then surely she was of an age to take care of herself while seeking just a measure of entertainment.
With a quick check of the small sheath hanging from her belted waist, she made certain her dagger was at hand before passing through a postern gate at the rear of the keep.
She soon caught up with a group of tradesmen and their families who were headed toward the faire grounds set up off to the side of the clearing. If there was truly safety in numbers, then she’d be more than happy to follow right behind them on the short walk.
The moon shone brightly in the cloudless, star-studded sky. A fine night for a faire. Perhaps a night so fine she might forget the nagging unease clawing at her belly.
The succulent aroma of pig roasting on an open spit set her mouth to water. If Faucon’s cook had anything to do with this feast, the meat would be basted and served in a rich raisin and wine sauce. A pinch of cumin would be added to lend just the right bite to the flavor. If done correctly, the diner’s stomach would trip with joyous anticipation before the first mouthful even reached his waiting lips.
Marianne followed her nose. With winter fast approaching it was her duty to pad her flesh with a little extra fat for warmth. She chuckled at her reasoning—extra padding was something she didn’t need, but she was out here this night to make merry. And if making merry couldn’t include a man, then food would have to suffice.
“Are ye all alone?” A man grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly. “No lass should be by herself on a night such as this. Let me and my friends keep you company. ”
Even though being detained by a man was something she’d recently wished for, this one was not what she had in mind. He reeked. Neither he, nor his clothing had been washed in many moons. She glanced at his friends. They, too, appeared to be just as unkempt. Not quite what she sought.
“Thank you, nay.” She tried to shake him off to no avail. To keep from pulling out her dagger and causing a scene that would bring unwanted attention her way, she grasped for a lie he might believe. “My husband awaits my return.”
To her amazement the fabrication worked. The man released his hold. “I beg your pardon, milady. I meant no harm.”
She wanted to assure him that no harm had been done, but feared any further conversation would only encourage him. So, she simply nodded and continued through the crowd, toward the food.
Close enough to see the cooks around the spit, Marianne stopped. To her dismay, her nose had been right—Faucon’s cooks were in charge. She had been the chatelaine at Faucon until Rhys married Lyonesse. The cooks would recognize her instantly.
She quickly assessed the others waiting their turn to purchase a share of the food, then stepped up to an unfamiliar child. The boy nearly drooled at the smells wafting across his nose. From the looks of his dirty and tattered clothing, Marianne doubted if he had enough coin to buy anything to eat. Then again, he could simply be a typical young boy—tattered and dirty clothing would not be out of the ordinary for him.
No matter. He was still a boy and from what she’d observed through the years, they had bottomless stomachs always begging to be filled. She pulled some money out of her pouch, then touched his shoulder. “Lad, would you be kind enough to do me a great favor? I will pay you well.”
His eyes lit when he glanced at the coins in her hand. She held out enough to purchase for her and at least ten others. “Oh, aye, milady.”
After dropping the money into his cupped hands, she nodded toward the spit. “All I desire is a portion of that pig. The rest is yours.” She resisted the urge to put a finger under his chin and close his open mouth. “I will await you here.”
Without a word, he scampered away to do her bidding. Marianne’s stomach growled in anticipation. She’d skipped the noon meal because she hadn’t been hungry. When the evening meal was served, she’d been too busy feeling sorry for herself to join the others. So, this guilty pleasure was as much a necessity as a desire.
The lad rushed toward her with his purchases hugged tightly in his arms. Halfway to her, he stopped. His eyes grew large and he opened his mouth. She saw his lips move, but with all the other noise, couldn’t hear his words.
Marianne took a step toward him. At the same instant she heard, “There she is.” Before she could react a hand clamped over her mouth, choking off her scream. Another laced around her neck, jerking her backward into the shadows.
Bryce of Ashforde watched in stunned silence as four strangers plucked Marianne of Faucon nearly from his own grasp.
For two days he and his men had prowled the faire waiting for the opportunity to snatch Faucon’s sister. And now someone had beaten him to his prey.
If not for the unwanted attention it would draw, Bryce would have shouted in rage. The same threat of unwanted attention kept him from attacking the men who unwittingly thought to best him at his own game.
“My lord?” Sir John’s tone echoed the same stunned surprise. “Shall I order the men to overtake the rogues?”
Rogues? Bryce nearly laughed at his captain’s description. If the poorly dressed louts were rogues, what was he? Had he not come here to Faucon seeking to do the very same thing?
Perhaps not exactly the same thing. His men were to kidnap Faucon’s sister, blindfold her and cart her toward Ashforde. There he, Comte Bryce of Ashforde, would bravely rescue the maiden, see to her comfort and safety, then return her unharmed to her brother’s care. Thus earning himself the undying gratitude of Comte Faucon.
Faucon’s gratitude was but the first step toward the revenge he sought. Revenge and the whereabouts of his still missing men.
Unfortunately, he was in enemy territory. Otherwise, he’d not have thought twice about rescuing the lady immediately. If he did so now, there would be too many questions he couldn’t answer. He could think of no good explanation for being at Faucon in the first place.
Granted, the festival drew many to Faucon, but it was highly doubtful if any of those in attendance were loyal supporters of Empress Matilda.
“No. Do nothing to give away our presence.” Bryce shook his head. “Follow them, closely. Intercede on the lady’s behalf only if circumstances seem dire. All may yet fall into place as planned.”
Chapter Two
Faucon Keep, Normandy
October 16, 1143
Lyonesse of Faucon absently ran a wide-toothed comb through her hair as she stared out the arched second-story window opening. Early morning sunlight streamed into the chamber she shared with her husband Rhys. Dust motes seemingly danced in the shimmering light.
Since it was still early, the baileys were quieter than they had been in days. Even the keep was reasonably quiet. A blessing to be sure. While the faire was a grandly looked forward to event, it was also more tiring than she could have imagined. Thankfully, it only lasted a fortnight.
The chamber door slammed against the wall, breaking the quiet she’d been enjoying. Only one person could force the door to swing so solidly on its hinges.
She turned away from the window, her welcoming smile fading as she stared at her husband.
