Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  As Bryce left her side, she followed his movement to his table at the front of the room. Ryen spotted his chair, and to either side sat the same two women who had been there before. Her heart sank. His whores still had the place of honor. Suddenly, unreasonably, she felt miserable. She looked away and her eyes locked with Talbot’s. For a moment, her hurt showed clearly on her face before she could mask it with indifference.

  Talbot frowned as Ryen met his gaze, chin slightly uplifted, shoulders thrown back with pride.

  Ryen could feel the eyes upon her, watching expectantly. She felt the pressure of the silence, the weight of their hate. Ryen’s gaze moved past Talbot to eye the people about her. Although she purposely ignored Vignon, her mind could not. What was he doing here? Was he a traitor? Had she placed her trust in a spy?

  Then, near the door at the rear of the hall, she spotted Polly among a group of servants carrying trays and pitchers of ale. When she noticed Ryen’s gaze, Polly’s lips turned up and she smiled encouragement before disappearing out the double doors.

  Ryen’s heart sang with joy. She had made a friend among these people who hated and loathed her. Then, like a stone crashing heavily to the earth, guilt fell over her shoulders and she swiveled her eyes to Vignon, who was sipping ale from a mug. He was her reminder of France. Of her men, of her duty. Of honor. She should try harder to escape.

  Suddenly, a tingling along her spine made her swivel her head to the front of the room.

  Bryce’s gaze was locked on her. He was watching her. Had he somehow seen her reaction to Vignon? Was Vignon indeed English? Had he been a spy in her own camp? Was this some sort of test of her loyalty? And if so, who was testing her – Bryce or France? She knew that last question would go unanswered for now and turned her attention back to the scene before her.

  Ryen scanned the table to find it strangely empty of trenchers. She lifted her eyes again to Bryce. He was still staring at her, but an amused look had settled over his features. She noticed movement at the rear of the hall and turned her head. The servants were beginning to come forward, carrying large platters of bread.

  One girl bent over Ryen to place the plate in the center of the table. Ryen’s stomach grumbled at the sight of the small bread loaves piled high on the tray. As soon as the girl moved back, Ryen reached her hand out for a piece of bread. She had not made it halfway when a low growl startled her. She looked toward the noise to see the wild-looking man sitting on her right leap toward the platter.

  Ryen pulled her hand back quickly, seconds before the other men dived for the food. Chairs scraped and tumbled, wild cries filling the room as she pulled herself as far away from the food as her chair would allow. Then the men sat back, each with a portion of bread. Ryen’s stomach grumbled and she reached for the platter.

  It was empty!

  She sat back, stunned. Just moments before, the tray had been full. If it weren’t for the crumbs on the platter, Ryen would have sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her. Barbarians, she thought. She pulled her hand to her chest, massaging her fingers as if in preparation for the next round. She lifted her eyes to Bryce. He was still watching her, casually bringing a piece of bread to his lips. Ryen frowned at him. Her hungry stomach grumbled as her eyes watched pieces of bread fall from his lips onto the table and roll to the floor, where two hounds lapped up the crumbs.

  Her eyes shifted to Vignon. He was clutching a piece of bread in each hand, eating them with a tenacity that surprised her. Obviously he was not new to this.

  Her head jerked to the side as a grunt sounded. Like a starved wild dog just thrown a bone, the soldier on her left gobbled the bread that was smashed in his clenched fists, his eyes darting savagely from side to side. Ryen could swear that he held two loaves in his large hands. Her eyes scanned the faces of the men around her, noticing that each had the same savage-eyed look, and each had at least two, if not three, loaves.

  Her eyes shifted to Talbot. He had only one loaf, and his body curled protectively around it, his wounded arm shielding the bread as best it could.

  Ryen’s lips drew down in an alarmed pout. Were these people starving?

  Her head swiveled around the room, watching with disgust the manners of these barbarians, or the lack of them. Until her gaze came to the back of the room. In the shadows she saw men and women milling, pacing. One small girl was sitting dejectedly, her thin legs crossed, her large eyes staring straight ahead. Ryen frowned in confusion. What was going on here?

