The Angel And The Prince

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “On your feet,” he commanded.

  She shot to her feet. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It is time to move on,” he said.

  Ryen stood, dumbfounded. Then he watched as anger seeped over her face. She scowled at him for a long moment, then straightened with indignation and adjusted her sleeve, pulling it up over her shoulder.

  Bryce steeled himself against his desire by concentrating on how much he wanted to kill her. To put his hands around her neck and squeeze. These thoughts did nothing to lessen the lust in his loins. He knew he could never kill her. He narrowed his eyes. “Do not try to seduce me, or I will take what you offer.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Would you rather my clothing fell from my body?”

  A dark smiled curved his lips.

  Her brows furrowed. She turned away from him only to have the pain consume her body. She clutched at her arm, keeping her back to him so he would not see her agony.

  Bryce knew she was in pain, and some part of him wanted to go to her, but he did not move. She did not want his help; she had made that clear. He waited until she straightened, bringing the pain under control enough to face him. “You are a fool for not letting me see your wound. It could well become infected.”

  “Why would you care?”

  Her question startled him. “I do not wish my prisoners to die,” he stated. “As you did not.”

  “I am not your prisoner,” she responded weakly, and sat on a rock.

  Bryce’s sharp eyes saw that she could barely move the arm. Perhaps it was not wise to argue with her when she was so pale…so weak. She sat in the dark cave, her head bent, her dark hair hanging in long curls over her shoulders. He watched the damn sleeve slowly slide down her arm again and wished that her clothes were dry. They had still been wet when he had scooped them up and carried them to a rock outside only minutes earlier. The damp cave had not allowed them to dry at all.

  Finally, Ryen raised her eyes to him. “We need food,” she said. “Or do you plan to starve yourself?”

  Her words were as sharp as a sword’s blade. “I have already eaten,” he said, thinking back to the berries and roots he had gathered and eaten before sunrise. He watched disbelief flash in her large blue eyes and almost smiled. She had no way of knowing that he had picked enough for her, also. She shot to her feet and marched past him, but he caught her right arm. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  Her eyes narrowed, her back stiffened. “Take your hand off me.”

  “I have no intention of letting you out of my sight.”

  Her lip curled as her eyes swept him. “You think if I wanted to escape I could not?” She yanked her arm free of his hold. “You selfish English dog! I hold nothing but contempt for you.”

  “You would not talk to me thus if you were a man.”

  “Then you have known only cowards,” she retorted.

  What a fiery little wench. He thought back to the Wolf Pack for an instant, the way they stood up to the knights in the field. “Coward is not a word I would use to describe the men I have known.”

  “No? How about pigs? Louts? Flea-ridden maggots?”

  A chuckled churned from his throat. Ryen marched past him, but before she left the cave, he said, “There are berries and roots in the corner.”

  Ryen stopped and turned. He watched her hide her embarrassment under a coat of pride. Most women would have broken down in tears long ago, but not Angel. She traded insult for insult. She could easily fend for herself, but what was most impressive to Bryce was that she did not cower before him.

  She straightened her shoulders, adjusted her sleeve, and moved to the corner of the cave where he had placed the food. She knelt, her small hands scooping up the red berries. As she brought a berry to her mouth, that accursed sleeve slid to her elbow again where a chestnut curl caught it. Her hair had dried in rebellious spirals along her back. Bryce found his eyes roaming over the path of her dark tendrils until they ended at the curve in her back near her waist where another curve began. Without her armor, she was a very pleasing morsel.

  As if reading his thoughts, she straightened and looked over her shoulder at him.

  Those blue eyes glistened in the light that shimmered through the waterfall, those full lips slightly parted. Bryce turned away from her. The little vixen! How could she have been a virgin with sultry looks like those, especially surrounded by all those men? He stepped quickly out of the cave. I cannot think of her like that, he reminded himself. She is a French prisoner. I must treat her as one.

