The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Yes. Well done,” she murmured without emotion.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A constant pounding greeted Bryce as he opened his eyes. It took him only a moment to realize that the incessant throbbing was coming from inside his head. He tried to lift a hand to his temple to ease the pain, but his arm wouldn’t move; his wrists were chained tightly behind his back. Bryce struggled to a sitting position using his elbow to prop himself up.

  “Welcome back,” a voice hailed from the darkness.

  Bryce turned toward the voice in time to see Lucien stepping into the light of a candle that burned hotly inside the tent he now realized he was trapped in. Bryce’s eyes narrowed instantly. A prisoner again, he thought. God’s blood, the woman had no morals. She hit me over the head the instant I wasn’t looking! And I gave her the weapon! Will I ever learn not to underestimate her? He silently cursed himself.

  “By now you must realize how futile any attempt at escape would be.”

  Bryce’s eyes shifted to Lucien. What did this blabbering idiot want? To gloat? He clenched his jaw.

  “You can’t escape from the French. We’re far more intelligent than you.”

  “I would describe you in many way, but intelligent never came to mind,” Bryce murmured. He watched the hate and anger rise in Lucien’s scowling brows and tightening lips. Slowly the man’s face was turning red. Bryce knew that he would be smart to keep his mouth shut, especially with his arms chained. The man was like a coiled snake, ready to bite at the slightest provocation. “Fool was the first description I thought of,” Bryce couldn’t resist adding.

  “It’s a shame you won’t be returning to England to give your somewhat twisted portrayal of a Frenchman,” Lucien sneered, “since you’ll be burned when we reach De Bouriez Castle.”

  Bryce felt his fists clenching. All he had to do was say the right thing and this fool would be at his throat. It would be just what I deserve for trusting the wench, Bryce thought. A good thrashing would set my head straight.

  The image of Ryen’s argument with Lucien in the field immediately came to mind. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Ryen will get me out of it…any way she can.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucien ground out.

  Bryce could see the flames in Lucien’s blue eyes, feel the heat of his anger. “I think you know.”

  The first blow hit Bryce’s jaw and knocked him back to the floor…

  “He could have hurt you,” Andre stated from his bent position over her arm. “You were a fool to chase after him.”

  Ryen was seated on a chair in the middle of her tent, a small table with a basin of water beside her. Andrew was carefully stitching her wound closed. The light from a red candle washed over her skin like blood as he worked in the dark tent.

  “I wasn’t going to let him escape,” Ryen insisted. She winced as he pulled a stitch through. “Not after everything I’ve gone through to capture him. Do you know what Father would have said?”

  Andre stared long and hard at her. “You didn’t want him to go.”

  “Of course not. He’s England’s most beloved hero. I would have been labeled the woman who lost the Prince of Darkness.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Ryen watched him in confusion. A feeling of unease spread from her lower stomach up her back to settle at her shoulders. Finally, she turned away from him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Andre finished up the stitch and tied a knot. “Oh, I think you do. Ryen, good Lord! You don’t use common sense anymore, not where he’s concerned. Do you know what’s happening to you?” He stepped away from her, dipping his hands in the basin of water to wash off the blood.

  “I got him back, didn’t I?”

  The flap swooshed open and Lucien entered, his dark features etched with concern. “Are you all right, Ryen?”

  She glowered at Andre a moment longer before turning to Lucien. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Lucien stopped short of taking her in his arms, but held her at arm’s length and looked her face over, searching it as if for any sign of abuse.

  “I’m fine,” Ryen insisted.

  “You had us worried to death,” Lucien stated.

  Ryen grinned at him and dropped her eyes. “I –” She paused, noticing a spot of red on his white tunic and raised a finger to it. “What’s this?”

  Lucien looked down and quickly stepped away before she could touch it.

  Ryen glanced up into his blue eyes, slowly dropping her hand. When he didn’t answer, understanding slowly filtered through her ignorance, followed closely by outrage. “You didn’t!”

