LITMIR.BIZ

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way, he was still a murderer.

      A living and breathing murderer.

      Lyonesse frowned. She’d not expected this predicament. When she and John planned this revenge, there’d been no talk of what to do when Faucon was brought to Taniere. The only lengthy discussion was where to bury the body.

      The body she’d not so carefully tended a short time ago. It had taken three men to hold Faucon while she poured Helen’s sleeping draught down his throat. Gentleness had not been on her mind while she’d cleaned and stitched the gash in his side and seen to the bruises and cuts on his face and neck.

      “Milady, do you require help?” Howard called out as he entered the small tower chamber that served as Faucon’s cell.

      “No, Howard, all is well.”

      The way her captain dogged her every step around Faucon was almost laughable. In less than one day, the keep’s active grapevine had already begun to grow. Too many people already knew she was using this tower chamber as a cell—and they knew who she held prisoner.

      Little more than a fortnight past, Lyonesse had left her father’s keep at Ryonne in a hurry. She’d wanted to leave before he returned from the king’s service and could stop her. Since she’d not had time to find her own work force at Taniere, many of his servants were in attendance. She’d not risk killing Faucon with so many of Ryonne’s people about. Tongues would wag. Regardless of her reasoning, her father would not take kindly to her form of vengeance.

      She could bide her time. After all, she’d captured the mighty Faucon, had she not?

      Howard cleared his throat. “Milady, do nothing rash.”

      Lyonesse turned to face him. She opened her mouth and then quickly bit back the stinging reply so ready to fall from her lips. Howard’s worried expression twisted her stomach with guilt. “Howard, upon my honor, I will not kill this man today.”

      He peered down and studied her face for a moment before warning, “Keep an eye out for Sir John. I do not think he will give up quite as easily.”

      Why Howard did not trust Guillaume’s man was something Lyonesse would never understand.

      Howard nodded toward the bed and asked, “Will he die of his wounds?”

      “Nay. His wounds were minor. ’Tis Helen’s concoction that keeps him asleep.” When concern etched even deeper lines in Howard’s face, Lyonesse pushed him to the door. “Go. Faucon will suffer nothing more severe than an aching head.”

      She waited until the captain left before returning to the bedside to 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

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