Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  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 and 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

  The sky was as gray as worn armor and a fine spray of mist blanketed the ground, permeating the air with moisture. The field was strangely silent as Bryce rode out, his horse trudging through the wet earth. The grassy area around the field was empty, and there were no cheers or hisses filling the air.

  Bryce maneuvered his horse toward Talbot, who had agreed to act as his squire. He did not want an audience for this contest. It was between him and Ryen.

  He reined up his horse beside Talbot and glanced across the field. Grey was lounging against the wooden fence at the far end of the field. He had consented to squire Ryen, and Bryce wondered if it was because he had asked Grey to do it or out of curiosity to see who would win.

  Cursing, Bryce pulled his shield down over his eyes. Rain splattered his face through the small slit in his visor. He heard the dull clink every time a drop hit his plate armor. If I hurt her, I will never forgive myself, but I cannot lose. His warhorse, Hades, snorted beneath him. The animal was skittish today. Bryce tried to hold him still, yet the beast circled and paced, giving Bryce extra time to study Ryen.

  He tried to view her as just another knight, as an opponent, but every time he tried he imagined her large, tearful eyes gazing miserably at him and felt her body shake with a sob. Doubt festered in his mind. I have never lost a joust, he told himself. And I will not lose this one. But is it right to overpower her and force her to marry me? She did agree! Was it only because she would never lose face by turning down a challenge? This is the only way to settle our differences! The knightly way, the honorable way. But she is not just a warrior…she is a woman.

  Bryce recalled the very first time he had seen her. He remembered her blue eyes shining through that white mist like the flames of a campfire, remembered his initial shock and dismay at finding his adversary to be a woman. Now, as he stared across the field, he watched her through a fine mist of rain, and even though he did not have chains around his wrists, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. He had to win. And yet he had to be careful not to harm her. There had been a time when all he’d wanted was to kill her. Now all he wanted was to wed her.

  Angry at not being able to control his wandering thoughts, he grabbed for the jousting pole that Talbot handed to him. Grey gave the signal to begin and Bryce rounded his horse, spurring him on. He bent low in his saddle, pointing the tip at her chest. They raced at each other, coming closer and closer, their horses breathing hotly with the effort of the charge, their hooves kicking up mud in big clumps. They both held their poles firmly at their sides, the deadly tips pointing at each other’s heart.

  Suddenly, Bryce felt Hades stumble. He swung his pole forward, needing both his hands on the reins to right his steed. For a split second, fear seized him. Her lance was positioned exactly for his chest and he was off balance. He was an easy target.

  Bryce braced for the impact…but it never came. At the last moment, Ryen raised her lance, missing him completely. The two knights passed and Bryce straightened in his saddle, steadying his horse. With my disadvantage she could have easily unhorsed me, he thought. Why didn’t she? He looked over his shoulder in time to see Ryen round her animal and come at him again. Bryce responded, turning his horse to face her and urging the animal forward with a hard kick. As they charged at each other again, Bryce leveled his lance and lowered his body over the horse’s neck. Hit her in the stomach, he thought. She’s light enough and it will knock her off easily.

  The horses raced ever closer to one another. Bryce saw the tip of her lance coming toward him. Suddenly he knew his weight behind the impact of his lance would be too much for her. In his mind’s eye, he saw his lance strike her, the wood splinter, and a stray piece pierce her visor. He had seen one man die of such a wound. Panic seized him and he knocked her lance aside with his arm, turning his own away from her.

  He raised his visor and turned to face her, shoving his lance to the ground. “Yield to me!” he shouted across the field.

  That haughty little chin rose, and in response, she reached for another lance and reeled her steed toward his. Bryce muttered a curse and jerked Hades toward her, weaponless.

  Before Ryen reached him, she threw the lance down and reined in her horse, bringing it to a halt.

  Bryce stopped Hades not five feet from her.

  “You challenged me and now you refuse to fight?” she demanded.

  Through the slit of her visor, Bryce could see her blue eyes flashing with fury. “I could not bear to see you hurt,” he answered. “It is not worth my pride or my honor.”

  Ryen’s horse whinnied nervously and pranced. “But is it worth my honor?” she queried hotly.

  Bryce tried desperately to see past the anger that tightened her grip on the reins and clenched her jaw, but all he could see was the fierce rage that lit her deep blue eyes.

  Ryen watched Bryce through the feeling of pain and betrayal that gripped her. “You lied to me about my brother!” she yelled.

  “I – I couldn’t tell you!” he shouted back, helpless.

  Sadness gripped her. He didn’t trust her enough to tell her. “Pick up your lance,” she said.

  “He was mad, dangerous! He could have harmed you.”

  “You told me he was dead.” Her voice was tight with sorrow.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he whispered.

  She stared at him for a long moment. She wanted desperately to throw down her weapon and run to him, to feel his embrace. To be his wife. But she knew she couldn’t do that. If she did, she would be betraying Lucien, her king, and her country. But mostly, she would be betraying what she was. A warrior. How could she toss aside all that she’d worked for? All that she’d fought to achieve? If she did, she could not respect herself, and she certainly couldn’t ask Bryce to. “Are you afraid to fight me? Are you afraid of defeat?” she taunted.

  Bryce’s gaze bit into hers. “Don’t do this.”

  But she had; she had no choice. She could not forsake her vows of honor. And if he won, then her vow to him would be the stronger. “Fight me, Prince of Darkness.
Face the Angel of Death,” she called. “Or are you a coward?”

  Bryce knew he was many things, but a coward was not one of them. He spurred his horse to the other side of the field, steeling his feelings. He had never lost a joust. He would not lose this one. He ripped the lance from Talbot’s hand and turned Hades to face her.

  His eyes narrowed as they came to rest upon her. She had removed her helmet. Her hair shone glorious and wild, defiantly vibrant beneath the light rain. Her large eyes glared across the field at him. Even at this distance, she enflamed his soul. He felt desire course though him, tensing every muscle into rebellion. He growled low in his throat. Damn her, he thought. She attempts to distract me.

  Then she spurred her horse. Bryce matched her movement. The thunder of the horse’s hooves pounded in Bryce’s ears as they moved toward each other. The tip of her lance was held even and steady.

  Bryce forced his mind to focus on victory. He had to hit her in the stomach. He bent low over his mount, centering the pole in his hand. His eyes held on his target.

  Ryen’s hair waved behind her in the wind. For a moment, he pictured his hand running over the length of it, caressing its softness.

  By the time he realized that her subtle trick had worked, it was too late. His lance struck her arm just as he felt an impact smash into his side. Pain roared in his head as he flew from Hades and he saw the sky above him for an instant before his body crashed to the earth. Stunned, he lay still for a long moment, staring at the gray sky. He, the Prince of Darkness, thrown from his horse in a joust! This must be a horrible nightmare. Then a throbbing in his side brought him back to reality. He groaned and pushed himself onto his good side. Somehow, he managed to pull his helmet from his head.

  She won, he thought, stunned. No one had ever defeated him. The little vixen had tricked him and won. Her victory brought a sudden sobriety to him. He pushed himself from the ground, looking for her atop her mount. Instead, the sight that greeted him brought a wave of cold chills to his body.