Falcon's Honor. Denise Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ not what she pretended to be.

      Rhian showered Faucon with what she hoped was a withering glare, before hastening back to the kitchens with David fast on her trail.

      Any warrior worth his salt knew the advantage of surprise. Gareth of Faucon was no different. He’d learned many lessons from his older brother Rhys—among them the usefulness of surprise in making an entrance.

      His advantage would have been lost at another keep where he and his men would have met armed resistance had they ridden through the gates without announcing their presence. However, Browan’s gates were unguarded. A mistake bordering on treason.

      Gareth stepped through the archway and looked out across the great hall. He doubted if those men facedown in the rushes on the floor would notice his arrival for days to come. Apparently not all fell to the floor in a drunken stupor.

      One man had found his unnatural sleep with the aid of an earthen jug. It didn’t require much thought to guess who had put him in that position. Obviously, Lady Rhian had been displeased with the man.

      Most of those still coherent sought a willing body to share their pallet with this night. From the seductive laughter of the servants, Gareth wagered that not many pallets would contain a single occupant.

      Since he and his men had not rushed the hall brandishing their weapons, they’d not drawn any attention to themselves. His exchange with the Lady of Gervaise had been brief and unnoticed. Nay, the usefulness of surprise had not been lost in Browan Keep.

      An occurrence that would never happen again.

      Gareth nodded, silently beckoning his men to follow him, then strode toward the center of the room. “Where is Sir Hector?” His shout captured the attention of all gathered.

      Which surprised him, since he’d thought they appeared to be exceedingly drunk. To a man, they turned toward the head table where a poorly dressed figure staggered slowly to his feet. “I am here. Who asks?”

      It was all Gareth could do not to supply the answer immediately. But he’d no wish to give any information away until he was close enough to see it clearly register on Hector’s face. He continued across the floor, pausing only when he reached the foot of the dais.

      “Gareth of Faucon.” He handed the man a missive from King Stephen. “Your new overlord.” The man did not need to know that the boon granting him control of Browan Keep would not be legitimate until after he delivered Rhian to her kin. A minor annoyance that would be accomplished soon.

      His foresight did not go without reward. After glancing at the wax seal, Hector’s mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again reminding Gareth of a beached fish.

      Sir Hector scurried around the high table as fast as his unsteady legs could carry him and held out a hand, motioning toward the chair at the center of the long table. “Milord, please, join us.” He waved toward a servant. “Bring some food and drink.”

      “Nay. Belay that order.” Gareth flicked a pointed glance toward his captain, then he slowly walked to the other side of the table. Before he reached Browan’s seat of honor, his men had positioned themselves strategically throughout the hall. Not one door, corridor or stairwell was left unguarded. He knew without turning around, that his own back was also well protected.

      Gareth sat down in the high-backed chair and turned his attention back to Sir Hector. “Do you find your service here unacceptable?”

      The man appeared genuinely confused. “Nay, milord. Not at all.”

      “Then perhaps you could explain a few things to me.”

      Hector moved closer to the table. “Would you care for a private conversation?”

      “Nay.” Gareth nodded toward the others. “Since my questions also involve the other men, this will suit.”

      Those who were not overcome with drink moved closer to the dais. Gareth studied each man, wondering if any would ever be worthy of serving him at Browan Keep. The men who were able to stand steady on their feet peered at their more drunken comrades. They mistakenly thought the sodden members of this crowd would be the ones in greater disfavor.

      They couldn’t be more wrong.

      Gareth leaned forward on the table. “Pray tell, Sir Hector, how many men guard these walls?”

      A frown marred Hector’s forehead. It was hard to determine whether the expression held from confusion or thought. “There are two on each gate, main and postern and six scattered along the walkways, milord.”

      Quickly schooling his own confusion to remain hidden, Gareth asked, “And these men are loyal?”

      “Aye, sir. Without a doubt.” The man’s chins jiggled with each nod of his head. “Every one of them would give their life for this keep.”

      A loud expletive escaped Gareth’s mouth as he rose in such haste that he knocked the high-backed chair to the floor. He pointed at his captain of the guard, Edgar. “Secure this keep. Now. Permit no one else in or out.”

      After his captain and half of the men promptly left to do his bidding, he turned back toward Sir Hector. “It seems there is a problem.”

      The man’s eyes grew large as he wrung his hands together. “M-milord?”

      Sword clanging at his side, Gareth headed toward the exit. “Since the walls and gates are unguarded, there are ten missing men.” Hector gasped, then followed as fast as his obviously now sobering frame would allow. He was nearly trampled by Faucon’s remaining men rushing to catch up with their lord.

      Gareth paused at the entryway and yelled, “David!” Regardless of what he found outside, he wanted the lad and that black-haired she-devil secured in a chamber above.

      It took several breaths before David arrived in the hall holding a rag to his bleeding head with one hand and pulling a woman along with the other. Unfortunately, the woman was not the Lady Rhian.

      The pain started in Gareth’s temples and quickly rushed to settle directly above his nose. He squeezed his eyes closed and wondered if this was what the moment before death would feel like. A sudden pain and visions of his life running through his mind.

      He opened his eyes and waited for David to explain, praying silently that the explanation would not be what he feared.

      “Milord Faucon.” The squire stopped just out of arm’s reach. “She hit me.” His high-pitched voice gave hint to his lingering surprise. “With a kettle pot. She hit me.” He pulled the woman before him. “And this…this one here tripped me so I couldn’t catch the lady.”

      “Lady?” The older woman shook her wrist out of David’s grasp. “Why, she be no lady. Just another kitchen wench.” Her laughter sounded more like a cackling hen. The sound grated on Gareth’s already throbbing head.

      She finally ceased the irritating noise and looked at him. “Your boy here will make a fine soldier.” The woman’s sarcastic tone was lost on no one. “He was so busy eyeing the other girls that he failed to see the pot coming.”

      David sought to hide his flaming face by staring at his toes. However, tipping his head down did nothing to hide his reddening ears.

      Gareth СКАЧАТЬ