Set to Flame (Flame Series) (8 page)

“Thank you,” she whispered unsure what to say. 

The crooked smile had left his face but now it returned as if he found her uncomfortable reply amusing.  “If I did not adore my wife as I do I would take you from Garrick.”

“If you did not adore your wife you would be dead,” came the response from the cot where Marcus had apparently awakened. 

“Be that as it may,” Roland said with a chuckle and an apologetic bow in Alena’s direction.  “I was stopping by to thank the beautiful Alena for her care of you men before I left with Damien on the morrow.”

“
Aaaah,” Marcus growled though he did not move from his slumbering position.  “A fool’s errand.”

“Lord Damien will not rest until he has extinguished all those who had a part in his brother’s death.”

“But Sir Cyrille is not dead,” Alena argued.

“I truly hope I am wrong.  Regardless of
Cyrille’s outcome Damien is set on vengeance and I must go with him.  I bid you good evening my lady,” Roland said bending over and taking her limp hand in his and kissing the back of her knuckles before releasing her.  “Marcus, have a safe journey.”

Marcus’s head rolled so he could look at his friend as he said, “you as well my brother.”

The man turned and left, leaving her alone with Marcus once again.  He rolled onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes.  She thought he must be asleep as she stood motionless in the quiet tent with the sounds of the army coming from outside.  She inwardly jumped when he asked, “Does it make you feel grand when men fall all over you?”

She studied his prone figure for a moment.  “My looks make men wish to possess me.  They do not wish to love me or cherish me.  I would rather go about unnoticed than to attract that attention.”

Silence fell again so when he spoke softly she nearly missed his words, “There are men who would love and cherish you with their dying breath.”

“If only they were here,”
Alena said raising her arms to encompass the camp.  She found herself irritated that Marcus kept questioning her choice in one subtle attempt after another.  Why couldn’t he mind his own business?  If he had made an offer of any kind she would have jumped for joy but no one else offered her anything and she found that to be terrifying for a woman with nothing.

Silence met her again and eventually she moved to another of the cots and lay down.  Soon she heard the even breaths of Marcus as he found slumber once again.

In the late hours of evening Garrick returned and she was suddenly afraid he would take her there in front of Marcus, but he only beckoned her from the tent. 

Through the encampment in all the filth and crude comments Garrick led her.  The buzz followed them, she was Garrick’s woman, and he would kill anyone if they so much as looked at her. Beyond the confines of the army and into another poorly constructed tent dwelling.   Word had spread fast for most people they passed kept their gazes directed at the ground.  Soldiers were here too, in any state of dress, as were the women.  The sounds of sex came from the confines of those dilapidated tents.

Alena’s feet slowed and a man stumbled into her, nearly knocking her down before stumbling on.  Scowling Garrick grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.  Had she not made such a valiant effort to keep her feet under her and slow her momentum, he would have made her trip into him.

“This is where the men get their entertainment.”

“Did you get your entertainment here?” she asked for some unknown reason.  She could care less where this man found his entertainment.

“I was raised following the army in a community like this.  Of course I would get my pleasure here.”

“Ohh, she is pretty,” a child’s voice declared as they neared a group of women.

“A real sheik’s concubine,” a woman said in wonder.

As Garrick pulled her up to the group she noticed two things simultaneously.  All those women, even the girl who appeared no more than 14, were army whores.  The second thing she noticed was they were all holding a dress.

“I do not have the time to see a dress made for you,” Garrick said his eyes travelling the length of her.  “I don’t want everyone ogling what is mine, so offered a substantial price if anyone’s dress will fit you.”

Garrick turned back to the women before pointing to one who appeared the most similar in form to Alena.  As Garrick paid her for the dress Alena wanted to refuse it but common sense told her a dress, even a whore’s dress, was better than a cloak with just one button at the neck.

They were halfway back to Garrick’s tent when
Alena couldn’t hold her question any longer.  “Did you purchase any of those women’s services?”

“Yes,” he said never hesitating or showing any sign of guilt that he had.

