Falcon's Honor

“Have any strangers been permitted into the keep of late?”

“No.” The man seemed to reconsider his answer. “The only stranger recently has been the woman you called Lady Gervaise.”

Gareth didn’t doubt for one heartbeat that Lady Rhian would cherish slitting his throat, but neither did he believe she would do so to another.

“There is so much blood.” Hector studied the bodies, then asked, “How did this happen?”

“I’m not certain.” Gareth stood. “Perhaps a thorough examination will shed some light.”

Sir Hector turned toward Browan’s guards and ordered, “Take the bodies to the hall.” He then turned back to Gareth. “Have any more been discovered?”

“Nay. The others—”

Their discussion was interrupted by a hue and cry from the bailey. Both Gareth and Hector rushed toward the commotion.

Gareth drew his sword before pushing through the gathered crowd. “Hold! What goes here?”

The din subsided and one of Browan’s men limped forward. His torn and dirty garments hung from his frame. He glanced from Gareth to Hector and back, then explained, “We were attacked from behind before we could give warning.”

“By how many?” Gareth asked.

The man looked to his companions before shrugging. “I would guess eight or so.” The others nodded in agreement.

Sir Hector asked, “How many of you survived?”

The man’s eyes widened. “We are six here.” The others stepped forward. Each looked as beaten as the next, but at least they were alive.

Gareth answered their unspoken question. “Three were killed. One is still missing.”

Then he scowled in thought. Eight men had slipped into Browan undetected. The same eight men had done this much harm to Browan’s guard. Either the eight were highly skilled, or someone had helped to arrange this ambush. If so, for what purpose?

He turned his attention back to the guards, asking, “Did your attackers say anything?”

One offered a hesitant reply, “Aye, sir. They asked where the princess slept.”

“Princess?” Gareth and Sir Hector asked in unison.

The guard shrugged. “I told them there weren’t no princess here, but they just laughed and hit my head.”

Hector surveyed the bailey and turned to look at the tower. “What would a princess be doing here?”

Gareth followed the other man’s gaze. A multitude of torches lit the bailey and more blazed from the walls.

Far from a rich keep to begin with, the sparse light accented the poorly constructed outbuildings, weak sections in the curtain wall and the downtrodden appearance of the keep in general.

The daunting prospect of reconstruction was overwhelmed by one question. What princess?

A flicker of light from an upper arrow slit in the tower caught Gareth’s attention. Without turning, he issued an order to Sir Hector, “See that the bodies are taken to the hall and see that these men are cared for, too.”

“Milord?”

He heard the question in Hector’s tone. Instead of answering, Gareth only waved one hand in dismissal before leaving to seek answers to his own growing questions.

“You what?” The leader of this small band of men slammed an underling against a tree. He held his forearm across the trembling man’s throat.

“Milord, by the time we made certain the guards were well cared for, Faucon had arrived and we were unable to capture the woman.”

With nothing but a quick flick of the wrist, a razor-sharp weapon slit the underling’s throat.

The leader faced the others. “This will not happen again.”

Chapter Three

Rhian paced the floor of what could only be considered a makeshift cell. With a guard at the door, and the inability to come and go at will, what else could she call this chamber?

She surveyed the small room. Chamber? In truth it was little more than an alcove with a door. She’d seen larger storage huts.

But the size of her makeshift prison was the least of her concerns.

In the last sennight she’d gone from the Lady of Gervaise, to Faucon’s charge, to runaway, to servant and now to prisoner. Those would have been a great many changes over the course of a lifetime, let alone seven days.

What would she become 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 that will secure my own future.”

“How so? What can I possibly have to do with your future?”

A dark look crossed his face. For a moment Rhian thought she caught a glimpse of pain, or regret. It flashed through his eyes so quickly she wasn’t certain if she had imagined the display of emotion or not.

“Let us just say that completing this task for the King will go a long way toward bringing me back in his good graces.”

She frowned. What could Faucon have done to lose the good graces of his king in the first place? “What—”

“I am certain we both have past experiences we would prefer to forget.” He spoke before she could finish asking her question. “Even you.”

“Me?” Rhian shook her head. “No. Nothing I can think of at the moment.”

“No? Tell me something, Princess, why are there men looking for you?”

Her heart jumped. Her father had always called her his princess as an endearment. It sounded strange coming from another. “Princess? I am not certain who you are speaking to, but since only the two of us are in this chamber, I can only assume you are confused.”

“Some of Browan’s guards were only beaten, not killed. The men who murdered the others asked the whereabouts of the Princess.”

Rhian’s mouth went dry. “Have you discovered how the others died?”

