A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She spotted him immediately. His tall form sat straight in the saddle. With the sun behind him, his bare shoulders glowed red. His hands were bound and his ankles were tied beneath the horse, but the guards still gave him a respectful distance.

  “You certainly don’t look like the Prince of Darkness I pictured,” Ryen heard one of the guards say as they drew closer to her.

  “They must give out titles to any beggar off the streets in England,” another mocked.

  “Where are your horns?”

  “Where is your legendary strength?”

  “If this is the best England has to offer, then we have nothing to worry about – isn’t that true, dog?”

  “Come on. Show us how strong England is,” one of the men goaded.

  Bryce’s head remained bent, his eyes lidded as if he were resting, but Ryen saw his shoulder muscles bunch and release, noticed the stiff set of his jaw. She knew if he were not bound he would have her men’s hearts in his hands.

  “He has no strength. Why, my woman could bring him to his knees.”

  “And she’d like it, too,” the second guard guffawed.

  The first guard clubbed the second with a clenched fist.

  “Do you think he understands us?” the third man wondered. “Maybe he speaks no French.”

  “He understands,” Ryen said, guiding her horse up beside Bryce’s. “Look at his eyes, see how they burn with hate. All the fires of hell are locked within his body.”

  “And they burn only for you, Angel,” Bryce said in English, his dark eyes swiveling toward her.

  Ryen felt herself being swept away by the heat of his gaze. Her heart began to pound, and flames of excitement burned up and down her spine, leaving her weak. She could not tear her gaze from his. As the horses moved, their thighs bumped, and even through the chain mail she wore, she could feel the strength in his legs. Ryen felt a tremor race through her body.

  “Have you come to torture me with kisses?” he wondered in a husky voice.

  Ryen could not take her gaze from his lips as they caressed each word. Remembering their kiss, she felt her own begin to tingle. Finally, Ryen looked away, licking her lips as she did so. Bryce’s soft chuckle reached her ears and she straightened her shoulders.

  “Apparently, your legend precedes you,” Ryen stated, quickly changing the subject. Bryce did not answer, and Ryen raised her eyes to his. She saw the frown of confusion that darkened his brow. “Many would meet you. And make you suffer for the sins of your king.”

  Bryce’s jaw tightened. “Sins I would gladly suffer for.”

  Ryen watched him, amazed at the regret she felt constricting her chest. They would throw him in the dungeon or have his head on the executioner’s block. Either way, Ryen wished…

  She had no right to wish anything where he was concerned! He’d murdered her people. He’d pillaged French towns. He had the most mysterious eyes…

  Ryen dropped her gaze again.

  “Perhaps the Angel of Death’s heart is not made of ice, as the stories say,” Bryce ventured.

  Ryen steeled herself against the emotions she felt stirring in her heart. “You are mistaken.”

  “Am I?” He chuckled softly.

  Ryen glanced at him. It was a mistake; she knew it immediately. He was staring at her, the corners of his lips curved up in a smile. Warm tingles shot up her spine; fire ignited in her lower stomach, warming her. She wanted to touch him. She felt an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through his mane of wild black hair and was shocked to find herself leaning in to do just that. She quickly straightened. She was shaking with the emotions he aroused in her. She had to escape the trembling that raced through her body. It wasn’t right! She spurred her horse and returned to where she belonged…the front of her army, wishing she could flee her emotions as easily as she had the Prince of Darkness.

  “You’re beautiful,” Bryce whispered in her ear, and nuzzled the soft nape of her neck. His strong hands stroked her back with a feathery touch before pulling her into a tight embrace. His warm lips traveled lightly up her neck, across her delicate jaw line, up to her mouth. His kiss was…

  Pretend. Ryen opened her eyes to lonely darkness. Her mattress felt cold beneath her. The sounds of the night drifted into her tent – chirping crickets, faint clanging as men saw to their weapons and armor, murmured words. She paid the familiar noises no attention.

