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Falcon's Love
Denise Lynn
He will protect her at all costs… Darius of Faucon has been sent on a king’s mission – to protect the young widow of Thornson Keep until a husband can be found for her. A seemingly simple task for a noble knight – until he sets eyes on Marguerite, his one-time love…and Lady of Thornson!Though Marguerite was forced to wed another, she never let go of the passion she once shared with Darius – or the precious gift he unknowingly bestowed upon her. Now Darius is about to uncover the secret she has kept for five years…
Praise for Denise Lynn
FALCON’S DESIRE
‘With revenge, romance, intrigue and passion at its hottest, Ms Lynn has truly penned a story that ranks high with the best romances I have ever read…A definite keeper.’
—Romance Reviews Today
‘A charming romance full of wit and sensuality.’
—Historical Romance Writers Review
‘This medieval romance has all the things that I enjoy reading in a book: a mystery to solve, and a hero and heroine who hate each other so much that when they finally realise they are in love, it’s explosive!’
—The Best Reviews
FALCON’S HONOUR
‘Non-stop action, a marvellous captive/captor plotline, a hint of fantasy and more than a touch of passion converge, making this book a memorable romance and a feast for fans of medieval romance.’
—RT Book Reviews
“Was it easy to forget our marriage? Did you go as willingly to Thornson’s bed as you did mine?”
“Do not be crude. What choice did I have?”
“You could have said no. We’d exchanged vows.”
Marguerite had expected this. But the deadly tone of his voice brought a breathless gasp out of her lips. “I spoke but a promise to you. Not all promises can be kept.”
“It was much more than a simple promise.” Darius stepped towards her. “It was a vow made to me, before God, before witnesses. A vow to be my wife.”
She pushed him away. “Do not do this, Darius. We were impetuous children who acted on a whim. Nobody, not the King nor the Church, would hold us to those vows.”
“Children? Impetuous children?” He grasped her arms. “Did you love Thornson?”
She nodded, then thought to turn the tables. “What about you? Do you not care for your wife?”
“I cared a great deal for my wife. To my misfortune she cared not enough.”
Marguerite was stunned to realise he talked about her…
Award-winning author Denise Lynn has been an avid reader of romance novels for many years. Between the pages of books she has travelled to lands and times filled with brave knights, courageous ladies and neverending love. Now she can share with others her dream of telling tales of adventure and romance.
Denise lives with her real-life hero, Tom, and a slew of four-legged ‘kids’ in north western Ohio, USA. Their two-legged son, Ken, serves in the USN, and comes home on occasion to visit and fix the computers, VCRs or any other electronic device Mum can confuse in his absence. You can write to her at PO Box 17, Monclova, OH 43542, USA, or visit her website, www.denise-lynn.com
Falcon’s Love
Denise Lynn
MILLS & BOON®
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)
For Mom, with love.
Prologue
Falcongate Normandy, Late Spring 1142
A small brazier provided light in the one-room hunter’s cottage. They would supply their own brand of heat to warm the tiny chamber.
He slid beneath the furs on the narrow cot, then gathered her close. She came to him willingly, pressing the length of her body against his.
Her head rested just below his shoulder, her shaking breath blew hot against his chest. Stray curls from hair as bright as the summer sun tickled at his neck.
Her skin was so soft and smooth, like the fluffy softness of a rabbit. He stroked her slender naked limbs, reveling in the knowledge that she was his. She trembled beneath his touch, her nervousness making him feel bold and protective at the same time.
The thought humbled him and he silently swore to protect her always. Had he not recently vowed to keep her safe, to honor her, to love her for all time?
This night they would learn of passion and desire together. They would bind the vows they’d shared with love.
“You would think a Faucon would know not to let down his guard.”
Darius of Faucon jolted out of his dream at the statement. He’d fallen asleep while fishing and had not heard the men approach. His first instinct was to grab the weapon lying at his side. But the tip of a sword steadily pressed to his neck kept him in place against the tree he’d leaned against earlier this day.
