The Angel And The Prince
Page 12
He stepped toward her, his look dark and dangerous. “And you know so much about my life. Tell me, Angel, would my son be happier enduring the ridicule and scorn of being a bastard, or fighting at his father’s side? Was I to forsake my son, my only joy, when I believed the best place for him was with me?”
His voice softened suddenly and Ryen swore in the light of the moon she could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “He wanted to be an honorable knight, to fight a dragon, to lead an army for his king.”
Ryen opened her mouth to answer, but Bryce smashed his fist into a tree beside him, making her jump.
“What honor is there in being dead?” he demanded.
She shook her head slightly now, at a loss for words. The only honor in death was the honor one received in dying. And he had died in the fire. “What was he doing in my camp?” she wondered softly.
“Trying to save me,” Bryce answered bitterly.
Ryen stared hard at Bryce. The boy had returned for his father. Ryen knew grown men who wouldn’t do as much. She turned to gaze at the stars, as Bryce had before her. There was honor in what the boy had done. And Ryen suddenly wished she had known him. “What was his name?” she asked.
“Runt,” he replied hesitantly.
“He was a brave boy,” she said. “You taught him well.”
There was a long silence that stretched on. Finally, Bryce muttered, “I will miss him.”
Ryen wished with all her heart that she could take his pain into herself so that he would not have to feel it. She wished that she could make the boy live. Suddenly, an image rose before her eyes. The figure of a very young boy with hair as dark as midnight brandishing a wooden sword at a make-believe dragon. Bryce’s son. Ryen felt herself being swallowed up by his grief. She wanted to wipe away his torment with a caress, soothe his brow and his aching heart with her touch.
She turned to him to find his dark eyes looking at her, gazing at her so intently she could have sworn he saw through to her soul.
Ryen lifted a hand to place it his arm. His skin was hot beneath her palm.
Bryce reached out with his other hand and took her free hand into his own.
His palm covered her hand totally. She stared at his skin, marveling at the warm, secure feeling that spiraled up through her. When she raised her gaze to his eyes, her heart skipped a beat and she parted her lips as if to speak, but no words came out.
He leaned forward, and Ryen thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her back and put his forehead on her shoulder.
He needed her to comfort him, not to love him. She wrapped her arms around him and, sighing softly, rested her cheek against his soft hair. She closed her eyes, holding Bryce tightly.
“Isn’t this a tender sight?” the French words intruded.
Ryen and Bryce separated instantly. Her hand went automatically to her waist, only to come up empty.
“A lover’s rendezvous.” The man stepped out of the shadows of the trees, dressed in a dirty woolen tunic, ripped brown leggings, and a torn black cape. He looked like a nobleman turned beggar, Ryen thought. She noted the confidence with which he squared his shoulders, the ease with which he had surprised them…as if he had done it before. He was a thief. She knew it instinctively. Her eyes searched the dark shadows of the forest for more men, and for an avenue of escape.
There was movement to her right and she saw two more men rushing toward them. One was wearing only breeches with no shirt, and the other was very tall, with a thick black beard. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Bryce had seen them. In one movement, he pulled her to his left and ducked as the shirtless attacker attempted to grab him; then he kicked the legs out from beneath the bearded man.
Ryen saw a shadow come alive. As he moved into the light of the moon, she could see his pockmarked and scarred face sneering as he raised a fist and swung, catching Bryce in his already sore ribs. Bryce doubled over as Ryen moved forward to help him.
The thief grabbed her right wrist as she pulled it back to land a blow to the scarred man’s face. With a tug he spun her around, crushing her against his chest.
“Aim for his ribs,” a voice advised from the darkness, and Ryen looked to see a fifth man emerge from the cover of the forest behind Bryce. In the patchy moonlight shining through the leaves of the trees, his small, beady eyes reminded her of a rat.
The bearded man drew back a fist and Ryen shoved against her captor’s chest, but could not break free. She watched helplessly as the blow to Bryce’s chin sent him sprawling.
