Angie Arms - Flames series 04 (26 page)

“But I begged you too.”

A grim smile crossed Roland’s lips.  “You are such an innocent.  There is no good in me.  Not anymore.  I brought you here, I knew what it would be like for you.  I knew there were men like Mercadier who would want to marry you.  But I brought you anyway, because I thought maybe if I watched you destroyed, it would somehow save me.”

Emma pulled back
, but panic flashed across Roland’s face before he reached out and seized her, yanking her back against him.  “Noooo,” he cried quietly, his face pressed into her shoulder.  “Whatever you think of me, I will not let you go.  I can’t be alone any more Emma.  It’s killing me inside.  Please stay with me.”

“Can I do that now?  I have agreed.  It was Mercadier’s request.”

Roland pulled back.  “Mercadier asked for you?”

“Yes, that is what I am told.”

Suddenly Roland was in motion, climbing off the bed, grabbing her cloak from the floor, and flinging it in her direction, before he began searching for his.  “We have to go.  I have to get you out of here.”

“What’s going on Roland?”

“He knows, Mercadier knows about us, if he knows, the King knows.”

“What will we do?” Emma asked
, stumbling to her feet.

“We run and hide,” he said
, yanking his tunic on over his head.

“Hide?”

“We can’t fight them,” Roland replied, as if she had gone mad.  “We have to go, now.”

“I think you are over reacting,” she said
, as she tied her cloak around her shoulders.

Roland paused to look at her, his breathing was quick, his eyes frantic.  The
n agitation crossed his face before he went to his boots and began to yank them on.  “After he killed Lillian, before we left to kill for the King, I told him I would see he would never have a woman to love.”  Dressed, Roland stood as he reached for his sword.  “The man smiled at me and told me the game was on.”

“He thinks life and death is a game?” Emma asked
, dumbstruck as Roland hurried past her on his way to the door.

“That is the kind of man he is.  Now let’s go,” he said
, swinging the door open.  Emma took one last glance around at the room, before hurrying after Roland.

March 19, 1199  France, Chalus-Chabrol

Emma
watched the boy pull back on the bow string, but the instant before he let the arrow fly, his left hand dropped.  The arrow hit its target, some distance away, but below the center.

“You have to stay steady,” Emma coached.  She raised her own bow, pulled an arrow from the sheath at her back
, and due to years of practice, the arrow left the cradle she set it in within the blink of an eye, and lodged itself in the center of the old pelt they shot at.

“Draw it back and let it go as if you had an arrow,” Emma coached.

Pierre recovered from his awe at her speed and accuracy, then did as she said.  Again, his hand dropped as he opened his fingers to release the arrow, but this time, because he was not concentrating on the arrow, he saw his error.  Pierre Basile was the first friend she made when they arrived at the little castle, to hide for a short time, before making their way home. 

“Practice that way until your bow does not move a hair when you release it
, then you will hit your target every time.

Eagerly the boy nodded
, as Roland reached Emma’s side.

“What big game do you plan to bring down with your archery skills?” Roland asked
, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Emma was still amazed
at the different man Roland became while hiding at the small keep in France.  Here, Roland was not a knight, but an assistant to the armorer, in order to feed them and put a roof over their heads.  She visited him often at his work, and began giving lessons to the keep’s children in archery.  Although the keep’s guards never sought her out, they often watched her lessons, and Roland told her the guards were going through more arrows since her lessons began.  He told her this with pride, to let her know her skills were not only good enough for the children to learn from, but the guardsmen as well.  It was as if here they took the lives of someone else.  She shared Roland’s bed every night, woke with him in the morning, and they gladly shared their days with one another.  It even seemed as if Roland was happy.

“I think
, if I were to see an elephant, I would have to bring it down,” the boy declared.

Roland laughed, his eyes twinkled brightly
, and Emma suppressed her gasp as the dimples appeared in his cheeks, and his face lit up with his merriment.  Emma’s stomach made the familiar flop as his eyes collided with hers, and she wanted him as much as she wanted him last night, and the night before. 

Roland redirected his attention to the boy.  “Keep practicing
, and you will be the best archer in all of France.”