“At first glance it appeared their throats were slit. But the chain mail would have made that difficult.” Faucon’s eyebrows met as if he was considering the method of death even now. “I am certain once the bodies are cleaned up that we’ll be better able to discover how they died.”

She rubbed her throbbing temples. “What does that have to do with me?” She needed to think this through before telling him what she knew. Would it help or hinder her cause? She couldn’t decide right at this moment and the men were already dead, so speaking out would do nothing for them.

“Little things. The fact that the murderers are seeking someone. Or that Browan Keep is so poor that nobody of any consequence would come here knowingly, unless of course they were hiding. And the fact that you are the only stranger to have happened upon Browan mere days before this attack on the men.”

“From that you have determined that I am the woman they seek?” It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She would have come to same conclusion if she’d been in Faucon’s place, but she’d not tell him that.

He said nothing. Just stared at her.

“Faucon, it is nothing more than a coincidence. I only happened upon Browan while walking through the forest. If anyone had been following me, I would think they’d have captured me before I entered these gates.” When his expression didn’t change, she asked, “Have your men found the murderers? Are they still within the gates?”

“Nay. They have searched every corner here and found nothing.”

“Then whoever it was, obviously isn’t looking for me, else they’d still be within the walls.”

“Perhaps.”

A small little voice inside her heart urged her to tell Faucon all. Her mind bade her wait a little while longer. Confused, Rhian sighed. To tell or not? She stared up at him. “Faucon…” No. Wait.

“What?”

“Nothing, Faucon. Never mind.”

He crossed the floor and stood over her. “Nothing? It sounded like more than nothing.”

Leaning back on the pallet, Rhian craned her neck back to look up at him. A position that simply would not do. “Either go stand across the room—” she extended her arm “—or help me up.”

“Nay.” He made a big show of crossing his arms against his chest and shaking his head. “I rather like our positions.”

But when she waved her hand at him, he relented and pulled her to her feet. His palm was warm against hers, chasing away the chill. Rhian stared at their entwined fingers.

Faucon brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. The small movement chased the breath from her. Good heavens, what was this? And why did his hand engulfing hers feel so right?

Rhian backed a step away and looked up at him. Even though she now stood, she still had to tip her head back to look at his face. Far too tall. She really did not like men who were so much taller than she. It put her at a disadvantage.

Firelight danced off the silver strands of his otherwise black hair. Far too wolflike. She’d never been fond of wild animals. They were too unpredictable.

His jewel-toned eyes glimmered like emeralds against his sun-darkened skin. Far too searching, too knowing. How would anyone keep secrets from eyes that seeking? He’d eventually be able to discern her thoughts without any words being spoken. Did he already know that she hid secrets from him?

His square-shaped jaw clenched and unclenched. Far too strong. Stubborn men irritated her beyond belief. They were no fun to argue with because they either lost their temper too quickly, or they sulked in silence.

Without releasing her hand, he tugged her against his chest. Far too muscular. She rested her forehead against his chest, fighting to clear her suddenly foggy mind.

Faucon lifted her chin with one finger, then stroked her neck. To retain a semblance of balance she closed her eyes and placed her other hand on his shoulder. Far too broad. Men with broad shoulders assumed the world and all its troubles could rest upon them. For an instant she wished he could carry her troubles.

“Rhian.”

His deep voice whispered across her ear like a warm caress. Far too inviting. A voice like that could convince her to… Why he could…and she would…and they—

He lightly brushed his lips against hers.

She leaned closer. Her heart jumped to her throat. Her pulse raced in expectation.

He slid his arm across her back, holding her to him. This time his kiss was far more than a feathery brush. Insistent. Searching. Exploring.

When he ran the tip of his tongue across her lower lip, Rhian gasped at the bolt of fire and ice that rushed clear to her toes. He was everything she disliked in a man, yet she would willingly—

Dear Lord, what was she thinking?

Rhian shook her head and pushed against his shoulder. “Release me.”

Faucon instantly unlaced his hand from hers and stepped back, shooting her a rueful look. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”

To her amazement, a flush of red crept up his neck. Since he didn’t spin any excuses, oddly enough she believed him. And that belief made not telling him what she knew even more of a crime.

Still, Rhian kept her distance. “There is no need to apologize.” When he didn’t protest the apology he hadn’t given, she walked toward the window and stared out at the twinkling stars. “I was obviously thinking the same thing.”

She heard him approach. Just his nearness put her senses on alert. He caused her heart to race, her breath to catch, her throat to close and her skin to tingle. Rhian knew with a certainty that this sudden unnaturalness, this inability to think clearly, was not a good thing. Thankfully, when she lifted a hand as if to ward him off, he stopped.

