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.
"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?