In the gray-green shadows, he imagined the earthy smell of sand. Blood. The Saracens’ savage war cries. His body thrummed with battle fervor. This time, he would spill English blood in the name of his king, in the name of justice and duty. He would fight to save the woman he loved.
An arrow whizzed past his ear and thunked into a tree trunk. He spied the archer in the trees.
“Surrender to me, or die,” he shouted.
Laughing, the man nocked another arrow. Before Fane sheathed his sword and grabbed his bow, an arrow launched from behind him. With a gurgled cry, the man plummeted into the undergrowth.
“Thank you, Kester,” Fane called.
“My pleasure, milord.”
Arrows flew like rain. With a lusty roar, Fane raised his bow. His first arrow flew straight and true. His mouth set in a determined smile. He pitied Villeaux. He pitied all of the damned traitors. Their time had come.
Rexana twisted her bound hands. Broken grass stalks scratched her skin, and she groaned. Cursed ropes. Garmonn had tied them tightly. Her fingers were beginning to go numb.
She fought tears. She must not despair. She must escape.
She must warn Fane.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she pondered her options. Garmonn had forced her to sit on a saddle blanket in the center of the glade, in clear view of his men. As she moved her leg a fraction, easing a cramp in her thigh, her gown rustled. A ruffian near her stopped polishing his dagger, and watched until she settled. She could not even burp without the men knowing.
Indignation heated the anger simmering within her. Earlier, with nauseating courtesy, Garmonn had pushed her down on her knees upon the blanket. “I cannot have you running away, can I?”
She sat, turning her face away.
He chuckled, crouched next to her, and swept a hand down her hair. “One day, lovely Rexana, you will want me.”
“Never. My heart belongs to Fane.” How easily the words flew from her lips. Her heart almost burst with the rightness of her declaration.
Garmonn spat in the grass. “You care for him?”
Aye! The answer soared inside her like a dancer leaping for the sky. “I love him. Body, heart, and soul.”
Garmonn’s eyes flashed with fury. He had withdrawn his hand, shoved to standing, then stormed off to speak with his cohorts.
Voices carried on the breeze. She spied Rudd standing near the horses, deep in conversation with Garmonn. Anguish slashed through her, so intense she almost cried out. Her brother had made no effort to help her. On occasion he glanced at her, as though to be sure she was well treated, but when she met his gaze, he looked away.
He nodded at something Garmonn said, and her throat tightened. Why did Rudd continue to aid Garmonn? Did he believe Garmonn’s threat to do her harm? Did he try to protect her? Or, did he intend to help her escape later, mayhap when darkness fell?
She wriggled her hands again. She would not sit idle and wait for rescue.
A few yards away, men began sharpening their swords. The rasped sound grated on her frazzled nerves. Zounds! If only she could loosen her bindings. Or create a distraction.
A strangled cry came from the woods.
Garmonn froze. The men near her ceased their sharpening.
Another cry. A scream.
Mutters ripped through the glade. The men around her picked up their weapons.
Hope swelled within Rexana, and she tugged on the knotted ropes. Had Fane and the guards somehow tracked her to the glade? Had they come for her? Foolish hopes, yet she could not quell the burgeoning excitement.
She braced herself to run. Any moment now, there would be a chance—
Garmonn stared at her. Hard.
He gestured to the men nearby. “Go check on the others.”
They nodded, then disappeared into the woods. Garmonn’s gaze remained on her. Rexana trembled. Look away, her mind cried.
His lips curled, and he crossed to her. Hellfire! If she tried to bolt now, she would not get more than a few steps. She swallowed crushing disappointment.
As his footfalls approached, she pointedly stared off in the opposite direction.
He kicked shredded grass over her gown. “Get up.”
“Why?”
He grabbed her upper arm, and she winced. “Up. Now.”
Pushing her heels into the blanket, she rose on unsteady legs. She straightened, just as a man crashed through the underbrush into the glade. Blood stained the front of his tunic and soaked his right sleeve. His eyes rolled in their sockets.
“Linf—” With a grisly thud, the man fell face first to the ground. Arrows protruded from his back and shoulder.
