Falcon's Love. Denise Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