A Lost Princess (Belles & Bullets Book 2)

by Caylen McQueen

  “Roddy?” Doon hissed as he swiped the blood from his lip. His eyes were narrowed as he collected his blades from the ground. “What the hell?”

  “Two-on-one isn't fair!” Roderick shouted. “This should be more fair!”

  “Well, let's hope they let you stay. I could use the help,” Doon acknowledged. “Which one do you want... the big guy, or the armored twat?”

  “You take the big one. I'll focus on the twat.”

  Doon chuckled to himself as he turned his attention to Jaroe. “Maybe you're not so bad after all, Roddy Rick,” he tepidly praised his new ally. “Who knew?”

  “You saved my life once, Doon. If I can save yours now, consider yourself repaid!”

  As Doon and Roderick conspired, Lyneah sprang from her seat with a gasp. “Roderick? Oh god, is that Roderick?” She turned to her fiance, grabbed his sleeve, and gave his arm a violent shake. “You have to get him out of there, Rory! Please! You have to stop the match and get him out of there right now.” When she saw Dracob swinging at Roderick's head, narrowly missing him, she gasped again. “Please. Now. I'm serious!”

  Rory's eyebrow raised as he listened to Lyneah's meltdown. “And who's Roderick?” If the unexpected guest was to be removed, it was because he was uninvited, not because his fiance demanded it. Lyneah's panicked reaction only succeeded in arousing Rory's curiosity. Clearly, whoever this man was, he was important to her. “Actually... this is a rather interesting development. Let's see how this goes.” He grabbed Lyneah's arm and pulled her into her chair.

  “What's Roderick doing here?” Lyneah whispered to Tobias, who simply shook his head and shrugged.

  The princess' fear for Roderick was unnecessary, because he more than held his own against the giant in armor. He intuitively swung and countered as many times as he blocked. In fact, he appeared to have the upper hand. Doon, however, was injured, battered and tired. Each time Jaroe took a swipe at him, he barely leapt out of the way. And each time Doon swung his sword, the barbarian blocked with ease.

  “I can't watch this,” Lyneah whimpered, hiding behind her hands. “It's bad enough to watch people I don't care about... but Roderick... oh god...”

  “I wouldn't worry so much,” Tobias tried to reassure her. “He looks like he's doing r-really well.”

  “But what if Doon falls?” she asked. “He looks weak. Will Roderick have to fight them both, or will they let him walk out of the arena?”

  “If Doon falls, your Roderick will have to finish this,” said Rory, who overheard her conversation with Tobias. “If he wants to get involved, he'll have to see it through to the end.”

  “But why?” Lyneah practically shouted the question.

  “Because I make the rules. And because he is your Roderick, is he not? Unless I'm mistaken?” When Lyneah didn't disagree, Rory gave his chin an irritated scratch. “Of course he is. I bet he's had his naked body all over yours! I already knew you weren't chaste, Lyneah, but to see your lovers popping up everywhere? It's surprising, to say the least.”

  “D-don't listen to him,” Tobias spoke up. “He's trying to get a r-rise out of you, Lyneah. Don't give him the satisfaction of upsetting you.”

  Lyneah crossed her arms and watched the rest of the match in complete silence. It was easily the longest round yet, because for the first time, all contenders were accomplished sword fighters. Every time Jaroe attacked Doon, he reacted and countered quickly. Each time Dracob lunged at Roderick, he dodged and struck back. The crowd was loving the action—with the exception of Kitt, who had her eyes closed.

  “Just tell me when it's over, Miles,” she pleaded with her friend. “Just... give me a nudge or something. But don't tell me what's happening. I don't want to know!”

  For the longest time, the arena was a chaos of whistling blades and clanging steel. At long last, there was a new noise: the disgusting squelch of a blade piercing flesh. When Roderick pulled his sword from Dracob's throat, the audience roared with applause.

  Doon, not wanting to be shown up by Roderick, started attacking faster and more precisely. In the corner of his eye, he saw Roderick coming to assist, but he desperately wanted to finish it himself—and he did. When Jaroe went down, he went down like thunder, crashing against the floor of the arena with a mighty thud. Doon yanked his sword from the barbarian's abdomen and sighed. His entire body ached, but he couldn't rest yet. He marched over to Roderick and extended a hand to the man who had probably saved his life.

