Books by Maggie Shayne (43 page)

The bastard only grinned, a white smile glowing from within the folds of the black hood he wore for anonymity. He seemed oblivious to the slashing rain, the driving wind, the banshee like scream of it whistling through the needled boughs.

And still he wore that hood, Ren noted. To keep Ren from recognizing his human form in case he failed this time and needed to try yet again. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as confident as he seemed after all.

“I’ll destroy you for this,” Ren said in a voice that shook with rage.

“Nothing besides absolute purity can destroy me, Ren. You know that. And you’re far from pure. Especially now, having broken every vow you’ve taken.”

“Then I’ll hurt you—enough that you’ll wish for the second death. Enough to make you beg for it, Blackheart.”

“Threats bore me, Ren of the White Knights. If you think you can hurt me, then by all means let’s dispense with the discussion and get on with it.”

Ren shook his head. Annie’s pains must have eased for a moment, since she leaned back against him, panting. Stroking her hair, Ren prayed she’d be strong enough to survive this.

“No,” he said to Blackheart. “I won’t fight you here.”

“No?”

“No. We take her back to the cabin. I’ll have her inside, warm and dry. Only then will we finish this between us.”

Blackheart smiled, shaking his head. “That would give her child a slightly better chance of survival, Ren. Why on earth would I agree to it? Besides, the way I see it is that I am here, astride this horse, blocking your path. You could get around me, I suppose. But then you’d have to outrun me. Now, can you really see your lady withstanding a good hard gallop?” Blackheart leaned forward and added, “And if I get close enough to drive my blade into your spineless back, Ren, believe me, I will delight in doing so.”

Ren felt his lips thin and his fists clench so tightly, his hands shook.

“And if the lady should fall, perhaps get her big belly trampled under thundering hooves, then that wouldn’t be my fault, would it?”

“Damn you, Blackheart.”

“I’m already damned, Ren. But the way you’ve been acting lately, I believe you might be, too.”

“How the hell would you know
what
way I’ve been acting?”

“I’ve been watching. I, too, have access to magic, Ren. But you knew that.”

“Black magic,” Ren clarified. ”The devil’s own brand.“

“It gets the job done. Are you ready, then? This fascinating discussion will soon put me to sleep in the saddle.”

Ren looked around, at least wanting a sheltered spot for Annie to lie down. He spotted a copse of huge pines, their boughs so dense and interwoven that they formed a canopy, and the ground beneath them appeared dry. He slid from the horse, pulling Annie into his arms, kissing her gently, hating the way she trembled in fear, the clamminess of her skin, the pain he knew she suffered.

“I’ll be all right, Ren. Don’t…” She grunted against the pain, and forced herself to go on. “Don’t think of me. Don’t be distracted. You have to beat him, Ren. You can’t die, the way he said you would. You can’t—” she broke off.

“Annie?”

She grated her teeth, drew a breath, and forced herself to speak. “Is it true, what he said? That you broke your vows by making love to me?”

He didn’t want to answer her, but she deserved nothing less than the truth. He nodded, the hairs on his nape prickling with the knowledge that Blackheart grew tired of waiting.

“So, if he kills you… if Blackheart kills you, Sir George might not—”

“Blackheart isn’t going to kill me, Annie.”

“But…” Her words were choked off by a strangled cry. Tears rolled silently down her face, and despite the darkness, he saw her expression, saw the paleness of her skin and the way she grimaced in agony.

God, the pain she must be in. “I’d take it on myself if I could,” he whispered, his words for her alone, not for the evil Blackheart to hear. “I love you. I want you to know that, in case… I just want you to know. I love you, Annie.” He bent to kiss her again, long and lingeringly, memorizing the shape and texture of her mouth, its flavor, its heat. He’d take her memory with him, he vowed. Even into death, if that was indeed where he was bound.

He ought to tell her to go deep into the forest and hide. Because if Blackheart defeated Ren, Annie would be at his mercy. And if he could, the cold-blooded bastard would kill the child before it was born. But Ren knew Annie couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk, let alone run and hide. It was up to him to protect her.

He turned to carry her toward the sheltering trees and sensed Blackheart’s approach.