  Her mind burned with the memory of the kiss. Guilt was but a shadow in her heart. In the darkness of her own tent she let her mind run free. It ran to Bryce. The Bryce of her fantasies, the man with the gentle touch, the soft words, and the tender smile.

  Ryen did not understand what it was about this man that dominated her, why she could not dismiss his body from her mind. She didn’t want to think of him, but the thoughts, the images, were so…pleasant.

  Suddenly, the tent flap swooshed open and she was pulled out of her reverie. Immediately, Ryen rolled to the side of her sleeping mat, her hand instinctively going for her sword.

  “Ryen,” a familiar voice called.

  “Andre,” she replied, and removed her hand from the hilt of her blade. She sat up as he moved to her bedside.

  “I sent two men ahead to announce our arrival at De Bouriez Castle,” Andre informed her.

  “Yes. Good,” Ryen responded, distracted. Her white linen nightdress rustled softly as she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “Father will be pleased to hear of your return.”

  He stood for a moment beside her mat. Even though she could see a sparkle of light from the chain mail he wore, she could not see his expression. She knew that he was trying to study her and was thankful for the cover of darkness, not wanting to reveal her traitorous thoughts about the prisoner, thoughts that only moments before had been dangerously blissful.

  “That’s not fair,” he said.

  Ryen lifted confused eyes to him.

  “Father will be pleased to see you also.”

  Ryen nodded dubiously. “Perhaps. After all, I have brought him the Prince of Darkness.”

  “Father has always been pleased to see you.”

  “He humors me. It is the two of you he sees as real knights.”

  “Ryen,” Andre’s voice was gentle. “All father ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

  “Father wanted me to be like Jeanne. Every time I return home with this grand army behind me, he asks if I have been to court, or what the current fashions are. As if I know, or care.”

  “Father wants what’s best for you.”

  “Father wants me to be a proper lady. He has never seen me as a soldier. I thought that once I became a knight he would regard me the way he does you and Lucien. But he hasn’t. Not once.”

  “This is why it was so important for you to capture the Prince of Darkness, wasn’t it? Just like when you had to take Burgh Castle.”

  “This time will be different,” she continued, ignoring Andre. “Father has to see that I, too, am a knight. I have captured the Prince of Darkness.” Her voice trailed off as the pride in her accomplishment warred with her disturbing feelings for her prisoner.

  Andre knelt before her. “Ryen?” His voice was concerned.

  Ryen did not respond. She could not. There should have been joy at the prospect of bringing the Prince of Darkness to kneel before her father. But suddenly all she felt was apprehension and a sense of impending disaster. She folded her hands nervously in her lap.

  Andre was so still that she couldn’t hear his armor rustle as he breathed.

  Ryen did not like the feel of his constant, intense gaze. She stood, brushing past him. She put her hands in her hair, running her fingers through her locks, a tormented tigress. “Do you want the truth? Oh, Lord. Sometimes I fear I’m losing my mind! I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. I don’t know what it is that holds me captive so, but I feel like I’m the prisoner, not him!”

  “You needn’t worry about your feelings. When we reach De Bouriez Castle, Father will imprison
him,” Andre stated.

  “No one shall lay a hand on him except for me,” Ryen said, determination furrowing her brow. Just as quickly as the words were out, surprise raced through her. It had been second nature to protect Bryce!

  “Then do it,” Andre said.

  Ryen turned to him, scowling in confusion. She paused for a moment, trying to see his face through the darkness, but could not. “I-I don’t understand. Do what?”

  “Take him as your lover.”

  “What?” Ryen exploded. “He is our enemy!”

  “He is a man.”

  “I would not think of betraying our country by lying with the Prince of Darkness!”

  “One night of passion does not constitute betrayal.”

  “I will not do that!”

  Andre stood, his form towering over her like that of some ancient god giving judgment. “Get him out of your mind. He is fogging your ability to judge.”