“Which one?”

Garrick chuckled, a wicked sound.  “All of them, in the entire camp.  I am a wealthy man and can afford such.”

“Even the child?” she asked appalled.

“I paid a handsome price for that girl when she was first brought to camp.”

“You took her virginity?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with him.  She was terrified to be with Garrick but even more terrified to be left for one minute alone amongst so many men.

“I bought her virginity.”

“That’s deplorable.”

Garrick stopped suddenly and she almost plowed into his back. 
“More deplorable than killing the virgin’s family first?  I don’t care if you judge me,” he said opening the flap to the tent.  “I would never take it in battle but if the offer is placed before me it will be me or someone else.  I had never had the pleasure of such.”

“Was it all the glory you thought it would be?” she asked with distain as she hesitated at the entrance.

“No, though it was the tightest I had ever been in, it caused her a great deal of pain.”

“Could you not have been gentle?” she asked appalled at his callousness.

“Was your sheik gentle enough for you?” he snapped at her before shoving her into the tent.  She had just enough time to register the tub so out of place in the middle of the stench of an army before Garrick said, “Bathe and sleep, we leave at dawn.”  Then the man was gone and she was left wondering if he would return.

~  
~   ~

Marcus watched the horror wash over Lenora when she rushed into the courtyard and spotted her brother, Cyrille. She stood on the first step and appeared to turn green then promptly burst into tears and sank to the ground.  Awkwardly, they stood about watching her.  He thought Alena might go forward and offer the woman comfort but she had more of pained expression than the men gathered about.  Within a couple of moments, Lenora gained her wits and began directing the house staff to prepare a room to accommodate her injured brother. 

For the briefest of moments
Cyrille fought against the darkness that consumed him at the sound of his sister’s sobs, but it was a futile effort.  Cyrille’s only lucid moment since taking him from the stocks was upon Damien’s departure.  He could not speak and could only beat his head against the cot he lay on as he tried to make his brother forego his journey of revenge.   Even if his brother could speak out, it would not have stopped Damien.  Marcus had never seen such rage in a human being and he believed Damien would not rest until he shed Ghalib’s blood.  Since his brother walked from the tent Cyrille had been unreachable in his nightmare of pain.

Alena’s
eyes were full of weariness, her posture bent from the burden she carried.  They had made the journey home quickly and the strain of it was evident on both Alena and Garrick whose wounds were festering.  As far as Marcus knew he had not expended his precious energy enjoying his newest purchase.  Until that morning he had been holding up remarkably but all that had drastically changed.  He rode throughout the morning and into the afternoon in delirious states ranging from barely controlled violence to weakness so intense he was powerless.  Marcus was able to identify each subtle change for he still remained stoic.  Even though he stood erect Marcus could see the strain of the fever on his face and his actions.

Quickly Marcus led them to the chamber he stayed in his last visit.  He settled them both in the comfortable bed then went in search of the rest of the men.

It was an exhausted, sullen group that gathered in the hall.  They were men without their leader and now that Cyrille and Garrick had arrived to safety, they were without a purpose. 

Devlin had worn himself out with worry.  When he hadn’t been assisting
Alena he was by his knight’s bedside, his hands clasped before him as he prayed for Cyrille to be spared.  Cyrille however, was still on the brink, teetering between life and death.  Constant attendance had to be kept applying wet clothes to the majority of the man’s body that was burned.  The concoction a physician had given them in Jerusalem was foul smelling and even he could smell it lingering in the air, clinging to Devlin.  Not only were the burns now causing a fever to rage in the youngest brother, but the wounds from the malicious knife blade as well.

“How fares Sir
Cyrille?” Marcus asked as he took a seat beside Devlin.

The boy looked up at him with his brilliant blue eyes and it didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to figure out the man had not improved.

“Perhaps now that he is home you can seek rest.”

The only response Marcus received was a half nod of the boy’s head.  He would not find sleep for a long time.

