The knock sounded again at the wooden door, echoing through Ryen’s mind like a distant roar. She lifted her head from the cool stones of the ledge and turned her tearful gaze to the door. It took a long moment before she was able to compose herself. She rose slowly from her reverent position at the window and, wiping tears from her hot cheeks and eyes with a shaking hand, she moved to the door.
The booming knock came again.
Ryen leaned against the door, barely able to whimper, “Who is it?”
“Ryen? It’s Jeanne.”
Jeanne? For a moment, Ryen’s hazy mind refused to acknowledge the name. Then, slowly, she put a face with the name. Her sister.
“I’ve been up since dawn. I couldn’t sleep,” Jeanne said. “Then when I happened down the corridor, I heard noises from your room. Are you all right?”
Ryen couldn’t answer. Tears rose again in her eyes.
“Ryen?” Jeanne’s voice floated through the wooden door. “I thought I heard you screaming.”
“It was just a nightmare,” Ryen whispered.
“May I come in?”
Ryen paused. She couldn’t let Jeanne see her like this. Her sluggish mind searched for an excuse. Finally, she said, “I – I wish to get more sleep.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Yes, Jeanne,” Ryen replied, and staggered away from the door, her gaze riveted on the window and the ledge where just moments before Bryce had stood.
“I’ll come by later to –”
Jeanne’s voice drifted off as Ryen crossed the expanse of her room to return to the window. She bent over the ledge, her eyes scanning the moat below, but the water was like a silver mirror, showing her nothing of what might lie below its surface. He was gone. The sun’s light edged toward the dark grave of the waters. Numbness spread through Ryen’s body. All she could do was stare into the moat, hoping that somehow he would appear.
He didn’t.
Ryen followed listlessly as Jeanne tugged her along, blazing a path through the gentry to the platform that was reserved for her family and honored guests. The large, muddy flatland that served as the field of honor was overflowing with people. Over the simple wooden fence that surrounded the field, anxious spectators hung like eager children waiting for a treat. Peasants sat on the small hills just beyond the standing observers. A rope separated the rabble from the local gentry. The nobility sat on brightly colored blankets, eating fine breads and drinking ale.
Ryen could not get Bryce’s image from her mind. He haunted her thoughts like a vengeful ghost. The memory of the swirling smoke fading to reveal his dark visage, his long black hair, tanned skin, and the way his midnight eyes opened and pinned her, breathless, to the spot, made her tremble with the loss of this man who was so much more than just a man. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him reach for her from the darkness. And every time she opened her eyes to find that he wasn’t there, the pain of his death gripped her tighter.
The trumpets sounded, jarring Ryen from her daze. A deafening roar erupted from the crowd and Ryen lifted her eyes to see the De Bouriez banner leading the way before the brilliantly dressed knights as they rode onto the field. Armor glinted in hot flashes as whinnying beasts took their riders around the field. The thunder of hoofbeats pounded in Ryen’s ears and her heart ached. Bryce would have looked splendid in his shining armor, riding a magnificent battle steed.
Jeanne touched her arm. Ryen whipped her agonized gaze up to her sister. Jeanne’s joyful smile disintegrated. Ryen pulled her arm away and turned, racing back the way they had come through the crowd. She couldn’t bear to be with her countrymen with the memory of Bryce’s death so vivid in her mind.
Ryen hoisted the silken skirts of her houppelande above her knees and ran up the grassy hill toward the forest that surrounded the castle. She vaguely heard her sister call out after her but she paid her words no heed. She crashed through the foliage, sharp thorns and branches tearing at her dress, scratching her skin. The cheers of the crowd followed her into the darkness of the forest, mocking her attempt to escape his memory. She finally collapsed beside an old oak tree, burying her face in her folded arms. How could the mighty Prince of Darkness be dead? she demanded silently. How can a legend die? The moat surrounding De Bouriez Castle has swallowed many, but never one so strong as the Prince of Darkness! It cannot be. He cannot be dead. Fool, she chastised herself. You saw him leap from the window with your own eyes. No man can survive a fall that far.
“You set him free.”
