Falcon's Love

He kept his gaze locked on her face. “What it means is that you have had more than one husband.” When just the lightest shade of pink colored her face, he added, “At the same time.”

Marguerite tried unsuccessfully to jerk her hand from his hold. “How dare you.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, I dare much and will dare much more before you and I are through.”

This time when she tried to free her hand, he let her go. Without another word, she rose and headed toward the steps.

She thought it would be that easy? That she could just walk away and be done with him? Not this time. Darius remained seated, but called out, “If you walk away before you are excused, I will find the smugglers myself and they will be executed in your bailey.”

She halted and turned around to face him. “Who are you to excuse me in my own keep? Who are you to decide the life and death of Thornson’s men?”

Darius rose. “Who am I?” He picked up the missive from the king. “In case you have forgotten, I am your lord and master for now. I alone have the power to decide life and death over those at Thornson.”

Marguerite returned to the table and stood across from him. “What has become of you, Darius?”

He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “My dear wife, I am everything you ever dreamed of, everything you ever desired.” He tossed her own words, spoken long ago, in her face. Then he added his own. “I am every nightmare that ever pulled you from your sleep.”

“I am not your wife.” She straightened her spine, lifted her chin and stared back at him. “I will beg you to remember that. I will do as you order, Faucon, but no more.”

We will see about that. He kept his thoughts to himself, nodded and said, “Good. Then I order you to take yourself to your chamber and remain there until I say otherwise.”

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing before leaving the hall.

Darius’s heart beat so hard he thought it would burst. He lunged back down into the chair and rubbed the throbbing in his temples.

Sir Osbert had remained silent through the conversation with Marguerite, but now he cleared his throat and asked, “My lord, if I might speak out of turn?”

Surprised, Darius peered up at him. “If you have to ask, this should be interesting. Please, feel free.”

“Do you not think that was a little rough?”

“Perhaps. Should I have sweetened every word so she felt at ease? That way, she would have thought herself free to continue on her merry way as if nothing were amiss.”

“’Tis not what I meant and you know that well.”

“Then what do you suggest, Osbert?” Darius lowered his hands and sighed. “She made fools of us at the wall. She called a truce and then kept us waiting for God only knows what reason. She pretended not to know me, then lied to my face.”

“You do not think she does that to protect herself?”

“She does that to protect not only herself, but the secrets she’s hiding.”

“Lord Darius?”

He shook his head. “Osbert, there is much more going on here at Thornson than even what the king was aware of, and I intend to ferret out all I can. To do that, I need her to know she cannot trust me. To realize that she cannot use what was once between us to her benefit.”

“I see your point.” Osbert scratched his head. “I am just not certain this is the best way around the problem.”

“And you suggest?”

His captain shrugged. “I suggest I follow your lead and see where we end up.”

“Good.” Darius rose, picked up his helmet and gloves, then headed toward the iron-studded door. “For now, let us take stock of this keep.”

He needed to know how many men currently served at Thornson. It would also be to his benefit to discover the type and number of arms available.

Since the keep itself was more than what it was supposed to be, there was no telling what other details had not been reported to King Stephen. Darius would sleep better knowing what he faced.

Chapter Three

Once she heard the great oak door thud closed, Marguerite cracked her chamber door open wider. Had Faucon left the hall? She crept out onto the landing and peered down into the Great Hall.

Her shoulders sagged with relief at finding it empty. Stay in her chamber, indeed. How did he think she was going to oversee Thornson if she was confined to her room like a wayward child?

There were many tasks requiring her attention. Tasks that no one else could complete.

Marguerite sighed. She gritted her teeth and squinted her eyes. She would allow no further complications in her life.

“My lady?”

Marguerite jumped. She’d not heard Sir Everett’s approach. She forced herself to ignore her musings and looked at her captain. “Yes?”

He made an exaggerated point of slowly looking from her, down to the door of the Great Hall, then back to her before inquiring, “Is anything amiss?”

