Denise Lynn - Falcon's Love

But it was not Faucon she feared. It was herself.

It was fear of the memories that had surfaced when he’d held her hand earlier and again when he’d fed her. Fear of the bubbling passion his obscene caresses of her palm had created. Fear of the way her memories had returned with such ease. Fear of wanting his steady warm touch to continue.

He kneaded her shoulders, stroked his thumbs along the back of her neck. More than six years disappeared…and they were once again in the hunting lodge.

Marguerite tipped her head forward, letting him work the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. Not having the strength or the will to fight him, she sighed.

Darius’s breath was hot against her neck. His kiss on the sensitive flesh beneath her ear brought a soft moan to her throat. Unable to stop herself, she let it escape.

He answered the sound with a low, gentle laugh before pulling her to her feet. “I am your husband, Marguerite.” He kicked the stool out of the way, slid his arms around her and held her back against his chest.

She pressed into his embrace, grasping his forearms for support. “Those vows were not binding.”

He rubbed his cheek across the top of her head before returning his lips to her ear. “They were as binding as the actions in our marriage bed.”

He slid a hand up her stomach, scorching her skin through the layers of her clothes. He cupped one breast, thumbing the nipple to a hard peak, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.

“Darius, do not do this.”

He turned her around in his arms. As he lowered his head to hers, he asked, “Do what?” before running his tongue along the line between her lips and easily parting them to delve inside.

His kiss stole the slim remainder of her will. She curled her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. She had remembered correctly, his hair was still as soft as a rabbit’s fur.

And his kiss still had the power to make her hungry for more.

Darius lifted his head. “Will one husband and one lover be enough, do you think?”

His question was like a punch to her stomach. She lowered her arms and pushed him away. What had she been thinking? Was she little more than a whore willing to put her entire future in danger for a kiss?

He retrieved his goblet and downed the contents before turning back to face her. “Tell me something, Marguerite, was it easy to forget our marriage? Did you go as willingly to Thornson’s bed as you did to mine?”

“Do not be crude. What choice did I have?” She crossed the chamber, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“You could have said no. We’d exchanged vows.”

From the moment she’d recognized him from high atop the wall, she’d expected this, but the deadly tone of his voice made her gasp. “I spoke but a promise. Not all promises can be kept.”

Shards of gold sparkled in his angry eyes. There had been a time when she’d been content to lose herself in his gaze. A time when no secrets lay between them. A time so long ago.

“I remember that vow, Marguerite. It was much more than a simple promise.” He stepped toward her. “It was a vow made to me, before God, before witnesses.”

He stood before her, close enough that his warm breath caressed her cheek. “A vow to ever be my faithful wife.”

“No.” She pushed him an arm’s length away. “Do not do this, Darius.”

“Do what? Do not remind you of vows made and broken?”

She closed her eyes. She did not need to see his face to recognize the anger in the tightly controlled tone. Even though she’d come to love Henry Thornson, the years that had separated her from Darius had never dimmed the memories she’d carried in her mind, in her heart.

But she could not allow fleeting whims of childhood to mar her recent past, or destroy her future. No matter the cost to her soul, Faucon had to be led to believe how little those vows meant to her.

Marguerite silently prayed for the strength to lie to him yet again this day. Certain her riotous heart would withstand the self-inflicted pain, she stared up at him and hardened her voice. “We were children, Darius. Impetuous children who acted rashly on a whim. It was more childish folly than binding oath. Nobody, not the king nor the Church, would hold us to those vows.”

“Children? Impetuous children? ”

She flinched at the fury in his voice.

He grasped her arms, his hold tight and unyielding. “Childish folly? Were we not of an age to wed? Had we not been promised to each other since birth?”

“Yes, but it was not what my father wanted.”

“And you did not argue with him?”

“Argue with my father?” She swallowed an unbidden laugh. “Be reasonable, Darius. You know it would have been easier to argue with a boulder.”

“Did you go willingly to Thornson’s bed?”

Marguerite paused before answering. He was not going to like this at all. “Not at first. At first I wanted only you.”

“And then?”

“When I knew that you and I were never going to be reunited, I had to choose what kind of life I wanted.”

“And you chose…?”

“Safety. Security. Warmth and love.” If he knew the whole truth, would he be angry, or would he understand? Uncertain, she could not take the risk.

He looked at her. “You loved Thornson?”

She nodded, then thought to turn the table by asking, “What about you? Do you not care for your wife?”

He made a noise that sounded like something between a cough and a snort before answering. “I cared a great deal for my wife. To my misfortune, she cared not enough.”

She was stunned to realize he talked about her. She found it hard to believe that he had never married another.

Darius walked toward the door and ordered, “Get ready for bed. I will return anon.”

“Return? For what?”

He looked at her, his smile more of a smirk. “I was not jesting. I am not leaving you alone.”

Bertha stood next to Marguerite in the garden. “How do you fare, my lady?”

It was all Marguerite could do not to shout in frustration. But with Darius not more than ten paces away, shouting was unthinkable. She’d not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence unnerved her.

She kept her voice low and admitted to her maid, “After two days of his constant company, I am ready to run his own sword through him.” She jerked another clump of wayward grass from the herb bed and tossed it on the growing pile of weeds.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nay. Just tell me how Marcus fares.” Marguerite’s heart ached at the limitations of this forced separation. If she could not abide two days without Marcus’s sweet smile, what would she do when he was completely out of her reach?

“He fares well, fear not on that score. He misses you, of course.”

“And I him.”

“But we received word that the men from King David will be here to take him north by the end of the week.”

Marguerite nearly choked on a strangled sob. “That is only three days from now.”

Bertha leaned down and placed a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “I know, child, I know.You have to find a way to see him before he leaves.”

“How?” She wanted to scream. She needed desperately to cry. Faucon’s all-too-knowing stare caught her eye and she knew she could do neither.

Intent on making her sham of weeding look earnest, she yanked more of the wild greenery from the herb bed, while she mulled over the situation. While tugging on a stray runner of yarrow from between the fragrant lemon balm, she got an idea.

Marguerite cursed aloud. “This blasted yarrow. Bertha, would you aid me, please?” When the maid knelt next to her, Marguerite talked fast; she knew Faucon would quickly join them.