Denise Lynn - Falcon's Desire

He smiled with relief. Taniere. How could he have forgotten the uproar when old Leon had handed his prized possession to his granddaughter?

His smile died. Knowing where he was did little to help him. His only hope was his men.

They were all to meet outside of Northampton next week. If his men could not find him, would either of his brothers be able to prevent the loss of all they held dear?

How did he let this happen? The ridiculousness of the situation wiped away his anger and worry. Unable to contain himself, he started to laugh.

Once started, his deep, throaty laugher was nearly impossible to stop. He did not care if the sound echoed out of the chamber and down to the hall.

“A female. The terrible Faucon has had his wings clipped by a female.”

All his years of hard work to build a reputation wasted. Wiped out by the small hand of a grief-stricken female. He shook his head. “Not even a woman fully grown, but by an untried girl.”

When he reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes, Rhys flinched at the bite of his chains. The flash of pain didn’t stop the laughter from erupting again.

Lyonesse. Aye, she was well named. His shoulders trembled with mirth. In his mind a green-eyed kitten pounced on an unsuspecting falcon and shook the bird of prey between its small, white, sharp teeth.

An early evening breeze brushed lightly across Lyonesse’s cheek. The gentle current carried a fine, cool mist from the sea it just crossed, causing her to pull the woolen mantle more closely around her to ward off the chill. Her perch in the crenellation of the stone wall may have shielded her from a person’s view, but it provided little shelter from the seeking wind.

She’d had two days to think. Two long days to figure out what to do with Faucon until his time ran out.

So far she’d come up with little else besides holding him in her tower. He’d only laughed at her with a deep, sinister laugh that sent shivers down her spine. He didn’t realize that she knew about the king’s command. Faucon had one short month to prove his innocence, or die. If she could hold him long enough, his death would not be on her hands.

Faucon would have to be content with being held captive—for a time. She’d ordered the chains securing him to the bed removed, making his lot slightly better. A thick, iron-studded door with a locking bar on the outside, secured him within his tower cell.

“The murdering scum be dead?”

Lyonesse jumped at the intrusion. “No.” Intent on her thoughts, she gave Sir John little more than a glance.

He grasped her shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

She jerked away from his unwelcome touch, reluctantly climbing down from the wall. “No, Faucon is not dead.”

“’Tis not what we planned.” Anger tinged his words. “Milord du Pree will not wait forever for his revenge.”

Lyonesse lifted an eyebrow at his impatience. “What does a day or two matter to one who is dead?”

Sir John loomed over her, his lips curled into a snarl. “Lord Guillaume trusted you. Like a besotted fool he was ready to give you everything.” He spat on the wooden planks of the wallwalk. “You dishonor him with your hesitation.”

“I dishonor no one.” She swallowed her fear of the man and stared up at him. “Faucon will pay for what he did.”

“When? You have had time aplenty to finish the deed.”

Howard’s dire warnings about trusting Sir John rang in her mind. No. She would not tell him her plans.

“What would you like me to do, Sir John? Run a sword through him with Ryonne’s captain at hand?”

Sir John’s smile sent a tremor down her spine. “I can see to your captain easily enough.”

“You will not endanger Howard.”

The man stepped away. “If the deed is not done by this time tomorrow, I will see to it myself.”

“Give me no ultimatums. I will deal with Faucon.”

Lyonesse gasped when he grabbed her arm. “Unhand me.”

He tightened his hold. “The time for games is over. I came to you to fulfill my lord’s final wish and I will see it done. No one will stop me. I will kill any who get in my way. It will give me great pleasure when Sir Howard seeks to interfere.” Releasing her, he started to turn away, stopping long enough to add, “Until this time tomorrow, Lady Lyonesse.”

She watched his retreat and wondered why she had ever trusted him. ’Twas simple—because she’d been too distraught to think straight. Grief had made her more than eager to seek revenge on Guillaume’s murderer.

And now she’d made Sir John an enemy. An enemy who threatened to kill Howard.

Sir John left her no choice. She would have to set aside her new plans of letting King Stephen deal with Faucon and fulfill the old ones.

She still thirsted for his blood, but would she be able to take his life? Is that what Guillaume would have wanted?

She turned back to the wall, watching the flurry of nighttime activities in the outer bailey. Fires for cooking and warmth glowed from the doorway of each cottage and hut. The smells of food being prepared set her stomach rolling.

The calls and laughter of those gathering their tools and closing their shops for the day made her smile wistfully. They were going home to wives, husbands and children. Their lives might be poor and humble compared to hers, but they had someone to go home to, someplace to call home.

While she had nothing and no one. Nay, her chance at having someplace to consider her own was lost. She closed her eyes tightly against the tears. Her chance at having a happy, fulfilling life had been taken from her.

Lyonesse turned and glared across Taniere’s inner courtyard. Her heated stare swept across the muddy practice yard, past the stables and mews to fly up the earthen motte that supported the high walls of the keep. Aye, lost because the monster locked inside the tower knew not the meaning of honor.

He’d killed Guillaume as if the man had been nothing but a mere foot soldier, instead of heir to a title and great wealth. It would have been of more benefit to take Guillaume for ransom, than killing him in such a cowardly fashion. No sane man would have mutilated Guillaume beyond recognition. Only someone of the devil’s ilk could have committed such a deed. Someone like Faucon. What savagery lurked in the soul of the man she’d imprisoned? Perhaps he had no soul.

Perhaps killing him would not be a sin.

She crossed her arms tightly across her stomach. Every time she thought of Guillaume’s death, bile rose to choke her. Pain, as sharp as that from a thrusted sword, pierced her temples.

She would never get used to not having Guillaume about. He had paged at Ryonne. Under her father’s tutelage he had grown into manhood. Once he’d become an adult, he had a man’s responsibilities. While many of his duties took him away from Ryonne for long periods, he’d never been away from her heart.

Anger thickened her blood. Renewed rage fired her resolve. Aye, she still desired revenge. From between clenched teeth, Lyonesse vowed, “Misbegotten spawn of Satan, you will pay dearly for what you have done.”

A cool gust of wind made her shiver. Determined to end her growing nightmares this very night, Lyonesse pulled her cloak closer about her and marched toward the keep.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled, making her stop in midstep. Someone or something was watching her. Watching her like a predator stalking its prey.

From the shelter of the forest he watched, biding his time. Faucon still lived. His minion’s announcement hadn’t been needed. He’d felt it in his heart. The gut-wrenching taunts rustled in the leaves—he lives, he lives.

Glaring across the open expanse of land separating Taniere’s walls from the dense forest, he lifted his gaze to the keep. The beast had killed the most important person in the world, and her son. For that Faucon would pay.