Chapter 4

Two days after their arrival to Cyrille’s home Devlin reported a drastic change in his condition for the better.  He was not out of the woods yet, but his chance of survival had dramatically increased.  Alena wondered what kind of life a man such as Cyrille could possibly lead after such damage.  She had been regaled with so many stories of the man, some plausible while others so outlandish she wondered if they could be true.  Now she felt as if she had known him her entire life.  He was a man whose face attracted women to his bed.  His charm brought smiles from their lips.  Damien was the warrior in the family and Cyrille the lover.  Where would he fit now if he did recover?  Not that Alena begrudged the man his health, but she couldn’t help but notice the deep scars that had been on Garrick’s face for a long time and she knew they had to have changed him.

Also, she wondered if the source of the information might be a little biased.  To Devlin, Sir
Cyrille was a god.  Born a fourth son, Devlin had no hopes of inheriting and, with the death of his father, his step father arrived with his own sons and Devlin found himself in an awkward situation.  All his brothers had already left to make their own way in the world leaving behind their baby brother.  His mother immediately began having more children and with her doting on them and his stepfather not caring much for the presence of another man’s child, Devlin’s childhood home was no longer his.  At the age of 15 Devlin left home without a plan, without money, without food, not even a horse.  Cyrille’s squire, at that time, caught him when he stole a pie and brought him before the brothers.  Damien took the hard road and was ready to punish Devlin, though the boy did not know what punishment he would have faced, but Cyrille stepped in.  With his squire close to earning his spurs, he would need a new squire and chose Devlin.  The boy had become awestruck with him at that moment.  His prowess with the women, his expertise in battle, even his horsemanship could not be equaled.  To hear the boy go on and on it seemed even as if no one could wipe their ass as well as Cyrille.  Alena vowed to listen to every word the boy spoke of the man for she envied him and his devotion, even if at times it became a little tiring. 

In those two days since their arrival Garrick’s health diminished considerably.  It wasn’t that
Alena or Marcus didn’t try to fight the infection in the man’s body, he was just too proud to accept their help, insisting they leave him alone, and they stop trying to coddle him.  He was a man who came from such poverty Alena could not fathom.  Marcus said Garrick prided himself on his strength, for that was what allowed him to rise from the dirt of a whore’s tent.  However, after all that time Garrick never faltered, felt he could not without risking all he had gained.  Perhaps the man was right.  But now he was among friends, though that term seemed to be unknown to him and he refused assistance to the point of brandishing a knife and threatening their lives.

Hearing the raised voices yesterday, Lenora was drawn into the dilemma, and the first thing she did was order
Alena moved to a different chamber.  Not being married to the man she insisted it was inappropriate for her to be sharing the chamber with him. 

Alena
did not complain, and Garrick was too lost to his fever to know anything of what was happening around him.  Then Lenora had slipped an herb into his wine that made him sleep before she attended his wounds.

Now the bellowing that was coming from Garrick’s chamber echoed across the keep and out into the courtyard where Marcus stood next to
Alena and the two servants who she suspected Lenora had set to watch her, in order to guarantee the whore did not sell her favors.  Alena did not particularly like the way the people here treated her but assumed she would have to get used to it.  It seemed as if everyone looked down upon the Fenton Bastard, no matter that he would be gaining his title any day now that he had returned from Crusade.  That she was his woman, not even a wife, would make her subject to the same disdain. 

With Garrick abed, she found Marcus a nearly constant companion.  He treated her differently than all the others.  She saw no difference in the way he spoke to her or to
Cyrille’s sister.  When he looked at her, she did not see his eyes wander over her body and linger on her deep line of cleavage the extremely tight dress created.  Nor did he follow the snug fit along her ribcage to the flare of the material stretched across her hips.  No, he appeared to have some degree of respect for her, something she had never experienced. 

“
Alena!” came the sharp cry of rage, and she couldn’t contain the jump.  She began to move away, but Marcus put a hand on her arm to stop her.  She turned and looked up at him and though she tried to hide it, she knew the fear showed.  She wanted to run away with him in that instant.  She wondered at her desire.  Wasn’t he a man like all the other men?  A man just as the sheik or Garrick?  The only difference she could see was he did not have the resources to buy her.

