Denise Lynn - Falcon's Honor

“Perhaps.”

A small little voice inside her heart urged her to tell Faucon all. Her mind bade her wait a little while longer. Confused, Rhian sighed. To tell or not? She stared up at him. “Faucon…” No. Wait.

“What?”

“Nothing, Faucon. Never mind.”

He crossed the floor and stood over her. “Nothing? It sounded like more than nothing.”

Leaning back on the pallet, Rhian craned her neck back to look up at him. A position that simply would not do. “Either go stand across the room—” she extended her arm “—or help me up.”

“Nay.” He made a big show of crossing his arms against his chest and shaking his head. “I rather like our positions.”

But when she waved her hand at him, he relented and pulled her to her feet. His palm was warm against hers, chasing away the chill. Rhian stared at their entwined fingers.

Faucon brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. The small movement chased the breath from her. Good heavens, what was this? And why did his hand engulfing hers feel so right?

Rhian backed a step away and looked up at him. Even though she now stood, she still had to tip her head back to look at his face. Far too tall. She really did not like men who were so much taller than she. It put her at a disadvantage.

Firelight danced off the silver strands of his otherwise black hair. Far too wolflike. She’d never been fond of wild animals. They were too unpredictable.

His jewel-toned eyes glimmered like emeralds against his sun-darkened skin. Far too searching, too knowing. How would anyone keep secrets from eyes that seeking? He’d eventually be able to discern her thoughts without any words being spoken. Did he already know that she hid secrets from him?

His square-shaped jaw clenched and unclenched. Far too strong. Stubborn men irritated her beyond belief. They were no fun to argue with because they either lost their temper too quickly, or they sulked in silence.

Without releasing her hand, he tugged her against his chest. Far too muscular. She rested her forehead against his chest, fighting to clear her suddenly foggy mind.

Faucon lifted her chin with one finger, then stroked her neck. To retain a semblance of balance she closed her eyes and placed her other hand on his shoulder. Far too broad. Men with broad shoulders assumed the world and all its troubles could rest upon them. For an instant she wished he could carry her troubles.

“Rhian.”

His deep voice whispered across her ear like a warm caress. Far too inviting. A voice like that could convince her to… Why he could…and she would…and they—

He lightly brushed his lips against hers.

She leaned closer. Her heart jumped to her throat. Her pulse raced in expectation.

He slid his arm across her back, holding her to him. This time his kiss was far more than a feathery brush. Insistent. Searching. Exploring.

When he ran the tip of his tongue across her lower lip, Rhian gasped at the bolt of fire and ice that rushed clear to her toes. He was everything she disliked in a man, yet she would willingly—

Dear Lord, what was she thinking?

Rhian shook her head and pushed against his shoulder. “Release me.”

Faucon instantly unlaced his hand from hers and stepped back, shooting her a rueful look. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”

To her amazement, a flush of red crept up his neck. Since he didn’t spin any excuses, oddly enough she believed him. And that belief made not telling him what she knew even more of a crime.

Still, Rhian kept her distance. “There is no need to apologize.” When he didn’t protest the apology he hadn’t given, she walked toward the window and stared out at the twinkling stars. “I was obviously thinking the same thing.”

She heard him approach. Just his nearness put her senses on alert. He caused her heart to race, her breath to catch, her throat to close and her skin to tingle. Rhian knew with a certainty that this sudden unnaturalness, this inability to think clearly, was not a good thing. Thankfully, when she lifted a hand as if to ward him off, he stopped.

Faucon cleared his throat. “Honesty. What a unique attitude.”

“It would be rather hard to lie would it not?” Then why was her conscience snickering?

“Perhaps. But would it not be expected?”

She turned and looked at him. “How so?”

“A man alone with you in an empty chamber. Would it not make more sense for you to feign the injured virgin?”

And far too arrogant for his own good. “And why would I do that?”

He shrugged. “Had someone walked in, would it not have been the best way to avoid unwanted gossip?”

“Even had someone seen us, I need feign nothing. For one thing I care not what others may or may not think. For another, I am a virgin and the only person that will concern is my husband the day we marry.”

Rhian paused and bit her lower lip with indecision. When her conscience threatened to choke her, she finally said, “Faucon, we have another concern at the moment. Something of more importance than unwarranted gossip.”

The tone of her voice, the squaring of her shoulders and the serious, unemotional look on her face, drew Gareth forward. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the window, hoping it was far enough away to make her feel at ease and to calm his still-racing heart.

This woman with her midnight-black hair and shimmering blue eyes could yet prove to be his downfall if he did not watch himself.

Something about her, from her lips that silently begged to be kissed, to the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, screamed a warning. Rhian of Gervaise would prove to be heaven or hell, and nothing between.

A risk Gareth did not want to take, yet could not seem to avoid. If he were a praying man, he would be on his knees now.

Instead, he softly prompted, “And what concern might that be, Lady Rhian?”

He watched her take a deep shuddering breath and for a moment wondered if he truly wanted to know.

“The bodies in the bailey.” She rushed into her explanation. “The blood—so much of it. I’ve seen that before at Gervaise. Two messengers from my mother’s family were killed the same way outside of our gates. The killers were never found.”

She wrapped her arms across her stomach, but never paused. “At first it was thought their throats had been slit, but after a closer inspection it was discovered that someone had pierced the vein in their neck with something sharp, like a nail. Which would explain the vast amount of blood, since it would have spurted out and—”

Gareth raised his hand. “Enough.” He quickly digested all she’d just told him, then asked, “There were no clues, no witnesses? Nothing to give any hint who they were or where they were from?”

“No.” She shook her head. “My father’s men searched for weeks to no avail. Everyone was questioned, but nobody had seen or heard anything.”

Gareth rubbed the space between his eyes. “And now the only additional thing we know is that they seek a woman.” He lowered his hand, glanced at her, and then turned his attention out the window. “A princess, to be precise.”

“I can assure you I am no princess.”

Many a comment rushed to his mind at her declaration, but he kept them to himself. Instead, he asked, “You mentioned two messengers. What did they want? What message did they bring?”

Rhian slipped her hand down the edge of her high-neck gown and pulled out a pendant. “They brought this to me, along with the notice of my mother’s death.”

He reached out to touch the amethyst, pausing to ask, “May I?” When she nodded, he held the stone, looked at the dragon etching, then he turned it over in his hand. He was certain it was only his imagination that made it feel alive, pulsing under his touch. He wondered aloud, “Why is it so warm? As if it’s been held over a fire?”