Falcon's Heart

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Jared’s lair, as he called it since his dubbing of The Dragon, was a fortified stone keep on the Isle of Wight. It would be near Carisbrooke, but not close enough that any of Stephen’s men would happen upon them unseen. So far, as long as Jared did nothing to boldly provoke those currently holding Carisbrooke, he’d been left alone.

“Nay, thank you, but we are only a day’s ride from Ashforde. I would like to see how much progress has been completed on the building and I need to ensure there are supplies enough to last through the winter. Then I will escort Marianne to her brothers.”

“I understand, but Isabella and Beatrice were looking forward to enjoying your company.”

Bryce groaned. Jared’s sisters dabbled in herbal remedies. Their disagreeable-tasting concoctions were supposed to help them find husbands—providing their brews didn’t kill the men first. Thankfully, even though he had been on the receiving end of their potions more than once, he still breathed.

“So.” Jared stretched out his legs and nudged Bryce. “Tell me about your lady.”

Bryce wondered where to start. Marianne of Faucon was like no other woman he’d ever met. In the short span of time he’d been in her company, he’d come to realize that she could cause him more trouble than imaginable. And it would be trouble of the worst sort—the kind that would involve not only his heart and mind, but also his soul.

“Other than the fact she can use a blade, there isn’t much to tell.” Feeling Jared’s questioning stare, he grasped for an explanation at first. “She stabbed me, but ‘tis nothing more than a flesh wound.”

When his friend remained silent, Bryce continued, his thoughts easily flowing into words. “She’s too old to be unwed. But too young, too inexperienced to know much about men outside of her family.” He shrugged. “A instructional task that might prove interesting for the right man, if they could get by her brothers. Of course, then the greater problem would be Marianne herself.”

His friend stared at him with such an odd expression that prompted Bryce to add, “She is willful, outspoken, daring and curious. A combination as intriguing as it is irritating.”

After a moment’s pause, Jared sputtered. “Good Lord, man.” His bark of laughter seemed to bounce off the surrounding trees. When he finally spent his mirth, he said, “While your explanation is enlightening, I was asking about Cecily of Glynnson—your intended wife.”

Bryce silently cursed his own rampant stupidity. With any luck, the flesh wound on his side would fester until it eventually killed him. That would be the only relief he’d ever have against what would surely become Jared’s constant reminders about this conversation.

Even though it was far too late to save his dignity, Bryce ground out, “Lady Cecily is well.”

“But obviously not as memorable as Marianne of Faucon.”

No one would be as memorable as Faucon’s sister. He didn’t voice that opinion. Instead, Bryce offered, “Cecily is a lady in every sense of the word.” That much was true. She’d been raised to fill her position in life as some man’s wife. There was no doubt that she could easily oversee any domestic aspect of a keep, or castle. For the most part, not counting her bouts of whining, complaining, or her short temper, she knew her place.

“I am not at all certain I would want that type of lady for my wife.” Jared slid him a look that Bryce recognized as a coming challenge. “Would not someone bold and curious be of more…comfort…than someone who always knew their place?”

“Comfort?” Sometimes acting dull-witted could prove useful. Bryce was certain this was one of those times. “I would think that having a wife capable of overseeing the day-to-day running of my keep would be quite a comfort.”

“If you had a keep to oversee.” Jared snorted at his unnecessary reminder of the total destruction at Ashforde. “Perhaps comfort was the wrong word, but you know full well I was not referring to domestic duties.”

“Aye.” It wasn’t as if Bryce hadn’t wondered the same thing—would Lady Cecily’s strict upbringing allow her to experience passion or desire?

An unfair question to be sure, one he hadn’t given a thought until this day. They’d not been permitted so much as a heartbeat alone. Although, some of the blame for that lack lay at his feet. After he’d witnessed her screaming at a servant for spilling a drop of wine on the linen table cover, he’d not pursued any time alone with Cecily. For all he knew, she could be the most passionate woman alive. But he doubted if that’d prove true.

As far as he could tell, when servants weren’t involved, Cecily was well-mannered and controlled to the point of boredom. The only time he saw any passion flicker behind her eyes was when they’d discussed his holdings. Never once did she turn a look of desire, or even simple interest toward him.

At least not in the way Marianne of Faucon looked at him. Bryce’s pulse quickened. While he hadn’t bedded countless women, he had enough experience to recognize what he saw in Marianne’s eyes. He’d seen the interest, the curiosity and the thoughtful measuring of his worth.

He’d also witnessed the change from initial attraction to a nearly spellbinding desire. And that is where the danger lay—in acknowledging that unbidden desire. It would be an easy thing to use her inexperience and desire against her. It would also be less than honorable. But had Faucon thought of honor when he’d set fires to Ashforde?

Jared shook his head. “‘Tis obvious this Faucon woman has already cast her wiles about you. Perhaps you should consider delivering her to Carisbrooke before it’s too late.”