Pierre cast a glance up at Roland.  Roland’s blue eyes fairly danced with his joy as he patted the boy on his shoulder.  “Back to work I go,” Roland said.  He leaned over the boy and planted a kiss on Emma’s cheek
, before turning away.

“Show me how you draw so fast,” Pierre said
, reaching behind himself, to clumsily draw an arrow from his sheath. 

“A good archer always counts his arrows,” Emma said.  “Not only how many you start with
, but how many you have as you shoot.  Do you know how to count?”

“Of course I know how to count,” Pierre said
, standing tall and proud with his chest puffed out.  “I can add and subtract too, because Papa said it is important that farmers know these things.  Not only when we pay the rent, but plant our garden, and breed our sheep.”

“Your father is a very wise man.  So you will need to practice shooting more.  You have superb aim
, as long as your hand does not drop.  When you do not drop your hand, you can practice the habit of subtracting your arrows as you fire.  Once you know how many arrows you have, naturally, as you reach back and take one, you will be able to take it faster, because you will know if you reach for a full sheath, or just one.  It will also help you in a battle.”

“What do you know of battle?” Pierre asked.  Emma saw the signs of the boy losing interest.

“I fought against Roland.  That is how we met?”

“Truly?” the boy asked
, his attention fully hers again.

“Truly.  I was a rebel against King Richard
, and Roland was sent to hunt me down.”

“A rebel?  Truly?”

“Truly,” Emma said, with a smile. 

“What was that like?” Pierre asked. 

“It was freedom.   We didn’t actually fight.  We just lived in the forest and refused to pay the king and his lords’ taxes, and bow to their will.  I grew up in the forest, so my father thought it important I learn to defend myself.  Not only against the King’s men, who might come looking for us, but against wild animals.”

“If you grew up in the forest
, that means you didn’t have to milk cows or feed the chickens, clean the barn and sheds.”

Emma couldn’t help the chuckle.  “No Pierre, I don’t recall having any chores growing up.  I just played.  My friends and I even had a secret hand signal
, so we would know we were on the same side, if we saw each other in the forest.”

“But wouldn’t you all know each other if you saw each other?”

“We would,” Emma replied.  She was becoming used to the boy’s quick mind.  “But it was also a symbol that we would not bow to the King.”  She placed her hand on her chest and then extended the hand above her head, pointing her index finger into the sky.

“That’s it?” Pierre asked, obviously unimpressed.

“Yes.  We should have had you, I bet you would have made it a better symbol.” 

“It couldn’t be
simpler,” the boy mumbled.  At 10, Pierre was a boy who took responsibility and loyalty to his family seriously.  He came almost daily to the castle to earn a little money to help his family.  Emma knew the family’s milking cow died some months ago, and they were trying to buy another since.  So Emma tried to help the boy as much as possible, by finding him work where she could. 

“We are rebels here too, in revolt against King Richard.  Our viscount will not allow Richard
to claim this property, feudal overlord or not.”

“Listen,” Emma said, her hear
t suddenly sank at what she just did to the boy.  She placed a hand on each of his shoulders, as she stooped before him.  “You have a big family who cares for you.  Let them worry about the revolt.  You have more important things to worry about,” she said with a broad smile, giving his shoulders a squeeze.  “The seamstress needs someone to go through the volt of fabric while she looks for a ‘certain material that will make the best tunic for Aimar’,” Emma said, throwing in an impression of the seamstress.  The last time she needed help from Pierre, they discovered she had a huge crush on the Viscount.  It was a source of common humor for them ever since. The Seamstress was so much older than the man, but she still spoke of him with true love sickness in her voice.  She also put on a great deal of airs, one would think the tiny castle that was now their home, was a grand palace, instead of the run down old keep it was.

Pierre peeled off into laughter before turning
, and running for the small shed behind the keep, where the bolts of fabric the seamstress hoarded, were kept.  No one went about shabbily dressed at Chalus-Chabrol.  Each time Pierre helped her, he came away with tunics for himself, once one each for his mother and father.    Despite their humor, where the old woman was concerned, she was a kind hearted, generous woman.  Sometimes Emma felt guilty for making fun of the woman, but it made Pierre laugh, so she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

March 25, 1199  France, outside Chalus-Chabrol

Roland thought he was
sly, thought he could get away, but he would not.  He would watch his newest whore die as he did the last.  Roland was Lord Damien’s commander, now with the King’s order to have Damien killed, Roland was an insignificant knight.  From what Mercadier heard, a drunken one at that.  But the man challenged him.  He knew, one day, he would bring the man all the way down to the bottom.  As soon as he came to Gaillard with the woman, he knew he had a chance to finally accept Roland’s challenge, and Mercadier knew Roland did not stand a chance.