She wasn’t certain if it was the arrogant tone of his voice, the disapproving tilt of his brows or just his demeanor overall that set her teeth on edge. Thornson’s captain had become increasingly harder to control of late. This was something Marguerite knew she needed to stop—now. If she did not see to his demeanor, Darius would.

Straightening her spine did little to bring her face-to-face with the man, but the action fortified her strength of will. “Nay, Sir Everett, nothing is amiss.” She kept her voice steady, and was rewarded when the arrogance momentarily left his face.

He took a step back. “Is there anything you require?”

Marguerite shook her head. “Not at this moment. Why do you ask?”

“You were overlong with Faucon and I feared you required assistance.”

Her chest tightened with her anger. He had been watching her. How dare he spy on her in her own keep. “I was not with him overlong. Faucon is here on the king’s business. Would it not appear strange if I did not greet him?”

“Well, yes it would, but—”

She gave him no time to complete his sentence before asking, “And since I was the one who kept him waiting for so long, is it not right that I spend a little time assuring him of our welcome?”

Everett tugged his forelock and dipped his head. “You are correct. Pray, forgive me.”

He gave in far too easily, but unwilling to pursue this any further at this time, she relented. “Fear not, Sir Everett, I will do nothing to bring shame or disgrace to Thornson.” To herself she added, Especially not with Darius. We’ve shamed ourselves more than once in the past. I’ll not repeat my childish mistakes.

Marguerite nearly laughed at Everett’s loud sigh of relief. She waved him away. “Go. See that Faucon’s men have all they require. Let them have no reason to question our hospitality—or loyalty to King Stephen.”

She knew that Everett fully understood what would happen if Faucon discovered Thornson’s loyalty to Empress Matilda. Her captain would be the last person that would let that happen.

After Sir Everett left, she headed toward the alcove at the back of the Great Hall, mentally ticking off the tasks still needing attention this afternoon.

The cooks would need an accounting of how many more mouths would require food. And she needed to assure herself that everyone understood her odd request of silence about Marcus. To do that, she would have to travel into the village, and while there it would be a sin not to visit with Bertha’s sister, who was due with her fifth child any day now. Sally Miller had mentioned that her husband’s joints ached him to no end of late; she should see how he fared. Then, she could spend some time with Marcus. He would be gone from her soon and she wanted to spend every moment possible in his company until they were parted.

And when all of that was done, she would need to conjure some womanly type of excuse to give to Darius for disobeying his orders. Marguerite rolled her eyes. Orders, indeed. She was the Lady of Thornson and she’d not seen anything in King Stephen’s missive that changed her status.

Darius already knew she’d lied. He just didn’t yet realize it had been intentional. She needed his attention focused on her.

With a little subterfuge on her part and a lot of luck, she would be Darius of Faucon’s weakness. If he spent most of his waking hours concentrating on what she was doing, or not doing, he’d not notice the activities of her men.

“Pray tell me, how did Faucon come to be inside Thornson?”

Sir Everett flinched at the smooth tone of his inquisitor’s voice. He’d learned that the calm hid a violent temper. “Faucon and his men were sent here on King Stephen’s orders. They tried to capture the smugglers, and then attacked the keep.”

A twig snapped beneath the man’s boot when he stepped closer. “I saw what happened on the beach. And I heard about the attack.” Like a snake attacking its hapless prey, he wrapped his fingers around Everett’s neck. “I asked you how Faucon came to be inside the keep.”

Everett swallowed. His throat strained against the deadly grasp. “Lady Thornson cried truce and let them enter.”

The other’s loud curse sent a nearby rodent scurrying beneath the leaves on the forest floor. “No one will be permitted to thwart my plans. No one. Keep an eye on both of them. Make certain the lady does nothing further to jeopardize our plans, and find out all you can about Faucon.” He released his hold on Everett’s neck and stepped back. “I will return tomorrow. Have some news by then.”

Still gasping to draw air into his burning chest, Everett could do little but nod.

