The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She smiled full out. She thrust quite unexpectedly, and when he parried, she brought the blade high and down. They locked swords and she grabbed his wrist.

  The feeling of her small hand on his skin sent tingles up his arm. Angry, Bryce tore his wrist free and pushed off.

  Ryen swung her blade around to the side.

  He expertly blocked it and came back with a blow of his own. “Why so bitter, Angel? I gave you what you asked for.”

  Ryen deflected the attack. “Do all men finish so quickly?”

  “If you hadn’t acted like a bitch in heat, then I might have acted more politely.”

  “To an enemy? You wanted to hurt me. Just like you want to kill me now.”

  “Killing you now would be too easy,” he said.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not as good as you think,” Ryen answered, and swung the large blade again.

  Bryce blocked her strike and counter-thrust. She raised her sword and sparks flew as the metal blades collided. His face was inches from hers, and he stared into her blue eyes. “You are good, Angel, I will admit that.” Her full lips were so close, so inviting. He put his weight against the sword, moving his face closer and closer. She fought valiantly, but vainly. He was stronger than she was and his lips drew nearer to hers. “I get what I want, Angel. Surrender to me.”

  “Never,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his lips.

  “Ryen!” a voice shouted from the distance.

  Bryce pushed himself away from Ryen and turned toward the trees where the voice had come from.

  “Put down your weapon,” Ryen advised in a hushed tone.

  Bryce glanced at her. Was that concern in her voice?

  “Ryen!” the call came again, this time closer.

  Bryce looked toward the voice, then quickly turned to look the other way. The branches of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing swayed in the breeze as if beckoning to him, but he knew he would never make it. Not with the stiffness in his legs from being confined for so long. An arrow in the back would bring him down before he could hide himself in the woods. He turned to look at Ryen. She watched him with those clear blue eyes, her sword arm relaxed at her side, as if she were waiting fro him to make a move. His first impulse was to put his blade to her throat and hold off her men by threatening her life. He took a step toward her and grabbed her wrist. Much to his surprise, she didn’t resist. He knew he could take her and she would let him. For an instant, the realization confused him, and he hesitated. Voices echoed in the clearing. By the time he had made up his mind to take her, the trees seemed to magically part and a large group of men burst forth, shouting angry words and brandishing weapons.

  Bryce released her arm and quickly dropped the sword. He held up his hands and backed away, but a tall blond man tackled him to the ground. The other men surrounded him and began pounding on him with their fists, lashing out with their feet. Bryce kicked and heard a satisfying thud as his foot struck French flesh. But there were too many of them. He tried to bury his face protectively in his arms, but a boot caught him in the back of the head and his vision blurred for a moment as pain hammered his skull. Hot agony flared in his stomach as another foot struck him.

  Bryce’s vision cleared and he looked out through a haze of pain to see the glint of a polished sword poised above his abdomen.

  Chapter Ten

  “Lucien!” Ryen screamed, reaching for his raised sword arm.

  Andre reached him first, catching the downward swing of his forearm with an open palm.

  Ryen felt her heart hammering in her chest. Her stark terror at seeing her brother about to butcher Bryce dissipated, immediately replaced by a scorching fury. She had to get Bryce back to camp, away from Lucien and her men. Trembling with anger and frustration, Ryen looked down at Bryce. “On your feet,” she commanded.

  Bryce moved his arms away from his face and looked at her. For only a moment, she read disbelief in those dark eyes. Then, with a groan, he rolled to his stomach and pushed himself to his hands and knees, swaying unsteadily.

  Ryen moved toward him, protectiveness surging inside her.

  “She said on your feet,” Lucien snarled and lashed out with his foot, catching Bryce in the ribs, sending him back to the ground.

  Ryen whirled on Lucien, her fists twined into knots at her side. “Touch him again and I will personally see to it that you are clapped in irons.” She turned away from him and knelt beside Bryce.

