A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “I am not a prisoner,” Runt said. “They think I am one of the town boys coming to aid in the battle. The guards let me in here so I can get your tray.” He grinned, proud of his accomplishment.

  But all Bryce saw was the danger the boy was in. What if the Angel of Death discovered him? What if she used the boy to get more information from him? Could he endure Runt’s cries from torture, or would he turn traitor to his country to save the child? If she knew his one weakness was standing defenseless in her camp… He looked at Runt, a scowl creasing his brow. “Runt, you don’t know what could happen here. You must trust me when I say you cannot stay.”

  Runt frowned. “I am not in any danger.”

  “You are. Far more than you realize. And by your being here, you put me in more danger than I have ever been in before.”

  Runt’s brow furrowed, an imitation of Bryce, and he looked at the ground. “I just didn’t want them to hurt you.”

  Bryce’s heart softened immediately. He wanted to help the boy, to tell him that what he was doing would have been right had he been a man. He wanted to tell him that he would make a fine knight someday and that he was proud that he had attempted to rescue him. But he knew if he did that, Runt would see it as a signal to stay and try to impress him further by freeing him. He had to be stern. “Come here, boy,” Bryce commanded.

  Runt walked up to him, his eyes full of disappointment.

  Bryce gently placed his hands upon the boy’s shoulders and looked into his blue eyes. “I can take care of myself. I need you to leave this camp and find King Henry. You must not stay here.”

  “But I know I can rescue you. I can free you, Prince,” Runt said sincerely.

  Bryce’s frown deepened. Persistent. He was so damned persistent. Why wouldn’t he listen? “No. You can’t stay. You won’t be able to free me. I want you out of this camp. Now.” He had never raised his voice to the boy before, but he had to make him leave. “Go on. Leave me here. I will see you at King Henry’s camp.” He released Runt and watched him back up to the tent flap, where he paused. “Go on,” Bryce insisted.

  Runt swiped at the lock of hair that fell before his eyes and Bryce saw the sparkle of tears before the boy ducked beneath the tent flap and was gone.

  “Afraid of the Prince of Darkness?”

  Bryce sat up straight in the tent, listening to the ridicule in the voices.

  “Hey, you didn’t get the tray!”

  The guards. A protective anger surged inside Bryce. He wanted to rip out their throats for talking to Runt with disrespect.

  “Coward!” They broke into laughter and Bryce exploded, lunging forward. The boy had more courage than the guards could ever dream of having. His bonds caught him and pulled his arms back. Still, he fought to move forward, out of the tent. The guffaws continued to echo in the night air, enraging him. The chains dug into his flesh, pulled at his arms. He fought against the manacles’ biting hold, pulling with every last ounce of strength. The chains held fast. Slowly the sounds of the French mockery faded. Bryce tried one last time to lunge forward, pulling with his chest and digging his feet into the ground. The manacles refused to move, holding strong against his every effort. Finally he gave up his fight, letting his arms drop. I am chained and useless, he thought. I cannot even defend Runt. He would never forget this feeling of helplessness. Nor forgive those who had caused it.

  The next morning, one of Ryen’s men came for him, ordering him to his feet and out of the tent. The sun was low in the sky, and Bryce knew it was very early. The camp was quiet and still; only an occasional man strolled between the tents.

  The guard led him past the camp borders and through a thick row of shrubbery, deep into the forest. Large trees shot up all around him. The early morning sun peeked through the leaves far above their heads, and bushes and weeds peppered their path. Escape raced through Bryce’s mind, but the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles, and the sword the man held to his back, prevented any action. The guard urged him through a small line of bushes and they emerged in a large clearing. Bryce stopped.

  She was there.

  Ryen’s forehead was dotted with perspiration, a broadsword not far from her driven into the ground. She wore an oversized green tunic, cuffed at the sleeves and bound around the waist with a large leather belt. White leggings conformed to her shapely legs, and her black leather boots accented her curvy calves. Desire coursed through Bryce and he silently cursed himself for his lack of control. The sunlight glinted off the helmet on the ground near her feet. Her hair was loose and hung wildly over her shoulders.