He squinted against the blazing sun and counted eight blades pointed at his chest. He glanced toward the next tree and saw Sir Osbert in the same predicament. Darius felt a measure of relief knowing that the aging captain of his guard had come to no harm.
From the tenseness of the man’s stout body and the bushing of his near-white eyebrows, Darius doubted if Sir Osbert shared that relief. One thing was certain, had these armed men wanted either of them dead, they’d already be conversing with those in the afterlife.
Darius stared at the man leaning closest to him and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”
The man stood, sheathing his blade as he did so. “King Stephen and Queen Maud wish a favor.”
Though Darius was thankful to have been awoken from a dream that had haunted him nightly for nearly six years, he asked, “They could not simply send a missive?”
“They did. No one responded.”
Obviously the request had been sent to Faucon Keep. He’d not been on his brother’s property for a fortnight now. Instead, he’d taken up residence at the smaller and more secluded holding of Falcongate. Situated along a lazy river, it suited his needs for the moment.
Darius informed the man, “Comte Faucon is recently married and has not yet arrived home. The king knows this.”
“Aye, and your other brother is encumbered elsewhere. That is why Queen Maud sent us directly to you. She thought you might be here instead of at the main keep.”
“Obviously, she was correct.” Darius rose, silently cursing the queen for remembering this holding. “What do they want?”
“An exchange.”
The humor evident in the man’s voice gave Darius pause. “Exchange of what?”
“A favor for your traitorous life.”
“Traitorous?”
The man shrugged. “It seems proof has been given to place you in league with Empress Matilda.”
The possible repercussions of that statement brought Darius’s heart to a near standstill. “Who makes this wild accusation?”
The man’s smirk widened. “Queen Maud.”
Darius gritted his teeth to capture a shout of frustration. This false accusation was nothing but a game. A game the king and queen would play to ensure his immediate cooperation. A game where his life would likely be the only prize.
A game he obviously had no choice but to play. “And what…favor causes King Stephen and Queen Maud to employ such extreme measures to gain my assistance?”
The man nodded. “Good. You seem to understand the importance of this request.” He waited until Darius was joined by his captain before continuing, “It is a simple task.”
Sir Osbert snorted in disbelief. Darius shared his man’s opinion. Simple would likely translate to a mission requiring much gold, men and risk. He motioned for the man to explain. “Define what this simple task entails.”
“Lord Thornson has died. He leaves behind a widow.”
Likely a widow requiring a new husband. Darius swallowed before asking, “And they wish me to do what?”
“You are to take and hold Thornson Keep until the king and queen can find a man suitable to be a husband for the lady and a master for the keep.”
Darius’s exhale of relief escaped in a rush at the knowledge that he was not this suitable man. Then he realized that Thornson Keep was near the border of Scotland. It would put him not only weeks away from Falcongate, but on the edge of the enemy’s territory. “A simple task to be sure.”
The man’s wicked chuckle preceded an ominous warning. “There is more.”
Of course there would be more. Darius closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I am not surprised.”
Chapter One
Thornson Keep, Northeast coast of England Early summer, 1142
He had never found much pleasure in killing another, but Darius of Faucon was certain that battle would provide more engaging action than tracking down smugglers for the king. If nothing else, at least he’d be on the back of a sturdy warhorse and not lying on his belly in the cold mud staring over the edge of a cliff.
To keep the hilt of his sword from digging any farther into his flesh, he shifted his position on the ground. After two nights of this, nothing he did helped much. With the coldness of the earth, the hardness of his chain mail and the cursed dampness of the night, he doubted he’d ever again find comfort, warmth or even a measure of dryness.
He peered over the edge of the cliff, down at the flickering torchlight below. The figures on the beach hustled to meet boats landing on the shore. They lifted trunks and bags out of the four small vessels, carried them across the beach and disappeared into the cliffs. Only six men guarded the operation on the beach. The guards appeared to stand close to each other, instead of spreading out to keep their cohorts safe. Judging by this lack of concern for safety, he doubted there were any others farther up the shoreline.
