Knight's Prize (40 page)

It
didn't even matter that the instant he dropped his sword, she'd sweep it up to
slay him.

Gazing
into her smoldering eyes, he remembered they had once looked upon him with
love. In her company, he'd known delight. In her arms, he'd known affection. In
her bed. he'd known acceptance.

He
couldn't destroy those memories, even if memories were all they were, with a
slash of his blade.

Though
he held his own assassin cornered, at his mercy, a whisper away from death, his
fingers trembled upon the hilt of his sword.

"Nay,"
he whispered. "I cannot." He lowered his sword, then carefully placed
it between them on the pallet.

As
he'd predicted, she instantly took advantage of his weakness. She seized the
blade in both hands and turned it on him.

He
lowered his eyes then, wanting to remember the once sweet adoration of her
gaze, unable to face the bloodthirsty gloating that doubtless resided there
now.

He
made no resistance as she prodded his throat with the point of the sword. It
hurt no worse than her hatred.

But
as the moment dragged on, as the silence lengthened, and she did naught,
keeping him in agonizing suspense, his melancholy curdled slowly into anger.

Had
the wench no kindness left in her heart to grant him a swift and merciful
death?

"Be
done with it!" he muttered.

The sword
point jerked against his throat. "Do not order me about!"

"If
you would slay me, slay me!"

"I'll
not be... rushed."

He
wasn't about to submit to slow torture for her pleasure. He'd send his soul to
hell by impaling himself first. "What do you want?" he growled.

She
hesitated.

He
sniffed once through his battered nose, and the pain made his eyes water.
"Bloody hell, wench! What do you want?"

"I...
I want to know what you did to Sung Li." She raised the blade beneath his
chin. "And for once, see if you can tell no lies."

"Lies?"
He gave a humorless chuckle. "You are a strange one to speak of
lies," he said, raising his eyes to pin her with his gaze, "Lady
Shadow."

A
flicker of guilt flashed through her eyes like lightning, there one instant,
gone the next, and the sword point jumped in her startled hand, nicking him.

She
lifted her chin with false bravado, but her eyes she lowered. Her voice
trembled, and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. "What did you do to
him?"

Rand
blinked. Him? Did Miriel
know
that her maidservant was a man? Was this yet
another of her deceptions? "Who?"

"Sung
Li!" she said impatiently.

"Sung
Li?" He scowled. "Sung Li?" So outraged was he that Miriel had
known all along, that he'd worried for her for naught, that in his vehemence,
he almost stabbed himself on the blade. "You mean your
maid
servant?"

He
could tell she was blushing, even if he couldn't see the pink hue of her
cheeks.

"You
wouldn't understand," she said lamely.

"Aye,"
he retorted, his anger fully engaged now. "I
wouldn't
understand
how an innocent maiden would willingly sleep with an old man disguised as a
wench!"

"I
never slept with him!"

He
didn't bother to guard his words, snarling nastily, "No doubt you were too
busy swiving to sleep."

He wouldn't
have been surprised if she'd run him through then, but instead she withdrew the
blade and slapped him across the cheek with her open hand.

He
moaned as the blow jarred his injured face, wondering if impalement might be
less painful.

Her
voice was a harsh whisper. "You know better, you son of a—"

"Aye."
Already he regretted his rash words. After all, she'd come to him a virgin.
"I do." He dabbed at his bloody lip with the back of his hand.
"Unless you lied about that as well."

She
gasped and raised her hand to strike him again. This time he caught her wrist.

"Listen,
my lady," he ground out, "I've had enough of your pummeling and
enough of your lies."

"My
lies? What about
your
lies?"
she hissed. "What about. ‘I am Sir Rand of Morbroch'? What about, 'I've
come to court Miriel'? What about, 'I was knocked witless in the melee'? What
about, 'Miriel, I love—"' She choked on her words.

He
narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't a lie, Miriel.
 
I swear it." She tried to pull her hand
out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let her go. "I swear it. I loved
you." He swallowed hard, glimpsing the hurt in her eyes, manifesting now
as real tears. "God help me, I still do."

Chapter
25

M
iriel's
throat swelled
. She tried everything to stop the tears.

She
forced her brow into a fierce scowl.

She
steeled her jaw.

She
tightened her fist around the hilt of the sword.

Using
the skills of concentration that Sung Li had taught her, she repeated over and
over in her mind that Rand's words were only manipulation. Manipulation.
Manipulation.

But
her chin began to tremble, her hand grew limp around the weapon, and against
her will, hot tears started to spill over her lashes.

"Why
should I believe you?" she whispered.

"Look
at
me," he murmured back. "Look into my eyes."

Against
her better judgment, she did. It sickened her to see the mess she'd made of his
face, evidence of the violence of which she was capable, but she forced herself
to meet his gaze.