  She shifted her gaze to Talbot. He was just finishing up his bread. He might hate me, she thought, but he has never lied to me. “Why don’t the peasants eat?” she wondered.

  “They eat when we are done,” Talbot answered, wiping a sleeve across his mouth.

  Ryen’s eyes shifted to the empty platter. Her stomach rumbled and she rubbed it absently. “There’s no food left.”

  “They eat the kill,” he replied.

  A small girl reached over Ryen’s shoulder to fill her cup. As she straightened, her stomach bumped Ryen’s arm. Ryen glanced up and noticed her protruding abdomen. Good Lord, Ryen thought, the poor girl is with child! And from the looks of her size, ready to deliver now! She could barely stretch across the table for the mound of belly that jutted before her. As the girl went to replace Ryen’s cup, Ryen took it from her hand so that she wouldn’t have to reach across the table.

  The girl froze, staring at Ryen. In her brown eyes, Ryen could see fear. Ryen set her cup back on the table and reached for the next cup. No sooner had her fingers encircled the goblet than a large hairy hand slammed down around her wrist.

  Ryen’s startled eyes quickly followed the hairy arm up to a snarling face. The man to her left still held bread in one hand as he glared at her. His eyes narrowed hotly and his grip tightened. For a moment no one moved.

  Anger slammed through Ryen’s body. He thought she was stealing his property! What in heaven’s name would she want with a goblet? Other than to club him in the head with. Ryen tore her wrist away from him and turned to the girl, extending the goblet to her.

  Shuddering, the girl lifted the pitcher and poured. As the beer ale filled the cup, Ryen could feel the man’s form rising behind her. When the girl finished, Ryen turned and sloshed the cup into the man’s hands, returning his accursed goblet. The man’s furrowed eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion as he stared at the goblet.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ryen saw that Bryce was also standing. She ignored both of them and reached for the next cup. The knight did not protest, and Ryen had the cup back to him in a second. She stood, moving down the row, filling each of their cups. She felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up to see Polly at her side. The large woman reached out and took the cup from her hands, saying, “Ya return ta your seat. This is no job for a lady.”

  Ryen stared hard at her for a moment until Polly smiled and urged, “Go on, now.” Ryen hesitantly returned to her seat. She felt every eye on her, suspicion and confusion in every look. Anger burned through her veins. These barbarians! Didn’t they know how honored a pregnant woman should be? She had to be careful lest she lose the life inside her. But these pigs made her lean over them, stretching and bending. They refused even to lift a finger!

  Ryen turned her gaze to Bryce. He was taking his seat, but she saw a glimmer in his eyes…was it pride? Or worry and doubt? She could not be sure, so she raised her chin and turned back to the soldiers. Most had finished eating and were watching her.

  They didn’t know what to make of her. She could see it in their eyes! They were surprised she had helped the servant. The woman was English, after all. But she was a commoner, treated no better than the dogs beneath Bryce’s feet. Ryen shook her head sadly.

  Suddenly, the swarm of servants surged forward again. They were carrying trays of fruit. Again a platter was placed before Ryen, in the center of the table. She didn’t even reach for the luscious-looking apples. Not after last time. If starvation was Bryce’s punishment, then so be it.

>   She cringed as the men descended over the mound of fruit, pushing and shoving each other in their desperation to reach the food.

  Suddenly there was a growl. At first, Ryen thought it was the hounds, but as she turned her head she saw two men rising, one’s hands outstretched toward the second man’s throat. The table cleared instantly and the wild-looking man on her right pulled Ryen out of her chair as a fist barely missed her chin. It was appalling. She sucked in her breath as a fist connected with a jaw. The grunting and growling should have come from two animals, not two men.

  Ryen glanced at Bryce. He was sitting in his chair, his gaze upon her as his soldiers fought each other for food. Why did he do nothing?

