Connie Mason (2 page)

Rosamond of Norwich was an heiress who would bring him the wealth and land he yearned for. As a third son and landless, Falcon had to make his own way in life, earn his own keep and find a way to obtain a piece of England to call his own.

After meeting Rosamond, Falcon had decided that Henry had chosen well for him. The heiress had proved to be a raven-haired beauty who had found him as favorably disposed as he had found her. Marriage to Rosamond wasn’t going to be difficult; the fervent kisses they had
shared during stolen moments alone had been more than satisfactory.

If Rosamond appeared frivolous, Falcon blamed it on her youth. Though her flirtatious manner with other men did not please him, he felt confident in his ability to tame her wild ways. All in all, the visit had gone well. The terms of Rosamond’s dowry had been ironed out between him and Rosamond’s father, the Earl of Norwich, and the wedding was set for a fortnight hence. Rosamond and her father planned to travel to London, where the wedding would take place in the king’s own chapel.

Falcon was a happy man. The land and small fortress that would be his upon his marriage earned a good profit from crops and sheep. Aye, Falcon’s life couldn’t be better right now.

The tiny village where Falcon hoped to engage a room and a meal at an inn lay ahead. It was growing dark. Shadows began to lengthen, casting the forest in near darkness. A prickling at the back of Falcon’s neck made him wish he had not decided to travel alone. But since his visit to Norwich was of a personal nature, he had left his men and squire behind in London.

A rustling of leaves made his horse perk up his ears and skitter sideways. Falcon patted his neck and spoke soothingly to him, but the animal refused to settle down. Deciding that his faithful palfrey knew something he didn’t, Falcon reached for his sword. A moment later pandemonium broke loose.

Two burly men dressed in rags and wielding cudgels dropped from the trees, knocking him from the saddle. These were the brigands whom Lord Norwich had warned him about, Falcon thought in a moment of clarity.
They lived in the forest, attacking and robbing travelers foolish enough to be caught alone on the road after nightfall.

Falcon rolled to his feet and drew his sword, preparing to defend himself. He realized his was a losing battle when he saw several more men materialize from the forest and surround him. Falcon fought fiercely, with uncommon valor, but he was one man against many. He managed to wound two men and kill another before he was brought to his knees and dealt a crippling blow to the head by a bandit who had managed to creep up behind him while he fought off a vicious frontal attack.

Falcon fell senseless to the ground, unaware of the blows falling randomly, one after another. When the leader finally called a halt, Falcon lay bruised and battered beyond recognition. As a final insult, the bandits stole his valuables, ruthlessly stripped off his clothing and left him lying naked and vulnerable in the dirt. Taking Falcon’s horse with them, they melted into the forest, leaving the king’s knight unconscious and close to death.

Falcon lay in the middle of the road throughout the night. His body was discovered shortly after sunup by a cotter on his way to Mildenhall Castle to deliver produce.

The cotter, a husky man of middle years, drew his donkey cart to a halt, leapt down and cautiously approached the naked man. After a moment’s contemplation, he nudged Falcon with his foot. “Are ye dead, then?”

A tormented moan answered his question.

“Well, then, what am I going to do with ye?”

No answer was forthcoming. “I suppose I can take ye to the castle since I’m going that way. If the ride in the back of my cart don’t kill ye, mayhap old Edwina can fix ye.”

The cotter lifted Falcon’s broken body into his cart and covered him with a horse blanket. Then he climbed onto the driver’s bench and plodded off toward Mildenhall Castle.

“Milady, a cotter has just brought a wounded man to the castle,” Sir Martin, Mildenhall’s steward, informed Mariah. “He’d been badly beaten and left in the forest for dead.”

Mariah looked up from the silver she had been counting. “Where did you put the poor man?”

“I had him carried to a guest room in the solar. I hope that meets with your approval.”

“Did you summon Edwina?”

“Aye, though I fear he is beyond the healer’s help.”

Mariah lifted her skirts and hurried toward the winding stone staircase. “I shall go to him immediately.”

“Wait!” Sir Martin called after her, but she paid him no heed. He followed in Mariah’s wake, his tunic flapping about his knees.

