Falcon's Desire
EMBOLDENED BY GRIEF, LYONESSE OF RYONNE HAD DONE THE IMPOSSIBLEby ensnaring the infamous Rhys of Faucon, the blackguard who had shattered her dreams. But now imprisoned in her castle's tower, the Mighty Falcon posed an even greater threat, for his slightest touch made her heart take wing and sent her soaring…straight into his powerful arms!The Devil Faucon, they called him, yet Rhys was pleased, for it kept his enemies at bay. Unfortunately the lovely Lyonesse counted herself among them, despite the desire that flared between them. And their uneasy truce would soon be destroyed when she learned a newfound alliance bound her to him as his bride.
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“Do nothing rash. I wish to be the one who takes your worthless life.”
She frowned at his laugh. Did he believe she was jesting?
Callused fingers brushed along her cheek and lifted her chin. When he knelt next to her, Lyonesse was surprised to find him so near. Amazed that he’d removed his battle glove so quickly and so quietly.
His breath warmed the flesh beneath her ear as he spoke. “Little Lioness, my worthless life will be yours to take.”
The loud, rapid beating of her heart drowned out the sounds of the coming battle. His lips touched hers lightly as if seeking permission.
Her thoughts tumbled against each other in their rush to her head.
She hated him.
Yet his mere presence disarmed her soul. Embers glowing red with warmth filled her senses with a new, unfamiliar confusion.
Lyonesse pressed her lips against his….
Harlequin Historicals is delighted to introduce debut author DENISE LYNN
#643 THE SCOT
Lyn Stone
#644 THE MIDWIFE’S SECRET
Kate Bridges
#646 THE LAW AND KATE MALONE
Charlene Sands
Available from Harlequin Historicals and DENISE LYNN
Falcon’s Desire #645
Thank you—
Kim and Tracy, for taking the chance.
Lori and Tony, for being the best fairy Godparents ever.
Tom, my hero, my knight in armor, for being the model I build heroes on, the shoulder I lean on and the foundation I build dreams on. I love you, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Contents
Prologue
Scarborough—Yorkshire
England—1142
Murder.
The accusation rippled through the crowded hall. Carried from one courtier to the next, the word found its way back to the man accused of the foul deed.
Murder.
“Rhys, Lord of Faucon, for the murder of Guillaume du Pree your lands and properties are forfeit to the crown.”
The black-robed holy man smiled with satanic glee as he finished his proclamation. “Your life will be forfeited to the devil you have served.”
From his chair on the raised dais King Stephen leaned forward. “Rhys?” He waited but a heartbeat before continuing. “Faucon, have you nothing to say?”
Rhys wanted to say much, but he bit back his sarcastic retort. The hard, cold floor beneath his knees helped keep his tongue in check. Chained like a dog, he was in no position to test King Stephen’s humor.
Instead, Rhys searched the crowded hall for one ally who would vouch for his honor. Those who would do so were oddly absent from this gathering.
He strained against the chains binding his arms behind him. His muscles burned with pain. Rhys glanced across the torch-lit hall, seeking the three men who’d roused him from his much-needed slumber. They glared back at him. Their odd array of blackening eyes, swollen lips and bloodied noses gave him a measure of satisfaction. He’d not made their task an easy one.
“Answer your king!” The cleric scurried toward Rhys. The man’s robe flapped about his stout legs.
Rhys looked up at King Stephen, ignoring what seemed to him nothing more than a short, cawing crow. He weighed his words carefully. His life and the continued welfare of his family rested on his ability to control his tongue. “Sire, I have killed many men while serving under your standard. Who is to say whether those who perished during the heat of battle were friend or foe?”
“No one asked you about an honorable battle. We are speaking of a coward’s ambush.” The squawking man positioned himself in front of Rhys. With fisted hands resting on his ample hips, the holy man glowered at him.
Even though Rhys knelt on the floor, the cleric’s hard stare was nearly at eye level. This man of God—if he truly was—had the power to take away all Rhys held dear. And it seemed at this moment a possibility.
The cleric shook his fist at Rhys. “You whoreson of the devil. What say you for killing the good master du Pree?”
Rhys burned the man’s features into his mind. He would not forget, nor forgive, the man’s actions this day.
He addressed the king. “Who accuses me of this foul deed?”
The cleric sputtered. “Who? What matter does that make? You are guilty and the Lord Almighty will see justice done.”
The noise in the hall grew louder as those gathered voiced their opinion of du Pree’s murder.
“Enough!” King Stephen’s shout brought a semblance of order to the hall. He instructed the guards to release the bonds, then motioned to Rhys and ordered, “Follow me.”
After struggling to his feet, Rhys waited impatiently as a guard freed him from the chains. While rubbing the circulation back into his burning arms, he followed the king. The hissing of disappointment shadowed his departure. Vultures behaved better than the scavengers gathered here.
Certain his executioner awaited him, Rhys paused in the doorway to the small chamber where King Stephen led him. He cautiously peered inside and almost cried aloud with relief. The room was empty save for the presence of William, the Earl of York.