“‘Tis
true I deceived you about many things," he said. "My name. My title.
The tournament. My purpose for coming to Rivenloch. My skill with a
blade." His gaze turned fierce with emotion. "But I never deceived
you about this. I love you, Miriel, with all my heart. What I did, I did to
protect you. I thought Sung Li was a true threat." His jaw tensed. "I
knew if I saved your life, you'd never take me back. But I couldn't bear to
leave you in danger."

She
averted her eyes. Was he playing her for a fool again? How could she trust the
adoration in his gaze when she, too, was able to feign emotions she didn't
feel?

As
if he was privy to her thoughts, his fingers loosened around her wrist in
chilling realization as he breathed in wonder, "My God. Did you never love
me?"

She
paused. Admitting her love would leave her vulnerable to betrayal again.

He took
her long hesitation as assent. "I see." With a bark of self-mockery,
he let go of her hand. "Then you are a better liar than I am, my
lady."

She
frowned. She couldn't let him believe that. Aye, she had a talent for
deception, but not about this. She
had
loved him. She
had.

At
her lack of response, he murmured bleakly, "Sung Li is in the dungeon. I
didn't hurt him." With a rueful smile, he added, "He might be a
master of Chinese warfare, but he's still a wee old man."

Miriel
felt a tear spill down her cheek, and before she could stop herself, she
blurted out, "I did love you." Then, mortified by her rash
confession, she added, "Before."

He
stared at her, wavering between belief and disbelief, as mistrustful as she
was. "Did you?"

Sweet
Jesu, how had it come to this? How had she become a slave to her emotions?
'Twas not at all what Sung Li had taught her. He'd taught her to be strong,
indifferent, unflinching, focused, a perfect warrior.

At
the moment, she was none of these. Her energies were scattered like chaff in a
whirlwind, her thoughts ran rampant, and her
chi...

She
felt so unaligned, so out of balance, that she feared she'd never center
herself again.

She
brusquely wiped away the tear and adjusted her grip on the sword, determined to
pull herself together.

What
would Sung Li do? How she longed for his wisdom at this moment.

"Prithee
do not torment me with waiting, my lady." Rand let out a ragged sigh.
"Kiss me or kill me. But make me wait no more."

Miriel
knew then she had no will to murder Rand. Varlet he might be. And knave. And
cad. Deceiver. And cheat. And liar.

But
he was the man she loved.

And
in all fairness, who was she to judge him?

Had
she not told just as many lies, deceived him just as surely, misled and
manipulated and coerced him? She had no right to fault him for his sins, for
she was just as guilty.

She
lifted her chin, took a deep, steadying breath, and studied his face.

Did
Rand la Nuit love her? Truly?

For
Miriel, there was but one way to find out.

She
cast
aside
the sword, letting it rattle upon the floor.
Then, careful not to
injure
him further, she moved close, cradling his damaged face between her hands, and
lifted her head to bestow upon him a kiss.

His
mouth was swollen, his lip was split, and the scent of his blood was heavy in
her nostrils. But there was no mistaking his tenderness as he responded to her
tentative caress.

She
carefully tilted his head, weaving her fingers into his mane, and pressed light
kisses along his lips in soft apology for each cut, each bruise.

His
arms came slowly up between hers to cup her face. With his thumb, he gently
coaxed her jaw wider, opening her mouth so she could receive the full measure
of his affection. His tongue ventured within to taste her more intimately, and
he seemed to pour the nectar of his soul into her mouth, imbuing the kiss with
every ounce of love he felt for her.

Her
unguarded heart was no match for such a tender assault. Relief rushed over her,
draining the dregs of resistance from her bones. The ambrosia of his soul was
pure and delicious, and she sobbed at the sweetness of it, drinking deep and
willingly of his passion.

Miriel
knew the truth now. Their tongues might lie, but their hearts spoke true. 'Twas
not only desire that burned brightly between them. 'Twas love, as pure as
white-hot flame..

God
help her if she was wrong, for she was well and truly lost in it now.

************************************

Rand
could no longer think.

'Twas
just as well. Even if he'd been able to string together two thoughts, they'd likely
have been a contradiction.

Miriel
hated him.

Nay,
she loved him.

As
long as she was pressing her soft lips to his, combing her fingers through his
hair, murmuring sweet promises against his mouth, he didn't care which.

Later
they could untangle the complex web of lies. Later they could make confession
of their sins. And later they could decide whether Miriel loved or hated him.

For
now, 'twas good enough that he held her in his arms when he'd despaired of ever
seeing her again.

At
least, he'd
thought
'twas
good enough. Until the wanton lass gasped out a lusty request.

"Make
love to me."

That
was when he knew he was definitely a man. For despite his battered body,
despite his smashed face, his pierced palm, his wounded shoulder, his cracked
head, even his bruised ballocks, all suffered at her hands, there was naught he
desired more.