The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Fire was an enemy hated by all men.

  The back wall of Bryce’s prison tent glowed faintly with the orange-red light of flames. The fire was so close! Smoke curled in through a gap between the tent wall and the ground and slowly drifted upward.

  Outside the tent he could hear men screaming for more water. A horse whinnied in fear, then galloped off into the distance.

  Suddenly, a hot burst of light bloomed on the tent wall in a fiery red glow as the blaze moved closer. Bryce felt the temperature in his prison rise dramatically. Droplets of sweat rose on his forehead and then dripped to the dirt, while a sheen of moisture appeared on his arms and legs. The manacle on his left foot slipped lower over his ankle. Bryce dropped back to the ground and started working on the manacle, turning, pulling, pushing.

  Behind him the wall crackled. He stopped what he was doing only long enough to see a tendril of fire snake into the tent through the gap and start to crawl up the wall.

  He turned his attention back to his ankle. When the guards had failed to chain him to the post in the ground, he knew this was his best chance. He had managed to remove one of his boots and had made some progress with his shackles earlier. Now, with his sweat lubricating the manacle, he was certain he could remove it. He had to; it didn’t appear as if anyone was in a hurry to get him out of there.

  Outside, the cries grew louder as they competed with the roar of the blaze. More shouts for water. More horses making sounds of terror. Men running in all directions.

  Bryce worked intently at the manacle on is ankle, talking to himself under his breath. I’m going to escape. All I need is to get this off and I can escape. The night will be my ally, my cloak. She will hide me well, as she has so many times in the past.

  The tent grew hotter. The sweat flowed more freely from his body. The manacle moved even lower. The metal cut into his skin as he forced it lower and the salty sweat stung the tear in his heel. Blood seeped out of the wound. Bryce pulled on his shackles, ignoring the pain his effort was causing. This is nothing compared to what those searing flames will do to me, he told himself.

  Then, to his amazement, his foot came free. He jumped to his feet and limped for the tent flap, the chains still attached to his right foot clanking as he ran.

  Behind him, the tent wall disappeared into the belly of the inferno, eaten by the ravenous fire that was quickly surrounding him. The sound of the blaze swelled to a deafening roar as he raced outside.

  His guards were gone from their posts, obviously busy fighting the fire. He saw at least fifteen tents burning, and several others were already piles of smoldering black ashes. He ran to a nearby tent and cautiously peered around the corner. He looked left and saw a clear path to the woods in the distance. He started to move toward the trees, but a small shadow at the corner of his eye caused him to turn and look back in the direction of his former prison.

  The haze of smoke partially hid the figure of the small boy as he hurried inside the burning tent. No! It can’t be! Bryce dashed toward the burning tent.

  He reared back as he entered. Fire was everywhere, the heat almost unbearable. Bryce squinted as the dark smoke bit at his eyes. His keen ears heard a snap in the roaring flames and he instinctively dived to his left as a burning tent support suddenly crashed to the ground! He felt the searing flames whip around his legs and he pushed himself to his feet, driving forward to escape the heat.

  He saw the boy lying on his side in a corner of the tent with his legs pulled tightly to his chest, his face buried in his arms. “Here!” Bryce shouted, but the fire howled around him, drowning out his voice, demanding human flesh to feed its insatiable appetite.

  The boy lay unmoving behind the shroud of flames.

  Bryce felt his insides tighten with fear and, shielding his face with his manacled hands, he jumped through the curtain of fire. Pain seared his back, but he willed it away. He bent and scooped the boy into his arms, pressing him against his chest, trying to protect him from the heat of the fire.

  Bryce exploded through the side wall of the tent, bursting past the charred canvas, moving out onto open ground. He hurried farther away from the flames, away from the intense heat, and then dropped to his knees, cradling the boy to his chest. He could not let him go. He was afraid, afraid of what he might find if he looked into the boy’s face. Runt was so still in his arms, so limp. Tears rose in Bryce’s eyes as he squeezed the boy close, willing his life into the child, wishing it were him instead of Runt. Slowly, he moved the boy away from his chest, feeling as if he were tearing a piece of skin from his body. I told him to go, he thought desperately. Why is he still here?

