No money is being made from this. I only wanted to play in my own sandbox and invite the characters to join me. I own absolutely nothing that may seem familiar to you in this story. I only own Reagan and Ivy though difficult they may be.

HUGE THANKS AGAIN TO THE BETA TEAM! You guys rock! :)

Warning: There is a bit of strong language and violence in this chapter. If you have a problem with this let me know and I will try to send you a PG-13 version of this chapter instead.

For Peachpaige and Pia. Two people who have been patiently waiting for this one...

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."- Mahatma Gandhi

Chapter 25

It had been a moment of celebration and Lancelot was enjoying a goblet of Arthur's finest spiced mead. He reclined in his chair with a grace that belied his increasingly inebriated state, as the two men proceeded to drink the flagon dry. Arthur had not been surprised at the meeting earlier, when Lancelot had made the announcement of his up-coming nuptials. Instead, it was met with exhaustible sighs of relief from all of the Knights--much to Lancelot's chagrin.

Now he found himself grinning like a fool, while Arthur managed to get increasingly drunk by the minute, spilling his mead on the scrolls spread carelessly across his desk. There was nothing that could spoil Lancelot's good mood. It was this reassurance that had caused him precious seconds; his own foolish hope that nothing could go wrong now.

Later, he would always wonder if it was this blind faith in his apparent good fortune that had come back to bite him in the ass. It was this sense of damnable optimism that was eventually his undoing and he should have savored that last sip of mead. Because little did he know, in a matter of minutes all hell was about to break loose and he was going to pay the ultimate price for it.

Reagan awoke rather suddenly when her head made sharp contact with something very hard. Seconds later she rapped her skull again, the stinging pain bringing her completely alert. She blinked as dark shapes shifted in her blurry vision. Her hands and feet felt numb and her mouth had a faint metallic taste to it, as if she'd slept too long.

Trying her best to push herself up into a sitting position, she realized that her hands were tied in front of her with a piece of leather so tight that it cut into her skin. She wiggled her feet; apparently they'd tied them together as well. That would explain the numbness.

She was trussed up like a sack of grain, inside a dark smelly cart, and at this realization Reagan's heart began to pound in panic. The clamor of the horse's hooves as they sped along a rutted road served as an appropriate backdrop to the sheer terror she was beginning to feel.

They had found her. More appropriately, he had found her. With a profound sense of trepidation Reagan realized was headed straight back into the one place, the one person she had sought never to return to: Waldenham and Rullus.

Folding her knees beneath her, she dug her elbows into the rocking floor of the cart and forced herself upright, slouching against one of the walls. This only served to make it easier for her to fall again when the speed of the wagon sent her rocking to the side, and Reagan went down like a sack of potatoes.

Giving up the fight she stayed down, though she was loath to have anyone find her in such a prone position. Fighting to keep her breathing under control, Reagan rolled to her side and desperately tried to loosen the ties around her ankles. Straining against her bindings until she could feel the muscles in her legs protest, she was rewarded with a very tiny amount of slack from the tight knot.

Now able to wiggle her feet, she managed to loosen her bindings enough to slide one edge over her left heel. Her brief sense of victory was short lived, as the wagon lurched to an abrupt halt, sending her tumbling against its side. Banging her tender head for what was the third time that night, she bit her tongue to keep from crying out in pain.

Forcing her eyes to open, dim, hazy shapes shifted before her as the opening to the wagon was yanked open. The burly man who'd held her captive in the forest reached in for her, his fingers wrapping around her calf before forcefully dragging her to the edge. Had her hands not been bound, Reagan would have tried to claw her way out of the man's clutches. As it was she could only shriek a protest at his manhandling before he sharply pulled her upright.

"I told you we should have gagged her, Angus," he grunted, as she managed to dig the sharp points of her elbows into the man's beefy chest.

"At least she's awake." She heard her father mutter, before her captor snatched at her bound wrists, making the sore appendages throb, a stuttered objection sticking in her throat.

"I says it's time we have some fun with her," one of the men behind them suggested, and Reagan balked at the insinuation.

"She's to be handed over to his lordship untouched. You know that." Angus bit off; his sharp tone brooked no room for argument. Reagan didn't know whether to be thankful for her father's defense or offended by it.

