The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Bryce then moved to Elli, who smiled coyly at him. He dropped a large piece of the pig onto her plate. Ryen was dismayed to find hurt swirling inside her; she forced her face into a blank mask, hoping to convey disinterest.

  Bryce turned to her then, his dark eyes pinning her to her chair. Ryen hoped that the ache she felt did not show. Her mind replayed Elli’s hand running over the length of Bryce’s arm. His lover, she thought with a jolt. He had been with her as Ryen recovered. She felt the pain rise in her throat and fought desperately to keep it from her face. I don’t care, she told herself over and over. But she did.

  Something flashed across his face as he stared at her, and then he was walking toward her, his powerful legs carrying him quickly over the space between them. When he stood before her, Ryen raised her chin and met his gaze with a haughty indifference.

  A smile curved his lips and melted her heart. He picked up a large portion of the meat and held it out to her.

  Murmurings spread like wildfire across the tables.

  Ryen’s mouth watered like a river; her stomach grumbled. Bryce waited patiently as she lifted trembling hands to take the pork. She could barely keep herself from ripping into it. She licked her lips and raised her eyes to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, so softly that only he and the closest knights could hear.

  Bryce’s eyes smiled at her, glinting in the torchlight. He turned and went to his seat.

  He had no sooner sat than the room exploded in motion. All the men dived for the center of the room, grabbing handfuls of meat, chopping with their daggers. They were like ants covering a fallen piece of bread.

  Ryen stared, shocked at the sight: the men hovered around the spit, the strongest in front gorging themselves. As one finished and moved away, the next strongest took his place. Fighting was common.

  Ryen took one bite of her meat, and then a second. She felt out of place, eating daintily. When she took her third bite, she noticed the peasants. They were edging forward from the shadows at the rear of the hall, circling the men and meat, waiting for their chance.

  Surely there must be more kill for the peasants, Ryen thought. But as the commoners edged closer and closer, their eyes anxiously scanning for an opening, Ryen realized this was their only meal. Outrage rocked her body, and slowly she stood. She watched as one of the peasants reached a hand to the pig to rip off a piece of meat. The soldier closest to him snarled before he backhanded the man across the face.

  Ryen’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “They eat what’s left. It is our way,” the man on her right said around a piece of meat in his mouth.

  “You mean the peasants are no better than your hounds?” she gasped. “At least you throw the dogs food!”

  “The strongest survive,” the man said, wiping his hand across his mouth.

  Ryen pushed away from the table, unwilling to see more. She didn’t understand why they acted this way. She moved toward the doors, feeling disgusted. No one should go hungry, she thought. Unless for some reason Bryce’s lands were not prospering.

  As she approached the giant wooden doors, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled her head. There, in the shadows, hiding behind a bench that lay on its side, was a boy. His hair was matted, his clothing too small. He was eyeing Ryen with hungry, hollow eyes. Ryen looked down to see what the boy was staring at. She was surprised to find that she still held the pork in her hand. Immediately, she held out the meat to him. He started forward, licking his lips.

  Suddenly, Ryen’s wrist was seized. She looked up and locked eyes with Bryce’s dark gaze. The boy jumped back, taking cover behind the table.

  “That is your food,” Bryce told her. “Give it away and there will be no more.”

  Ryen yanked her arm free. “He’s starving,” she snapped, and again stretched out her hand.

  The boy hesitated this time, his large eyes turning up to Bryce for permission.

  “Come on,” Ryen coaxed. “It’s all right.”

  The boy took a tentative step forward, those haunted eyes returning to Ryen.

  “You can have it.” She bent at the waist and reached out to him. The boy ripped the meat out of her hand and retreated to the overturned bench to hide and eat.

  Ryen straightened, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips. She watched the boy for a moment, certain that he was well on his way to finishing it. Then she turned to face Bryce, who was watching her, expressionless. “Are all the children thus starved?” she wondered softly.