Mariah entered the chamber and came to an abrupt halt. The man lying on the bed was naked and bleeding from numerous cuts and bruises. His muscular body, honed biceps, powerful torso and sturdy legs were those of a warrior. Obviously, the man was well acquainted with death and violence.

Huffing and puffing, Sir Martin rushed into the chamber behind Mariah. “Milady, I tried to warn you. The man was brought in as you see him before you.”

“Has he spoken? Do you know who he is?”

“Nay. He said naught to the cotter and naught since he reached the castle. Think you he will die?”

“I do not know. Return to the hall and wait for Edwina. Bring her to me as soon as she arrives.”

Sir Martin’s eyes settled on the naked man. “I cannot leave you alone with him.”

“A man in his condition can do me no harm. Go, Sir Martin.”

Mariah approached the bed. The poor man hadn’t moved since she’d arrived in the chamber. Her breath caught; he was a masterpiece of hair-roughened bronze skin pulled taut over rippling muscles. As she reached for a coverlet and started to ease it over him, her gaze settled on a part of him she had refused to look at when she first entered the chamber.

Never in her life had she seen a male as magnificently endowed as the man lying in the bed. Since she had never seen her husband naked, she’d had no idea a man’s male part could be so fascinating. Shaking such wicked thoughts from her head, she drew the coverlet over the stranger’s battered body and gazed into his bruised countenance.

Mariah couldn’t tell what the man looked like, for his face was swollen and covered with purple and yellow bruises. His eyes, ringed with black, were sunken into their sockets, and his chin was covered with day-old stubble as black as the hair on his head. She hadn’t even touched him, and yet, inexplicably, she was stirred.

Mariah was still staring at him, wondering about the color of his eyes, when a bent old woman carrying a basket over her arm hobbled into the chamber.

“Who is he, milady?” Edwina asked as she approached the bed.

“I know not,” Mariah replied. “The poor soul took a fearsome beating. Apparently, he was set upon by bandits.
They stole everything he owned and left him for dead. If he had a horse, it, too, was taken. We’ll have to wait for him to awaken to learn his name. Can you help him?”

“Depends on how badly he’s hurt. Step aside, milady, while I tend his wounds.”

Mariah backed away, unwilling to leave until she knew if the man would live. Something about him reached inside her in a way she had never experienced before. She closed her eyes and willed him to live. If will alone would make him well, he’d be in excellent health right now.

“I need hot water, milady, and clean cloths.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mariah said, slipping from the chamber. Mariah sent a maidservant to fetch hot water from the kitchen, and then she headed to her chamber for cloths she kept in a cupboard for her personal use.

Edmond was awake and sitting in a chair before the hearth. Cedric, his personal servant, stood nearby, waiting to help his master into bed. Edmond looked up when Mariah entered. “Sir Martin just informed me that a wounded man was brought to the castle this morning.”

“Aye, he’s in dreadful shape. Edwina is with him.”

“A young man?” Edmond rasped with more animation than Mariah had noted in a long time.

“I think so, though ’tis hard to tell. He was beaten and left for dead on the road. We won’t know who he is until he can speak.”

Mariah retrieved the cloths she had come for and turned to the door.

“Keep me informed,” Edmond called after her.

Edwina was bent over her patient when Mariah returned. The hot water had already arrived, awaiting the cloths Mariah brought.

“How is he?” Mariah asked.

“Still alive,” the old woman answered.

“Has he spoken?”

“Naught but groans have come from his mouth.”

Mariah watched as Edwina bathed the man’s face and searched his head for wounds.

“Ah,” Edwina said.

“What did you find?”

“A lump the size of a goose egg.” She cleansed the blood from his wound and applied salve. “Judging from the color of his bruises, he has lain unconscious and unattended for hours, mayhap all night. If he doesn’t wake up soon, I hold scant hope for his survival.”

“What of his other injuries?”

“The man must be made of iron. I could find no broken bones despite the battering he took, though he may have injuries that I cannot see.” She shrugged. “Other than apply salve to his wounds and feed him an infusion to ease his pain, there is naught I can do for him. We will have to wait and see what happens.”