“Marcus you bastard!” came the shout.

Marcus cast a final glance at her before leading the way back into the keep.  Despite Marcus’s assurance she had nothing to fear from the enraged man, she was not convinced.  He seemed to have an explosive temper Marcus was immune to.

Marcus pushed his way through the tapestry deliberately not holding it for
Alena she suspected so he could precede her into the room.  A futile effort since she stepped from behind him as soon as she entered.  She had learned long ago men could be much more severely punished than women.  It was nothing for the sheik to kill one of his own warriors, but his wives and concubines had only to use their bodies to avoid punishment, and it usually worked.  Except for his one wife he had beaten to death when he found her alone with one of his warriors.  That had been a terrifying time for Alena for she knew the woman was innocent, but he had believed no one on the matter and both were now dead.

“Who gave you leave to do this?” Garrick demanded.

Alena knew he was angry because she was no longer residing in the chamber with him, at his beck and call.  “I was only doing what Leonora told me to do.”

A puzzled expression crossed Garrick’s face.  “I will return immediately,” she rushed to assure him.

Marcus tried to move forward, but Alena took another step and another that kept her in front of him.  As a favorite, she had never had to use her body to get what she wanted, not that she ever wanted anything but freedom from the monstrous man who kept her prisoner.  To save Marcus from this dark man’s wrath, she would sacrifice herself.  What did it matter after she had been forced that first time?  Every time since then had also been a violation upon her person, a facet of her life she had come to accept.  Why would it be any different with Garrick?  At least Marcus would not be punished.

“Marcus?” he questioned.

The man behind her reached a hand out to place it on Alena’s shoulder to move her out of the way.  Garrick saw the gesture and his scowl deepened.

“Are you whoring yourself out?” he demanded of her. 

Marcus managed to place himself between her and Garrick before he lurched from his chair and advanced on them.  “Lenora thought it best to move her from your chamber.  She does not like that you two are not married.”

“Is Lenora the Queen?” Garrick demanded with a great deal of sarcasm edging into his voice.  “Even a baroness?”

Garrick was looking directly at her, and Alena had no ready answer.  After all, she had only spoken a couple of words to Lenora since her arrival.  She knew Damien and Cyrille were knights, but that did not mean their sister could not have married higher.  Alena, however, prided herself on her quick intelligence.  It had saved her on several occasions and she felt it extremely important here.  She knew Garrick held the title of Lord so if he questioned Lenora’s ability to gainsay him, as he seemed to be doing, it must mean she was not his equal.

“Answer me!” he yelled at her, and despite herself, she shuddered.

“No.”

“No my lord,” he corrected her.

Alena glanced toward Marcus then back to Garrick.

“You are my property,” he said, and his tone seemed not to have calmed.  “As surely as
Malik is my horse and no one touches him without my leave, so are you.  Only I tell you where to sleep, even when to sleep.”

She felt her temper rising despite her determination to remain meek in order to survive the rest of the year.

“Do you understand me?” he demanded.

Something in his voice irritated
Alena.  Slowly she allowed her eyes to rise upward from the floor taking in everything between the tips of his boots to his obsidian eyes.  He immediately recognized the spark of defiance that coursed through her for his scowl deepened.

“I’m not sure.  Am I supposed to be sleeping now?”

She found satisfaction watching his mouth drop open before quickly snapping closed when he stiffened, to rise to his full height.

“Woman, I will not tolerate your defiance!”

“I am not your slave,” she declared with a great deal of satisfaction at the statement.  “We have an agreement.  That is all.”

“An agreement that places you flat on your back. 
Your only purpose!”

“My only purpose?
  It has been weeks since the agreement and yet all you can do is rant.  Are you not man enough?” she challenged feeling elation wash over her as she challenged this man.  She wondered fleetingly what was becoming of her, yes she had fought Ghalib but never had she openly challenged him in such a manner.  That would have gotten her beat, or worse.

