LITMIR.BIZ

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      “If you follow through with this plan, you will be taking everything away from them.”

      “I thought you did not fear death, Faucon? I thought none could beat you in battle? What trick do you now play?”

      Rhys laughed bitterly and then looked at Howard. “I play no trick. This trial by combat will be a farce. Guillaume du Pree’s holy man will arrange the combat, ensuring that success will be his.”

      “Surely you see the folly in this course of action?” Howard pleaded with Lyonesse. “Milady, please, you cannot permit this to happen.”

      Rage contorted her face. She stepped away from the door. “Permit it to happen? What do I care if his family loses everything? What about me? What about all I have lost already and stand to lose in a few short weeks myself? Where has your loyalty gone, Sir Howard?” Her voice rose with each question. “What do you care that we will be forced to leave Taniere? You will simply assume your duty under my father’s command. I will be left with nothing and Taniere will no longer be in my family’s possession.”

      Racing by a stunned Howard, she yelled, “I will not permit that to happen.”

      Rhys was ready for the woman who literally flew at him. Catching her unaware, he wrapped his arms around her to stop her renewed assault on his already injured chest. When he did so, Howard saw the dagger and paled.

      Rhys looked toward the door. Freedom beckoned. Tightening his grip on the dagger he drew his gaze back down to Lyonesse. He saw not the defeat of a vanquished foe, but the bitter agony of a young woman.

      Rhys held Ryonne’s daughter in his grasp. Ryonne was a trusted ally. Surely the man’s daughter possessed a small measure of his honor. He’d already seen a glimmer of her loyalty and honor. Had grief caused her to become irrational? Could he take advantage of her and still live with himself?

      So much had already been taken from her. Her betrothed. And soon her keep. No wonder she was at her wits’ end. Rhys could not take her pride. ’Twas all she had left. He would find another way out of this predicament.

      A sliver of light flashed across his face. The gleaming tip of Howard’s sword pointed at his face with unwavering accuracy. Rhys relinquished the weapon he held to Howard’s outstretched hand.

      Ignoring her halfhearted attempts to free herself, Rhys drew Lyonesse closer and held her face against his chest. “Hush.”

      Whispering meaningless words of comfort, his thoughts raced to his sister’s inconsolable grief at their parents’ graves. Compassion flooded his heart. He was stunned by the urgent need to comfort the woman in his arms.

      “Count Faucon. Nay, you must not. You cannot. ’Tis not seemly.”

      Without looking at the man, Rhys shook his head at Howard’s half-completed sentences. He also paid scant attention to the meager struggles of the woman he held against his chest.

      “Aye, you are correct, Howard. I should not.” His accusing gaze met the captain’s look of concern and illconcealed fear. “But do you not think someone’s lack of heart brought us all to this point? Why did nobody realize how du Pree’s death distressed your lady?”

      For an answer Howard stared at the floor.

      “Good lord, man, is there no one here who cares for your lady?”

      While the captain walked out the door and issued quiet orders to the guards, Rhys stroked Lyonesse’s back.

      Trembling fingers gripped his tunic. Her startling reaction surprised him. The warmth of tears seeped through the fabric of his clothing. Her choked sobs tore at his heart.

      After lifting her in his arms, Rhys crossed the room and sat down on the floor. Resting his back against the wall, he settled her on his lap.

      Gently, he pulled her tear-streaked face to his shoulder, coaxing, “’Tis all right, milady, I will not harm you.”

      He fought the warring of his head and heart. He needed to find du Pree’s murderer. His own carelessness had allowed this woman to capture him. He was probably foolish to relinquish his chance at escape.

      He should be angry. He should hate Lyonesse of Ryonne. But as illogical as it was, he didn’t. Against his better judgment, against all the memories his mind conjured, he felt something for this she-devil that he’d never felt before. Something in her pain and rage called out to his own.

      Her sobs lessened, but her tears still warmed his chest.

      He could not leave Lyonesse to live with her mistaken notion about him. Why it mattered, he did not know. Nor did he care to delve into any of his irrational reasoning this day.

      “Milady…Lyonesse, is there no one you can go to? Someone who will make you laugh? One who can bring a ray of sunshine back into your days?”

      She pushed against his chest. “No.”

      Rhys lifted her chin with the crook of his finger and stared into her liquid gaze. It glittered with a brilliancy that rivaled a chest full of gems. Drawn unwillingly into the sparkling treasure trove he leaned closer.

      The tantalizing scents of exotic spice and heady floral beckoned him still nearer. Their breath mingled, warm and moist between them. No more than a slight movement would bring their lips together once more. A space so close, yet more distant than the stars above.

      A strangled cry left her lips. “Unhand me.” She pushed against his chest. He winced at the pain. This time Rhys did not stop her struggle for freedom.

      Scrambling to her feet she pointed down at him. “You have taken away everything I had.” Her finger shook. “You destroyed every ray of sunshine I could ever hope to enjoy.”

      Rhys stood up and grasped her shoulders before she could flee. He didn’t try to keep his frustration from his tone. “Never have I denied taking another man’s life. But I am tired of being accused of a murder I did not commit.” He shook her lightly. “Listen to me. I have been on the king’s business for nigh on a full year.”

      Blood drained from her face, leaving behind a ghostly mask of disbelief and fear. Had he not been holding her so tightly, Rhys was certain she would have fallen.

      “No.” Her hushed gasp sounded more like a plea to his ears.

      “Yes.”

      Barreling through the doorway, Howard crossed the room and grasped Rhys’s forearm. “’Tis enough, Faucon. No more. Let her maid take her now.”

      Eager to be rid of this bewitching siren, Rhys released his grip on Lyonesse’s shoulders and allowed her maid to lead her away.

      Rhys silently watched the two women and Howard leave the cell. When he heard the key turn in the lock, he stretched out on his straw-filled pallet and stared at the ceiling.

      He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. It was imperative to his family that he complete his mission. It was imperative to his own well-being that he remove himself from the presence of this woman.

      And do it quickly before this emptiness he felt at her leaving became a regular occurrence.

      Chapter Four

      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

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