Set to Flame (Flame Series) (6 page)

She calmly opened the door and stepped out into the corridor belatedly realizing she had left her head cloths.  The guard scowled at her but said not a word as she shuffled down the corridor in the direction of the women’s quarters.  At the end of the corridor, she turned and streaked away.  Her bare feet slapping the stone floors as she ran, her hands clutched at the cloak and vial.  Her heart pounded in her chest for she did not have a plan, all she knew was she was fleeing toward the burning man for what purpose she still did not know.

~   ~   ~

Marcus raced from the prison following the nimble Devlin as he led the way toward the sheik’s quarters while the other men made a beeline for Cyrille and the men turning to put up a resistance. 
She risked her life helping us
, he reminded himself as he felt the guilt that his fellow knights needed every sword and hand to assist them.  Yet, if he did not get her he would lose the chance.  They were headed toward the Emir’s apartments, the dimly lit corridors were empty as the night came on.  Around the corner, he turned, and slammed into a body that flung backward off his bigger one.

He had ached at the news Devlin delivered as he unlocked them one by one.  The woman’s name was
Alena and she was Ghalib’s concubine.  Damien had immediately fled followed by each one of the other men until Devlin had made it to him.  He knew as the manacles fell away he was the woman’s only chance at freedom.  This moment.  Now he looked down at her sprawled on the floor.  Her cloak lay open to reveal her gloriously nude, lithe body that could make a man weep.  Always a soldier first he did not lose his senses.  Reaching down he scooped her stiffening body up in his arms as a squawk escaped her.  He turned as he slung her across his shoulder and fled the way he had come.

The courtyard was full of chaos when they entered.  Damien half carried
Cyrille whose legs propelled him along, and he didn’t know to be horrified or delighted.  He didn’t hesitate at the sight of the charred flesh that was peeling off though it made him want to vomit.  The other men fought in a circle around the two brothers.  Garrick cleared the way with his lightning fast thrusts and agile body as he dodged to and fro slaying anyone who stepped in his wide path.  Halvor sliced away at those who tried to come at the group from behind, each man rotating sides, each fighting for the lives of not only themselves but their brothers.  Marcus moved quickly toward them, dropping Alena onto her feet he thrust her toward Damien and Cyrille as he grabbed a sword fallen to the ground and joined the fight. 

Devlin raced ahead and waited at the gate with horses.  Damien pushed
Cyrille onto one horse climbing up behind him.  Marcus left the fray, tossing Alena onto another horse and springing onto its back behind her.  They fled, with the others not far behind.

Throughout the night, they rode setting a blistering pace.  Marcus felt the woman pressed against him, but the pace made any conversation impossible as they concentrated on their escape.  Somewhere along the way her body relaxed into exhausted sleep.  As she slept he craved to hold her tighter in his embrace, but they could only flee.  They rode until their horses were ready to drop from exhaustion before they stopped and took a short rest. 

As Halvor and Damien tried to slide Cyrille gently to the ground, he let out a blood curdling scream before falling back into his stupor.  When Marcus lowered Alena to the ground she almost fell, her legs giving way beneath her.  She flung a hand out grasping Marcus’s leg as he still sat the horse.  Once steadied she looked up at him and he felt as if he would swoon from the saddle.  He had no doubt why an Emir would want to possess this woman, above all others in the entire world.  He felt as if her touch would set fire to his leg.  Finally, she took a step back, and he felt the loss keenly.  Swinging from the saddle, he stood on the ground next to her, towering over her.  In a flash, she moved toward him, and he stiffened when she flung her arms around his neck and pulled herself against him.  He felt her body shaking as she wept, and he had the strongest desire to wrap his arms around her, but she was stepping away.  As she looked up at him, she held her hand out.  “This is for your friend.  It’s all I have, but it will make him sleep.”

He looked down to see the vial lying in her palm doing his best to ignore the small opening in the cloak.  He had a glimpse of what lay beneath, had felt it pressed against him.  He mumbled his thanks, as he took the vial and walked away. 

Chapter 3

They arrived at the English army camp later the same day and Alena felt fear race up her spine.  It was impressive, spreading out across the landscape, soldiers as far as the eye could see.  The last army she had seen murdered her family and turned her into a whore.  Now here she was riding amongst them, drawing every eye with the burned man and half dressed woman they painted quite the picture.  She would have felt safer if only she had been allowed to ride with Marcus, but instead it was in front of Garrick she rode.  It had been decided, due to Damien’s insistence the man Garrick was too ill to wield a sword well, she was to ride with the dark man and leave the stronger man free to engage if they were set upon.  She could understand the logic but as she looked up into the fierce face of the evil one, her insides felt like dropping to her feet.  They had ridden miles with his hard arms on either side, his back ramrod straight.  Pressed against him he was hard from head to toe, even Marcus had some yield, some human quality to his flesh. 

