Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (5 page)

After nearly an hour of oblivion
, Marcus cleared his throat, and Roland looked at the woman in his lap.  She was coming around, he saw her fingers twitching on the hand that lay across Marcus’s thigh.  Riding beside them, Roland saw Alena’s eyes open, she tilted her head downward, and visibly stiffened seeing the blood soaked blanket still wrapped around her.  After a moment she turned her head to the right, away from Roland, and stared at the landscape passing by.

The two men shared a concerned look
, before their attention returned to the road ahead.  From his vantage point, slightly ahead of the pair, Roland saw the tears begin to roll down Alena’s cheeks.  Nor did he miss the gentle kiss Marcus planted in her black hair, which got no response. 

For hours they rode, throughout the day, slowing their pace at n
ight, but staying to the road they kept moving.  Roland thought surely the woman would sleep, but she only stared into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.  The next morning they arrived at a stream they camped at on their way through.  Roland was immediately on the ground when they pulled their horses to a stop, ready to catch Alena should she fall, or go out of her mind again.  Neither was necessary.  When Marcus slid her to the ground she only stood in the one spot, her eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing. 

The two men remained silent as they went about strip
ping their exhausted horses, each casting glances to the silent woman who stood unmoving nearby.  While Marcus kept watch, Roland took the horses to the water to allow them to drink, before tethering them in the grass.  When Roland returned to camp, both men stared at the woman a moment, before Marcus placed a hand flat against the small of her back, and pushed her forward.  Alena’s feet moved in the direction he indicated, Roland followed them back to the water, and stood guard from the bank while Marcus stripped his boots off, and rolled up his pants legs.  Alena stood next to him, unmoving, giving no indication she knew she was on the earth.  Finishing with his task, Marcus straightened, cast a furtive glance to Roland and hesitated, as he stared down at the woman. 

After a moment he watched M
arcus make his decision and begin to peel the blanket stiff with the blood, away from Alena’s body.  Roland saw his share of unclothed women, only moments before he scoffed to himself that Marcus would be concerned for the woman’s modesty.  What did Alena have to offer the dozens of other women Roland saw did not?  As the blanket fell to the ground at Alena’s feet, he knew, and could not stop the gasp that escaped his lips.  Marcus still stood close enough he heard, and their eyes met over Alena’s head.  Both recognized the perfection that stood between them.  She was truly placed on the earth by God himself, for no mortal woman could have such a body of perfection.  Her legs were perfectly shaped, her thighs slightly rounded, attesting to her fitness, but still slim enough they did not close over her nub of womanhood.  Her hips flared then slimmed again, into a trim waist with a flat muscular stomach from her time on the practice field, as she learned to be a warrior.  Her body began to widen again as his eyes moved over her ribcage, up to her breasts that were still youthfully perky, despite the woman must be close to 30.  The nipples were a darker peach that went with the glow of her perfectly smooth skin, and begged to be touched. 

Looking at such perfection with her flawless hour glass figure
, Roland was disconcerted he did not feel his usual desire.  For him it never mattered if the woman was so thin it was like fucking a skeleton, or if she were plump and soft, they had all been just as desirable.  He had bedded many beautiful women.  Women he had thus far thought were gorgeous, but none could ever compare to the silent woman, and yet he found he wanted to cover her.  But that desire did not end there.  He wanted to apologize for mankind, because he knew many men would go to the ends of the earth to possess her.  Hadn’t the Emir and Marcus?  Even Garrick had been willing to give up his whores to have her.

Knowledge slammed into Roland so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet.  He crouched on the bank
, and looked quickly away from the woman Marcus was guiding into the water.  Roland suddenly knew why he did not want to possess the perfection that was Alena.  She was the only woman he saw in such a light since he last looked upon his wife.  The image of that day was so vivid in his mind, an image he forced away daily, hourly.  He rolled back to sit roughly on his butt.  He took in deep breaths, long gulps of air, as he tried to force the image away, but it kept coming at him, until he felt close to panic.