  To lie with the Prince of Darkness…the thought horrified her. Yet, there was a tightening of her stomach, a tingle of excitement, as she thought of his lips on hers, his hands touching her bare skin. Andre’s words sent ripples of turmoil rolling through her body like a rock shattering the tranquility of a still pond.

  “I only give you the same advice I would any other warrior,” Andre said. “If we come up against the English, I am afraid in your present state of mind you would be a poor leader as well as an easy target.” Andre turned and started for the exit.

  “Andre,” Ryen called softly. “The men take women prisoners so easily?”

  Andre smiled. “Not under your command, but in other armies, yes. Your men take willing townswomen. It usually serves the same purpose.”

  “And you think Bryce will be willing?” she wondered, trying to suppress the shiver of excitement that raked her body.

  “I have never known a man to turn away a woman.”

  “You give this advice to all the men?”

  “Yes.”

  “What advice would you give your sister?” she asked.

  He gave a short chuckle that surprised Ryen. “I advised her to stay home five years ago,” he said, and turned. “I will bring him to you.”

  “No, wait!” Ryen called, but he was gone. She whirled away from the tent opening and paced nervously. He won’t bring Bryce. How dare he tease me? I should take Bryce as my lover just to spite him.

  She continued to pace, waiting. Her stomach knotted, her knees shook. Ryen hugged her elbows, trying to shield herself from the cold. When the long minutes crawled past and Andrew didn’t return, she moved to her sleeping mat and sat down. Andre wasn’t going to bring him, she realized with an odd twinge of disappointment. He would not have his sister violated. But to a warrior it was not violation. It would be used to ease a need.

  Why was it so much easier for a man?

  Ryen waited a few minutes more, and when no one approached her tent, she lay down. An inexplicable feeling of emptiness filled her as she closed her eyes.

  He was not coming.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of light footsteps woke Ryen. She sat up to face the intruder and knew instantly who the shadow in the dark was. She leaned over a small table to light a candle, then turned her gaze again to him. The flickering candlelight ran over his muscles like liquid gold. He was so powerful, so roguishly handsome. Ropes bound his wrists together tightly behind his back, but he barely seemed to notice as his dark eyes locked on her.

  “You requested my presence?” Bryce asked coldly.

  Ryen swung her legs out from under the covers and stood. She knew it was wrong to have these feelings for him. Still, she could not help taking a step toward him.

  His gaze boldly traveled the length of her body. The light from the candle made her nightdress virtually transparent, allowing him to absorb every curve. She watched as his breath became shallow.

  She took another step, and another, until she was directly in front of him. How she wanted him to touch her! The ghost of a smile crossed her lips at the irony. She had finally found a man she wanted to touch her – and he was the enemy. As she looked up into his black eyes, she saw his frown of confusion and irritation. She wanted to comfort and reassure him. Ryen reached out a hand, meaning to stroke the wound on his cheek, but Bryce flinched at her touch and drew back. “I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, realizing the absurdity of the statement as soon as it had left her lips. The scar that would form on his cheek would be permanent proof of her harm. She withdrew her hand and took a step away from him.

  “What do you want from me? Why did you summon me here?” Bryce inquired.

  She looked away from him and stepped back toward her sleeping mat. “You are a handsome man.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Am I here to discuss my looks?”

  Perhaps it was ridiculous, Ryen thought. Men never seemed to have a problem with taking what, or who, they wanted. Maybe I’m making this more complicated than it should be. She raised herself up, straightening her shoulders. She boldly took a step toward him. “In a way, yes,” she answered. She watched the frown etch its way into his brow. I am not afraid, she told herself, and approached until she stood before him. He is my prisoner.

  “I will tell you nothing,” he snarled. “Even if you give me more of your poison.”

  “I do not want to know anything else.” Ryen raised a hand to his arm, marveling at the strength and elegance of his muscles. He clenched his fist and the muscles bunched as she touched them. The explosive power that moved beneath her fingertips amazed her. With her heart pounding, Ryen traced her fingers across his upper arm to his chest.

  “What do you think you’re doing, woman?” he demanded.