  Bryce’s shoulders lifted slightly, his eyes never wavering from her face. “Not the strong ones.”

  “But why? Aren’t your lands thriving?”

  “We’ve had the best harvest thus far.”

  “You live like savages,” she whispered harshly, so only he could hear. “Fighting for your food. I have never seen such barbarism.”

  His body stiffened and his jaw clenched. His black eyes narrowed. “Then it is lucky you will be leaving.”

  Ryen felt her chest tighten. His words had stung her. She had not meant to insult him. Still…she had no right to feel hurt. She was nothing to him except a conquest. He had made that clear the first day she was here when he’d announced to all that he had taken her maidenhood.

  She turned away from him and her eyes locked on the small boy who was licking his dirty fingers. Her heart twisted. Perhaps before she left she could make at least one change. The peasants and servants…the children…did not need to be hungry. There were ways and simple foods that would satisfy them. They shouldn’t need to carry weapons or learn how to fight just to eat.

  “Bryce.” She turned back to him, stepping closer. “Allow me to enter your kitchens. There is a dish –”

  His eyes narrowed, his look darkening. “So you can poison all of us? I think not, Angel.”

  Ryen’s mouth dropped. She had not thought of poison. But as she stood staring into his suspicious, accusing eyes, the thought became very appealing. Her own eyes narrowed, mirroring his. “You are the most evil man I have ever known. I would never hurt a child. I even trusted that spy you snuck into my camp – your son.”

  Bryce stepped toward her, his eyes burning into hers with anger.

  Ryen retreated a step. She could not take her eyes from his; they demanded her attention, lest he strike.

  His voice was so soft as he towered over her that she barely heard his words. “I did not sneak him into your camp. He came of his own free will. Like a true Princeton. Like a wolf.” He was walking away before she could breathe again.

  Bryce must have loved the boy very much. She wondered what it took to get him to care that much.

  She pushed herself from the wall, doubting she would ever know.

  A pair of dark eyes watched the enemy cross the room. Lotte straightened her bodice, causing her large breasts to thrust out. She would not allow this French bitch to take her place as Prince’s favorite. No matter what Prince said, she knew she would win him back.

  “He likes her,” a voice cooed.

  Lotte whirled to find Elli smiling at her. Lotte snorted and turned back to picking at the pork before her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? I think she’s quite pretty. Nothin’ like I woulda expected.” Elli shifted her eyes from Ryen to Lotte. “Don’t you think?”

  “She’s too thin. And her hair is unruly. Look how she looks down her nose at the men. She owes her life to Prince, and she doesn’t even try to be nice to him.”

  “Would you rather she be nice to him?” Elli wondered.

  “I’d rather she was out of the castle. For good.” Lotte stopped as Elli’s soft laughter reached her ears and tore her eyes from Ryen to glare at her.

  “Sounds to me like the green-eyed monster has a hold on you.” Elli put a finger to her chin, pondering. “Or perhaps ye’re just scared. After all, Prince has already bedded her. How long do you think it will be before he does again? And you, with yer high morals. Never letting any of the
other men touch you, saving yerself for Prince. And turnin’ McFinley out, ta boot. It looks like you might be the one turned out, after all.”

  “Shut up,” Lotte hissed. Her gaze darted back to Ryen. “It’ll only be time before he tires of her. Then he’ll come back ta me.”

  “Are you sure? Are you so sure?” Elli’s tinkled of laughter reached Lotte and she cringed.

  Lotte’s dark eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at Ryen, her lips turned down. She was not going to let some French tart replace her. Lotte would do anything to prevent that. Anything.

  “It’s time to return.”

  Ryen turned from her seated position at the table to see Talbot standing beside her. She made no effort to object or to quarrel with him. On the contrary, she was anxious to return to Bryce’s room. The savagery of these people disturbed her; the total disregard of the peasants upset her. To see children starving was more than she could tolerate.

