Denise Lynn - Falcon's Desire

While the captain walked out the door and issued quiet orders to the guards, Rhys stroked Lyonesse’s back.

Trembling fingers gripped his tunic. Her startling reaction surprised him. The warmth of tears seeped through the fabric of his clothing. Her choked sobs tore at his heart.

After lifting her in his arms, Rhys crossed the room and sat down on the floor. Resting his back against the wall, he settled her on his lap.

Gently, he pulled her tear-streaked face to his shoulder, coaxing, “’Tis all right, milady, I will not harm you.”

He fought the warring of his head and heart. He needed to find du Pree’s murderer. His own carelessness had allowed this woman to capture him. He was probably foolish to relinquish his chance at escape.

He should be angry. He should hate Lyonesse of Ryonne. But as illogical as it was, he didn’t. Against his better judgment, against all the memories his mind conjured, he felt something for this she-devil that he’d never felt before. Something in her pain and rage called out to his own.

Her sobs lessened, but her tears still warmed his chest.

He could not leave Lyonesse to live with her mistaken notion about him. Why it mattered, he did not know. Nor did he care to delve into any of his irrational reasoning this day.

“Milady…Lyonesse, is there no one you can go to? Someone who will make you laugh? One who can bring a ray of sunshine back into your days?”

She pushed against his chest. “No.”

Rhys lifted her chin with the crook of his finger and stared into her liquid gaze. It glittered with a brilliancy that rivaled a chest full of gems. Drawn unwillingly into the sparkling treasure trove he leaned closer.

The tantalizing scents of exotic spice and heady floral beckoned him still nearer. Their breath mingled, warm and moist between them. No more than a slight movement would bring their lips together once more. A space so close, yet more distant than the stars above.

A strangled cry left her lips. “Unhand me.” She pushed against his chest. He winced at the pain. This time Rhys did not stop her struggle for freedom.

Scrambling to her feet she pointed down at him. “You have taken away everything I had.” Her finger shook. “You destroyed every ray of sunshine I could ever hope to enjoy.”

Rhys stood up and grasped her shoulders before she could flee. He didn’t try to keep his frustration from his tone. “Never have I denied taking another man’s life. But I am tired of being accused of a murder I did not commit.” He shook her lightly. “Listen to me. I have been on the king’s business for nigh on a full year.”

Blood drained from her face, leaving behind a ghostly mask of disbelief and fear. Had he not been holding her so tightly, Rhys was certain she would have fallen.

“No.” Her hushed gasp sounded more like a plea to his ears.

“Yes.”

Barreling through the doorway, Howard crossed the room and grasped Rhys’s forearm. “’Tis enough, Faucon. No more. Let her maid take her now.”

Eager to be rid of this bewitching siren, Rhys released his grip on Lyonesse’s shoulders and allowed her maid to lead her away.

Rhys silently watched the two women and Howard leave the cell. When he heard the key turn in the lock, he stretched out on his straw-filled pallet and stared at the ceiling.

He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. It was imperative to his family that he complete his mission. It was imperative to his own well-being that he remove himself from the presence of this woman.

And do it quickly before this emptiness he felt at her leaving became a regular occurrence.

She was a clodpolled onion-eyed dullard. Lyonesse tossed another handful of weeds onto the growing pile.

A lackbrained nitwit. Perspiration trickled down her forehead and dripped off the end of her nose.

Since she’d confronted Faucon yesterday, she’d called herself every bawdy name she could think of—yet none seemed to be the proper fit.

Another clump of dead weeds hit the pile. Maybe she could bury herself in the brown, soggy plant life she was pulling out of what would someday be an herb garden.

What possessed her? She knew the answer. Grief over Guillaume’s untimely death and fear of losing Taniere had stolen her sanity and common sense. Yet not even in her darkest moments of despair could she forget the lessons she’d dutifully learned—lessons that kept her from killing Faucon.

Right and wrong.

Good and evil.

Heaven and hell.

Brother Joseph had taught her by word, her father by example and deed. Her maid Helen had always seen to it that she never forgot the words, examples, nor the deeds.

For all their teaching and devotion, Lyonesse knew none of them could answer the questions that tormented her.

Did nothing fall between good and evil?

Could not something seem wrong and yet be right?

Lyonesse uncurled her legs from beneath her and sat on the damp, cold ground. Looking at the patch she’d cleared she wondered why she’d bothered. Less than a month from now King Stephen would take Taniere from her and all this work would be wasted.

Do not cry. She was done with tears. They gained her nothing more than an aching head and upset stomach.

Obviously, she needed to find a husband—quickly and she needed to release Faucon.

How and in which order was yet to be determined. Neither task would be easy.

Since she found killing Faucon an impossible feat, she needed to release him. The longer he remained at Taniere the more dangerous he became. His men would come and free him by force. Innocent lives would be lost.

Regardless of what her maid thought, Lyonesse doubted if finding a suitable spouse would be as simple as pointing at a man and bidding him “come hither” like some trained dog.

She wouldn’t want that kind of man.

She wanted Guillaume. Instead, she’d dutifully marry any man her father picked.

Her father was a warrior. A knight. A Lord. He would choose a man like himself. A man like…

Breathless, Lyonesse tried to shake the fearful thoughts from her mind. But they ran in circles, one more horror-filled than the last. Until they came to rest on the one thought that would strike many a lady dead.

Her sire would choose a man like Faucon.

The type of man who had killed not only his wife, but his newborn child. ’Twas said he’d shown no remorse for his deed. Nor had he shed a single tear for his loss.

The type of man who had no regard for women or for those weaker than himself. A man who laughed at death and had no respect for life.

Seeking protection from evil, Lyonesse quickly prayed, “Oh, Holy Mother, let my sire’s love for me be true. Let him never seal my fate thusly.” She pitied any woman who would become wife to that type of man.

The type of man she needed to remove from her keep. She was not lackwitted enough to believe that she could lead Faucon to the gate and bid him farewell with no fear of retribution. There had to be a way to convince him that it would be within his best interest to forget anything that had happened. How?

She’d not seen him since their encounter in the tower. But she had ordered Howard to permit Faucon limited freedom. He could move about the keep and the inner yard as long as he was under constant supervision and chained about the ankles and wrists.

Howard assured her that he would guard the prisoner himself. She’d made him swear to keep Faucon away from her.

“Milady! Lady Lyonesse! Come quick. Milady!”

“Blatherskite,” Lyonesse cursed as the screaming page ran toward her.

“Milady, look, look—”

She quelled the urge to shake the stuttering boy. “Michael, cease your blithering. Tell me what is wrong.”