Читать книгу Falcon's Love - Denise Lynn, Denise Lynn - Страница 11

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.