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“My safety? There is no danger for me at Thornson.”
“No?” He turned and looked at her. Golden flecks glittered in his hazel eyes. “Just earlier today you intentionally lied to me about smugglers and criminals, knowing full well that I’d see through your fabrication. Then you reminded me that it was my duty to bring those men to justice. A duty I will not shirk.”
She couldn’t deny his accusations, so she remained silent.
“Do you think the years have addled my wits and made me a simpleton?”
“No.”
“Then how could you even begin to imagine that lying to me would not arouse my suspicions about everyone at Thornson? Did you really believe for one moment that I would ignore all the others because of your falsehoods?”
Her heart raced. She gripped the edge of the stool with one hand to keep from bolting to her feet.
“Need I remind you, I had two brothers? It was an easy game for one of us to draw our father’s attention, so that one of the other boys was free to do whatever he wasn’t supposed to do. How could I not suspect Thornson’s men of being up to something nefarious?”
Wonderful. Not even one day had been completed, yet he was full aware that she toyed with him.
And by the glint in his eyes, the stiffness of his stance and the tic in his cheek, she knew he was furious. Marguerite had to admit the years had taught him to restrain his anger remarkably well.
“Your obvious lying was so out-of-character that I could come to no other conclusion but that you were doing so to protect your men. Now I need discover what they need protecting from.”
She took another swallow of the watered wine before asking, “And what do you plan to do with me?”
“I have not yet decided. When I first made my rounds of the keep and started putting the pieces together, I had planned on hanging you from the tower. But I realized that would only find disfavor with the king.”
She completed that thought for him. “And heaven forbid that a Faucon incurs the king’s disfavor.”
He raised his goblet toward her. “True. Or at least let it not be on this Faucon’s head.”
“So, after that realization what did you decide?”
Darius walked away from the window toward her. “I thought to drag it all out into the open. But alas, you were not in your chamber.”
Marguerite swallowed. Lie? Don’t lie? Darius grasped her chin, tipping her head back and stared at her. Her mental debate found a quick death under his piercing attention.
She jerked her chin out of his grasp. “I have responsibilities, too, Faucon.”
“So you used the tunnel in the kitchen building to sneak out of the keep.”
How in Hades did he know that?
“Do not look so surprised, Marguerite. My men are good at their jobs. It took all of a few hours to find at least three tunnels. And the kitchen one brought them closest to the village.”
A knock on the chamber door stopped their discussion. Marguerite rose, but Darius pointed to the stool. “I will get it—you stay right there.”
She sat back down and fumed. Her mistake had been in forgetting that Darius of Faucon was not a stupid man. He knew her well, and it would be an easy thing for him to deduce her motives and then actions.
She would simply have to become much cleverer than he. And quickly.
He came back from the door carrying a tray laden with thick slabs of bread, cheese, fowl, two apples and what Marguerite hoped was a pitched of cider. “I assumed after your full day that you would be hungry.” He put the tray atop a wooden chest.
“No, I find my appetite is quite small this evening.” Actually, she was famished, but she was also tired of his assumptions on her behalf. “But please, feel free to eat your fill.”
“I plan on it.” He broke off a piece of bread and handed it to her. “You are going to eat, too. I’ll not have you getting sick.”
“I said I am not hungry.” Her rebellious stomach picked that moment to growl. Marguerite sighed, then took the bread from Darius. Before taking a bite, she looked up at him and said, “I could easily learn to hate you.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek with his finger. “I know from experience that it is not quite as easy as you might think.”
Not wanting an explanation for that cryptic remark, she concentrated as best she could on eating, her cheek still tingled from his brief touch.
As she reached for a small eating knife, Darius plucked it from beneath her hand. “Let me.”
She leaned back. “Let you what?”
He speared a small bit of the hen and lifted the meat to her mouth. “Feed you.”
“I am capable of feeding myself, thank you.” She reached for the knife, only to have him wave it away.
He drew the morsel before his face and make a grand play of inhaling. “Ah, I detect a trace of cumin beneath the garlic sauce.” He again offered the tidbit to her. “It does smell appetizing.”
He was right. The aroma made her mouth water. “I would prefer—”
Darius stopped her complaint about feeding herself by sliding at bite between her open lips. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she swallowed the tender fowl. From the self-satisfied look on Darius’s face, it was apparent if she wanted to eat, she’d have to let him have his way.
It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done this before. Feeding each other with pilfered food used to be a regular occurrence—one they’d both enjoyed.
She held out her empty goblet. “Is that cider or wine?” Would he remember that she didn’t like wine?
“Cider, of course.” He filled her drinking vessel, took a sip and handed it back to her.
Marguerite took the proffered goblet, knowing his full attention was focused on her, she lifted it to her lips, and drank from the same spot as he.
It would be all too easy to let the years slide away. From somewhere deep in her heart she could almost hear the gurgle of a rushing stream, smell the freshness of newly harvested hay and feel the softness of the grass beneath her. The sparkle had always come quickly to Darius’s eyes, and her smiles had come gently to her lips. Everything was simpler then—back when love was new.
What was she thinking? Marguerite banished the nearly forgotten memories before they bore fruit. She had a keep, men and promises to worry about. The luxury of simpler days and newly forged bonds were beyond her grasp.
Darius offered her another bite of hen. Garlic sauce dripped off the end of the knife and ran down her chin. Before she would wipe it away, he removed it with a swipe of his finger.