"But that dark-haired bloke already had his way with her. How's Rullus to know we've had a bit of fun ourselves?" Another of them argued, a slight whine in his voice.

"No one is to touch her!" Angus bellowed and Reagan blinked in shock at his tone. "Because it'll be our heads if she's not fit and ready to receive him when we deliver her." Her initial surprise at his defense faded quickly. Angus spoke of her as if she were some parcel, not the daughter he had spent a better part of his life raising.

"You still plan to collect your reward, I see." She managed, her voice tight while she glared daggers at her father.

"Did I say something to make you think differently?" Angus asked looking about his motley crew of men as some of them joined in on the joke, laughing at her apparent idiocy.

"I…" Reagan swallowed, "No, I suppose you didn't. Why have we stopped?"

Her father reached into his cloak and Reagan feared he would pull that sharp dagger on her again but instead he only presented her with a small corked vial. Her relief was short lived as he removed the stopper and moved closer to her.

"I had feared that Nathaniel's trifle blow in the forest wouldn't effect your thick skull as I had hoped. I'm glad to know you're still as hard headed as you were when you were a child." Angus thrust the small vial at her, motioning sharply that she should take hold of it. Reagan motioned back with her bound hands, giving her father a sarcastic smile. When she made no motion toward taking it, her captor, Nathaniel, moved to her side, holding onto one of her elbows, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"I like to think of this as a back-up plan. Something to assure me that you'll not try to run away again." Reagan stared at the vial in her father's hand, knowing that he meant for her to drink it.

"You don't think binding my hands and feet--therefore rendering me helpless--wasn't assurance enough, father?" Angus leveled her with a steely glare and Reagan met it squarely. There was something in her father's eyes that she didn't like, a sort of blind resignation that didn't bode well for either of them.

"Helpless? You've managed to get one foot loose, I see." Reagan desperately tried tucking one foot behind the other so it would look as if she were still bound, while her eyes darted around wildly searching for any means of escape. If only she could get to her feet, if only she could run. Forming a flimsy plan of attack in her head, her quick thoughts were cut off by her father's next words.

"Why must you make everything so difficult? I have no wish to hurt you, Reagan."

Bringing her attention back to her father she narrowed her eyes at him, "No, instead you hired someone else to bully me." She jerked her head toward Nathaniel and blinked in mock innocence at him before looking back at her father with glittering eyes.

"This proves beyond a doubt that Rullus was right about you. You really are a coward."

"Enough! You will hold that sharp tongue or else you'll lose it!" Stepping closer to her, Reagan shrank away from him instinctively, and tried one last attempt to reason with her father. Feeling close to tears she forced the words out from somewhere deep down within her.

"Please don't do this, if you ever loved me you would let me go." He seemed to hesitate at her words, a bevy of emotions skittering across his face before he replied.

"I did love you once, but that was a long time ago. After your mother died I couldn't stand to look at you. You've always been strong, able to take care of yourself. But I was left wondering who was going to take care of me? When you wanted to spend more time with those priests than with your own father, I soon came to realize that though you may look like your mother, you're, sadly, nothing like her." The ghost of a sad smile crossed Angus' craggy features as he addressed her.

There were so many good memories tied to that face, a face that now belonged to a stranger. It was a tragic reminder of the simple life she had once lived. Powerful regret stirred Reagan and she wished that things had turned out differently.

"I am beholden to Rullus, Reagan. I have no choice," he finished in a tone that brooked no argument. Angus grabbed her face, holding her chin tightly with one of his hands. The action forced her mouth open against her will.

"You will drink this and you will not fight me." There was a frantic edge to his voice that made her blanch in reaction. Trying to turn her face away without success, her father pressed the vial between her lips, forcing her head back and sending a stream of bitter tasting liquid down her throat.

Angered and frightened that he had forced the poison on her, she reacted on instinct drawing away when he released her and holding her breath against the desire to swallow. Some of the drink had made it down her throat but a majority of it she'd managed to hold back.

In one last act of defiance Reagan drew back and spat the stuff in her father's face. He howled in anger, wiping his face on the sleeve of his tunic as the liquid dripped from his eyes. Nathaniel came at her, once more pinning her tightly before he smacked her hard across the face in retaliation.

