Darcy Branwyn

Worth Fighting For:

England, 1192

…“I knew you didn’t smell right,” Cedrick said.

Oh, now if that wasn’t the most disgusting thing she’d heard in a long time.

“You don’t smell like a boy,” he continued, pushing away from the tree.

Jennifer held her ground, the knife in her hand but at her side. She wasn’t going to over-react, or at least that was what she told herself as he came closer.

“You don’t sit a horse like a boy,” he said, bending to retrieve the cloth she used to bind her breasts with.

“You’re daft,” she said, continuing the ruse even though it was beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“One way to find out,” he said, reaching for her.

She didn’t think, reacting, thank God due to the lessons given to her by her brothers and slashed out at him with the knife. She heard his tunic rip, felt the edge of her blade graze his stomach.

Not deep enough. She lurched back as he looked down, swearing as a line of red bled into his dirty tunic. A flesh wound was all she’d managed. She’d have just a matter of seconds before he was at her angry as a stuck pig.

Jennifer turned, scrambling up the ravine, her bare feet at least offering her footholds even as rocks and sticks cut her. She still had the knife in her hand. Cedrick followed just like she knew he would.

“Get back here, bitch,” he said, catching her by the calf and dragging her back down again.

Jennifer was nineteen years old, unwed, and as virginal as the day she was born. She’d be damned if she was going to let him have her.

She twisted around to get at him with the knife but he got hold of her wrist. Pounding it hard against a rock he broke her grasp. She cried out as pain spread up her forearm.

He tossed the knife aside.

Cedrick stood over her for a moment, smiling as if proud of his prize.

“Only way you can get a woman, is it?” she said. It was probably stupid of her, but she felt like all she had left was her tongue.

The next thing she knew was the back of his hand across her face. She worked her jaw, tongued her teeth. Yes, all still there. Her left ear was ringing though and that couldn’t be good. 

She struck out at him with her foot, catching him by chance in the gut hard enough to wind him. Scrambling out from under him she ran. Avoiding the ravine she kept to the creek, hoping for an easier way up the hill.

She heard a growl from the tree line above her, and then turned to see a dark gray blur leap past her. Not paying attention she tripped over a fallen branch and went down hard, jarring her writs. Jennifer turned, still on the ground, to see what was happening.

Cedrick was on his back, a huge wolfhound over him. He held his hands up in a useless attempt to protect himself as the dog bore down on him, growling and tearing at his arm.

Jennifer came to her feet, but staying there was another matter entirely. She took a few steps and fell again. Stars rimmed her vision, and then everything went black…

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