  Ryen watched Elli bend to him, lay a hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Together they turned to her again. Bryce nodded. Ryen wanted to rip out the woman’s throat as well as cut off her hand for laying it on Bryce. She stared hard at the woman, at her fingers caressing his arm, until she removed her hand. When Ryen turned her gaze back to the fighting men, she saw they were rolling across the floor, through the rushes, away from the table. One by one, the soldiers who had been sitting around her began to take their seats, ignoring the struggle.

  She turned her gaze again to Bryce. He was still watching her, taking a large bite from an apple. But he wore an amused look. He casually tossed a slice of fruit over the side of the table, where the hounds sat at attention, staring at him. The youngest and most agile of the dogs leapt up and caught the slice in his mouth, swallowing it whole.

  Ryen became distinctly aware that she was the only one standing. Slowly she made her way to her seat. When she was seated, a large roasted pig was carried in, supported by a spit. Ryen watched as Bryce stood and moved around the table toward it. She watched his body as he walked, the slight swing of his muscular arms, the confident gait of his legs, the tightness of his leggings over the bulge –

  She felt heat rise inside her and looked down, hoping to hide her discomfort, but found that she could not keep her eyes from him, and they lifted, centering on his wavy hair and then slowly perusing his body.

  He turned his back to her and her eyes were drawn to his firm buttocks. He was the most attractive man she had ever known. She felt her insides warming; the anger dissipated, replaced by a dreamy sensation as her eyes lazily examined his strong body.

  An impish grin tugged the corners of her lips. He was so handsome and she knew she could watch him all day…as long as he didn’t know.

  Then he turned and stared directly into her eyes.

  Ryen’s eyes widened with guilt, and her face paled. She watched the knowing grin spread across his smug face. She wished she were dead. She wished she could disappear. She wished she could run a hand over those rounded muscles. She blanched. Where had that thought come from? She quickly dropped her gaze to the table.

  When she cautiously raised her eyes again, Bryce was walking toward his chair. He was carrying a plate, on which was a slab of the swine. Ryen saw Lotte’s back straighten with vanity as Bryce stopped before her and lobbed a hunk of meat into her dish. Ryen’s shoulders slumped slightly, her lips drooping. Lotte’s face glowed as she cast Ryen an arrogant look.

  Bryce then moved to Elli, who smiled coyly at him. He dropped a large piece of the pig onto her plate. Ryen was dismayed to find hurt swirling inside her; she forced her face into a blank mask, hoping to convey disinterest.

  Bryce turned to her then, his dark eyes pinning her to her chair. Ryen hoped that the ache she felt did not show. Her mind replayed Elli’s hand running over the length of Bryce’s arm. His lover, she thought with a jolt. He had been with her as Ryen recovered. She felt the pain rise in her throat and fought desperately to keep it from her face. I don’t care, she told herself over and over. But she did.

  Something flashed across his face as he stared at her, and then he was walking toward her, his powerful legs carrying him quickly over the space between them. When he stood before her, Ryen raised her chin and met his gaze with a haughty indifference.

  A smile curved his lips and melted her heart. He picked up a large portion of the meat and held it out to her.

  Murmurings spread like wildfire across the tables.

  Ryen’s mouth watered like a river; her stomach grumbled. Bryce waited patiently as she lifted trembling hands to take the pork. She could barely keep herself from ripping into it. She licked her lips and raised her eyes to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, so softly that only he and the closest knights could hear.

  Bryce’s eyes smiled at her, glinting in the torchlight. He turned and went to his seat.

  He had no sooner sat than the room exploded in motion. All the men dived for the center of the room, grabbing handfuls of meat, chopping with their daggers. They were like ants covering a fallen piece of bread.

  Ryen stared, shocked at the sight: the men hovered around the spit, the strongest in front gorging themselves. As one finished and moved away, the next strongest took his place. Fighting was common.

  Ryen took one bite of her meat, and then a second. She felt out of place, eating daintily. When she took her third bite, she noticed the peasants. They were edging forward from the shadows at the rear of the hall, circling the men and meat, waiting for their chance.

  Surely there must be more kill for the peasants, Ryen thought. But as the commoners edged closer and closer, their eyes anxiously scanning for an opening, Ryen realized this was their only meal. Outrage rocked her body, and slowly she stood. She watched as one of the peasants reached a hand to the pig to rip off a piece of meat. The soldier closest to him snarled before he backhanded the man across the face.

