The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  In her excitement, Lotte did not notice the fierce anger that slowly brought Bryce out of his chair, clenched his fists. “You fool. Don’t you know that I would have followed Ryen to hell to return her to my side. You could never take her place in my heart.”

  Lotte was so shocked that she stood, dumbstruck.

  “All your plans and your conniving to rid Dark Castle of Ryen have come to no good. I have seen through your plans and discovered the truth.”

  “Truth? Conniving? Surely you don’t believe –”

  “SILENCE!” His voice boomed throughout the judgment room, his anger shaking the rafters high above their heads. “You will never come between us again. Never.”

  Lotte stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t know what you are saying. She doesn’t love you.” Her desperation was growing and she took a step forward.

  “I gave you a chance to remain at Dark Castle, but you have rejected my suggestion, instead causing me pain as I have never experienced before.”

  “My lord, I would never harm you.”

  Bryce straightened, anger tightening every muscle in his body. “From this day forth you are banished from Dark Castle.”

  “No,” Lotte gasped, eyes wide with horror. “You cannot… I have done everything for you. Everything. Including bearing your son.”

  Bryce’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Runt. “That is why you are not dead.” Bryce paused. “Talbot.”

  Talbot materialized from the shadows, Polly at his side.

  Lotte’s mouth dropped at seeing Polly. “You traitor!” she cried. “How could you do this to me?”

  “See that Lotte leaves Dark Castle, “Bryce commanded.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Talbot replied, stepping beside her.

  “Prince, no. I love you. No!” Lotte stretched out her open hands to him.

  It was Talbot who grasped one of her arms and dragged her toward the door.

  “Do not shadow Dark Castle with your presence again. If you are found on my lands you will be quartered,” Bryce said.

  “Noooooo!” Lotte sobbed, as Talbot dragged her from the room.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Dark, dark hair waving in a soft breeze. Black eyes staring at her, calling to her with a hypnotic power. The corners of his sensual mouth turned up in a devilish grin. The scar on his cheek looking white against his bronzed skin. He was leaning against a wall, his right leg bent at the knee, crossed over his left ankle. The wind ruffled his glossy hair and his ebony eyes caressed her skin, their gaze sweeping slowly over her breasts, her hips, her legs. Then they shifted, rising to meet hers. She saw the whispered words reflected in those eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

  Beautiful.

  He tilted his head back, robust laughter issuing from his open mouth.

  Ryen sat up in bed, her body soaked with a layer of perspiration, her face moist with tears. She realized suddenly that she was trembling all over and could not stop.

  He was taking her back to France. Ryen pulled the blanket up to her neck and hugged herself. She turned to stare at the tapestry. Bryce had rehung the elaborate weaving before he had left. She gazed at the horned man, staring at the image of Bryce. Why had he kept her brother’s life a secret? Was it some game he played with her? A deception? Just like when he had said that she was beautiful?

  She was drawn to the image on the tapestry and she rose out of bed, moving toward it. In his dark eyes she saw a cold and mesmerizing look that could consume people alive, make them believe what he wanted them to. It was all a lie. He had seduced her into believing his words again, believing that he cared for her, just as he had at De Bouriez Castle.

  The thought should have enraged her, but Ryen found it impossible to call up any anger. Sadness overwhelmed her senses. Sadness, and a pain so great that it threatened to rip out her very soul.

  With a groan, Ryen seized the tapestry and tore it from the wall, throwing it to the floor. She stared at it for a long moment. She could see his eye, his watchful gaze, among the crumpled fabric. Her heart lay in the folds of the tapestry. She would never see Bryce again. Good, she thought, as a sob welled in her throat. He will never have the chance to laugh at me.

  Her heart ached and her chest constricted until tears filled her vision. Ryen shook her head, refusing to give in to the agony that was tearing her apart. Instead, she turned her back on the tapestry and busied herself with dressing in a very plain brown velvet dress. She had no sooner finished than there came a knock at her door. Ryen turned to find Vignon on the threshold.