Edwina worked diligently over the man, soothing his hurts with marigold salve and mixing a potion that she dribbled into his mouth to ease his pain. “I will return later,” she said as she collected her herbal concoctions and returned them to the basket. “Have a maidservant sit with him. Tell her to fetch me should his condition change.”

“I will sit with him myself,” Mariah said. She pulled a chair up to the bed and settled into it as Edwina slipped from the chamber.

Mariah studied the man’s face as she kept watch, wondering who he was and what he was doing in these parts.
Mildenhall was so remote that few visitors arrived at their gates, and certainly no one in this poor man’s condition. Was he a traveler on an important mission? A husband returning to his wife and children? A knight about his business?

Mariah sighed and closed her eyes. Staring at the man wasn’t going to make him well.

“Water—”

Falcon awoke in pain—brutal, pounding pain. His body, his head, there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt. His body demanded water, but his swollen lips refused to voice his needs. He tried again but didn’t recognize the sound that came from his mouth.

“Don’t try to speak.” The voice was soothing and female. “I’m going to lift your head so you can drink. You must be parched.” A woman’s soft breasts cradled his head.

Falcon felt a cup pressed to his lips. Water trickled down his throat. It tasted like the nectar of the gods. When the cup was empty, she lowered his head. He managed to peel his eyes open and peer through gummy, swollen slits at the woman bending over him.

“Am I dead?” he croaked.

She smiled, bathing him in warmth. This had to be heaven, he thought.

“You are alive, sir.”

Unless his eyes were deceiving him, which was a distinct possibility, the woman smiling down at him was beautiful beyond belief. Hair the color of a golden sunrise, held in place by a circlet of silver, cascaded over her shoulders in a spill of pure magic.

“How can I be alive? Are you not an angel?”

Mariah’s answer was forestalled when Falcon’s head lolled against the pillow and he became unresponsive. Seized by panic, she felt for a pulse in his neck, heaving a sigh when she found one.

Mariah returned to her chair, smiling when she recalled his words. He thought her an angel.

The chamber was dark but for the dim light from a single candle when Falcon next opened his eyes. The woman was still with him, sleeping with her head resting on the bed. Who was she? Her bright hair beckoned him. He tried to raise his hand to brush a stray strand from her forehead and failed. What had happened to him? He had struggled awake from a nightmare, where monsters were attacking him, but that was all he recalled.

He closed his eyes and slept again.

It was full daylight when Mariah stirred and lifted her head. She was more than a little startled to see that the man was awake and staring at her.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I rode full tilt into a stone wall,” he rasped. “Do you know what happened to me?”

“We think you were beaten and robbed by bandits who travel in groups and live in the forest. They left you for dead in the roadway.”

Falcon closed his eyes, trying to recall the attack that had left him close to death. His mind was blank. No remnants of his earlier nightmare remained.

“Where am I?”

“Mildenhall Castle. Are you thirsty?”

“Aye.” Mariah held a cup to his lips, and he drank
thirstily. She rose. “I’ll fetch some broth, you must be hungry.”

No answer was forthcoming. He had fallen asleep again. Mariah tiptoed from the room.

Time had no meaning for Falcon. Each time he awakened, either the golden angel, an old crone or a manservant who saw to his personal needs was in the chamber with him. He recalled being fed water, broth and something vile-tasting. Of all his shadowy visitors, it was the golden angel whose presence he craved—she of the stirring voice and gentle hands.

Falcon’s head never ceased aching, even as his body’s hurts began to heal. His brain was so scrambled he could recall naught of what had happened prior to his waking up in a strange bed. He didn’t even know where he belonged.

One day, despite his befuddled brain, Falcon decided it was time to get out of bed and test his legs. He sat on the edge of the bed until his head stopped spinning and then pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled, found his balance and took a step. When he didn’t fall flat on his face, he took another, and another.

While Falcon tested his legs, Mariah sat in her husband’s chamber, discussing the wounded man.

“Is he young?” Edmond asked.

“I believe so. Though his face is still somewhat swollen, he has the body of a young man.”

“Is he comely?”

Mariah shrugged. “It’s difficult to tell, but I believe his face will be pleasing to look upon once the swelling recedes.”