  He was lying on his back, clutching his stomach. Ryen saw the pain in the thinning of his lips and the tension in his neck. Otherwise, his face was void of any kind of emotion. His eyes were closed for a long moment as if he were trying to bring the pain under control. When he opened them, they were dark and unreadable.

  Ryen whirled, again seeking out Lucien among the men, and shot to her feet to face him. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “You could have killed him!”

  Lucien’s brows crashed together, his jaw clenching. “And he could have killed you.”

  “I was not in danger,” Ryen snapped.

  “No danger?” Lucien roared, the words firing from his lips like arrows from a bow. “You gave the man a sword! He’s a notorious murderer! He’s killed thousands of our people! And you gave him a weapon!”

  “That was my decision to make. He is my prisoner and I will do with him as I like!”

  “Ryen. Lucien.” Andre stepped between them, his body forming a barrier between their rage. “This is not the place, nor the time,” he said softly but harshly.

  Lucien shouldered his way past Andre to confront his sister. “I will not allow you to give him a weapon. You endanger yourself as well as every many here.”

  “You will not allow me?” Ryen roared, her eyes flashing with rage. Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but Ryen continued, “I will not allow you to beat him.”

  “What do you care? He is English! He deserves everything he got.”

  Her fury knew no bounds. She wanted to grab Lucien and shake him until he saw the foolishness of his words. She stood for a long moment absolutely still, knowing that if she moved, or if Lucien said a word, she would explode. She looked away from Lucien, trying to control her anger. But her eyes came to rest on Bryce as he sat huddled on the ground, an arm about his middle. He was watching her with curiosity and a bit of amusement. “Get him out of here,” she murmured.

  “You heard her!” Lucien shouted. “Move the dog back to his tent.”

  Her burning eyes snapped to him. “Not him. You.”

  Lucien stared at her incredulously, but when she glared back at him, he whirled and pushed his way through the gaping men.

  Ryen’s gaze returned to Bryce.

  “I’ll have him taken to his tent,” Andre whispered to her. “You’d best go rest. I’ll come by later.”

  “I want him in my tent until his wounds are mended,” Ryen said.

  “Ryen –” Andre began.

  “I feel responsible. If I hadn’t given him a sword, none of this would have happened. I just want to make sure he recovers. No prisoner should be treated like this.”

  Andre waved his hand, signaling men to take Bryce. Four men stepped forward and gathered around Bryce. One man reached down, offering Bryce a hand. Bryce shoved the hand away and climbed slowly to his feet, scorning any help.

  Ryen felt his gaze on her the entire time. His look burned through her skin into her soul until she turned to lock gazes with her enemy. His eyes were dark and mysterious with a glow that sent tingles up her spine.

  Andre shoved him forward and they moved toward the camp.

  After a moment, Ryen followed them through the bushes. She hugged her elbows, suddenly chilly in the breeze that wound its way through the trees. Why had she allowed this to happen? Why couldn’t she stop her men? Had they acted out of concern for her, or was it their hatred for Bryce?

  Bryce. She caught a glimpse of his powerful strides through the wall of men that had surrounded him. Her gaze scanned his na
ked torso, his strong neck, his sturdy back, until she saw the ugly red welt forming on his side, near his ribs. Ryen’s brow creased. She was so intent on studying the bruise that she stumbled over a root and almost fell.

  Andre glanced back at her for a moment as she quickly regained her composure. They had to hurry, she thought, an urgency filling her. They had to get him back to the camp so she could bind his wounds. The tanned, slightly sun burnt, skin of his torso caught her attention again. It was my fault, she thought, a stab of guilt slicing at her heart. I should never have allowed him out of his tent. I should never have called for him.

  Then, she straightened her shoulders. No. I refuse to take responsibility for this. It was Bryce who demanded to see me. I should hate him, she thought, her eyes narrowing.

  Even as she told herself this, even as she forced her eyes to narrow, the memory of his searing gaze sent waves of heat splashing over her hate.