  Startled, Ryen shot off the bed. He slithered into the room and she forced her eyes to settle on the silver tray he held in his slim hands, but it was impossible to still the pounding of her heart or the feeling of cold terror that snaked its way up her spine.

  “Your food,” he said, and moved to the table beside the bed, sliding the tray onto it. “Did you do it?”

  “No. I haven’t had a chance,” Ryen lied, thinking of the ale Bryce had drunk. Guilt overwhelmed her and she had to turn away from him.

  Vignon swiveled his head to regard her with his cold eyes. “Rest easy. For it is done.”

  Ryen froze as shivers crept up her spine. “Done?” she echoed, suddenly breathless.

  “Yes. His wine will taste most bitter at this, his last meal,” Vignon said with laughter in his voice.

  Ryen stood absolutely motionless. “Good,” she finally murmured.

  Vignon moved past her to the door where he paused. “Our work is finished, m’lady,” he said, before exiting the room.

  Ryen shivered slightly. She stared at the tray, trying to convince herself that Vignon had actually been in her room. Her ears refused to acknowledge his words. Yet Ryen could not shake the feeling of doom that enfolded her like a giant hand. She moved to the bed, her mind replaying the fateful words “…it is done.” They hung in the air like a premonition of ruin.

  It would be only moments before Bryce took a sip of wine, and then only seconds before his life ended. Panic surged inside her and she stood, unable to move. Finally, she paced toward the door and then back to the bed, her hands anxiously massaging each other. Perhaps he had already taken a sip and was in the throes of death.

  “No,” Ryen cried, and surged toward the door.

  She came up short just before her fist closed over the handle. How could she betray her country by saving Bryce’s life?

  The image of Bryce’s beautiful, powerful, mysterious body lying broken and still on the cold stone floor rose before her eyes. “No,” she whimpered. She thought she had watched him die once before, and the pain she’d experienced had been unbearable. God help her, but she loved him. She loved him more than honor, more than chivalry, more than the disgrace and hate that saving him would bring her. She couldn’t let him die. Not for Lucien, not for France.

  She stifled a sob and threw the door open.

  Talbot, who was bent over, lacing his boots, looked up and straightened upon seeing her.

  Ryen could not waste time. She had to get past him. She couldn’t be too late. Her pulse raced as she forced herself to walk to him.

  “What –” Talbot began.

  Ryen brought her knee up into his groin. Talbot doubled over, gasping, and Ryen hauled her skirts up to race down the hall toward the stairway, all the while praying that she would reach Bryce in time.

  She leapt down the last two steps to the main floor. She straightened cautiously, glancing first left toward the Great Hall, then right.

  Not ten paces away stood Vignon looking bemusedly at her.

  He’ll try to stop me. The words raced through her mind and she crouched to flee toward the Great Hall.

  Vignon’s gaze slowly turned into a frown as realization hit him. Disbelief flashed in his eyes as he stepped toward her.

  Ryen lifted her skirts and fled down the corridor. Her lungs ached with the exertion it took to run full out. Ryen heard the soft padding of his footsteps as he chased her, but she pushed the thought of
capture from her mind. She had to stop Bryce. He couldn’t die!

  Her arms pumping, she rounded the open doorway, entering the Great Hall at a run. She saw him immediately, seated and turned in his chair, a head taller than the man he was speaking with on his right. He was raising the cup!

  No, she thought. Oh, God, no!

  She was more than halfway into the room when he turned to her, the cup at his lips. Distantly she heard the shouts of angry voices and the cold sound of metal sliding against metal…swords!

  In desperation she lunged across the table, bringing her hand back, and knocked the cup from his grasp. It crashed to the ground, spilling red wine on Runt’s empty chair. She watched it drip over the side onto the floor before turning her gaze to Bryce. His dark eyes were locked on her, brows drawn together in disapproving anger, then rising in stunned surprise.