  Finally, Bryce laid the boy gently on the ground and looked down into his wide eyes. There was no life there, only the reflection of the full moon. He reached toward the boy’s shoulder, but stopped as he saw his own hand was shaking.

  He clenched his fist for a moment afraid that when he touched him, Runt would not move. “Get up, Runt,” he called hoarsely.

  Nothing.

  He cautiously prodded Runt’s shoulder. When the child didn’t stir, Bryce felt a desperation surge inside of him. He seized the boy’s shoulder and shook it, almost savagely. No, he thought, tears threatening to choke him. “Come on, boy,” Bryce commanded. “On your feet.”

  But the child didn’t move; his eyes didn’t blink.

  “I said on your feet!” he shouted. A moment passed, then another. When Runt did not move, Bryce sat on his heels, staring dumbly at the child. It can’t be, he thought. I won’t believe it. This cannot be Runt. I told him to leave. I commanded him. He would not disobey me.

  Then, he saw it. That lock of dark hair that was forever in the boy’s eyes was lying limply at the side of his head, brushed aside for all eternity.

  Bryce began to shake. He scooped Runt up into his arms, holding him tightly against his heart, and buried his face into the child’s neck. “Oh, God, Runt,” he whispered barely able to get the words past his clothing throat. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why couldn’t you go…”

  He stroked Runt’s dark head, his chest constricting tightly, tears blurring his vision. Finally, his sorrow and agony and pain overwhelmed him. He threw back his head. “Noooooo!” he roared, and his anguish echoed through the night.

  In the nearby woods, wolves began to howl.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Ryen approached, Bryce whirled on her, crouching wolf-like, his upper lip curling, almost snarling. Ryen stopped cold, her gaze captured by the still figure Bryce held close to his chest. Her brow furrowed as she saw the ashen complexion of the small face through the soot that fell on them like black rain, then her eyes moved from the boy up to Bryce’s bleak face. The orange light of the fires burning around them caused long shadows to pool beneath Bryce’s eyes. He looked so lost. Ryen instinctively stepped toward him, meaning to comfort him.

  Bryce pulled back from her approach, and again, a long, anguish-filled groan surged from deep within his throat. Startled, Ryen retreated. Who was this boy that he could evoke such feelings from the Prince of Darkness? And what was he doing here in her camp?

  Three of her men rushed up beside Ryen and stopped in their tracks as they saw the Prince of Darkness. One of the knights glanced at her, then at Bryce, and stepped cautiously forward.

  Bryce shifted the boy to his left arm, his face contorting with hate. “Don’t touch him,” he growled, clutching the boy to his chest.

  The knight glanced helplessly at Ryen. She stepped forward tentatively, holding her hands out placatingly. “Bryce,” she said softly, trying to soothe him.

  His dark, loathful eyes turned on her. “Stay away from me,” he snarled.

  Ryen’s arm dropped. “The fire was an accident,” she told him, trying to keep patience in her voice as she looked up at him once again. “No one meant to harm the boy.”

  His eyes narrowed with disbelief. “Harm? You and your bloody French killed him!” Bryce shouted, his voice full of pain and rancor.

&n
bsp; Ryen’s men had spread out around him, surrounding him. She began to shake her head to stop their maneuver but her command came too late.

  Bryce saw one man coming and flattened him with a fist to his jaw. The other two jumped Bryce from behind, knocking him to the ground, pinning the boy beneath him. Ryen watched in awe of his strength as he held the two men on top of him off the boy with the power of his muscular arms.

  Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating Bryce’s tormented face. The two knights managed to grab his arms and yanked him to his feet. Ryen opened her mouth to command them to halt, when Bryce kneed one man in his stomach and pulled him to the ground. He turned on the last man, seizing him and picking him up over his head as easily as a rag doll, throwing him to the ground.

  Breathing heavily, he turned to the boy as another spear of lightning cut the darkening sky. Tenderly, he bent and lifted him up from the dirt, then whirled and advanced on Ryen.

