Falcon's Desire. Denise LynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
below flesh in his silent struggle to break the bonds holding him. Lyonesse could see the fierce expansion of his chest and arms with each effort.
She glanced up and shuddered. If his strength were as great as the determination etched on his face, he would soon gain his freedom. His full lips narrowed into a grim line. A rapid pulse beat against one cheek. His swarthy complexion was broken by the cuts her glove had made on one side of his face. On the other side a thin white scar trickled like a tear from the corner of one eye to his mouth.
He leaned forward. For a brief moment unruly hair hid his face. Sunlight glistened off the shoulder-length mane. When he straightened, one raven lock fell across his face. Lyonesse’s fingers itched to smooth the wayward strands back into place.
She peered into his eyes and was horrified to find Faucon watching her perusal. Flecks of gold sparkled against his light brown orbs. The shimmering brightness flared and paled with a life of their own.
“Look your fill, milady,” he taunted. “For I will be the one who haunts your nightmares. You will wish you’d never beheld me.”
She quickly turned away to hide the rush of embarrassment that heated her face. Lyonesse gritted her teeth. What evilness possessed her to so intently study this vile beast? After collecting her wits, she turned back to him. “Those are bold words for one trussed like a gutted stag.”
The black brows of the captive winged higher over his amazing eyes. It would be far too easy for a person to fall helpless under that striking glare.
To her amazement, he only laughed at her. The desperate tone of his laughter sent a ripple of guilt down her spine. She studied her captive and frowned. Behind the fierce anger that brightened his eyes lay something akin to…pain.
She’d seen that expression staring back at her from the polished surface of her mirror. Pain. Loss. They already haunted her nightmares.
What did Faucon know of pain? Or of loss? This man doled out death and destruction as a pastime. He gave no thought to the lives his actions touched, or ruined in the process. Nay, even though she could not name the emotion, she knew it was not pain flickering in his gaze.
Even if the demon did possess a tiny bit of remorse in his black-hearted soul, what did it matter to her? Nothing would change. Guillaume would still lie dead. How would she find a husband within the time left to her? For without a husband, King Stephen would take Taniere.
The sound of wooden wagon wheels clattering over the hard, rutted path interrupted her disturbing thoughts. A few more of the men arrived to dispose of Faucon’s body, but John’s loud curse unsettled her even more.
Suddenly losing control, Guillaume’s man lunged toward her captive, intent on running his sword through the man.
“Nay! He is mine.” No one else must finish the deed. Only her. As Lyonesse threw herself at John she knocked him off his feet and seized his sword.
She grasped the weapon with both hands and turned toward Faucon. Stiffening her spine, steeling herself for what she was about to do, Lyonesse walked toward him. She picked a spot on his chest as her target.
“Damn you, look at me.” She did as he bid. “If you are bold enough to take my life have the courage to watch me die.”
Honor and bravery—the ideals her father lived by, the qualities she strove for in herself, shimmered in his unflinching stare.
Horror stopped her. What was she about to do? This would not be revenge.
Her stomach rolled. This would be murder.
The sword wavered. His stare bore into her. He would accept death. Unlike a coward, he would not plead for his life. The sword wobbled and fell from her hand.
Lyonesse shook herself from her trance and stared at Faucon.
He returned her steady look. “You are making a grave mistake, milady.”
She made her decision. “Get him in the wagon,” she shouted at her men.
Faucon struggled uselessly against the men who nearly carried him to the waiting hay wagon. His threats and curses fell heavy on her ears.
Not wishing to listen to his tirade during the trip back to Taniere, Lyonesse leaned over the side of the wagon and ordered, “Cease, Faucon.”
“You will pay for this. All of you.” Faucon glared at the men. “Do you take your orders from a mere slip of a girl? The king will hunt each and every one of you down.”
His empty threats infuriated her. “Faucon, I warned you once. Cease. Else I will find a way to silence you.”
He answered with a menacing snarl. “You puling little cub, do you realize what you are getting yourself into? The day will come when you regret this action.”
“I know exactly what I am about. I’ll not regret anything.” Grabbing a dirty, rumpled cloth from the cart, she rolled it into a ball. “Maybe this will stop your threats.”
The cloth stuffed in his mouth cut off Faucon’s blistering curses. Lyonesse backed away from the hate and anger glowing from his eyes. No words were needed to understand his silent promise of sinister retribution for her act.
Had her need for revenge not been so strong, Lyonesse knew she would have disgraced herself. Had she loved Guillaume less, it would be easy to order Faucon’s release and ride away. But the loss of her love hardened her heart.
Quickly mounting her horse, she left the others behind and headed toward home. Left to only her thoughts and the eerie cry of a soaring bird of prey, Lyonesse muttered aloud to the empty air. “Faucon must pay for his treachery. I have witnesses to provide proof of his guilt.”
Guillaume’s own men had brought the cold, disfigured body of their lord back to Taniere keep. They described the butcher who had ended du Pree’s life.
Even more telling than their description of the murderer was the last detail Guillaume’s men had told her. The eyes beneath the dark nasal helm glowed a riveting gold. Like the raptor he was named for, his eyes pierced their quarry just before the kill.
Aye, Faucon had mutilated the gentle Guillaume beyond recognition. Of that, there was no doubt. It mattered little if all of Faucon’s forces arrived at her gates. Let them come. They would soon learn that their name alone would not always protect them from retribution for their sins.
The thick, gray walls of her keep were a welcome sight. Lyonesse cantered ahead, her hail of “Taniere!” brought instant reaction from the men in the twin gate towers. The drawbridge slowly lowered and the iron portcullis raised, giving entrance to the outer yard.
She rode past the inner gates and into the second bailey, then slid off the lathered horse. After handing the reins to a waiting stable lad, she paused only long enough to give the unneeded order, “See that he is well cared for, Simon.” Lyonesse headed up the steep steps leading into the great hall.
She paused briefly to learn from her maid Helen that a missive from du Pree’s holy man had arrived before reaching the welcoming silence of her private chamber. She hastily stripped the heavy armor from her sweat-soaked body. “Sweet Mary, how can they wear this?” A sigh escaped her lips as she peeled the thickly padded under-shirt away from her hot flesh.
Relieved of the old, leather-hardened armor and protective underpadding, she snatched the rolled parchment from her bed before dropping down on the mattress.
Quickly sliding her fingernail beneath the wax seal, Lyonesse unrolled the missive and scanned its contents.
She couldn’t hold back the laugh building in her chest. For the first time in months, she experienced a measure of relief and satisfaction. The Good Lord had heard her prayers.
Lyonesse stood just inside the tower cell. Even chained to a bed and sleeping, Faucon looked formidable. Was he indeed a spawn of Satan? Did he take pleasure from fighting and killing?
The many scars marking his body attested to his prowess. To have