She did not know how badly it would be dashed.
Chapter Twenty One
It had started with two maids whispering. When Ryen stared at them, they stopped and glared angrily at her. As a puzzled look came over her face, they separated and continued on their way. It happened again in the main hall, and then again in the stables. The gazes were scornful and furious. Former friends and strangers alike began to turn their backs as she approached them. Ryen suddenly found that where yesterday she had been a famed knight, today she was a leper. She avoided the Great Hall and the practice yard, terrified that her father had been right, that her men believed the savage rumors.
Ryen stared out at the road below the sitting room window. Traders and merchants moved toward the castle door in a long line of carts and wagons. The smell of the forest just beyond the town wafted to her senses on a light breeze and she lifted her eyes to the tall trees that towered over the thatched roofs.
She heard the door open behind her and turned. Andre’s head was lowered as he entered the room. Ryen’s heart brightened. She had not seen Andre for a week and she missed him. Perhaps she could talk him into sparring with her. “Andre,” she said happily, pushing herself from the window.
Andre’s gaze snapped sharply up to hers and Ryen saw the slight drop of his mouth and the surprise in his eyes. For just a moment, his brow furrowed and his lips thinned in misery, before he bowed his head once again and turned away from her.
Ryen felt as though he had physically shoved her away. Hurt flared in her body, constricting her chest. Finally, she shrank back to the window, agonizingly aware that he was ashamed of her, of what he believed she had done. The rumors had conquered even her faithful brother.
“Did Father summon you here?” Andre asked stiffly.
Ryen answered with similar formality. “Yes.”
Silence settled between them like an unwanted guest. Ryen returned to gazing out the window. She did not see the traders or villains; she only saw the far and distant trees as they swayed in an unseen wind, beckoning to her. She and Andre had always been close. He had always respected her, cherished her. But now, in his eyes, she was a fallen angel.
The door opened again. Ryen turned her head and her eyes locked on Lucien. She watched the anger and disgust settle over his features as he saw her. She raised her chin, narrowing her eyes to mirror his look before turning away from him.
When her father entered the room, Ryen did not turn around to see him softly close the door and clasp his hands behind his back. “We are all aware of the events that have taken place within the last week, bringing disgrace and dishonor to our name.”
Ryen’s fantasy returned: she would tell her father that Bryce was dead and the rumors were all lies, and her father would smile, embrace her, and whisper, “I knew it all along.” As quickly as it materialized in her mind’s eyes, the fantasy vanished. In truth, he would never believe her. People wanted to believe that a woman was weaker than a man. It wasn’t proper for a woman to be out swinging a sword, defending her country. Now, it made no difference if it was true or not. And Ryen could not prove that Bryce was dead. No bodies had been found around the moat’s bank.
“However, thank the Lord, Count Dumas is willing to overlook these matters,” Jean Claude continued.
Ryen looked out the window. The sun was bright and hot, promising a warm day. Ryen planned to go to the glen and practice later. She needed to swing a heavy sword, to work out some of the tension she felt.
“Naturally, since you are to be married, it is not possible for you to lead an army.”
Ryen froze. He won’t do it. He can’t.
“As of today, Lucien will lead the men.”
Ryen did not move. Her body was numb. Everything she valued was taken from her.
“Ryen? Did you hear me?” Jean Claude asked after a moment.
His voice came to her as if from a great distance. Ryen could not understand what was happening. She could not find the strength that had once flowed so strongly through her heart. She could not find the words to voice her objection to all the wrongs that were happening to her. She could not find the confidence to stand up against her accusers. The Angel of Death was gone, and in her place guilt ruled.
“Ryen?” Jean Claude repeated.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the door closing. The lock sliding into place boomed in her head. She clutched the ledge of the window as blackness invaded her vision. For a moment, her world spun and she thought she was going to faint. I am the Angel of Death, feared by all of France’s enemies, she told herself, her knuckles turning white as she clung to her ledge of consciousness, struggling to find the rage she knew she should feel. Slowly, the blotchy darkness receded, but the flame of her soul remained a dying ember.
“Yes, Father,” she replied meekly.
“Good,” Jean Claude responded dubiously. “Then Lucien, the army is yours.”
“Thank you, Father,” Lucien said.
Ryen turned and left the room, her head bowed like a compliant servant being dismissed.
The barren wasteland of unending white mist spread out before her. Ryen walked forward, not knowing where she was heading or even where she had come from. Her steps were sluggish and unsure as she continued on. Something behind her, a noise, made her stop. She turned to see that the cloud of white had turned completely red, forming a curtain of crimson. Her shoulders drooped as she turned back and moved deeper into the fog. She stared at her feet, watching the red seep out from beneath each step she took. Feeling like a poison, she moved forward, infecting the purity of the white cloud.
Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. A shadowed figure rose before her in a cloud of dark vapors. His shining suit of battle armor blended with the mist, as if it were the chain mail of a ghost. He floated, his hands on his hips, surveying the area before him as if it were new territory to conquer. Finally, his gaze came to rest on her, his black eyes sparkling like hot oil, hypnotizing her with the force of his presence. His lip curved in a grin and Ryen felt herself drawn to him like a warrior drawn to the sound of a battle cry. He lifted a hand and reached out to take her into his possession…
Ryen sat bolt upright, her breath coming in rapid gulps. He is alive, she thought. She felt it to the core of her being. He is alive! Her heart pounded wildly with renewed hope.