The resounding crack from the blow sounded like thunder in her ears. Reagan blinked, her eyes going in and out of focus. Blood trickled from her mouth and stained her skirt. She stared at it while she heard her father say a blistering string of words that she didn't quite register. Fear overtook her as the entire scene started to fade before her.

Holding on to the last shreds of her dim reality, Reagan felt herself begin to fall backward and prayed silently to whatever gods would listen, that she would make it through this alive.

And if she did, she vowed she would repay her father tenfold for everything he had inflicted upon her for the sake of his own greed and the ghost of woman long dead.

Lancelot stared at the simple yet effective message. At one point through his rush of intense denial and anger he was unable to process exactly what he was seeing. He slowly blinked at the shining lock of dark hair lying in his palm. It seemed almost black against the creamy whiteness of the cloth, before he folded his fist around it and crushed the tender fabric and its precious contents.

He looked at the boy before him, lying bloody and broken on the bed as several people, Arthur included hovered around him. Tristan had found Lucan half stumbling, half crawling his way out at the edges of the forest. When the scout was spotted carrying someone injured into the fort, and that that someone turned out to be Dagonet's squire, all hell broke loose.

Lucan continued to mumble incoherently about a strange woman and a dense fog, which Arthur attributed to his beating and paid it no heed. Ivy and Dagonet desperately tried to help him.

Lucan's right arm and nose were broken, both his eyes were black and his face and tunic were a bloody mess. The boy was in bad shape, and Dagonet was not taking it well despite his calm appearance. Even more distressing was that Ivy appeared to be on the very verge of weeping, blaming herself for not keeping a more vigilant eye Reagan and Lucan.

Arthur quickly assured the healer that it was not her fault and summoned Galahad before Ivy broke down completely. Lancelot stared at the chaos surrounding him and realized dimly that there was never a night where the healing rooms sat quiet. Tonight, however, the din seemed to ring in his ears as loud and piercing as the thundering of his own heart.

Damn that foolish, headstrong, stupid girl! Why did she not listen to him when he'd begged her to stay within the protection of the wall? Why did she seek to defy him at every turn? Now she was gone and it was all because of her own stubborn pride and his unyielding foolish faith in her promise that she was missing. If she were here now he'd throttle her for such a blatant act of disobedience.

But that was the problem. Reagan wasn't here and a sharp sensation of fear so keen it was painful shot through him at the thought.

Lancelot had stepped away from the crowd, and stalked toward the stables without even realizing what he was doing. Before anyone could stop him, he was saddling Malachi, taking stock of his weapons and wondering if he should waste precious time donning his armor. Only then did he even realize that he'd been followed.

He looked up at the two men, his brows drawn together. Galahad and Tristan instinctively took a step back at his black expression. Lancelot knew he looked crazed, but it was only a small shadow of how he was feeling at the moment. The piece of cloth was still clutched in his hand; he stared down at it feeling as if his entire world was slipping away from him.

They had found her. They had taken her. And Lancelot had been completely unaware of it even happening. A bitter sense of self-loathing that he'd been unable to protect his own woman churned like acid in his gut.

"We're going with you," he heard Tristan say, the scout's voice sounding strange as it cut through the ringing in his ears, and he felt himself nod.

Lancelot knew it would be foolish to go storming into Waldenham alone, swords drawn and in a raging temper demanding they return Reagan. At least with Galahad and Tristan along they could assist him in the search for her and keep him calm enough to see reason.

But reason was now eluding him and somehow he could not stop himself from asking a question he'd been burning to ask since he'd learned of it.

"What exactly did you see in the forest, Tristan? Since you failed to elaborate the last time you brought up the topic!" The vehemence in his own voice was more than a little accusatory and Tristan didn't even react. Lancelot knew by the scout's drawn out silence that he'd been wrong to ask him in the first place.

"I saw nothing." The scout's gaze was steady and uncompromising and Lancelot felt his blood begin to boil before Tristan continued. "I saw nothing but a mist, a strange and heavy mist that could not be explained. I bought it to Arthur's attention because it is not normal."