  As Roderick shook Doon's hand, neither one of them said a word. They simply nodded to each other, which was all the communication they required.

  “Alright!” Rory suddenly hollered. “Alright... fine!” He sounded like a petulant child, on the verge of losing his favorite toy. “Doon is free to go. I won't keep him here this time. Someone escort him out of here!”

  “No!” Doon pointed his sword at Rory and stalked toward him. “Not yet.”

  “Oh, so you want to stay with me?” Rory threw back his head and laughed at the idea. “Poor, poor Doon. You're like a little lost puppy without me. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have no use for you anymore.”

  “One more fight.” When Doon spoke, his voice was chillingly devoid of emotion. “One more fight, and then I'll go. If you're a man of honor, you won't deny me what I want.” A cruel smile tugged at the corners of Doon's lips. “I challenge you, Rory McCray.”

  24

  Hushed murmurs rippled through the crowd as Rory considered Doon's challenge. For over a minute, he didn't move or speak. Rory knew he was in a tough spot. A real man wouldn't back down from a challenge, but he was no match for Doon. After watching the pirate fight, Rory already knew there was no way he could win.

  “Come on, now! Don't tell me you're afraid!” Doon taunted him. “Look at me! I'm bloody, bruised... broken! Are you really going to decline the challenge of a man who's half-dead already?”

  “Half-dead!” Rory chuckled at Doon's remark—although it was a nervous chuckle. “You look well enough to me, Captain Doon.”

  As if to prove him wrong, Doon leaned forward and spat on the ground, spraying blood from his lips. “Are you sure about that?”

  As a man of honor, Rory knew there was only one way to respond to Doon's challenge. He was surrounded by people who had chosen to follow him, who had chosen to put their faith in him. Rory refused to look like a coward in front of all his people. “Alright,” he said as he slowly rose from his seat. “Alright, Captain Doon, I accept your challenge.”

  Before Rory could take a single step, Kieran grabbed his arm. “Brother... don't,” he begged him. “You're a leader of men. No one's actually expecting you to meet the demands of a man like Doon. Just send him on his way and be done with it!”

  “I'm not meeting his demands, Kieran. This...” Rory heaved a sigh. “This is a matter of honor between me and him.”

  “Don't be a bloody idiot!” Kieran growled at him. “And if you must do this, let me fight in your place! I'm a better swordsman than you. I always have been. If you choose a champion, no one will question it!”

  Rory leaned down, closer to Kieran. As his lips hovered over his brother's ear, he whispered, “If I die, don't let everything go to waste. I want you to lead my army, alright? They'll follow you. They'll follow another McCray. I know they will.”

  “They won't,” Kieran disagreed. “And even if they did, I have no use for an army. The battle for the throne is your fight, not mine. I don't give a toss about thrones and queens, so let me fight Doon! I've got a better chance than you, Rory. I... don't want to lose another brother.”

  “No...” Rory was shaking his head as he stepped away from Kieran. “I won't look like a coward in front of all these people. I won't.”

  “Throw Doon in the prison again!” Kieran screamed at his brother as he headed to the arena. “Or shove him out the door! No one expects you to accept the challenge of a criminal, brother! Come back!”

  Kieran was desperate to convince his younger brother, but Rory
wouldn't listen. As he left the stands and headed into the arena, two of Rory's soldiers rushed forward and presented him with a collection of weapons. Rory chose two light swords, the easiest to wield. Two more of Rory's men grabbed Roderick and forced him out of the arena. As he watched Roderick go, Doon wondered where they were taking him.

  “Hello again, Doon!” Rory pleasantly greeted him when they met in the center of the arena. “This is an unexpected turn of events. I bet you were waiting for this moment, weren't you? Oh, I'm sure you were.”

  “Well, you didn't have to accept. You could've rescinded my freedom and thrown me in a dungeon again. But you didn't.” Doon lifted both of his swords, testing their weight, trying to decide which one he wanted for each hand. In the end, he left the smaller sword in his left hand. “The fact that you're standing here right now... I can admire that.”