  Reality crashed down around her as mumbled voices of outrage and hate exploded throughout the room. There was a growl from beside her and she was shoved back from Bryce into hands that bruised her arms as they held and shook her. She felt a dagger press into her back and the sharp edge of a sword blade was shoved beneath her chin. The press of bodies was suffocating, like a wall sealing off her view of Bryce. Her arms were pulled painfully until she whimpered.

  “No!” The command cut through the noise and silence engulfed the large room, except for the barking of the dogs that echoed in every corner.

  The pressure of the blade beneath her chin forced Ryen’s head up. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting down the panic and uncertainty. Had Bryce drunk the wine?

  When she opened her eyes, Bryce stood before her. His black eyes gazed down at her in confusion for a moment before his hand shot out, shoving the blade from her neck.

  Ryen lowered her chin as angry grumbles sounded around her.

  “She tried to kill you,” one of the men exclaimed.

  “No, she did not,” Bryce said with conviction.

  Her lip quivered as she choked, “Poison.”

  As the impact of her announcement hit him, Bryce whirled to his empty seat.

  The wine was pooling beneath the table where a hound was eagerly lapping at it. A second dog was trying to walk away, but its hind legs slid out from beneath it, then it fell over, its eyes rolling into its head. The first hound suddenly went into convulsions.

  Murmurings spread throughout the room as the second of the two dogs died.

  Bryce’s gaze slammed back to Ryen’s.

  “Bryce,” Ryen gasped, “did you drink?”

  The silence filled the hall with expectation. Ryen could not breathe, dared not take a breath.

  “No,” he answered.

  When his lips formed the word she had prayed for, she collapsed into the arms that held her. Relief flooded her heart, a relief so great she wanted to cry out in joy, to throw her arms around Bryce and hug him until the pain of worry faded.

  But the hands of his men held her back and kept her from crumpling to the floor.

  Bryce’s eyes were intense. “How did you know?” he finally asked.

  Ryen’s relief vanished; her face turned ashen and unreadable. Her only thought had been to save Bryce. She had not thought of the consequences, had not cared. But now her actions rose before her like an accusation. As much as she loved Bryce, now that he was safe, she knew she could not betray France. “I cannot tell you.”

  Bryce’s eyes narrowed slightly as one of the men condemned her. “She did it!”

  Bryce’s hand closed brutally over her upper arm and he pulled her away from his men into his hold. He towed her past the prying and angry eyes of his people and hauled her up the stairs and down the corridor to his room.

  The door slammed behind them and Ryen turned to face him. Her shoulders slumped forward, her eyes wide. She looked fragile, somehow – vulnerable.

  “Who did it?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice level against the feelings he felt roaring through his body.

  Ryen shook her head, unable to speak. Soft curls fell rebelliously from her long braid, and Bryce had the urge to catch one of them in his open palm. He chased the feeling away with a frown. “You would make me punish you for keeping the traitor’s name from me?”

  Ryen looked at him with those large blue eyes and Bryce could see the disbelief in their liquid depths.

  “No,” he said, angry with himself for even suggesting a punishment to her. He could never harm her. And that was his downfall. Cursing, Bryce turned from her. “Why did you save my life? To humiliate me with your silence?”

  “Why did you save my life at Agincourt?” her weak, soft voice came from behind him.

  He whirled toward her. “Because I – I –” He stopped cold. He had almost said it. Almost told her the disease that ate away at his mind and soul, tormented his days and haunted his nights. “It is not the same! How can you…compare…” His voice trailed off as he observed her in a new light, even though she stood in the shadows near the wall. “It was the honorable thing to do.” Grey’s words rose in his mind: ‘You have won the woman. It is the knight you must be concerned about.’ “You did it for honor. Because I saved your life, you felt obligated…”

  “No!” she objected.

  He took a step toward her, his fists clenched. “Tell me his name. I want his name.” Cold anger filled his voice. She had not saved him because she cared for him. All she cared about was honor.