Marguerite slipped into the kitchens through an oftused tunnel door. The cook and her helpers merely nodded and carried on with their duties.

This afternoon’s tasks had taken longer than she’d expected. She had little time left to make herself presentable before the evening meal was served.

The servants were in the process of setting up the long trestle tables in the hall when she passed through on her way to her chamber. She had less time than she had thought. Since she’d used the maze of tunnels to exit and return to the keep, it had wasted more time than usual.

But it wasn’t as if she would have been permitted to simply walk through the gates. She’d had no other choice but the tunnels.

At least her day had not been wasteful. Even during this trying time it had been filled with joy. She smiled at the memories.

She and Marcus had ventured into the forest seeking yarrow for one of Bertha’s concoctions. They’d laughed and danced about the forest as if not a care in the world beset them or Thornson.

And when she’d forced herself to part from him to return to the keep, their shared tears of sadness at the coming separation had mingled. Not long, my love. Our parting will not be for long. It was a vow she would sooner die than break.

Would that Faucon’s departure came soon. She needed things at Thornson to return to some semblance of normalcy. Even if they found another man for her to marry, a stranger’s presence would be better than Faucon’s. Someone who knew her not.

Bertha joined her at the foot of the stairs. “How fares my sister?”

“Other than being anxious for the babe to arrive, she is fine, Bertha.” Marguerite glanced about the hall before heading up to her chamber. “Have you seen Faucon or his men?”

Bertha followed. “His men guard the walls and the gates.”

“His men? What about Thornson’s guards?” Marguerite was thankful she’d not approached the gates.

“Our men have been relieved of duty, my lady. I am not certain what, but something happened earlier that seemed to anger Faucon.”

“I wonder what it could have been?” No doubt he’d found her missing.

The women paused at the top of the landing. Marguerite noted Faucon’s guards flanking the stairs. She raised her eyebrows at their presence, but said nothing as she and Bertha walked by them.

She pushed the door to her chamber open and frowned at the warmth rushing out from inside the room. “Bertha, did you—”

Her maid’s gasp effectively stopped her question. Marguerite spun around.

Sir Osbert smiled at her from behind the maid. He had one hand covering Bertha’s mouth and his other wrapped around the maid’s arm. He nodded toward the chamber before leading Bertha away.

“Get in here and close the door.”

Marguerite’s heart thumped against her chest. She turned toward the stairs, only to see both guards waiting for her. Escape would not be an option.

After taking a deep breath, she entered her chamber and shut the door behind her.

Darius stood by the lit brazier—the source of the heat she’d felt. He held out a goblet. “Here, join me.”

“Join you in what?”

“Our evening meal. Since it seems you cannot follow even the simplest order to remain in your chamber, I thought I would see to it myself.”

Marguerite swallowed a curse. She’d expected his anger, not his personal attention. What game did he play? She took the proffered goblet and sat down on a stool. “I am certain you have many other responsibilities to keep you busy.”

He shrugged before walking to the narrow window and staring out at the now darkening sky. “I thought so, too. But, obviously, my main responsibility is seeing to your safety.”

“My safety? There is no danger for me at Thornson.”

“No?” He turned and looked at her. Golden flecks glittered in his hazel eyes. “Just earlier today you intentionally lied to me about smugglers and criminals, knowing full well that I’d see through your fabrication. Then you reminded me that it was my duty to bring those men to justice. A duty I will not shirk.”

She couldn’t deny his accusations, so she remained silent.

“Do you think the years have addled my wits and made me a simpleton?”

“No.”

“Then how could you even begin to imagine that lying to me would not arouse my suspicions about everyone at Thornson? Did you really believe for one moment that I would ignore all the others because of your falsehoods?”

Her heart raced. She gripped the edge of the stool with one hand to keep from bolting to her feet.