  “I should have thrown you back in prison,” Rory agreed. “But you didn't leave me much of a choice when you challenged me to a duel in front of all these people. I'm not a coward, Doon. And I don't want anyone to think I am.”

  “You're not,” Doon agreed. “Clearly. A coward would never be brave enough to face me.”

  Rory pointed his swords at Doon, as if that would make him look threatening. “I really don't want to kill you, Doon. I actually like you.”

  “Good!” Doon replied. “Unfortunately for you, I don't like you, and I actually do want to kill you.”

  “Is it harder to hold a sword when you're missing some fingers?” Rory taunted him. “It seems like that would affect your ability to fight with that hand.”

  “Why don't you come over here, Rory? I can show you how difficult it is.”

  Rory didn't close the distance between them, so Doon charged forward. After evading two strikes from Doon's sword, Rory already knew he was outmatched. He tried to fight back, but Doon was too fast. When he felt one of Doon's swords slicing the underside of his arm, he screamed.

  Doon temporarily retreated, chuckling. Whether he wanted to give Rory a break or whether he was toying with him was anyone's guess. For a moment or so, Doon paced back and forth, grinning and laughing.

  When Doon attacked again, it was unexpected, and he easily knocked one of Rory's swords out of his hand. Rory gripped his remaining sword with both hands, determined to save himself with it. Doon unleashed a flurry of strikes on Rory's single sword, and Rory simply couldn't match him—he didn't even come close. When Doon's blade sliced his wrist, Rory dropped his second sword and fell to his knees.

  Rory reached into his vest, trying to pull out a gun, but Doon saw what he was going to do. Before Rory could aim, Doon kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it sailing through the air. Chuckling again, Doon walked over to the gun and claimed it for himself.

  “Don't kill me, Doon!” Rory pleaded with him. “I don't think you really want to kill me. Deep down, you know you like me. Every man secretly appreciates his rivals.”

  “I don't like you.” Doon ran the edge of his blade along Rory's chin. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Think about it, though!” Rory's plea continued. “We should be a team... you can work with me! I don't know why you're so loyal to Loreina... she's a wicked, wicked woman. If you stand with me, I will see you rewarded when we win.”

  “The wicked woman pays well!” Doon exclaimed, snorting and cackling. “I doubt your reward would be half as comparable.”

  “If the throne was mine, and you helped me take it, I'd give you any reward you wanted! Anything! I'd be more generous than Loreina ever would be!” Rory claimed. “Think about it, Doon! Together, we'd be unstoppable. Honestly, I've always admired you. And... I know we've had our differences, and maybe I was cruel, but you could forgive me if you tried! I'm not a horrid man, you know. I even have the support of the princess! She and I are--”

  Doon suddenly thrust his sword into Rory's chest. He even twisted the blade a bit, carving it into Rory's heart. Rory's final expression was one of shock. He didn't expect Doon to kill him—he had actually expected to convince him.

  Doon returned his sword to its sheath and headed out of the arena. He expected someone to try to stop him, but no one did.

  Except for Kitt. As he headed through the arena's exit, she suddenly ran into his path.

  “Doon!” As Kitt rushed toward him, her face was panicked and pale. “Doon, are you alright? You're hurt, aren't you? I saw you get injured... is it very bad?”

  Doon didn't say a word, he simply lifted her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder. The fact that he still had the strength to carry her after all he had been through was impressive.

  “Doon!” Kitt shrieked his name and flailed her arms. “Doon, put me down! You're being ridiculous! What are you doing?”

  “I'm capturing you, of course,” Doon matter-of-factly stated, then he fled from the arena with his precious haul in tow.

  25

  “Doon... come on... Doon!” Kitt didn't flail too much—after all, he was injured, and she didn't want to hurt him. At the same time, she wasn't thrilled with the idea of being toted around like an oversized valise. “Please put me down!”

  Kitt had been hanging from Doon's shoulder for nearly five minutes, and there was an adequate distance between them and the arena, so he finally ceded to her demands and lowered her to her feet. “There. Happy? Don't try to run.”

  “I don't feel good about this! Roderick and Miles were with me. I don't want to just abandon them!”

