Set to Flame (Flame Series) (12 page)

Marcus found
Alena with the seamstresses Lillian and Kelly who had taken the young woman under their wings.  He had been relieved when Alena took an interest in sewing with the women, and the two most talented seamstresses were full of useful information that kept her busy, and her mind occupied. 

As he entered, all eyes turned to him as the women sat close, their heads together as they coached her.  Her face was turned at just the right angle no scars were visible, and he found himself stunned again at such a beautiful creature.  Her ebony locks pulled back into a loose braid, the length lying across her shoulder, exposing her slender neck.  He was assaulted by his guilt for at that moment he was glad other men saw her as imperfect, had they not they would be scrambling for her attention.  King’s would fight for her.

“A messenger has just arrived,” he said watching the women straighten.  “I will be leaving to join with Garrick in the morning.”

Alena
looked to both women and silently motioned them from the room.  Slowly Alena stood, her willowy body portrayed a grace that took his breath away.  She moved toward him, and he saw she was weighing her thoughts in her intelligent mind.

“Where do we travel?” she asked, stopping before him.  Her lavender scent wafted to him, and he found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying.

“We?” he questioned bringing his thoughts together with a crash.  “I cannot take you.  We go to meet with our armies, you cannot possibly go.”

“Other women go, I know they do,”
Alena had the audacity to argue with him.

“They’re whores
Alena.  You cannot go.”

“But I cannot stay here,” she insisted.  “I will not stay here,” she said to Marcus with such defiance he knew he was defeated.

“But you must,” he insisted but deep within his soul he wanted to grant her request so he would not have to part from her.

“I will not stay here,” she insisted defiantly. 

Marcus felt trapped and at the same time joy swept through him.  “We leave for Winchester at dawn.  We travel light.” 

Chapter 6

May 1194 Winchester, England

“Hello inside,” the deep unfamiliar voice startled
Alena.  She looked franticly down at the table, trencher and food before her, then about the tent that was empty except for herself.

Reluctantly she rose to her feet, smoothing the burgundy
surcoat down from the gold lacing that held it tight around her waist before straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin.  “Enter,” she called making a concerted effort to release the edge of the table with her gripping fingers.

The flap moved and in walked the man she recognized from the prison.  He was the man Garrick sent to lead his forces under Damien,
Halvor.  Since they had arrived at Winchester, Marcus kept her tucked away safely in his tent.  She saw Marcus rarely and only then did he escort her about despite his obvious exhaustion.  She looked at the same fatigue in this man’s face, and she knew instantly Garrick was pushing his men to the brink of their endurance and beyond. 

“Mistress
Alena I have not had the opportunity to thank you for risking what you did to care for us,” he said moving toward her.  He carried his helm under his arm, his gauntlets protruding from where he had crammed them within.  His full armor made his already broad chest broader.  As he neared his free hand came up to remove the chain mail hood reveling his light brown hair, shorter than she remembered from Ghalib’s prison but still hung to his shoulders in waves.  His face still sported a beard, but it was neatly trimmed, giving him a boyish appearance that contradicted the lines of time that creased around his brown-gray eyes.  He came to stand directly before her.  “Sir Halvor Blakemore, forever at your service,” he said with a bow.

“I hope you had a successful journey,”
Alena said and immediately wished she had not started with that statement.  How could any of them find joy in a successful journey filled with death?

A grimace crossed his face, and she noticed it looked old beyond its years.  Haunted eyes met hers, “It was.” He said falling silent as he studied her.  This man had a soul that equaled Marcus’s, kind and gentle.

“I hope you had an opportunity to visit with family and friends upon your return.”

A smile broke across his face, “My sisters have come here to visit.”

“Sisters, how many do you have?”

“Seven.  They became my responsibility after my father’s death five years ago.  It was a task I was not prepared for, but I care not to be relinquished from.  They keep me young I do believe.”

Alena felt enormous relief flood her.  She had seen the destruction Ghalib’s life left behind, but he had not destroyed Halvor and his family.  She felt this man’s charm begin to put her at ease. It was short lived, however, when the tent flap was whipped back, and Garrick filled the doorway.  Alena froze and waited to see what the man would do.  She had not seen him since the day he left Holmesfield.  It seemed so long ago, so inconsequential, or perhaps it was a blessing because she had Marcus now.

