check on her rather shabby handiwork. Sadly, she was not always the most careful seamstress and wanted to make certain the stitches held.
Lyonesse knelt on the floor and pushed the covers from his side. Faucon shifted in his sleep, dragging the cover off his chest.
She paused, her hand in midair as she’d reached to check his wound. Her face flushed hot. A tingle ran down her neck and across her chest filling her breasts and intensifying the heat on her cheeks.
Lyonesse had tended many injuries for her father and his men. A man’s body was no mystery to her. She’d lost her curiosity many years ago. Why did seeing just this man’s chest cause such fluttering of her heart?
He was her enemy. He’d taken away her future. He’d killed her love. She’d prayed for his death many times over. She’d wished to see his broken body lying at her feet.
She bit her lip. Her heart did not cease its rapid pounding. The heat on her cheeks did not lessen.
She shook her head and steadied her trembling hand. She was tired, that was all. The excitement from capturing this man had been too much. She needed rest. Nothing more. Lyonesse pulled the salve-filled covering from his side.
His hand shot out like a snake and grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”
The chain securing him to the wall gave little warning. If she’d not already been kneeling on the floor, she’d have fallen. How long had he been awake? She pried at his fingers. “Release me.”
His grip tightened. “What are you doing?”
Lyonesse smiled into his gold-flecked gaze. “I thought I would take out these stitches and see how long it takes a devil to bleed to death.”
He returned her steady stare for a long moment before releasing her. “By all means, proceed.”
His response surprised her. “You would just lie there?”
Faucon raised an arm. The metal links permitted him limited movement. “What could I do to stop you?”
She knew better. This was not a man who would simply accept death while lying flat on his back. “How long have you been awake?”
His laugh was weak. “Long enough.”
Her heart sank. She’d have no luck filling him with worry. He’d most likely heard her vow to Howard. Determined to complete her chore and quit the chamber, she asked, “May I finish here?”
Faucon closed his eyes, tensed his jaw, and nodded.
Lyonesse studied him for a heartbeat. “Does it hurt that much?”
“Only when you poke and prod at it.”
How long had he been awake? Suddenly, she didn’t wish to know. Quickly, after checking the stitches, she smoothed on more salve. Her fingers shook at the contact with his flesh. The skin covering his frame was smooth to her touch. The muscles beneath were tight and well developed. Lyonesse bit her bottom lip, forcing her errant thoughts back to the task at hand. She not-so-gently slapped the covering back over the wound and pulled the blankets up over his body.
She rose and headed toward the door. “I will send up a maid with something to drink.”
“Food, perhaps? Unless you want me to starve to death.”
She paused. “’Tis a thought.”
His laugh rumbled across her ears. “That might please you, but your Howard would not be happy.”
Lyonesse sighed. He’d heard the vow to Howard. “Faucon, you may be alive at this moment, but do not be so certain I will not yet gain my revenge.” She smiled. “I had you at the pointed end of a sword once. I can do it again if need be.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll be ready for you and it will not be quite as easy.”
Lyonesse’s blood rushed through her veins. She wanted to rip the smirk from his face. “You think you are so invincible. You survive every battle. Do you think that will last forever? You are nothing but a man, Faucon. A man who can, and someday will, die.”
His smile widened. “And you are but a woman. A woman like any other.” His eyes seemed to glow from across the room. “Tell me, Lady Lyonesse, which scar did you admire the most? The one on my thigh, or one of those on my chest?”
Anger and embarrassment ripped a scream of rage from her throat. Not only had the swine heard her vow to Howard, he’d been awake the whole time.
Before charging out the door, she yelled, “Go to the devil, Faucon.”
Rhys laughed. Lord Baldwin of Ryonne had chosen well by naming his daughter after his wife’s father. This cunning she-cub was worthy of being called Lyonesse. Too bad she’d not inherited her father’s even temper. For all her bravado and trickery, the Lady Lyonesse angered too easily. Her emotional displays would not serve her well. But it would provide him with some amusement while he was here.
Since she’d not killed him in the forest, he had a bad feeling that he might be here a long time. If that happened, he’d end up dying at King Stephen’s orders without ever discovering the true murderer.
Rhys jerked his arm, grimacing at the bite of the iron manacle holding him to the bed.
Surely they didn’t mean to keep him chained to this bed forever? They knew who he was, so they’d heard the stories about Lord Faucon.
His bitter sigh filled the chamber. How could anyone not have heard the tales? Rhys purposely let the rumors of his terrible disposition grow and spread. Secretly he enjoyed the fear that sprang to men’s eyes when they realized whom they faced. It suited him to build upon this dark image by dressing himself, his horse and his men in nothing but black.
Those who knew him well found the stories of his evilness amusing, even assisting Rhys in building the fables beyond the believable. He had to admit, it effectively kept the unwanted daughters of his peers from being dangled beneath his nose.
In truth, he’d not needed stories to keep women away. Word of Alyce’s death had sufficed. That suited him well. He’d no wish to avail himself of another woman’s lies and deceit.
Again, what he’d thought was a long-buried pain, stabbed at his heart. “Blast it all.” The curse echoed in his ears. He glanced out the arrow slit. The sun was already setting.
How much time would pass before his men found their way to his captain Melwyn? They’d broken the men up into two groups. Melwyn’s group headed toward Faucon’s keep, seeking aid from his brother Gareth. The other group rode with him, toward Richmond. The most logical area to begin his search had seemed the site where the rumors about the murder were circulating. Instead, they’d ridden into a trap.
A cleverly devised trap. Since du Pree’s lands and Ryonne were to the south, he’d not expected to encounter vengeance on the north road.
Where was he? He knew what general area. His foolish captors had taken no pains to hide their direction. The cart had followed the north road before turning slightly east toward the coast. That would put him in either the Earl of York’s, or the Earl of Richmond’s territory. Since both men were considered
