Chapter Eight

 

Damon silently crept through the underbrush, searching for the arrow’s owner. He was unprepared for the feeling of worry that overwhelmed him when he thought about any harm coming to Gabriella. It had been a long time since he felt anything other than the basest of needs for a woman. Maybe I’ve gone too long without one. Daft, I’ve surely grown daft.

Shaking his head as if he could throw off his needs and worries, he continued his silent conversation. I will have no choice but to set her from me or at least keep her at a distance until I learn more about her. Aye, I want her. A saint would want her, and I am surely no saint. But if this need becomes too strong, I will take what is mine and she will have no choice but to tell me all of her secrets. I will find out where it is she is from and what her loyalties are, and this worry be damned!

Was she to be caught and then later escape? Was she to entice him enough that he would follow where she led him? Perhaps straight into an ambush? If this was the plan, it seemed to be working. Annoyance quickly infused his mind, his every muscle clenching. Damn women! Always the cause of folly. He crept further into the forest.

To be certain, he had been witness to much treachery and death in his lifetime. He had seen the bodies that littered the ground. Smelled the fester and rot related with death. Felt the blackness pour into his lungs like a plague as it marred every man’s soul that had witnessed any type of destruction. These were treacherous times. But Damon refused to succumb to a mere slip of a woman and her treachery. This was the only course that he could follow if he wished to keep his wits and quite possibly, his life. I am The Dragon, and I can and will control my baser needs. With this decision firmly made, he crept to the base of an adjacent tree.

The night had come to life around him. Dark shadows pooled around every tree. He could feel the earth’s energy just below the quiet settling of squirrels and crickets, birds and snakes, as if all the forest knew that darkness was waiting. His hand curved around the handle of his sword. With eyes like the wolf, piercing and knowing, he scanned the forest.

He took a small comfort knowing that for now, Gabriella was safe where he’d left her. Where he’d almost kissed her. His brain seized on that moment as he looked out into the forest. “God help her if she’s led me into a trap,” he growled, watching the shadows dance in the underbrush.

He heard the call of a night owl, then two quick notes following, which meant the enemy was near. He and Tanak had perfected this communication over the years of warring. There were many times they had used it, and were able to rout out their enemy from the deep hidden burrows.

Scanning the deep pockets of shadows near him, Damon noticed a bedraggled individual in rough-worn leathers crouching near a tree just a few yards away. His face was dirty and his clothing showed signs of the darker hues of old dried blood. Spittle clung to his lips and madness gleamed in his eyes.

Where there is one enemy, there was always another, Damon thought peevishly, his instincts too honed to ignore the warning. He tossed a stone into the bushes near the man’s feet, causing him to look up wildly, his gaze darting here and there, searching the surrounding foliage, his hands white-knuckled gripping his sword.

Damon stood slowly and moved to the front of the tree. Startled at the appearance of the black demon, the man flew at Damon in a mad-capped rage, bellowing a crazed battle cry, the sound of caged lunacy echoing in the darkness. Damon stood solidly, like a huge, immovable mountain, his own sword held loosely in his hand, waiting for the attack. Their swords clashed as Damon shoved him, slamming him back into a gnarled tree.

The man’s yell had brought two more rebels out of the brush, forming a semi-circle around Damon, each one thinking they would kill their foe. Tanak had flushed his own band of scum from the forest to join with the others. They now stood back to back, their swords held firmly before them.

“‘Tis like old times, my friend,” Tanak said, a smile on his lips and a gleam in his opaque eyes.

“Aye,” Damon replied, the remembrance of several tavern skirmishes and chance rebel meetings across the great realm had put them in similar situations before. “Shall we cleanse this forest of vermin?” he asked dangerously. With a curt nod to the nearest rebel Damon beckoned him forward. Their swords clashed in the stillness, causing the birds to take flight from the trees.

Methodically, he and Tanak fought off the attacks, quickly striking down each man in turn as it were no great feat to battle with three to one odds. Bodies littered the ground, and blood pooled at their feet.

“We seem to be leaving an endless supply of dead men in our wake,” Tanak stated, casually scanning the rebels.

Damon merely grunted and knelt to search the bodies, hopeful that one would have something useful on him that might lead them to their leader.

“Tell me,” Tanak quizzed, “did she lead them to us, or did they merely follow our trail?”

Damon simply stared at the dead rebels while pondering Tanak’s question, hanging heavy like a great black storm in the making. His jaw ticked in aggravation. “I know not,” he replied gruffly, his eyes narrowing. “It appears the lady has many questions to answer.” He gave the dead men a final glance as he moved to return to where he had left her.

* * * * * *

Gabriella crouched down behind the tree for what seemed like an eternity. Surely I’ve sat here for at least an hour, she thought, twinges in her muscled beginning to spike up her limbs. Her legs were starting to go numb and she was sure that when she stood, she would no longer be able to feel her feet. Cautiously, she peered around the side of the tree. From what she could see in the darkness, Damon was nowhere in sight.