Despite the woman’s insistence it was not Roland’s child she carried, Mercadier knew the woman frequented the knight’s bed.  What would be better than to have the woman and Roland’s child?  For Roland to know both lived and died by his whim.  Apparently
, Roland was too much a coward to stand and face him, because he turned tail and ran, taking the woman with him.  If he did not believe Roland cared for her, the fact they fled together confirmed this.  Making his plan all the sweeter.

It was not
difficult to convince Richard to attack the little castle, after his spy told him where Roland was cowering.  At war with King Philip, Mercadier knew the crown needed as much money as Richard could get his hands on.  One little rumor that made it back to the King about the Roman gold found by a peasant at Chalus-Chabrol, and Richard could not be stopped. 

Chapter 15

Grace stared at the woman sitting in the corner of the tiny room.  Warner ensconced them in an abandoned convent two days before.  He left after the first day, and returned a few hours ago.  With the woman. 

“Countess?” Grace whispered, as she entered the room.

The woman’s head rose sharply to look at her.  The woman was tiny.  Her blonde hair dirty, and her vivid big blue eyes appeared huge in her ashen face, with tears brimming in them. 

Grace moved closer.  She was nervous, perhaps not so much that Warner would find her here, but that she might be in the presence of the Countess Ryann Kinnard.  “Help me,” the woman whispered, untangling her legs pulled against her chest.

Her legs were bare with scratches to go with those on her arms and face.

“Are you the Countess?” Grace asked again, coming to stoop in front of the woman.  Whoever she was, Grace was sure she didn’t want to be here.

“Yes.  Who are you?” she asked in a whisper, mirroring the other woman’s.

“I’m Grace my lady,” she said, offering her a slight nod of her head.  What did one do when in the presence of not only a titled lady but one of God’s angels?

“Where are we?”

“We are in an old convent.”  Grace heard a noise.  She turned her head and listened.  “I will try to help you escape, but not just yet,” Grace hurriedly tried to reassure her.  She rose to move away, but the Countess grabbed her hand.

“Why are you here with him?”  The woman looked so frightened, Grace’s heart went out to her.

“I came for you.”  Grace pulled her hand, and after a moment the Countess released her.  “Have faith.  I will find a way to get you out.”

Grace hurriedly left the room, closing the door and locking it again.  She hurried down the corridor to the hall, where she told Warner she would be.  She was out of breath by the time she arrived there, and was just a moment ahead of Warner.

“I have a proposal,” Warner said.  The way he said it made Grace’s skin crawl.  “There is a small village half a day’s ride from here.  I feel the need to celebrate.  Will you go dance for those fair citizens?  You will have a chance to show off your new act.”

“I will be very pleased to,” she said, forcing a smile upon her face.  Perhaps that would be the key to getting the Countess away.

“Then go dress.  We will leave in but a moment.”

“But it’s already so late in the day,” Grace protested.  She would have no time to find a way to release the Countess before they left.

Angry strides carried Warner to her.  He reached a hand out and grabbed her chin between his fingers, and squeezed painfully.  He took a great deal of time studying her face, before his fingers eased their grip, though not releasing her. 

“It is in your best interest if we are to go today,” he said.  There was something in his voice that made her believe it was not a threat, but a promise, of something dark from a man filled with evil.

Grace nodded, offered a smile, and the hand released her.  “Good girl.  Meet me in the courtyard.  I have something to do first.”

The night was a dark one, and long after the crowd dispersed, she was looking for Warner.  She didn’t notice he slipped from the crowd, but at some point, he usually did.  Nervous about staying in the same area of the town’s square, she moved into the shadows.  Perhaps, he was unaware of the time passed.  She did not know what he did, she really did not care, until she had to wait in the growing chill of the night air.

