The Lethal Flame (Flame Series) (17 page)

He stepped closer so she could feel his heat calling her body to his.  “I think you are a witch,” he said quietly.  His face was grim and his eyes shuttered against the coldness she knew should be flashing there with the news.

So this is it, she thought all her hope, all her planning was pulled from her.  She would never know the feel of a man she wanted to touch her touching her.  She would never see Kenet grow into a strong knight, she will never hold Waverly’s child in her arms.  Her hands clamped into tight fists and she refused to cry in front of this man who had become so much to her while taking everything she had ever held dear.  Her nails dug into her palms and she thought for sure they would bleed as he stared at her.

“I think this because you consume my thoughts,” he licked his lips as if he was finding his words difficult.  “Each dawn brings your face before me.  I yearn to be here with you whether it is only to sit quietly and look upon you or to hold you in my arms and lay claim to you in the only way I have not.”

It took a moment to sink in.  She wondered in a panic if he was accusing her.  She wondered how she could argue against such an accusation.  She couldn’t argue against any of the accusations because there was no proof for her or against her.  Who would have thought he was as big a fool as the others, her anger rose.

“I have never in my life needed another person the way I need you.  I can take what I want but I have to have you give it to me or I do not want it.  This makes no sense to me.  Help me to make sense of this.”

She searched his face.  He was not a man who was accusing her of witchcraft but a man who looked in dire need of her assistance.  She couldn’t give herself to him to gain her freedom, because it just felt wrong suddenly.  She leaned into him, his mail and belt digging into her as she opened the blanket to feel him pressed against her.  His head swooped down and he hungrily claimed her lips.  As if thousands of years had passed since he held a woman thus he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him.  Her mind clouded and all thoughts of just a few moments before and all those throughout the day fled and it was just the two of them and the past and future did not matter.

His strong hand came between them and cupped her breast, a thumb flicked across her nipple and his other hand supported her as her knees threatened to give way.  He lowered her to the floor, spreading the blanket under her and settling between her legs still fully clothed.  It had been a long time but she knew it could not happen like that.  She felt his belt digging into her, the hilt of his dagger dug into her hip.  She forced herself up from the ecstasy he was creating in her.  She forced her mind back to her children, to her freedom.  If she did this she would never be free of him.  She flung a hand out, wrapped her hands around the wooden
tray and with a great deal of force brought it crashing down on the back of his head. 

Damien grunted and his body suddenly went limp on her.  She wiggled and pulled herself from underneath him frightened for a moment she had killed him but his steady breathing reassured her.  She grabbed the key where it was still tied around the hilt of his sword.  With shaking fingers she placed it in her shackle and with a turn she had dreamed would make her whoop with joy now seemed anticlimactic as she freed herself.  She hurried to his coffer and yanked the first tunic from it.  She threw it onto her body and wadding up the blanket she hurried out of the chamber and quickly along the corridor.  With caution she eased her way down the steps hearing only a few voices she guessed it was not meal time so thinking it was servants who may not notice her passing she stepped off the bottom step and peered around the corner into the hall. 

The first things she saw were Kenet and Waverly playing a game with a makeshift ball on the hall floor.  Both children were laughing and the two knights playing with them also seemed to be enjoying their game as much as the children when the ball shot passed the knights to strike the far wall.   One of the knights she recognized as Halvor let out a deep laugh that seemed so out of place in his mail echoing up from his broad chest.  A movement to the left caught her eye and she saw Cyrille step from the shadows just a few arm lengths away.  Without thought, because Lord knew she had not thought any of this out she turned and fled back up the steps.

Back into the chamber she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it.  Not much of a battle tactic since Cyrille flung her against the wall with his first attempt into the room.

“Did you kill him?” he asked in his rasping voice she swore she heard amusement in.

“No,” she snapped.  Wondering where all her bright ideas were when she needed them.  But the more she tried to come up with a way out of the situation nothing came to her. 

Cyrille stepped toward his prone brother but as an afterthought ordered her to remain where she was.  The door was wide open, she could flee but her children were here.  She had no plan to free her children, she had to admit her plan to free herself was not much of a plan either.  They were here and they were safe, safer than anywhere else they could be under the circumstances.

“What did you do to him?” he asked rolling his brother over after clearing food off him.

“I hit him over the head with my plate,” she said coming closer.  “Why are my children still here?” she asked in a voice she hoped was meek for her mind was numb.