“She has cast nothing about me and I’ll not give her over to Baldwin’s care.”

“So that’s the way of it? Have you signed the betrothal document yet?”

“No. I will. Soon.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “You best make a decision before permanently tying yourself to Glynnson.”

“The two are not related. Faucon’s sister is nothing more than a means for revenge. She has no influence on my coming betrothal to Cecily.” Bryce shrugged. “Even if she did, Empress Matilda will never permit me to back out of this marriage.”

Jared rose, then looked down at him. “Enough gold will send Empress Matilda hunting another husband for Lady Cecily before your unpledged betrothal is forgotten.”

“And what of the lady herself? Does she not deserve a measure of honor from her intended?”

“What do you deserve?” Jared nodded toward the path leading to the stream. “What better revenge than to steal this woman’s heart and loyalty away from her brother?”

“She is little more than an untried girl.”

“Girl?” Another irritating grunt punctuated Jared’s question. “Have you gone blind as well as daft? She is certainly no slip of a girl. Untried perhaps, but she is a woman full-grown. Unless she plans to take the Church’s vow, the day will soon come when she leaves her family for a husband. Why not be that man?”

“I…” There were countless reasons why he could not be that man. The most obvious one rose to the fore in his mind. “When she discovers who I am and what I plan, she will kill me herself.”

“Not if her heart is securely tied to yours.”

The more thought he gave this idea the more sense it made. The desire for revenge bade him to follow through with what would be the most complete method possible. But honor warned of the danger involved.

“There is no need to make a decision this instant.” Jared lowered his voice. “Just think about it, Bryce. Think about that woman sharing your life and your bed. And think about how angry it would make the man who destroyed your keep and lands.”

A commotion from the forest snared both men’s attention. Bryce rose, drawing his sword, instantly on the alert. Then he spotted Marianne racing out of the forest before she ducked inside the tent.

Jared laughed. “I see she’s still well guarded.” He walked away adding, “I’ll join the others around the fire and leave you to your prize.”

What did she do with his men? Bryce started toward the tent when Sir John burst out of the forest.

“My Lord Ashforde!” John raced toward him, shouting. Eustace followed a little slower. Sir John had the wild-eyed look of surprise on his face. Eustace appeared more embarrassed than surprised. Both men were dripping with water.

Bryce groaned. He knew what the news was going to be before either man said another word. Somehow she’d managed to toss both men into the ice-cold water. This was his fault. He should have seen to her himself. At least she’d not taken it into her head to escape.

“My Lord, I—”

Bryce cut off Sir John’s explanation. “I will deal with this. Both of you go dry off by the fire.”

Chapter Six

Marianne awoke with a start. Something had pulled her from her dreams. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep, not when she’d been waiting for Ashforde to appear. When she’d run into the tent earlier, she’d expected Ashforde to charge in after her demanding to know what had happened at the stream.

He’d come as far as the flap. She heard his steps falter, then he turned and walked away. Immediately after that she heard more steps approach the tent. Nobody entered, but the men had taken up positions surrounding the tent.

After that, the last thing she remembered was stretching out on the pallet to await Ashforde and his rage.

Now, making as little sound as possible, she inched her hand along the hard pallet made of covers folded on the ground and wrapped her fingers around a rock she’d found at the stream. Not much of a weapon, but the smooth round rock fit her palm and would stun a man if she hit him hard enough.

She could see nothing in the blackness of the night, but she listened carefully for anything out of the ordinary. The sounds were familiar; murmurs of the men around the crackling fire—meaning they no longer guarded the tent—the evening breeze shaking the leaves on the trees, the stream in the distance, the sound of her own breath…and someone else’s.

She listened closer. Soft clinks of the small metal links that made up chain mail fell against each other, confirming her fear—she was not alone. Marianne tightened her grip on the rock.

“Perhaps I should have checked for weapons.” Ashforde’s voice curiously calmed the fearful stuttering of her pulse. “What are you reaching for?”

How did he know? The tent was cloaked in darkness. She no longer believed in things unworldly. Had she made some small sound that had alerted him to her movements? Or was he instinctively that perceptive?

“Nothing.” She relaxed her fingers, but left the rock hidden beneath her side. “I was just stretching. This pallet is not the most comfortable I have slept upon.”

“I tried not to wake you.” He laughed lightly and she heard him move closer along the ground.

“I thought you would be in here earlier to discuss your men. Did they make it back to camp?”

He ignored her question and said, “I was. But you wouldn’t have heard me over the rumbling of your stomach. You are hungry.”

Yes, she was hungry. But again, his assumption of her state of being rankled. No matter how much she wanted to rail against his unusually well-honed intuition, she was truly famished. So much so that the mere thought of food took her mind off the questions and complaints bouncing around in her head. He could shout and rage all he wanted, if only he gave her food to eat first.