Garmonn cursed.
Rexana gasped. Joy, then terror, whirled inside her. Fane had come. Yet, he did not realize the glade harbored armed traitors who planned to kill him.
A scream tore from her lips. “Fane. Beware!”
Garmonn’s fingers dug into her flesh with punishing force.
“Fane!”
Garmonn yanked her in front of him, shielding his body with hers. “Go on. Scream again.” His mocking laughter burned her ear. “Bring him here so we can kill him.”
Her rising cry fizzled in her throat.
His arm slid around her neck, and he dragged her flush against him. Her back bumped against his torso. Her bound hands pressed near his pelvis, close to his groin. Revulsion snaked through her.
“Ready your weapons,” Garmonn called from behind her. He drew his sword, and the blade glinted. “’Tis not as we planned, but Linford has come to us. He must not leave here alive.”
She struggled, shaking her head.
“You”—Garmonn’s arm tightened on her—“will stay with me.”
He hauled her forward, closer to the forest’s outskirts. Quiet spread over the glade and trees like an invisible blanket. Deadly quiet, as though a predator waited in the shadows. She hardly dared breathe.
“Linford!” Garmonn raised his sword. “I know you lurk in the woods.”
No answer. The silence dragged.
She felt an exited shudder ripple through Garmonn. He wanted this fight. He craved the chance to kill. Her skin crawled with horror.
“Show your face, Linford,” Garmonn shouted. “Come forth, for I have your wife.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rudd edge closer. She prayed he would help her. She prayed that when the battle ended, he would be alive and hale.
Snapping twigs drew her attention to the forest. She heard hoofbeats. Leaves stirred.
A rider emerged from the shadows. He sat upon a huge, gray destrier and carried a shield.
Her pulse froze, then drummed a desperate beat. Fane.
At the forest’s fringe, he drew his horse to a halt. His loose black hair drifted in the sunlight, and his angry brown eyes blazed almost the same inky shade. His beautiful mouth flattened into a line.
“Linford,” Garmonn muttered.
“Let her go.” Fane spoke softly, yet his words carried through the glade like an icy blast.
Garmonn’s rough laughter stirred her hair. His arm squeezed in mock affection. “Rexana is mine now. She has sworn her love to me. She will wed me and bear my sons, as promised long ago.”
Fane’s gaze narrowed.
“He lies,” she cried. “Do not believe him.”
With a growl, Garmonn jerked his arm back. The glade spun before her in a painful blur of color.
“Let her go,” Fane repeated, this time with more force. His lip curled back from his teeth. Her skin prickled with the realization how close his fury was to exploding.
“Ah, Linford,” Garmonn crooned. “Man to man, crusader to crusader, at last we will settle this matter between us.”
“Drop your weapons and surrender. Your fellow traitors are to do the same. I command you, in the name of our king.”
A breath hissed from Garmonn. “Come nearer, fool.”
Rexana squirmed in his hold. “Do not!” she choked out. “They mean to kill
you.”
“The glade is surrounded.” Fane’s voice carried a calming edge. “No man will leave here alive, unless he surrenders to me. If you do not believe me, ask those who were keeping watch in the trees. They are all dead. All but two, who are now my prisoners.”
“You, too, are a dead man,” Garmonn snarled.
“We shall see.” Fane kicked his heels into his horse’s sides. The animal surged forward.
Straight for her and Garmonn.
“Kill him!” Garmonn shouted.
At the same moment, arrows zinged out of the woods and into the glade. The air swarmed with steel-tipped bolts. Men shouted. Screamed in agony. A man near her collapsed, clutching at the arrow embedded in his chest.
The destrier’s hooves thundered. The animal’s path did not waver. It would trample her and Garmonn into the grass.
His arm a band around her neck, Garmonn dragged her backward. She struggled. Kicked his shins. Swearing, he pulled her toward a fallen tree.
Fane’s horse pounded closer. Its breath seemed louder than the scream burning her throat.
Garmonn would never reach the tree.
As though he reached the same conclusion, he halted. Light flashed on his sword. He aimed for the destrier’s legs.