  “Were you a virgin?” he blurted as he drew closer, the question spilling forth from his lips as if his obsessive attention to it had given it a life of its own. He half expected a slap for his blunt question, especially in front of her man, but when none was forthcoming, he presumed that the guard didn’t understand English.

  But Ryen did. Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t care when you took me.”

  “I want to know,” he said, as calmly as possible.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She turned away from him, looking toward the trees at the other end of the clearing. “I am not one now.”

  “Angel,” he said softly, an overwhelming desire to take her in his arms sweeping over him as he heard the anguish in her voice. “You brought me to your tent in the middle of the night half clothed. What did you want me to do?”

  “You did everything I expected you would,” she said bitterly.

  “Then you were not a virgin.”

  “Why is it so important that you know?”

  Bryce watched her closely, listened for the change in her voice. “You could tell me this, at least. After all, I did service you quite adequately.”

  She whirled, fury burning in those sapphire eyes. “Quite adequately? I bled that night! I owe you nothing!”

  “All virgins bleed.”

  Ryen averted her gaze, a slight blush spreading over her cheeks. Bryce had his answer. “God’s blood! Why would you pick your enemy to teach you the ways of love? Why not a Frenchman? Why not one of your own?”

  She clenched her fists into tiny balls, her jaw tightening. “Unshackle him,” she snapped at the guard in French.

  The guard took Bryce’s arms and slid the chains off his wrists. As he bent to remove the shackles around Bryce’s ankles, Bryce rubbed his chafed wrists, trying to force circulation back into them. His dark gaze never wavered from Ryen’s. What is she up to? he wondered.

  Again, Ryen spoke to the guard. “Give him your sword.”

  “My lady?” the guard replied, straightening and turning to Ryen.

  “Give him your sword!” Ryen shouted.

  The guard hesitated only a second before pulling the sword from his sheath and extending it hilt first to Bryce. Bryce glanced down at the sword in the guard’s hands, then up at Ryen. He saw that her breath was coming hard.

  She yanked her broadsword out of the ground and stepped closer to him.

  Bryce’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. She wanted to fight him! “I did nothing you didn’t want me to.” Bryce’s gaze swiveled to the guard. He was older and probably experienced in battle, but shorter and heavier than Bryce. He could defeat the guard. And Angel was no challenge.

  Ryen’s words were sweet. “This is lesson number two.”

  Bryce ached to feel the hilt of the sword in his palm. He knew he could defeat both of them, but he needed to get Angel alone if he hoped to escape. “I’m no fool. Your man would cut me down in an instant if he saw your life was threatened, despite any orders you gave him.”

  Ryen again spoke to the guard. “Get Andre.”

  “And leave you alone?” he answered.

  A grin twitched the corners of Bryce’s lips.

  “I gave you an order!”

  The guard stiffened and turned to leave, the sword in his hand, the shackles slung over his shoulder.

  Bryce’s hopes faded. His chance was gone. She had already changed her mind about fi
ghting him. Then what did she want with him alone in the forest? To kill him?

  “Leave the weapon,” Ryen ordered.

  The guard turned back to her. He paused to glance down at his sword, then threw it to the ground before running into the forest, disappearing through trees and shrubbery.

  Ryen grinned at Bryce, her eyes flashing with challenge. “You have only minutes to overcome me before my army descends on you. Think you can do it?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Now was his chance. This Angel was very foolish. But Bryce had to admire her courage. He bent and picked up the sword, a smile on his face. If she chooses to fight me, then so be it. He stared at the blade for a moment, deep in thought about –

  --striking at her, which he did without warning, driving his sword forward!

  She easily knocked it aside. “If that is the best you can do, this will be a sadly easy defeat.”

  “I’ve already put my sword into you once; don’t make me do it again.”