“Need I remind you, I had two brothers? It was an easy game for one of us to draw our father’s attention, so that one of the other boys was free to do whatever he wasn’t supposed to do. How could I not suspect Thornson’s men of being up to something nefarious?”

Wonderful. Not even one day had been completed, yet he was full aware that she toyed with him.

And by the glint in his eyes, the stiffness of his stance and the tic in his cheek, she knew he was furious. Marguerite had to admit the years had taught him to restrain his anger remarkably well.

“Your obvious lying was so out-of-character that I could come to no other conclusion but that you were doing so to protect your men. Now I need discover what they need protecting from.”

She took another swallow of the watered wine before asking, “And what do you plan to do with me?”

“I have not yet decided. When I first made my rounds of the keep and started putting the pieces together, I had planned on hanging you from the tower. But I realized that would only find disfavor with the king.”

She completed that thought for him. “And heaven forbid that a Faucon incurs the king’s disfavor.”

He raised his goblet toward her. “True. Or at least let it not be on this Faucon’s head.”

“So, after that realization what did you decide?”

Darius walked away from the window toward her. “I thought to drag it all out into the open. But alas, you were not in your chamber.”

Marguerite swallowed. Lie? Don’t lie? Darius grasped her chin, tipping her head back and stared at her. Her mental debate found a quick death under his piercing attention.

She jerked her chin out of his grasp. “I have responsibilities, too, Faucon.”

“So you used the tunnel in the kitchen building to sneak out of the keep.”

How in Hades did he know that?

“Do not look so surprised, Marguerite. My men are good at their jobs. It took all of a few hours to find at least three tunnels. And the kitchen one brought them closest to the village.”

A knock on the chamber door stopped their discussion. Marguerite rose, but Darius pointed to the stool. “I will get it—you stay right there.”

She sat back down and fumed. Her mistake had been in forgetting that Darius of Faucon was not a stupid man. He knew her well, and it would be an easy thing for him to deduce her motives and then actions.

She would simply have to become much cleverer than he. And quickly.

He came back from the door carrying a tray laden with thick slabs of bread, cheese, fowl, two apples and what Marguerite hoped was a pitched of cider. “I assumed after your full day that you would be hungry.” He put the tray atop a wooden chest.

“No, I find my appetite is quite small this evening.” Actually, she was famished, but she was also tired of his assumptions on her behalf. “But please, feel free to eat your fill.”

“I plan on it.” He broke off a piece of bread and handed it to her. “You are going to eat, too. I’ll not have you getting sick.”

“I said I am not hungry.” Her rebellious stomach picked that moment to growl. Marguerite sighed, then took the bread from Darius. Before taking a bite, she looked up at him and said, “I could easily learn to hate you.”

He reached out and stroked her cheek with his finger. “I know from experience that it is not quite as easy as you might think.”

Not wanting an explanation for that cryptic remark, she concentrated as best she could on eating, her cheek still tingled from his brief touch.

As she reached for a small eating knife, Darius plucked it from beneath her hand. “Let me.”

She leaned back. “Let you what?”

He speared a small bit of the hen and lifted the meat to her mouth. “Feed you.”

“I am capable of feeding myself, thank you.” She reached for the knife, only to have him wave it away.

He drew the morsel before his face and make a grand play of inhaling. “Ah, I detect a trace of cumin beneath the garlic sauce.” He again offered the tidbit to her. “It does smell appetizing.”

He was right. The aroma made her mouth water. “I would prefer—”

Darius stopped her complaint about feeding herself by sliding at bite between her open lips. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she swallowed the tender fowl. From the self-satisfied look on Darius’s face, it was apparent if she wanted to eat, she’d have to let him have his way.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done this before. Feeding each other with pilfered food used to be a regular occurrence—one they’d both enjoyed.

She held out her empty goblet. “Is that cider or wine?” Would he remember that she didn’t like wine?

“Cider, of course.” He filled her drinking vessel, took a sip and handed it back to her.

Marguerite took the proffered goblet, knowing his full attention was focused on her, she lifted it to her lips, and drank from the same spot as he.