Deeper into the camp they rode until they reached the large group of tents in the middle of the chaos. 
Cyrille had stilled shortly after the liquid from the vial was pressed between his lips.  How the man was still alive Alena could not understand.  She did not know how he could survive the pain of being burned.  With the deep cuts on his face and the missing eye she felt either the devil or God had to be on his side.  When the horses came to a stop everyone rushed forward to help pull the man down.  Alena began to swing a leg over but a vice grabbed it, holding it in the air while a band of iron wrapped around her ribcage just below her breasts.

“I am a wealthy man.  I can give you the riches of a queen,” Garrick whispered in her ear. 

She was only immobile for a moment before she grabbed his arm to snatch it from her leg.  He allowed it and her leg fell back to straddle the horse.  She tried to straighten but that was as far as he was willing to bend and yanked her even more firmly against his chest. 

“Who do you have waiting in England?” Garrick asked his voice a whisper in her ear.  The horse shifted beneath them and she felt the coldness of his breath send shivers down her spine.

“No one,” she said looking back at him but unable to see more than his dark, dark hair as he bent toward her.

“An army would love to pass you around.”  It seemed as if Garrick could read her thoughts for Marcus was in them.  “Marcus can’t protect you from me.  He’s my man and does what I say.  I can tell him to leave you to the wolves and he’ll walk away.  If you were my woman no one would dare touch you.”

She knew without a doubt his last statement was true.  “Name your price,” he coaxed.

Alena
sat still, feeling his warrior ease holding her and she had to wonder if she would survive him.  She was no virgin prize fit for an emir, but an enemy’s whore captured in the escape.  That made all the difference in the world to her position now.  Garrick was offering her the best she could possibly hope for in her present circumstance. 

“I’m not a whore to be bought for one night,” she stated concentrating on making her voice strong, confident when all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and cry.

“I would not be satisfied with one night.  No less than a year.”

One year
.  Alena felt trapped here amongst all these men.  There was no one but this man offering her protection and she wished Marcus was there.  She would not survive if this man climbed down from the horse and left her to fend for herself.  She had an entire army between her and freedom.  An entire army between her and starvation.  “You will protect me and feed me?”

“I will.”  She heard something in his voice, a note so fleeting she had no time to analyze what lay beneath it.

“You will clothe me?”

“Yes,” he said and his voice now sounded impatient.

“One year,” she said, forcing the tears from her voice but they refused to be stopped as they fell down her cheeks.  Her body felt as if it was going to break into a cold sweat at any moment.

She felt his strength explode around her, his body untangling itself from his relaxed position.  His arms encaged her, his strength like chains holding her before him.  Snaking beneath the cloak one hand clamped onto her bare breast.  She wanted to protest, to tell him not to touch her but she had condoned his hands on her by accepting the offer.  At least there was an end.  He suddenly released her and swung from the horse then was gone, leaving her sitting alone.  She had the strongest desire to turn the horse and flee, but it was every bit as exhausted as she was.  Besides, how far through camp would she make it before someone grabbed her?  She didn’t think it would be far at all.

Slowly she stretched her limbs before climbing from the saddle.  Once on the ground she hesitated a moment to let the blood flow through them once again before moving to tie the horse.  Turning she started toward the tent where the men had disappeared.

As soon as she stepped under the flaps she entered a different world.  Men lay about on pallets, some appeared close to death, and some had already died.  Cries echoed on the air, the stench of death and disease was stifling, but most of all was the inevitable doom that permeated the air.  She moved toward the group of men halfway on the other side of the tent.  She heard the raised voice of Damien as he threatened the lives of anyone who did not try to treat
Cyrille.  As she drew near she heard someone quite insistent there was no hope. 

Damien grabbed the man who had spoken and had a knife to his throat in the blink of an eye.  What ensued frightened her to her very core because she was with these men now.  As a brief scuffle broke out the men who took her from the sheik were the clear cut victors and she knew the only thing that held the bloodshed was ultimately all these men were on the same side.  Looking in the face of Damien and Garrick she knew it was only a minor technicality that held them in check.   

Within moments the physicians put their heads together for the best course of action to take.  Alena had seen a number of wounds and illnesses, enough to know she did not have a soft enough touch to nurse men back to health or catch babies, and she had never seen injuries as massive as what covered Cyrille’s body.  With the stench threatening to turn her stomach inside out she turned and walked from the tent.  Back in the sunlight she inhaled deeply, looking up at the clear sky she wondered if Garrick would stay with the soldiers the entire year or if he would return to Kinsey, or one of his other properties.  Perhaps, she would see the home Marcus spoke of.  The tears suddenly threatened again and she pushed her mind away from the man with the soft gray eyes. 

Marcus had told her of Garrick and that he was the Fenton Bastard.  At least it had a better ring than the Fenton Whore’s Son.  It didn’t appear as if Garrick had done poorly for the son of a whore who never knew his father.  She shuddered at the thought of how he had risen to his position of power and wealth, by killing.  She wondered what lying with a man like that would be like.  Probably no different than with the emir, he was a killer too?  At least this man was still young and not entirely unattractive. 

“Hello Honey,” the voice said from behind her, the words were drawn out as if they came from a snake.  She turned quickly and saw a man whose head only came to her chin, from his greasy head wafted a smell that was far too irritating to keep her from wrinkling her nose.  He saw, licked his lips and she could swear she saw the beady eyed look of a weasel as he took two more steps toward her.