  “I can’t let you go,” she said, her pulse racing. But how could she stop him? She had no weapon and he was so powerful.

  “I’m not asking you,” Bryce stated flatly, halting just a step before her.

  Ryen stood her ground, unmoving.

  “Don’t make me hurt you,” Bryce warned, his face shadowed in darkness, his shoulders outlined by the dying fire behind him. “I have never hurt a woman before.”

  The first splash of rain touched her cheek. Ryen swallowed hard. She watched his jaw clench and finally raised her chin to him. “You’ll have to kill me to escape.”

  His lip curled. “And you think I would not? After what you did to him?”

  “I did not harm him, Bryce.”

  “If you had not captured me, Runt would still be alive!” he exploded.

  Ryen stared at him. The anger, the hate, but mostly the pain, etched themselves deep in the lines near his black eyes. Her eyebrows rose slightly in sympathy; her eyes went soft with understanding. “I wish I could bring him back.”

  His eyebrows crashed together and he looked down at the boy in his arms.

  The rain began in earnest then, quickly drenching them through to their skin. “I will not allow him to be buried in French soil,” he said in a hushed voice. “And I will not let your efforts be for naught,” he whispered to Runt.

  Suddenly, Bryce jerked forward, slamming Ryen’s shoulder with his, jarring her enough so that he could race by her and into the forest! Ryen recovered quickly. A quick glance into camp revealed that the fire was confined to two tents burning in the distance. She turned and immediately followed him into the trees and brush. She pushed through one row of bushes, just able to see his back as he disappeared into another set of thick foliage. The child in his arms and the chain around his ankle were slowing him down, enabling her to keep up with him. The rain pelted her face, the branches slapping her arms and tearing at her clothing. Ryen would not let anything stop her. He will not escape, she thought, an inconceivable fear rising inside her. He can’t escape! I have to feel his touch again. No. Where had that thought come from? I have to get him to Father’s castle.

  She pushed forward, willing her legs to go faster. As the forest thickened, the darkness closed in around her, making it difficult to see. She reached out blindly, trying to avoid the trees that reared up to stop her. She could hear him ahead of her, hear the crunch of leaves beneath his booted feet, hear the bushes giving way as he crashed through them. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing hard and loud. She pushed her way through the foliage, desperately following his sounds. He must not get away, she thought. He can’t escape.

  Suddenly, his surprised cry echoed in the night!

  The shock she heard in his voice rent her very being and she hurried forward, driving on, panic and horror rising within her. Was he hurt? Had one of her men found him defenseless in the forest and put a sword through him? The next thing she knew, the forest was gone and she was in the middle of the air, suspended far above a glistening pool of water! Then, she was falling, falling down into the blackness that waited to swallow her. Her scream was cut short as she crashed into water, plummeting beneath its surface. She pushed toward the surface with her arms and legs, but a strong current seized her and whirled her around beneath the dark water.

  Suddenly, she was spit out from the water, erupting into the night air, sputtering and gasping for breath. Ryen was tossed about in the raging current, barely missing the rocks that stuck out of the rapids, their dangerous shapes lit only by an occasional bolt of lightning. Her hands flailed, trying to grab onto anything that rode the current with her. But the water was too fast, forcing her on. She fought for breath after breath as if the river were trying to devour her, wave after wave sucking her beneath the water.

  The black rock rose without warning out of the murky depths and Ryen slammed into it, her back hitting the hard stone full force, sending a spear of pain shooting through her left arm. She opened her mouth to cry out, but the water assaulted her again, filling her mouth and making her choke. She tried to press her right hand against the pulsating ache, but the turbulent strength of the water kept her too busy fighting to keep her head above the waves. The water pushed her on and on until finally, after what seemed like hours, the waves of rapids stopped. For a moment, she floundered in the water, catching her breath. She was dazed and weak, her left arm burning where the rock had bitten into her tender flesh. The current, now slowed, pushed her on through the dark night and the darker waters. She was so tired, so very tired. How easy it would be to give up the fight, to let the river cover her head.