Ryen twisted, trying to break free of the ex-nobleman’s hold to get to Bryce. She gasped as the shirtless man, the bearded man, and the scarred man converged on him. He went down, buried beneath a sea of bodies and blows. Ryen held her breath for a long moment. Then the shirtless man flew off the group, landing with a thud in the darkness. A fist cracked the bearded man’s jaw and he stumbled back.
Bryce rose before the scarred man like some sort of demon, his eyes glowing in the moonlight, his long hair a disheveled mass. The scarred man threw a punch. Bryce caught the blow in his open palm, closing his fist around it. His opponent quaked and gaped at the Prince of Darkness, his eyes going round with terror.
Suddenly from behind Bryce the man with the rat eyes charged, hammering down upon his ribs with his fist. Bryce stiffened as the blow hit him, then quickly recovered and whirled to face him. The man threw another blow to Bryce’s wounded middle and Bryce staggered back, clutching at his sore ribs.
Ryen lifted her foot and brought it down hard on the ex-nobleman’s toes. When her captor released her to grab at his foot, Ryen raced to Bryce’s side. She pulled him back away from rat eyes.
A sixth man, trembling with fright, stepped from the cover of the trees to the ex-nobleman’s side, offering assistance. But the leader of the thieves pulled away sharply.
“Almost too late again, eh, Pigeon?” Rat eyes sneered at the cowardly new arrival.
Ryen cautiously eyed the group surrounding them as she held Bryce’s arm. There were six of them, and even though she and Bryce were trained warriors, the numbers were not on their side.
“It’s time we end this farce,” the ex-nobleman stated.
The sound of metal sliding from metal rang through the night air as the scarred man and the shirtless man drew swords.
This doesn’t help the numbers any, Ryen thought glumly, and moved closer to Bryce’s side.
Chapter Fourteen
Bryce backed up a step, Ryen beside him, as the scarred man and the shirtless man approached, their blades gleaming in the light of the moon.
“You have fought well,” the ex-nobleman said. “I only hope you know when to stop.”
Bryce straightened, refusing to be goaded back any further. He knew that Pigeon had moved around behind them to join the bearded man. When Bryce stopped moving, they approached quickly, each seizing one of Bryce’s arms to effectively hold him prisoner.
Ryen turned as if to move to his aid, but Bryce growled, “No.” These men were not honorable. They were not knights, but a band of thieves.
Bryce’s side ached from the constant blows and he bent slightly over, favoring it. He heard footsteps approaching behind him before one of the thieves kicked him in the back. Pain exploded through his side and with a grunt, Bryce fell to his hands and knees, arching his body to the side. The other thieves laughed. Bryce gritted his teeth.
“Stop!” Ryen yelled in French.
Bryce silently cursed as the ex-nobleman’s eyes shifted to her. She would tell him now. Tell him that she was the Angel of Death and enlist their help to capture the Prince of Darkness. He would be taken prisoner once again. And the accursed thieves would do anything for a warm meal and a large sum of gold. Damn, he thought, and bowed his forehead to the ground.
But her next words brought his head up sharply. “What do you want? We have no gold. No jewels.”
“That is too bad,” the ex-nobleman replied, with a look that
sent a fire of protectiveness roaring to life inside Bryce. Heat smoldered in the thief’s eyes as he studied Ryen, and a hungry look spread over his face. Rage overtook Bryce in a wave, smothering every other emotion. His entire body tensed.
“We cannot afford to waste our time in useless melees. Perhaps if you had told us in the beginning…” He shrugged. “We get something from every single encounter we have.”
“We have nothing to give you,” Ryen insisted.
“Oh, but you underestimate yourself,” he said in a husky voice, and took a step toward her. The moonlight spilled over him, casting him in a strange white glow. His eyes, shadowed in darkness, looked evil.
Ryen flashed Bryce a quick look. There was alarm in her moonlit eyes as well as determination.
Bryce clenched his teeth and threw the ex-nobleman a hateful glare. “Touch her and you will die,” he snarled.
Stunned silence filled the forest at his seemingly outrageous statement. Then a roar of laughter echoed in the night as each thief bellowed his disbelief.