Cyrille glanced her way as he loosened Damien’s belt.  “Damien only told you he sent them away to stop the foolishness I just witnessed.”

“Would you not try to free yourself if you were being held captive,” she demanded knowing she should feel something, not the overwhelming numbness that seemed all too much like relief.

Cyrille pulled the hood from his head, laying it on his brother’s chest before looking up at her.  “If I was being held in a chamber where I had food, water and warmth while everywhere else people sought to burn me as a witch I would have to say no.  Unless Damien has been abusing you.”

Abusing her?  No, he retaliated against her when she attacked him, but abusing her no.  She shook her head slightly not wishing to delve into yet another error in her judgment.

“I believe he will seek to punish you for this newest attack,” the man stated struggling to remove his brother’s mail.  “Come help me.”

She moved to his side and began to help undress the man, why she did not know until Cyrille dragged him in nothing but his braies to the bed and settled him in it.

“He has not been eating properly.  A man who works as he does must have nourishment or his body will give out on him do you not think?”

Keri froze on the other side of the bed where she was tucking the covers up around Damien’s chin.  “You would do this for me?”

Cyrille sighed, “I do not know if I do this for you or for my brother, but I will do this.  Now go put yourself back into your shackle.”  With legs that had grown leaden she went back to her corner of the room and with the irony of it thundering in her brain she clamped the shackle back around her ankle. 

“I need the tunic too,” he said with amusement heavy in his voice.  She looked down at herself, swallowed in Damien’s tunic, the hem all the way to her ankles.  In a fit of anger for herself and not Cyrille she flung the garment onto the trunk she had gotten it out of.  Cyrille turned away to give her a degree of privacy as she wrapped her blanket back around her. 

With a chuckle Cyrille went to the discarded tunic, folded it and placed it back inside.  He said not a word to her as he left the room.

Keri paced the floor then sat down, her back against the wall as she watched the man in the bed sleep.  She wondered if she would ever figure him out and felt fear she may not but also anticipation for the days to come when she might. 

~   ~   ~   ~

There was something wrong about the night he collapsed in his chamber.  The first thing was the key was no longer tied around the hilt of his sword.  He recognized that fact instantly when he picked it up from the table.  That key had been a connection to the Lady Keri, no matter where he went he had but to touch the leather tying it to the hilt to feel linked to her.  He had slid the sword into its scabbard without giving any indication he noticed it missing.  Their story of how he had hit his head when he had fallen did not add up since he distinctly remembered lying on top of her before everything went black.  So the real question was why Cyrille would help her hide what she had done and who now had the key?  Since she had been alone in the room when he awoke he suspected it wasn’t her.  Just to be on the safe side before leaving the castle he posted a guard in the hall, the only way to leave the master chamber was to first step foot into the hall.

Damien found himself watching Cyrille, he felt ashamed to be so skeptical of his brother but it was not something he felt comfortable coming out and asking.  Didn’t he want his brother to have her if it made him happy? 
No
, he told himself.  Wouldn’t he give Cyrille his blessing if he wanted to claim her for himself? 
No
, and this knowledge brought on a flood of guilt for he owed his brother everything.

So much guilt filled him that he spent the next days after keeping himself so busy he fell exhausted into his bed at night and was up before dawn in the mornings.  It did nothing to drive away the image of her perfect face and soft fawn eyes, nor the feel of her body under him.  The only thing it really accomplished was to make him tired which made him easier to anger which made him a bear to live with.  He saw it in the faces around him but could do nothing to stop it, the only thing that would placate him is if he went to her but knew he would be a fool if he did.

The sixth day after the siege ended a messenger found him in the village.  The king had arrived at Haltwhistle and was awaiting Damien in the hall.  Damien drug his feet.  A visit from the king was not a good omen.  The last time Damien saw him the king sent him on a journey to quell a rebellion. Now the man was here and a stone the size of a mountain felt like it was sitting in the pit of his stomach.

Damien found Richard sitting on the dais, beckoning to Damien to join him.  After the preliminary niceties he took his seat beside the king but the beginnings of a feast the kitchens had been preparing turned his stomach.

“I hear you have a witch tucked away,” Richard said without preamble.

“I have the Lady Keri of Langley in my chamber,” Damien replied cautiously.

“I hear all the way to London the Lady is a witch with dark powers that had the people of Langley terrified.”

