Falcon's Love

“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.”

Chapter Four

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.

“Are all the tunnels guarded?”

“They seem to think so. But, my lady, the ones in the stable and the well have not been found.”

“Good. I will use the stable exit.” It would bring her out just beneath the edge of the cliffs. The weather had been dry of late, so climbing the handholds up to solid ground would be manageable. Risky, but manageable. Right now, the level of risk was not an issue. She had to see Marcus, or die trying.

Marguerite wiped her arm across her forehead, giving her the chance to take a peek at Faucon. He watched them closely, but had not yet moved. “I need a diversion in the bailey. But it has to be something big.”

“Our men could attack Faucon’s. Would that be diverting enough?”

Marguerite blinked at her maid’s unusually bloodthirsty suggestion. “No. I want a diversion, just long enough so I can make my escape. We do not need a battle ending in deaths.” She laughed, more to keep Faucon from becoming overly curious than anything else, and asked, “What about a nice little fire?”

“The men would be willing to do that. It might serve your purpose.”

“It has to work. And it has to be done immediately. The longer we wait, the more time Faucon will have to realize we have something planned.” Footsteps behind them alerted her to his approach. Under her breath, so only Bertha could hear, she quickly ordered, “Tell Everett to see to it now. Failure will rest on his neck.”

Marguerite sat back on her heels and brushed her hands together, dislodging as much dirt as possible before lifting one hand in the air toward Darius. “What excellent timing, my lord. I am done here.”

He assisted her to her feet before offering the same help to the maid. Bertha thanked him, then addressed Marguerite. “By your leave, my lady?”

Marguerite nodded. “Yes, do see to your sister. Give her my regards and best wishes.”

Once the maid left the walled garden, Darius asked, “Is the babe come yet?”

“Not yet.” It amazed her that he kept up with the villagers’ comings and goings almost as well as Henry Thornson had. Her father had never concerned himself with those in the village, or in the keep for that matter. She’d first thought Henry’s outward display of concern odd.

Where Henry’s display was explainable—after all, these were his people—Darius’s concern was downright disturbing. She could not determine his motive.

He pulled her hand through the crook of his arm and led her toward the keep. “Has the midwife been summoned?”

“Yes, Sarah gathered her supplies yesterday and took up residence near the mother-to-be.”

“Good.” He patted Marguerite’s hand. “Then all will be well.”

These were the things that drove her to distraction. His touch and the way it made her flesh tingle. His concern and the way it fluttered against her heart. His nearness that she had so easily come to accept.

Since that first night, as far as anyone could tell, he had been the very vision of decorum. He escorted her everywhere—to meals, outside in the bailey, on visits to the village, even to the chapel. He and no one else guarded her chamber door at night. From the outside.

What those observing this display did not realize was that he had her under complete and total guard. He wasn’t protecting the Lady of Thornson, as they thought. He kept her prisoner.

Granted, her invisible cell was lined with the softest of furs and many bags of gold, but she still chafed under the confinement. And her heart fought valiantly to not take his show of tender care seriously.

They walked out of the walled garden and into the courtyard. Marguerite willed her pulse not to race with anticipation.

“My lord!”

Darius stopped at Everett’s frantic shout. Both Everett and Osbert ran toward them.

Osbert reached them first. “My lord, there is a fire in the main gate tower.”

Darius released Marguerite’s arm. “How did this happen?” He pinned Everett with a glare.

“I don’t know, my lord. It was just now discovered.”

Marguerite took a step away from the men, but without even looking, Darius reached out and grasped her wrist. He held her arm out toward Osbert and ordered, “See that she returns to her chamber and stays there.”

With obvious reservations, Osbert nodded and took her hand in his own. “My lady?”

When Darius bolted toward the main gate, Marguerite took one look at Osbert’s frown of worry and offered, “Go with him. Darius needs you, Osbert. Let no harm befall him.”

To her surprise, her play on his worry for Darius worked.

