Set to Flame (Flame Series) (15 page)

The woman was a buxom blonde that latched onto Garrick as if he were her lifeline.  Marcus never saw a woman react in such a way to Garrick.  They tended to give the man a wide berth.  She also readily voiced her pleasure she was receiving at his commander’s hands and Marcus found it difficult to keep his mind off sex and the woman who slept peacefully beside him.  He was surprised by the bravery
Alena had been showing.  A night alone in the woods would be a daunting prospect for many, but she had voiced no complaints.  The question of whether Alfred had hurt her in other ways than the knife wound ate at him, but he did not know how to ask so had not.  He wasn’t sure what he would do the next time they had a keep to take, but he would not be leaving her alone, of that he was sure.

Alena
shifted, snuggling closer, her knee coming up to rest on his thigh.  As the bed frame next door ricocheted rhythmically off the wall, he couldn’t help but imagine the slight turn it would take to place him between Alena’s thighs.  Her hand came to rest on his chest while her sweet scent came to him from her soft hair that covered him like a blanket.  Since the first night, they had slept away from Holmesfield, Alena placed their blankets together, and the arrangement was never brought up in conversation.  He would be a fool to wish himself anywhere other than with Alena snuggled against him, though it also served as a torment.  The climax of both those in the next room was so loud he nearly felt it was his own, he could even hear their pants as they fell back to their mattress.

“I shall double my price for you,” Garrick said still trying to regain a steadying breath.  Marcus was envious in that moment of his commander.  If he had the nerve he would have already bedded
Alena.   

“No Lord Garrick, the price I request from you is not in gold,” the blonde’s sultry voice replied. 

“You know who I am?” he asked and Marcus tensed hearing the undetectable alarm in Garrick’s voice.  Garrick was a man with many enemies.  Therefore, it was dangerous to be recognized, especially as far removed as they were.

“I know of you.  Everyone knows of the Fenton Bastard.  You are a legend, you give us hope that one day we can be more than what we are.”  Silence came from the next room.

“I am no one to look to.”

“You are all we have, our only hope that one day our children will have a better life than what we have had.”

“What is your price?” he asked in a clipped tone. 

“Please take my son Harold.  He will work hard for you and with your good grace one day he can be more than a whore’s son.”  Silence was the woman’s only response.  Marcus knew she was asking the wrong man.  It was a great surprise that he had allowed
Alena to travel with them.  A kid was something all together different.  Garrick took a squire once, but the boy died retrieving Garrick’s sword in battle.  The boy saved his life, but it had been at the price of his own.  He had no other squire to tend him since then. 

“You would likely never see him again,”
came Garrick’s voice with a quiet tone of regret. 

“I will always know he is chasing his destiny.”

Silence, for the longest time.  “All right,” came Garrick’s response.  Shortly afterward the sounds of sex came yet again from the room adjacent.  It was almost enough to make him abandon Alena, but he found he could not and clenched his jaw so the drumming that eventually began in his ears might drown out the couple.  It was then he realized the truth once and for all.  He loved Alena.  Why else would he keep her near?  He enjoyed her company, but he received no compensation, no sex, and no good meals.  Maybe a little mending but certainly it was only her companionship she offered him and he was grateful she did for without her next to him, snuggled in his arms, he would feel so alone and tormented this night.  Yet, all that intruded upon his thoughts was her soft, lithe body stretched out beside him, her scent enveloping him. 

The next morning Marcus climbed reluctantly from the bed stirring
Alena who sat up to watch his progress as he pulled on his surcoat and sat to lace his boots.  He had glanced to the bed and refused to look there again, but the picture would be forever etched within his mind.  The blankets were bunched about her waist, her hair was a mass of tangle as it flowed down around her.  She had the appearance of a woman that was well rested, and one that had been well loved the night before.  Despite that she wore her simple dress the overall appearance as she watched him from their bed was an alluring one.

Finally, wiping the sleep from her eyes she too arose and donned her own shoes and followed him from their tiny room.  The overcast morning made Marcus want to return to that little rickety shack, but he had to admit it had nothing to do with the weather but the woman who stood beside him. 
Halvor had already gathered the horses and Wade joined him just as Marcus and Alena had. 

They all knew Garrick was enjoying the whore one more time as they
waited, the sounds easily escaped the shack as they had the night before.  When their leader finally emerged Marcus did not know whether to clap him on the shoulder or plant a fist in his face.  The morning had grown extremely uncomfortable for him when Alena’s eyes landed on him while Garrick and his whore were reaching their moment of release.  He had wanted to grow hard and fought the urge to the point his groin hurt and sweat had popped out on his forehead. 

By the time they all mounted, the whore brought her son forward and stood beside him as Garrick looked down on them both. 

“This is my son Harold,” she said and with that the boy’s mother gave a gentle push forward.  The boy matched his mother in many ways.  His hair was an extraordinarily pale blonde with tight curls and the palest blue eyes.  He was young, perhaps even less than ten.

The boy walked forward to stand at
Malik’s shoulder and looked up at Garrick.  “Are you the Fenton Bastard?”

“I am Lord Garrick Fenton,” he said with sensor in his voice as he looked down upon this boy devoid of a welcoming smile or assurance he would not be a brute to him.

“I vow to serve you as you wish,” the boy said with a bow, he looked terrified.

Garrick leaned forward, reached a hand out to take the boy’s and swung him onto the horse behind his saddle.  With a light touch of his heels, the horse bolted away, and Marcus and the others followed in his wake.

~   ~   ~

Marcus raised his sword to defend against the big man’s attack.  He was faster then he would have guessed, stronger too or perhaps it was just his own exhaustion.  The people of Overgrass Tower were fighters.  Everyone here was fighting to the last breath.  Bodies lay scattered about the ground floor and the floor above.  They had spilled so much of the defenders’ blood it ran in a small river down the steps from the floor above, dripped from the ceiling of the first level, slicked the floor he fought upon and made the footing treacherous.   They couldn’t hold out forever.  There weren’t enough of them left, not even to defend against the king’s five. 

