Falcon's Love. Denise Lynn

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      “To make this transfer of power easier for all concerned, give me the names of the smugglers operating on your beach.”

      Marguerite’s already pale complexion lightened further. She looked from him to Sir Osbert and then to the door before saying, “I know not of what you speak. What smugglers?” Finally, she brought her wavering attention back to him. “If you know of any such criminals in the area it is your duty to bring them to justice.”

      She had always been a terrible liar. He was grateful that much had not changed. At one time his touch had driven her to distraction, making her say and do things she’d otherwise not.

      Would that have changed?

      Darius smiled before leaning his arms on the table and taking her hands between his. “Oh, my lady, fear not. I intend to bring them to justice.”

      He lifted one of her beringed hands and studied it intently, tracing the blue spiderweb of veins on the back of her hand with a fingertip. Her skin was soft beneath his touch.

      He turned her hand over and lazily traced the lines on her palm. A tremor coursed up her arm. When she tried to pull free, he tightened his hold, keeping her firmly in his grasp.

      “My lord, what are you—”

      He cut off her question by placing a kiss on the palm of her hand. “In the East, there СКАЧАТЬ