скачать книгу бесплатно
She shook her head. “No, we have already cried truce. Sending Faucon away will do no good.” Marguerite spoke more to herself than to the captain of Thornson’s guard. “He would only find another way to gain entry.” She frowned, desperately seeking a way to protect herself and those in Thornson.
She could not deny Faucon and his men entrance—no matter how much she wished to do so. Everyone would then know she had something to hide, and she could not permit that to happen.
All was not hopeless or lost. Her stomach calmed and her racing heart slowed to a more normal rhythm. There was something she could do.
She gave Everett his answer. “Nay. Do not send them away. Tell them to hold for a time.”
“Are you certain, lady?” Sir Everett sounded incredulous, as if he could not believe what his ears had heard. “You know what this will mean for Thornson? For all of us?”
Marguerite narrowed her eyes and stared pointedly up at him, refusing to have her orders ignored. “It means Stephen’s men will have charge of the keep…for now.” She pushed passed Sir Everett. “If it does not happen today, it will happen tomorrow or the day after. Let us see this through now. Tell them to hold. Permit them entrance only after I send you word.”
“And how do I keep them at the gates until then?”
She paused before descending the ladder to the bailey. “I care not. Discuss the weather. Just do as I say.”
Everett nodded in acceptance of her wishes, but his wide eyes gave away his doubt at her wisdom. “Aye.”
Marguerite paused on the ladder. “It will not be for long. No more than a few moments. Once they are inside, direct them to the hall. I will greet them there.”
Chapter Two
After delivering the body to the captain of Thornson’s guard, Darius strode up the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Each step made him wish he’d left his helmet and mailed gloves on. Right now he was more than ready to do battle. If the Lady of Thornson thought to try his patience, she’d succeeded thus far.
She knew full well that he was here on the king’s business. Yet for most of the morning, she’d kept him and his men pacing outside Thornson’s walls like unwanted beggars.
King Stephen was right. Someone did need to take charge of Thornson. It was obvious by the way the men on the walls acted. No guard in his right mind would have thought to use trite conversation about the weather as a ploy to detain a company of men from the king.
And no guard who possessed even the minimum knowledge of warfare would have kept them waiting after hoisting a white banner signaling surrender. Their notion of surrender needed much revising.
Darius wondered if the men, arms and gold supplied by the king would be enough to complete the missions he’d been assigned. If King Stephen’s concerns had been left to stew for too long, Darius knew he could find himself in more danger than they’d imagined.
He stopped outside the door to the Great Hall and took a deep breath. One item on his long list of tasks was to take control of Thornson. He’d do that through the widow. She’d already played him for a fool once this day, and he’d see to it that little game was never repeated.
Darius turned the metal rod and pushed the door open with enough force to slam the iron-studded oak against the inside wall. He stepped through the doorway more than ready to put the Lady of Thornson in her place—and met the shocked gasps of servants with a glare.
He swept the hall with a searching look and found—nothing but servants and a few guards.
His temples throbbed. Livid, Darius clenched his jaw to keep from shouting in rage. Instead, he grabbed the closest man by the front of his tunic and dragged him forward. “Where is your lady?”
The man raised his hands in a useless manner to protect himself. “I do not know, my lord.”
“Find her and bring her here now.” He pushed the man away and watched in satisfaction as his order was carried out.
The other servants and guards scurried out of his way as he crossed the hall. His spurs jingled with each step on the hard earthen floor. A guard quickly grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the long trestle table before making good his escape.
Darius tossed his helmet on the table, then threw his gloves alongside of it before taking the seat. A female servant approached hesitantly, carrying a tray of food. Another brought a jug and a goblet. Neither said a word as they placed the items on the table, then left.
Within a few heartbeats the hall was empty save him. Which suited Darius just fine. He poured himself a draught of wine and leaned back in the chair to await the Lady of Thornson.
Marguerite made certain to keep to the shadows as she leaned on the railing and peered down into the hall at Darius.
“My lady, he seems to be in a fine rage.”
Marguerite laughed softly at her maid’s statement of the obvious. “Of course he is, Bertha. Considering how long I have kept him waiting, I am surprised he is not roaring about like a wounded bear.”
“Do you think this wise?”
“Ah, Bertha, this is not Lord Thornson whose anger flared in fists and shouts. Darius of Faucon is slow to anger and quick to forgive.”
“You know this man?”
“Aye, from when we were children.”
Bertha glanced over the railing, then faced Marguerite. “I beg pardon, my lady, but he does not look like a child any longer. You could not have seen him in the time you have been here. So you cannot be certain of his temperament now.”
Marguerite knew she’d already said far too much. “You are right. It has been a long time. I do hope the man is as close as possible to the child in temper.”
“From your lips to the angels’ wings, my lady.” Bertha nodded down toward the hall. “Do ye think it might be best to join him?”
While it might be best, it wasn’t something Marguerite looked forward to doing. “Has Marcus’s welfare been guaranteed?”
“Aye. He will remain in the village until plans can be made to take him north. Everyone in the keep and the village have been informed of your wishes. None doubt your wisdom in this matter.”
Marguerite’s chest tightened around her heart. She grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Oh, Marcus, my love, know my heart goes with you always. There was nothing she could do to alter what must be. But that knowledge did little to ease the pain of facing yet another loss so soon.
“Thank you.” She gently grasped Bertha’s hand. “What would I do without you?”
The maid patted her shoulder. “My lady, you know full well that I would do anything for you and his lordship.”
Marguerite straightened her back. “I need see this done.”
Bertha wrinkled her nose in distaste and shrugged before asking, “Do you wish me to accompany you?”
“No.”
The maid’s relief was audible in her sigh. “Very well, my lady.”
“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. He silently invited Osbert to join them with a wave toward an empty seat.
Marguerite shrugged. “Would you care to start over?”
Start over? No. Unless murder had been declared legal. What he really wanted to do at this moment would brand him a criminal. Darius leaned back in his chair.
“Oh, yes, by all means, let us begin again.” His sarcasm was rewarded by the arching of her eyebrows. Certain he had her attention, he continued, “Let me go first this time, shall I?”
It took a few moments, but Marguerite nodded her consent.