Ryen flew from her bed and was running out the door, racing down the hall in the blink of an eye. When she came to Andre’s door, she threw it open and dashed inside.
He sat up, reaching for his weapon, but her voice stopped him. “Andre!”
“By all the saints, you startled me, Ryen. Do you wish to be headless?” he asked.
Ryen paid him no mind as she leapt onto his bed, her eyes wide with excitement and anxiety. “Andre, you must help me search the moat!”
“What?” he asked, baffled.
“Please. We must search the moat,” Ryen repeated desperately.
“Good heavens, why?” Andre demanded, leaning back on his hands so he could regard her. “We’ve already searched the banks.”
“Bryce is alive.”
“He escaped. Of course he’s alive.”
Ryen sat back on her heels, her hands twisting in her lap. “He jumped out the window into the moat.”
Andre leaned toward her and, through the moonlight, she could see the questions racing through his mind as clearly as if they were written on his face. His dark brows knit. “How do you know this?”
Ryen looked down at her hands, feeling the head of his questioning as if she were being interrogated.
When she didn’t answer, Andre persisted, “Ryen, you’re not telling me everything.”
Ryen paused again, but when she looked up Andre’s scowl was so fierce that she thought he was going to strangle her right there. “He jumped into the moat from my bedroom window.”
Andre straightened, his features suddenly shadowed. “What was he doing in your room?”
“I went down to the dungeon,�
� Ryen explained, “only to find that the door was open. Bryce had an accomplice. Someone helped him escape. They took me prisoner.”
“Did they hurt you?” Andre demanded. When Ryen shook her head he continued, “How did they get into your room?”
“I – I led them up there,” Ryen stated. Andre’s brow darkened with indignation and Ryen hurried on. “I never though he would jump out my window. Never.”
“Why did you lead him to your room? Why didn’t you call for guards?”
“Oh, Andre.” Ryen looked down at her hands that were clasped in her lap. “I couldn’t. I didn’t intend him to escape, but… I just wanted to keep him safe until after the joust.”
Andre paused for a long moment. Finally, he said, “The fall from your window would have killed him.”
“But no bodies were ever found around the moat. We have to search the moat. I have to know for sure.”
Andre sat quietly in the shadows cast by the moon’s frosty rays. He leaned back even further and Ryen could not see his features at all. “I would do it myself,” Ryen murmured, looking away from him. “But the men won’t take orders from me any longer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked.
Ryen wouldn’t look at him for a moment, embarrassed, ashamed that Bryce had thought she had brought him to her room for one last tryst, afraid that Andre would think the same thing. “You couldn’t even look at me in Father’s sitting room.”
“I was ashamed,” he admitted quietly.
Ryen tried not to let the hurt show on her face, but she was unsuccessful. “You see? You believed I had freed him.”
“Ryen,” Andre said, his voice tender, “I was ashamed of myself.”
Ryen raised startled eyes to him.
“I knew that Father was planning to marry you to the count. I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen. I felt as though I had failed you.”
Relief washed through Ryen, engulfing her in its calming pool. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“No,” Andre insisted. “It is I who will apologize. I should not have let him do this to you. The marriage, your army…”
Ryen raised her hand and gently cupped his cheek. “Thank you.”
“What will you do if he is alive?” Andre wondered.
Slowly, Ryen’s hand dropped and she turned to stare out at the night sky. The moon was high in the star-speckled night sky, almost full except for a sliver carved out of the top. Ryen was silent for a long moment. Then she whispered, “I don’t know.”
The torches illuminated the murky black water, casting a red glow over the moat. Two men rose from the depths of the water and moved toward the shore, dragging a large object behind them. As they slowly approached, the dark object that they pulled became the figure of a man.
They dropped him, face down, at Andre’s feet.
Andre held the torch above the body. Dark hair, strong physique. With a gentle kick, he rolled the body onto its back. The face was a mass of mashed bone, broken beyond recognition. One dark eye was open, rolled back into what remained of the head.
Andre glanced over the murky water to the place where the body had been discovered. Then his eyes scaled the castle walls, up to the tower directly above the murky grave. It was Ryen’s room.
Andre heard a sound from behind him and turned. From the darkness of the road that lined the moat, Lucien emerged. “What are you doing, Brother?”
Chapter Twenty Two
“It was him, Ryen.” Andre’s voice was firm.
Ryen sat heavily on her bed. Suddenly, she felt as though all her breath had been sucked from her. Deep down inside, she had been afraid they would find his body in the moat’s dark waters. But she still could not believe that he could be dead. “I want to see his body.”
Andre lowered his eyes.
When he failed to respond, Ryen raised her head sharply. “What?”
“Lucien is displaying it throughout the streets,” Andre replied. “There was nothing I could do.”
