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legs bent, his arms out defensively, awaiting Curtis’s rise. Curtis remained on his hands and knees, his head bent and his long blonde hair concealing his face. William cautiously stepped around to the front of Curtis, ready for him to lash out or jump to his feet. Was this some sort of trick to draw him closer? Then one drop of blood fell onto the dirt ground near Curtis’s hand, then another.
    Curtis lifted his gaze to William. He sputtered and blood splashed from his mouth.
    William scanned him, glancing quickly over Curtis’s body. And then he saw what had happened. The dagger Curtis held had been twisted up in his fall and impaled him. William straightened. He had been in enough battles to know this kind of wound was fatal. The fight was over. And still, despite his less than honorable attack from behind, William felt a twinge of regret. It didn’t have to end this way. He could have run.
    “Curtis?” Grace called.
    Curtis held out a shaking hand to her.
    William blocked her path as she came forward. “There is nothing to be done.”
    Grace surged around him and dropped to her knees at Curtis’s side. She took Curtis’s face into her hands, brushing his hair from his forehead.
    William’s mouth dropped open in surprise. That tender touch made everything clear. William knew in that instant. She had not been kidnapped. She was fleeing. He snapped his mouth closed. Of course she was, he thought. As she should be. He gritted his jaw, his thoughts bitter. He wasn’t certain if he was angry with her or her father. It didn’t matter.
    Curtis turned over, revealing the dagger lodged in his chest. He lay his head in her lap, staring at the sky above.
    Grace’s tears fell onto the young knight’s face, trailing paths of despair. She continued to stroke his forehead and cheeks, wiping the blood from his mouth with her sleeve.
    William turned away. Let the two spend his last moments together in privacy. Of course, he did not like to see his future wife grieving over another man, but there was naught to do about it now. Future wife, he thought in mockery as he stepped into the cottage. He patted the neck of his horse. He had kept the black war horse inside so they wouldn’t know he was here. This was not quite what he had expected. Lord Alan told him she had been kidnapped. Everyone was looking for her. Didn’t he know? She had run away! William couldn’t blame her. What woman would want to marry him? But for a moment, William had believed what he was doing was worthwhile and just. He bowed his head, leaning it against Hellfire’s neck. How wrong he had been!

CHAPTER 8
    G race gently stroked Curtis’s cheek even after he had long since slipped away. This was her fault. He would still be alive if he hadn’t agreed to take her away. Tearfully, she pressed her forehead to his. He would still be alive if he hadn’t have been her friend. Why? Why would the Lord take him away? Why would the Lord do this to her? After all her praying for her knight to come and save her, this is what He brought to her instead. She had prayed every day, every spare moment. What else did He want? She sat up and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve, only to freeze. Blood stained the hem of the sleeve. A new wave of anguish crested over her, and with it came resolve and anger. She had prayed enough. She had to be strong and depend on herself. If God wasn’t answering her prayers, then she would save herself.
    She eased Curtis’s head to the ground, silently thanking him. She backed away to a nearby tree, pressing her back against it as she sat. She lifted her knees, encircling them with her arms. She was not going home. She would fight. She would do what she had to. She was not returning to Willoughby Castle. Because if she did, everything Curtis had done for her would be for naught. Curtis. She bowed her head to her knees and grief washed over her, letting out a torrent of sorrow. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Dead. Curtis was dead. Just