  She bolted from the tent, running through the camp. Her knights stopped their arguing and chess playing to glance up as she dashed past them. She flitted around tents and leapt over sleeping men until she reached the prisoner tents. She startled the two guards who stood before one of the tents in mid-snicker, bursting inside to see Bryce lying on his side, curled up on the ground. His hands were bound behind his back. Ryen could see that his lip was bleeding, as was his nose. Her heart ached and she felt despair as she had never felt it before. She dropped to her knees beside him. “What has he done to you?” she whispered.

  Ryen heard the flap open and whirled. Lucien entered the tent. She shot to her feet, her fists clenched in rage. “Get out!”

  “He deserves much worse than that,” Lucien snarled.

  “Get out!” Ryen screamed.

  Lucien’s dark blue eyes locked on her, his jaw clenching. Then, he spun, pushing past Andre who was just entering the tent.

  Ryen turned back to Bryce. She knelt and reached over him to undo the manacles that bound his wrists.

  “Ryen,” Andre called. “You shouldn’t –”

  “He saved my life,” she said emphatically. She flung the shackles at Andre’s feet. “You would think that would be worth something.” She turned her gaze to Bryce, carefully pushing him onto his back. He groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw her, his lip curled into a grin.

  “Couldn’t stay away?” he murmured with a soft chuckle.

  “Don’t talk,” she said. “Get me water and a cloth,” Ryen called to Andre, not taking her concerned gaze from the wounded knight before her. Ryen’s hands skimmed Bryce’s stomach, his already bruised ribs. Then her hands fluttered over his strong arms, his legs. Nothing. Nothing was broken. She breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on her heels.

  “I don’t think your brother likes me,” Bryce said.

  The light from the flickering candle cast a halo of light around his body, making it appear as if the fire were raging within him. She stared at him for a long moment before dropping her gaze.

  Andre returned with a basin of water and some cloth, which he set at her side.

  “You may leave us,” she commanded.

  “He’s your enemy,” Andre whispered. “Never forget that.” Then he turned and went out of the tent, leaving them alone.

  Ryen soaked a cloth in the basin of water, then reached for Bryce’s face…and froze. The impulse to ease his hurt had been so natural. She had tended her father’s wounds when she was younger and her brothers as she grew. But this, this was Bryce, not her brethren, not her family. He was her prisoner. Slowly she touched his face, carefully wiping the blood from his lip, and found that her hand was trembling. She willed the shaking to cease, but her fingers shivered as she began to wipe away more blood. As she drew the wet cloth across his mouth and watched his lips emerge, she recalled the fierce fire those lips ignited inside of her.

  She ran the cloth gently across his forehead, all the while staring at his handsome face, a face marred by the wound she had inflicted, a bruise on his cheek and a light bruise above one brow. Her gaze dropped to his naked chest. It gleamed with perspiration in the candlelight, his stomach flat and lined with muscles. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers over his smooth skin, skin that housed fire beneath its burning surface. Embarrassed and frightened by these forbidden emotions, she l
owered her gaze unwittingly to the part of him that had joined them in their lovemaking. Even covered by his leggings, it was huge. She turned quickly away only to meet his dark eyes. Ryen froze for a moment. Did he know what she was thinking? She could not meet his gaze and dropped her eyes immediately, turning away to dip the cloth into the cool water. As she wrung out the wet cloth, she couldn’t erase the feeling of embarrassment that flamed her cheeks.

  I am bringing him back to father, she thought. That is why I would not leave Bryce in the forest. That is the reason why I ran after him. The only reason.

  When she turned back to him, she saw the narrowing of his eyes as he regarded her and the change in his flippant countenance to a more quiet and pensive mood. Ryen reached up to the bruise that was turning a purplish color on his cheek. As she brushed over it with the cloth, she saw his jaw clench before he reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his face.

  Her eyes locked with his black, mysterious orbs.

  “I will never forgive you for the life of my son,” he stated quietly.