Garrick came further into the tent, closer to the table.  She felt the chill and the sun went behind a cloud casting the interior of the tent in its own shadow.  Despite his larger physique
Halvor seemed smaller than the dark, menacing man beside him. 

“I see Marcus is caring well for you,” he said placing his helm on the table.

“He is,” she stated with a slight nod.  It suddenly occurred to her she should be weary of Halvor.  He was Garrick’s man and would follow his command regardless if he wanted to or not, for that was the kind of men Garrick surrounded himself with.  She had been with Marcus long enough to know this. 

“The arrangement appears to suit you.”

“It does indeed,” she said with confidence and a movement at the tent opening told her too late Marcus had arrived and heard her answer.  Somehow it made her feel all the more vulnerable.

“We’ve come to apprise you of our situation,” Garrick said turning as soon as he detected movement at the opening.

“And to determine what you want to do,” Marcus said moving closer, clad in his full armor, as well.  It appeared as if they had quite an event before congregating there in her current home.  Each man’s hair was plastered to his head from sweat, and two of the three men had a look of fatigue about their eyes.  Garrick looked as if he might have been out for a light stroll before entering the tent but the gleam in his obsidian eyes told her otherwise. 

She saw the scowl cross Garrick’s face before he spoke.  “Our king has called us to secure some of his holdings in this time of turmoil.”

“What does that mean?” Alena asked, looking at each of the men.

“It means we are to take…” Garrick began.

“It means war,” Marcus interrupted.

“Who is being sent?”
Alena asked with a ball of apprehension forming in the pit of her stomach.

“King Richard has convinced Damien to attend to this task.  With the number of holdings on the list, Garrick has chosen to take his army to some of these and finish it all the sooner.”  She detected something on Marcus’s face, in his stance, and she knew this was not as simple a task as he would lead her to believe.

“Why would Garrick do such a thing?” she asked suspiciously taking a brave step toward the dark man.  She rested her fists on her hips and glared at him.  It was amazing her fear of Garrick fled as soon as Marcus had entered the tent.

Garrick
straightened, his eyes as cold as the steel of his sword.  “There is always something in it for me,” he said with ice edging his tone.

Marcus cleared his throat.  “Garrick’s services will be completed, and some lucky well bred lady will call him husband.”

“For you?” she asked, stepping to Marcus.  Her question made her so intent she leaned toward him placing a hand upon his steel encased chest.

“Garrick will settle into a quieter life and so will I.”  Marcus’s jaw worked, and his eyes travelled down to her hand.  She liked that she could choose to leave her hand upon him.  She wished the armor did not shield him from her palm, from her fingers she wanted to tighten in his clothing while feeling the flesh beneath.

“Is a quieter life what you prefer?” she asked, pulling her hand away and meeting his gaze.

“Do you not?” he asked, and she saw the unspoken promise in his eyes.

“I do,” she said with a lopsided smile.  She wanted to jump for joy that war and death would not always define their life together. 

“We will move quickly.  And there will be war,” Garrick said with impatience edging his voice.

“I leave it to you to decide if you go with me or go your own way,” Marcus said with a hint of irritation.

Alena
studied him.  She had been ready to flee Ghalib and Garrick, but Marcus was a different matter.  She knew even if she left the man she would always wonder, always be haunted by what might have been.

“I go with you,” she declared.  What did they honestly expect her to say, she would part ways with them so she could starve in the streets?  Besides, even if war lay between her and a peaceful life she would be foolish to turn away what she knew for something she did not.

Looking at Marcus his face was unreadable, but Garrick’s cold stare made her pause and, for the briefest of moments, regret her decision.  Gathering her pride she scowled back at the dark man before redirecting her gaze to Marcus.  “When do we begin this journey?” she asked, trying to squelch the feeling this would be more than a journey, it would be an adventure of her life.

~  
~   ~

The chaos of the camp awoke Alena the following morning.  She quickly rose and dressed in the simple dress and cloak Marcus had advised her to wear.  She would be riding with the army, not following behind where the camp followers normally rode, wives included.  Not that she would have settled for that.  She had made it quite clear to Marcus she would not be placed with the whores.  They had spent hours coming to the agreement, Alena had become determined she would not go with Marcus if she were not allowed to ride at his side or at least within sight of him.  More time had to be spent as he coached her on which men she could trust and which ones she could not and what she could expect along the way.  She hoped he had given her the worst possible scenarios so she would be prepared.