Too late she realized she hit a nerve.

“I’ll show you man enough,” he said grabbing for her.

She raised her arms to push him away, but he was like a brick wall and her attack only pushed her backward.  He seized her arms and lifted her from the floor before he slung her onto the bed.  His strength made her body feel insignificant with the minimal effort he exerted.  Fear ran through her, reminiscent of those first days under the sheik.  Then he was on her, a knee pinning each of her hands to her sides as quickly as a wildcat would attack its prey.

His hands came up and ripped the front of her bodice.  “Leave us,” he demanded without taking his eyes from what he had just uncovered.

In that horrifying moment of being bared to the man before her, she remembered they were not alone.  Her eyes left the dark, evil depths of Garrick’s whose face was void of any kind of emotion as he looked down upon his prize.  Her eyes locked with Marcus's, and she saw all the emotion the man felt.  The need to do the chivalrous thing and protect her weighed against his loyalty to the man who was attacking her.  She did not want this man to see her like this.  She wanted her dignity when he was near, and if his eyes left hers and she saw him look at her in such a vulnerable state, she could never look at him the same way again.  Then his eyes left hers and trailed downward to feast upon her bared flesh.  The room was still as they lingered there.

“Leave now!” came the order.  Her eyes snapped back to the man whose voice was edged with the threat of death.  Still outwardly he could have been drinking a cup of ale alone his expression was so bland instead of being moments from killing the man who lingered behind him.

Her eyes moved back to Marcus, and she watched them trail back to her face.  His eyes hit her like a lightning bolt, and she almost jerked beneath the man who held her.  She read the lust but mixed with it was a multitude of conflicting emotion that brought empathy from her at first followed closely by what she could only guess was her first feeling of her own need for a man. 

With added horror seeping in she watched Marcus give a slight bow take two steps back and with deep regret, she wondered if she imagined, turned away.  He disappeared from her view, and she felt the need to cry as her eyes fell back to Garrick.  When she heard the whisper of the tapestry fall back into place it sounded like the final nail being driven into her coffin.

He studied her for a moment in silence then he allowed a sneer to cross his face.  “You want him,” he stated.

Alena wanted to deny the accusation, she had denied it to herself several times.

“Answer me!” he demanded as he lifted her off the mattress to slam her back down.

“You want an answer?” she asked suddenly not caring what this man could do to her.  Why should she have to lay with a man like him when there was a man like Marcus?  “I’ve never wanted any man as I want Marcus,” she declared proudly.

“Then I will give you to him when I tire of you.”  With that, he grabbed her dress and ripped it further so she lay bare to his stark anger.

“I will be seeing his face as you grunt atop me,” she said as his knees pressed down harder on her hands. 

He faltered and his dark eyes locked on her.  Looking into those bottomless depths fear snaked through her but she knew she would not be backing down.

“When you enter me, I will think of him.  And when you spill your seed I will call out Marcus’s name.”

Garrick’s mask fell for the briefest of instances and instead of the cold rage she expected her words to create, they brought him pain.  Then he lifted her from the bed and slung her away.

Unprepared she tried to catch her balance but banged her shins against a low table before stumbling over it and pitching sideways.  Her momentum was too great for her legs to pull her back from as her body pitched forward and she careened toward the hearth and the roaring fire that had chased the chill away.  She tried to raise her hands to protect herself, tried to twist away from the flames that appeared to reach out and grab her, enveloping her in their heat.   She felt the searing pain on her right hand as it passed into the flames so hot the coals glowed beneath, and she landed all the way up to her elbow.  She felt the flames lick up the right side of her neck, scorch her hair and eyebrow before the pain almost made her black out.  She thought she knew what pain was, but this was more than pain.  She could not move, could do nothing to save herself but scream in her mind, for the heat took away her breath, took away everything. Terror took hold when she tried to scramble backward to find a log had already melted itself to the side of her face.