Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Don’t make me bind you,” he threatened.

  Even though is voice was low, she heard him over the pounding, thrashing sound of the water. Rage filled her body and she clenched her teeth, vowing to escape him. He came to a halt at the bottom of the hill and slid her to her feet. The falls shimmered before them.

  Thunder rumbled high over their heads as Bryce began to enter the water. Ryen took a step into the dark water before she brought up her foot, hitting Bryce square in the middle of the back. He fell forward, into the water, losing his grip on her arm.

  Ryen turned and bolted into the forest, racing past trees, the thought of escape fueling her tired muscles with renewed energy. Her feet slipped in the mud as she dashed through the darkness, skirting more trees, leaping over fallen branches. Then her anger faded and she faltered, slowing her pace. I need him, she thought. I must return him to camp. I must bring him back.

  Her slowed pace was enough. She knew without even looking that he had already closed the gap between them. She heard his steps coming up behind her. That alone was enough to rouse her defiant spirit. Ryen surged forward, but it was too late. He had her, grabbing her around the stomach and picking her up off her feet. As she fought against his hold, twisting in his arms to hit his head, he turned her and roughly thrust her back into a tree.

  Pain shot up her left arm and she whimpered, cradling her elbow as he slid her back to her feet. When he raised his head, his eyes were glowing with the reflection of the lightning. “You cannot escape me,” he whispered, his voice deep and dangerous. “Not now. Not ever.”

  She could feel his body pressed up against hers to keep her in place, to keep her still, to keep her captive. Ryen could not tear her eyes from his. How he must hate me, she thought.

  Then his lips were on hers, searing across them, demanding entrance. She was startled for a moment, raising her hands to his chest in a weak protest. Then, slowly, his lips fanned the flames within her until she relaxed and parted her own. He drove his tongue into her mouth, pressing his body against her, demanding that she yield. Ryen felt every stone-cut muscle of his strong, powerful physique against her own. The heat of his lips drained her will. She closed her eyes, letting the feel of his kiss wash over her, like rain.

  Then he pulled back. She couldn’t move, didn’t want the kiss to end, didn’t want the tenderness to be over. When she finally opened her eyes, she found a mocking grin curving his lips, laughter in his eyes.

  “Maybe I have been using the wrong method to control you,” he whispered.

  Humiliation, hurt, and hate raged within her. “No man can control me,” she retorted, struggling to break free of him.

  He pressed himself closer to her, stilling her vain efforts at escape. “Shall we put that to the test?”

  “You cur,” she snarled. “You have no honor. How could your king ever have knighted you?”

  “I was wondering the same of you.”

  Angry eyes clashed as lightning ripped the sky and thunder rumbled in the forest around them. Bryce grabbed her arm and shoved her past him, toward the river. “Now, move,” he commanded. “Lest I try to control you again.”

  Ryen stumbled, sliding to her knees in the mud. She quickly stood, and marched through the downpour to the river. There she came up short. The river was still, except for the crashing of water onto the rocks. Tiny drops of rain stung the pool. She heard his steps through the mud as he approached her from behind. She braced for a shove.

  “Your arm is bleeding,” he said. Ryen was surprised by the concern she heard.

  She clutched the back of her left arm. There was a tear in her tunic and as she touched the skin, hot pain flared up her arm. She pulled her fingers back to find blood on them.

  Bryce stepped up to her. She could feel his presence close to her. “It needs binding,” he murmured.

  Ryen did not reply. The blood on her fingers was a deep red, even though the rain diluted the color. She had to get him to take her back to the camp. Lucien would see to her wound.

  Ignoring the throbbing in her fingers, she stepped into the river, heading for the falls. As she drew closer to the tumbling water, she could see that Bryce was right. There was a cave behind the falls. She climbed over the boulders, heading for the shelter. Behind the cascading waterfall was a small ledge, and she crept along it until she reached the entrance to the dark hole in the cliff wall. The cave was small, with room enough for only about five people lying down. Large enough for her and Bryce.