Faucon cleared his throat. “Honesty. What a unique attitude.”

“It would be rather hard to lie would it not?” Then why was her conscience snickering?

“Perhaps. But would it not be expected?”

She turned and looked at him. “How so?”

“A man alone with you in an empty chamber. Would it not make more sense for you to feign the injured virgin?”

And far too arrogant for his own good. “And why would I do that?”

He shrugged. “Had someone walked in, would it not have been the best way to avoid unwanted gossip?”

“Even had someone seen us, I need feign nothing. For one thing I care not what others may or may not think. For another, I am a virgin and the only person that will concern is my husband the day we marry.”

Rhian paused and bit her lower lip with indecision. When her conscience threatened to choke her, she finally said, “Faucon, we have another concern at the moment. Something of more importance than unwarranted gossip.”

The tone of her voice, the squaring of her shoulders and the serious, unemotional look on her face, drew Gareth forward. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the window, hoping it was far enough away to make her feel at ease and to calm his still-racing heart.

This woman with her midnight-black hair and shimmering blue eyes could yet prove to be his downfall if he did not watch himself.

Something about her, from her lips that silently begged to be kissed, to the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, screamed a warning. Rhian of Gervaise would prove to be heaven or hell, and nothing between.

A risk Gareth did not want to take, yet could not seem to avoid. If he were a praying man, he would be on his knees now.

Instead, he softly prompted, “And what concern might that be, Lady Rhian?”

He watched her take a deep shuddering breath and for a moment wondered if he truly wanted to know.

“The bodies in the bailey.” She rushed into her explanation. “The blood—so much of it. I’ve seen that before at Gervaise. Two messengers from my mother’s family were killed the same way outside of our gates. The killers were never found.”

She wrapped her arms across her stomach, but never paused. “At first it was thought their throats had been slit, but after a closer inspection it was discovered that someone had pierced the vein in their neck with something sharp, like a nail. Which would explain the vast amount of blood, since it would have spurted out and—”

Gareth raised his hand. “Enough.” He quickly digested all she’d just told him, then asked, “There were no clues, no witnesses? Nothing to give any hint who they were or where they were from?”

“No.” She shook her head. “My father’s men searched for weeks to no avail. Everyone was questioned, but nobody had seen or heard anything.”

Gareth rubbed the space between his eyes. “And now the only additional thing we know is that they seek a woman.” He lowered his hand, glanced at her, and then turned his attention out the window. “A princess, to be precise.”

“I can assure you I am no princess.”

Many a comment rushed to his mind at her declaration, but he kept them to himself. Instead, he asked, “You mentioned two messengers. What did they want? What message did they bring?”

Rhian slipped her hand down the edge of her high-neck gown and pulled out a pendant. “They brought this to me, along with the notice of my mother’s death.”

He reached out to touch the amethyst, pausing to ask, “May I?” When she nodded, he held the stone, looked at the dragon etching, then he turned it over in his hand. He was certain it was only his imagination that made it feel alive, pulsing under his touch. He wondered aloud, “Why is it so warm? As if it’s been held over a fire?”

She snatched it from him and tucked the pendant back inside her gown. “It is only warm from being against my skin.”

Gareth watched the pendant slide into place between her breasts and wondered if her flesh could be that warm without causing her pain. He stepped back, grasping for a different subject. “You said they brought word of your mother’s death?”

“Aye.” Rhian’s voice was a near whisper. “I did not even know she’d been alive all those years.”

“She did not live with you and your father?” Yet another mystery.

“No. I never knew her.”

“You did not find that odd?”

Rhian shrugged. “Odd? I had been told as a small child that she had died. Why would it appear odd?”

“So your father lied to you.”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Obviously.” The choked word seemed torn from her lips. She walked away from the window to stand before the brazier.

“Did the messengers tell you anything about her?”

“No. I did not speak with them.”

“Did you ask your father for an explanation after the messengers left?”

Rhian looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Would you not do so? Of course I did.”

He ignored the tartness of her tone. “And?”

She turned back to the brazier, seemingly intent on chasing the night’s chill from her hands. “I was told that it no longer mattered. That they’d made the best decision for me and for them. I had little choice but to assume the subject was closed.”

This was becoming more of a quest than he’d first thought. Why could it not have simply been as King Stephen said? He was just to deliver an heiress to her mother’s family for her marriage. That was all. No words about mysteries, secrets or murders. Hardly a simple task.

“Your father died shortly after that, did he not?”