Set to Flame (Flame Series) (4 page)

He looked to the skin in her hand then to her face and gave a slight nod.  Without hesitation, she dumped some of the liquid across the cuts.  Garrick’s breath was sucked in sharply, and she feared he would make too much noise.  She placed a hand over his mouth and a constricting hand against his chest to control the writhing.  She felt the hardness of his body beneath her palm.  The man had no fat, nothing but muscle and strength and she became aware he moved not an inch beneath her.  Within a moment, he reached up and removed her hand from his mouth and then his body. 

She studied the cut, felt it needed more, but his other wounds were also deep and needed cleansing.  Repositioning, she poured the liquid down his arm, and he sucked in a breath and would have thrashed if she had not thrown her whole body against him to keep him still.  She waited no time to pour more onto the wound on his chest and continued with his other cuts until the skin was empty.  The man’s lithe body thrashed beneath her, and just when she felt she could not hold onto him any longer he stilled.  She rose from him, and her eyes collided with his, and she saw the open pain as he gathered himself and raised his shield once again.  She tried to quiet her rapid breathing as she pulled away.  The other skin she carried was filled with wine.  Without the boy everyone got a little more and the last of the ration she added hemlock to and gave to the dark one. 

Finished she moved toward the door, but the sound of steps came to her.  She froze and knew they were coming straight for the chamber.  It was too late to get out, too late to do anything but hurry back to the man who tried to touch her.  She dove for his back, pushing him forward and wedging herself behind him, hoping she was hidden entirely from the door.  She felt the man’s hand push a piece of her cloak around her leg, the heat of it touching her calf felt as if he branded her.  Then his elbows were on either side of her, and his head leaned back, effectively concealing her but at the same time surrounding her.  She heard the footsteps end at the door and saw the light of a torch illuminating the floor next to the man who shielded her. 

The door was unlocked, her heart began to hammer violently in her chest.  The keys.  She could feel them pressed into her hip where they were tucked away inside the pocket sewn into the cloak.  Her body began to tremble, and though she felt the man above her not move a muscle his hand found her leg and touched it.  She found reassurance there, not fear from the promise of her own weakness.  His hand was large, wrapping over her knee bent against his back.  The cloak had fallen away leaving only the texture of the material and fur to protect her.  He did not touch more than the one gentle grasp. She was no fool.  She knew now not only did the color of the fabric bring more from her eyes but gave the Emir an added piece of ammunition, as he saw it, to make her putty in his hands.  He did not understand that she did not want to be a slave and no amount of stroking or expensive trinkets would soften her to him.  He was vile and even now she could feel his cold fingers on her, and she shuddered making the man tighten his hand ever so slightly. Finally, the footsteps began again, and the light disappeared. 

She suddenly became aware of the predicament she placed herself in coming here.  It wasn’t the fear of discovery, which had always been present, it was the sudden realization these men could grab her and hurt her at any time.  The dark one was the only one she had avoided getting close enough to, the only one
who at one time or another couldn’t have grabbed her and hurt her, until today.  Her skin went cold at the thought.  Instinctively she knew these men, at least the one she hid behind, would not hurt her.  Perhaps it was because these men were of her own kind. 

He rolled to the side slightly, as much as possible and looked over his shoulder at her when she immediately did not rise.  She offered him a smile before crawling from behind him and to her feet.  She had not realized she was shaking until her knees threatened to give way beneath her.  Her death would be a certainty if found here.  She was a favorite of the Sheik, but he would not tolerate an act of treason.

She spared a final glance at all of them and wondered who would be gone from their numbers the next time she saw them.  Would she see any of them again?  She paused at the door making sure the corridor was cleared then opened the door only far enough to allow her slender body to pass through.  She felt such the traitor locking the men back in.

~  
~   ~

Throughout the rest of the night, Marcus was haunted by the angel who had come to him.  She was becoming an obsession, perhaps it was the predicament he found himself in.  His fellow knight was in agony and Marcus couldn’t stop feeling the softness of the fabric against the even softer fur radiating the heat of her skin.  It was like a fire that burned threatening to consume him.  He found his thoughts straying even from the talk of an escape plan.  There was no escape plan, he had come to accept this and only looked forward to the angel and dreading the death that would take her from him.

The image of her rising from the floor was forever seared into his brain.  The gown with the fur trimming the plunging neckline made it possible for him to see straight down as she had bent forward to rise from the floor.  He wanted to weep at the perfection of the bared breasts.  It had only been a brief glimpse, but he fantasized about the feel of the delicate skin, the weight of them in his hand.  Long after the other knights slept Marcus’s thoughts were on the angel.

The crash of the gate brought him out of his slumber, the image of the angel’s smiling face from beneath him vanished in an instant.  Three men entered the cell followed by Ghalib who stopped to stand before the brothers.

“The squire was full of useful information,” he said with a smile.  “Like the commander is one of the brothers.” 
Ghalib tisked.  “Poor boy was so frightened he couldn’t remember where the commander was here in my prison.  I have it narrowed down so I ask one more time who is the leader?”

Silence had reined for only a moment before
Cyrille scrambled to his feet.  “I am the commander.”

Damien seemed frozen in stark terror for a breath of time before he shot to his feet.  “No, Devlin is his squire.  I am the leader of these men.”

“How dare you,” Cyrille said with anger edging his voice.  The sheik motioned his men forward and they unchained Cyrille from the wall while Damien cursed at him.  His brother flung every insult he ever could imagine at Cyrille, but the younger played the part well, for soon the door closed upon their prison and all that could be heard was Damien’s threats to kill Cyrille when they got out of there.

