own life to thwart me?”
Bertha shrugged. “Since you are going to discover it for yourself, I do no harm by telling you. She goes there to be with Marcus.”
He thought he’d been angry before. He’d been certain that he’d reached the limits of his ire a time or two in the past.
He’d been wrong.
What filled him now was a pure rage so hot, so violent that it clouded his vision, and his thoughts, with a red haze. He strode toward the door, adjusting his sword belt and vowing, “Your lady may live, but her lover will not.”
Bertha rushed after him, shouting, “No, my lord Faucon, you do not understand. Marcus is not—”
Darius slammed the door in her face, cutting off the rest of her words.
Without stopping, without a single glance left or right, he marched out of the keep, into the bailey and silently swung himself up on his horse.
“My lord?” Osbert met his hard gaze and shook his head. “Nothing. It will wait.”
The two men rode through both baileys and out of the gates. They crossed the open field, following the narrow road toward the village.
With each fall of his horse’s hooves, Darius willed his anger to cool. It would do him no good to be blinded by rage when he met this Marcus. Battles were not won by those who lost their senses.
And he would win this battle. He cared not what Marguerite, her father, the Church, or even the king thought or said about the matter. As far as he was concerned, their marriage was fully binding, and with God’s grace he would end this charade tonight.
He knew the how of it. What he could not understand was the why.
It was not for love. That had been killed and effectively set aside years ago. It had nothing to do with lust. That was something any woman could provide.
He needed to understand the why—else it would be nothing more than another charade perpetuated by his own pride.
While he had missed her gentle touch, the taste of her lips on his, the sound of her voice, the very scent of her skin, there was something else that drove him to this madness. Something inside of him ate at his gut, tore at his heart. And he knew not what.
It was as if his soul was aware of something that he had yet to discover.
Something he needed to uncover before he went completely mad.
Darius raced through the village, thankful those in his path quickly gave way. He slowed his pace only when he reached the hilly fields on the other side of Thornson’s demesne lands.
With a hard yank, he brought his lathered horse to a stop, pulled his sword from the wooden scabbard hanging at his side and looked across the field, to the cemetery.
Osbert caught up with him and stopped alongside. “Darius.”
His captain’s winded voice held a note of censure. Darius looked at him and tried his best to reassure the man. “I will not harm her. But I cannot promise to let her lover live.”
The captain reached out and briefly touched Darius’s shoulder. “I cannot stop you from doing what you must. But think on this first. Do not let jealousy rule your sword arm.”
“It is not jealousy that eats at me.” That was the plain and simple truth. Not one speck of jealousy flowed through his veins.
“Then what is this?”
Darius shook his head. “At the moment I do not know. But before this day is out, I will.”
A movement at the edge of woods situated on the far side of the cemetery caught his eye.
Osbert saw it, too, and gasped.
Darius sheathed his sword. “For the love of God.” He flicked the reins and started toward the two figures. They walked hand in hand to a spot in the cemetery where they sat down.
Marguerite put an arm around her companion and drew him into her lap. Darius’s heart twisted with pain at the obvious display of love between mother and child.
He and Osbert reined in their horses at a slight distance from the edge of the cemetery. Marguerite’s attention was so focused on the child that she had not noticed him.
Osbert broke the deafening silence by softly stating, “You did not know.”
“Nay.” Darius shook his head. “How could I? No one has said a word about Thornson’s child.”
How had she hidden this from him? Where had the child been? Why had no one at the keep mentioned a word about a child? Not even in hushed whispers. They didn’t so much as ask about his whereabouts.
At that moment the child jumped up from Marguerite’s lap and drew her to her feet. They danced around a few of the crosses, before Marguerite pulled the child into a hug.
Darius’s horse whinnied, catching the attention of Marguerite and the child. The youngster turned around and stared at both men.
Osbert swore. Darius nearly fell from his horse, the blood draining from his head in shock. He now knew what his heart and soul had been hiding from him.
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