could reverse. A single, well-placed arrow could change everything.
Not that any would mourn his death. His father had disowned him years ago when Darius had foolishly taken his future into his own hands.
He blinked. What had brought that thought to his waking mind? Until this moment, the memories of his young wife and the wrath of both fathers had plagued him only in his dreams.
Darius rolled his shoulders, seeking any action that would take his mind off the insanity of the past. There was plenty to concern him right now. Smugglers to rout, a keep to hold, and now, less than a full month to complete his missions.
And his mind wished to dwell on things long dead?
He never should have returned to Faucon. He should have stayed away and let the rumors of his demise flourish and grow unchallenged. That would have been the easier thing to do.
But when had he ever chosen the easier way?
Darius silently cursed his womanly concerns into nothingness.
They drew nearer the walls of Thornson. He motioned to Sir Osbert to lift his banner. It was time to see if his direct approach would succeed or fail.
The brilliant green silk unfurled and whipped in the strong winds. Would those on the wall recognize the black falcon? And would they realize the folded wings and closed talons were a position of peace, not war?
Lady Marguerite of Thornson leaned against the saw-toothed wall surrounding the keep, fighting to keep her wits about her. Whenever she thought it was not possible for life to get worse, it somehow did.
Two nights ago they’d lost Matthew on the beach, along with at least three of the villagers. Yesterday, four of Thornson’s guards had died while fighting off this force attacking her keep.
All knew the day would come when King Stephen’s men approached their gates. In truth, she was surprised it had taken this many months.
Thornson Keep was too strong, too rich and far too strategically located for King Stephen to ignore for long. The keep was a veritable fortress near the border of Scotland. He needed the men and the gold this property could supply. Little did he know that these men were loyal to Thornson alone. And Thornson’s loyalties had been bought by Empress Matilda.
If Stephen would investigate the rights he’d issued, he’d soon realize that Thornson far exceeded what had been granted. This adulterine holding was no tower keep constructed of timber, with useless wooden palisades to protect those inside.
By the good graces of Empress Matilda and her uncle, King David of Scotland, just a short two days’ ride to the north, Thornson had quickly grown and prospered.
And while they had not denounced King Stephen outright, they openly remained loyal to those who had helped them. It was a game Thornson played. A dangerous game to be sure, but one he’d seemed to enjoy. It had kept him out of Stephen’s useless battles until the end.
She wrapped her arms about her waist. She’d not thought of his death for many weeks now and had no wish to revive that nightmare. It was better to remember her husband alive.
The Lord of Thornson had been old, so nobody had deemed him worth notice. A foolish mistake. She shifted her gaze toward the pounding sea. It thundered with an intensity that had fired her elderly husband’s blood. His passion had been poured into completing this keep before he left this world…for her.
She’d arrived at Thornson with naught but the naivete of a girl ten and five. The keep had seemed more of a guardhouse for the men and stables for the horses, than a keep. Now, a little over six years later, Thornson had become a fortress built to keep her safe.
She turned and surveyed the work Henry had seen completed. Two thick stone walls surrounded Thornson. An enemy could batter away at them for a lifetime and not gain entrance.
The inner courtyard housed the men, their horses and practice grounds. The grounds had seen much use since their completion.
The outer courtyard served as a gathering place and a market of sorts. Here, the villagers came to buy and sell wares, and to share the local gossip and news.
At the northeast corner rose the keep itself. Steep, jagged cliffs served as the back wall to the keep. With the constant surging of the sea, nature had created a safer, more secure wall than man. None could scale the slippery, sheer rock face.
“Milady.”
Jerked out of her thoughts, she looked at Sir Everett, Thornson’s captain of the guard. “Yes?”
He nodded toward the field. “They approach.”
She gasped and turned. She’d expected them to once again charge full strength toward their certain death. Instead, only six men rode forward. Six men and one riderless horse.
She swallowed an unladylike curse. Matthew. There was little doubt in her mind that the body draped across the back of the horse was he. When the others had returned the night before last they’d recounted the battle on the beach and how Matthew had foolishly called out for them to return to her.
How many times had she begged them to cease their nighttime activities? She’d warned them that eventually this would happen. Now it had.
When she’d received word from the villagers about the bodies left at the church, Matthew hadn’t been among them. She’d hoped he’d somehow escaped.
Sir Everett asked, “What do you think they are about?”
Marguerite shrugged. “You would know the minds of men better than I.” After Thornson’s death, she’d received no word from King Stephen. She’d assumed that he’d send someone to become the new Lord of Thornson when he saw fit.
Which warmonger had the king sent?
Even though it was his right, she bristled at the thought of a king’s man taking possession of her husband’s keep.
She could not stop him from taking the keep any more than she could stop what the future would hold for her. Nor could she prevent this man from doling out his form of justice to those he found to be outlaws.
Still, she chafed at the ever-present certainty that King Stephen could and would control her destiny.
Oh, would that her husband had been an earl, or that she’d been rich or powerful in her own right. Then none would determine her future. She’d determine her own. She’d also be able to protect those in Thornson who thought they were doing the right thing.
Marguerite slapped the skirt of her billowing gown in frustration. What good was if only? Wishing for what could not be only served to pass the time, nothing more.
She focused on the men approaching. Would one of them become the new master of Thornson? Or would they only hold the keep in Stephen’s name until a more suitable man could be found?
She studied the men closely. It was not hard to determine who led whom. Obviously, the tall man riding in the center of the group would be the leader. His outward appearance of calm belied everything she’d learned about warriors.
Contrary to what her father and his men had taught her as a child, she’d found that the calmest was always
