Page 74 of A Knight’s Reward
“Ryle, I am sorr—”
His hand snapped out. She raised her hands to try to deflect the blow. Stumbled back.
His fist did not strike her.
Instead, his hand locked around her arm. His fingers clamped onto her sleeve, digging into her skin despite the layer of shimmering silk between their flesh.
“Please,” she gasped. If only he had hit her and been done with his cruelty. The gleam in his eyes promised more.
His other hand reached to his belt. His dagger hissed from its scabbard.
She froze. Surely he would not… “Ryle—” Her plea sounded like someone else’s voice. A woman consumed by terror.
“You will be sorry,” he said between his teeth. “You will never deceive me again.”
The knife glinted, a silver flash of light that seemed to reflect off every surrounding surface. The light transfixed her, imprisoned her with sheer horror. What did Ryle mean to do? Was he going to kill her?
Run! her mind screamed. Get away while you still can.
Even as her mind shrieked, she remained frozen. Frantic thoughts clashed, undermining her instinct to bolt. If she fled, would he come after her? Or, would he storm up the stairs and use the knife on Ewan?
Her breath locked tight in her lungs. Several times, Ryle had vowed to hurt anyone she loved if she ran away. He was cruel enough to wound a sleeping child. Another man’s son.
Sobs welled inside her. With every ounce of willpower, she forced herself to remain motionless. Curling her hands into fists, she watched the knife plunge down in a bright arc.
With a sickening rasp, the blade whisked across her bodice, cutting silk and flesh as though they were soft cheese.
Pain careened into her mind. A crimson stain ribboned across her bodice. Blood, thick and warm, spewed between her breasts, ran down to her stomach, and stuck her delicate chemise to her skin.
She stared down at her blood-soaked gown. A strange sound echoed in the chamber. A gasping, wheezing noise.
The sound of her own breathing.
The agony of her cut flesh… Hideous pain! She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Never would she reveal her anguish. Ryle must not have the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt her. Nor would she wake Ewan and have him see her injury.
The suppressed scream scorched her throat. With a trembling hand, she fingered the torn silk. A cut with neat, clean edges, she noted dully. The sign of a deadly sharp knife.
She glanced up, wavering as the room spun at a peculiar angle. Squinting down at her, Ryle met her gaze. The menacing force of his glare commanded her to cower before him, crying, bleeding, and wounded.
Never again would she yield to this beast of a man. Never!
When she continued to stare, his squint hardened. She dropped her gaze. She did not want to, but to challenge him when he was in such a rage was foolish. Better to use her remaining strength to find a way to defend herself if he attacked again.
There. The flower vase he had bought her as a gift. She would smash it over his head. Somehow, she must reach out and grab it.
Ryle exhaled a rough sigh. The knife winked again. As her arms instinctively flew up in self-defense, the dagger landed with a thump on the table beside them. After running a hand through his silvery hair, he reached for his wine.
Relief weakened her legs. They threatened to give out, to send her collapsing on the floor.
Drawn by grim fascination, her gaze slid to the knife. Blood glistened on the blade. Her blood, cleaved from her breast. God, oh, God, how it hurt!
Vomit burned her mouth. The slick, crimson liquid on the knife began to spread, growing like a murky pool across the table. Wider, wider, it grew, covering the table, consuming…
“Gisela,” Dominic said from nearby.
The scarlet haze in her mind slowly faded to the mottled green of tree shadows. Dominic’s arms were around her, supporting her, Gisela realized dully. He stood behind her, holding her about the waist, supporting her while…
While she moaned like a little girl lost in a nightmare.