  Ryen’s face softened with hurt and Bryce took advantage of her vulnerable moment to attack, bringing his sword in low and up in a dip, the point heading straight toward her stomach.

  Suddenly, Ryen’s sword came to life and caught his swing. With a twist of her wrist, Bryce’s sword spun into the air and then landed on the ground two feet from him. She stood for a moment with her sword tip to his neck.

  Shock paralyzed Bryce before he masked it with a forced grin. No one had ever done that before! I have been toying with her, he reassured himself. But he had not anticipated such a lightning-fast defense. She was good. For a woman.

  She smirked. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “You should be thankful your swordplay is better than your seduction,” he retorted.

  “Pick it up,” she said.

  It is time to teach her her place, he thought, and moved for his sword. He picked up the blade and turned to face her again.

  She smiled full out. She thrust quite unexpectedly, and when he parried, she brought the blade high and down. They locked swords and she grabbed his wrist.

  The feeling of her small hand on his skin sent tingles up his arm. Angry, Bryce tore his wrist free and pushed off.

  Ryen swung her blade around to the side.

  He expertly blocked it and came back with a blow of his own. “Why so bitter, Angel? I gave you what you asked for.”

  Ryen deflected the attack. “Do all men finish so quickly?”

  “If you hadn’t acted like a bitch in heat, then I might have acted more politely.”

  “To an enemy? You wanted to hurt me. Just like you want to kill me now.”

  “Killing you now would be too easy,” he said.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not as good as you think,” Ryen answered, and swung the large blade again.

  Bryce blocked her strike and counter-thrust. She raised her sword and sparks flew as the metal blades collided. His face was inches from hers, and he stared into her blue eyes. “You are good, Angel, I will admit that.” Her full lips were so close, so inviting. He put his weight against the sword, moving his face closer and closer. She fought valiantly, but vainly. He was stronger than she was and his lips drew nearer to hers. “I get what I want, Angel. Surrender to me.”

  “Never,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his lips.

  “Ryen!” a voice shouted from the distance.

  Bryce pushed himself away from Ryen and turned toward the trees where the voice had come from.

  “Put down your weapon,” Ryen advised in a hushed tone.

  Bryce glanced at her. Was that concern in her voice?

  “Ryen!” the call came again, this time closer.

  Bryce looked toward the voice, then quickly turned to look the other way. The branches of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing swayed in the breeze as if beckoning to him, but he knew he would never make it. Not with the stiffness in his legs from being confined for so long. An arrow in the back would bring him down before he could hide himself in the woods. He turned to look at Ryen. She watched him with those clear blue eyes, her sword arm relaxed at her side, as if she were waiting fro him to make a move. His first impulse was to put his blade to her throat and hold off her men by threatening her life. He took a step toward her and grabbed her wrist. Much to his surprise, she didn’t resist. He knew he could take her and she would let him. For an instant, the realization confused him, and he hesitated. Voices echoed in the clearing. By the time he had made up his mind to take her, the trees seemed to magically part and a large group of men burst forth, shouting angry words and brandishing weapons.

  Bryce released her arm and quickly dropped the sword. He held up his hands and backed away, but a tall blond man tackled him to the ground. The other men surrounded him and began pounding on him with their fists, lashing out with their feet. Bryce kicked and heard a satisfying thud as his foot struck French flesh. But there were too many of them. He tried to bury his face protectively in his arms, but a boot caught him in the back of the head and his vision blurred for a moment as pain hammered his skull. Hot agony flared in his stomach as another foot struck him.

  Bryce’s vision cleared and he looked out through a haze of pain to see the glint of a polished sword poised above his abdomen.

  Chapter Ten

  “Lucien!” Ryen screamed, reaching for his raised sword arm.

  Andre reached him first, catching the downward swing of his forearm with an open palm.

  Ryen felt her heart hammering in her chest. Her stark terror at seeing her brother about to butcher Bryce dissipated, immediately replaced by a scorching fury. She had to get Bryce back to camp, away from Lucien and her men. Trembling with anger and frustration, Ryen looked down at Bryce. “On your feet,” she commanded.