The captain stared hard at her before asking, “You vow to return to your chamber?”

After silently asking forgiveness for the lie she was about to voice, she pushed at his shoulder. “Yes, I promise. Go. Hurry.” Surely God would understand the necessity.

He did not wait for further urging. Once he was out of earshot, Everett shook his head. “That was easy enough.”

“You need to join them before they notice your absence.” Marguerite pointed a finger at him. “Hear me well, Sir Everett. Let no harm come to anyone from Faucon, or from Thornson—do you understand me?”

His expression hardened, but he nodded. “Yes.”

“Go.”

As he headed toward the main gate, she raced across the bailey toward the stables.

“And what have you discovered for me?”

Sir Everett nearly fell off the cliff at the unexpected question. Since Faucon’s arrival, he had met King David’s man in the woods, not out here in the open.

“Nothing with any meat.”

“No? Then you are not giving your responsibilities enough attention.”

The man stepped closer to him, knowing full well that if Everett moved, it would take him to the beach in one long fall.

“Faucon’s men are a closed lot. They fear giving any information away, so they say nothing at all.”

“Let me make this easier for you. I want to know how many men are in Faucon’s company, how well armed they are, how long they plan to remain at Thornson.” He grasped the front of Everett’s tunic and continued. “And I want to know their plans for Thornson’s replacement.”

Everett fought to ignore the chill racing up his spine. He glanced to his left, down at the beach far below, and answered, “Yes, my lord. I will see to it.”

The man released him. “You do that. And quickly, before the next shipment arrives.”

Darius wiped the sweat from his brow. The fire hadn’t lastedlong, but the damage was much more than minor. It would take a few days to repair the gate tower. In the meantime, he would assign more men to this gate.

“How do you think it started?” Osbert asked from behind him.

Darius turned around and glanced at his man’s side. “Where is Marguerite?”

“In her chamber.”

“Are you certain of this?”

Osbert shrugged. “Aye. She vowed to go there and remain while I assisted you.”

“You have been here this whole time?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And she has been alone this whole time?”

Osbert’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. You don’t think she would…she wouldn’t dare.”

A curse escaped his mouth before Darius sprinted toward the keep, Osbert right behind him. “Get two horses ready in case she did dare.”

Osbert veered toward the stable as Darius continued on to the keep. He raced through the Great Hall and up the stairs to Marguerite’s chamber.

Before entering, he paused to catch his breath. If she was not inside this room, he would need all the patience and strength of will he possessed to keep from strangling the first person he encountered.

He pushed the door open and stepped through the entry way into the chamber.

His shouted curses at finding it empty brought Bertha to the doorway. “My lord?”

Darius whipped around and grabbed the maid by the arm. “I thought you had gone to be with your sister.”

Bertha shook her head. “Not with the fire. I might have been needed.”

He did not believe her excuse for a heartbeat. “Where is your mistress?”

Bertha peered around his body “She is not here?”

“Woman, do not play games with me. Where is she?”

“I do not know, Lord Faucon.” The maid shrugged. “The last time I saw her, she was with you.”

Her attitude bordered on nonchalance and made him realize that Marguerite had obviously told the maid not to be afraid of him. A normal servant would be cowering beneath the glare he directed down at her.

Darius needed this woman to understand that while she did not need fear for herself, perhaps she should fear for her charge. He grabbed her other arm and shook her. “Tell me where she is, or I swear to you I will beat her senseless when I do find her. I am sick of her lies and will tolerate them no longer.”

Bertha’s eyes widened. “You will not harm her if I help you?”

He choked. The maid dared to make a deal with him? “I promise you only that she will live.”

Bertha chewed on her lower lip and stared up at him. Finally, she nodded. “She is in the village. She does nothing wrong, my lord.”

“In the village where?” He released her.

“She will be either in the cemetery, or in the woods nearby.”

That made little sense to him, so he asked, “What is so important there that she risks my anger and possibly her own life to thwart me?”