  Finally, they emerged from the trees of the forest and entered into her camp. A breeze blew softly, stirring her hair around her shoulders. As they moved around the tents and smoldering campfires, Ryen’s eyes continued to study her prisoner. There were scrapes on his arms, and small red welts covered his stomach. But the bruise forming rapidly near his ribs was what concerned her the most.

  As they neared her tent, she quickened her steps to hold aside the tent flap. She watched anxiously as they escorted him inside. As the four guards exited, Ryen saw Andre standing in the doorway, holding chains in his hands.

  “At least let me chain him, Ryen,” he pleaded.

  Ryen glanced at Bryce once before nodding, and Andre moved to Bryce. She watched him take his wrists, and saw Bryce’s arms tense before Andre slapped the manacles on. Then, he did the same for his ankles. Andre surveyed his work for a moment, his chain mail sparkling dully in the morning light, before turning to Ryen.

  He moved closer to her and whispered, “You’re in danger here, Ryen.”

  “Lucien asked for it,” she defended. “He has no right to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

  “I’m talking about your feelings for him.” Andre jerked his head at Bryce. “I was wrong suggesting that you take him. It has only enhanced your attraction.”

  “How can you say that?” Ryen demanded. “I despise the man.”

  “It cannot be that you despise him when you gaze at him with such tenderness.”

  Ryen glanced at Bryce, her feelings in battle inside her. She should hate this man, this enemy of France, for the way he treated her. She should have known that there is no kindness in England. Still, as she gazed at him, her heart warmed. He was so strong willed, unrelenting in his determination not to give up. Even in the face of immeasurable odds he would not surrender. She saw his resistance every time she looked into his black eyes.

  A shower of sunlight splashed through the flap of the tent, bathing Bryce in a pool of light. It ran over his muscled arms like rain, reflecting off of the chains around his wrists. If only he had been born French, she thought. If only they could have been allies, instead of enemies.

  “You have never fought openly with Lucien before,” Andre said. “You defended the prisoner over your own brother – in front of the men!”

  “Lucien acted like a barbarian. Even the men acted like common animals. What happened to honor and pride? Bryce had put down his sword. He was defenseless!”

  “They were protecting you, Ryen. Lucien and the men believed he would harm you.”

  “I don’t need protection. Not from Bryce.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  Ryen’s gaze again found Bryce and her brow furrowed. What was he doing to her? To her life? Under her gaze, he stiffened. The metal manacles tinkled like a bell.

  “You need more protection from him than even you realize,” Andre murmured before departing the tent.

  Ryen walked over to Bryce’s side. A strand of black hair fell over his forehead, a rich black against his tanned skin. Her eyes dropped to his. She was surprised to find them pensive. Ryen’s gaze sank to his ribs, to the red welt. She reached out to touch it, but Bryce pulled away. Ryen glanced at him, startled. Then, resignation washed over her face and she looked quickly away.

  He raised his wrists, displaying the manacles. “Is there a need for these?”

  “Many think so,” she replied softly.

  “Do you not command this army? Isn’t your word law?”

  “They will not touch you again.”

  “You can’t promise me I won’t be attacked.”

  In her mind’s eye, Ryen saw the armored shoes kicking him, heard her ineffectual commands to stop.

  “They want to kill me,” Bryce stated.

  “You are the enemy,” Ryen replied stoically.

  Suddenly, his fingers were on her chin, gently turning her face toward his. “Ryen.” Her name was a sigh against his lips. “Your men will try to hurt me again.”

  Ryen felt the warmth of his hand seep into her chin. He was so close that his breath kissed her lips. For a moment she could barely move, barely breathe.

  His fingers gently stroked the fine line of her jaw, sending the heat of his touch blazing throughout the rest of her body.

  “Unchain me,” he whispered.