  But it was dark and wet. The floor was damp, and water dripped from the ceiling. There was a chill to the place, and as she entered the cave, she shivered.

  “Take your clothes off,” he stated.

  Ryen whirled on him. Was he going to rape her? Here? He was silhouetted against the water, a dark shadow standing in the entrance to the cave.

  He stepped forward and Ryen retreated until her back hit the stone wall. “I will not yield to you. I will fight you with my last breath.”

  He chuckled quietly, his laughter echoing through the cave. “I would not have it any other way.” He reached out a hand to her shoulder.

  Ryen found herself trembling as he lifted her wet hair and brushed it behind her shoulder. “Remove your clothes or I will do it for you.”

  “I – I only have a chemise on,” Ryen replied breathlessly.

  “I’ve seen many before,” Bryce answered. “Yours will be no different.”

  Angry, Ryen shoved him away. He stepped back, his eyes never wavering from her. She stared hard at him, trying to decide what it was he wanted. Unable to read those dark eyes, she raised her chin, narrowed her eyes, and lifted her tunic over her head. She stood holding the wet tunic, her furious eyes locked on him.

  “Your leggings and boots, too,” he commanded in a somewhat husky voice.

  Ryen tossed the wet tunic on the ground and sat on a rock. She raised her left foot and pulled the boot off. Then she repeated the movement with her right foot. She stood and shimmied out of the leggings. These followed the tunic to the floor.

  Bryce approached her slowly and Ryen dropped her hands from her hips. The gauzy material of her chemise was wet and clung to her body as she moved. The sleeves of her chemise were mere straps and the waist was gathered. The skirt was shorter than average, falling only to mid-thigh. She usually gathered the material and tucked it into her leggings, then secured her tunic with a belt. The chemise was the one feminine item she could never seem to rid herself of. It protected her skin from the rough wool tunics she sometimes wore.

  Bryce stared at her for a long moment and she returned his heated gaze with fury. Finally, he bent and picked up her tunic, leggings, and boots and turned away from her.

  Ryen watched as he spread out her clothing on the floor of the cave. Then he sat on a rock. A spear of lightning lit the cave and she saw his shoulder muscles bunch and release with the effort of pulling his boot off. His dark, wet hair hung over his shoulder. He paused for a moment, staring at the chain around his other foot. Then he rose, staring at her.

  Ryen looked back at him. His intense gaze burned into her, sending shivers down to the core of her being. She was suddenly very aware of how transparent her chemise was. She crossed her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to cover herself from his gaze.

  A grin lit his lips. He stood and came back toward her. Ryen felt her heart pound; tingles shot up her spine.

  Bryce was much taller than she was, and more powerful. Heat radiated from his body like the sun; she could feel its scorching intensity burning from his eyes. She refused to back away from the danger, refused to yield to him, even though she might be burned, even when he raised his hand. She would fight him, she vowed.

  “Believe me, Angel,” he said, in a strangely husky voice that was filled with hidden anger. “My mind is on other things.”

  Then he touched her left arm. Waves of desire crashed over her and she floundered in a sea of passion, battling against the waves that assaulted her, yet relishi
ng the warmth of his touch. Then his hand was gone and she was slapped back onto the shore of reality.

  He raised his hand up between them and she saw the blood that stained his fingertips.

  “Let me help you,” Bryce said.

  Ryen was shaken by his effect on her body and knew she had to separate herself from him before he infested her mind, as he had before. She pulled away from his touch. With the movement, pain shot through her arm. She tenderly clutched at it, feeling the wetness of blood. “I don’t want your help,” she answered.

  Bryce pulled back. He towered over her for a long moment, refusing to take his eyes from her. Finally, he withdrew to the other side of the cave.

  Ryen sat down on a rock. She wasn’t sure whether she was exhausted from the wound, the water, or her constant war with Bryce. All she knew was that she had to get back to camp…and she had to bring Bryce with her. Somehow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bryce turned to Ryen for the thousandth time. He watched the morning light wash slowly over her with the rising sun. Her makeshift chemise was almost dry now, the fabric conforming around the smooth, rounded curves of her body. She was still nestled between two rocks near the back of the cave, and he had not been able to get a look at her wound. He knew the cut was deep from the pool of blood that had collected near her hip. Why was she being so stubborn? he wondered. Would she truly allow herself to die?

