The Dark Lady

by Dawn Chandler

  The Dark Knight’s deep graveled voice screamed for Deumount to show his cowardly face.

  The men parted before her, leaving Ryan to face her alone. Wasting no time and allowing no chance for anyone to interfere she swung the heavy sword at him.

  Ryan’s face dropped in shock. He leapt back and barely had time to pull his sword free and bring it up to protect himself.

  Steel clanged against steel, its echo rippling through the silent crowd. The shock of the blow raced up the muscles in her arms and through her shoulder. Her face tightened as a vicious grin crept across her lips. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath and her heart raced.

  Exhilaration filled her in bright flashes of power and desire. The need to humiliate this man ached deep within her. She wanted more than to see his death. She wanted to weaken him. To not only kill him but to destroy him.

  She would kill him slowly. Tease him first before she pounced on him and slaughtered him. She laughed silently inside.

  She tried lifting the sword and feigned a need to struggle with it. Ryan watched her closely and a knowing look crossed his face.

  The first rule of war was never to underestimate your opponent, and he had just broken that rule. She began to circle around him. Her lips spread wide in a smile of pure joy.

  Peter rushed forward, but a hand on his arm jerked him to a stop. “Let me go.” He spun on the man, a snarl fixed on his face.

  “My lord, I cannot do that.” Grant held his arm tightly. “He will not hurt her but if you interfere, you might.”

  “I will not hurt her, now let me go.” He jerked his arm free and took a step forward. His heart plunged into the dirt below him, and the pain shot up through him as it ground beneath his feet. Fear for his wife fought with the common sense that told him that Grant had spoken the truth.

  Vanessa struggled to lift the weapon. Her arms shook as she swung again, the heavy sword wobbling in her grip. Peter’s breath stopped as the clang of weapons drilled painfully into his head.

  “He will only protect himself,” Grant said calmly at his ear. “If you distract her she may hurt herself.”

  Peter took a half step forward and forced himself to stop, knowing in his heart that his friend was right.

  “Let her wear herself out. It will not take long. I am surprised she can even lift that thing.” Grant gestured at the two people who circled each other. One was in full armor and the other in a thin dress that was covered in blood and torn from hip to ankle.

  Vanessa struggled with another swing and the report of connecting metal rang across the silent courtyard.

  Grant shook his hand at them. “See he only stops her blows.”

  Peter grunted at him in anger. Grant stepped away. Peter knew he would have given the same advice, but that made it no easier to stand aside while the woman he loved was in danger.

  Van circled slowly, her heart racing in anticipation of the work to come. She fought to raise the sword, giving him plenty of time to prepare for her blow. She swung the heavy blade, one that was much like the one that lay hidden in her large wardrobe trunk.

  The sun peeked from behind the clouds, spilling its light across the warriors who bunched together. She kept her focus on the smug-looking man before her.

  He smiled. His arms and legs appeared relaxed and unprepared. His responses would be slow and jerky.

  Sweat began to trickle down the small of her back and down her temples starting to sting her eyes. She ignored it all and never looked away from the enemy.

  “What did you do to that poor girl?” Van asked with a deep gasp of unsteady breath and took another halfhearted swing.

  “I did nothing to her. Whatever she told you is a lie,” Ryan said louder than necessary.

  She assumed it was for the benefit of the others watching.

  Van took another swing, this time putting more of her weight behind it. Unprepared for the extra strength she put into it, Ryan’s grip on the sword slipped and it almost fell from his hand. One more hard blow right on top of the first and he was forced to swing at her. His swing pushed her back long enough for him to secure his grip on his sword once again.

  “Do not lie. I know what you did,” Van yelled, also for the benefit of the crowd. “Taking a woman against her will, forcing her, the way only a cowardly man would do.” She smiled at the look of outrage that crossed his face.

