Her hopes for a peaceful end to this day fell to the hardened dirt floor and shattered like a fragile egg. Lyonesse willed her tongue to remain silent.
Never had a female impressed Faucon as much as the one standing before him now. It had to be difficult for Lyonesse to hold her outrage in check as well as she did. A less composed woman would have dissolved into hysteria by now. Or at the very least would have become too flustered to remain as visibly calm as Taniere’s vicious kitten appeared to be.
Her appearance did not deceive him one bit. Some might have missed the bright glaze of anger that he’d so quickly grown accustomed to seeing. Or not have noticed that her jawbone was too well defined. The normally heart-shaped face was pulled nearly into a square by the tightness of her muscles.
His assessment of her features did not go unnoticed. The lady’s eyes narrowed in apparent distaste before she tore her hand from his and wiped her palm across the folds of the vivid green gown she wore.
Rhys bowed his head slightly and reflected upon her name. Lyonesse. While it was true that her gold-red coloring was well suited for a feline, he wondered if she knew that her namesake had been a bastard in every sense of the word? Her grandsire had been blessed with a reputation that made Rhys’s presumed evilness pale in comparison.
Certain that she could see no other emotion upon his face but pleasant interest, Rhys deepened his smile. How many times had he been told that his wicked grin could cause even a nun to succumb to his charms?
“Lyonesse? How did you come to be named for your grandsire?”
A faint blush tinged her delicate complexion, making her appear more of a child than the oversized armor had. “I am certain my father had his reasons. I have never found myself churlish enough to question the name.”
Rhys ignored the jibe and offered his arm to lead the unwilling lady to the table. He held his snort of amusement as she rested her hand so lightly on his forearm that she barely touched his sleeve. Did she really believe that she could continue to assume such ladylike innocence? No lady would have dared to conceive his capture—let alone accomplished the feat.
By the saints, this was going to be an interesting evening. Even though he’d been free to walk about the keep, he’d been bored to his limits. He’d sought an opportunity to pay his captor back with a little of her own coin. Now that he was certain she’d regained her senses, Rhys looked forward to goading her. After seeing Jezebel this morning, he had an added boon. The knowledge that his men were nearby worked to his advantage with Howard. It’d been simple to convince the captain to permit him to attend the evening meal in the hall.
He placed his free hand on top of hers. The instant he wrapped his fingers around her wrist to effectively hold her near, Rhys wished he had not. The smooth, soft skin beneath his fingers reminded him of how long it’d been since he’d touched anything so warm and soft.
Even though he knew full well that he would drive himself to distraction, Rhys could not have stopped his thumb from stroking the silken flesh if he’d tried.
At first she flinched under his gentle touch, but made no move to pull free. He bent toward her, and groaned silently at the combined expressions of surprise and horror on her flushed face. She might have been betrothed to this du Pree, but his first impression had been perfectly correct; she was an untried girl.
He forced his thumb to stop its steady motion, and waved toward the table. “Shall we sit?”
She jerked away from him. “You should not be here. Be gone.”
“’Tis my greatest wish to be gone from here.” He looked at the door and snapped his fingers before looking back at her. “I willingly make you a deal. Have your guards release me and I will disappear from your life.”
She glared up at him. “You know I will not do that.”
After sighing loudly, Rhys shrugged. “Then I will be content to be your honored guest at this meal.”
Lyonesse narrowed her eyes as she glanced at the chains binding his wrists and ankles. She kept her voice low while agreeing, “Very well, ’tis not as if you can do much mischief with the jewelry you now wear.”
She signaled for Howard. “Count Faucon will be joining us for the meal.”
Rhys noted that the captain had enough decency to look ashamed. “Milady, I—”
Lyonesse cut him off with a wave of her hand. “It matters little, Howard. He is here and will be my guest. I am certain his presence will cause little harm.”
She looked back at Rhys and added, “Since I have already invited him, I doubt that he will decline my offer and return to his cell. However, should he think to try anything foolish, I would be delighted to have him become the main course.”
Ah, yes, it was going to be a grand meal. Amused, Faucon followed her retreating form to the table on the raised platform at the head of the hall and took the only seat available—the one next to her on the bench.
He tried to ignore the large tapestry hanging behind the table. The stunning needlework depicted a lion and his lioness, staring out as if guarding those seated below. A brief chill raced up his back and lifted the hairs on his neck. For a moment, Rhys wondered if this is what prey felt like right before an attack.
Howard mumbled curses as he secured Rhys’s leg shackles to the bench before taking a position against the wall behind them. Rhys wanted to laugh at the absurdity. What would he do in a hall crowded with Lyonesse’s men?
They were everywhere he looked; seated at the many trestle tables scattered about the great hall, standing in small groups alongside the whitewashed walls, leaning against arched support beams and lounging by the open fire off to one side. No, he would do nothing to incite those gathered for the meal.
He turned his attention back to his prey and touched the finely woven linen sleeve of her gown. “Ah, but were I to leave, I would not be able to tell you how the color of this gown makes your eyes sparkle like gems.”
She leaned away from him. “And I would not have to listen to your silly lies.”
He trailed his fingertip up the back of her arm to stroke a ribbon entwined in her loosely braided hair. “Or that your hair would be a magnificent silken veil were it loosened from its confinement.”
Rhys leaned closer, ignoring her soft gasp of shock at his familiarity, and touched the jewel-encrusted gold torque around her neck. “If it were not for me, you would never know that this collar and your hair should be your only adornment.”
He lowered his voice. “Just envisioning the sight could make any warrior wish to take you somewhere private to see if your beauty did indeed match his dreams.”
Her flaming face, blazing eyes and sudden intake of breath should have prepared him for the slap that landed on the side of his face.
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