“I have seen no indication that warrants such charges.”

The king nodded with his face thoughtful.  “We will have to conduct a trial of course,” the man said as if one of his subject’s lives was of no consequence.  Of course her life meant nothing to this man for she was a rebel, rebel or witch, neither boded well for her.  To be tried meant she had a little possibility of survival during the trial and if she did it meant she would be likely found guilty of being a witch and would be sentenced to die like a witch.

“As I said sire the Lady has given me no signs that these rumors are true.”

The king nodded, “I see.”  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “I heard she might have put a spell on you so you would protect her as did the men she brought with her upon wedding Langley.”

“She has not cast a spell upon me,” Damien assured him. 

“If there is no indication she is a witch, why is it you keep her chained?”

Rebel or witch, his mind screamed in a near panic.  “She had some misgivings that I represent your interests.  As Bryson’s wife she believed him loyal to the crown and I have been trying to convince the naïve thing to accept this was not true.  Also there is a man who seeks her, he could be a rebel leader against you.  He was outspoken about King Henry in the time of his rein.”

“Who told you this?”

“The Lady,” Damien responded reluctantly.

The king cleared his throat.  “I need a man such as you to look into my interests at Bewcastle.  From what I am hearing if she is not a witch she is most certainly a rebel.  Regardless we need to ensure no rebels get a stronghold there,”   Richard said decisively leaning back in his chair and eyeing Damien.  “You will leave on the morrow and my men will escort the Lady Keri to Kirk where she will begin her trials.  Lord Allister has been kind enough to offer his village for the trial so as not to risk a curse against all of Winchester.”

“But your majesty…”

The king swung quickly back toward him scowling, “You have not hunted these rebels so long your brain has become addled with theirs?”

“No,” Damien gritted out letting the subject drop before he found himself tried for treason, if he were lucky enough to have a trial.

“I hear the witch has two children and perhaps the girl herself is a witch.”

“Alas those children did not survive my attack against Langley,” Damien lied to his king for the first time. 

Satisfied the king nodded and went back to his meal.

Chapter 11

Damien did his duty like a loyal servant and bid King Richard a safe journey then went to the battlements to watch their progress away from Haltwhistle.  Since then the night had grown dark around him.  All but a handful of the king’s men left with Richard, those who stayed would escort the witch to Kirk the next morning.  The thought left him cold.

“You know you’re going to have to tell her sometime,” Cyrille’s voice said from behind him.

Damien’s fingers tightened on the stone, his nails scraping the coarse surface.  “I can’t do this.  I can’t allow this,” Damien said.  His entire body felt drained by the unfairness of life.

“What will you do, go against your king because you know he will not bend on this little matter.”

“I don’t know what to do?”

“You’re going to have to tell her.” 

Damien nodded but he made no move to leave the cold night air. 

“What happened that night in my chamber?”

Cyrille sighed.  “Keri hit you over the head with her food tray.  I saw her come into the hall and she ran back to your chamber.”

“Who has the key?”

Cyrille cleared his throat.  “I think she does.”

“She has had the key all this time?  Why would she not try to escape again?”

“She saw her children and I think she has resigned herself to her place here.”

“She wouldn’t resign herself to anything,” Damien declared.

“Then I guess she just likes your charming company,” Cyrille commented dryly.

Damien cast his brother a scowl then turned his attention to the dark landscape its shadows so deep they seemed to go on forever and made Damien wish they could all just disappear in one and forget all that was happening.  The two brothers stood side by side on the battlements, the stars obscured by dark clouds as dark as their moods.  Anyone passing below would never be able to tell which brother was which. 

“I will follow your lead without question,” Cyrille said quietly.  Damien nodded then turned left the wall to go tell the woman in his chamber she would soon die and there was nothing he could do to save her.

~   ~   ~   ~

He didn’t bang the door against the wall of the chamber when he entered.  Keri lay in her area, curled up in her blanket.  She didn’t start but opened her eyes to see who had intruded.  Seeing him she made no move to rise but closed her eyes unconcerned with his presence.

“King Richard was here.”

Her brown eyes popped open, and she rose up, supporting her body with her hand, arm locked.  The fur fell over one shoulder while her auburn hair fell in curls around her shoulders mixing with the brown of the fur.  “Does he wish you to hang me as a rebel?” she asked with sarcasm.