  Ryen dropped her eyes. It had not been her fault. But she understood that it was necessary to blame someone. If it would ease his pain, then she would take the responsibility. “I know,” she murmured.

  The silence stretched on in the small tent. Ryen knew the sounds of the camp were around her, the distant chatter of conversation, the ping-ping of the blacksmith’s hammer. But she heard nothing but the beating of her heart. Then she felt his fingers squeezing hers and realized that he was still holding her hand. The grip became painful, and she looked up. His eyes were like an abyss, drawing her closer and closer. She felt him leaning into her and closed her eyes in anticipation of the feel of his lips on hers.

  Suddenly the tent flap whipped open and Lucien stepped in. “Ryen, I thin…”

  Ryen jumped away from Bryce quickly, shooting to her feet.

  Lucien stood for a moment without moving.

  Ryen could not look at him. She knew he would read the guilt on her face. “Yes?” she asked.

  Slowly, Lucien pulled his sword from its sheath, the metal hissing like a snake as it emerged from its protective covering.

  Ryen stepped toward him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Lucien’s turbulent blue eyes slashed past Ryen to Bryce. “Stand aside, Ryen!” he roared.

  She found herself trapped between the two of them. “He is unarmed!” she cried. “Would you run him through without a chance to defend himself? It would not be honorable!”

  His burning gaze shifted to her and Ryen saw resentment there. “Then you deny he was trying to rape you?” His voice was thick with rage.

  It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. Lucien had convinced himself that she would not touch an enemy. He was protecting her reputation! He was trying to shield the family name from scandal while achieving his goal of killing Bryce. Panic seized her and she had to fight to control the alarm that sliced through her. “Yes!”

  “You stand there and tell me that what I saw was you willingly embracing our enemy?”

  Ryen raised her chin in defiance, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  “And if I had been a moment later, would you have parted your thighs for him, too?” Lucien snarled and shoved her roughly aside.

  Ryen fell to her hands and knees. She heard Bryce say, “It will not be as easy this time. Are you sure you do not want to bind my hands again so I won’t scar that pretty face of yours?”

  Ryen heard a thud as Bryce and Lucien’s bodies hit the ground. Their arms were entwined like those of lovers, but their faces were grimacing with hate. Bryce held Lucien’s sword arm away from him as they rolled across the floor.

  Ryen stood slowly, her knees shaking. She saw Bryce bash Lucien’s hand against the ground until the sword jarred free. Lucien threw a blow to the side of Bryce’s head that sent him flying.

  As Lucien stood, Ryen launched herself at him, jumping onto his back, locking her arms around his neck. Lucien had always been able to beat Ryen in play fights, and this was no exception, especially since he wasn’t playing. He grabbed hold of her tunic and pulled her over his head, sending her whirling into the canvas wall. “I would rather kill you myself than see you in his arms,” Lucien threatened hotly, and spun away from her.

  Bryce climbed to his feet and was greeted by a fist to the chin. He staggered back.

  Ryen shook her head, trying to clear her vision. As Lucien went after Bryce, Ryen desperately threw herself at Lucien in an attempt to separate them, but Lucien pushed her back again. She felt herself falling, but Bryce’s arms wrapped around her, and he gently set her out of the way.

  Ryen saw Lucien dive toward Bryce and barely had time to shout a warning before Lucien hit him, pushing him back away from Ryen. Bryce absorbed two blows to his ribs and one to his cheek before he threw a fist into Lucien’s neck. The man went down in a heap of gags and coughs and Bryce pursued him to the ground, raining blow upon blow on his adversary.

  Andre rushed in, flanked by two knights. They pulled Bryce from Lucien who lay unconscious on the ground, his face a mask of blood. Bryce was shaking all over, his fists clenched at his sides. He fought to free himself, struggling with the knights who held his arms. Two more knights rushed in to help subdue the Prince of Darkness.