Her wondering feet led her to the dilapidated buildings of the poorer town’s people.  They offered little shelter, but enough, such places were a godsend when she was with the troupe, and they were allowed to stay in such a place.  It was amazing, in such places as this, even the thieves and whores often shunned the troubadours.  Once she freed the Countess, she was ready to better her life.  Though fearful, being with Warner showed her a more comfortable way of life she forgot.  Just having a place to lay one’s head at night was a relief. 

Grace paused and looked around herself, listening.  The night was a quiet one and most were long asleep, tucked away in the safety of their homes.  She found herself annoyed that Warner came here tonight.  They would have half a night’s travel to get back to the convent.  Grace was ready to turn away when she heard the noise again.  A sob.  She moved toward the hut, a dim flicker of light escaped from around the hide hanging over the door frame, which leaned with the walls of the small structure. 

She paused again, listening.  A gasp this time.  Slowly, Grace moved to the side, and peered through the slats of wood.  At first she did not understand what she was seeing.  A woman lay on the bed, tied she noticed, as she continued to look.  A rope was tied around her neck.  As she watched her try to draw in a breath, Grace realized it allowed the woman to breathe, but not enough. 

She followed the woman’s gaze to the dirt floor and nearly gasped aloud.  Warner.  He knelt over another woman, quite young.  The shadows of the room were so deep, the low flickering candle on the little table did not chase them away.  It did, however, provide enough light that she saw the woman in the floor had her face turned toward her.  For a brief moment Grace thought she was staring at her, but realized though her eyes were open, they could see nothing, because the woman was dead. 

Warner stood.  She saw in the light he was without his pants, and the horror of what was happening began to settle over her.  The woman on the bed opened her mouth to scream, but it was quickly cut off, as Warner yanked the end of the rope he held, and she began choking.  He released it in time for the woman to gasp in the oxygen she needed to survive.  Then he was on the bed with her.  When she tried to protest, he pulled the rope again. 

When the woman’s choking sounds began, Warner thrust himself into her.  Only this time he did not allow the rope to loosen.  Long after the woman stopped making sounds, Warner violated her.  Grace hurried away from the shed, and expelled her stomach.  Tremors took hold of her, and she found she could not control them. 

A few moments later Warner stepped from the hut.  He looked back once, and then walked away, disappearing among the huts.  Quietly, Grace moved back toward the hut he just came from.  Reluctantly, she pulled the hide away, and entered.  The smell was horrifying.  One quick glance at the woman on the floor, and she gagged.  Warner pierced one of her lungs with his knife.  He found pleasure while she slowly drowned in her own blood, and the woman tied to the bed watched.  A quick check, and both women were dead.  Grace quickly fled, filled with fear for her and the Countess. 

“There you are my dear,” Warner said, as he spotted her a few minutes later, entering the town square.  “I hope I did not keep you waiting too long.”

Grace wanted to speak, but no words would form inside her brain, so she only shook her head.

“I found your performance fascinating.  We will have to do this again real soon,” he said, stepping to her and placing her hand on his elbow.  She smelled the smells of the hut on him, and she realized with a shock, it was a smell she noted before.  This was not the first time Warner had killed.  She wanted to pull her hand away and run.  But she could not leave the Countess alone with this man.  The smell of him nearly made her gag in her panicked mind.

“Are you well dear?” Warner asked.  His smile was not warm.  It appeared only a reflex, and she realized it never reached his eyes.

“I am just tired,” she replied, surprised her voice came out calmly, and not terror filled.

“Then let’s get you home,” he replied, leading her toward the horses.

Numbly Grace followed.  It took a great deal of will to keep her horse moving with Warner’s.  Her mind was filled with the sights and smells of Warner’s handiwork.  Did he have plans to do the same to her?  She knew he had evil plans for the Countess and Garrick, but she thought that was steeped from revenge.  Instead it was just another evil desire. 

Dawn was nearly upon them when they rode into the courtyard.  Warner moved to help Grace from the saddle, but she quickly slid off the other side.

“I’m going to rest,” she mumbled, as she fled toward her little room. 