  Still, the image of that demure sultry look was engraved on his memory. Those lips…so tempting. So ripe for kissing. He wanted to feel them against his own again.

  No wonder those weak Frenchmen had put the little wench in charge of their army! With fiery looks like those, it took all his will not to drop to his knees and pledge his eternal devotion to her. He reached out with both hands to the waterfall and scooped up some water. He doused his face and shook his head, trying to free himself of her spell.

  “Bryce.”

  She was right behind him. Prisoner, he thought. Just a prisoner.

  “I think my arm is broken,” she said quietly.

  “Can you move it?” he asked tersely.

  “A little. Lucien can set it. I’ve seen him do it before.”

  Bryce’s back grew rigid. Escape. Was her mind always working? He turned to her. Her eyes were large and alluring. “I can set it,” he said. She withdrew until her back was against the stones at the entrance to the cave. He suspected by the way she moved it that her arm wasn’t really broken.

  Bryce stepped forward. He stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes were a dark blue that reminded him of the sky on a very clear day, her lips full and kissable. He lowered his eyes. Her chemise was almost translucent and he could see her dark nipples through the thin material, see the shape of her breasts. He swallowed in a suddenly dry throat and reached out to take her wounded arm gently into his hands. He felt her trembling and raised questioning dark eyes to her. Was she cold?

  Wide, innocent blue eyes returned his gaze before falling to his lips. Carefully, without taking his eyes from hers, he slid the sleeve down her arm. The roar of the waterfall was nothing compared to the roar of passion that raged through his body. He stepped closer to her, his hot body touching the linen chemise, his hard muscles caressing the softness of her skin. He felt her inhale, pressing her breasts against his chest. A curl from her hair floated down the side of her face, and he reached up to brush it aside. Her arm was all but forgotten; his fingertips traced the outline of her cheek as he brushed the strand back. Her hair was as soft as her chemise. He ran his fingers through her mane of curls. Crushing the waves of her hair in an iron grip, he suddenly pulled her face close to his.

  She opened her mouth slightly and her sweet breath fanned his lips. Her body pressed close to his, hot and soft.

  Then he was kissing her. His hot kiss moved across her mouth, demanding entrance, forcing her to yield to his expertise. When she parted her lips, he drove his tongue deep into the recesses of her mouth. It was like tasting a sweet berry. And he wanted more…so much more.

  “Ryen!”

  It was his passion crying out to her. God, how he wanted her.

  “Ryen!”

  Bryce broke away, glancing over his shoulder. Voices!

  “Ryen! Where are you?” A search party! Had they been seen?

  He turned back to her. She was opening her mouth to call out. He quickly clamped his hand over her lips. “Not a word,” he hissed. His passion had suddenly cooled. Had she somehow seen them coming? Tried to distract him by saying her arm was broken? He glanced down at her arm. He had seen many limbs that had been broken in battle, but hers looked nothing like those. It had been a ploy, he was sure. He glanced back through the falls, trying to make out how many there were, but he could not see even one. He swiveled his head to the cause of all of his problems. She stared at him with those wide eyes, eyes that
only moments before had seduced him into wanting her. He would deal with her seduction later. He moved her back into the darkness of the cave.

  “I won’t be taken again,” he promised her. “Not by the French.”

  Something flashed in those large eyes…something soft and tender.

  “Ryen!”

  Bryce braced himself for her attempt at escape, but she was motionless against him. He pulled her back into a dark corner of the cave. Again his eyes sought the entrance. He could see no movement through the waterfall, but they were out there. He glanced down at Ryen. She was staring at him, quietly, not moving. He frowned. If it were him, he would be fighting to free himself. Perhaps she realized a fight was useless against his strength. Perhaps she was smarter than he realized. Or perhaps, just perhaps, she had enjoyed the kiss as much as he had…

  Cursing, he whirled her around so her back was pressed full against him, his hand tight over her mouth. God’s blood! he thought. I cannot enjoy the thought of such things. She is my enemy. I must see her delivered to England.

