Connie Mason (27 page)

He found the hem of her skirt and slid his hand beneath it, raising the material as his fingers skimmed along her leg and thigh.

“I want to make love to you, Mariah.”

He caressed her stomach as he lifted her skirt higher, baring her lower body to his avid gaze. “I wish I could see you more clearly. One day soon, sweeting, I will have you naked beneath me in a soft bed where no one will disturb us.”

Mariah gasped when he sifted his fingers through her feminine hair, seeking the tender folds of her womanhood.

“Lower your bodice for me—I want to taste your breasts.”

Mariah didn’t hesitate. Once she’d freed her breasts, Falcon’s mouth fastened on a nipple, sucking, licking, teasing the tender bud fully erect. Then he shifted his attention to the other nipple, lavishing the same attention on it. When she moaned and arched against him, Falcon’s mouth left her breasts, gliding over the smooth skin of her belly to her weeping center.

His tongue slid between the succulent folds, savoring the sweetness of her passion. He could taste her forever, but fear of discovery and lack of time made that impossible.

“Falcon . . .” His name whispered from her lips on a long sigh.

With great reluctance, he lifted his head from the vee between her legs. “I know, love, I feel the same things you do. I’d like to draw this out longer, but we cannot linger here.”

He scooted upward, lowered his body flush against hers and kissed her. She responded eagerly, her mouth opening beneath his, tongues tangling, breath mingling.

Falcon broke off the kiss; she looked up at him. The planes of his face were taut with passion, his eyes stark with need. He fumbled with his hose, and then his rampant
sex sprang free. “Open your legs for me, love.” His voice was harsh, grating, his breathing erratic.

Her legs fell apart; he settled between them, fitting his loins in the cradle of her thighs. “Take me, Mariah. Take me now.”

Shaking with need, Mariah felt the rigid length of his sex pressing against her thigh. She wanted him inside her, needed to feel his strength. Reaching between them, she clasped his staff and brought it to her throbbing center. She felt the tip penetrate her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed all of him.

Grasping his buttocks, she arched upward, forcing him deeper. But he still wasn’t deep enough. “Falcon, please.”

“Aye, love, we shall please each other.”

Flexing his hips, he drove himself to the hilt, filling her completely. Mariah gave a satisfied sigh as she moved in tandem with his forceful thrusts, raising her hips high to take everything he had to offer, just as she gave him her all.

Mariah soared, heat seared her; she was afire, from her breasts to her loins. Her breath caught, nearly stopped altogether as her body grew rigid. Then the contractions started, followed by pleasure so physically powerful, so glorious, that she cried out Falcon’s name.

Falcon covered her lips, taking her cries into his mouth as his own climax exploded through his body. He stiffened, shuddered, and emptied himself inside her. Mariah accepted the comfort of his weight as he collapsed against her, holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go.

Falcon lifted himself away from her. “As much as I would like to lie here with you, I cannot, love. If I don’t return to camp soon, Sir Dennis will send out a search party. You’ll come with me, of course.”

He rose, lifted her to her feet and adjusted his hose. Then he helped her fasten her bodice and smooth her skirts into place.

“I cannot go with you,” Mariah said, startling Falcon.

“What in damnation are you talking about?”

“I must return to Mildenhall. Osgood holds Sir Martin and my people hostage. Their lives are at risk.”

A mixture of anger and frustration made Falcon’s voice harsh. “I won’t let you return. You can’t go backward, only forward.”

“Listen to me, Falcon,” Mariah pleaded. “I instructed my guardsmen and allies to rendezvous nearby to plan their strategy for reclaiming Mildenhall. If I return to the keep, it won’t be for long. Now that you’re here, our victory is assured. Once my guardsmen arrive with reinforcements, Osgood cannot hold Mildenhall. He will be forced to surrender.”

“I know that, but have you considered what might happen to you in the meantime? Don’t you realize Osgood will take his anger out on you, and might even kill your people in retaliation? Nay, Mariah; you’re coming with me and that’s final.”

Though Mariah saw the wisdom of Falcon’s words, she still felt as though she were abandoning those she’d left behind at Mildenhall.

“Stay here while I fetch your horse and my sword,” Falcon ordered.

Consumed with guilt and worried for her people, Mariah turned away from Falcon and began fidgeting with her hair, smoothing it into some semblance of order. If she had to face Falcon’s men, she wanted to look presentable.
A slight noise behind her did not trouble her. Nor did approaching footsteps, for she assumed they belonged to Falcon.