“You think you’re too good for the likes of me,” he asked as he stopped two paces away.  She had the strongest feeling this man would force his advantage if she had yielded and backed away.  As it was she knew she was still not done with him.  She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin a notch and refused to back away though everything in her body was telling her to run.

“How would I even know you to make such a judgment?” she asked, unable to stop the glare she cast his way.  She had been through enough and now this idiot who thought he was God’s own personal gift to her decided she could use more trouble.

His hands on his hips he leaned toward her.  “Does that mean you want to know me honey?” he asked as he licked his lips and took another step closer. 

Alena decided then to try to retreat gracefully but to her dismay they had already attracted a small crowd that was closing in on her.  She was trapped.  Seeing the tables were tipped in his favor now the nasty little man smiled, his tongue sliding slowly across the top of his teeth as he made a sucking sound.  He took another step and she took another backward to come up against the unyielding bodies of the men pressing in on her. 

In the chaos of the soldiers spread out around her
Alena heard the sound of screams.  She was immediately frozen as she looked at the men around her.  Ghalib’s men had cornered her and her mother in the Battle for Acre and she felt that claustrophobic hysteria creeping in despite her efforts to keep her wits.  The man grabbed her wrist and she tried to pull free, but hands fell on her shoulders.  Her mother was screaming, her foot kicked her in the side as she struggled to stay next to Alena, then Ghalib’s men picked her up and pulled her away. 

Alena
felt the hand wrapped around her wrist tighten briefly then release her altogether.  Despite her relief the action confused her.  Alena’s eyes moved upward from the ground they had fallen to, her mouth dropped open in shock to match the expression on the weasel man’s face.  A hand was clamped onto the man’s forehead and a blade was buried into his neck.  She watched the hand loosen and the blade slip from its bloody wound before her attacker began to sink to the ground.  Her eyes followed the man’s body as it slid to the ground.  Then her eyes trailed from his lifeless body to her own bare feet, up the front of the cloak she held tightly with her fists and the spots of blood that were caked there.  She had a sinking feeling about who now stood before her, who she heard replace his knife in its sheath, and who had just killed her attacker.  Her eyes travelled across the top of the corpse and upward to look into the expressionless eyes of Garrick.  For a fleeting moment she couldn’t help wondering if he shouldn’t be showing some kind of emotion since he just took a man’s life. 

“This is my woman,” Garrick declared grabbing her wrist and yanking her forward, she tripped over the body on the ground.  Then Garrick pulled her against him so she could keep her grip on the cloak.  “Any man that touches her will die by my hand.”

He turned and released her and she was left staring into the eyes of Marcus.  She saw anger, so strong it made her take a step back.

“Take her to my tent,” Garrick said giving her a shove forward so Marcus had no choice but to reach his hands up to catch her before her tired legs gave out beneath her.

Without a word Marcus turned her and guided her away from the death that left her weak in the knees.  “Garrick’s woman?” Marcus finally asked, his voice sounded angry and she cast a hasty glance back, nearly tripping over the edge of the cloak. 

“Don’t judge me,” she snapped, when she heard a tone she didn’t like in his voice.

“Do I sound like I’m judging you?”

“Yes, you do,” she said.  “I became the Emir’s concubine when I was 14.  I have nowhere to go.  My family was in Acre.”

“Garrick’s taste up till now lies in whores.”

Alena
stopped in her tracks.  Marcus continued walking two more steps beyond her before turning with his gaze sweeping over her.  She found her hands fidgeting with her cloak and willed them still.  She refused to be cowed.  Her decision may have not been an ideal one but it was hers and hers alone. 

“He purchased you?” he asked, and she detected a waver in his voice as she met his gentle eyes.

She nodded lifting her chin a notch. 

“For a night?” he asked.

“For a year.”

He snapped to stand tall so he looked down his nose at her.  “What was your price?”  He turned to indicate she was to continue walking and after a moment’s hesitation she did so.

“Food, clothes, safety,” by the end of her answer she fought hard to keep her voice from trembling.

“You could name a king’s fortune,” Marcus said and for some unexplained reason she felt herself blush.  “Have you not made a more formal agreement?” he asked and she thought she detected eagerness masked in the words.

“I agreed, and he is already providing me protection.”

“Even the lowest whore gets paid,” Marcus declared and again she heard anger.  “You must come up with a price worthy of what you are offering him.  You are more than a mistress, for this will be a business arrangement.  We need to find a sum which is agreeable to him and will take care of you when he is done with you.”

Alena’s step faltered for the briefest of moments.  Though he sounded angry he also sounded concerned.  There could be nothing in it for Marcus to help her, and she needed to figure out what he wanted and quickly. 

“You will need a place to live and Garrick has a number of holdings you could pick from.”

She stopped again and turned to him. 

“He would not give me a place to live.”

He motioned her forward to fall back into step with him.  “Of course he would.  As far as I know Garrick has only had the company of whores.  He will pay generously for you.”