"A mist?" Lancelot stared at Tristan before narrowed his eyes at the scout who continued to gaze at him as if he expected this sort of incredulous reaction. "You warned Arthur of a mist in the forest? You saw no tracks? No makeshift camp? No sign of men?" the scout shrugged his shoulders, a taciturn gesture, and moved toward Skye as if this line of questioning was of no real import.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied, saddling the mare with a detachment that spoke of his own uncertainties about the topic.

"Nothing out of the ordinary except a bloody MIST!" Lancelot felt his jaw clench and he fought the urge to lunge himself at Tristan. "Reagan is gone because you were distracted by a goddamn fog?!" Tristan turned on him then in one sharp movement, but Lancelot held his ground stubbornly against his approach.

"Reagan is missing because she failed to obey. That was not of my doing. The forest is not right. There is something in there that I cannot explain. And until I can, you would do well to stay out of it." Tristan rarely raised his voice, but before either man could react further, Galahad stepped between them both, effectively putting an end to their argument.

"Strange mists and kidnapped women aside, we have a mission to undertake. You both would benefit from donning your armor and gathering what is left of the rations. We have a ride ahead of us." Both men looked at Galahad as if he'd just broken into song and dance, so unexpected was his command of the situation.

"Ivy would never forgive me if I didn't bring her friend back in one piece. I think you both would agree that there is no need to waste precious time standing here arguing with each other when Reagan is doubtlessly in danger."

Tristan gave Lancelot a crisp nod, signaling that their discussion was over for the moment.

Lancelot didn't feel the guilt he should have at his outburst. If anything he was consumed with worry for Reagan. His overwhelming concern for her welfare overrode anything else at the present.

Was she frightened? Was she hurt? It was her sense of headstrong bravery that worried him the most. And he knew better than anyone how her temper and her biting tongue could entice a man into a rage.

"Come, we have no time to lose. If they are foolish enough to take Reagan back to Waldenham we will find her there," Galahad offered, as he quickly saddled his own horse.

"Finn is bringing our weapons, we will depart with in the hour. Arthur has given his consent. Should you kill this man, Rullus, no one will stand in your way."

At those words, a bitter and dark sense of purpose flooded Lancelot. He would find Reagan, aye, and if she were harmed in any way, he vowed that his vengeance would be neither swift nor merciful.

Reagan was having the worst nightmare imaginable. Feeling the stirrings of unease creep through her, she breathed a sigh of relief against the soft pillows realizing that maybe it had all been a bad dream.

"Oh Lancelot, I had the worst sort of dream…"she murmured. Snuggling herself further into the bed, she turned, blindly seeking the warm body she knew would be right next to her. When she came in contact with a soft billowy mass that smelled heavily of unwashed skin and not the familiar comfort of hard sinew and muscle, her eyes flew open.

"Tell me all about it, my dear," came a voice, which Reagan recognized at once, its tones slick and enunciated, not the deep, rich voice she had so foolishly hoped to hear.

She wasn't having a nightmare at all--this was real.

Reagan choked back a scream as she realized Rullus was holding her to his body, one arm about her waist, as he curled himself against her on the bed like a lover. She blinked slowly, feeling the effects of whatever drug her father had managed to force on her the night before, begin to fade with startling swiftness.

Too stunned and frightened to move, Reagan involuntarily flinched as Rullus reached down and stroked a dark lock of hair out of her eyes. He fingered the tendril a moment longer than was necessary. His smile was as slithery as the tone of his voice.

"A bit boyish, but it suits you and I rather like it." The way he enunciated the word boyish, shed a new light on his well-known reputation for favoring girls who had yet to celebrate their twelfth birthday. Reagan felt herself recoil in horror at the realization.

Feeling bile rise in her throat and casting the final cobwebs of sleep from her eyes, Reagan pushed herself out of his grasp and rolled off the mattress in one swift movement. Scrambling to her feet she took in her surroundings with a disbelieving eye.

Dim realization dawned that her bindings had been removed, but she'd been effectively caged before she could escape.

The room was cluttered and dark, a burning candle in the far corner casting just enough light to make out a massive bed placed directly in front of a fireplace, its ashes long cold, and, of course, her very unwelcome and unwanted companion.

Sending a prayer of thanksgiving to the lord above that she was still fully clothed, Reagan took note that Rullus was not and she turned away in horrified realization. Memories of the previous night assailed her, and her father's betrayal stung like an open wound.