She whirled to confront him; she wanted to try one last time to convince him to let her return to Mildenhall. “I still think I should—”

Rough hands seized her shoulders. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, lady,” a gruff voice growled into her ear.

Panic-stricken, Mariah flinched away from the man whose punishing grip dug hurtfully into her soft flesh.

“You!”

“Aye, me,” said the mercenary. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? I told you before that Sir Osgood wouldn’t accept failure. I know not who struck me, but I am convinced it was your guardsman—the man I just killed.” He grinned. “He’ll never raise a sword to anyone again.”

“Where is . . .” Color drained from Mariah’s face. Was he referring to Falcon? “What did you do to him?”

“Never mind him. He’s dead. He cannot help you.”

Mariah screamed, pounding him with her fists. “You killed him, you scurvy beast?”

“ ’Tis no more than he deserved.” He covered her mouth with his hammy fist, stifling the screams she had hoped would alert Falcon’s men. “Sir Osgood was wrong to free your guardsmen. Trusting you was another of his mistakes.”

As he started to drag her back toward the road, Mariah saw Falcon. He was sprawled on his stomach on the ground, as still as death, a trail of blood seeping from beneath him. A kind of madness seized her as she tried desperately
to free herself. But the mercenary merely laughed at her puny efforts. She did, however, manage to free her mouth.

“Wait! Maybe my man is still alive. Let me tend to his wounds.”

“Nay, lady. If he isn’t dead, he soon will be. My blade pierced his heart.”

Nay, Falcon couldn’t be dead. “How did you find us?”

“I have good ears. I heard voices.”

Though Mariah struggled fiercely, she was no match for the mercenary. He dragged her through the forest to the road where he had tethered his horse. He pitched Mariah into the saddle, untied his mount and leapt up behind her.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Back to the inn. You’ll be there when Sir Walter arrives to fetch you. Say your prayers, lady, for he will deal harshly with you.”

“How will he deal with
you
when I tell him you fell asleep on guard duty and let me escape?”

The man’s jaw clenched. “But you haven’t escaped, have you?”

Mariah had no answer to that. Inside she was crying for Falcon. He couldn’t be dead. Wouldn’t she feel the loss in her heart if he no longer lived and breathed? Sadness overwhelmed her. Was Falcon to die an ignominious death alone, without a friend beside him to lend comfort? Nay! Sir Dennis would find him, she had to believe that. And if God was good, Falcon’s injury wouldn’t prove fatal.

The one thought that cheered her was the mercenary’s failure to correctly identify Falcon. He thought Falcon
was one of Mildenhall’s defenders, and she hadn’t corrected him.

If Falcon died, a part of her would die with him. She would never forgive herself for not telling him the truth about his son. Ruthlessly she drove the thought of Falcon dying from her mind. He would live—she refused to believe otherwise. He was strong, his strength and her prayers would save him.

Dawn was breaking as they reached the inn. Dame Helen’s mouth flew open when the mercenary dragged Mariah inside. Master Maypole held his wife back when she would have gone to Mariah.

“My lady, what happened?”

Mariah warned Helen with her eyes to say naught.

“The witch escaped from her room,” the mercenary spat. “I don’t suppose either of you know anything about it?”

“How could we? My good husband and I were in our bed. We just arose to begin our day.”

“Has Sir Walter arrived?”

“Not yet,” Maypole answered.

“Did I hear my name?”

Mariah groaned as Walter entered the inn.

“What’s going on?” Walter asked.

“Lady Mariah attempted an escape,” the mercenary replied. He sent Mariah a smug smirk. “She didn’t get far.”

“I thought you were smarter than that, Mariah,” Walter chided. He shoved Mariah toward the door. “Shall we go fetch Robbie now?”

“Wait!” Helen cried. “Lady Mariah hasn’t broken her fast.”

Walter sent Dame Helen a sour look. “Very well, you may prepare food if you do it with haste.”

Helen scurried into the kitchen. Walter shoved Mariah into a chair and addressed the mercenary. “Is there anything else I should know before you return to the keep, Hugo?”

“Lady Mariah made contact with her guardsmen; I killed one of them. I doubt they will cause any more trouble.”