Abruptly he stood on his feet and moved farther up the bank, away from the sound of the splashing water
, and gazed at the horses eating.  What was wrong with him?  It had been more than two years since he lost that special part of himself, the best part. 

~   ~   ~

Alena felt the water lapping at her knees.  She felt the hands gently cleaning the dried blood from her.  Marcus.  She would know his hands anywhere.  She remembered every vivid detail of the previous day.  It kept replaying itself over and over in her mind.  Her anger, her triumph, and then her guilt for taking a life so violently.  She was a cold blooded killer.  She had judged the men she escaped the Emir with so long ago, but none of them killed the way she killed.  Then she tried to kill herself.  Had wanted to kill herself.  Still in the back of her mind she wanted to die.  To escape the life that kept chaining her.  Yet she knew she could not, because she would be answering too quickly for her sinful deed. 

All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and remain that way forever.  She especially did not want to look i
nto the faces of the men who watched her do such a heinous act.  She did not want to feel the knife in her hand, feel the blade going through bone, piercing vital organs.  She did not want to smell the blood, or taste it.  An uncontrollable shiver began, and left her entire body quaking.  Somewhere in her mind she felt Marcus guiding her from the water.  Felt him drying her off, and clothing was placed on her, but still she shivered.  She was set before a fire, the flames jumped and leaped a most mesmerizing dance.  Its brilliance warmed her, but still she felt herself shivering.

Time passed insignificantly while she watched the flames.  At one point someone handed her food
, but she did not want to take it.  The thought of it made her stomach role, but she knew she had nothing to expel, which was reassuring.  Just one bite would be enough to make her begin what she did not think she could end, because she could not stop smelling the blood, tasting it, feeling it in every pore.  Whichever man tried to hand her food was persistent about it, until she smacked it from the hand, and it fell in the dirt. 

Again her time was uninterrupted until someone put the flames out
, and she was being lifted and carried.  Back on a horse.  Marcus again.  She felt immediate warmth and comfort, but she fought the pull.  He saw.  Of all the people in the entire world he saw her darkest moment.  Had he encouraged it?  She couldn’t remember.  He gave her the knife, it was his knife.  She felt the handle even now, digging into her back.  She knew the feel of the handle in her hand.  Knew there was a deep nick in the horn it was made from, so deep she could feel it beneath her palm.  She could feel the coolness of the brass beneath her fingertips, where it connected the horn to the forged steel of the blade. 

It was a little hard to grip when it became wet
, but the nick gave her a somewhat better purchase on it.  That was important when she felt the resistance of the breast bone, when she forced the tip through it.  Her body jerked against the repulsive feel throughout her hand, and up her arm.  “You’re safe,” Marcus’s whispered words came to her ears.  It was so soothing, her body wanted to melt back into him, but she could not, because in her sleep, the horror of what she did was even more real within her head. 

She turned her head away
, and watched the rhythm of the landscape slide by with the gentle swaying of the horse beneath them.  Again time became insignificant as she blocked the world away, along with all the thoughts rioting within her head, making her feel insane. 

“Finish it.”  Marcus’s coaxing voice repeated itself over and over again.  His face twisted and contorted as he leered at her.  She was frightened
, because Marcus was sometimes the only one who did not frighten her.  “Finish it so you know it is done.”  He wanted her to kill him.  He gave her the knife, so she would do it.  She didn’t want to do it.  She wanted to leave, as they had done before.  Surely he would not come for her again.  Of course he would, but why wouldn’t Marcus kill him?  Why did he think she had to do it? 

Marcus handed his knife to her.  She took it
, and all she felt was the coolness of the handle.  She ran her thumb over a nick in it.  She turned it in her hand, feeling its weight, as the men had taught her to do.  “Finish it so you know it is done.”  She wanted to tell him no, because somehow she knew what it would do to her, how it would change her.  But she could not say no.  She hated Ghalib, more than Marcus, and she saw his bloody fist.  Marcus would have killed him, but now he wanted her to.  “Finish it.”

