Falcon's Honor

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After Edgar went below stairs, Gareth waited until the men were done with the door before reentering the chamber. He closed the door behind him and dropped the locking bar into place.

Rhian hadn’t moved. Her slumped shoulders spoke volumes to him. He imagined that she was embarrassed, perhaps now even regretted her boldness.

What fanciful ideas had she been concocting with her brazen offer? There was little doubt that the lady was up to something. Most likely she was seeking yet another way to escape her fate.

She’d admitted to being a virgin, but she seemed more seductress than virgin. So her outrageous offer seemed even more absurd. Was she truly that desperate to ruin her future? Or had she lied?

Did it matter to him? Shamefully, he had to admit that no, at this moment it did not matter in the least. Her offer appealed to him more than he could explain.

On one hand the mere idea felt right. As if it was meant to be. On the other hand, he was intrigued by her attempted manipulation and wanted to see how far she’d go. Would she complete the act? Would he? This was not a way to regain honor. It was more like another test to see if he truly had any honor left.

He leaned against the door. “Rhian.”

She turned around, but kept her face averted.

“Rhian, I would like nothing more than to give you a night of passion. But not if you have changed your mind.”

She took a step toward him, stopped and looked at him. “This will remain between us? You will tell no one?”

He started across the floor toward her. His steps slow and steady, unlike his racing heart. “I do not run to all with tales.”

“You will not think less of me?”

“I thought that others’ opinions did not matter.”

She frowned. “In this, yours does matter.”

He stopped an arm’s length in front of her, praying his tongue would find the right words. “You offer me what no other woman has ever even hinted at. How could I think less of you?”

“Will you think less of me in the day’s light?”

Gareth shrugged. “I do not think so, but I do not know for certain.”

Rhian rolled her eyes. “Well, do you think any less of any woman you have…that you’ve…” She stopped, obviously unable to find a word for the act.

While it would be amusing to see what word she eventually conjured, Gareth saved her the search. He reached out and ran a finger down her arm before lacing his fingers through hers. “I would not know, Rhian. Whores are not generally still around by the day’s light.”

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer until she rested against his chest. “If you have changed your mind, I will go now.”

She shook her head. “Nay. You touch me and I want more. I do not wish for you to leave.”

“And when you speak so, I have no wish to leave.” He tipped her chin up with the side of his thumb. He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of wavering, any uncertainty and found none in her seemingly guileless stare.

She was willing to risk much in this bid for a night of passion. He still did not believe for one heartbeat that she would carry this through to the end.

Gareth briefly touched his lips to hers, before releasing her. “Since neither of us wish for any others to know what we are about,” he said while pulling his tunic off over his head, then unbuckling his sword belt. “You will have to help me out of this armor.”

Rhian laughed softly before stepping back to tug at the laces holding the mail sleeves and his hauberk together. “I have played squire before.”

Her fingers shook as she worked the bindings. It was all she could do to not tear at them, to quickly divest him of his clothing and fall together to the mattress.

Anything to get this over with before she lost all nerve. What had she been thinking?

A few hours ago, the mere suggestion of lying with a man seemed insulting and degrading. Only a cheap whore would permit herself to be used so.

What was she? By offering herself, hopefully in exchange for her freedom, was she any better than those who offered their bodies in exchange for coin?

Since she was the one who would do the using, Rhian felt lower than a whore. What was the penance for such wanton, deceitful behavior? At the moment, she didn’t know. But she doubted if it’d be anything pleasant. In the recesses of her mind, she wondered how long she’d burn in hell.

Finally, the bindings came loose and she slid the long sleeves off his arms. “Bend over.” When he followed her bidding, she tugged at the armor until it finally slid over his shoulders and head. Too heavy and cumbersome for her to handle, she let it fall to the floor with a thud.

He quickly released the bindings of the mailed chausses protecting his legs and tossed them atop the growing pile of armor.

While he stood upright, Faucon peeled his quilted hacketon and sweaty woolen shirt off with one fluid swipe and tossed both on the growing pile. Relieved of the added weight of armor, he stretched and rolled his shoulders.

Clad only in braies and boots, he worked his muscles. Rhian sucked in a sharp breath. Muscles rippled across his chest, bulged and relaxed in his arms and corded in his neck. She had assumed the armor and the clothing added bulk to his size. She’d assumed wrong.

