Connie Mason (31 page)

“What about Osgood and his son? Are we going to let them get away?”

“There is nowhere they can go but to their manor in Southwold. I know where to find them when I am ready. And so will the king. He will learn of Osgood’s treachery when he returns to London.”

The servants poured from the keep to greet their deliverers. Falcon searched among them for Mariah.

“Where is Lady Mariah?”

The servants looked at one another in confusion. Horace stepped forward as their spokesman. “No one has seen her since Osgood confined her to her chamber without food or water.”

“What!” Falcon exclaimed, his face taut with rage. “I should have killed the bastard.”

“My lady disappeared from her chamber,” Horace continued. “Osgood’s men searched everywhere for her.”

“Did they find her?”

“Nay, they did not. My lady slashed Walter with a meat knife,” Horace said. “Caught him in the cheek, she did.” The man’s smile told Falcon just how much he and the others hated Osgood and his son.

“Damnation! Did Walter hurt Lady Mariah?”

“Nay, though he probably would have had she not disappeared while Walter lay unconscious. You’ll have to ask Sir Martin to show you her hiding place, for he’s the only one who knows. We all knew that he carried food and water to her.”

Relief combined with a measure of dread slammed through Falcon. “Thank God Lady Mariah was unharmed.” He paused, reaching for words to reveal Sir Martin’s fate. “It saddens me to say that Osgood killed Sir Martin.”

A great deal of wailing and wringing of hands followed Falcon’s words. A few women sobbed openly.

“Does anyone have any idea where Sir Martin could have hidden Lady Mariah?” Falcon asked hopefully.

Blank faces met his words. Apparently, no one knew where Mariah was hidden.

“Sir Osgood won’t return; you have naught more to fear from him,” Falcon assured them. “Spread the word. The crofters are free now to come and go as they please.”

“What about our lady and the little earl?” Horace asked.

“Robbie is safe. I intend to send a man to fetch him and his nursemaid home immediately. Lady Mariah
will
be found, you can depend upon it.”

The search for Mariah began immediately after Falcon and Sir Maynard thanked their allies and bade them farewell.

Mariah had sat in her tiny room, listening to the sounds of battle. Though she could see naught from the window but trees and hills, she could hear far more than she wished. She wanted desperately to leave her sanctuary but remembered
Sir Martin’s warning about remaining concealed until he came for her.

Later that day she heard men moving about in the nursery and Becca’s chamber. Someone opened the wardrobe door. She held her breath, fearing discovery. Then the wardrobe door closed, and Mariah forced out the breath she’d been holding. If Osgood had been driven from Mildenhall, where was Martin? Why had no one come for her?

Mariah paced . . . and waited. She munched on an apple and drank the last of the water Sir Martin had provided. Darkness filled the tiny chamber. Looking out the narrow window offered scant comfort, for she could see naught of what was happening inside the keep. Mariah shivered. The chamber was cold; she wrapped herself up in a blanket and lay down on the cot. Finally she fell asleep.

The next day was much like the one before. She heard movement in the nursery, but no matter how much she wanted to reveal herself, she could think of a hundred reasons why she should wait for Martin.

The worst scenario was that Falcon was dead, and Osgood still held the keep. Martin hadn’t actually seen Falcon, which worried Mariah. If Osgood still held Mildenhall, he might be preventing Martin from coming to her. Would she know in her heart if Falcon were dead? That horrible thought nearly doubled her over in pain. Nay! She could not relinquish her faith. Falcon was alive and doing all in his power to reclaim Mildenhall for Robbie.

Mariah heard the church bell chime Sext. It was noon,
her stomach rumbled. She was hungry and thirsty. The last of her food and water was gone.

Mariah paced endlessly, fretted endlessly. Thirst plagued her. She could bear the hunger, but not the thirst. Where was Martin? Darkness invaded the chamber. Martin hadn’t supplied her with candles for fear the light would be seen from the outside, so she sat in the dark and imagined the worst.

Mariah couldn’t sleep. Intuition told her that something terrible had happened to her steward. He would not leave her without food or water unless something dire had transpired. It was late, very late, no noises filtered up from the hall below. Unable to stand another moment of not knowing, Mariah slid open the panel and emerged from the wardrobe into stygian darkness.