  As they turned to leave the Great Hall, another knight rushed up to them. “Sir Talbot! Cooper and Darcy are fighting in the barracks.”

  Talbot grimaced. “Wells! Pavia! See her to Prince’s room.”

  Ryen turned to see a large, burly man approaching her. When she turned back to the departing Talbot, she was shocked to see Vignon standing right beside her. She swallowed a gasp, awaiting a comment of some kind, but he remained silent, his eyes averted from her gaze.

  The burly man ushered her toward the doors with a firm hand at the small of her back.

  Silently, Vignon followed her, the other man beside him. What was Vignon doing here? Was he truly English? Or was he some kind of spy for King Charles? If he is a spy, why hasn’t he sought me out to confide in me? Ryen wondered. The realization came all too swiftly.

  Because I am a traitor.

  Ryen’s feet suddenly felt like lead and she almost stumbled. She righted herself as they turned a corner. What if he is English and he was a spy in my camp? She asked silently.

  Ryen wanted to turn and question him directly. But she knew she couldn’t.

  Then a thought occurred to her. Wells and Pavia. Talbot had said that Wells and Pavia would escort her to Bryce’s room. So Vignon must be using another name. Unless, of course, Wells or Pavia was his real name.

  She halted before the door to Bryce’s room. She had never truly trusted him. Had her instincts been right all along?

  Vignon reached around her to open the door.

  Stoically she stepped through the entryway. Has he been sent to rescue me? she wondered, before the door was closed and locked behind her. Or to kill me? Either possibility made her nervous. Very nervous indeed.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  The roaring fire warmed the vast room, casting large dancing shadows on the stone walls. Bryce, sitting with his men near the hearth, watched Ryen speak with the fat maid. She was wearing maroon today; the velvet conformed to her curvy hips, hiding her long legs. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, forming the rebellious curls Bryce longed to touch.

  As he watched, Ryen’s brow creased with concern and she glanced at Bryce before quickly looking away. He had seen her friendship with the maid bloom over the last few days. He hadn’t been concerned, but that changed when he saw a different maid, a younger maid, laugh with the Angel of Death. Then, he even saw old Ben, the stableman, speaking earnestly with her. Suspicion charged Bryce’s thoughts. What was she up to? he had asked himself time and again. And now he wondered anew.

  It had been days since he had returned to find Ryen drenched, strung up to be whipped. And every time he saw her, the intensity of his desire shocked him. Now, staring at her, even with suspicion brewing, he felt the passion burning in him again. God, how he wanted her! Yearning flared in every fiber of his body, racing through him as if it were his very lifeblood.

  He watched as the chubby maid waddled away and Ryen turned to him. A scowl creased her usually smooth forehead and her full lips curved down in a pout. Bryce watched her straighten her shoulders and approach. He noted, with appreciation and something close to pride, the swing of her hips. He kept her standing before him for some time before he raised his eyes from her lithe body to her face. That rebellious little chin was raised, her blue eyes ablaze with cold flames. Some of the men near him chuckled.

  Ryen scorched one of them with a murderous glare before Bryce drew her anger back to its source. “Do you want something, Angel?”

  When she spoke, her words were clipped with fury. “I would speak with you.” She shot hot glances at the rest of his men. “Alone.”

  “What you have to say can be said before my men. I have no secrets,” Bryce replied, raising his goblet to his lips.

  Surprise, followed quickly by anger, flashed over her face. Then, a strange calm settled over her body and she raised a sly eyebrow. “Why, Bryce, then I must assume you’ve told them of all your conquests. How you skewered your helpless victims with your mighty sword.”

  Talbot almost choked on the ale he was in the process of downing.

  Bryce’s head came up slowly to meet her taunting eyes. “Some are not ‘helpless’, Angel.”

  Some of the men elbowed each other as they snickered.

  “Only the virgins!” Talbot called out.

