Falcon's Desire. Denise Lynn
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“Aye, but ’tis worse than that, milady.”
“What…” Her question trailed off when she followed his line of sight.
The clearing between the dense forest and Taniere’s wall was an intentional manmade addition. Empty space provided an unobstructed view of any man or beast crossing the area.
At this moment Lyonesse was provided with a view of both. The man, dress in naught save black, mounted on an equally dark destrier, stared motionless across the distance.
Behind him, on what she could only assume was a falconer’s contraption, perched the golden.
The manner of the man’s dress and the eagle with him, gave her little doubt they were both from Faucon.
After swallowing hard, Lyonesse whispered, “Oh, Dear Lord, save us.” Stiffening her spine, she marched to the tower gatehouse and waited for Faucon’s harbinger of doom to approach her walls.
To her shock and dismay, the man turned his horse and rode back to the forest. While a confrontation may have frightened her, this action filled her with terror.
He would return for the man he knew resided within her walls.
The question now was when?
And with how many men?
If she lived through this day without taking a life, Lyonesse vowed to increase the rations left outside the gates for the poor. She rubbed a rose-scented oil into her lye-chapped hands. Could anything else go awry this day?
Helping with the washing had kept her from worrying so much about the man she held hostage and what would surely be an impending visit from his men. It hadn’t kept her from listening to Helen’s unending complaints.
Lyonesse patted a cool compress of elderflowers to the bridge of her nose and across each sunburned cheek. When her maid had finally stopped harping about Faucon, Helen had brought that demented eagle back to her attention. Without missing a stride, her maid groused about Faucon’s man. When those subjects had been thoroughly exhausted, Helen had busied her tongue with dire warnings about young girls who spent too much time in the sun.
Lyonesse sighed and left the chamber. If her only concern were freckles, she would be content.
Men’s loud laughter gave her pause halfway down the steep, narrow stairs. The boisterous noise bounced off the stone of the walls and echoed up the stairwell. She’d not heard this infectious sound since her father left last year to join the king. Her heart missed many beats. Surely he would not have come to Taniere without notice?
A deep voice barked with laughter at a ribald joke told by one of the other men. Lyonesse tensed as the familiar tone rang clear in her ears. Worry gave way to anger. Anger quickly simmered into rage.
Rapidly descending the remaining stairs, she saw Faucon standing at Howard’s side. The time the two men spent together discussing whatever they could discuss, was one matter. But to endure this man’s presence in her hall was another matter entirely.
She yelled at the only person who could explain this unwelcome and unwanted presence in her hall. “Howard!”
Lyonesse’s shout immediately brought the men’s merriment to a halt.
She pointed at the behemoth standing arrogantly in the center of the other men, and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
Before Howard had a chance to answer, the object of the discussion interrupted. “Milady, this means nothing more than a fine evening’s meal in the company of a lovely lady.”
She ignored him and leveled her gaze on her maid. Lyonesse seethed inwardly, wishing she had the leisure to pale and flutter as Helen was doing now.
Chains clanged together as a large, warm hand closed over her fist and deftly pried her fingers open. After kissing her palm, he stated, “And nowhere have I seen a more beautiful creature than Taniere’s lioness.”
Lyonesse tore her gaze away from Helen’s wavering look, and stared down at her own hand. What sorcery had this Spawn of Satan used to bewitch her? Hot and cold tingles ran down to her toes when his lips briefly touched her skin. Was it the vile way he kissed her palm, instead of the back of her hand that caused the unsettling shivers? Or was it the devil’s wicked treachery?
She glanced up at him. The toad smiled at her as if he were attending a festive celebration, instead of rotting in the tower where he belonged. Why did Faucon act this way?
In keeping with a chivalrous code of conduct, she’d permitted him limited freedom. But had she not gone out of her way to show him how much she despised him? Faucon knew full well his presence in her hall was unwelcome.
It wasn’t for the lack of trying, but he’d not truly suffered any true physical or mental anguish under his confinement here. So why did he now play the simpleminded fool?
Her hopes for a peaceful end to this day fell to the hardened dirt floor and shattered like a fragile egg. Lyonesse willed her tongue to remain silent.
Never had a female impressed Faucon as much as the one standing before him now. It had to be difficult for Lyonesse to hold her outrage in check as well as she did. A less composed woman would have dissolved into hysteria by now. Or at the very least would have become too flustered to remain as visibly calm as Taniere’s vicious kitten appeared to be.
Her appearance did not deceive him one bit. Some might have missed the bright glaze of anger that he’d so quickly grown accustomed to seeing. Or not have noticed that her jawbone was too well defined. The normally heart-shaped face was pulled nearly into a square by the tightness of her muscles.
His assessment of her features did not go unnoticed. The lady’s eyes narrowed in apparent distaste before she tore her hand from his and wiped her palm across the folds of the vivid green gown she wore.
Rhys bowed his head slightly and reflected upon her name. Lyonesse. While it was true that her gold-red coloring was well suited for a feline, he wondered if she knew that her namesake had been a bastard in every sense of the word? Her grandsire had been blessed with a reputation that made Rhys’s presumed evilness pale in comparison.
Certain that she could see no other emotion upon his face but pleasant interest, Rhys deepened his smile. How many times had he been told that his wicked grin could cause even a nun to succumb to his charms?
“Lyonesse? How did you come to be named for your grandsire?”
A faint blush tinged her delicate complexion, making her appear more of a child than the oversized armor had. “I am certain my father had his reasons. I have never found myself churlish enough to question the name.”
Rhys ignored the jibe and offered his arm to lead the unwilling lady to the table. He held his snort of amusement as she rested her hand so lightly on his forearm that she barely touched his sleeve. Did she really believe that she could continue to assume such ladylike innocence? No lady would have dared to conceive his capture—let alone accomplished the feat.
By the saints, this was going to be an interesting evening. Even though he’d been free to walk about the keep, he’d been bored to his limits. He’d sought an opportunity to pay his captor back with a little of her own coin. Now that he was certain she’d regained her senses, Rhys looked forward to goading her. After seeing Jezebel this morning, he had an added boon. The knowledge that his men were nearby worked to his advantage with Howard. It’d been simple to convince the captain to permit him to attend the evening meal in the hall.
He placed his free hand on top of hers. The instant he wrapped his fingers around her wrist to effectively hold her near, Rhys wished he had not. The smooth, soft skin beneath his fingers reminded him of how long it’d been since he’d touched anything so warm and soft.
Even though he knew full well that he would drive himself to distraction, Rhys could not have stopped his thumb from stroking the silken flesh if he’d tried.
At first she flinched under his gentle touch, but made no move to pull free. He bent toward