The Warrior's Reward by Samantha Holt

He had to believe her, he just had to.
    Ieuan stepped forward. The gap between the two men vanished in that step and they were chest to chest. He drew out his sword and the scrape of steel on his scabbard made her wince. Then he grabbed the man by the chainmail hood around his neck.
    “Oh nay. Do not.” She stepped forward and paused when he held out a palm.
    “What else have you lied to me about, Phylip? Do you intend to turn traitor perhaps? Run to the English king and demand coin for your knowledge? You have betrayed me by touching what is mine and thus I think you are better off dead. That way I can be assured of your silence.”
    Each word held such menace, such threat, that it sent tremors through her in waves. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to see a man die in front of her.
    “I will stay silent to the grave,” Phylip said, meeting his gaze head on, “if you pay me well.”
    Ieuan laughed. “And this is the bargain you strike when facing the steel of my blade?”
    “You would not kill an old friend.”
    “Friend?” Ieuan spat on the ground beside him. “I have no friends. A man like me cannot afford such luxury as friendship.”
    Rosamunde wondered what he meant. A man like him? As far as she knew he was a knight with land. She had thought him wealthy for a while but he had taken her for her wealth so he must be only rich in land. What knowledge could Phylip have that made his silence so important?
    Phylip eyed the blade in her husband’s hand and jerked against the hold he had on his coif. “I will stay silent, I swear it,” he said quietly.
    She couldn’t see her husband’s gaze properly now but whatever Phylip must have seen in it had persuaded him to submit. Ieuan shook his head and the cold realisation she was going to see a man cut down sank into the pit of her stomach.
    “Ieuan,” she pleaded softly.
    He jerked his head in her direction. The dark shadowy haze to his eyes made the blood drain from her face. But she held her stance firm. She would not swoon. The darkness vanished, his scowl softened. There was a look of defeat to him. An odd notion, for she certainly had not defeated him and Phylip had surrendered.
    Ieuan drew out the man’s sword with his free hand and pushed him away with a bump to his chest. He came to her side, his blade held aloft and handed her Phylip’s. The metal was not as heavy as she had expected and easy to balance. She gripped it tightly.
    “Be gone,” Ieuan said, his voice as cold as winter snow. “I promise you, if you turn traitor I shall hunt you down and kill you. You can thank the lady for my mercy this day.”
    Phylip squared up to him briefly before his shoulders slumped. If she were him, she would scurry away now and never utter Ieuan’s name again, such was the menace behind his threat.
    “I shall be killed without my blade.”
    “Then ‘twill be no less than you deserve. Be gone before I change my mind.” He took an aggressive step forward, his sword raised, and Phylip jerked back, twisted and stumbled away.
    Rosamunde released a lengthy breath. When she glanced at Ieuan she found him watching her. She tugged at a length of hair and stroked it through two fingers over and over.
    “I th-thank you for believing me.”
    He blinked and one dark brow rose. “Why would I not? You have not the ability to lie, Rosamunde.”
    The way he said it sounded almost like an insult. Since when was honesty a terrible trait? Yet she felt the need to defend herself. She tugged on her hair and curled it around a finger. “How would you know?”
    “I can tell.” He pressed the gauntlet of his sword to his stomach. “Here, deep down. My instincts have always been my guide.”
    “Yet you have a man who tried to r-rape your wife in your midst.”
    He sheathed his sword and scuffed the back of his hand across his jaw. “Did you never hear of keeping your enemies close? Though I shall confess I did not expect such behaviour from him. Pray forgive my