  Ryen lifted that haughty little chin. The light from the windows sparkled in her eyes and Bryce saw the tears glittering like precious gems.

  “Tell me,” he insisted, stopping just before her.

  Ryen’s uplifted chin quivered.

  Bryce raised his hands, and while other people would have cowered, she stood her ground. He placed his hands on her shoulders, unable to resist the urge to touch her. He backed her into the wall, his hands sliding from her shoulders down the soft velvet of her dress to her arms as he pressed himself into her. Her sweet breath was hot on his lips. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  When she didn’t reply, he pressed his mouth against hers, urging her soft lips to open to him with gentle but insistent strokes of his tongue. Then he plunged into her mouth, tasting the sweet victory. The longing in his loins grew and he knew that if she did not tell him, he would gladly take her.

  “Oh, Bryce, Bryce,” Ryen murmured into his kiss.

  He felt her arms flutter up his back.

  “Tell me,” he groaned, pressing kisses into her throat. At first he thought it was a sigh, the way her throat quivered; then her body shook. Yes, he thought, our bodies still react as one.

  He lifted his mouth to claim her lips again. As his cheek moved over hers, he felt the moisture, could taste the salty tears on her lips. Startled, he pulled back to gaze down at her face. His heart broke, shattering into a thousand pieces.

  Her large blue eyes were red and swollen from her tears. They streaked down her face in tiny rivulets.

  Bryce reached out with his forefinger and caught one. The drop shimmered on the tip of his finger like a precious gem. He rubbed it reverently between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it with fascination and awe until it disappeared into his skin. He raised perplexed eyes to her.

  “Please don’t make me tell you,” she gasped.

  “He will try again,” Bryce said flatly.

  Ryen buried her face in her palms, her shoulders shaking fiercely. “I can’t,” she wept. “I want to. God help me, I want to. But I can’t betray my vows.”

  So, it was honor again. Even as he thought this, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to stop her pain. Bryce reached out to her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. A French spy, then, he thought, in Dark Castle. But somehow, it didn’t matter. Ryen was all that concerned him. His touch seemed to comfort her and her sobs lessened. “Ryen,” he said kindly. My love, he thought.

  She raised her tear-reddened eyes to him. “I can’t forsake my country and be loyal to you, too,” she cried.

  Grief, guilt a
nd anguish flooded through him at once, and he stepped back from her. How can I ask her to? Bryce thought. Would I not do the same, were I in her place? I must help her. But how? There must be some way, some way to satisfy honor without sending her away from me. We are knights, for the love of God. We should be able to…

  Suddenly, Bryce’s eyes lit. Resolution squared his shoulder and he proclaimed, “Sir Ryen De Bouriez, I challenge you to a joust. If you win, you will be set free. Free to return to your beloved France.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Bryce hurriedly continued, “However, if I win, you must happily remain at Dark Castle and pledge your loyalty to me – by becoming my wife.”

  “Wife?” Ryen gasped.

  “Do you accept my challenge?”

  Stunned, Ryen did not move or speak.

  “Well?” he urged.

  She nodded, her soft curls bouncing eagerly.

  “I must warn you, I will do everything in my power to defeat you,” he added.

  She did not reply, only stared at him with swollen eyes that were strangely bright. Bryce frowned and turned his back to her. He exited the room.

  Talbot awaited him in the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Bryce saw the triumphant look in his eye. “You caught Wells,” he said.

  Talbot nodded. “Of course. Your feeling about him was correct, as usual.”

  Bryce agreed with a dip of his head before turning to continue down the hallway.

  “Prince,” Talbot called, halting his movement. “She saved your life.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Wells was in the crowd at the Great Hall. He was found with a dagger. He could have slipped through the men and killed her. So it seems you saved her life as well.”

  The thought of a dagger in Ryen’s back brought cold chills to his body. “I owe more to that woman than just a debt of honor,” Bryce stated quietly. “I was blind not to have seen it before.”

  Chapter Forty Six