Ryen jerked her head up and turned quickly. Lucien stood behind her, his golden plate armor gleaming in the shadows like a torch, threatening to burn her where she lay. He held his helmet in his arm and his blond hair wavered gently in a breeze. He took a step and knelt beside her, his armored knee making a deep impression in the dirt. His sharp blue eyes coldly assessed Ryen’s face for a moment before his upper lip curled in contempt. “Regretting your action already, Sister?”
His words shocked her and she sat up, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
“How did you get him out of the castle?”
“What?” she gasped.
“Which way did you send him?” Lucien asked through clenched teeth.
She began to shake her head. “Lucien, you don’t understand.”
“I understand quite well, Sister. I understand that you’re a fool. He used you. He used you to aid his escape.”
“No,” Ryen gasped.
“You will tell me where he went.”
“He jumped out the window, Lucien. Into the moat,” she replied miserably, baring her soul, her pain.
“Lies!” Lucien roared.
Ryen jerked back as if he had struck her.
“Why do you protect him?” he demanded.
Her mouth dropped in disbelief. “He’s dead! I can protect him from nothing!” she shouted, feeling her throat tighten to choke off her voice.
Slowly, Lucien stood and stared down at her, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “I do not need your aid to find him. I simply thought you might want to offer it.”
Ryen watched as he strode away, the beginnings of panic rising inside her. He did not believe her! Her own kin thought she lied. What would her people think?
Ryen gazed wearily into the moat. Tiny drops of rain pelted the gray water. Even after three days, she still could not believe Bryce was dead. His passionate touch seemed like a dream, another lifetime. At least it was easier for Ryen to think of it that way.
But there was also a nagging doubt that festered in her mind. Why had she led him to her room? At the time, her feet had taken the path to her room out of instinct. What had she planned to do with him once they got there?
Had she really meant to set him free?
No! her rational mind screamed. Never. She had meant to hide him in her room until the joust was stopped.
They would have found Bryce. And then the joust would have been scheduled for the following day, or the day after. The only way to truly be chivalrous was to set him free.
No! she argued in silence. I simply meant to… I never intended to free him.
And even though she told herself this over and over, she could never come to believe it with all her heart.
A knock on the door startled Ryen out of her reverie. “Come in,” she invited.
Jeanne bounced in and paused just inside the doorway, frowning. “Every time I come into your room, you are staring out the window. You must tell me what you see that fascinates you so.”
Jeanne took up a spot beside Ryen and carefully leaned over the ledge of the window, following her gaze.
“Gads!” Jeanne gasped. “Please tell me you do not stare at that dreary water!”
When Ryen did not reply, but simply moved away from the window to sit on the thick embroidered blanket on the bed, Jeanne sighed. “Really, Ryen. You are much too disheartening these last days. I wish what I’m going to tell you would make you feel better, but I’m afraid it won’t.”
Ryen raised weary, burning eyes to her sister.
Jeanne shook her head. She went to Ryen and knelt at her feet. “Ryen, what is wrong with you? I have never seen you this miserable. Is it Father?”
“No,” Ryen mumbled. “It isn’t Father.”
“Then what? Please tell me.”
A sad smile tugged at Ryen’s lips and she shrugged helplessly.
“Very well. But you can’t keep it a secret forever, Ryen.” Jeanne nervously smoothed out the folds of her skirt. “Jules and I are going.”
“Going where?” Ryen echoed with something close to panic in her voice.
“Home, of course, to our castle. Jules has villages to oversee and duties to perform.” Jeanne smiled just as glumly as Ryen. “Besides, you have your army to lead. Wasn’t it you who said the English were coming to France?”
“But you just got here.”
“We’ve been here for seven months now. It’s you who have not been here.”
“I’m so sorry, Jeanne. I’ve been preoccupied.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When are you going?” Ryen asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jeanne replied.
Ryen bowed her head, staring at her hands that rested in her lap.
Jeanne reached up and traced the curve of Ryen’s chin. “Poor Ryen. Don’t be sad. I couldn’t bear it. We must be happy. We have only a few hours left together. I will dine with you later tonight.” Jeanne climbed to her feet, carefully pulling her green skirts away from her feet. Her brown eyes, usually so happy and carefree, looked uneasy. “But now, Father is waiting for you in his private room.”