Free The Lethal Flame (Flame Series) by Angie Arms Page B

resided within the hall as he commanded those who cowered in the corners to show the way to the master chamber. As soon as they were within a secure chamber he set Bryce outside the door and franticly tore his brother’s armor from him.
    “Stop this nonsense,” Damien grumbled once but Cyrille was sure he was delirious. 
    A sword had cut into his side, up underneath his mail laying the skin open.  He was covered in his own blood and a deep fear settled in on Cyrille as he watched his brother’s face grow even paler.  A wound to his thigh also bled rivers of his brother’s blood and he felt weakness threaten his own legs.  Was this what it was like for Damien when he had rushed from the dungeon to find his brother burning at the stake?  Did he feel a desperation bordering on insanity?  Cyrille would kill, maim or torture anyone to insure his brother would live but he knew it would do no good.
    Had Damien felt this useless desperation? Cyrille felt the desperation so cleanly he made a pact with the devil for his soul if he would but heal his brother while Damien’s desperation had filled him with a deep rage to see every person responsible for his brother’s pain extinguished by his blade.  While Cyrille had fought for his life Damien did the only thing his brother knew how to do, he searched the countryside to find those who had imprisoned them, destroying everything those men held dear before he ended their lives. 
    Cyrille cut away the shirt and gently moved it away from the wound.  Deep, damn these rebels’ hides he thought wadding a corner of a blanket and pressing it against Damien’s side.  His brother writhed beneath him, his strength was ebbing.  The two of them had spent a lifetime wrestling and fighting one another, and he had no doubt his brother was losing too much blood.  “How are you doing Damien?”
    “How bad is it?” his teeth clenched against the pain.
    Cyrille thought of lying to him but he could not do that to his brother.  “It’s deep,” was his only reply.  His own eyes looked back at him and he read the fear there.
    “Edwin!” Cyrille bellowed for the squire.  Immediately the boy opened the door.  “Get the seamstress, have her bring a little needle and several different kinds of thread.  Also bring a lot of ale, send those two things to me then get Roland here and let me know the situation.”  As the boy turned Cyrille added, “and watch your back the rebels are still afoot.”
    “Cyrille,” Damien’s voice came to him in a near whisper.  Kneeling by his side he placed a hand on his arm.  His head turned and haunted eyes looked back at him.
    “You’re okay brother,” Cyrille said but his voice sounded too much like a plea.  “I burned at the stake and I’m still here.  No sword is going to lay you down.”
    A weak smile was his only reply.  His brother’s eyes drifted closed and Cyrille had the urge to scream at him to open them.  How could he go through life looking as he did without the image of what he once was to remind him he wasn’t a monster?  His hands tightened on his brother’s arm giving it a little shake. 
    The door burst open and Cyrille had his sword drawn ready to slice the intruder in two.  A young woman gasped nearly fainting as he stopped his attack toward her.  “She is the seamstress’s apprentice,” Edwin explained behind her.  Cyrille stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the arm pulling her forward, his blade pressed against her chest.  “Sew him as neatly as you can.”  He turned grabbed the large tankard of ale from Edwin and dumped half its contents on the gaping wound.  Damien nearly rose from the bed, a gasp escaping him.  “Get more,” he said to Edwin indicating the ale.
    “I can’t sew him,” the woman replied franticly trying to back away.  Without hesitation Cyrille pressed the blade of his sword to her neck again.  “If you cannot you will die here.”  Was this what it was, was this how