“No,” Damien said slowly stepping farther in to the room.  “He is sending me to Bewcastle.” 

She sat up abruptly, holding tightly to the fur at her neck but it opened just enough across her chest to tease his senses.  He moved to the table and began removing his weapons.  He had not missed the color that drained from her face, Bewcastle was held by her father and she knew what became of land he was sent to secure.  “He has heard the rumors that you are a witch.”

Damien quietly laid his sword on the table and slowly turned to her.  Her face was ashen, fear in her eyes not only for her own future but that of her family’s.  “He is sending you to Kirk to try you.”

Her eyes closed and her head fell forward, her hair shrouding her face.  He stood rooted to the spot watching her desolation.  Could he take her away from here?  Escape would be easy but Richard would be far less concerned about a woman who escaped under accusations of a witch than he would be one of his best knights deserting him.  For that the king would not rest until he had Damien’s head on the end of a pike.  He straightened, what kind of man would he be if he went back on his oath?  He would never be a good enough man for the Lady Keri.  He would be a disgrace to any children they would bear.   The thought of having more of her children running about underfoot made his gut wrench for there would be no more of those.

He went to her, stooped down beside her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her, feeling as if he comforted himself more with her life crushed against him than he offered comfort to her.  She did not cry but she did lean into him, her hand locked on his arm in a viselike hold, the other slipped around his waist and clung there.

~   ~   ~   ~

She felt his hardness surrounding her, his strength and his warmth.  If she was to go to Kirk to be tried as a witch there was only one outcome, the outcome Liam had set in motion so long ago.  For a fleeting moment she considered telling him more of Liam, why the man would still be hunting her but it did not matter.  Damien had his orders, something he would never forsake, and she had her destiny.

She lifted her head and his lips were there to meet hers and swept her away.  “Where’s the key?” he asked against her lips as her befuddled mind took a moment to realize of what key he spoke.  She pulled a corner of the blanket up, inspected it then went to another corner.  She reached into the seam of the backing and pulled the key out, with one small tug the tiny thread that had held it there came loose. 

He snatched the key from her hand and reached for her ankle.  The iron fell away and he scooped her up and carried her toward the bed.

He placed her gently there, coming down on top of her, his lips claiming her.  A sigh escaped, his weight was crushing but it felt so right with his body pressed against hers.  His large hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb caressed her cheek down to her mouth where he ran the tip over her lip before his tongue replaced it and dove between them.  She let out a small moan and he responded by deepening the kiss.  He moved off her but his body stayed pressed to her side as his hand trailed down her neck, the tips of his fingers felt like embers falling on her skin until his lips trailed after and she felt as if her entire body was going to catch fire. 

His lips were tender, as were his hands as they touched her, caressed her.  His lips clamped around her nipple and she shuddered, her back arching upward off the bed only to have him press her back down.  Pleased apparently with her response both her breasts became involved in his ministrations, he caressed them, plumped them, and squeezed them while his tongue and lips traced paths of sheer pleasure from one nipple to another.  He moved away from her, the loss of his heat created such a fear in her that the passion was over, she cried out.

“Don’t leave me.”

He rolled off the bed and stared down at her lying naked before him on the furs.  She made no move to cover herself but stared boldly at him hoping beyond all hope he would come back to her and finish what he started. 

“This will change nothing,” he said with an edge to his voice.  “I still have my vow to the king.”

She rolled toward him, propping her head on her hand and studied him for a moment.  “I would never ask you to betray your vow.  I only ask one thing of you.”

She watched him raise his head a notch, his nostrils flaring.  Did he think she would ask him to allow her to escape?  Did he still not know her well enough to know he would not see her run from the charges sat before her?  She closed her eyes for a moment against the pain as she realized they would never have a chance to know one another better.  After tonight Damien would be off to serve his king and she would meet her fate head on.  Strangely her pain came from the fear Damien would die in battle serving his king, a man who did not deserve it.  When she opened her eyes again it was to see gray-green eyes watching her intently.

“When you reach Bewcastle tell my father I love him and tell him he did nothing that needs forgiving.”

Damien nodded.

“I also have another request to ask of you.”  The greenness of his eyes was kind as he looked down upon her.  “I don’t want to go to my fait knowing the touch of only one man.”

His eyes darkened and the gray took over as he began to remove his tunic.  She rose to help but with one shake of his head she settled back down to wait with foreign patience. 