She spent several hours pacing in the confines of the room she would never feel safe enough to sleep in again.  Many times she wept from the predicament she found herself in, but she could not come up with a viable option, other than staying and helping the Countess.

Eventually, she crept into the corridor and went in search of Warner, hoping she would find him asleep.  If she could catch him asleep, they could sneak away, and she would not have to spend another horrifying moment in his presence.  Her luck was against her this day.  He stood in the doorway of the Countess’s room, just staring at her.

“I guess you are aware I have found the Countess,” he said, not turning her way, as she approached him.

“Yes.”  Grace found it difficult to swallow, and her feet refused to move any closer to the man who dealt pain and death with a passion.

“And yet you stay.  I wonder why that is,” he said, as he turned his cold blue eyes on her. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, and heard the fear in her quaking voice.

“I mean my dearest Grace,” Warner said, as he turned toward her.  “You must be quite fond of me.” 

“Fond?”

Warner laughed, glanced into the room at the Countess, before closing and locking the door.  He slipped the key into his pocket, and moved toward her as if he was stalking her.  “You think yourself in love with me.”

“I do?” she asked, immediately surprised at his conclusion.  It was the best reason behind her presence, and if he believed it, he would have no need to question her.   “How did you know?” she asked
, standing her ground.

He reached a hand out, and ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek.  Her body jumped at his touch, but she refused to draw away. 

“It’s okay my dear,” he said, in a soothing voice that made her skin crawl.  “I’ll be gentle with you our first time.”

He was so close, she closed her eyes tight, for fear she might vomit or shriek.  Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he would hear it.  Grace wanted to tell him no, but why would she stay with a man like him?  He would not take very well to either reason.

When she felt his lips on hers, she took a step back, her eyes flying open.

“Do not be frightened my dear,” he said, reaching for her again.

“It’s just that I believe if we truly love one another, we should wait.”

“Who said I love you?” he asked, as if he found humor in her statement.

Did he say he loved her?
her mind franticly asked. 
No, I’m supposed to love him.
  The depths of this man’s wicked nature were dreadful. 

“Not even a little?” she asked.  She closed her eyes again when he touched her.

“Aaah, don’t be so heartbroken,” he said, stepping closer.  She was grateful he did not have that smell lingering on him.  It smelled as if he recently bathed.  The knowledge did little to alleviate her fear.  “I am willing to give you all that I am capable of.  Come to my room.”  She felt his finger on her chin, lifting it.  She resisted for half a second.  When she allowed him to tilt her head back, she felt his lips softly touch hers.  She refused to open them.  This was nothing like Cyrille, and she wanted to cry.

“If you do not love me, it would be a sin to lay with you,” she whispered, when she felt him lean away.

Again he chuckled, it was a sound that made her cringe.  “You took coin to sleep with me.  You are already going to hell.”  His fingers were on her chin again, less gentle this time, lifting her face up to his.  When his lips came down on her again, they were more demanding. 

“I am not a patient man.  I have seen you dance, and though I quite enjoy watching you, I have had my fill.  If you wish to stay by my side, I suggest you take what I am willing to give you.”  His voice turned hard, chilling.  She could not contain the shiver.  “Never fear.  It will take some time I suspect to grow tired of your other charms.  Come.”

Grace heard him move away, and she opened her eyes.  He fully expected her to follow him.  Because if she did not, she realized he would throw her out, or worse.  The bile rose in her throat, and she forced it back down.  She had to get the Countess out of here, but it was not happening before she must face what she thought she was ready to face not too long ago.  She resigned herself then, she could do it again.  But she knew more of Warner than she did then. 
Dear God
, she prayed, but knew he would not be listening to her because of what she was about to do.  Even if it was in an effort to save one of his angels.

His room was larger than hers
, but not by much.  Comfort was not a priority in the convent she came to learn, while living under its roof.  She assumed a man such as Warner would not be content with such living conditions.  As soon as he entered, he began to undress, and looked at her expectantly.  She hesitated, ran through a scenario of options, but again came up with nothing tangible.  

“Should we close the door?” she asked nervously, glancing to the only exit from the room he was now blocking.

“Who’s here?” he asked.

Something crossed his face that made her blood run cold.  It looked as if his mind said,
who’s here to hear you scream?