  Then she spotted Bryce, far ahead of her, his dark shape shadowed by the lighter sky. He was atop a large rock, hanging onto the boy with two hands. The boy’s legs dangled in the rushing water. She felt a last surge of power course through her limbs. With a kick and a quick arm movement, she tried to maneuver over to Bryce.

  Then she heard it. The large roar of the waterfall! As she approached Bryce, the thunder filled her head. The water suddenly became stronger again as it dragged her on. She tried to fight against the new current, but as she drew closer and closer, she found she was moving forward faster than she was moving closer to Bryce.

  Bryce maneuvered to the side of the rock, holding the boy’s shirt with one hand as he held his other palm out to her. She saw his lips move but couldn’t hear his words above the roar that filled her head. She reached her hand out, kicking with her feet as hard as she could. She was going to miss his hand. He was too far away!

  Then he lunged forward and caught her hand. The water pushed her forward until her feet were dangling over the side of the falls! Below her, the mouth of darkness swallowed up the cascading water.

  “Grab my hand!” he hollered, his words finally discernible above the thunderous sound of the plummeting water as it crashed and churned below her.

  Ryen raised her left hand and grabbed his wrist, but the water made it slick and her hand slid away.

  Her desperate eyes sought his again.

  “Grab it!” he commanded.

  Ryen raised her hand to his, but as she touched his skin, their hands slipped. She cried out as she was dragged toward the falls.

  Bryce caught her fingertips, his face straining with the effort to keep their hold. Bryce was stretched out over the rock in his attempt to rescue Ryen and keep hold of the boy. One hand held the tips of Ryen’s fingertips, the other gripped the boy’s shirt as the water swept at his limp feet with a hungry pull. Bryce couldn’t hold on to both of them.

  Ryen saw Bryce glanced toward the body of the boy. Anguish darkened his face as he turned back to her. He cursed once – and released the boy to grab her wrist. She watched the small body tumble over the waterfall, gracefully, silently, as if it were jumping into the water below.

  Bryce pulled her out of the water onto the rock and into his hold.

  For a moment Ryen lay in Bryce’s arms, holding him tightly, trying to catch her breath; she couldn’t even open her eyes. The constant rain pelted her already wet face. F
inally, she looked up toward his eyes only to find them gazing first to one side, then the other, scrutinizing the riverbank. Without looking at her, he asked, “Can you swim to shore?”

  Ryen didn’t reply. She knew she couldn’t, not now. Not without getting some rest. She began to shake her head.

  A flash of lightning filled the sky as he turned his unwavering gaze to her. The eerie light cast his face in long shadows, making him look like the dark prince he was called. Under his probing gaze, she became distinctly aware of his strong arm around her waist, his legs resting beside her thighs, the intimate way he held her nestled between his spread legs. She looked away from him.

  His soft, angry chuckle reached her ears. “Try to keep your desires under control, Angel.”

  Her gaze snapped up to his, fury burning in her eyes, but it was rage at herself that fueled the fire. Was she so transparent? “You misread me,” she stated imperiously.

  As he bent his head closer to her, she raised her chin. His eyes burned with disdain. “Then you do not need me to service you…now?” he wondered bitterly.

  “Or ever again,” she snapped. “I would just as soon throw myself over the falls.”

  “That can be arranged.” His tone was serious, but he had not removed his arms from her torso. “Now, can you swim or not?”

  She could hear the sound of the water sliding over the falls and crashing somewhere far below. The shore was so far. She knew she would not make it. Still, she wished with all her heart that she could, just so she could get away from this overbearing, conceited cur.

  “Answer me before I throw you in,” he commanded.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I do not take orders from prisoners.”

  His chuckle sounded again in her ears, closer this time. “I believe it is you who are now my prisoner.”

  Ryen reared back, breaking free of his hold and turning on him. She lost her balance and began to tumble from the rock. Bryce’s arm shot out and he caught her wrist, steadying her. She angrily pulled free of him, being sure to lean forward this time instead of backward, but a shooting pain flared up her left arm and her vision blurred for a moment. She fell into Bryce.