“I want you to lay with me Sir Damien Le Forte.  I want you as I have never wanted another,” the last word was followed by the accompanying sound of his braies tearing as he hurried out of them. 

What followed was a storm so powerful to her senses she found herself lost in all but Damien.  What the morning would bring did not matter for with the dawn of tomorrow she would have the memory of the night to sustain her for all the nights to come.  He claimed her body with sweet abandon.  His hands were rough, unlike a few moments before but she found no pain in their urgency.  She found she relished in each touch, each kiss, each graze of his teeth, and each flick of his tongue.  She writhed under him as he moved from her lips to her breasts and lower. 

Her body ached for something but all he wrought from her were thrills stacked on one another until her head spun and she could do not but cling to him.  When his tongue flicked across the bud at the secret juncture of her legs she nearly shot from the bed.  Bryson had never done anything of that nature but it brought such promise her fingers dug involuntarily into his hair as she rode the waves he created.  He was a master at what he did until she felt herself on a precipice that left her moaning and arching into him for more.  It was with a shattering cry, her fingers digging deep in his scalp as  she met his mouth that she felt herself explode, shooting toward the heavens to come crashing back down to feel a finger entering her and it all began again.  She felt she must be drained after crying his name and clinging to him for what seemed only a moment but must have stretched further for the fire
in the hearth had died down but he still touched her, worked more cries from her. 

Then he was moving over her and she quickly wrapped her arms tightly around him, her legs came up to wrap around his waist.  He entered her fiercely and a gasp escaped to mingle with the moan that came from him, how could anything feel as glorious as him.  He slammed in and out of her and she found her body moving with his, then against his, and then with him again, each sending a different sensation cascading through her.  It was a frenzied mating, nearly brutal in its intensity but not as much as the release that echoed in his roar and matched her cry of pure pleasure.  She crashed back down to feel him wrap her in his arms and then she slept. 

Sometime in the night he awoke her again and this time their mating was as gentle as the last one was violent.  He touched her so lightly, each caress a gentle feather, each breath a moist heat that drove her mad with needing him.  There release together was such a blissful union she felt herself cry as he wrapped her in his arms again.

Dawn came and with it so did reality.  Damien was not in the chamber and she became frightened he had already left without even a goodbye.  But wouldn’t that be better, she wondered lying within the warmth of the blankets, his scent all around her.  The door opened and the two brothers came in.  Cyrille carried a gown, its crimson color was familiar and she knew at least some of her garments had been saved from Langley.  This gown was simple in design but was made of expensive crimson silk overlaid with black lace and trim.  It was by far her favorite.

“I have sent Waverly and Kenet away,” Damien began.  “Richard does not know they still live.”

“Thank you,” she said her throat tightening for she would never see her children again and she never got to tell them goodbye, never got to kiss them one last time.

“I have arranged for you to take one of my horses so you do not have to walk the three days to get there.”  Turning Damien took the gown from Cyrille and lay it on the bed.  “This was brought from Langley, and though these shoes are not fashionable with such a fine dress they will stand up better and protect your feet better for your journey.”  He sat a pair of boots that appeared to have been made for smaller feet.

Keri sat up, dragging a blanket up to her chin while doing so.  How caring this man had become in such a short time.  She did not think last night alone contributed to his thoughtfulness.  He made to say something else but apparently thought better of it and fell silent. 

“We’ll give you time to get dressed then send someone up with food to break your fast,” Cyrille said.

“You don’t have much time,” Damien advised then the two brothers left. 

Going about the task quickly she was just pulling on the last shoe when a nock came on the door and Edwin entered with food.  “My lady,” the boy said sitting it on the table.  “I have put food, water and warm blankets on your horse to help you in your journey.”

“Thank your Edwin,” she said a lump forming in her throat she quickly swallowed before the tears began to flow. 

He left her alone and she found despite a lack of hunger she ate anyway for the long journey ahead.  When the door banged open she shot to her feet to see three strange knights standing in the entryway.  One held a sword already in hand while another held manacles.  He advanced on her and she stood her ground.  The three men were obviously frightened for when she raised her hands to have the chains placed on them they all jumped back a step.  The iron was heavy, the chain even heavier weighing down her arms.  These were not made especially for her but were made to hold a full grown man and she cringed thinking who else had been led to their death in them.