Falcon's Desire. Denise Lynn
Читать онлайн книгу.
beyond the door. Michael instantly scampered out of the room.
Lyonesse stood in the doorway. “That child is innocent.” She glowered at him and ordered, “You will leave him be.”
Rhys’s mouth twitched with sorely suppressed humor. He lifted one shoulder briefly. “A child is a delicacy that I have not tasted in many weeks.”
Lyonesse paused. Not one muscle in her tense face moved. Then a look of uncertainty settled on her face.
Rhys provoked the confusion even further. He assumed an air of nonchalance, bargaining, “If you will turn a blind eye to my ungodly appetites I will promise to stifle the child’s screams.” He picked at an imaginary speck of dirt beneath a fingernail and waited for her.
“Have you not yet killed enough innocent people to satisfy your taste for flesh and blood?”
“By all the Saints’ bones!” Had the woman no sense of humor? “I was but jesting.”
She stepped into the chamber, the hem of her overlong mantle trailing across the floor behind her. “Your humor is ill-received here, Faucon. I found nothing humorous in committing Guillaume to his grave.”
“No, you probably did not.”
“’Tis all you have to say?” She closed the door behind her, shutting out the guards. “No apology for the havoc you have brought to my life? No regret for killing an innocent man?”
Every fiber of his being warned him of danger. “I have never taken an innocent life.”
She smiled. “You lie so well.”
The warning grew stronger. Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”
She unclasped the brooch of her hooded mantle, letting it fall to the floor. Rhys’s mouth went dry. Her hair, worn loose, cascaded over her shoulders and down her bare arms. Pale, silken flesh mounded gently above the deep-cut neck of her sleeveless overgown. The bliaut hugged her body like a second skin. She wore no chainse beneath—nothing but flesh showed through the tightly laced openings on either side.
The soft, thin fabric of her gown clung to her legs as she approached. Long, shapely legs carried her almost silently across the floor.
He did his best to breathe. Rhys willed his riotous heart to cease its wild thudding inside his chest. The erratic rhythm made it nearly impossible to think.
“Why, Faucon.” Her whispered words floated like a spring breeze. “I want the same thing that I have always wanted.”
The sweet scent of roses and spice acted like strong ale to his senses. He looked down at her. When had she moved so close? He resisted the strong urge to reach out and draw her against his chest. “And what might that be?”
Lyonesse looked up at him. Light from the wall torches twinkled like stars in her eyes. She smiled and he felt his heart turn over itself.
He focused on her mouth. So near. So ready to be kissed. She trailed the tip of her tongue across her lips and he leaned forward, willing to do the task for her.
“All I want, Faucon, is you.” The sharp, cold point of a dagger pressed against his chest accentuated her words.
Chapter Three
Lyonesse would always treasure the look of surprise and anger that crossed Faucon’s face the moments before his death. It would sustain her in the long, lonely years ahead.
When he reached up to grab her wrist, she sank the blade through the top layer of his skin. He stopped instantly and lowered his arm.
“Faucon, how could you think I wanted anything but your life?”
His dark gaze bore into hers. “Considering what a base clod I have obviously become, I bid you hurry.”
She was surprised by how calm his words sounded. Would he really accept death so easily? “It has taken me months to achieve this moment. Let me savor it a little longer.”
“Oh, by all means, please do enjoy yourself.”
“Always the sarcastic retort? Tell me, Faucon, do you take anything seriously?”
His eyes burned. Golden specks flickered into being. “I take living and dying very seriously.”
Suddenly her mouth went dry. “You may take your own living and dying seriously. What about others?”
“It depends.”
His voice, deep and gravelly, whispered across her ears. She found it difficult to concentrate in the warm chamber. She needed to end this quickly. Now. Before losing her will to see it through.
No longer was waiting for his time to run out an option. She’d come this far—debased herself to catch him off guard. To her amazement and satisfaction it had worked.
Keeping her gaze locked on his, she took a deep breath and in the split second before completing her deed, she wondered if there would be much blood. With all the force she could muster, Lyonesse gripped the dagger, prepared to ram the lethal blade into his heart.
Like a hawk snatching its prey in midair, Faucon caught her wrist in a viselike grasp. “You have two choices, Lyonesse. Either end this now, or submit.”
She stared at the hand gripping hers. The muscles and veins in his hands strained against confining flesh. Blood ran down the front of his tunic. She saw her entire life, her future ebb away as easily as his blood. Swallowing the bile caught in her throat, she looked back up at him. “You have to die. If I don’t do it, Sir John will and he’ll kill all who stand in his way.”
“Fine.” His grip tightened over hers as he forced the point of the dagger deeper into his chest.
Dear Lord, she couldn’t do this. She’d tried. Twice now. And failed. In a whisper, she pleaded, “Guillaume, forgive me.”
Faucon whispered back. “You will never let him forgive you.” Pushing the lethal weapon another hair closer to his heart, he beckoned, “Come, Lyonesse, this is what you want. I am helping you all I can.”
“Stop!” She pushed frantically against his chest with her free hand. “Oh, stop, please. I cannot.”
Entwining his fingers through her hair, he grabbed the back of her neck, stopping her attempt at escape. “I thought this is what you wanted.”
“I do.”
“Look at my chest, Lyonesse. Can you not see my blood run? Does it not give you a taste for more? You are almost there. Why stop now when you are so close?”
She glanced past the blood and stared at him. “I am not like you. I could never kill in cold blood.”
He laughed. “You are more like me than you will ever know.”
“No.” Lyonesse shook her head. “I could never do the devil’s work.”
“Then why do you come to this chamber dressed like a temptress and close out the guards? Who gave you the idea of distracting me with your body, so that you could plant a dagger in my heart? If you think those thoughts came from God you need to think again, Lyonesse.”
She would burn in hell for her actions this day. “You do not understand. If you do not die, Sir John has vowed to see it through. Howard will seek to stop him and when he does…” She couldn’t complete the horrifying truth.
“Do you place such little trust in your captain?”
Lyonesse shook her head. “I would trust him with my life.”
“But not his own.”
She gasped. “I could not bear him to die for my mistake.”
“Then correct your mistake now. Kill me. See it through.”
Her knees buckled. Faucon winced, but pulled