  She forced him into another partial turn, until he was almost facing the men, maneuvering him, like a puppet in a dance. She knew she could make him do whatever she wanted him to do, move him wherever she needed him. It was much too easy and she was disappointed.

  She had hoped for more of a fight than she was getting, something to relieve the anger and pain that pricked at her. “Are you a coward?”

  Calling a man a coward was one of the worst insults you could deliver and very few men would allow it. Not from a man, and certainly not from a woman.

  Van smiled as he shouted directly into her face, “I did not force her. She was willing. She wanted it.”

  This bought a cry of outrage from Anna.

  Van heard the pain in Anna’s voice, but tried to ignore it, to not let it distract her from her goal. She swung Gary’s sword at him with enough force that the vibrations from the impact trembled down her arms and into her spine.

  Van swung again, dancing him around as she went, until he was facing directly into the mass of the men. Her voice trembled with anger when she spoke. “Willing? Does a woman look like that if she is willing?” She jerked her head toward Anna but did not take her eyes off of Ryan, who was now tense and prepared. “A woman does not end up bloody and bruised from willing and wanting.”

  She swung hard at him, a full blow, and smiled at the shock on his rage-twisted face. He took a step toward her. Good, she thought. She wanted him angry, wanted him to fight back.

  Peter’s heart seemed to bounce between his stomach and his throat and he felt nauseous. He wanted to go to her, but Grant once more grabbed his arm, holding him back. “She is going to be hurt, let me go.”

  Peter could see the joy in her eyes as Ryan lost control of his temper. He seemed to forget who he was fighting and of all the people who stood watching.

  A quick flash of memory crossed Peter’s mind. He clearly saw Vanessa panting heavy and apparently lost in anger pulling at his leg as he sat astride Jackal. It had been an act to distract him until the cinch came loose.

  All an act and he knew now that she was doing it again.

  He looked quickly to Grant. “She is baiting him. She wants him to fight back and she is going to die.” His voice was tight with panic and his whole body seemed to shudder.

  Grant shook his head and held him tightly. Peter looked back to the grisly scene before him.

  Vanessa continued her verbal bombardment, as she swung the sword harder and faster at him. “Besides, from what I hear you cannot rise to pleasure a woman unless you are hurting her. Even then it only works some of the time.”

  The men behind Peter gasped at this and Ryan growled in a deep, deadly warning.

  Vanessa seemed to ignore the threat and laughed. Peter’s was amazed at her gall and then his face froze. His mind tried to take him somewhere else at the sound of that laugh, but he could not decide where or to what. He knew that laugh and he had the feeling he had seen all this before. He stared at the back of her, the muscles rippling beneath the dress, now sweat drenched and clinging to her back.

  Vanessa’s voice drew him back to the deadly reality before him. “Perhaps it doesn’t work for women. Do you like something other than women?”

  Peter watched his eyes as Ryan looked up into the faces of all the men. Anger and embarrassment washed the color from his face. Two dark red splotches appeared high on his cheeks as the rage enveloped him. “You damned bitch.”

  Light reflected off his broadsword as Ryan attacked.

  Vanessa moved, but not fast enough and his sword raked across her bicep, blood spilling onto her decimated dress, sh
e didn’t seem to notice.

  Peter screamed for her and lunged forward. He was pulled to a stop by Grant on one side and Richard on the other. They dragged him back to his place, if not to his senses. He struggled to get to her, even though he could see she was defending herself well.

  One blow fell after another from Ryan’s sword, silencing her mouth.

  She fought back blow for blow. No one moved or spoke as the battle went on. Peter knew they all feared that interference would result in injury to her.

  Her weak and wobbly strokes from before were replaced with hard, fast, and confident blows. Blood drained down her arm, mixing with the innocent blood that had started it all.

  Peter yanked his arms free from his captors but stood as he was. He watched with a mixture of pride and fear as she battled. Her face was pale from lack of blood and she was beginning to look exhausted. Sweat ran down her face in small rivulets.