  “Ryen!”

  Even thought the voice was growing closer, he didn’t fear discovery. The falls would hide them well enough. The French knights didn’t know they were here. But then Bryce tensed as a new thought struck him. The clothes! Good Lord, if they discovered the clothing, they would scour the area and there would be no chance for escape.

  He pulled Ryen to the waterfall, holding her close against him, and stepped out onto the ledge. He peered cautiously around the falling water to the spot where he had placed the clothing between two boulders to dry in the sun. His sharp eyes searched the surrounding wood. No one was near the clothes. They were safe.

  Then the branches on a nearby bush shook and parted as a French knight stepped forward, moving closer to the muddy shore of the river. He was looking down, searching the ground, flicking aside stones with his drawn sword. All he had to do was glance up over the boulder to his right and all hope for escape would be gone. Bryce held his breath. He had never prayed to God before, but he did now. The knight stepped closer to the rocks.

  Ryen shifted her stance just then and her foot hit a small stone, sending it over the ledge and into the roaring water.

  Bryce angrily pulled her back against the wall. His eyes fastened on the man. Had he heard? The knight was using his toe to brush aside a small plant growing in between the rocks. Bryce glanced down into the falls, following the path of the small stone. That’s when he saw them, more small rocks littering the side of the ledge. He raised his eyes to the knight. Without releasing his hold on Ryen’s mouth, Bryce bent and scooped a good-sized stone into his hand. He arced his arm over his head, sending the stone flying through the air. It landed behind the knight in the forest, cracking loudly against the trunk of a tree.

  At the sound, the knight whirled, raising his sword before him. He hesitated for only a moment before moving off into the forest.

  That had been close. Too close. Anger quickly replaced Bryce’s relief. He pulled Ryen back into the cave and released her. His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over her. “I will not be so easily distracted next time.”

  She turned her back on him. She could not be trusted, he decided. She would have to be watched. But could he watch her and keep his distance from her at the same time?

  It was growing more and more difficult to convince himself that it was she who had killed Runt. She had not set the blaze. But I would not have been in her camp if she hadn’t captured me, and if I was not in her camp, then Runt would not have been there. So it was her fault! Still, if I had not allowed myself to be caught…he did not like the way his argument was turning. Angry, he spun away from her to step onto the ledge.

  Bryce’s eyes scanned the forest. The knight was gone. There was no sign of any other men, either, although he knew they were still out there. He returned to Ryen and clasped her shoulder.

  She pulled it free, wincing as her abrupt movement jarred her wounded arm. “You don’t have to lead me around like an animal,” she snapped.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “I have no chains to bind your wrists; therefore my hands will act as such.”

  Her sapphire eyes danced darkly in the twinkling light that reflected through the shimmering waterfall. “Have no fear, Prince. If I chose to escape I’m sure that you, of all men, could easily thwart me. Your touch is not warranted, even by a mere slut.”

  His words thrown back in his face were unsettling. Yet the rich sarcasm with which she delivered them roused his anger. She was mocking him. Still, beneath the sarcasm he heard a hidden pain and he wanted to recant the accusation. Confused by the emotions she fueled in him, he turned toward the entrance. “Then follow me.”

  They had stopped only long enough to don their boots and for Ryen to replace her wet clothing. By midday, her tunic was dry, but the muddy forest and occasional puddles soaked her boots through to her leggings. Her feet were cold and her legs ached. Bryce had led her on, resting only once all day. Ryen’s pride would not allow her to request a break from his grueling pace, so she had trudged along after him.

  Finally, well after the sun had set, Bryce halted. Ryen’s entire body was numb. She was grateful for the pause and leaned her back against the cool bark of a tree. When she looked up at Bryce, his back was to her and the white light of the moon washed over his shoulder muscles. His head was raised to the sky for a long moment, his dark black hair falling over his strong shoulders. Then he turned to her. “We rest here for the night.”