"You're father was more than a willing pawn to get you back. Funny, isn't it, that the lure of silver outweighs the love for a daughter?" Rullus' cold chuckle made her shudder in reaction.

"Your methods of persuasion astound me." Reagan managed, setting her jaw, "You must know that I will never consent to be your bride. Not even if you murdered every other man on earth!" Rullus had the audacity to laugh at her tirade. The grating cackle made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He leaned against the bedpost; the slouching position made him seem shorter, heavier and lazier. His gaze once more raked up and down her body.

"Luckily for you, I have every intention of withdrawing my offer for your hand. There would be no good reason why I would want to marry damaged goods. But, even though I've lost my interest in wedding you, I have not lost my intent in bedding you," he finished with a thin-lipped smile.

Reagan's first and only reaction to the casually spoken confession was to flee. She backed away, only to bump into a table, barely stopping herself from taking a spill. Rullus' black beady gaze was trained on her as she tried to control her breathing and come to grips with the situation she now found herself in.

Sliding away from the bed, Rullus reached for a robe to cover himself and Reagan hastily stepped backward at his approach putting the small table between them.

"Stay away. Do not come any closer!" The tremble in her voice sounded pitiful even to her own ears.

"Come now, girl, you've eluded me for months, do not put such trifle barriers between us." His lips pulled back from his yellowed teeth in a semblance of a smile, which did not meet his eyes. Reagan swallowed hard at the glint of malice she saw there instead.

He intended to do her harm, there was no doubt of that.

Rullus' retribution would be slow. She knew it would be painful and he would relish every moment of her torment. With her throat working she managed, "You were the reason I ran in the first place. I would rather die than lie with you!" Rullus' eye twitched at her tone as he began to slowly stalk toward her.

"Be careful what you wish for Reagan, because believe me that could be arranged."

Casting about for any type of weapon, Reagan grabbed on to the first thing she could see—a dull serving knife among the clutter scattered about on the surface of the table. It wouldn't do much in the way of bodily harm, but at least it was a knife. Fisting her fingers around her weapon she held it out in front of her poised for attack.

"Keep away from me. I will cut you!" A cold rumble of laughter was his only response to her desperate shout.

"The little kitten has claws," he drawled. "I suppose I should thank that dark-haired knight for breaking you in for me." He began, "Without the hindrance of your maidenhead, I had hoped that you would be more willing to accept my attentions. You spread your thighs for him so very willingly, I was told."

Reagan blinked stunned at the change in topic. She was unwilling to comprehend sharing his bed the same way she had Lancelot's. Before she could form a proper comeback his ruddy, round face contorted with rage. Rullus leaned against the table, his robe gaping over his sweaty chest and round belly as addressed her in nothing short of a shout.

"Whoring yourself to him. Giving away freely what was mine by right!" She had no time to think, no time to properly react as he tossed the thin barrier of the table away and grabbed for her. Reagan acted purely on instinct and swung the knife at him in a wide arc.

Rullus managed to dodge it easily before he went into a full rage. Shrieking, Reagan stumbled to get away from him, but the room was too cluttered for her to manage a swift and proper escape, and she tripped over an overturned chair.

"Don't be stupid, you bitch, you'll not get away from me this time," he spat before grabbing for her. Reagan turned and swung again, this time her blow connected soundly with his face and he grunted in pain before he knocked the knife from her grasp in one swipe. Reagan watched, dismayed, as it skittered away from her, pin wheeling across the uneven stone floor, seconds before Rullus grabbed her arm, dragging her to the ground with him.

She kicked and clawed her way out of his grasp crawling her way across the floor only to feel his fingers wrap around her ankle and drag her back seconds later pinning her to the ground.

His massive and smelly body ground against hers as struggled to get free. This would not happen to her again, never again, she thought, even as she felt him pulling viciously on the bodice of her dress, tearing the fabric as if it were parchment.

Looking up into his crazed black eyes, as a trickle of blood ran down his cheek from where she'd managed to cut him, Reagan did the first thing she could think of. She screamed. The blood curdling sound was enough to make him blanch. He slapped her soundly, the sting of his hand silencing her instantly.