Bertha shrugged. “Since you are going to discover it for yourself, I do no harm by telling you. She goes there to be with Marcus.”

He thought he’d been angry before. He’d been certain that he’d reached the limits of his ire a time or two in the past.

He’d been wrong.

What filled him now was a pure rage so hot, so violent that it clouded his vision, and his thoughts, with a red haze. He strode toward the door, adjusting his sword belt and vowing, “Your lady may live, but her lover will not.”

Bertha rushed after him, shouting, “No, my lord Faucon, you do not understand. Marcus is not—”

Darius slammed the door in her face, cutting off the rest of her words.

Without stopping, without a single glance left or right, he marched out of the keep, into the bailey and silently swung himself up on his horse.

“My lord?” Osbert met his hard gaze and shook his head. “Nothing. It will wait.”

The two men rode through both baileys and out of the gates. They crossed the open field, following the narrow road toward the village.

With each fall of his horse’s hooves, Darius willed his anger to cool. It would do him no good to be blinded by rage when he met this Marcus. Battles were not won by those who lost their senses.

And he would win this battle. He cared not what Marguerite, her father, the Church, or even the king thought or said about the matter. As far as he was concerned, their marriage was fully binding, and with God’s grace he would end this charade tonight.

He knew the how of it. What he could not understand was the why.

It was not for love. That had been killed and effectively set aside years ago. It had nothing to do with lust. That was something any woman could provide.

He needed to understand the why—else it would be nothing more than another charade perpetuated by his own pride.

While he had missed her gentle touch, the taste of her lips on his, the sound of her voice, the very scent of her skin, there was something else that drove him to this madness. Something inside of him ate at his gut, tore at his heart. And he knew not what.

It was as if his soul was aware of something that he had yet to discover.

Something he needed to uncover before he went completely mad.

Darius raced through the village, thankful those in his path quickly gave way. He slowed his pace only when he reached the hilly fields on the other side of Thornson’s demesne lands.

With a hard yank, he brought his lathered horse to a stop, pulled his sword from the wooden scabbard hanging at his side and looked across the field, to the cemetery.

Osbert caught up with him and stopped alongside. “Darius.”

His captain’s winded voice held a note of censure. Darius looked at him and tried his best to reassure the man. “I will not harm her. But I cannot promise to let her lover live.”

The captain reached out and briefly touched Darius’s shoulder. “I cannot stop you from doing what you must. But think on this first. Do not let jealousy rule your sword arm.”

“It is not jealousy that eats at me.” That was the plain and simple truth. Not one speck of jealousy flowed through his veins.

“Then what is this?”

Darius shook his head. “At the moment I do not know. But before this day is out, I will.”

A movement at the edge of woods situated on the far side of the cemetery caught his eye.

Osbert saw it, too, and gasped.

Darius sheathed his sword. “For the love of God.” He flicked the reins and started toward the two figures. They walked hand in hand to a spot in the cemetery where they sat down.

Marguerite put an arm around her companion and drew him into her lap. Darius’s heart twisted with pain at the obvious display of love between mother and child.

He and Osbert reined in their horses at a slight distance from the edge of the cemetery. Marguerite’s attention was so focused on the child that she had not noticed him.

Osbert broke the deafening silence by softly stating, “You did not know.”

“Nay.” Darius shook his head. “How could I? No one has said a word about Thornson’s child.”

How had she hidden this from him? Where had the child been? Why had no one at the keep mentioned a word about a child? Not even in hushed whispers. They didn’t so much as ask about his whereabouts.

At that moment the child jumped up from Marguerite’s lap and drew her to her feet. They danced around a few of the crosses, before Marguerite pulled the child into a hug.

Darius’s horse whinnied, catching the attention of Marguerite and the child. The youngster turned around and stared at both men.

Osbert swore. Darius nearly fell from his horse, the blood draining from his head in shock. He now knew what his heart and soul had been hiding from him.

