a certainty that this sudden unnaturalness, this inability to think clearly, was not a good thing. Thankfully, when she lifted a hand as if to ward him off, he stopped.
Faucon cleared his throat. “Honesty. What a unique attitude.”
“It would be rather hard to lie would it not?” Then why was her conscience snickering?
“Perhaps. But would it not be expected?”
She turned and looked at him. “How so?”
“A man alone with you in an empty chamber. Would it not make more sense for you to feign the injured virgin?”
And far too arrogant for his own good. “And why would I do that?”
He shrugged. “Had someone walked in, would it not have been the best way to avoid unwanted gossip?”
“Even had someone seen us, I need feign nothing. For one thing I care not what others may or may not think. For another, I am a virgin and the only person that will concern is my husband the day we marry.”
Rhian paused and bit her lower lip with indecision. When her conscience threatened to choke her, she finally said, “Faucon, we have another concern at the moment. Something of more importance than unwarranted gossip.”
The tone of her voice, the squaring of her shoulders and the serious, unemotional look on her face, drew Gareth forward. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the window, hoping it was far enough away to make her feel at ease and to calm his still-racing heart.
This woman with her midnight-black hair and shimmering blue eyes could yet prove to be his downfall if he did not watch himself.
Something about her, from her lips that silently begged to be kissed, to the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, screamed a warning. Rhian of Gervaise would prove to be heaven or hell, and nothing between.
A risk Gareth did not want to take, yet could not seem to avoid. If he were a praying man, he would be on his knees now.
Instead, he softly prompted, “And what concern might that be, Lady Rhian?”
He watched her take a deep shuddering breath and for a moment wondered if he truly wanted to know.
“The bodies in the bailey.” She rushed into her explanation. “The blood—so much of it. I’ve seen that before at Gervaise. Two messengers from my mother’s family were killed the same way outside of our gates. The killers were never found.”
She wrapped her arms across her stomach, but never paused. “At first it was thought their throats had been slit, but after a closer inspection it was discovered that someone had pierced the vein in their neck with something sharp, like a nail. Which would explain the vast amount of blood, since it would have spurted out and—”
Gareth raised his hand. “Enough.” He quickly digested all she’d just told him, then asked, “There were no clues, no witnesses? Nothing to give any hint who they were or where they were from?”
“No.” She shook her head. “My father’s men searched for weeks to no avail. Everyone was questioned, but nobody had seen or heard anything.”
Gareth rubbed the space between his eyes. “And now the only additional thing we know is that they seek a woman.” He lowered his hand, glanced at her, and then turned his attention out the window. “A princess, to be precise.”
“I can assure you I am no princess.”
Many a comment rushed to his mind at her declaration, but he kept them to himself. Instead, he asked, “You mentioned two messengers. What did they want? What message did they bring?”
Rhian slipped her hand down the edge of her high-neck gown and pulled out a pendant. “They brought this to me, along with the notice of my mother’s death.”
He reached out to touch the amethyst, pausing to ask, “May I?” When she nodded, he held the stone, looked at the dragon etching, then he turned it over in his hand. He was certain it was only his imagination that made it feel alive, pulsing under his touch. He wondered aloud, “Why is it so warm? As if it’s been held over a fire?”
She snatched it from him and tucked the pendant back inside her gown. “It is only warm from being against my skin.”
Gareth watched the pendant slide into place between her breasts and wondered if her flesh could be that warm without causing her pain. He stepped back, grasping for a different subject. “You said they brought word of your mother’s death?”
“Aye.” Rhian’s voice was a near whisper. “I did not even know she’d been alive all those years.”
“She did not live with you and your father?” Yet another mystery.
“No. I never knew her.”
“You did not find that odd?”
Rhian shrugged. “Odd? I had been told as a small child that she had died. Why would it appear odd?”
“So your father lied to you.”
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Obviously.” The choked word seemed torn from her lips. She walked away from the window to stand before the brazier.
“Did the messengers tell you anything about her?”
“No. I did not speak with them.”
“Did you ask your father for an explanation after the messengers left?”
Rhian looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Would you not do so? Of course I did.”
He ignored the tartness of her tone. “And?”
She turned back to the brazier, seemingly intent on chasing the night’s chill from her hands. “I was told that it no longer mattered. That they’d made the best decision for me and for them. I had little choice but to assume the subject was closed.”
This was becoming more of a quest than he’d first thought. Why could it not have simply been as King Stephen said? He was just to deliver an heiress to her mother’s family for her marriage. That was all. No words about mysteries, secrets or murders. Hardly a simple task.
“Your father died shortly after that, did he not?”
Rhian only nodded.
“Would I be too bold if I asked how?”
“Nothing as dramatic as a murder. He was thrown from his horse and died instantly.”
Maybe not dramatic, but he could hear the pain and grief in her voice. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Rhian.”
She met his gaze and held it for a brief heartbeat. “Thank you.”
“And now I am to take you to your mother’s family and your new life in Caernarvon.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean by that? I cannot let you escape again.”
Her