  One hard blow drove her leg back behind her. Peter gasped and put a hand to his heaving chest.

  Vanessa appeared about to fall. She had one leg out straight and the other curled beneath her. Her bare leg glistened with blood and sweat in the shimmering heat of the day.

  She fought for balance and Peter stepped forward.

  Richard grasped his arm. “Stop, Peter. You must not interfere. It is an act...and I helped perfect it.” His voice was soft with wonder.

  Peter glanced at Richard’s confused face, but took no time to ask any questions. He looked back at the fight in to time to see the gleam of victory in Ryan’s eyes.

  Ryan stepped quickly into the space beside her outstretched leg. He raised his sword for the winning blow, but Vanessa stood quickly with her sword before her. Standing straight, she was face to face with him, her sword close to his throat and he had no choice, but to step back.

  He stepped right into the outstretched foot behind him. His arms flailed for balance and as he went down Vanessa caught the hilt of his sword with the length of hers. It flung out of his hand with a vibrating ring. It slid toward the men spraying dirt and torn chunks of grass with it and Ryan hit the ground with a loud grunt.

  Van’s mind screamed in victory, blocking off all other sights and sounds. She stepped over him before he could regain his feet and slid the tip of her sword against the delicate hollow of his throat. One of the few spots unprotected from his thick chain mail.

  Van’s breath came in hard gasps that hurt her chest with each deep inhale. Pain surged through her arm and she felt about to tumble to the ground. The loss of blood, lack of sleep, and emotional stress were catching up to her, dragging her into a pit of darkness.

  Ryan swam in and out of focus before her. “Now you will die for what you have done to her.”

  Before she could carry out her threat she felt a small body collide with her.

  “Please, don’t kill him,” Anna pleaded clinging to her. “Please.” Her voice was thick and her body racked with sobs.

  “Anna, he hurt you.” Van could not stand to see the tears, could not stand to think her friend was hurting.

  “Please, I cannot have a death because of me.” Anna shuddered and tightened her grip around her waist. “Promise me.”

  “Go stand by your brother.” How could this day get any worse? She wanted nothing more than to separate his head from his worthless body. Her anger had not been satisfied and her body begged to have the freedom to kill him.

  “Promise me.” Anna looked up at her with tear filled and trusting eyes.

  Van pushed the sword deeper into his soft flesh. She felt a moment of joy as it pierced the skin and blood began to ooze slowly out. She pushed harder.

  “Please.” Anna’s voice was soft and she laid her small hand on Van’s blood soaked arm.

  Van nuzzled the top of the girl’s head with her face leaving a streak of powder that Van grunted at. She felt a moment of worry, seeing that powder, and knew without a doubt that her face held none. Too late to worry about it now, she thought. Her conscience tried to tell her I told you so, but she pushed it away. “I promise he will not die today because of you, now go.”

  Anna reluctantly walked away and Van forced herself to move back. “You should be grateful to her, for she has given you a gift today that you do not deserve...your life.”

  She heard shouts from behind her. Screams of warning and she felt feet vibrating the ground as they rushed toward her. Peter screamed at her to watch out, but she only waited. She was aware of the men rushing forth to her aid.

  Van waited until the footfalls were right on top of her, until she could hear the raspy breathing of the man, and then she spun on him. Sword held flat, she used all the strength her anger gave her.

  There was a moment in which she saw Christopher Dalton, sword held high and a look of rage contorting his face. Then his face disappeared.

  She heard feminine screams even before she heard the wet, soft sound of a head rolling across the earth, followed by the thick thud of a heavy body that followed it down.

  She heard Ryan jump to his feet and spun back on him, sword held out straight toward his chest. Now she was the one facing the men. They had all stopped. She could see the wonder on their faces. She could see the confusion and the questions.

  She heard the soft murmured words that started to mill around, words that worried her for the sake of her loved ones. Words like, “Dark Knight” and “it cannot be him.”