  “Miles will find his way back... he always does. As for Roderick, I'm sure he'll sop up his tears soon enough.”

  “Roderick saved you!” Kitt reminded him. “You could try to be a bit more grateful.”

  “So? I also saved him once,” Doon countered. “Kitt... you're coming with me whether you like it or not. Don't worry about Roddy right now. Keep walking.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. Doon's strides were long, so she had to take two steps to his one.

  “Where are we going, exactly?”

  “To a place... a few miles out of town. If something happened, my men were supposed to rendezvous with me there.”

  “Place is very vague,” Kitt snorted. “You're not taking me somewhere unsavory, are you?”

  “No.” Doon chuckled at the suggestion. “No... it's just a lake, a short distance away from Dovyr. And by short distance, I mean seven or eight miles, so I hope you've got good shoes for walking.” When he glanced back at Kitt, he was smirking. “If not, I could always carry you again.”

  “What about you? Aren't you tired? You just fought a dozen battles and... you're injured. Are you sure you're alright?”

  “I'm fine.” His reply sounded a bit cold, as if he didn't care for her concern.

  But Kitt was concerned for him, even though she was probably a fool for feeling that way. Doon said he was capturing her again, and she had no reason to doubt him. It certainly felt like a kidnapping, since he had no regard for her feelings, where she wanted to go, or what she wanted to do. Doon would never change, and yet she couldn't stop worrying about him.

  “What about your wounds? Can I see them?”

  “No.”

  “Please?” Despite his quick refusal, Kitt insisted. “I want to know you'll be alright. It would put my mind at ease.”

  “You want to know if I'll be alright...” Doon repeated her words with a sneer. “Kitten, you should hate me. I don't know why you're so concerned about me.”

  “Well, I don't hate you.” Kitt reclaimed her wrist from Doon's grip and started peeling off his coat against his will. “And until you let me see the severity of your wounds, I'm going to keep insisting!”

  “You're incorrigible,” Doon said as his eyes rolled to the heavens. He allowed her to strip him of his coat, then he pulled his shirt over his head.

  “Incorrigible. That's an impressive word for a pirate.”

  “Privateer,” he corrected her with a wink.

  First, Kitt checked Doon's back, which was a sad and sickening sight
. Healing gashes, decade-old scars and fresh wounds littered his flesh in equal number. Then she turned her attention to his shoulder, which was probably the worst wound of all.

  “It's a good thing I didn't injure my hip, or you'd be tugging off my breeches right now,” Doon teased her. “Let's be honest, you've been waiting for a reason to tear them off.”

  Kitt just shook her head at him. She wasn't in the mood for his sarcasm, not when his wound looked so deep and red. “We should bind this, don't you think?” she asked. “We should try to stop the bleeding.”

  “And what do we bind it with? Do we tear up my shirt?”

  “No.” Kitt lifted the hem of her dress, seized the bottom of her petticoat and tried to rip it. But the garment was made of strong stuff, and she could barely get it to tear.

  “Are you sure you want to sacrifice your petticoat, Kitten?” When she gave him a nod, Doon dropped to his knees, grabbed the bottom of the garment, and tore off a long, wide strip. Kitt gasped when she heard the material ripping, not because she didn't want him to, but because he tore off more of the material than she expected. “Here.” He handed her the strip of cloth and returned to his feet. “Get to binding.”

  Kitt lifted Doon's arm and proceeded to wrap the cloth around his injury. It was hardly the best option to treat his wound, but it was all they could do at the moment. As she wound the cloth around his injured shoulder, he unabashedly studied her face.

  Doon's voice was quiet when he suddenly said, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  Kitt's eyes widened. She looked at him, looked at his shoulder, then looked at him again. She had to double check, because she couldn't believe the words were actually coming from Doon's lips. “No. You've never said anything like that to me before.” Her cheeks were swimming in flames as she replayed his compliment in her head, again and again. “Doon... are you sure you're alright? Are you suffering from a serious head injury, and now you don't know what you're saying? Or maybe one of your wounds is infected, so you have a fever...” Kitt temporarily abandoned the makeshift bandage and laid her hand against his forehead. He didn't feel especially feverish.