Falcon's Desire

She was a clodpolled onion-eyed dullard. Lyonesse tossed another handful of weeds onto the growing pile.

A lackbrained nitwit. Perspiration trickled down her forehead and dripped off the end of her nose.

Since she’d confronted Faucon yesterday, she’d called herself every bawdy name she could think of—yet none seemed to be the proper fit.

Another clump of dead weeds hit the pile. Maybe she could bury herself in the brown, soggy plant life she was pulling out of what would someday be an herb garden.

What possessed her? She knew the answer. Grief over Guillaume’s untimely death and fear of losing Taniere had stolen her sanity and common sense. Yet not even in her darkest moments of despair could she forget the lessons she’d dutifully learned—lessons that kept her from killing Faucon.

Right and wrong.

Good and evil.

Heaven and hell.

Brother Joseph had taught her by word, her father by example and deed. Her maid Helen had always seen to it that she never forgot the words, examples, nor the deeds.

For all their teaching and devotion, Lyonesse knew none of them could answer the questions that tormented her.

Did nothing fall between good and evil?

Could not something seem wrong and yet be right?

Lyonesse uncurled her legs from beneath her and sat on the damp, cold ground. Looking at the patch she’d cleared she wondered why she’d bothered. Less than a month from now King Stephen would take Taniere from her and all this work would be wasted.

Do not cry. She was done with tears. They gained her nothing more than an aching head and upset stomach.

Obviously, she needed to find a husband—quickly and she needed to release Faucon.

How and in which order was yet to be determined. Neither task would be easy.

Since she found killing Faucon an impossible feat, she needed to release him. The longer he remained at Taniere the more dangerous he became. His men would come and free him by force. Innocent lives would be lost.

Regardless of what her maid thought, Lyonesse doubted if finding a suitable spouse would be as simple as pointing at a man and bidding him “come hither” like some trained dog.

She wouldn’t want that kind of man.

She wanted Guillaume. Instead, she’d dutifully marry any man her father picked.

Her father was a warrior. A knight. A Lord. He would choose a man like himself. A man like…

Breathless, Lyonesse tried to shake the fearful thoughts from her mind. But they ran in circles, one more horror-filled than the last. Until they came to rest on the one thought that would strike many a lady dead.

Her sire would choose a man like Faucon.

The type of man who had killed not only his wife, but his newborn child. ’Twas said he’d shown no remorse for his deed. Nor had he shed a single tear for his loss.

The type of man who had no regard for women or for those weaker than himself. A man who laughed at death and had no respect for life.

Seeking protection from evil, Lyonesse quickly prayed, “Oh, Holy Mother, let my sire’s love for me be true. Let him never seal my fate thusly.” She pitied any woman who would become wife to that type of man.

The type of man she needed to remove from her keep. She was not lackwitted enough to believe that she could lead Faucon to the gate and bid him farewell with no fear of retribution. There had to be a way to convince him that it would be within his best interest to forget anything that had happened. How?

She’d not seen him since their encounter in the tower. But she had ordered Howard to permit Faucon limited freedom. He could move about the keep and the inner yard as long as he was under constant supervision and chained about the ankles and wrists.

Howard assured her that he would guard the prisoner himself. She’d made him swear to keep Faucon away from her.

“Milady! Lady Lyonesse! Come quick. Milady!”

“Blatherskite,” Lyonesse cursed as the screaming page ran toward her.

“Milady, look, look—”

She quelled the urge to shake the stuttering boy. “Michael, cease your blithering. Tell me what is wrong.”

Michael pointed frantically at the sky. “The king is coming! King Stephen, milady!”

Lyonesse bit back her sharp retort. Instead, she looked up.

Nay, the king had not sprouted wings and flown to Taniere. But Michael’s cries were justified. Only a king could own so regal a huntress.

If her eyes did not deceive her, a golden eagle dipped and soared against the backdrop of a cloudless sky. A low, breathless whistle left her lips as the bird swooped lower. Lyonesse wanted a closer look. She sent Michael for Howard and then climbed the ladder to the walkway.

Her father had long ago told her about goldens. But never had she seen one. She now understood his fascination with the eagle. While Lord Ryonne’s description enabled her to identify the raptor, his words of praise did little justice to 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.”