  He absently rubbed his chafed wrist. He had removed the rest of his chains during the night, working them off in the water only after he was sure she was asleep. He glanced out of the cave where the waterfall hid them, not really seeing what lay beyond. She was the cause of all his pain. It was true, he thought, thinking back on her words. She does look into my eyes and see hate, as she should. I should hate her. For daring to stand against me – the Prince of Darkness! For outwitting me. But most of all, for killing Runt. If she had not captured me, then he would never have been in her camp.

  Again the boy’s image rose in his mind’s eye. That one lock of hair hanging before his blue eyes. Grief welled in his throat, closing it until he could barely breathe. He would have made a fine knight, Bryce thought sadly. A great knight. Now, I cannot even give him the burial he was entitled to. The waters claimed his body just as the fire and smoke stole his breath. Damn this French land.

  He shook his head. I will build a memorial for him when I return to Dark Castle, he vowed silently. And I will bring his killer back to England, so she can suffer for killing him.

  Again, his eyes were drawn to her. She looked so pale and helpless, so small. How could she possibly command an army? he wondered angrily. Who would call himself sane and put a woman in charge of men?

  Ryen shifted and her face contorted in pain, a soft groan issuing from her full lips. Bryce immediately stepped forward and knelt at her side. Her head was tilted to the right, a strand of dark hair falling over her cheek. Her left arm was turning a purplish color, and for a moment he wondered if it were broken, but he recalled her moving it and knew it was not. He had to see the wound, see how deep it was.

  He moved closer. His knee brushed her thigh and Bryce glanced down. Her chemise had slid up her leg, revealing most of her silky white thigh. Intense desire flared inside him and he suddenly found that he could not move. Slowly he raised his eyes. The small strap at her shoulder had flopped down her arm to pool at her elbow. Who was this woman that she could evoke such powerful lust in him? His gaze slowly moved across her small waist, up to her breasts and to her full lips…a trail his hands longed to follow. Why did she trouble his thoughts now more than ever?

  He reared back from her as if struck. Because he wanted to touch her. He wanted to see her arch beneath him, cry out in pleasure as their naked bodies entwined in the throes of passion. And yet he knew he could not. She was forbidden – an enemy. He could never show Runt’s killer any pleasure. The thought should have been repulsive, yet it was all he could think of when she was close. I must not view her as a woman. I must see her forever as my prisoner, as my enemy.

  He stood and moved quickly to the entrance of the cave.

  “Wake up,” he called.

  Her eyes snapped open, her hand instinctively reaching for the spot where her sword should have been, but all she grabbed was air. Her blue orbs focused on him with an alarmed expression.

  “On your feet,” he commanded.

  She shot to her feet. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It is time to move on,” he said.

  Ryen stood, dumbfounded. Then he watched as anger seeped over her face. She scowled at him for a long moment, then straightened with indignation and adjusted her sleeve, pulling it up over her shoulder.

  Bryce steeled himself against his desire by concentrating on how much he wanted to kill her. To put his hands around her neck and squeeze. These thoughts did nothing to lessen the lust in his loins. He knew he could never kill her. He narrowed his eyes. “Do not try to seduce me, or I will take what you offer.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Would you rather my clothing fell from my body?”

  A dark smiled curved his lips.

  Her brows furrowed. She turned away from him only to have the pain consume her body. She clutched at her arm, keeping her back to him so he would not see her agony.

  Bryce knew she was in pain, and some part of him wanted to go to her, but he did not move. She did not want his help; she had made that clear. He waited until she straightened, bringing the pain under control enough to face him. “You are a fool for not letting me see your wound. It could well become infected.”

  “Why would you care?”

  Her question startled him. “I do not wish my prisoners to die,” he stated. “As you did not.”

