her. What was she about to do? This would not be revenge.
Her stomach rolled. This would be murder.
The sword wavered. His stare bore into her. He would accept death. Unlike a coward, he would not plead for his life. The sword wobbled and fell from her hand.
Lyonesse shook herself from her trance and stared at Faucon.
He returned her steady look. “You are making a grave mistake, milady.”
She made her decision. “Get him in the wagon,” she shouted at her men.
Faucon struggled uselessly against the men who nearly carried him to the waiting hay wagon. His threats and curses fell heavy on her ears.
Not wishing to listen to his tirade during the trip back to Taniere, Lyonesse leaned over the side of the wagon and ordered, “Cease, Faucon.”
“You will pay for this. All of you.” Faucon glared at the men. “Do you take your orders from a mere slip of a girl? The king will hunt each and every one of you down.”
His empty threats infuriated her. “Faucon, I warned you once. Cease. Else I will find a way to silence you.”
He answered with a menacing snarl. “You puling little cub, do you realize what you are getting yourself into? The day will come when you regret this action.”
“I know exactly what I am about. I’ll not regret anything.” Grabbing a dirty, rumpled cloth from the cart, she rolled it into a ball. “Maybe this will stop your threats.”
The cloth stuffed in his mouth cut off Faucon’s blistering curses. Lyonesse backed away from the hate and anger glowing from his eyes. No words were needed to understand his silent promise of sinister retribution for her act.
Had her need for revenge not been so strong, Lyonesse knew she would have disgraced herself. Had she loved Guillaume less, it would be easy to order Faucon’s release and ride away. But the loss of her love hardened her heart.
Quickly mounting her horse, she left the others behind and headed toward home. Left to only her thoughts and the eerie cry of a soaring bird of prey, Lyonesse muttered aloud to the empty air. “Faucon must pay for his treachery. I have witnesses to provide proof of his guilt.”
Guillaume’s own men had brought the cold, disfigured body of their lord back to Taniere keep. They described the butcher who had ended du Pree’s life.
Even more telling than their description of the murderer was the last detail Guillaume’s men had told her. The eyes beneath the dark nasal helm glowed a riveting gold. Like the raptor he was named for, his eyes pierced their quarry just before the kill.
Aye, Faucon had mutilated the gentle Guillaume beyond recognition. Of that, there was no doubt. It mattered little if all of Faucon’s forces arrived at her gates. Let them come. They would soon learn that their name alone would not always protect them from retribution for their sins.
The thick, gray walls of her keep were a welcome sight. Lyonesse cantered ahead, her hail of “Taniere!” brought instant reaction from the men in the twin gate towers. The drawbridge slowly lowered and the iron portcullis raised, giving entrance to the outer yard.
She rode past the inner gates and into the second bailey, then slid off the lathered horse. After handing the reins to a waiting stable lad, she paused only long enough to give the unneeded order, “See that he is well cared for, Simon.” Lyonesse headed up the steep steps leading into the great hall.
She paused briefly to learn from her maid Helen that a missive from du Pree’s holy man had arrived before reaching the welcoming silence of her private chamber. She hastily stripped the heavy armor from her sweat-soaked body. “Sweet Mary, how can they wear this?” A sigh escaped her lips as she peeled the thickly padded under-shirt away from her hot flesh.
Relieved of the old, leather-hardened armor and protective underpadding, she snatched the rolled parchment from her bed before dropping down on the mattress.
Quickly sliding her fingernail beneath the wax seal, Lyonesse unrolled the missive and scanned its contents.
She couldn’t hold back the laugh building in her chest. For the first time in months, she experienced a measure of relief and satisfaction. The Good Lord had heard her prayers.
Lyonesse stood just inside the tower cell. Even chained to a bed and sleeping, Faucon looked formidable. Was he indeed a spawn of Satan? Did he take pleasure from fighting and killing?
The many scars marking his body attested to his prowess. To have withstood so many injuries and survived gave credence to his strength and cunning. Was he a champion to be lauded, or a devil to be feared? Bravery or sorcery?
Either way, he was still a murderer.
A living and breathing murderer.
Lyonesse frowned. She’d not expected this predicament. When she and John planned this revenge, there’d been no talk of what to do when Faucon was brought to Taniere. The only lengthy discussion was where to bury the body.
The body she’d not so carefully tended a short time ago. It had taken three men to hold Faucon while she poured Helen’s sleeping draught down his throat. Gentleness had not been on her mind while she’d cleaned and stitched the gash in his side and seen to the bruises and cuts on his face and neck.
“Milady, do you require help?” Howard called out as he entered the small tower chamber that served as Faucon’s cell.
“No, Howard, all is well.”
The way her captain dogged her every step around Faucon was almost laughable. In less than one day, the keep’s active grapevine had already begun to grow. Too many people already knew she was using this tower chamber as a cell—and they knew who she held prisoner.
Little more than a fortnight past, Lyonesse had left her father’s keep at Ryonne in a hurry. She’d wanted to leave before he returned from the king’s service and could stop her. Since she’d not had time to find her own work force at Taniere, many of his servants were in attendance. She’d not risk killing Faucon with so many of Ryonne’s people about. Tongues would wag. Regardless of her reasoning, her father would not take kindly to her form of vengeance.
She could bide her time. After all, she’d captured the mighty Faucon, had she not?
Howard cleared his throat. “Milady, do nothing rash.”
Lyonesse turned to face him. She opened her mouth and then quickly bit back the stinging reply so ready to fall from her lips. Howard’s worried expression twisted her stomach with guilt. “Howard, upon my honor, I will not kill this man today.”
He peered down and studied her face for a moment before warning, “Keep an eye out for Sir John. I do not think he will give up quite as easily.”
Why Howard did not trust Guillaume’s man was something Lyonesse would never understand.
Howard nodded toward the bed and asked, “Will he die of his wounds?”
“Nay. His wounds were minor. ’Tis Helen’s concoction that keeps him asleep.” When concern etched even deeper lines in Howard’s face, Lyonesse pushed him to the door. “Go. Faucon will suffer nothing