  Bryce moved his arms away from his face and looked at her. For only a moment, she read disbelief in those dark eyes. Then, with a groan, he rolled to his stomach and pushed himself to his hands and knees, swaying unsteadily.

  Ryen moved toward him, protectiveness surging inside her.

  “She said on your feet,” Lucien snarled and lashed out with his foot, catching Bryce in the ribs, sending him back to the ground.

  Ryen whirled on Lucien, her fists twined into knots at her side. “Touch him again and I will personally see to it that you are clapped in irons.” She turned away from him and knelt beside Bryce.

  He was lying on his back, clutching his stomach. Ryen saw the pain in the thinning of his lips and the tension in his neck. Otherwise, his face was void of any kind of emotion. His eyes were closed for a long moment as if he were trying to bring the pain under control. When he opened them, they were dark and unreadable.

  Ryen whirled, again seeking out Lucien among the men, and shot to her feet to face him. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “You could have killed him!”

  Lucien’s brows crashed together, his jaw clenching. “And he could have killed you.”

  “I was not in danger,” Ryen snapped.

  “No danger?” Lucien roared, the words firing from his lips like arrows from a bow. “You gave the man a sword! He’s a notorious murderer! He’s killed thousands of our people! And you gave him a weapon!”

  “That was my decision to make. He is my prisoner and I will do with him as I like!”

  “Ryen. Lucien.” Andre stepped between them, his body forming a barrier between their rage. “This is not the place, nor the time,” he said softly but harshly.

  Lucien shouldered his way past Andre to confront his sister. “I will not allow you to give him a weapon. You endanger yourself as well as every many here.”

  “You will not allow me?” Ryen roared, her eyes flashing with rage. Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but Ryen continued, “I will not allow you to beat him.”

  “What do you care? He is English! He deserves everything he got.”

  Her fury knew no bounds. She wanted to grab Lucien and shake him until he saw the foolishness of his words. She stood for a long moment absolutel
y still, knowing that if she moved, or if Lucien said a word, she would explode. She looked away from Lucien, trying to control her anger. But her eyes came to rest on Bryce as he sat huddled on the ground, an arm about his middle. He was watching her with curiosity and a bit of amusement. “Get him out of here,” she murmured.

  “You heard her!” Lucien shouted. “Move the dog back to his tent.”

  Her burning eyes snapped to him. “Not him. You.”

  Lucien stared at her incredulously, but when she glared back at him, he whirled and pushed his way through the gaping men.

  Ryen’s gaze returned to Bryce.

  “I’ll have him taken to his tent,” Andre whispered to her. “You’d best go rest. I’ll come by later.”

  “I want him in my tent until his wounds are mended,” Ryen said.

  “Ryen –” Andre began.

  “I feel responsible. If I hadn’t given him a sword, none of this would have happened. I just want to make sure he recovers. No prisoner should be treated like this.”

  Andre waved his hand, signaling men to take Bryce. Four men stepped forward and gathered around Bryce. One man reached down, offering Bryce a hand. Bryce shoved the hand away and climbed slowly to his feet, scorning any help.

  Ryen felt his gaze on her the entire time. His look burned through her skin into her soul until she turned to lock gazes with her enemy. His eyes were dark and mysterious with a glow that sent tingles up her spine.

  Andre shoved him forward and they moved toward the camp.

  After a moment, Ryen followed them through the bushes. She hugged her elbows, suddenly chilly in the breeze that wound its way through the trees. Why had she allowed this to happen? Why couldn’t she stop her men? Had they acted out of concern for her, or was it their hatred for Bryce?

  Bryce. She caught a glimpse of his powerful strides through the wall of men that had surrounded him. Her gaze scanned his naked torso, his strong neck, his sturdy back, until she saw the ugly red welt forming on his side, near his ribs. Ryen’s brow creased. She was so intent on studying the bruise that she stumbled over a root and almost fell.