The sound of silence was music to Mariah’s ears as she felt her way around the furniture to the door. With utmost caution, she opened the door and peered into the dark corridor. No one lurked about. Hugging the wall, she inched along the corridor to the stairs.

She heard naught, saw naught to indicate who held the keep.

Step by careful step, she made her way down the staircase, hoping that her midnight foray would help her discover whether friend or foe held the castle. And she was desperate to find food and water.

Mariah reached the solar and stopped to gather her courage before continuing.

Falcon burned with frustration. Two days of frantic searching had yielded no sign of Mariah. The crofters
hadn’t seen her; she was nowhere in the village. Edwina had returned to the keep and appeared as perturbed as Falcon. She knew of no secret place Mariah could be hiding. Falcon had been sleeping in her chamber in order to be on hand should she decide to return on her own.

Falcon believed the answer to Mariah’s whereabouts rested with Sir Martin in the cold grave they had dug for him. Falcon had scarcely slept since he had reclaimed the keep for Mariah. He had searched every wall in the castle for secret passages and found naught.

Where are you, Mariah?

Falcon sat in the chair before the hearth, but the blazing fire did naught to warm the chill in his heart. He had to find Mariah. Robbie needed his mother.

Falcon stared into the flames, fingers tented, his mind whirling in all directions when he heard a sound, barely audible: it was more an awareness, or expectancy. Anticipation slammed into him. He rose, snatched up his sword and approached the door. Someone was creeping toward his chamber.

He heard the sound again, this time identifying it as the soft shuffle of footsteps. His senses raced to high alert as he flung open the door. A shadow shifted, halted. He heard a small, breathless sigh as he pounced on his hapless victim. His arm curved around a slim waist, his fingers sinking into tender feminine flesh. Her hair brushed against his face as he dragged her into his chamber. He’d recognized her scent immediately.

He closed the door with his foot and dropped his sword, turning her in his arms so he could look at her.

She met his gaze with unbridled joy. “You’re alive! I prayed so hard for it to be true.”

“Where have you been? We’ve looked everywhere for you. God’s eyes, Mariah, I’ve been worried sick about you. Why did you wait so long to show yourself?”

She touched his face. “It really is you. Sir Martin found a hiding place for me after Walter attacked me. He told me to remain hidden until he came for me.”

Falcon’s face showed a myriad of emotions. “Did Walter hurt you?”

“Nay, he did not. I slashed his face with a meat knife. He fell and hit his head on the bedpost, knocking himself unconscious. Sir Martin arrived soon afterward, saw what I had done and found a hiding place for me. We both feared Walter’s wrath.”

“You are amazing.” Falcon grasped her hands, led her over to the fire and guided her into a chair. “Your hands are like ice. You must be thirsty and hungry.”

“More thirsty than hungry. What happened to Sir Martin? Why didn’t he come for me?”

Falcon left her for a moment to fetch a cup of water. He handed it to her and she drank thirstily. “I’ll send for some food.”

“Nay, do not waken anyone now. I can wait until morning. Something terrible has happened to Sir Martin—I can feel it in my bones.”

Falcon knelt beside her and folded her hands in his. “Sir Martin is dead. Osgood killed him. Osgood’s mercenaries deserted him when they realized they were outnumbered. Your enemy had no choice but to flee with them. They left through the postern gate before we could seal it.”

Mariah swallowed hard. “How did Sir Martin die?”

“He died a hero’s death, Mariah; that’s all you need to
know. If not for him, we wouldn’t have known you were unharmed and out of Osgood’s reach. Without that knowledge, we could not have begun the siege for fear that Osgood would harm you. We buried Sir Martin in the family plot. I hope you approve.”

Mariah nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Aye, I do. He was a good and loyal man.”

Falcon lifted her to her feet. “You’re still shaking. You’re safe now, love. Osgood will never return. He might find it expedient to leave the country before the king returns.”

“I thought you were dead,” Mariah whispered. “I was afraid I would never see you or Robbie again.”

“I sent for Robbie and Becca. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

They stared at one another. Tension radiated between them, a tension born of desperate need, a need that relentlessly drew them together despite all adversity. Then she was in his arms. He was not sure who had taken the first step; it didn’t matter. He only knew they needed each other, and that need was too explosive to wait.

