Page 4 of The Knight Who Loved Me (Secrets and Vows #3)

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I n the middle of the night, James dressed in a black tunic and slipped out the rear gate of his castle. He was through waiting for the Black Angel to be captured by his men. She had made this as personal as she could, so there must be something she held against him. It was time he found out, before she got it into her head to disappear with his money for good.

He had a feeling the Black Angel kept a close watch, and would certainly come to him. The ground outside the curtain wall immediately sloped down a rocky crag to the river, so he hugged the wall until he reached the forest. He had no horse or heavy armor, only a light sword through a loop at his waist. Following a little-used path into the forest, he swept his cloak about him for warmth and walked.

The night grew colder, the full moon lower, but James kept warm with determination. It was time to finish this obsession—for the both of them.

He heard her coming before he saw her. Just the light snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves, but he knew deep in his soul that it was the Black Angel, come to greet him. Anticipation burned through him, and a sudden fierce desire. Though she was a tall, muscular, unorthodox woman, the unknown had always secretly attracted him. He imagined her beneath him, and this time she, too, wore no clothes.

“Angel,” he whispered, his husky voice carrying softly. The rustlings ceased. “Angel.”

He saw the flash of moonlight on her sword, and with a dance to the side, he drew his own weapon and met hers, parrying it up and away. She let out a startled oath, and they turned to face one another, swords raised. The Angel wore only black, from her dark riotous hair and wild eyes, to her swirling cape and hose that molded to her wonderfully long legs. James forgot about his money, his humiliation. He only knew the exhilaration of facing her in battle. He couldn’t remember a moment when his life had seemed so vibrant.

She circled slowly in the small, natural clearing, never taking her eyes from him.

James smiled. “What are you waiting for?”

“I have waited a lifetime for this,” she answered, her voice low, triumphant.

“A lifetime? I have been so much a part of your thoughts, and I never knew?”

He thrust forward and she whirled away, knocking aside his sword with her wrapped arm.

“Tell me how you know me,” he demanded.

“You are legendary in my home,” she said, and her teeth flashed in almost a grimace.

“My daring exploits travel far.”

“No, only your incredibly evil deeds—yours and your family’s.”

His smile died as she came at him, sweeping at his knees. He jumped over her sword, then parried the arc she swung back toward his head.

They both took a step away, breathing heavily.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked in a soft voice. He didn’t need her answer—she gave none. “Wasn’t my money enough?”

“It was only the beginning.”

The Angel battled hard, thrusting, slashing, until James realized she could beat him if he wasn’t fighting at his best. His respect for her skills grew, along with his intense curiosity about her life. She was a dark shadow by moonlight, and it took all his concentration to match her stroke for stroke.

“Where did you learn to fight like this?” he demanded between deep, gasping breaths. They stood apart, their swords a bit lower. He was thankful that at least she seemed as winded as he.

“I learned it all for you,” she whispered, and the wild light in her eyes stunned him.

“What have I done to inspire such—dedication?” He wanted to say “hatred,” but the word wouldn’t leave his throat. He didn’t want this magnificent woman to hate him.

“Think back on your life, Bolton,” she said harshly. “Your crimes are apparent.”

When she thrust toward him, she was wild with passion and some unnamed emotion. He jumped to one side, knocked away her sword, and pulled her against him. She fought him, kicking and hitting, until he caught her arms to her body in a hard hug.

“Who are you?” he demanded, and when she didn’t answer, he ripped the mask from her face. She was a stranger, as he had known she would be. In the moonlight, her eyes were dark, angry pools, her mouth a grimace of anger.

Isabel glared her hatred at him. She was beyond outrage, beyond fear. Everything her father had instilled in her, all her plans for revenge, for triumph, were spinning away. She was captured, taken over a sword. She had thought herself invulnerable, and her arrogance had destroyed her in the end. Or had she forgotten herself, forgotten her heritage, and allowed thoughts of her enemy’s pleasing face to sway her? It was unthinkable. She could not give up, she couldn’t let him win. She kicked and she fought and she scratched.

Bolton gave her a bone-squeezing hug until she gasped for breath.

“Enough,” he whispered harshly into her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You already have,” she hissed, “my entire life.”

She knew he was puzzled, that he hadn’t a clue to her identity. It was unthinkable that he should be oblivious to all her family had suffered. But if she told him her story, spewed her hatred, her people would suffer, her castle would come under attack. And William—where was he? Perhaps he could escape.

That hope was dashed when there was a sudden rustle in the trees. Three of Bolton’s men stepped into the clearing, and the giant one had William in his grip.

“My lord Bolton,” the smug blond one said. “We found this man trying to escape.”

The smallest man removed William’s hood. “He’s a boy, milord.”

Isabel’s squire bravely lifted his chin, but she could see the despair in his eyes as he looked at her. She hated herself for involving him, for not insisting he return to his own home.

Bolton sighed, and she felt the expansion of his ribs against hers. “A woman and a boy. You’ve done well, my dear Angel. You should be proud of yourself.”

She remained silent.

“Now where is my money?”

The missing money was her last chance to thwart him. It was a large sum, and she knew it might cripple him financially to do without it. She narrowed her eyes at William and remained mute, hoping the boy would understand.

“Angel, this is useless. I can easily retrieve the information from you. Don’t force me to harm your pretty face.”

Surely he knew such threats wouldn’t work. And calling her “pretty” only proved his deception. But William...she tightened her lips. She didn’t know what she’d do if they harmed her squire.

Isabel tensed, waiting for whatever torture Bolton deemed necessary.

After a moment of weighty silence, he sighed and said to his men, “Does one of you have some rope?”

The blond looked guilty. “Lord Bolton, your leave-taking was sudden, and we followed barely dressed.”

“But with our weapons, o’ course,” said the small man.

“Of course,” the first one echoed.

Isabel couldn’t see Bolton’s face. She took a quick breath as he ran a hand around her waist. She arched away from him in outrage. Did he mean to do something unspeakable in front of his men?

“Calm down, Angel,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “I need something to tie you and the boy up with, and I assume you have a handy black ribbon about you. Care to tell me where?”

He barely waited before responding. “Very well.”

While she was held immobile at the little man’s sword point, Bolton ran his hands down her hips. She felt her face drain of blood. Did he treat his betrothed this way? Had he forced his body on her before his own men? She saw William’s eyes go wild as he fought the grip of the giant.

When Bolton found nothing at her hips, he slid his hands up her torso. He stopped just below her breasts. Isabel felt as tight as a taut bow string, waiting in anguish for what her arrogance had brought her to.

“No!” William suddenly shouted.

“Cease!” she ordered the boy.

But her squire ignored her, breathing in ragged gasps. “She carries the ribbons in a special pouch sewn into the skirt of her doublet. Get your hands off her!”

To her surprise, Bolton did so immediately. “Thank you, boy. I don’t enjoy forcing women to reveal their secrets.”

She almost snorted at that one. She stood still as he lifted her doublet and removed the trailing length of ribbons. He handed one over to the dark giant, who wordlessly tied William’s hands. Her squire turned anguished eyes on her. She gave him as gentle a smile as she was capable of, then submitted woodenly while the earl tied her hands before her. When Bolton was through, he looked up and their gazes met and held.

“This isn’t necessary,” he said for her ears alone. “I don’t wish to humiliate you as you’ve done to me. Just tell me where the money is.”

Isabel narrowed her gaze, allowing it to casually roam down his body and back up. “Your humiliation has only just begun.”