“That’s right,” he called without so much as glancing behind him. “Come on, attack while my back is turned and my arms filled. God knows you’re too much a coward to fight me fairly. Maybe this way you’ll stand a chance of beating me, Blackheart. But it’s the only way. I think you already know that, though, don’t you?“

The Dark Knight went still. Ren could feel Blackheart’s hatred, but he no longer sensed imminent attack. He lowered Annie to the blessedly dry forest floor, wishing he had blankets to cover her. She rolled onto her side, clutching her middle, panting, sweating, shuddering. Completely at the mercy of the pain the bastard Blackheart had caused in her.

Ren couldn’t turn away from her at a time like this. God help him, but he couldn’t. Let Blackheart attack from behind if he would.

“Go.”

The soft young voice was somehow gentle and commanding at the same time. Ren looked up to see Sara, mounted on a pure white stallion whose mane hung halfway to the ground, curly and pristine. The horse pawed, blew. As if it could sense the rot of evil standing so nearby.

“I’ll take care of her,” Sara told him. She urged her mount into the shelter of the trees and pushed back the white hood that had covered her. Her raven hair was dry and her eyes bright, even in the darkness, as she swung off the horse and hurried to lead it up beside Ren.

She pressed the reins into his hands.

“Take him,” she said softly. “Neither of the others is trained in battle. This one knows what is expected. He’s very good.”

“How—”

“It’s better not to ask, Ren. There’s not time enough to explain anyway. Not now.”

Ren knew she was right, but he marveled when she glanced back to the trail where he’d left the Appaloosa pair and both horses came to her at no more than a crook of her finger.

Trusting them not to wander, it seemed, Sara crouched beside Annie.

Still, Ren hesitated.

“Go on,” Sara said. “You have to, Ren; it’s what you came here for. It’s your destiny to fight him. You know that. Now go. I’ll stay with her for as long as I can, I promise you. I’ll take her to the lake. She’ll be safe there.”

Ren frowned, puzzled.

“I was conceived there,” Sara said, sending a loving look down at Annie. “It’s a special place with a magic all its own, Ren. She’ll be safe.”

As Sara took Annie’s hands, Annie sent Ren a loving look and gave him a nod. “Go, darling. But come back to me. Whatever you do, Ren, you come back to me!”

Ren turned to face what awaited him.

“Sara…”

“Shh. You have to save your strength now, Annie. It won’t be much longer.”

Annie was so glad to see the girl, so comforted by her presence. But Sara’s words and the certainty in her voice were startling. “But… there’s still a month...”

“No, Annie. This is it. Today’s the day. Can you walk? Stand, even?”

Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Sara chewed her lip as if worried. But Annie barely noticed. She struggled to push herself into a sitting position, despite the bolts of pain snapping through her with every movement. She braced her back against the stringy, sticky trunk of the pine and managed to raise herself. She scanned the trail, looking for Ren. And as she squinted through the darkness and rain, the storm suddenly began to dissipate.

The pouring rain stopped all at once, just as if someone had turned off a spigot. The rip? ping, brutal wind died to an impatient sigh, and then utter stillness. The roiling black clouds didn’t so much blow away as dissolve, and within minutes the entire forest was bathed in golden sunlight. Like magic.

And she could see them there, on the trail. Ren mounted on Sara’s white horse, Black-heart still sitting on the evil black one with the red eyes that made Annie wonder if it was truly a dragon in disguise. Or perhaps one of the devil’s own demons.

They faced each other, Ren and his enemy, but neither moved. Not yet.

Annie looked skyward once more, then sought Sara’s unfailing wisdom. “What—?”

“Blackheart needs all his power to fight Ren. He couldn’t keep the storm going. It saps his strength.”

Annie frowned, beginning to wonder if her life would ever be normal again. If she’d ever have a conversation that didn’t include magic and fantasy. Only it wasn’t fantasy, was it? It was real.

And deadly.

Another pain came. She hadn’t been expecting it, and didn’t bite her lip in time to prevent herself crying out. She knew Ren’s head snapped toward her. She cursed herself inwardly for distracting him with her weakness. God, if he was killed just because he’d been looking toward her…

For a time, while her body twisted and clenched in on itself, her vision was red-hazed and unfocused. She braced her back against the fragrant trunk and pressed her feet flat in the pine-needle carpet. And though the pain threatened to tear her into pieces, she didn’t close her eyes. She forcibly kept them open, and she forcibly made them follow the terrible scene being played out before her. She had to remain alert, had to know what was happening. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ren for a moment.