If he wounded the horse, Fane would fall to the ground. He might be injured. He might even be crushed under the dying animal.
Rexana frantically twisted her hands, pressed against Garmonn’s pelvis. A plan shot into her mind, tainted by disgust. Yet, if she could save Fane’s life, she must do it.
She rammed her fists into Garmonn’s groin.
He yelped. Jolted forward. The sword’s tip listed to the ground. His hold relaxed for the barest instant.
Breaking free, she ran. One step. Two.
Hoofbeats rang in her ears. The ground shook under her feet. She pitched to the side. Staggered.
A muscled arm caught her waist. Garmonn!
“Nay!” she screeched.
“Hold, wife.” Fane lifted her onto the galloping horse and seated her sideways in front of him. He shifted his shield to his left hand. With a sharp tug on the reins, he wheeled the destrier around. His left arm settled against her lower back, supporting her, as he urged the horse to a canter.
An arrow streaked past his head. More arrows pinged off the shield. Muttering a foreign sounding oath, he held the shield higher. “Keep your head down.”
She slumped against Fane’s chest. Fear, relief, and gratitude flooded through her. Her bound hands itched. She longed to touch and kiss him. To tell him how foolish she had been to go with Garmonn. To ask him to forgive her. To tell him she loved him.
As they entered the forest, shadows cooled her skin. Branches tugged at her clothing. Kester edged out from behind a tree, along with several men-at-arms. She recognized other knights from Tangston in the undergrowth, bows raised, skulking toward the glade. With a nod to Fane and her, the knights moved past. Moments later, their attack roars joined the battle’s cacophony.
Fane halted the destrier. After handing his shield to Kester, Fane dismounted. Looking up at her, he set his hands at her waist and drew her down. His gaze locked with hers.
His possessive hold soothed her shattered nerves. His hands’ warmth flooded through her flesh to the very core of her. She leaned back against the destrier’s warm side. It felt wonderful to be near Fane again. Her husband. Her beloved. Her soul mate. Her eyes moistened with tears.
Wiping sweat from his lip, Fane stared down at her. His eyes held a violent storm of emotions, among them fury, hurt, and concern.
She did not know what to say first, or how to begin. Yet, she must. “Fane,” she said on a ragged whisper, “I—”
“Later.” He dipped his head. Caught her lips in a deep, thorough kiss that shot straight to her soul and melted her into sheer bliss. Then, he turned her slightly, whipped his dagger from his belt and slashed her ropes.
She rubbed her sore wrists. “Thank you.”
Fane looked at her bruised, reddened skin. His expression darkened to a forbidding scowl. “Stay here with Kester. I cannot be worrying about your safety.”
“I can help. I can shoot a bow—”
“You have done quite enough, love.”
He took his shield from Kester, drew his sword, then stalked toward the glade.
She watched him go. Watched the light slant over him and illuminate his muscled physique. Anguish knotted her insides. He was angry, yet he still cared for her. She had seen it in his gaze before he turned away. When he returned from battle, she would tell him she loved him.
An arrow thudded into a tree not far from her. She jumped.
Kester hurried to her side, pointing to a tall patch of ferns. “Milady, hide there. Keep down. You will be safe.”
She shoved her torment to the back of her mind, nodded, and crept off in the direction he had indicated. Weapons littered the ground, likely taken from men they had killed. She glanced over the bows, swords, and knives, then snatched up a dagger. She would not be unarmed.
Hunkering down, she peered through the ferns. She could not see the glade. She rose up to see past the outlying trees and bushes, and gasped. Many of the traitors lay dead. Others, wounded, were surrendering to Fane’s men, who were cautiously stepping out of the forest. Fane and Garmonn stood facing each other, their swords raised in challenge. Fane had dropped his shield into the grass, as though to even the fight.
Her fingers flew to her brooch. Where was Rudd? Was he among the dead? Oh, God. Nay!
She crawled forward. Rudd’s head popped up from behind the fallen tree. Arrows peppered the log’s peeling bark. More arrows whizzed over the tree, yet he did not return fire. Why?
Did he intend to surrender, or run?
