Forever His(116)

Celine bit her tongue to hold in a sob. This was her fault! Gaston had been so cautious, but her impulsive side trip had led Tourelle right to them! Remy’s death was on her head. And if anything had happened to Gaston—

“Once my men reported back to me, I knew I need not even trouble myself giving chase.” Tourelle laughed. “Far simpler to lie here in wait and let you gallop straight into my arms. It was most thoughtful of you, my dear, to make this easier for me. Almost as if you had planned it.” His voice hardened. “Though I know better now. I grow weary of this, Christiane. Show yourself!”

He was so far away that they had to strain to hear him.

“A moment more,” Etienne whispered, rising to his feet, half crouched so he couldn’t be seen, pulling her up beside him. They stood poised, listening for Tourelle to move far enough away that he wouldn’t notice them when they left their hiding place.

But they were so focused in the direction of the trail, they failed to pay attention to what was behind them.

A rustling whoosh of air was the only warning as a sword came slashing straight down at Etienne’s head. He dodged, dropping and rolling. The blade tangled in the bushes. The man who held it yanked it free, snarling curses.

“Run, milady, run!” Etienne cried as two other burly swordsmen closed in. From his prone position, he whipped up his crossbow and fired at the nearest attacker.

Celine screamed, paralyzed with shock and horror as the small, deadly arrow found its mark. The man staggered back with a high-pitched cry and fell to the ground.

Etienne scrambled to his feet. “Run!” He swung the crossbow with both hands, connecting solidly with the jaw of the second man, sending him reeling.

Celine couldn’t move. Not even when she heard horses galloping toward them through the trees. It was like she was trapped in a movie, everything happening too fast, the sounds so loud they drowned out her own terrified screams.

Etienne turned to face his third opponent, but the swordsman was already thrusting forward with his blade.

Celine saw it happen with horrifying clarity. The point sank into Etienne’s side and he crumpled to his knees, jaw slack. The man pulled the sword free, bright with blood. Etienne tumbled face-first into the leaves and grass of the forest floor, not making a sound.

The other man, the one Etienne had hit with the crossbow, lurched to his feet, holding his jaw and swearing. He kicked Etienne over onto his back.

Etienne was gasping for air, his eyes wide and staring—then one long, shuddering breath escaped him. His lashes closed slowly. He didn’t breathe again. The two left him there in a pool of blood and advanced on her.

With a cry of rage and anguish, she dropped her bundle and threw herself at them, fists raised.

Someone caught her from behind before she could reach them. He spun her around, grasping her shoulders.

“What a pleasure to see you again, my dear,” Tourelle said cheerfully. “But look at the measures you have made me resort to. One dead lad will be hard enough to explain away to the King—but two?”

“You bastard!” She tried to hit him, but he caught her wrists.

“Poor, overwrought Christiane.” He subdued her with a bruising grip. “Wherever have you learned such language? From your beloved husband?” He jerked his head to the left, where several more of his men stood with their horses.

Celine followed the direction of his gesture. And saw Gaston. Slung over Pharaon’s saddle. Unmoving.

“No!” she shouted, trying to tear herself away from Tourelle. “No! What have you done?”

“Calm yourself, my dear. He is not dead. Not yet. I have no intention of killing him—at least not until you answer one simple question for me.” He shook her, hard, forcing her attention back to him. “Tell me, Christiane, have you bedded him yet?”

Celine stopped struggling. A sudden icy calm took hold. “No. No, we haven’t—”

“Do not lie to me, my sweet innocent. It will be simple enough to have a physician examine you and tell whether your maidenhead is intact.” He shifted one hand upward, his fingers closing around her neck, his thumb pressing painfully into her jaw, forcing her head back. “Or mayhap I will simply examine you myself!”

Celine felt a rush of fury and fear. But instead of panicking, she did something that surprised even her: she brought up her knee, fast and hard, straight into Tourelle’s groin.

With a strangled curse, he released her, staggering back. Swearing and spluttering, he fell to his knees with an agonized groan.

She glared down at him. “Go to hell,” she said evenly.

His men closed in on her, but he gestured them away with a savage wave of his hand. One tried to help him to his feet but he pushed the man aside, a venomous stare fastened on Celine.