  Van stood proudly, fighting the nausea that swam through her dizzy head. Her arm straight and accusing as the sword pointed unwavering at Ryan. “You will leave these grounds.” Blood dripped into the dry ground, but her arm remained steady and still.

  “You have no authority to tell me to leave. I am not one of your men, Dark Knight,” Ryan snarled at her.

  Her thick voice, deepened with arrogance, growled at him, rumbling through the crowd. “You are right. You are not one of my men. Go ahead and ask Peter what he thinks.” She grinned an arrogant halfcocked grin. “Go ahead, because I would like to see if you can finish the question with your head lying over by your friend’s.” She saw the hesitation in his deep brown eyes. “Please, ask him.”

  “You will not kill me. You promised.” Ryan said with a smug grin. The grin fell away when she laughed.

  The amused laugh was the first thing that had caused her rock steady arm to move, vibrating with the deepness of it. The Dark Knight said in his deep and graveled voice. “Nay, I did not. You have to be careful what you get as a promise. I promised that you would not die today because of her.”

  She smiled and tried her best to ignore all the shocked stares of the men and all the mumblings rolling around among them. “This would not be because of her. It would be purely for my enjoyment and my pleasure. I would like to see how far I can get your head to roll.”

  She noticed the men’s eyes dart from her to the decapitated body behind her and back to her. She twisted her arm so that the sword lay flat, making it easier to slice through the tough tendons and bone of the neck. As she pivoted her wrist, the muscles in her bicep convulsed as they worked hard to hold the heavy sword. The gash in her arm opened farther and fresh blood dripped to the ground.

  “I need a horse and my things,” Ryan said angrily.

  “Aye, I need a lot of things as well. Add it to your prayers. Now get out of my sight.” As she watched Ryan, followed closely by Gregory Penchiot, who ran to catch up with him, she knew she had made a mistake. Her anger was not yet satisfied and as the two men went through the rear gate and disappeared into the woods, she had to force herself not to go after them.

  She turned back to the men and grumbled, “Damned insolent women and their promises. Mothers who want you to promise to wed.” She looked up at the pale face of Amy. “You and your meddling. I should have killed Ryan the night he touched you.” Her anger was starting to fade as she turned at last to Anna.

  “And you. I should have killed him now, when I had another chance.” She took a step toward her, painfully aware that Gary pulled h
er protectively against him. She felt a twinge of regret but kept her face calm. She ran her now trembling hand down the girl’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  Anna nodded her head. “I am, but your face. You have such a bad scar. How did you get it? “

  Blurs of double vision dizzied Van and she struggled to keep her feet under her. A wave of blackness passed before her. She ran her hand along the scar and smiled.

  Peter watched her closely and his mind was whisked away to a time long ago. He lay in the tent, his shoulder demolished and a woman with a sweet laugh and a hypnotizing voice hovered above him. Her black eyes shimmering with worry.

  A twinge in Peter’s shoulder seemed to remember the night as well. He stared at Vanessa...Van, he thought shaking his head. Van.

  Peter looked around the men and saw the same confusion on their faces as he felt himself. “Go to the lists, now.” His voice sounded strangled. “Two of you take care of the body.”

  Most of the men turned and walked away, without a backward glance. Van stared after them longingly, and Peter finally understood her need to see the men.

  Gary had stayed with his arms wrapped around Anna. Grant, Richard, and Devon, his arm around Amy, had stayed as well.

  “My lord.” Van turned her head back at the sound of Gary’s voice. Peter did not even glance at Gary. He could not take his eyes of his wife.

  “Take care of your sister,” Peter told him.

  Peter stared at Vanessa intently. He could not seem to make his mind understand what had happened. The soft musical voice of his phantom woman swirled around him, confusing him more.

  He had berated himself for years as he had the same dream over and over again of the woman leaning over him. Of him running his hand along her smooth cheek. That the dream was of a woman did not stop his disgust with himself because he knew the truth.