“You would have to be a sorcerer to do that,” Rat Eyes snickered.
Bryce felt the prod of a blade against his shoulder, but did not take his eyes from the ex-nobleman.
“Or be able to come back from the dead!” the shirtless man hollered.
“You’ve made a friend tonight, Jonas!” Rat Eyes chuckled.
The ex-nobleman grinned. “I guess I can never have too many.”
Instinct relaxed his muscles as Bryce prepared for action. He knew exactly where each man stood without having to look. Pigeon and the bearded man held confident poses at either side of him, Rat Eyes lounged behind him, and the scarred man and shirtless man stood just before him with swords. Not one of these men was the object of Bryce’s heated gaze. His eyes were locked on Jonas.
Then Bryce heard the crunch of twigs behind him as Rat Eyes moved away from him and approached Ryen. Bryce shot to his feet, only to be restrained again by Pigeon and the bearded man.
“Come, girl, give in and it will not be so rough on you,” Jonas hooted.
As he neared, Ryen lashed out with her foot, catching him in the groin. Bryce knew a moment of satisfaction as Jonas’s assured stance crumbled and he fell forward to the ground, groaning. Ryen whirled – right into the arms of Rat Eyes! She struggled for a moment as he leered down at her before bringing her foot down on his toes. He cried out, grabbing his limb and hopping around. Ryen put both of her hands together and hit him hard across the face, knocking him back into a large bush.
Bryce jerked forward, but the shirtless man pressed the tip of his sword to Bryce’s neck, stilling his efforts.
Pigeon roared with laughter, his gaze on Rat Eyes as he squirmed in the bush.
Quickly Jonas got to his feet. Ryen turned, lurching away from him, but he reached out, seizing her long hair, and pulled her back to him. “Bitch,” he snarled, gritting his teeth from the pain that still racked his body.
Every fiber in Bryce’s body froze as Jonas raised his hand. When the blow struck Ryen so hard it sent her to the ground, Bryce exploded. He easily pulled Pigeon, who was holding his right arm, into the shirtless man, knocking the blade from his neck. He lifted the bearded man and pushed him onto the tip of the scarred man’s blade, impaling him. Bryce whirled in time to dodge a thrust by the shirtless man, who had shoved Pigeon to the ground, and grabbed the thief’s arm, quickly twisting it back and up. A loud crack filled the night air, and the shirtless man screeched in agony. The sword slipped out of the thief’s hand to the ground, where Bryce scooped it up and rushed to Ryen. He extended a hand, and when she took it, he pulled her to her feet.
Pigeon scrambled to his feet, a blade in his hand. The scarred man pulled his weapon free of the body lying in a lump on the ground. Rat Eyes freed himself from the hand-like thorns of the bush and reached for his belt to pull his weapon free.
Bryce pulled Ryen behind him as the three men approached, spreading out around them.
“We can take him,” Jonas assured his men.
Bryce’s gaze locked on him. Instinct guided his movements in the dark, his senses heightened beyond intuition. He knew that Pigeon and the scarred man were preparing to come at him from their position on his far left and his far right. Fools, he thought. They do not know who they dare stand against.
The shirtless man groaned in pain just before they rushed Bryce.
Bryce quickly stepped towards Pigeon’s raised sword, parrying the thrust and countering with one of his own that struck flesh. Before the man had completely fallen, Bryce whirled just in time to sidestep the scarred man’s arc. His blade hit the earth and Bryce brought his sword around, meaning to slice the man in two. But the scarred man was quick, ducking Bryce’s swing and whirling away. Bryce heard the whoosh of a sword and turned –
-- in time to see Rat Eyes thrusting his sword at his chest!
Bryce braced for the impact, instinctively bringing his sword up, knowing there was no time to block the blow. Then he heard it, the clang of metal against metal. The blade never touched his skin. It had been knocked away!