  “Your presence has been a…distraction to me. I sought to cure it.” She looked up and saw those dark eyes hovering over her. His black hair washed over his mighty shoulders. She raised a hand to touch his thick mane.

  Bryce pulled back instantly, gazing at her fingertips out of the corner of his eye, searching for the white powder.

  Ryen wrapped her fingers tightly in his hair, leaning into his strong chest. “Do you fear my touch?” she wondered in a soft whisper.

  Bryce’s black eyes scanned her face, but Ryen could not read his thoughts. His dark look lowered over her neck and down to where her chest pressed tightly against his. She shuddered slightly as if he had touched her there.

  Then his eyes rose back to hers. “Loathe is more like it.”

  She could felt the lie through his leggings and smiled. “Your body betrays you.”

  “Step away from me, witch,” he snarled.

  Ryen never took commands well. Especially from one of her prisoners. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. At first, they were unmovable, like a rock wall, but suddenly they parted and the hot passion he was trying to hide was released. His tongue slipped into her mouth, warring with hers. His face pressed hard and demanding against her own.

  Then, with a groan, he ripped his head to the side, away from her lips.

  “Do not forget who is the prisoner here,” she purred. She couldn’t resist the urge to run her hands over his broad chest. He was like a sculpture carved from pure marble. There was not a flaw. As if molding the marble with her own hands, they followed the curve of his torso down to his leggings. She ran her hands along his clothing. Is the part covered by his leggings as perfect as the part that is bare? she wondered. She wanted to see the rest of him, to touch him and marvel at the exquisite details of his rippling muscles. But she couldn’t. She drew her hands away.

  “Afraid?” he taunted.

  The dare was enough. Her hands moved to his leggings and untied them. Suddenly she stopped, stepping away from him. She was trembling all over and she knew it wasn’t from anger. She raised her eyes to his, searching for something – guidance, anything!

  Bryce took a step and he was touching her again. His black eyes burned into hers. “Untie me,” he whispered.

  As if u
nder his spell, she obeyed, pressing herself against his chest, reaching around him to undo the ropes that bound his hands. They fell away, landing in a pile on the floor.

  Ryen saw the change instantly. His shoulders straightened in confidence; his eyes sparkled with lust. One hand snaked to the back of her neck, the other to her waist, and he pulled her close to him, slamming her hips into his. Ryen’s breath caught in her throat as his hot breath feathered her cheek. “Is this the cure you were looking for?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Ryen felt herself respond to the feel of his hard, muscular body pressed so intimately against her own. Yet the pure animal rage she saw in his eyes paralyzed her. She swore she could see fire in them as his gaze lowered to her chest. Ryen drew in a sharp breath and her breasts pressed against the fabric. She lifted a shaking hand to place it on his broad, naked chest. A fire seared through her lower stomach as he pressed his hips closer to hers, and she trembled. She lifted her head to his, parting her full lips, inviting a deep, languorous kiss.

  Bryce stared at her moist lips and moved toward them, then stopped sharply and pulled back, his lips curling into a feral snarl. He placed his hand against her throat again and Ryen felt it tremble. His thumb caressed the side of her neck. She saw his hard look soften, saw a warmth so heartfelt wash over his face that she wanted to throw her arms around his neck. Then, without warning, his jaw clenched and the angry look returned to his eyes. He grabbed the neckline of her nightdress and yanked down sharply. The fabric split easily with a loud rip and he tore it away from her, tossing it to the floor.

  Shocked, Ryen tried to pull away from him, but his grip was firm and unrelenting. She saw some kind of satisfaction on his face and knew that she had mistaken the vengeance in his eyes for desire.

  Bryce’s gaze swept her body and he cupped one of her breasts in his hand and squeezed it. The flesh was firm, the nipple erect and rigid. He pulled her closer to him, his other hand still at the small of her back, and put his lips to her breast. He sucked on her flesh with an urgent hunger, pulling on her nipple with his teeth.