And she wouldn’t pass out from pain and let her baby die, as Blackheart had grimly predicted. She’d be as strong as Ren had claimed she was. She’d do this, no matter the pain, for her child.

As Ren sat astride the white horse facing Blackheart on his hellish demon, he slowly drew his sword and lifted it skyward. The very air around him began to glisten and shimmer, and for an instant it was as if the two men became liquid, then thinned to a gas. Only colors remained. Their shapes disintegrated before taking solid form again. Only this time Ren was in his white-gold armor, and his horse pranced and nickered. The horse wore white armor, too, and a mask over its face, and a shield of sorts strapped to its broad chest. On the back of that magnificent beast, Ren looked like an avenging angel, ready to unleash the wrath of God on an unrepentant sinner.

But Blackheart looked his part, too, covered in his dark raiment. Helmet, visor, sword, and shield. His mount snorted and pawed at the ground like an infuriated bull about to charge.

Annie struggled against the pain, wanting to see everything that happened, afraid for Ren as she’d never been afraid in her life. He’d broken his vows. By sleeping with her and perhaps, she imagined, by slowly becoming Richard again. Becoming the man he supposedly no longer knew.

Oh, God, what if Sir George was as angry as Annie feared he’d be? What if Ren was killed and that ancient knight refused to bring him back? Or what if he
couldn’t
bring Ren back, whether he wanted to or not? What then? Annie knew only that she couldn’t bear to lose him twice in one lifetime.

But Sir George would take Ren from her, even if death didn’t. She’d been warned, hadn’t she? The old man had told her so himself.

She panted against the pain, let her own moans come freely now, no longer having the strength to hold them in. And she kept her eyes open despite the ever growing urge to close them tight. She watched as the men kicked their horses into action. They leaned low, both drawing their swords and brandishing them dangerously. Madly. They surged forward and met. The swords clashed, ringing clearly through the forest and sending brilliant showers of sparks into the sky. She heard the ring of steel on steel and the pounding of those tireless hooves again and again, almost feeling each impact herself.

Then Blackheart was thrown from the saddle when Ren caught him full in the breastplate with a swipe of his sword.

By the time Blackheart hit the ground, Ren was leaping from his horse. He ran forward and stood over his enemy, the tip of his sword at Blackheart’s throat. But the dark knight lashed out with his feet and Ren tripped, falling facedown as Blackheart surged to his feet.

“At last,” he crowed.

He plunged his blade downward and Annie screamed. But Ren rolled to the side, avoiding what would surely have been a deadly strike. Ren sent a worried glance in Annie’s direction, and their eyes met as she shouted her warning. Too late, for Blackheart’s sword found flesh, drew blood. And Annie suspected he’d struck Ren’s old wound, reopening it. The bastard.

Ren never stopped moving, even when the sword cut him. He rolled to his feet, panting, and lifted his sword once more.

“This isn’t looking good, Annie,” Sara whispered. “And I’m not going to be able to stay with you much longer.”

Annie was shaking her head, eyes fixed on Ren, tears flowing freely. Between her own pain and his, she paid little attention to the girl.

“Annie, listen. Look at me. Now, Annie!”

Annie looked. She focused on Sara’s beautiful dark eyes and then on that crescent-moon birthmark on the girl’s pale-skinned neck.

“You have to get to the lake,” Sara told her. “Do you understand? In case Ren can’t beat him—”

“He
has
to, Sara!”

“I know. I know, but Annie…” She bent, pulled Annie’s arm around her shoulders, and urged her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll have to leave soon, but not until I get you to the lake. Can you make it to the horse?”

“I can’t! I can’t just leave him!”

“He’ll fight better if you do. He’s so busy checking to be sure you’re still all right that he isn’t focusing on the battle. Honestly, Annie, you’d be doing him a favor. Come on.”

She had a point. “But Sara, what if he’s hurt again? What if he needs me?”

“You couldn’t help him in your condition anyway. You’re in labor, Annie!” Sara sighed in frustration when Annie turned once more to watch the raging battle. “Annie, listen to me. Your baby needs you right now, do you hear? You have to get to the lake if you want to save your baby. It’s up to you, Annie.”