I may have survived this war, but maybe not the next, or the one after that.  I have found my peace here, and I will die for it, that is all that is left to do.”

~   ~   ~

Keri pulled her horse to a stop and watched Cyrille’s back as he continued a couple of more paces, before he realized she stopped, and her children on their ponies on either side of her did the same.  Realizing his companions had stopped, he turned his horse around.  Keri would never forget the terror this man invoked in her upon their first meeting, The-man-in-the-hood.  Now she felt sympathy for him, the awkward way he sat his horse to accommodate his bad leg, and the stiffness that always was a part of him.  But her sympathy was not enough to save him from the wrath she was getting ready to unleash on him, if he balked.

She was unable to tell what he was thinking with the hood on his face, not that he was easy to read without it.  She nudged her horse the two paces to come alongside him.  “We have to find Roland and Garrick,” she declared with defiance.

“Your husband has told you to leave, and you told him you would,” he declared, his voice was whispered, but she heard the irritation.

“I did not lie to Damien.  We are not at Scotts Manor are we?” she asked
, with her own irritation.  “We are going to gather more forces, and return to help protect our home.”

“I cannot allow it.”

Keri straightened to her full height in her saddle.  “I do not care what you will allow.  I fought for my old home when you came to destroy it, why would I not fight for Scotts Manor?”