Mariah shuddered and closed her eyes. Wanting was such a fierce emotion. She wanted Falcon, but would he want her after she told him the truth about Robbie?

“Falcon, there’s something I need to tell you,” Mariah said.

Falcon didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Mariah filled his senses. He felt the immediate reaction of his body to hers, the swirling whirlpool of desire that overrode speech. No words were necessary at a time like this. He felt her quickened breath, and his body grew rigid. He wanted to touch and be touched. He wanted to love her.

“Words can come later, love.”

His mouth claimed hers; his tongue prodded her lips, urging them to open to him. As she readily acquiesced, he explored and teased, overwhelmed by urgency. He broke off the kiss and placed her hand over his heart.

“Can you feel my heart pounding? I cannot begin to describe how desperate I was to find you, or how afraid that I never would. With you in my arms I can think of naught but carrying you to bed and making love to you.”

Taking both of her hands in his, he led her to the bed.

“Falcon, I want that, too, but first I must tell you—”

“Nay, later, sweeting; my need is too great.”

He swept the rich thickness of her hair from her shoulder
and pressed his lips against the silken flesh of her neck, and then against the pulse beating at the base of her throat. His lips plied their magic on her while his hands made short work on the lacings of her gown. The gown tumbled to her feet and her shift followed as his lips claimed hers. He reveled in her response; the growing pressure of her hands on his shoulders and her glowing eyes proved she wanted him as ardently as he wanted her.

He kissed her passionately as he edged her backward. When the back of her knees hit the bed, he urged her down and knelt at her feet to remove her shoes and stockings. Then he stood and removed his doublet and shirt.

“Oh, your wound,” Mariah cried when she saw the puckered raw edges of Falcon’s healing wound. “It must have hurt terribly.”

“You sent Edwina to me. Without her I might have died. But I didn’t. You can see for yourself how well I am healing.”

Mariah watched in awe as he finished undressing, revealing splendid muscles and rippling bronzed flesh. She knew she should try harder to make Falcon listen to her confession, but her mouth was too dry to repeat the words. She would tell him later, once their desire for each other had been sated. All the fear and hesitancy she felt concerning Falcon’s reaction to what she was going to tell him exploded in raw need. She wanted his love. She wanted his heart. She wanted him deep inside her. They would be at one with each other for perhaps the last time before he learned the truth and turned away from her.

Falcon joined her on the bed. Leaning over her, he licked her stomach, his lips moving lazily upward to nuzzle her breasts and suck her nipples. Mariah trembled like
a leaf in a freshening wind. The peaks of her breasts had hardened into pebble-hard buds, exquisitely sensitive to the touch of Falcon’s mouth and tongue. Her nails curled into her palms as his tongue laved and teased and caressed the elongated nubs.

There was a brief moment when he claimed her lips that Mariah wanted to stop him and blurt out her secret, but all thought ceased when he plundered her mouth with his tongue, delving, seeking, demanding.

A pulse pounded in Falcon’s head and in his groin as he pursued his purpose with unrelenting passion. Mariah was his. How dare Walter assault her! How dare he try to force her to wed him against her will!

He tore his mouth from hers. Positioning himself between her sweet thighs, he used his mouth to begin a slow exploration of her body, tasting every hidden crevice, every tempting curve. He strung kisses along the inside of her inner thigh to the plump petals of her sex. He parted her gently and bent his head to take the firm little bud between his lips and suckle it.

He kept up the pressure until Mariah clung to him, beseeching him, demanding that he fulfill the promises his hands and mouth had made.

“Do you mean to devour me?” she cried.

“Aye, in tiny morsels. Do you object?”

“Nay, not if you let me do as I please to you.”

Lust rolled through him. “I can hardly wait, sweeting.”

Then he returned to his luscious feast. His lips found the soft hollow of her throat. He could feel the pulse throbbing excitedly beneath his mouth. His pulse marched to the same cadence as hers.

He rolled onto his back, drawing her atop him. His
hands caressed the length of her, brushing over sensitive flesh. Then he grasped her waist and lifted her up so that her breasts hung over his face. Raising his head slightly, he licked and nipped at her nipples. A tiny moan slipped from her lips, followed by a gasp as he sucked hard upon them, each in turn.