As he lifted it to his mouth, time seemed to come to a standstill again and Marguerite knew, by the faraway look in his eyes, that he, too, was remembering another time, another shared meal. She wondered if his stomach knotted while a sudden warmth heated blood, or his pulse quickened the same way hers had.
Darius cleared his throat, then handed her the knife. They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
Once they’d finished eating, Darius asked, “Where were we?”
“I do not remember.”
“Ah, yes, what am I going to do with you?” He frowned, mimicking intense concentration. “Since hanging you is out of the question and truly any form of physical punishment would also be unthinkable, I can only think of one thing.”
She dreaded his answer, but asked all the same, “And that is?”
He flashed her a smile. The same one that used to set her blood racing and reduce her limbs to little more than jelly.
“I will remain at your side at all times.”
That would not do. Not at all. It would be impossible to carry out her duties and responsibilities with him underfoot. How would she see to the weekly shipments? Worse, how would she spend what precious time she had left with Marcus?
Marguerite shook her head. “I do not think that is wise.”
“No?”
He was enjoying this far too much. “No.”
“And why is that?”
“It will make it difficult to meet my love each day if you are always about.” Now that was not exactly a lie.
“My, my. Two husbands and a lover.” He paced the chamber before her. “What a busy woman you are.”
“I do not have two husbands.” Nor had she said lover, but let him think what he wanted on that score.
“I stand corrected. One of your husbands is dead.”
“My only husband is dead.”
Darius walked behind her. Before she could turn around, or move out of his way, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Marguerite knew the taste of fear. A cold dread snaked its way down her spine, all the way to her toes. The hairs on her neck rose.
But it was not Faucon she feared. It was herself.
It was fear of the memories that had surfaced when he’d held her hand earlier and again when he’d fed her. Fear of the bubbling passion his obscene caresses of her palm had created. Fear of the way her memories had returned with such ease. Fear of wanting his steady warm touch to continue.
He kneaded her shoulders, stroked his thumbs along the back of her neck. More than six years disappeared…and they were once again in the hunting lodge.
Marguerite tipped her head forward, letting him work the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. Not having the strength or the will to fight him, she sighed.
Darius’s breath was hot against her neck. His kiss on the sensitive flesh beneath her ear brought a soft moan to her throat. Unable to stop herself, she let it escape.
He answered the sound with a low, gentle laugh before pulling her to her feet. “I am your husband, Marguerite.” He kicked the stool out of the way, slid his arms around her and held her back against his chest.
She pressed into his embrace, grasping his forearms for support. “Those vows were not binding.”
He rubbed his cheek across the top of her head before returning his lips to her ear. “They were as binding as the actions in our marriage bed.”
He slid a hand up her stomach, scorching her skin through the layers of her clothes. He cupped one breast, thumbing the nipple to a hard peak, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.
“Darius, do not do this.”
He turned her around in his arms. As he lowered his head to hers, he asked, “Do what?” before running his tongue along the line between her lips and easily parting them to delve inside.
His kiss stole the slim remainder of her will. She curled her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. She had remembered correctly, his hair was still as soft as a rabbit’s fur.
And his kiss still had the power to make her hungry for more.
Darius lifted his head. “Will one husband and one lover be enough, do you think?”
His question was like a punch to her stomach. She lowered her arms and pushed him away. What had she been thinking? Was she little more than a whore willing to put her entire future in danger for a kiss?
He retrieved his goblet and downed the contents before turning back to face her. “Tell me something, Marguerite, was it easy to forget our marriage? Did you go as willingly to Thornson’s bed as you did to mine?”
“Do not be crude. What choice did I have?” She crossed the chamber, putting as much distance between them as possible.
“You could have said no. We’d exchanged vows.”
From the moment she’d recognized him from high atop the wall, she’d expected this, but the deadly tone of his voice made her gasp. “I spoke but a promise. Not all promises can be kept.”
Shards of gold sparkled in his angry eyes. There had been a time when she’d been content to lose herself in his gaze. A time when no secrets lay between them. A time so long ago.
“I remember that vow, Marguerite. It was much more than a simple promise.” He stepped toward her. “It was a vow made to me, before God, before witnesses.”
He stood before her, close enough that his warm breath caressed her cheek. “A vow to ever be my faithful wife.”
“No.” She pushed him an arm’s length away. “Do not do this, Darius.”
“Do what? Do not remind you of vows made and broken?”
She closed her eyes. She did not need to see his face to recognize the anger in the tightly controlled tone. Even though she’d come to love Henry Thornson, the years that had separated her from Darius had never dimmed the memories she’d carried in her mind, in her heart.
But she could not allow fleeting whims of childhood to mar her recent past, or destroy her future. No matter the cost to her soul, Faucon had to be led to believe how little those vows meant to her.
Marguerite silently prayed for the strength to lie to him yet again this day. Certain her riotous heart would withstand the self-inflicted pain, she stared up at him and hardened her voice. “We were children, Darius. Impetuous children who acted rashly on a whim. It was more childish folly than binding oath. Nobody, not the king nor the Church, would hold us to those vows.”
“Children? Impetuous children?”
She flinched at the fury in his voice.
He grasped her arms, his hold tight and unyielding. “Childish folly? Were we not of an age to wed? Had we not been promised to each other since birth?”
“Yes, but it was not what my father wanted.”
“And you did not argue with him?”
“Argue with my father?” She swallowed an unbidden laugh. “Be reasonable, Darius. You know it would have been easier to argue with a boulder.”
“Did you go willingly to Thornson’s bed?”
Marguerite paused before answering. He was not going to like this at all. “Not at first. At first I wanted only you.”
“And then?”
