She ordered him as if he were a foot soldier. She pointed down the corridor to the door at the opposite end. “Leave me to deal with Damon.”
Who, in the name of the saints, was Damon, and what was he to her? Brother? Cousin? Betrothed?
Not the latter, he most fervently hoped.
Whoever he was, as the dark-haired man came charging toward them, another dark-haired, bigger man following right behind, it was obvious he could not leave this fascinating young woman to deal with them alone.
If there was fault here, it was not hers. She had not enticed him or led him there, and he would certainly make that very clear.
As the two men bore down upon them, he recognized them as the men who had been sitting beside her in the king’s hall. Because she had been paying no heed to them, and she was fair while they were dark, he had assumed they were not relations or had any claim upon her.
Obviously he was wrong, and if he had not been distracted by Blaidd right before she left the hall, he might have seen her speak to them. Unfortunately, Blaidd had just chastised him for staring, then started to tease him. Reece had turned away to tell his Welsh friend that Blaidd had quite the history of being distracted by women himself, so he should keep his mouth shut. If she had talked to these fellows, he had missed it.
The woman—Anne, he now knew—shoved him in a way no person ever had. “You may leave me to deal with them, sir knight.”
“I will not,” he said firmly. “The impropriety is mine, and mine alone.”
Clearly enraged, the two men came to a panting halt in front of him, their wine-soaked breath disgusting him. Their extreme reaction to a minor impropriety was no doubt fueled by wine.
He took the offensive as they tried to catch their breath. “Who are you?”
“We’re her brothers,” the biggest one growled, his beefy hands bunching into fists. “Who the devil are you?”
“I know who he is,” the taller one declared as his lip curled in a sneer. “It’s that bastard’s son. This lout accosting Anne is Reece Fitzroy.”
A jolt of anger shot through Reece, even as the big lout’s eyes widened and fear bloomed in his eyes. So, he had heard of Reece Fitzroy, or if not him, his father, the man reputed to be the finest trainer of knights in England, and who was indeed a bastard.
“Sir Reece Fitzroy,” he corrected. He made no effort to keep the scorn from his voice. “To whom have I the honor of speaking?”
The tall one drew himself up. “I am Sir Damon Delasaine of Montbleu, this is my brother Benedict and this lady you are bothering is my sister.”
Reece felt like a bellows with a slow leak. He had heard of the notorious Delasaines. They would be the first on a list of all the families in the world a man of honorable ambition should avoid. He could hardly believe that this beautiful, spirited woman, so different from any woman he had ever met, was their sister.
“Half sister,” Anne declared, as if determined to have that difference noted at once. She then addressed Damon Delasaine. “He was not bothering me, Damon. We were merely talking.”
“Shut up and go, Anne,” he snarled in response, “before we decide to let you share the beating he has earned.”
Another jolt of anger, mixed with indignation and scorn, energized Reece. He stepped forward, the action alone—and perhaps his fierce expression—forcing Damon back. “I have heard of the Delasaines, and all I have heard is obviously true,” he growled. “You are a base coward, for only a coward would strike a woman.”
As Damon stared with glowering disbelief, Reece turned to Anne. “Thank you, my lady, for defending me, but I will fight my own battles. Go, as he says, and leave me to do it.”
“Yes, go,” Benedict snarled, pushing her roughly away.
At that sight, Reece’s self-control snapped. He grabbed Benedict’s arm and yanked him back so hard, he nearly pulled the lout’s arm from its socket. “Let her alone, or by God, you’ll regret it!”
Benedict stumbled as Reece let him go, but he quickly recovered, and his eyes gleamed with malice and glee, the look of a man who enjoyed brawling, or beating up women. “Think so?”
Reece nodded. “Oh, believe me, you will.”
Benedict held out his arms and gestured for him to approach. “Come on and try it then, cur.”
“Reece, behind you!” Anne screeched.
Before he could turn, Reece felt an unexpected, sharp pain in his side as Damon’s dagger slid along his rib. He fell to his knees and Benedict’s heavy fist struck his face as Anne let loose with a bloodcurdling scream.
Chapter Two
Voices. Whispering voices. Hushed words swirling about in the darkness.
Reece’s head ached as if a twenty pound sack of grain pressed upon it and his side felt as if it was pierced with a hot iron.
What the devil had…
The memories returned, dim at first, then rapidly growing clearer.
Lady Anne. Her brothers. No, half brothers. The agonizing pain in his side. Although he had only spoken to Lady Anne, he had been most foully and cowardly attacked from behind by Damon Delasaine.
The man was going to pay for that, and if he had harmed his innocent sister, Delasaine would pay even more. He had to get up and find out what had happened, as well as where the devil he was.
His eyelids cracked open. The beamed ceiling looked familiar and the stone walls…He was in the chamber in the king’s castle he was sharing with his brothers, and it was very dimly lit. His eyelids fluttered closed again.
“Reece?”
That was the voice of his brother, Gervais.
“He’s awake.”
That was his youngest brother, Trevelyan.
“No, he’s not,” Gervais said in what was supposed to pass for a whisper. “He just groaned in his sleep.”
What time of day was it? Reece wondered as he tried to wet his dry lips to speak. He moved in preparation of sitting up, and the pain sliced through him, wrenching another groan from his desert-dry throat.
“I say he is awake and we should summon the infirmerer,” Trev whispered, his voice strained from more than the effort of keeping his naturally loud voice soft. “He said we should fetch him when Reece awoke.”
“We should wait until we’re sure,” the ever-cautious Gervais retorted. “I don’t want you to go running all over the castle for no reason.”
Reece opened his eyes again and put his hand on his side. He was bare chested, with a cloth wrapped about him. A bandage, obviously, and it was damp where the worst pain was. He looked down and saw the blood as he struggled to sit up.
Gervais