It would be all too easy to let the years slide away. From somewhere deep in her heart she could almost hear the gurgle of a rushing stream, smell the freshness of newly harvested hay and feel the softness of the grass beneath her. The sparkle had always come quickly to Darius’s eyes, and her smiles had come gently to her lips. Everything was simpler then—back when love was new.

What was she thinking? Marguerite banished the nearly forgotten memories before they bore fruit. She had a keep, men and promises to worry about. The luxury of simpler days and newly forged bonds were beyond her grasp.

Darius offered her another bite of hen. Garlic sauce dripped off the end of the knife and ran down her chin. Before she would wipe it away, he removed it with a swipe of his finger.

As he lifted it to his mouth, time seemed to come to a standstill again and Marguerite knew, by the faraway look in his eyes, that he, too, was remembering another time, another shared meal. She wondered if his stomach knotted while a sudden warmth heated blood, or his pulse quickened the same way hers had.

Darius cleared his throat, then handed her the knife. They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

Once they’d finished eating, Darius asked, “Where were we?”

“I do not remember.”

“Ah, yes, what am I going to do with you?” He frowned, mimicking intense concentration. “Since hanging you is out of the question and truly any form of physical punishment would also be unthinkable, I can only think of one thing.”

She dreaded his answer, but asked all the same, “And that is?”

He flashed her a smile. The same one that used to set her blood racing and reduce her limbs to little more than jelly.

“I will remain at your side at all times.”

That would not do. Not at all. It would be impossible to carry out her duties and responsibilities with him underfoot. How would she see to the weekly shipments? Worse, how would she spend what precious time she had left with Marcus?

Marguerite shook her head. “I do not think that is wise.”

“No?”

He was enjoying this far too much. “No.”

“And why is that?”

“It will make it difficult to meet my love each day if you are always about.” Now that was not exactly a lie.

“My, my. Two husbands and a lover.” He paced the chamber before her. “What a busy woman you are.”

“I do not have two husbands.” Nor had she said lover, but let him think what he wanted on that score.

“I stand corrected. One of your husbands is dead.”

“My only husband is dead.”

Darius walked behind her. Before she could turn around, or move out of his way, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Marguerite knew the taste of fear. A cold dread snaked its way down her spine, all the way to her toes. The hairs on her neck rose.

But it was not Faucon she feared. It was herself.

It was fear of the memories that had surfaced when he’d held her hand earlier and again when he’d fed her. Fear of the bubbling passion his obscene caresses of her palm had created. Fear of the way her memories had returned with such ease. Fear of wanting his steady warm touch to continue.

He kneaded her shoulders, stroked his thumbs along the back of her neck. More than six years disappeared…and they were once again in the hunting lodge.

Marguerite tipped her head forward, letting him work the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. Not having the strength or the will to fight him, she sighed.

Darius’s breath was hot against her neck. His kiss on the sensitive flesh beneath her ear brought a soft moan to her throat. Unable to stop herself, she let it escape.

He answered the sound with a low, gentle laugh before pulling her to her feet. “I am your husband, Marguerite.” He kicked the stool out of the way, slid his arms around her and held her back against his chest.

She pressed into his embrace, grasping his forearms for support. “Those vows were not binding.”

He rubbed his cheek across the top of her head before returning his lips to her ear. “They were as binding as the actions in our marriage bed.”

He slid a hand up her stomach, scorching her skin through the layers of her clothes. He cupped one breast, thumbing the nipple to a hard peak, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.

“Darius, do not do this.”

He turned her around in his arms. As he lowered his head to hers, he asked, “Do what?” before running his tongue along the line between her lips and easily parting them to delve inside.

His kiss stole the slim remainder of her will. She curled her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. She had remembered correctly, his hair was still as soft as a rabbit’s fur.

And his kiss still had the power to make her hungry for more.

Darius lifted his head. “Will one husband and one lover be enough, do you think?”