Ryen stood beside Bryce, a sword in her hand. She stepped in front of him to take Rat Eyes’ next swing. Outrage engulfed Bryce. I should be the one rescuing her! he thought. But he didn’t have time to berate Ryen, as he had to shift his stance to block another swing. He backed up slightly and bumped Ryen. Despite being embroiled in a swordfight for their very lives, Bryce felt a strong tingling race through him as Ryen’s back brushed his. Even in the midst of battle, she stirs my soul, he thought. He crossed swords with the scarred man and intercepted a second swing from him before knocking his blade aside and thrusting, catching the thief squarely in the chest. As the scarred man slid to the ground, Bryce’s eyes searched the shadow for Jonas. He spotted the coward turning and disappearing into the forest, the glint of a polished sword in his hand.
Bryce turned to glance once at Ryen. She was more than holding her own. Rat Eyes was breathing hard and was tiring under her constant and expert barrage.
Bryce took off after the leader of the thieves. He moved like a great wolf, silently, stealthily through the forest, his eyes never wavering from the figure before him. He easily marked his victim’s way with the help of the moon’s light. Soon, Jonas began to tire and a slow smile slid over Bryce’s face as he quickly overtook him, circling around the forest in front of him.
When the thief reached the spot where Bryce waited, Bryce stepped out of the shadows like a phantom. Jonas reared back, raising his sword.
An anger so intense it threatened to sweep Bryce away flooded through him as his mind replayed over and over the image of the man striking Ryen.
“Who are you?” Jonas demanded.
Bryce stalked closer as the man continued to back away. The thief opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a sound, Bryce’s hand closed around his throat. Jonas raised his sword arm, but Bryce grabbed his wrist, easily holding it at bay.
“I am the Prince of Darkness,” Bryce sneered into his pale face. “By striking the Angel of Death, you have forfeited your life to me.”
Ryen rubbed her left arm. It was bleeding again. But she ignored the throbbing, her mind on Bryce. She glanced into the dark forest. Damn, she thought. I have lost him. He ran when I was defending myself. The ignoble lout. Still, her eyes nervously swept the shadowy trees and foliage again. Where was he? Was he hurt?
She heard a crackle of twigs behind her and spun, raising her sword, to face Bryce! Relief surged through her body and she visibly sighed. Then her brows furrowed as an irrational anger washed over her, drowning her relief.
He looked startled at seeing the sword at his chest, and just as the thought that she could take him prisoner jumped into her head, he easily pushed the sword aside with his bare hand.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
An amused look crossed his face. “I didn’t know I had to answer to you,” he replied. He glanced at the sword she held.
“We make a good team. Too bad we are on opposite sides in this war.” He stepped past her to survey the body of Rat Eyes, which was sprawled on the ground. “You should keep the sword,” he said. “If we come up against more thieves, it would be best if you could defend yourself.”
Ryen looked down at the sword in her hand, dumbfounded. Didn’t he want to hold her prisoner anymore? Was this his way of paying her back for saving his life? Or was this some sort of test? Ryen glanced up at him. The moonlight washed over the strong sinews of his neck, down his rippling shoulder muscles. I can take him now, she thought. I could club him over the head and drag him back to camp. Who am I fooling? I cannot lift him.
And I cannot hurt him.
The last thought stunned her.
A shadow separated from the rest of the shadows that surrounded them and moved swiftly past her. Before she could react, there was a dull thud and then Bryce was falling to the ground. Ryen whirled, bringing up her sword, to see the silhouette of a man standing beside her, a sword in his hand. His face was dark and Ryen peered closer, clenching the hilt of her own weapon.
“Good eve, m’lady,” he stated in French.
Ryen gasped, as she recognized him – her soldier who had captured the English spy! His white skin was hidden beneath a layer of mud; his clothing was all black.
Jacques Vignon grinned and his white teeth caught and reflected the moonlight.
“How did you --?” she began.
“I have been tracking you,” he stated simply.
His unwavering gaze unnerved her and she glanced at Bryce sprawled on the ground. She wanted to go to him but could not with Vignon standing there.
“I have two horses not far from here,” he said.
Bryce was her prisoner once again. The thought should have brought relief, but instead it brought a feeling of anxiety…something bordering on panic.
“Your brothers will be happy to see you.”