Chapter Five

Marguerite heard the horse’s whinny. With her heart in her throat and a silent prayer on her tongue, she looked up at the men. Her first impulse was to swoon, her next to run. But where would she go? She and Marcus were out in the open on foot. Darius would catch them long before they made it to the cover of the forest.

Osbert’s curse rasped against her ears. She cringed and tightened her arms around Marcus.

Too soon. Darius had discovered her absence too soon. Just a few more precious moments and she’d have taken Marcus back to Hawise and John in the village.

Surrounded by Hawise’s six raven-haired children, the boy would have been safe, hidden in the open, Faucon none the wiser.

What would he do now? She studied Darius intently. At first he’d appeared to be shocked. His complexion had paled, his eyes had widened.

Now, as he held her steady gaze on his approach, he narrowed his eyes. When he was close enough, she could see the unsteady tic in his cheek.

As he drew nearer, his attention shifted to Marcus. Marguerite could not help but wonder at his thoughts as his gold-flecked hazel eyes met the gold-flecked hazel eyes of her son—their son.

Oh, dear Lord, she’d sworn not to break this vow to Thornson. Her entire adult life had been built on a lie of her husband’s making. And she’d never once objected.

How could she object, when keeping the lie meant security, safety and love?

The men stopped their horses little more than an arm’s length in front of her and Marcus.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Osbert’s near whisper mirrored Marguerite’s thoughts. In the end, her lie most likely would damn her. Merciful Lord, let it not condemn Marcus to damnation, too.

Marcus tipped his head and looked up at Osbert. “Do you not know that swearing is a sin?”

“Is it, now?” Osbert acted surprised. “Thank you for making me aware of that, Master…what is your name?”

The boy lifted his chin a notch more. “Marcus. I am Marcus of Thornson.”

Osbert slid down from his horse. He studied the boy from head to toe, then a broad smile lit his face.

His easy recognition only strengthened Marguerite’s resolve to keep anyone else from seeing Marcus and Darius together.

Osbert squatted to Marcus’s level. “Well, Master Marcus, I am honored to meet you.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Sir Osbert of Faucon. And how many years are you, Marcus?”

The boy held up all the fingers on one hand, while looking at Osbert’s horse. “Is that your horse?”

“Why, yes, it is.”

“He is big.”

“Not that big.” Osbert straightened and snapped his fingers. “Why, I bet a fine young man like yourself could sit atop him with no trouble at all.”

Marcus twisted against Marguerite’s hold and looked up at her, his eyes alight with anticipation. Marguerite sucked in a shallow breath before pleading, “Osbert, do not harm him.”

Osbert jerked upright as if he’d been struck. “You know me better than that, my lady.”

She pulled her son tighter against her.

Marcus struggled briefly against her hold. “Mama?” He stared up at her, fear replacing the anticipation.

“Do not frighten him.” Darius leaned forward. “It is unnecessary.”

Frighten him? Nay, Marcus had no cause to be afraid. It was her own fear that held her back. If she let him go with Osbert, would she ever see her son again? Marguerite shook her head.

“No. I cannot let you take him.”

“Take him?” Osbert’s dismay was evident in his voice. “I only offer to let him ride my horse, that is all.” He looked at Darius. “My lord?”

Darius dismounted, wrapped his reins around a wooden cross and held Marguerite’s stare. “We need to talk. Let the boy go with Osbert.” When she made no move to release her son, he added, “Do not make me force this issue.”

He was right. They did need to talk. Marguerite took her arms from around her son and ran her fingers through his long black waves before releasing him completely.

Darius looked down at Marcus, then motioned toward Osbert. “Go for a ride. Sir Osbert will see that you are safe.”

Marcus dashed to Osbert’s side, obviously eager to get atop the horse. The captain swung the boy up into the saddle and walked alongside, one hand on the boy’s waist and the other with a firm grip on the horse’s rein.

Marguerite and Darius stared at each other in silence. Darius wondered if the thoughts and emotions running through her mind and body were as confused as his own.