"Play nicely Reagan and you may even enjoy this," he sneered as he flexed his pelvis into hers.

Reagan contorted her face into what she hoped looked like a pitiable expression. He looked pleased by this right before she drew back and spat in his face.

"Rot in hell, you pig," she responded viciously, watching as he wiped his face with his sleeve, his anger a tangible thing.

Taking his momentary distraction as a good sign, she managed to maneuver her legs just enough and when her knee came into contact with that tender space between his legs, his cry of pain was loud enough to make her ears ring.

Scrambling out from under him, she skidded to the door, banging on it with her fists, screaming for help. Rullus managed to stagger to his feet behind her and Reagan failed to turn in time. Spinning her around, he managed to throw her back against the door; her head connected with a thud against the wood, dazing her, seconds before he reached for her throat.

"You little whore, you think to unman me?" He seethed as he squeezed her throat and Reagan helplessly clawed at his fingers. Her legs flailing, she kicked at him with fading strength. Something bounced against her thigh and Reagan reached for it. Thinking only of survival, wrapping her fingers around her talisman she drew back her arm, just as Lancelot had taught her, and brought the force of her fist against Rullus' face.

The resounding crack of bone breaking rendered heavy in the thick silence of the dark room. Immediately he released her and Reagan dragged in heavy gulps of air into her aching throat, coughing. Blood poured profusely from Rullus' freshly broken nose and never had she been so proud of herself.

Her triumph was short lived, however, when Rullus staggered to his feet and bellowed for his guards. The door behind her was flung open and Reagan went careening into the dark corridor like a rag doll. Pain shot through her as she made contact with the stone floor. Scrambling to get to her feet, her muddled senses warned her that she should run. Before she could act, she was forcefully dragged up by two of Rullus' men.

She jerked against them, struggling to get free. "I would have made you my mistress and you would have lacked for nothing, you ungrateful bitch! You have defied me for the last time." Rullus jerked the sash of his robe together as he stalked toward her. His fresh wounds made his bloody face look even more menacing.

"The villagers have been hungering for a proper witch burning ever since you were declared one. I shall have to grant their wishes." He fisted his fingers into the torn bodice of her dress and pulled her toward him, the guards who held her arms preventing her escape. She realized dully that she was at the mercy of this madman and Reagan had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life. Rullus' breath was foul and harsh as he dealt his final blow.

"You have continually refused to bow and bend to my will, which as my peasant is your duty." His hand stroked down her cheek in the mockery of a caress and Reagan fought against the urge to turn away from it as she glared silently at him.

"You made your own bed when you denied me and ran away. You could have made this easy on yourself, but know, Reagan, that you only have yourself to blame when you feel the heat of those flames lick at your skin." Rullus abruptly released her and she sagged against the two guards, as a dark sense of fear seemed to melt her bones.

Reagan knew there was no way she could misconstrue his words. This was no idle threat, no trifle thing, and she was fully aware that Rullus had true authority to issue such a punishment and no one would dare stop him. Reagan's own sense of hopelessness was so profound she felt as if she would never fully understand the depths of Rullus' dark and twisted mind.

"And if my plan works, which it will, your beloved knight will arrive just in time to watch you burn." It was his final promise that made Reagan truly realize the consequences of her actions.

As the guards began to drag her away, she was positive that Lancelot on his way to her this very minute. The idea should have made her rally, but there was no moment of assurance that everything would be all right. Only the deep-seated and frightening knowledge that she was unwittingly leading him straight into Rullus' vengeful and very dangerous clutches.

AN: Lancelot is going to be super pissed when he arrives in Waldenham, Galahad and Tristan in tow. I can only imagine the depths of his wrath. I'm almost afraid for Rullus. Almost.

Chapter 26 is in outline form and I will try to get it to you by my birthday- one month from today (as I'm leaving for DISNEY WORLD to celebrate the big 3-0! OMG! I'm going to be thirty!). Work has been hectic and crazy leaving me hardly any energy to write. Silent Knight is coming along and its something I'm enjoying working on in between the down time with Eternal. Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/added alerts/favorites after chapter 24.

I do hope this action packed chapter doesn't disappoint! Until Chapter 26! Happy Reading!