Denise Lynn - Falcon's Honor

She snatched it from him and tucked the pendant back inside her gown. “It is only warm from being against my skin.”

Gareth watched the pendant slide into place between her breasts and wondered if her flesh could be that warm without causing her pain. He stepped back, grasping for a different subject. “You said they brought word of your mother’s death?”

“Aye.” Rhian’s voice was a near whisper. “I did not even know she’d been alive all those years.”

“She did not live with you and your father?” Yet another mystery.

“No. I never knew her.”

“You did not find that odd?”

Rhian shrugged. “Odd? I had been told as a small child that she had died. Why would it appear odd?”

“So your father lied to you.”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Obviously.” The choked word seemed torn from her lips. She walked away from the window to stand before the brazier.

“Did the messengers tell you anything about her?”

“No. I did not speak with them.”

“Did you ask your father for an explanation after the messengers left?”

Rhian looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Would you not do so? Of course I did.”

He ignored the tartness of her tone. “And?”

She turned back to the brazier, seemingly intent on chasing the night’s chill from her hands. “I was told that it no longer mattered. That they’d made the best decision for me and for them. I had little choice but to assume the subject was closed.”

This was becoming more of a quest than he’d first thought. Why could it not have simply been as King Stephen said? He was just to deliver an heiress to her mother’s family for her marriage. That was all. No words about mysteries, secrets or murders. Hardly a simple task.

“Your father died shortly after that, did he not?”

Rhian only nodded.

“Would I be too bold if I asked how?”

“Nothing as dramatic as a murder. He was thrown from his horse and died instantly.”

Maybe not dramatic, but he could hear the pain and grief in her voice. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Rhian.”

She met his gaze and held it for a brief heartbeat. “Thank you.”

“And now I am to take you to your mother’s family and your new life in Caernarvon.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean by that? I cannot let you escape again.”

Her bitter laugh grated on his ears. “With these latest murders, I have no intention of escaping. I meant that my mother’s family is not in Caernarvon. That is only where you will leave me.”

“Leave you?” Her statement confused him. “I will not leave you until I see you safely ensconced with your family.”

“Then, Milord Faucon, if the whispering servants are to be believed, you will be traveling to Ynys Môn, Anglesey and not Caernarvon.”

Gareth’s breath caught in his chest. “Druid’s Isle?” He silently chided himself. Rumors and only rumors. There would be nothing satanic on the isle. Even if there were a few outcast druids residing there, they would have nothing to do with Rhian.

“Now do you understand why I have no wish to join my beloved family? Why I fought you so hard?” Her voice shook. “Why I would rather risk my safety running away than let you lead me to their tender embrace?”

He caught a flash of fear in her eyes and fought the urge to offer comfort. A fight he quickly lost as he crossed to stand behind her.

Gareth rested his hands on her shoulders. “Do not fear rumors, milady.”

Rhian leaned back against his chest as if seeking the comfort he offered. “I cannot help myself.” She turned and rested her cheek against his chest. “I would rather stay here and fight the devil I know, than the one I have never met.”

“Devil? Rest assured, I am no devil.”

She snaked her arms about him. He closed his around her. “I did not mean you. I meant this desire I feel when you are within my reach.”

Gareth stared down at the top of her head. Amazing. A woman who did not faint at the sight of dead bodies. One who would run away and perform manual labor as a servant rather than permit him to escort her to her family. A woman who physically fought him—a seasoned warrior with more than twice her strength. A woman who met and returned his desire with enough honesty to admit it.

A woman who would be worth calling wife.

He swallowed. Where had that ungodly thought come from?

Gareth stretched his suddenly tight neck. King Stephen had given him a task to complete in a short period of time. He needed to keep his mind on his responsibility and not senseless thoughts that would only get him into more trouble.

And dallying with ladies brought nothing but trouble. His brother, Darius, was proof of that. It was best to dally with whores—at least their fathers would not bring the wrath of God upon you, or your family.

Rhian looked up at him. “Now I have shocked you with plain speaking. Should I care what others think?” She waited for a response. Her piercing blue gaze steadily, silently demanding an answer and sending his thoughts into a worse muddle.

Finally, he answered, “It would take much more than words to shock me.” Gareth diverted his attention to the brazier. But the small fire pot only reminded him of how heated his blood raced while he held her.

He looked out the arrow slit at the stars. The twinkling lights made him wistful, longing for the days when his actions were not watched and analyzed, when his words were not scrutinized by those seeking to besmirch him or his family.

“Nay, Rhian, your words do not shock me. However, this lack of concern for your reputation does.”

Her brittle laughter was muffled against his chest. “I find your concern…touching. And unwarranted.”

“As long as you are under my charge, my concern is warranted.”

“Then release me from your charge.” When he didn’t respond immediately, she stared up at him again.

Gareth sighed before leaving his stargazing behind and returned her stare. “Nay, milady, that I cannot do.”

She stepped away from him and faced out the window. He came behind her and rested his hands on either side of the narrow opening, effectively trapping her with his body.

They were so close, the heat of her anger threatened to burn through his armor to his chest. When she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, he fought the urge to back away from what would surely be an argument she would not win.

“Faucon, if you possess a drop of mercy, let me go. Do not do this.”

“Nay. I fear we are fated to spend a few more days in each other’s company.”

She tipped her head to one side. Her half-braided hair gently swung in the same direction. The pale, smooth skin of her neck provided a stark contrast to the blackness of her hair.

It also provided a welcome distraction from this conversation. Gareth lightly stroked the curve of her neck with his thumb before resting his hand on her shoulder. The tightening of her muscles did not make the flesh beneath his thumb any less smooth, any less inviting to his touch.

A shiver visibly rippled down her neck before she jerked away from his touch. “Stop that.”

Fascinated by her skin’s response, Gareth ignored her order and stroked her neck again. His effort was rewarded when again a tiny tremor vibrated beneath his touch.

“Are you certain I should stop?”

Rhian shook her head before clearing her throat and answering, “No.”

He dipped his head and brushed her neck with his mouth. She trembled against his lips.

Rhian closed her eyes. This was insane. They were arguing about his mission, about releasing her. Yet when he stroked her neck with his tongue the arguing fell to the wayside. She tilted her head to the side, offering him more of what he sought.