“I know they won’t.” Walter smirked. “I brought an escort along. Father was wrong to free Mariah’s guardsmen. You may leave, Hugo. Tell Father I’ll return soon with the boy.”

Mariah said naught as Helen arrived with fresh bread, butter, ham and eggs. Mariah pushed her plate aside; concern for Falcon had stolen her appetite.

“Eat,” Walter ordered. “We need to be on the road. I want to have your brat safely returned to Mildenhall by nightfall.”

Mariah picked at the eggs and ham, spread butter on a thick slice of warm bread and nibbled.
Are you alive, Falcon?
she silently lamented.
Please be alive
.

“Eat, my lady,” Helen urged as she set a pot of tea before Mariah. “You need your strength.”

Heeding Helen’s words, Mariah chewed and swallowed without really tasting the food. After drinking two cups of tea, she settled back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. She might as well get this over with.

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to take you to Robbie,” she said with a calmness that belied her racing heart.

Walter rose so abruptly, his chair fell to the floor with a
clatter. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course you’re going to take me to your son. You promised.”

“I lied.”

Walter was so furious that all he could do was sputter and shake his fist at Mariah. “Bitch! Lying bitch!” When he raised his arm to strike her, she didn’t flinch, expecting violence from him. No matter what he did to her, she wouldn’t risk her son’s life by placing him in Osgood’s hands.

Father Francis, bless his soul, appeared at the bottom of the stairs, saw what was about to take place and cried, “Stop! God will punish you if you strike her.”

Walter wavered, but Mariah could tell by his expression how badly he wanted to hurt her. The priest hurried to Mariah’s side, placing himself in front of her. He stuck out his chin.

“You’ll have to strike me first. ’Tis the only way I’ll let you hurt Lady Mariah.”

Walter’s fist remained clenched; he didn’t lower it. Mariah feared he would hit the priest and tried to push him aside, but he remained steadfast.

“Father, please—he’ll hurt you if you don’t move away.”

“He’ll hurt you if I
do
move away.”

“I’ll give you one more chance, Mariah,” Walter warned. “Take me to Robbie.”

“Nay, she will not!” the priest answered in her stead.

“Never!” Mariah echoed. “How do I know you don’t mean Robbie harm?”

“You don’t,” Walter snarled. “Move away, priest. I’m taking Mariah to my father. He’ll deal with her more harshly than I will.”

“I shall accompany Mariah,” the priest argued.

“Nay, Father, I’ll be all right,” Mariah assured him. “I’d rather you checked on my wounded guardsman. You’ll find him about a mile south of the village, lying in a small clearing in the forest, a short distance from the road. He may be dying.”

Walter laughed. “Aye, priest, go minister to the man Hugo killed. ’Tis what you do best. Mariah’s fate is in my father’s hands.”

Father Francis searched Mariah’s face. He must have seen the desperation in her eyes, for he stepped aside. “Very well, but I’ll expect you and your father to treat Mariah like the lady she is.”

“Please, Father, go,” Mariah begged. “Take Edwina with you.”

The priest watched helplessly as Walter dragged Mariah from the inn, lifted her onto his horse and mounted behind her.

“Master Maypole, may I borrow a horse?” Father Francis asked.

“There’s not a horse left in the stables,” Maypole apologized. “Mildenhall’s guardsmen took them.”

“Then Edwina and I shall walk. Mariah was determined that we help her defender. Would you please fetch Edwina for me, Dame Helen?”

He strode out the door, surprised when he saw a saddled horse calmly walking into the stable yard. “Master Maypole,” he shouted, “whose horse is that?”

Maypole came running from the inn. “That’s Lady Mariah’s horse. I did wonder what happened to him. My wife told me my lady was mounted when she left.”

“Ask and God will provide,” the priest said piously, making the sign of the cross.

Maypole collected the horse’s reins and brought him to the priest.

“I am here,” Edwina cried as she left the inn carrying a small wooden chest. “Dame Helen provided me with her medicine chest in case the poor man is merely wounded instead of dead.”

The priest mounted the horse and nodded toward the innkeeper. “Edwina can ride behind me. Would you please help her mount, Master Maypole? It seemed important to Mariah that we find the wounded man.”

Edwina handed the chest to Father Francis, and then Maypole helped her scramble up behind the priest. A nudge of the priest’s heels set the horse into motion. As they cantered down the road, the priest told Edwina what Mariah had said about the wounded man’s location.