Falcon's Love. Denise LynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I should do this alone. But I thank you for the offer.”
Marguerite waited until Bertha took her leave before glancing down at Darius one more time. To her, he’d been a breathtaking boy, and he’d grown into a fine-looking man. From what she could see, the years had been kind to him. They’d blessed him with broader shoulders and muscular arms. His dark hair still waved about his head in riotous disorder. She knew it would run through her fingers like a rabbit’s silky fur.
After smoothing the skirt of her dark green gown, Marguerite headed toward the stairs. Would he remember her? Would his memories speak kindly of her? She shook her head. What matter to her what he did or did not remember?
After what she’d done to him this day—crying truce, then making him wait—she doubted if any man, friend or foe, would look upon her kindly.
No. Between those slights and making him enter an empty hall with none to greet him properly, she’d more than likely dealt quite a blow to his pride.
No matter. It meant little whether he looked upon her kindly or not. She’d had a life away from Darius. A full, good life. One that would live in her mind and her heart forever. One that she had to protect at all costs.
She paused halfway down the steep winding stairs and looked at him. “My lord, pray forgive my tardiness in attending you.”
He rose and stared up at her, his visage angry and impatient. No, it was plain that he did not remember her. Marguerite realized suddenly that his remembering and securing his kindness mattered a great deal to her, but she knew not why.
Darius’s heart seemed to halt at the first word that had left her lips. It couldn’t be. Dear Lord above, let me awaken from this dream.
He rose and stared speechless at the vision in green coming toward him. Even though he’d have thought it impossible, Marguerite was lovelier than the memory he’d carried in his mind.
He knew Marguerite had wed, that had been made quite plain to him. He’d not known whom she married and he’d not asked, afraid the knowing would prompt him to further rashness.
The years had softened her girlish body to womanly curves. From the swell of her breasts and the fullness of her hips, she was a sight that could stir a dying man’s passion.
And he knew full well what passion lay beneath the silken softness of her skin.
His only regret was that he’d not been here to watch her grow into such a fine woman.
Darius lifted his gaze and stared into the sea-blue eyes he’d missed for so long. She stared back at him. Confident. Proud. Not even a small smile of welcome crossed her face. She looked upon him as if she were meeting a stranger.
He swallowed. Surely she remembered him. How could she have forgotten?
Did Stephen and Maud know of his past relationship with the Lady of Thornson? Had they devised this mission for him intentionally?
She approached the head of the table and took a seat in the high-backed chair. Once he’d regained his own seat, she said, “My Lord Faucon, I understand you are here from the king.”
What game did she play with him now? Torn between the desire to tear the covering from her head and run his fingers through what he knew would be unruly blond tresses and a sworn responsibility to his king, Darius chose a third option instead.
He handed her Stephen’s written orders. “Yes, Lady Thornson, I am here on the king’s mission.”
If she wished to toy with him, he’d see it through. And in the end he’d beat her soundly at her own game.
Marguerite smoothed the missive out on the table. Her hands remained steady; never once did her fingers tremble with suppressed nervousness. After reading the orders, she rolled the parchment carefully into a scroll and handed it back to Darius.
“So, I am to surmise that you will see to the care and security of Thornson until a suitable replacement for the lord can be found?”
“You surmise correctly, yes.”
“Excellent.” She rose. “Then I shall retire to my chambers and leave all to your capable hands.”
Darius hooked a foot around the leg of her chair and jerked it beneath her. “Sit back down.”
Except for the widening of her eyes and the thinning of her lips, she gave no outward show of emotion.
Darius waited until she resumed her seat before stating, “I will see to the safety and defense of Thornson and you will continue to oversee the daily activities while awaiting the arrival of your new husband.” Suddenly the thought of awaiting a new lord for Thornson left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She folded her hands atop the table and stared intently at them. “I have yet to mourn my first husband.”
That wasn’t precisely true, but he only offered, “The king obviously thinks three months has given you plenty of time for mourning.”
Marguerite looked up, her eyes flashing like uncut gems caught in the sunlight. “I care not what your king thinks.” Her voice rose with each word. She gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.
“My king?” Were the rumors true? Had Thornson been loyal to Empress Matilda or King David instead of to King Stephen?
“I have sworn allegiance to no one. Thus, he is your king. Not mine.”
“Your husband swore an oath for the both of you. You and Thornson’s men are bound to honor that oath, or be held as traitors to the Crown.”
“My men are not traitors.”
“Lady Marguerite—”
“My pardon?” She interrupted him and leaned forward. “I gave you no leave to make use of my given name.”
Had she cracked an open palm across his face, Darius would not have been any more shocked. A sword to his chest would not have brought as much unbidden pain as her sharply spoken words.
He wanted to yell, to demand she explain not only her actions of six years ago, but her coldness now. Darius swallowed against the building tightness in his chest. He would not permit her the power to once again hurt him.
Instead, he drew on the memories still fresh in his mind and willed his heart to harden against her. Before she could read his thoughts, he schooled his features to remain frozen in a mask showing as little concern as she displayed.
“Forgive me, Lady Thornson, but they are not your men. They are King Stephen’s men and will be expected to act as such.”
“And if they choose otherwise?”
Darius smiled. “Then they will die.”
She gasped. “How dare you.”
He leaned across the table, until they were nearly nose to nose, before warning, “I will dare much more if you unwisely insist on playing out this charade any further, Marguerite.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the door to the hall creaked open and Sir Osbert crossed the chamber.
The captain’s soft curse heralded his arrival at the table. Darius turned his attention to Sir Osbert. “Yes?”
“My lord, the men are settled in, orders have been given.” He tipped his head at Marguerite. “You are looking well, my lady. The years have been kind to you.”
“I cannot say the same for you, Osbert. You look a might older.”
Darius whipped his head around and glared at her. “And here I thought you’d forgotten.”
She smiled. “Darius, how could I ever forget a childhood friend?”
Childhood friend? What an odd way to refer to their relationship when last they’d parted.