Finally, dawn broke and despite her fatigue she pushed herself to be ready when Marcus came for her.  She would be travelling light, with only a change of clothes and a
blanket, but she was not worried, she had left her life behind more than once with a lot less to her name. 

“
Alena,” Marcus called from just outside the tent.  Grabbing her bundle of articles she hurried through the flap and came up short seeing Damien and Garrick’s army ready to march. As she gawked at the numbers, Marcus took her bundle from her and placed it on the back of a sleek chestnut mare that quickly drew her attention.

“She is yours,” Marcus said seeing her interest in the animal.

“Mine?” she asked and was not surprised to hear her own voice cracking. 

“She’s strong and can keep up with the army, she is not nervous so will keep you safe, and she is fast and will carry you from any danger.”

Alena walked to the horse and placed her hand on her warm neck.  She was rewarded when the mare pressed her head against Alena’s chest nearly knocking her off her feet.  She laughed and patted her.  “You have bought her for me?” she asked still in awe of the magnificent creature.

“Actually, I did not buy her but
she is a gift from Garrick.”

Alena’s
eyes darted to the man who was easy to spot even in the midst of the two armies.  “From Garrick?”

“He brought several horses from the Holy Land.  He gifted me with one of those and now I give her to you so that you will be safe.”

Alena turned to Marcus, and saw the lines on his face, the fatigue from all that he had been through the last several days and the preparations he had helped make throughout the night.  That he showed her kindness again and again and worried about her warmed her heart.  She did not hesitate to throw her arms around his neck and was immediately rewarded by his strong arms crushing her to him.

“We don’t have time for this,” Damien replied irritably pulling his snorting horse to a halt beside them.  Marcus released her, and she stepped away.  Behind Damien was
Cyrille.  She had thought they left Cyrille behind at Holmesfield but seeing him, her smile widened.  She wondered how he fared, the hood that covered his face only revealed his one good eye and showed her nothing of the pain he might be feeling from sitting the large beast, but she was still happy.  She made to take a step toward him but Marcus’s hands were about her waist and quickly lifted her to place her in the saddle.

Just a moment before the horse beneath her had intrigued her, but now only Damien held her attention.  She remembered the two brothers inside the prison, side by side, identical. 
Alena had never given it much thought, but as she looked at the still handsome brother she was glad she did not have a person identical to her.  It would only be a reminder, a mirror into the past that could not be changed.

“What is her name?” she asked, forcing her eyes away before she could delve too far into the dark thoughts.

“Maria,” he answered. 

Taking up the reins, she led the mare over to fall into step beside Marcus’s horse.  She spared another look at the armies and found it strange they appeared to be prepared for war even now.  The knights sat their horses in full armor, and the foot soldiers likewise
were armored and armed to the teeth.  Her eyes skittered across Halvor than back as he stared in the distance.  She followed his gaze and made out several women surrounded by King Richard’s guards.  As she watched one of the women tried to break from the group only to be grabbed and none to gently shoved back.  Lenora? 

“What is happening?”
Alena asked Marcus with fear clutching at her stomach.

Marcus paused and looked at the group.  “That is Lenora and
Halvor’s sisters, along with Sir Roland’s children.”

“Sir Roland?” she
questioned, and her eyes fell on the man who sat his horse beside Halvor.

“That is him,” Marcus replied seeing where she looked.  “He tended to his wife’s burial yesterday.”  That explained the deep sadness that marked the man even from the distance
Alena sat at.

“They appear as if they’re being held,” she said under her breath.

“They are the King’s guarantee that we will secure his holdings.  He has taken Holmesfield from Damien but will give both back if we succeed,” his voice held a multitude of bitterness.

She swallowed, watching the women.  “Surely he will not harm them,” she said with confidence.

“He already has,” Marcus replied nodding to Roland.  “We must go,” and she heard the agitation edging into his voice, or was it the stress and fatigue.

She paused another moment, watched the two men raise their hands as a farewell to their families then turned and fell in line with the others.

“What does securing a holding mean?” Alena asked as she and Marcus joined the knight’s of Garrick’s army while Damien’s began to emerge from them and move in a different direction.