Denise Lynn - Falcon's Honor

“Oh, aye, regret and more.” Rhian blinked twice to make sure her sight did not deceive her.

Hawise nudged the young blond serving girl closer to the man. “Why would you want a scrawny girl like this?” The older woman nodded toward Rhian, before directing the drunken guest’s attention to the now flirting buxom blonde. “Not when this one here would be more than willing to serve your needs.”

Thankfully, the man’s gap-toothed smile was diverted to the other girl, giving Rhian a chance to pull free. She waited for no orders from Hawise before escaping back to the kitchens.

With Hawise fast on her trail. “I told you to return immediately. Can you not listen?” She dipped a ladle into the water bucket and handed it to Rhian.

“Thank you.” Rhian swallowed deeply, allowing the cool water to wash away the lump that had formed in her throat. “I tried to return. As you could see, I was detained.”

“And I saw that you did little to free yourself.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Kick him. Use your knee. How do you survive on your own?”

Rhian lifted her head. “I have survived quite well until now.”

“Aye. Under your father’s tender care.” Hawise leaned against a support beam before sinking down onto a low stool. “Do not speak lies, I am too old and tired for them. You are no more a servant than I am a lady.”

“You cannot be certain of that.” Rhian paused to weigh her words. She could not afford to give away too much. “It matters little. I will be gone soon.”

Hawise flapped a drying rag in the air and laughed. “Where will you go, child? A woman traveling alone is fair game for all manner of cutthroats and predators.”

“I will manage.” She’d managed so far these last few days. In a manner of speaking. To be honest, she’d happened on Browan Keep quite by accident. At the time it’d been a blessed sight. Now, Rhian wondered if it was more of a curse than blessing. “Perhaps one of the men out there needs another servant.”

Hawise laughed herself breathless. Finally, gasping for air and wiping the tears from her eyes, she asked, “Pray tell, how pleased do you think their womenfolk will be when the lord and master arrives home with a strange female in tow? Not just a female, but an unmarried one such as you?”

“Such as me?”

“Unmarried. Young. Unmarred by pockmarks or worry lines. Just the sight of your smooth face will send the women into fits.”

“What are you yammering about?” Rhian frowned. “I am filthy, ragged. I have nothing to call my own.” She tugged at the high neck of her faded yellow gown. The coarsely spun cotton had not seen a dye bath in more years than she could imagine. It hung on her like the sack it would soon become. “Even this is…borrowed. There is not a lady in the world who would envy me anything.”

Hawise rose and waved her hands in the air. “Girl, you are a fool, nothing but a young fool. I should wash my hands of you and be done with it.”

“Ale!” Shouts for drink echoed down the corridor connecting the kitchens and larder to the hall.

To escape Hawise’s senseless babbling, Rhian grabbed two ewers of ale in each hand, then again headed toward the great hall.

“We will finish this!” The older woman’s warning followed her down the corridor.

Finish it indeed. Rhian knew that Browan Keep would be far behind her by the full light of day. Hawise could finish her lecture alone.

Since many of the men had already fallen asleep in various spots along the floor, Rhian worried only a little about being pawed upon as she deposited the pitchers of ale on the tables. Quickly finishing her task, she turned back to the kitchens, then looked toward the entry chamber at the other end of the hall.

Here was a choice she could make. Return to Hawise’s infernal lecture. Or leave Browan now. The gates were unguarded, she’d not be stopped.

She wiped her suddenly damp palms on the skirt of her gown. She had little else but the clothes on her back. Rhian absently touched the ribbon about her neck. The only item of worth still in her possession hung from the makeshift chain.

The amethyst pendant had been sent to her upon her mother’s death a few short months past. An oddly shaped circle, with a crudely etched dragon in the center. Her breath hitched at the pain of a memory still too new, an ache still too raw and horror that still haunted her dreams.

It would be an easy task to leave the hall. None would notice her absence. Surely she could find the stables once outside. Perhaps if none of the stable lads were about, she could coax a horse to follow her out the gates.

Rhian tugged at her bottom lip. If the horse just followed her out of the stables and gates, would that be considered stealing? She knew the answer the instant the question formed. Yes. If caught, she could very well forfeit her life.

She took a deep breath and decided. A horse would require food she did not have. Instead of burdening herself with the added worry, she would walk. As long as she avoided the road and kept to the forest as she had before, it would be safer and quicker.

The decision made, she straightened her back and walked boldly between the tables toward the hall’s entrance—in her case, an exit.

As she drew closer, the sound of a commotion from beyond the great doors filtered through to the entryway. Rhian slowed her steps. If more men were coming in, she wished not to be caught up in the middle of their arrival. If she hurried, perhaps she could escape their notice.

Both doors swung open with such force that they slammed against the wall with a crash that reverberated throughout the entire keep. Herb-scented rushes that had been strewn on the floor whooshed past her feet.

Rhian silently cursed. She was too close now to avoid the arriving party. She stooped her shoulders and bowed her head—hopefully in a perfect servantlike manner. Perhaps if she just continued on as if she were about her lord’s orders, they would simply let her pass.

Certain the ruse would work, Rhian glanced over her shoulder one last time before ducking into the entryway, to see if anyone would notice. Undetected, she continued through the archway to the entrance and ran smack into a solid, motionless wall of flesh and muscle covered by hard chain mail.

“My pardon, milord.” The man Rhian had run into did not move. Nor did he say a word. In fact, she suddenly realized that those gathered around him held their collective breath.

Dread curled up from her toes. She closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them and lifting her head until her neck stretched. Only one man could be that tall.

Her single-word curse was far from silent and far from servantlike.

“My, my, such a charming greeting. It matches your lovely attire.” His leaf-green eyes staring down at her narrowed. “Ah, now I realize my mistake. I have spent this last week searching for a lady.”

Rhian knew that his sarcasm was directed at her curse, the ragged dress she wore, her tousled and snarled hair, the streaks of dirt on her now flaming face. Nay, she neither sounded, nor looked anything like a lady.

She’d not fall prey to his snide remark. Instead, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and met his glare with one of her own.

He motioned to one of his men before he continued, “Milady Gervaise, David will see to your safety until I am able to relieve him.” As an afterthought, he added, “Keep her under close guard. Find a cell, or use your sword if you must, but do not let her escape.”

The young man she had spoken with earlier in the bailey unsheathed his sword with one hand, then held out his free arm. “Milady, if you please.”

She didn’t please, so Rhian ignored him. Instead, she held Gareth of Faucon’s stare. Torchlight danced a merry jig off the silver streaks of hair that framed his face. Those few strands stood out boldly from the rest of the inky blackness.