She raised the knife and began to plunge it down.  A shriek startled her
, and another brought her awake with a violent jerk.  She was shrieking, at first she couldn’t see, and then the low glow of the campfire came into her vision.  Along with it came the feel of Marcus’s arms around her.  She remembered she had been restless until Marcus lay down beside her, and his gentle warmth lulled her to sleep, into another nightmare. 

Marcus was trying to calm her
, but she had to get away from him.  She could not let him lull her into his false sense of protection.  She fought him, screamed at him, bit, kicked, and scratched him when he would not release her. 

The movement of a horse beneath her awoke her.  It was daylight
, and they were moving again.  Her head pounded, but immediately it was forgotten feeling Marcus pressed against her.  All that mattered was to get away from him.  She wiggled and a small struggle ensued, before she dropped heavily to the ground, before he could even stop the horse.  Roland was there, grabbing her by the arm, lifting her onto his horse.  She allowed it.  Roland was far different than Marcus.  She saw the kind of man he was, and he could never make her feel the security Marcus did.  Never, and that was good.

~   ~   ~

Kinsey Keep, England

Marcus watched Roland slide Alena to the ground.  She did not fight Roland as she did him each time he came near her.  Marcus thought the last weeks were the hardest of his life.  When Alena slept, she moaned and tossed about, never was her sleep a restful one.  She still did not speak.  Her only responses beyond being guided were violent ones, whether it was to refuse food, or to keep Marcus away and those two things seemed to be all she cared about.  She seemed to be eating enough to sustain her, but she no longer held a glow, just an air of silent desperation closed within the cage of her mind.

Ryann was there immediately to greet Alena
, but despite the two women becoming friends, Alena did not respond, and Ryann looked first to Marcus then to Roland for an answer.  Neither man had one for her, short of spilling all the gruesome details, so they sat silently, and watched as the short blond guided Alena toward the keep.  The knowledge Garrick joined King Richard in Normandy for war did little to pull Marcus’s mind away from Alena, it only added to his turmoil.  Didn’t Garrick try to tell him before he left to rescue Alena?  Had he said he would be going alone without his two trusted commanders?  Halvor was wed and residing on his own property, so who was leading Garrick’s army? 

“If the K
ing has ordered Lord Garrick he has ordered Lord Damien as well,” Roland said, as he took his seat at the head table that evening, as dinner was being served.  Marcus noticed Ryann’s blue eyes darted toward Roland’s children, who sat with Halvor’s sisters.  Soon the sisters would be going to reside with Halvor at Hawknest, and the two children would be left behind.  Not that they would be lonely, it seemed as if children ran about the hall everywhere, they far outnumbered the adults, and many seemed to have their own chores no matter how minuscule. It seemed as if Ryann had given the unwanted children a purpose, so they felt needed.  Marcus wondered fleetingly what chore could be given to Roland’s children, to make them forget their father no longer wanted to be near them.

“Garrick said Lord Damien was not going,” Ryann said
, a little disconcerted to see both men’s eyes suddenly riveted to her.

“Did the K
ing not order him to join his forces?” Marcus asked, when no further information came from her. 

“He ordered him
, but Lord Damien told Garrick he would not be going.”

Roland met Marcus’s eyes.  Both knew one did not ignore the summons of a king, especially King Richard who had a man such as The Fenton Bastard to enforce his demands. 

“What is it?” Ryann asked, watching the exchange.

“If Lord Damien does not attend the King
, he will likely send your husband to deal with him.”

Marcus watched Ryann while the words sank in
, and their meaning was understood.

“But they are friends.  Garrick would never do such a thing,” Ryann declared
, and Marcus heard the faith the woman had in her husband.