The day was an endless one.  Marcus did not know how much time had passed in their dark abode before the shuffle of feet came down the corridor. The door was opened and the three men drug
Cyrille in.  Garrick had been a warm up compared to the pain Cyrille had been subjected to.  His flesh had been cut open in various places, pierced in others, but the most horrendous of the damage was to his eye that had been carved from his head.  He lay unconscious after he was chained to the wall and the men left once again.  It was a clear warning to the rest of them as they would likely watch their friend’s shallow breaths dwindle to nothing before he passed from this life.

All the knights could do was stare at their friend and then at one another.  Things had just gotten serious, and it was time to prepare to die.  Despite her scare from the night before the angel came again with more food and more medicines she almost dropped when first she entered their chamber of hell.  She stared aghast at
Cyrille and despite the dark shadows chased away by the torches in the corridor he detected a tear.  Suddenly he wished she would leave them alone.  A lady had no business seeing something such as this and it would only get worse.

She passed out the food, choosing to cleanse Garrick’s wounds first as she kept casting weary glances at the still motionless
Cyrille.  Garrick sat quietly while the stinging liquid was poured over his wounds.  By the time she moved to Cyrille, he imagined her pallor to be on the green side.  She went to work cleansing the wounds, the man not making a sound throughout.  Marcus watched the debate inside her head as she stared at the empty socket where the eye once was.  Tentatively she reached a finger out and touched; bringing her finger away she rubbed it against her thumb then smelled it.  Suddenly Marcus had the wild hope it was burned from his head instead of cut.  Wouldn’t it be better cauterized and less likely to become infected?  With a sad frown the woman stood, passed around the wine and placed a healthy dose of medicine in the last two drinks she gave to Garrick then forced down Cyrille’s throat.  As she was leaving, Marcus screamed at her in his mind to stay away.

~  
~   ~

Alena stood staring out at the serene landscape of the lady’s sitting room.  The coolness of the breeze entered from the balcony, the doors wide for the early morning breeze to flutter through her hair.  She heard the women behind her begin to murmur, but it took a few moments for the chaos of the room to register.  She turned and saw Phillip with the squire in tow.  As soon as the weasel caught sight of her he pushed the boy forward.  It took only a moment for the boy to notice her.  His green eyes locked with her for a heart stopping moment she saw the recognition, but he was a smart boy and looked away just as quickly.

“
Alena,” Phillip said in a jovial voice.  “This is Squire Devlin, he and his knights are visiting us, and I thought you might like to have his company.”

“Why would I want the company of a boy,” she asked angrily but fear began to creep in.  She had a feeling of dread that this action would make her a piece of the sadistic game they played behind the palace.

“The Emir hopes by presenting you with someone from your homeland you might begin to forget your anger.”

She said nothing to that.  What could she say?  She would never let go of her anger, as long as he kept her his prisoner who must submit to him at his whim.  He would gladly take the boy away, she read that much on Phillip’s face.  So she remained silent until the man finally turned with a huff and left the boy with her.

She studied him for a long moment before glancing about the room.  The women had dismissed the two, finding no interest in her visitor.  Without a word, Alena turned and stepped onto the balcony.   A table and chairs were positioned in a secluded spot among ferns and potted plants, and it was to these she led Devlin.  She took a seat and as soon as he sank into the chair at her elbow she turned her attention to him with a million questions crowding her mind.

“Are you well?”

“I am well, they have been kind to me, all things considering.”

Her heart went out to him for the game was not over yet.  “Who are the knights you ride with?”

“They are knights of King Richard captured at Arsuf.  Saladin wants the name of our leader because he knows where Richard will strike next.  Saladin wants this information so he can be waiting and wipe out Richard’s forces for the carnage at Acre.”

Hadn’t she known the moment she saw them brought to the palace it was all about war?  She found herself sickened by men and their mad endeavors for power.  “What does Saladin know?” she asked with a great deal of apprehension. 

The boy looked ashamed.  “I told them the commander’s brother is with him.”

Fear jumped to
Alena’s breast.  “Do not tell me.  I do not want to know.”

Devlin fell silent as he looked around himself at the opulence just on the other side of the doors and the various women lounging about the area.  His mouth fell open, “This is a harem,” he said.

Alena felt the scowl cross her face.

“Are you married to the Sheik?” he asked in a whisper.

“No,” she snapped irritated at him. 

“Are you his daughter?” the boy asked with wonder in his voice.

She ignored him. 

“His sister?” he asked as he warmed to the mystery, his voice rising.

“No you can’t be his sister.  You obviously don’t share his heritage.  Why are you here?”

He studied her for several moments while she tried to continue to ignore him.  “Are you a concubine?” he asked in a near whisper. 

She glared at him and to her fury his eyes widened and his eyes trailed over her in a way they had not previously.  In that moment, she despised herself.  Despised what her life had become.

“Are you
Ghalib’s,” he asked with a tone of wonder in his voice.  “What would he do if he knew?” the boy had the nerve to ask.

She suddenly turned on
him, her rage was evident on her face.  “He would kill me, you idiot,” she exclaimed. 

“You have to help the men escape,” Devlin said in a whisper. 

“I don’t have to do anything,” she replied in a lowered voice though she felt like screaming at him.  It was typical of a male, even one as young as the man beside her, to think only they were capable of thought.  She hadn’t left those poor men to be tortured because she was too lazy to take action.  She had thought about the situation until she thought she might go crazy and yet she had not come up with anything remotely plausible.  It was difficult enough to sneak from Ghalib’s quarters to the prison.  To sneak five men and a boy from the palace was a different matter all together.

“They’re going to kill them,” he said as if she did not know this.