By the heavens he was larger than she thought. How in the name of God had he gotten that big? Surely he’d not been born twice the size of a normal babe. His mother would have died in childbirth.

Rhian’s mouth went dry as she knelt to unlace his boots. He ran his fingers through her hair. She jumped at his touch and came eye level with… By all the saints she could not do this.

But she had no choice. Her numb mind could think of no other way to defy the fate planned for her. She bit her lower lip before returning to the task at hand, but her hands fumbled with the laces. The sudden ineptitude brought tears of frustration to her eyes. Fine whore she would make.

Faucon bent over and stayed her useless fingers. “Rhian, let me.” He released her, sat down on a bench and removed his boots.

She stood, frozen in place, unable to think, or to move. Rhian felt his attention sweep over her before she hesitantly met his gaze.

He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head before beckoning her with his forefinger. “Come here.”

Somehow, as if in a strange dream, she found her feet taking her toward him. Slowly, like a condemned person walking toward her own death.

Faucon pulled her down on his lap, held her against his chest and stroked her back.

Several moments of silence passed before Rhian released a huge breath and relaxed against him.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “We do not have to continue. If you want to cry hold, we can stop now.”

Cry hold? Rhian frowned. Did she want to stop? Would that not be admitting fear? Admitting defeat? Since when did she let fear of a thing stop her? But would it not be a wiser move?

This indecision would drive her mad.

She turned to look up at him. “Just tell me if I need be afraid.”

“I thought I was a devil you did not fear.”

Rhian groaned. She had declared that, hadn’t she? “Perhaps I was a little hasty. Should I fear the devil I know?”

“I cannot force myself to believe you would have ever considered so bold a move if you truly feared me.”

Heat filled her cheeks. Rhian admitted, “’Tis not exactly you that I fear.”

Faucon’s soft chuckle raced warm across her heart. “Your imagination is far-reaching. It is not as if I will impale and kill you.”

At the absurd vision his words created in her mind Rhian had no choice but to laugh.

Faucon tipped his head to one side, shot her a boyish-looking half smile before asking, “Would it upset you to know that I have not the vast experience you seem to believe I possess?”

Rhian sighed. Then pulled up the skirts of her gown and turned around on his lap. With her legs astride his, she placed her hands against his chest.

“Disappointed?” His deep voice rumbled up from his chest.

Rhian smiled up at him. “Disappointed?” She shook her head. “Nay, Milord Faucon. I am relieved.”

Chapter Five

“Relieved?” Gareth wondered how any feeling of relief fit into their current situation. His heart pounded like a hare caught in a hunter’s snare. If relief truly coursed through her veins then he was obviously doing something dreadfully wrong.

Rhian answered, “Aye. Relief. You will not be disappointed by comparing my fumbling against countless other women.”

Gareth nearly choked on her skewed logic. But with her fingertips tracing a path across his chest and her legs straddling his, any logic was fast slipping away.

She rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest before scooting closer. “What do we do now?”

He knew what he should do. Leave. Stop. Do nothing to dishonor her, or himself any further. But a driving need to know how far she’d take this game urged him on.

He could take her like a whore now. No niceties. No kissing or stroking. But regardless of how she was acting at this moment, Rhian was not a whore and did not deserve so little regard.

Gareth slid his hands around her back and worked the laces holding her gown in place.

Hands that could deftly wield a sword with deadly accuracy, shook. Would he manage to undress her before she cried hold? Gareth gritted his teeth in an attempt to refrain from simply tearing the thin fabric of the gown from her body.

Rhian sat patiently, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch in what he knew would have been laughter at his fumbling had she not bit her lip.

“Laughing at me?”

She shook her head. “No. Never.” He heard the amusement in her unsteady voice.

Finally, the knot came free and he slid the laces from her gown. Rhian slipped her arms easily out of the overlarge dress, letting the fabric pool at her waist.

Gareth traced a fingertip down her neck and across one shoulder. Her flushed skin was soft beneath his touch. As he stroked along the edge of her chemise, his fingers itched to caress her breast. He yearned for more. But when he caught her gaze, she closed her eyes and turned her head away.