  She waited only long enough for him to brush by her before she sighed and slid down the tree to the forest floor. As soon as she rested for a moment, all her pains came to life, culminating with a throbbing ache in her head. She put her head in her arms, wondering what he was trying to prove.

  Ryen raised her head slowly to see that Bryce was standing not far from her, staring out into the forest. He was like a statue, dark, impenetrable, and absolutely still. She wondered if she would ever be able to break through his defenses. Not that she wanted to, she told herself. She only wondered if it were possible. He is my enemy, she thought, as he has reminded me so many times. I only wanted my father to see what a great warrior I am to have captured the Prince of Darkness. I do not care of him.

  Then his head dropped in weariness and there was something in the movement that made her see him as a man instead of a soldier. The need to soothe his tired brow brought her to her feet. For some reason, she wanted to speak with him as if they weren’t enemies, as if they were merely a man and a woman. Perhaps it was his refusal to speak to her throughout the day that made Ryen want his conversation, perhaps it was because he looked so miserable that made her want to comfort him. Whatever it was, she found herself moving up behind him and placing her hand carefully on his shoulder. She felt every sinew tense, felt the conflict that clenched his fists. “What?” he asked tersely. “No dagger in your fist?”

  Ryen refused to be baited. But she dropped her hand at his open rejection. “If I were an English warrior would you hate me so?”

  He did not turn. “You are not English. And you never will be.”

  “Then why didn’t you just slit my throat when we were alone in my tent?” she asked.

  He turned then, his white smile glowing in the moonlight, his eyes dark and shadowed with anger. “I had no dagger.”

  She raised her chin. “Then kill me now.”

  His smiled disappeared. “There is no need now. You are my prisoner.” He stepped toward her. She retreated until he stopped mere inches from her. “Although I have every right, after what you did.”

  Fierce anger swept her. “I would never kill a child.”

  “And yet the fact remains that he is dead,” Bryce snarled.

  Ryen stared up into his black, hate-filled eyes. The boy was someone special to him, someone who had won his love. Suddenly she felt a flash of jealousy. “Who was he?”

  The question seemed to startle him. Then his face tightened and his jaw clenched. A rage so pow
erful that it threatened to shake the very ground beneath his feet trembled through his body. “My son,” he ground out.

  Ryen’s mouth dropped. Son, her mind repeated. How had the boy gotten into her camp? What in heaven was he doing in France? Why wasn’t he home with his mother? Mother. Even through her sorrow at Bryce’s loss, a nagging question rose in her mind; did he have a wife?

  She saw the bright agony that burned in his eyes, even through the fury. “Bryce, I –”

  “Don’t,” he growled, and whirled away from her.

  Only now did she begin to understand how deeply Bryce hated her. After a long moment, Ryen retreated to the tree she had sought shelter beneath. She sat at the base, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She watched him for a long time, standing only a few yards away, staring at the sky. She could not have felt farther from him had they been separated by a continent.

  She knew nothing of this man. And yet his kisses rendered her helpless as no weapon had ever done.

  A son, she thought again. The Prince of Darkness had a son. It had not been part of his legend. And somehow the thought made him more human. More touchable. Why would he bring his son, his most precious possession, into an enemy country? If she had children, she would see them safely tucked away in her father’s castle.

  Bryce came and sat at the bottom of the tree next to her. He did not look at her, did not face her.

  After a moment of silence, Ryen couldn’t help asking, “What was he doing in France?”

  Bryce turned his head to her, angered by her obtrusive questioning. His eyes burned into her and she felt his anger as if it were a slap in her face. He rose swiftly and marched again to his post before the stars.

  Ryen pursued him. “He was so young. Surely it was not your idea –”

  Bryce whirled on her, his face a vicious snarl. “What better place for a son than at his father’s side?”

  Ryen was horrified. “In the midst of war?”