  Ryen knelt at Lucien’s side. She could see his chest rising and falling with his breath. Thank God, she thought, before turning her eyes to Bryce. He was wild, twisting and turning in their hold, his strong muscles straining beneath their grips.

  “Get him to the other tent. Chain him well,” Andre ordered.

  Ryen watched in anguish as they dragged Bryce from the tent, then dropped her head into the crook of her arm. Fool! she berated herself. What was I thinking, wanting him to kiss me here in the prisoner’s tent? Lucien knows now. And he will do everything in his power to hurt Bryce. Or to kill him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bryce rode beside Ryen as the French troops entered the town, his wrists and ankles bound tightly by metal chains. Cheers deafened him. It seemed every villager had come out to welcome the army home, the loud, excited voices filling the air with an unintelligible babble. Women raced up to the mounted knights and handed them bouquets of brightly colored flowers. Small children ran ahead of the horses, shouting the knights’ arrival. Still more people crowded into the already packed street to watch the procession.

  And to watch Ryen. She was the pride of every villager there, showered with rose petals and looks of adoration as if she were some sort of heavenly goddess, some sort of…angel.

  Bryce studied their faces, the love in the peasants’ eyes, and the loathing when their eyes turned to him. He was amazed at how neat and clean the people were. Why, in the village of Dark Castle, there were children who could barely walk because they wore shirts ten times too big for them. And there wasn’t a man who did not have the knee or elbow ripped on his tunic or hose. Bryce straightened. His people just worked harder. His eyes scanned the shadows of the streets. Every village had its beggars or lepers who lurked in the shadows, hoping for a handout. He scowled slightly, trying to peer into each doorway they passed, behind each barrel, but try as he might, he could see no beggars! Not one. They must be here somewhere, he thought. As his eyes swept over the people, he noticed something else. They all looked healthy, well fed but not fat. His mind thought back to his own people, women who could barely keep their clothing from falling off their thin bodies, old men who looked like skeletons. He scowled.

  Bryce received his share of curses and laughter. As a cold stare in the direction of the offender would silence him, more laughter would assault him from a different direction. I was caught by a woman, he told himself. Twice! They should laugh. But this is no ordinary woman, he thought. She betrays me with a club to my head. All I wanted was for her to be safe from thieves and the like. The thought of what those men could have done to her makes me sick. Then, she hit me from behind. I should have expected
as much. I was a fool to have given my trust so easily.

  Fury rose in his throat like bile. He wanted to vent his anger on someone, something. He needed to release his rage, but the cold chains around his wrists restrained any strong action.

  Unseen by Bryce, a small boy, standing farther up the narrow street, bent down and scooped up a handful of mud.

  Bryce wanted to wipe the smirk from Ryen’s face. She didn’t have to enjoy his misery so much. He glanced up at the castle ahead. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised. The entrance was black with shadow – the mouth of a hungry beast, he thought, waiting to devour me.

  The boy packed the mud ball tightly in his palm. He tossed the compacted dirt from one hand to the other, impatiently fidgeting from one foot to the other.

  Bryce shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. His thoughts raced from one possible escape to the next. He should try and make some kind of break before he passed under the sharp teeth of the castle’s mouth, before he rode through the jagged shadows thrown by the portcullis, before he was trapped.

  The boy grinned, pleased with his plan. He was going to get the bad man. Hit him right in the face. He had heard many stories about the bad man. Stories that made him tremble in the middle of the night. Stories that made him feel very afraid. The boy did not like to feel afraid. This would be his chance to strike back at the bad man. He packed the mud ball even tighter.

  Bryce glanced into the side streets, waiting for the right moment. But all he saw were throngs of people. Malevolent faces stared, casting hate and loathing at him from every direction.

  The boy saw the horses approaching down the street, saw the bad man sitting on one. The fear came upon him like a tornado, swirling around him, making his fingers tremble as he clutched the ball of mud. He couldn’t do it. The bad man would come after him.

  Bryce was surrounded by the enemy. He had never felt more trapped in his life. He had never felt more desperate.