Falcon's Honor. Denise Lynn
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next? An unwilling bride to some heathen devil worshiper?
Not if she could help it.
The question was how to prevent it from happening?
She paced back across the room. Each footstep she took across the cold, bare wood floor increased her sense of defeat.
Nay. She could not give up so easily, not yet. Not while she breathed. She would do whatever became necessary to regain her freedom and her peace-filled life. She would make any sacrifice, any compromise that would provide her a way out of the life King Stephen had arranged for her.
There’d been so much blood.
The unwelcome memory of the two messengers from her mother’s family stabbed at her mind and knotted her stomach. They’d given her the package containing the pendant and spoken privately to her father at length before taking their leave.
The next day, their blood-covered bodies had been found just outside the walls.
Rhian shivered.
Perhaps being in a guarded cell might be a good thing. Even though she chafed at the forced confinement, she knew a measure of safety. Although, that was not Faucon’s intent.
Then again, she could also understand Faucon wanting to make certain she did not escape him again. After all, he was only following King Stephen’s orders.
She paused by the lit brazier seeking warmth. Nothing stopped the spring’s night breeze from turning the chamber to ice. The small brazier would have to be kept burning many hours before its heat would fill the room.
Hours that Rhian did not intend to spend in this cell, or this keep. She clenched her teeth to hold back a scream of frustration.
The thought of being confined was nigh on unbearable. Yet, the thought of escaping into the forest held much less appeal than it had just a short time ago.
Even without these strange murders, she felt buffeted from all sides—King Stephen, her mother’s family and Faucon. Why could they all not just leave her alone? Or at the very least why could they not treat her in a manner befitting her father’s daughter?
Rhian stomped over to the pallet in the corner, plunked down on the lumpy mattress and sighed heavily.
Why? Because now she was nobody. Nothing.
With her father’s death she had ceased to exist. King Stephen had already given her home to another. Her possessions had been carted away with a promise to have them returned to her upon her arrival at her new home.
She’d been left with only what King Stephen had decided she required for her journey and little else.
Rhian absently touched her pendant. What would her future hold? She knew not her mother’s family. Were they truly disciples of the devil, as she’d heard whispered?
She closed her thoughts against the possibility. It mattered little. She’d find a way to escape the future.
The door to her cell banging open with a thud against the wall startled her out of her contemplation. Now that Faucon had arrived, she wondered what his mood would be.
Would he seek to make her pay for running away and thwarting his mission? Would he be angry that she’d hit his squire with the kettle?
He was a huge man compared to her father, or to any other man she’d ever known. She knew full well the distance her father’s wrath could travel. What about Faucon’s?
In all truth, he’d held his anger well so far. A shiver of dread snaked down her spine. With the unknown danger already stalking her, she wished not to deal with any more.
Faucon stared at the door, now half hanging from a broken leather hinge. With a curse he ordered his captain to find someone to fix it.
All of her emotions raced to the fore: dread, fear, guilt, and at his curse, they tripped out of her mouth as a nervous laugh. Rhian slapped a hand over her mouth hoping to stifle the sound.
Faucon spun around and glared at her. “I am happy I could amuse you.”
She arched one eyebrow, then returned his glare.
He inspected the small chamber, then walked across the room and held his hands over the brazier. “You will need more coals. And a bed instead of that pallet.”
Relieved that he was not roaring at her, Rhian patted the straw-and herb-filled mattress on the floor beneath her. “This will do fine for the short time I will remain at Browan.”
“Oh?” Faucon did not move from his position by the heat. Instead, he only shot her a look she couldn’t decipher. “And when do you plan on departing?”
“As soon as possible.”
“And where will you go?”
Rhian shrugged. “It matters little as long it is away from where you think to deliver me.”
Faucon crossed his arms against his chest. “Where I think to deliver you?” He shook his head. “Nay, milady. ’Tis where I will deliver you. What makes you think you have a choice in this matter?”
“It is my life you play with, Faucon. Not yours. Not King Stephen’s. My life.”
“Spoken like a spoiled child who knows not their place in the world.”
“Ah, that is where you are mistaken. I know full well my place in the world. It is nowhere.”
Faucon rubbed the bridge of his nose while he walked over to the narrow window opening. “If a king goes to such lengths to ensure your future is secured, I would say you have a place in the scheme of things.” He turned back to look at her. “Why do you not agree?”
Rhian scooted back on the pallet and leaned against the wall. “He sends me to a family who has not noted my existence since the day I was born. A family I know nothing about except what I’ve heard whispered in corners when they thought I couldn’t hear.”
“I do not believe you would permit rumors and innuendo to overrule common sense.”
“What if those rumors hinted at devil worship and Satan’s trickery? Would that not make a sane person take pause?”
Faucon’s shoulders rose and fell. “Perhaps it might be better to see for yourself. To determine firsthand if the stories be rumors or truth.”
Rhian laughed softly. “Oh, aye. A fine thing for a man to say. If the rumors turned out to be truth you could draw your sword and fight your way out if need be. What will I do to protect myself?”
“You?” He looked at her in surprise. “You set out through a dark forest alone to escape me. A feat that could very well have earned you death, or worse.”
Rhian felt the heat of embarrassment on her cheeks. “I fail to think when I am angry.”
“Truly?” He rubbed his forearm, bringing more heat to her face. “I find that hard to believe.”
“If your sarcasm were any thicker, you’d drown in it.”
“And if your nails were any longer, I’d have bled to death.”
“A strong warrior like you? I doubt that.”
He stepped away from the wall and tapped a hand against his chest. “Ah, she thinks I am a strong warrior. My heart will burst at your kind words. I could take that as a compliment.”
“Take it as you wish.”
After shaking his head, Faucon sighed, then asked, “Where will you go, Lady Rhian? What will you do? How will you live?”
Rhian sat up. “You will release me?”
“Not while I draw breath.”
“Why not, Faucon? I am nothing to you.”
This time, he laughed softly before answering. “Nothing? Milady, you are the task