  “I am not your prisoner,” she responded weakly, and sat on a rock.

  Bryce’s sharp eyes saw that she could barely move the arm. Perhaps it was not wise to argue with her when she was so pale…so weak. She sat in the dark cave, her head bent, her dark hair hanging in long curls over her shoulders. He watched the damn sleeve slowly slide down her arm again and wished that her clothes were dry. They had still been wet when he had scooped them up and carried them to a rock outside only minutes earlier. The damp cave had not allowed them to dry at all.

  Finally, Ryen raised her eyes to him. “We need food,” she said. “Or do you plan to starve yourself?”

  Her words were as sharp as a sword’s blade. “I have already eaten,” he said, thinking back to the berries and roots he had gathered and eaten before sunrise. He watched disbelief flash in her large blue eyes and almost smiled. She had no way of knowing that he had picked enough for her, also. She shot to her feet and marched past him, but he caught her right arm. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  Her eyes narrowed, her back stiffened. “Take your hand off me.”

  “I have no intention of letting you out of my sight.”

  Her lip curled as her eyes swept him. “You think if I wanted to escape I could not?” She yanked her arm free of his hold. “You selfish English dog! I hold nothing but contempt for you.”

  “You would not talk to me thus if you were a man.”

  “Then you have known only cowards,” she retorted.

  What a fiery little wench. He thought back to the Wolf Pack for an instant, the way they stood up to the knights in the field. “Coward is not a word I would use to describe the men I have known.”

  “No? How about pigs? Louts? Flea-ridden maggots?”

  A chuckled churned from his throat. Ryen marched past him, but before she left the cave, he said, “There are berries and roots in the corner.”

  Ryen stopped and turned. He watched her hide her embarrassment under a coat of pride. Most women would have broken down in tears long ago, but not Angel. She traded insult for insult. She could easily fend for herself, but what was most impressive to Bryce was that she did not cower before him.

  She straightened her shoulders, adjusted her sleeve, and moved to the corner of the
cave where he had placed the food. She knelt, her small hands scooping up the red berries. As she brought a berry to her mouth, that accursed sleeve slid to her elbow again where a chestnut curl caught it. Her hair had dried in rebellious spirals along her back. Bryce found his eyes roaming over the path of her dark tendrils until they ended at the curve in her back near her waist where another curve began. Without her armor, she was a very pleasing morsel.

  As if reading his thoughts, she straightened and looked over her shoulder at him.

  Those blue eyes glistened in the light that shimmered through the waterfall, those full lips slightly parted. Bryce turned away from her. The little vixen! How could she have been a virgin with sultry looks like those, especially surrounded by all those men? He stepped quickly out of the cave. I cannot think of her like that, he reminded himself. She is a French prisoner. I must treat her as one.

  Still, the image of that demure sultry look was engraved on his memory. Those lips…so tempting. So ripe for kissing. He wanted to feel them against his own again.

  No wonder those weak Frenchmen had put the little wench in charge of their army! With fiery looks like those, it took all his will not to drop to his knees and pledge his eternal devotion to her. He reached out with both hands to the waterfall and scooped up some water. He doused his face and shook his head, trying to free himself of her spell.

  “Bryce.”

  She was right behind him. Prisoner, he thought. Just a prisoner.

  “I think my arm is broken,” she said quietly.

  “Can you move it?” he asked tersely.

  “A little. Lucien can set it. I’ve seen him do it before.”

  Bryce’s back grew rigid. Escape. Was her mind always working? He turned to her. Her eyes were large and alluring. “I can set it,” he said. She withdrew until her back was against the stones at the entrance to the cave. He suspected by the way she moved it that her arm wasn’t really broken.

  Bryce stepped forward. He stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes were a dark blue that reminded him of the sky on a very clear day, her lips full and kissable. He lowered his eyes. Her chemise was almost translucent and he could see her dark nipples through the thin material, see the shape of her breasts. He swallowed in a suddenly dry throat and reached out to take her wounded arm gently into his hands. He felt her trembling and raised questioning dark eyes to her. Was she cold?