A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “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.

  Ryen looked down at it. He was going to demand she give it up. Not likely! she thought, preparing for a battle.

  “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.”

  “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, hi
s 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 lowered 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.