  Ryen couldn’t help but watch his lips caress the words as he spoke. Bound by some irresistible force, she lifted her lips to his, parting them in anticipation of his kiss.

  “Let me go.”

  Her eyes shot open wide in shock and horror. She shook her head fiercely against the idea; her knees were shaking as she stepped back. “I can’t do that.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked away, disappointment etched in the tight line of his lips.

  “How can you ask me to betray my country?” she demanded. “To abandon my oath? For you.” He looked up at her sharply, anger in his eyes. “You would not do the same for me.”

  “You are a woman,” he rationalized.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Do you truly believe that a woman would give up everything she has worked so hard for…even for the love of a man?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Ryen sadly shook her head. “I would not do that. Not even for you, a man who has no love in him.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and strangely, Ryen felt a sense of regret and sadness fill her. His face was hard and cold, unbending beneath her emotions. She turned and retrieved the basin of water off her nightstand near her mattress. “I will tend your wounds.”

  He turned his back on her as she approached. “No French man, or French woman, could inflict a wound upon me that I would not recover from.”

  She paused in the middle of the floor, halfway between Bryce and the nightstand. How he must hate her, she thought…as much as I should hate him. She turned and replaced the basin of water. “At De Bouriez Castle you will be safe from harm. My father is waiting there to greet us.”

  “Your father will be no different from your men,” Bryce sneered.

  Ryen straightened. “He is my flesh and blood. There is a part of him in me. He will be different.”

  “He’s a man. There will be no kindness, no show of mercy from a Frenchman.”

  She whirled, angry. “You are so quick to judge us. Do you know us so well?” Ryen wondered, bitterness accompanying every word.

  Bryce slowly raised his black eyes to her. Like fire, they burned through her until her heart melted. She felt his fire flaming through her until she could no longer look at him without wanting him to touch her. What was this control he had over her? Was he truly a devil? she wondered.

  “I think I know you very well,” he whispered, his voice mocking and seductive in the same breath. “If you take me to your father, it is as good as sending me to my death.”

  A sudden chill doused the flames his look had ignited. She could not shake the finality of his words. She stepped back from him before turning and leaving her tent. She ordered four of her soldiers to escort Bryce back to the pri
soner tent.

  Through the remainder of the day and well into the night, she could not forget Bryce’s words. ‘Sending me to my death…’ She fought the image of Bryce lying dead in a pool of blood and would not believe that her father could do such a thing. All she wanted was for her father to see the Prince of Darkness and know that it was she who had captured him.

  Ryen recalled the day she’d decided she would take the oath and become a knight. She was telling her father about her lessons. Ryen was so excited that day that she’d run all the way to the jousting field. Her father had nodded and grinned at her stories. But all the while his eyes had been locked on the jousting field where Andre was sharpening his skill. When she told her father that her teacher had said she was far ahead of many of his male pupils, her father had cheered and raised his hands to the air. A grin lit her face as she saw pride in his eyes. Pride and fondness…

  Until she realized that he was staring out onto the field. Ryen’s eyes followed his gaze and her heart cracked. Andre’s opponent lay sprawled in the dirt. Her father’s delight had not been for her, but for Andre and the talent he’d displayed as a warrior.

  Ever since that day, Ryen had wanted her father to look at her the way he had looked at Andre, the way she had seen him look at Lucien. Instead, when he looked at her, all she saw was patient amusement and tolerance.

  She crossed her arms behind her head, staring at the top of the tent.

  She imagined her father’s warm eyes gazing at her, his lips slightly turned up in a smile when he saw she had brought the Prince of Darkness to him. He would be so proud of her. He would say…

  A loud cry shattered the night’s silence. “Fire!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Fire!”

  The urgent cry of alarm roused Bryce from his slumber and he hurried to his feet, his battle-honed senses instantly alert. He had heard the cry a few times at the castle while growing up and he had been trained to respond quickly. His fellow knights fought off the threat of flames with as much energy as they put forth to dispel any human attacker.