  As guffaws met his statement, Bryce watched Ryen’s cheeks turn a deep red. He realized she had intended her comment to be degrading and insulting. When she realized how his men had twisted her statement, she lowered her eyes, her back straightening, her chest jutting slightly. She nervously ran her hands over her hips, smoothing the garment over her waist, brushing imaginary lint from her flat stomach.

  One by one, the men ceased their laughter until all eyes were riveted on her.

  Bryce found his body responding to her subtle seduction. Did she know what she was doing? He tore his gaze from her hands to look at her face. She gently bit her lower lip. He thought he would explode at the innocence of the gesture. Blood pounded through his veins like a drumbeat, blocking out all sound and all rational thought.

  Suddenly, he was on his feet and approaching her. He saw the fear in her eyes, saw how she turned to flee, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

  “Do not flaunt yourself to me, Angel,” he whispered in her ear.

  She struggled in his grasp. His chest pressed tightly against her own as he drew her closer to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gasped, breathlessly. She looked up at him.

  Suddenly, her fighting ceased and she stared at him with liquid eyes. Her luscious lips were but inches from his. Bryce could feel her soft breath against his mouth, the press of her breasts against his chest.

  I am going to kiss her, he realized, as he closed his eyes in anticipation of the taste of her delicate lips.

  “Bryce!”

  Bryce spun to find Talbot standing behind him, a slight frown revealing his concern. Slowly, reality crashed down upon him. Not a sound echoed in the Great Hall. His men sat where they had been, but their eyes were locked on him. Bryce’s eyes swept the room, noting that every gaze was upon him as he held Ryen.

  His glance finally returned to the source of his troubles. She was limp against him, her eyes slightly closed. But what he could see of them were dreamy and anticipating. He stepped away and yanked her by the arm toward the doorway. Ryen’s skirt tangled about her ankles and Bryce felt her weight in his arm as she stumbled and he pulled her upright. She struggled to keep up with him, taking two steps to every one of his while lifting her skirt with her free hand so she wouldn’t trip again. They rounded a corner and proceeded toward Bryce’s room.

  “Bryce!” Talbot shouted from behind them. But Bryce did not slow his step. His grip was brutal and relentless as he tugged her up the stairs. He kicked open the wooden door and propelled her into the room. Ryen’s back smacked against the frame of the four-poster bed and she dropped straight to the floor. She sat there, her dress splayed out on the stone ground, her wide eyes staring at him as he kicked the door shut.
/>   He approached her. “Next time you choose to seduce me, Angel, pick your location carefully.”

  Her jaw dropped and her mouth hung open.

  His hand fell to his belt and he unhooked it. There’d been days of yearning for her, fitful nights of wanting, seeing only those eyes, her body. Now he fully intended to have her. Any woman who dared to taunt him would feel the hardness of his lust. Especially if that woman was Ryen De Bouriez.

  “Please…” she whispered.

  Bryce froze. She had not moved. Yet the word rang like a bell through his mind, slowly working its way through his body. Had that been desire in her voice, or fear? He searched her face. What am I doing? he demanded of himself. The scene of their first intimate encounter in her tent rose before his mind’s eye. Are you going to take her to satisfy your need? a voice inside him mocked, or will you wait until she is ready, until you can show her what it is like to make love? His hand froze on his belt.

  Sitting at the bottom of the bed, her dress spread out around her like the petals of a delicate flower, she drove him to the brink of madness. His body and his mind battled for control.

  She is a prisoner! he reasoned with his growing need. A prisoner I am awaiting ransom for!

  Curse etiquette, he thought. I want her. He took another step toward her, then stopped. Even the Wolf Pack honored the unspoken law – never take what belonged to another man. When her king refuses the ransom, then she will be mine. With a low growl, he rebuckled his belt and turned away from her. “You wanted to speak to me alone.”

  Silence.

  Bryce walked to the window and stared out on the afternoon. At the sound of shouts he looked to his left. Beyond the wall, just before the trees, was the training yard. Some of his men were practicing their sword skills, others jousting.