its beauty.
Golden. They were well named. When the sun bounced off the many shades of brown, tan and white flecks, the bird truly did appear gold.
The eagle spiraled higher, almost out of sight, before falling into a dive that would carry a lesser bird crashing into the stone of the tower. Only the obvious strength and agility of this one pulled it out of its descent to circle round and round before beginning another ascent.
Bewitched, Lyonesse watched it perform the graceful dance over and over. Spiraling upward, diving down, screeching as it circled the tower. Again and again.
A strange notion entered her mind.
She pulled her attention from the eagle, shifting her gaze to the tower’s arrow slit. Even though she could not see into the cell from where she stood, she knew without the slightest doubt that Faucon stood at the window opening.
Sweat beaded on her brow. Her breath stopped when a shrill whistle answered the bird’s loud screech. As if on command, the eagle soared up and out to become lost in the forest.
After gaining her breath, she looked down at the bailey. All activity had ceased while the guards and the others had watched the bird along with her.
“I have never seen an eagle hunt a man before.”
Howard’s voice startled her. Lost in thought, she’d not heard him approach.
Lyonesse searched for a response that would placate not only those gathered below, but her own shaking nerves as well. Finally, she asked, “Would it not act in such a confused manner if it were ill or somehow injured?”
She hoped that her question carried down into the bailey. It was enough that she tasted the icy chill of fear. It would do no good for Taniere’s people to worry along with her.
Howard needed no coaching. He raised his voice, agreeing, “Aye, milady, if it were diseased it would act strangely. Surely the beast must have escaped from the king’s falconer.”
As the keep’s people dispersed and returned to their work, Lyonesse leaned closer to Howard. “Has there been any word of King Stephen’s presence in the area?”
He shook his head, leaving her with little hope. “Nay.”
Unwilling to speak her thoughts, yet unable to contain them, Lyonesse said, “Then this bird was sent by someone from Faucon.”
Howard looked out over the wall, then stiffened. “Aye, but ’tis worse than that, milady.”
“What…” Her question trailed off when she followed his line of sight.
The clearing between the dense forest and Taniere’s wall was an intentional manmade addition. Empty space provided an unobstructed view of any man or beast crossing the area.
At this moment Lyonesse was provided with a view of both. The man, dress in naught save black, mounted on an equally dark destrier, stared motionless across the distance.
Behind him, on what she could only assume was a falconer’s contraption, perched the golden.
The manner of the man’s dress and the eagle with him, gave her little doubt they were both from Faucon.
After swallowing hard, Lyonesse whispered, “Oh, Dear Lord, save us.” Stiffening her spine, she marched to the tower gatehouse and waited for Faucon’s harbinger of doom to approach her walls.
To her shock and dismay, the man turned his horse and rode back to the forest. While a confrontation may have frightened her, this action filled her with terror.
He would return for the man he knew resided within her walls.
The question now was when?
And with how many men?
If she lived through this day without taking a life, Lyonesse vowed to increase the rations left outside the gates for the poor. She rubbed a rose-scented oil into her lye-chapped hands. Could anything else go awry this day?
Helping with the washing had kept her from worrying so much about the man she held hostage and what would surely be an impending visit from his men. It hadn’t kept her from listening to Helen’s unending complaints.
Lyonesse patted a cool compress of elderflowers to the bridge of her nose and across each sunburned cheek. When her maid had finally stopped harping about Faucon, Helen had brought that demented eagle back to her attention. Without missing a stride, her maid groused about Faucon’s man. When those subjects had been thoroughly exhausted, Helen had busied her tongue with dire warnings about young girls who spent too much time in the sun.
Lyonesse sighed and left the chamber. If her only concern were freckles, she would be content.
Men’s loud laughter gave her pause halfway down the steep, narrow stairs. The boisterous noise bounced off the stone of the walls and echoed up the stairwell. She’d not heard this infectious sound since her father left last year to join the king. Her heart missed many beats. Surely he would not have come to Taniere without notice?
A deep voice barked with laughter at a ribald joke told by one of the other men. Lyonesse tensed as the familiar tone rang clear in her ears. Worry gave way to anger. Anger quickly simmered into rage.
Rapidly descending the remaining stairs, she saw Faucon standing at Howard’s side. The time the two men spent together discussing whatever they could discuss, was one matter. But to endure this man’s presence in her hall was another matter entirely.
She yelled at the only person who could explain this unwelcome and unwanted presence in her hall. “Howard!”
Lyonesse’s shout immediately brought the men’s merriment to a halt.
She pointed at the behemoth standing arrogantly in the center of the other men, and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
Before Howard had a chance to answer, the object of the discussion interrupted. “Milady, this means nothing more than a fine evening’s meal in the company of a lovely lady.”
She ignored him and leveled her gaze on her maid. Lyonesse seethed inwardly, wishing she had the leisure to pale and flutter as Helen was doing now.
Chains clanged together as a large, warm hand closed over her fist and deftly pried her fingers open. After kissing her palm, he stated, “And nowhere have I seen a more beautiful creature than Taniere’s lioness.”
Lyonesse tore her gaze away from Helen’s wavering look, and stared down at her own hand. What sorcery had this Spawn of Satan used to bewitch her? Hot and cold tingles ran down to her toes when his lips briefly touched her skin. Was it the vile way he kissed her palm, instead of the back of her hand that caused the unsettling shivers? Or was it the devil’s wicked treachery?
She glanced up at him. The toad smiled at her as if he were attending a festive celebration, instead of rotting in the tower where he belonged. Why did Faucon act this way?
In keeping with a chivalrous code of conduct, she’d permitted him limited freedom. But had she not gone out of her way to show him how much she despised him? Faucon knew full well his presence in her hall was unwelcome.
It