  Ryen’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “They eat what’s left. It is our way,” the man on her right said around a piece of meat in his mouth.

  “You mean the peasants are no better than your hounds?” she gasped. “At least you throw the dogs food!”

  “The strongest survive,” the man said, wiping his hand across his mouth.

  Ryen pushed away from the table, unwilling to see more. She didn’t understand why they acted this way. She moved toward the doors, feeling disgusted. No one should go hungry, she thought. Unless for some reason Bryce’s lands were not prospering.

  As she approached the giant wooden doors, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled her head. There, in the shadows, hiding behind a bench that lay on its side, was a boy. His hair was matted, his clothing too small. He was eyeing Ryen with hungry, hollow eyes. Ryen looked down to see what the boy was staring at. She was surprised to find that she still held the pork in her hand. Immediately, she held out the meat to him. He started forward, licking his lips.

  Suddenly, Ryen’s wrist was seized. She looked up and locked eyes with Bryce’s dark gaze. The boy jumped back, taking cover behind the table.

  “That is your food,” Bryce told her. “Give it away and there will be no more.”

  Ryen yanked her arm free. “He’s starving,” she snapped, and again stretched out her hand.

  The boy hesitated this time, his large eyes turning up to Bryce for permission.

  “Come on,” Ryen coaxed. “It’s all right.”

  The boy took a tentative step forward, those haunted eyes returning to Ryen.

  “You can have it.” She bent at the waist and reached out to him. The boy ripped the meat out of her hand and retreated to the overturned bench to hide and eat.

  Ryen straightened, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips. She watched the boy for a moment, certain that he was well on his way to finishing it. Then she turned to face Bryce, who was watching her, expressionless. “Are all the children thus starved?” she wondered softly.

  Bryce’s shoulders lifted slightly, his eyes never wavering from her face. “Not the strong ones.”

  “But why? Aren’t your lands thriving?”

  “We’ve had the best harvest thus far.”

  “You live like savages,” she whispered harshly, so only he co
uld hear. “Fighting for your food. I have never seen such barbarism.”

  His body stiffened and his jaw clenched. His black eyes narrowed. “Then it is lucky you will be leaving.”

  Ryen felt her chest tighten. His words had stung her. She had not meant to insult him. Still…she had no right to feel hurt. She was nothing to him except a conquest. He had made that clear the first day she was here when he’d announced to all that he had taken her maidenhood.

  She turned away from him and her eyes locked on the small boy who was licking his dirty fingers. Her heart twisted. Perhaps before she left she could make at least one change. The peasants and servants…the children…did not need to be hungry. There were ways and simple foods that would satisfy them. They shouldn’t need to carry weapons or learn how to fight just to eat.

  “Bryce.” She turned back to him, stepping closer. “Allow me to enter your kitchens. There is a dish –”

  His eyes narrowed, his look darkening. “So you can poison all of us? I think not, Angel.”

  Ryen’s mouth dropped. She had not thought of poison. But as she stood staring into his suspicious, accusing eyes, the thought became very appealing. Her own eyes narrowed, mirroring his. “You are the most evil man I have ever known. I would never hurt a child. I even trusted that spy you snuck into my camp – your son.”

  Bryce stepped toward her, his eyes burning into hers with anger.

  Ryen retreated a step. She could not take her eyes from his; they demanded her attention, lest he strike.

  His voice was so soft as he towered over her that she barely heard his words. “I did not sneak him into your camp. He came of his own free will. Like a true Princeton. Like a wolf.” He was walking away before she could breathe again.

  Bryce must have loved the boy very much. She wondered what it took to get him to care that much.

  She pushed herself from the wall, doubting she would ever know.

  A pair of dark eyes watched the enemy cross the room. Lotte straightened her bodice, causing her large breasts to thrust out. She would not allow this French bitch to take her place as Prince’s favorite. No matter what Prince said, she knew she would win him back.