Darius glanced up at the position of the moon. Each night at the same time, men had lit torches on the beach to guide the boats to those standing at hand to unload the cargo. King Stephen’s fears were valid—a smuggling operation existed in Thornson.
And Darius had but a month to root them out.
No sense in waiting. They’d confront the smugglers this night. He scooted back from the edge of the cliff, rose and motioned to Sir Osbert. At least one of his “simple tasks” could be completed on schedule. First one mission and then the other.
Sir Osbert had the men ready for action when Darius met them a short distance from the cliff. Without a word, he led the men along the edge of the cliff as it sloped down to meet the beach.
Once on the pebbled shoreline, they kept their backs to the rocky wall as they moved closer to the smugglers. Just as Darius had surmised, the outlaws kept no guard on the outskirts of their operation, so certain were they of their safety. How long had they enjoyed free run of Thornson?
One of the many questions he’d have answered before his missions were completed…
When they neared the smugglers, Darius nodded to his men, drew his sword, stepped away from the rocks, then shouted, “For King Stephen!”
Men scattered. Those closest to the vessels jumped inside the boats and quickly rowed away, taking the remainder of their cargo along. Those on the beach who did not run into the mouth of the cave dropped their loads, grabbed their weapons and raced toward Darius and his men.
Three of the smugglers fell with the first clashing blows from Darius’s men; the criminals were no match for armed warriors. Those who’d been standing guard gave but a halfhearted effort to defend themselves. When it soon became obvious that Darius’s men had gained the upper hand, one of the outlaws shouted, “To the lady!”
At the man’s command, the remaining smugglers and their guards turned and raced into the cave. Certain the man who’d shouted must be in charge of the others, Darius pointed at him and ordered, “Take him alive.”
He wanted all the information he could gather to take back to King Stephen, along with the name of the person backing this operation.
Sir Osbert quickly nabbed the man and held him at sword point. “Milord, shall I make him talk?”
Darius took one look at the unholy gleam in Osbert’s eyes and shook his head. “Nay, it would be easier to discover what he knows while he can still breathe.”
At that moment, the captured smuggler yelled, “Never.” Then he threw himself at Osbert’s sword.
Caught off guard, the captain had no time to move his weapon before the man impaled himself on the blade. “Good Lord, man.” Osbert pulled his sword free and let the man fall to the ground.
Darius cursed, then knelt beside the dying man. “Give over. Tell me who you serve.”
The man’s laugh gurgled through his parted lips. He shook his head. “No.”
“Which lady do you seek to protect? The Empress Matilda? The Lady of Thornson?” Darius frowned. Determined to gain any scrap of information he could, he grasped the man’s shoulders and offered, “Go to your maker with a clean heart. Tell me and I will see you are buried with the blessing of the Church. Matilda or Thornson’s lady?”
“Aye.” The man’s whispered answer was barely audible.
“Who?” Darius leaned down to better hear the answer, but the only sound that met his ears was the lapping of water at the edge of the beach. The man heaved one last breath and died.
Darius released the body. What could have been the end of one task was now reduced to a gain of nothing.
“Milord, shall we follow the others into the cave?”
Darius glanced from Osbert to the approaching sea. The incoming tide would soon crash against the rocks. Any caught between the sea and the cliff would be crushed.
He glanced at the steep rock face. The darker waterline high above them was visible in the moon’s light. The height made following the smugglers into the cave dangerous: water would soon flood the unfamiliar escape route.
Since the possibility of a watery grave was not to his liking, he answered Osbert, “Nay. There is no more time this night.” Darius rose and waved toward the dead bodies of the smugglers. “Gather the dead.”
“Why not leave them here for the sea to bury?” Sir Osbert shrugged. “Let their death befit their deeds.”
“I will not have that on my soul.” Darius stared down at his captain. “Gather the dead. Take all but this one to the church in Thornson and let the villagers deal with them in whatever manner they desire.”
A solitary figure backed farther away from the mouth of the cave, into the safety provided by the network of tunnels. He clenched his jaw with helpless rage, then whispered, “Fools.”