The horrifying image of Bryce’s body, bloated with the moat’s brackish waters, dragged through the dirt of the streets behind Lucien’s horse for all to see, filled her mind. Ryen shot from her bed, her fists clenched into tight balls. She headed for the door, but Andre caught her arm.
“You can’t, Ryen. You can’t stop him.”
“I can and I will!” she snapped. She tried to yank free, but Andre’s grip was tight.
“And what are you going to tell him?” he demanded.
“I won’t let him drag Bryce’s body through the dirt.”
“The people already think you freed him. Don’t make them think worse.”
“Worse? How could they possibly think worse?”
“They’ll say you were in love with the Prince of Darkness! He jumped out your window, Ryen. Your bedroom window! What else could they possibly think?” Andre shook her, trying to get her to see the treason in her actions. “You hid him in your room so he would be safe.”
Ryen roared, pulling her arm free and facing Andre with fury. “He was my prisoner! My responsibility. Could I live with myself knowing that my countrymen had killed him on the field of honor!”
“Better in battle than wasting away in a dungeon.”
Ryen fumed silently. She did not know if she would have been content letting him sit in the dungeon. All she knew was that she had to stop Lucien. I will not allow him to display Bryce like some prize, she thought. I have to stop him. But first, I have to get past Andre. Ryen dropped her head, forcing her shoulders into a slouch. “You’re right.” Ryen whispered, her voice sad and contrite. “He is the enemy. And he is dead.”
Andre’s brows came together in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, but with what happened between us…it is difficult sometimes to see him as my enemy.”
Andre nodded. “You must let him go, Ryen. It will do you no good to dwell on it.”
“I know,” she murmured.
Andre turned and walked to the window. He gazed out over the rooftops and fields of the village. “Give it time, Ryen. Lucien will forget and all will be as it was.” He took a deep breath of fresh air. “Will you tell Father the truth now?” The silence stretched. When Ryen didn’t answer, Andre turned.
The door was open and Ryen was gone.
She rode her horse like a madwoman, barreling through the streets, a cloud of dust churning behind her racing mount. The streets were strangely empty, the shops closed early. She sent a group of chickens squawking, scattering them in all directions as she tore through the town, looking for Lucien. Finally, she came upon a farmer in his field. She reined up to ask him where Lucien was when she saw a cloud of smoke rising in the distance, near the outskirts of the village.
Ryen spurred her horse, heading for the thick black cloud that billowed up into the red sky of the setting sun. As she neared the last house, the stench of fire and burning flesh made her skin crawl, her heart pound with fear. When she guided her horse around the corner, her heart stopped.
Most of the villagers, men, women and children, were gathered around a large bonfire. The flames licked the red sky. In the middle of the fire, Ryen saw the blackened form of a burning body. For a moment, she could not move, frozen to the saddle under the heat of the flames. Oh, my God. Bryce.
Anguish gripped her heart. She stared at the part of the burning body that had once been the face – now nothing but a black shell. Bryce’s image rose in her mind, his strong chin, his sensual lips, his mysterious eyes, even the cut on his cheek that she had given him. Tears rose in her eyes. Look what he has done to Bryce’s face, Ryen thought despairingly. That handsome face.
She dismounted, pushing and fighting her way through the peasants, making a path to the front of the crowd. Finally, she found herself standing in the intense heat of the blaze. It was so hot that she had to put up her hand to prevent her face from burning. Her hair shifted slightly under the waves of hot air that assaulted her.
Ryen peered be
neath her hand, through the ripples of heat that the flames fanned into the air. The fire had eaten away the man’s skin, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not absolutely identify the man as Bryce. I will never know for sure, she thought with a desperation that ate away at her sanity. Tears burned her eyes. Finally, the smell of charred flesh made her gag and turn away.
Lucien approached her. Ryen didn’t see her brother; she saw her torturer, the man who had condemned her to an infinity of uncertainty. She launched herself at him, her hands curved into claws. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed over the roar of the flames. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Lucien grabbed her wrists before she could slash at him, but he was caught off guard and the impact of her body sent him onto his back. She fought wildly against his hold, shouting, “You torched him! You burned his body!”
Lucien flipped her onto her back, easily straddling her body, forcing her arms above her head. Ryen would not give up; she kicked and screamed like a cornered cat.
He shook her, shouting, “Stop it! Ryen!”
She twisted her arms in an attempt to free herself, bucking and flailing her legs. It wasn’t until his hand struck her check, hard, that she stilled her fight. The tears came easily then, running from her eyes like little streams.
Lucien released her, sliding from her. Ryen sat up, burying her face in the crook of her arms.
Lucien leaned close to her to whisper, “For God’s sake, show some dignity.”
Ryen peered up at him with red, swollen eyes. “You bastard,” she murmured.
“He is the enemy,” Lucien retorted hotly.
“I’ll never know for sure,” she said, tears welling again in her eyes. “I’ll never know it was him.”
“It was him,” he said positively.
Ryen stared at him for a long moment. Perhaps he was sure. But she would never know for certain. There would always be that doubt. And it was all because Lucien had to destroy his enemy. Slowly she rose. “I hate you,” she gritted, before moving into the crowd. They opened a path for her and she walked stoically to her horse, mounted, and turned toward the castle.
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