The big man’s sword crashed into Marcus’s, the blow knocked it from his numb hand, and it clanked as it skittered across the floor.  The man pressed his advantage and raising his sword brought it down toward Marcus’s head.  Lunging beneath the raised weapon, Marcus pulled his dagger from its sheath, but before he could get close enough to use it, his feet slid from beneath him, and he landed, hard enough to knock the breath from
his chest.  The big man’s momentum carried the sword downward to land harmlessly next to him on the stone floor.  The blow would have taken his head off had it been closer, but as it was the tip struck the stone so forcefully a chip was broken away and struck Marcus in the cheek, feeling as if it imbedded itself there.

Rolling away, he aimed his body directly at his attacker’s feet, and with a crash the big man landed on top of him.  As the man struggled to regain the upper hand he drove th
e hilt of his sword into Marcus’s ribs and pain exploded, blinding him as he felt the man’s body move from his.  He tried to roll away but the wall stopped him, and he looked into the eyes of the big man as his sword was already in an arc coming toward his chest.  Before he could finish his death blow the man staggered forward and nearly fell on Marcus again.  Behind him, Garrick pulled his sword from the man’s back and swung back to the three men who he had been fighting with before Marcus had been set upon.  The big man’s blood flowed freely to mix with that of his friends’, and most likely relatives’, already spilled.

Marcus attempted to jump to his feet only to slip again in the blood and land face down.  Bile rose in his throat, and he forced it down, forced the thoughts away that would make him hesitate.  More cautiously he gained his feet, in time to see Garrick was beginning to tire.  The man’s attack was still impossible to defend against, but that defense was slipping and he received a wicked slice to his side before he turned on that man.  Dagger still in his hand Marcus dove for Garrick’s closest attacker.  His left hand snaked under the man’s left arm and upward to immobilize the man’s head as he brought the dagger around from the right side and quickly sliced open his throat.  With a gurgle, the man dropped his sword before his body grew heavy in Marcus’s arm and he let him fall to the floor.  Stepping over him, he ducked as another man came at him with his sword.  He did not hesitate but charged this new attacker who was defenseless for the fraction of a second it would take to raise his sword to strike again. 

Marcus’s dagger found the weak spot in the man’s armor, sliding underneath the metal and drawing blood as he quickly withdrew it to step aside and avoid the blow from the man’s sword.  At arm’s length again he was back within the blade’s reach and had to take another step backward as it was swung at his head.  The move made him stumble across a body and as his feet landed nimbly on the other side he struggled to keep them from sliding.  As luck would have it, the man before him had similar trouble and could not press the advantage Marcus’s stumble would have provided him.  Again Marcus attacked, coming within a breath of the blade as it swooshed by his head.  Marcus drove the blade of his dagger into the man’s side, knowing exactly where the plates that protected the man’s chest and back joined and left enough room for the blade to enter the exposed flesh. 

The man was losing a substantial amount of blood now and though it made him more vulnerable it also made him more desperate.  They rounded on each other again, another slice of the sword and Marcus took the opportunity to dodge beneath it, around the man’s side to come up behind him, and his blade did not hesitate to slice deeply across the man’s throat.  As Marcus swung away to take on another attack he saw the defenders of the tower had all been vanquished, and Garrick was wiping his dripping sword on his final victim before he sheathed it.

Halvor stepped through the door from outside the keep, and all eyes turned toward the second floor.  Three of the women and two small children who had not fallen under the initial attack had sought refuge there.  “Wade,” Garrick called, and the man’s eagerness to follow their leader up the steps sickened Marcus.

Halvor
and Marcus checked the bodies of all those inside and outside the lower level, ignoring the blood curdling scream that came from the second level.  Shortly the other two men rejoined them, and they quickly left the tower and raced back to the camp where they had left Alena and Harold sleeping in the early hours of the morning. 

Marcus had hated deceiving
Alena.  She thought she could fight in battle, but for Marcus, it did not matter if she could or could not, it was something he did not want her to have to do.  He was covered in the blood of those people.  It had seeped down into his boots and squished between his toes when he walked.  No, he would fight so she did not have to, even if he had to tie her to a tree before attacking the next keep.  He had told Garrick they would leave her behind, because she had no weapon other than his dagger and nothing but a dress to fight in, which he knew would only slow her down.  Watching her struggle with some of the camp chores while working around her skirt convinced him of that.

The morning was near noon when they thundered into the camp.  They found the fire long extinguished and no person or horses in sight.  Immediate guilt washed over Marcus.  Hadn’t he told himself, he would not leave
Alena alone after Alfred had attacked her?  Any marauder coming upon them would consider themselves lucky to find her fine horse and probably the woman herself.  He berated and swore at himself in his head so he missed the thunder of the hooves until the sight of Alena riding hard toward them registered in his head.  The boy Harold sat behind her, clinging to her like a small bur. 

Maria came to a fast stop next to the extinguished fire.  Garrick and the other two men had already dismounted, and he watched Garrick’s quick, angry strides carry him to the pair on the heaving horse.  Marcus flung himself from the saddle, prepared to defend
Alena although his anger at her leaving camp was just beginning to rise.  It was to Harold Garrick reached and yanked the boy from the back of the animal and slung him to the ground.

“What were my orders?” Garrick asked in a deceptively calm voice.  Garrick was not a man to give into his anger at his men by yelling, but it was there in his uncompromising stance and set jaw.

The boy tried to rise to his feet, but Garrick was on him and pushed him back down with his foot before he could rise fully.  “What were my orders?”