As she watched, he slunk down the log’s length to where it almost touched the water. An arrow flew through the air . . . and plowed into his left shoulder.
He cried out in pain.
“Rudd!” She bolted from the ferns.
She heard Fane curse. Heard the arrows whistling past, so close the air burned her skin.
“Rexana,” Fane bellowed. “Get back.” Sweat glistened on his brow. His face contorted with rage as he circled in a lethal dance with Garmonn.
“I will not leave my brother.”
“Do not risk your life for him.” His gaze trained on Garmonn, Fane jerked his head. “Obey me. Now.”
His tone brooked immediate compliance. She ducked a flying arrow. “I cannot.”
“Rexana!” Fane glared at her.
A skin-crawling laugh burst from Garmonn. He lunged.
Rexana screamed.
Snarling a curse, Fane darted aside. Metal clanged. Garmonn yelled, thrusting again. The swords squealed, locked together. Fane’s arm shook. As she watched, unable to look away, he jerked back and attacked. He met Garmonn’s onslaught with cold, efficient grace.
Fear slashed through Rexana. She glanced from Fane to the fallen log. How could she choose between him and Rudd, when she loved them both?
She prayed for Fane’s safety, even as she ran to the tree.
Rudd emerged. Gripping a broadsword, he stood and threw a leg over the log. With an awkward turn, he slid to the ground. He had yanked the arrow from his flesh. His left arm hung limp at his side, blood streaming down his sleeve.
As he straightened, he stared at Fane and Garmonn.
Oh, God. Did he mean to kill Fane?
Rexana crossed to him. She gestured for him to follow her into the trees. “Come. We must tend your wound.”
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I am not done.”
Rexana snuffed welling panic. “Do not be a fool. Save yourself, so you may tell Linford the truth. Tell him you are innocent.”
Rudd’s fingers flexed on the sword. He grimaced, as though he fought agonizing pain. “Aye, he will know the truth.”
He strode toward the two men.
“Stop!” she shrieked.
Garmonn grinned at Rudd. “K
ill Linford. Go on!”
The barest smile touched Rudd’s lips.
Choking down her terror, she caught up with Rudd to plant herself between him and the fight. “Do not. I beg you, as your sister.”
Garmonn leapt out of Fane’s reach. Their swords clashed. “Kill him! Now. He cannot fight us both.”
Rudd sidestepped her, and horror clawed up inside Rexana. “Rudd, you are not a murderer.”
Steel shrieked. Fane cast her a furious glance. “Get to safety. Go!”
“Aye, go,” Garmonn mocked. His blade slashed down, almost catching Fane across the stomach. “Or watch me disembowel your husband.”
Rexana looked at her brother, poised to step into the fray, and fought a crushing wave of despair. “Rudd will not fight.”
Garmonn laughed. “Does the clever sheriff know Rudd planned to murder him?” As Fane’s gaze sparked with wrath, Garmonn’s tone turned triumphant. “Rudd’s plans for rebellion are under way. Once you are dead, Sheriff, Warringham will be ours.”
“Rudd is not guilty of treason,” Rexana shrilled. “You forced him to obey you. You wanted Fane killed for your own selfish interests. You wanted to marry me to gain access to the crown’s privileged circles. I vow you planned to overthrow the king’s trusted men.”
Fane growled. “Is that so, Garmonn?”
“Tsk, tsk, Rexana,” Garmonn muttered.
Her nerves jarred. The murderous intent in his eyes promised he might turn his sword on her too when he had finished with Fane.
Stepping forward, Rudd raised his weapon.
She clutched at her brooch.
Fane might die. Her brother might die.
A last, desperate hope flared within her. She stumbled forward. Fought for words. Fought to interrupt the inevitable combat in any way possible, as her fingers closed on her dagger. “I know what you confessed to me, Garmonn. I know you. I remember your unspeakable cruelty last winter.”
Garmonn flinched. His merciless gaze shifted from Fane to her, then back to Fane.
She shut out the inner voice that screamed for her not to speak, the fear gusting inside her like a blizzard. “I will no longer be silent about what you did to Thomas.”
Daring Damsels Page 62