The forest held an eerie silence. There was no chirping of crickets or any other creatures. The birds did not sing, and she couldn’t hear the flap of any tiny wings. Slowly she stood and leaned against the tree, waiting for her blood to continue its journey in a rush down her legs as it gave her feeling back to her toes. She was stiff, worried and, she realized, alone. Again.

Peering around the tree one more time, in hopes of catching sight of Damon, she still couldn’t see anything but the greens and browns of forest, the leaves stretching endlessly before her. She wondered if she should return to the camp, or go in search of him. He had told her to stay where she was, but the suspense was getting old, and if he was injured, then maybe she could help him.

Quickly making a decision to find him, she turned one last time to glance around and see if she could see him returning through the darkness. Confirming there was no sight of him in the immediate area, she turned to go in the direction she thought he had gone and slammed into a wall of muscle and leather.

Her breath left her in a whoosh, causing her to stagger backward a step. A large, callused hand grabbed her arm to steady her. She looked up into Damon’s storm-gray eyes. He glared down at her in silent fury, his strength burning through her arm where he tightly held her in his grasp. Confusion and fear washed over her. Dumbfounded by his accusing eyes and glancing frantically around the clearing, Gabriella tried to pull free of his hold.

“Searching for someone, milady?” he asked callously, his voice reflecting the contempt in his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Her brows bunched in confused agitation. “Let go,” she demanded, pulling away. The pressure increased on her arm, his anger vibrating through his hand and into her limbs. She knew that if he did not loosen his grasp that she was sure to be bruised.

“Wrong, she asks? Let me see,” he said, gripping her arm tighter as he pulled her closer to him. “Should I begin with the fact that in the last fortnight I have killed more men than I did during the entire battle at Hastings? Or, the wee fact that I’ve stumbled upon a woman, who has somehow appeared out of nowhere like a pixie in a glen? A woman whom I’ve now spent the last hour traipsing through the forest after in her attempt to escape from me?” His voice growled low in aggravation. “Let me not forget the small detail of an ambush in said forest. And she questions what is wrong?” His voice echoed with barely contained restraint. Its thrum coursed through the forest causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.

“Tell me, milady,” he continued, “who paid you to lure me into this forest? Who paid you to try to seduce me, then lead me to my death?” He stood before her, one hand wrapped firmly around her arm, the other wrapped tightly in the front of her shirt. His hips and spine were rigid with his annoyance, a mere breath separating them.

She stared at the hard edge of his jaw, watched it begin to tick in rhythm with the pulsing of her heart. Gabrielle watched the play of emotions roll across his features, his lips a thin line of fury. She wondered how the lips that she had so recently wanted to kiss, that had held her enthralled but moments before, could now spew such accusations at her.

Just when I was considering staying in this godforsaken back hills of a country, she thought vehemently. How could I even consider staying with him when he reverts into the egotistical, barbaric lunatic that he is? Aggravation flowed through her in a rush, all but turning her veins to ice and flashing like lightning in the solid green of her eyes.

She stepped into him, their bodies touching in a single line, causing him to abruptly release her. Gabriella was invading the hell out of his space, but she didn’t care. Desire coursed through them both, but was quickly replaced by their anger, rippling in the air like a living thing. She looked up into his eyes and asked fiercely, “Are you calling me a whore?”

“Aye, lady, a whore. A treacherous whore, at that. I will have my answers, lady, now.” His ‘now’ had a ring of finality to it, a certainty as to the outcome. He crossed his arms and glared down at her as if his height and width could intimidate her as he waited for her response.

Her eyes narrowed in raw fury. It was only seconds before she gave into her rage. “Whore,” she bellowed. “How dare you call me a whore?” She was so angry that she had stepped into him completely, poking him in the chest. “If I recall, oh great knight, it was you who tried to kiss me, you who brought me to this wretched bit of forest, and you who ordered your men to take me from where you found me.”

She took a deep breath and continued her tirade. “If I had any idea where I was, how I got here or knew who the hell those men were that were shooting arrows at us, and yes, I said us. I highly doubt that I would even consider telling you, since you have such a high opinion of me. But since I don’t know the answers to any of it, you, sir, can go to hell!”

She stepped back away from him and turned sharply to walk away, her hair flinging into his face.

She got two steps before he stopped her with a hand clasped firmly to her shoulder. He spun her back around so that she faced him once again. The wrath emanating from his narrowed eyes stopped any words she considered from leaving her mouth. Harshly, he pulled her into him and slammed his mouth over hers, kissing away any response from her lips. Then he hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and strode briskly through the forest, back towards the camp.

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, a smile on his lips, Tanak whispered, “May Allah preserve us from the wiles of beautiful women.” Sheathing his sword, he silently followed in Damon’s wake.