Connie Mason (7 page)

Not that she ever could have been anything to him. She had Edmond, and Falcon had Rosamond.

“You must love Rosamond very much,” Mariah dared.

Falcon shrugged. “I hardly know her. The king chose her for me as payment for my years of faithful service to England. He promised to find me a wife who would bring me land and wealth. As third son, I’ve had to make my own way in life. The only way I can have enough money to provide for a family is to marry an heiress. Rosamond is perfect for me.”

He turned to leave, unaware of Mariah’s breaking heart. She followed him into the hall and trailed him up the stairs to the solar. They found Edmond sitting in a chair near the window, a blanket tucked around his legs.

“Mariah, Sir Knight, how did you know I was lonely? Sit down and make an old man happy.”

“I know who I am,” Falcon said without preamble. Edmond stared into Falcon’s eyes.

“Aye, I can see a difference in you. Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”

“I am Sir Falcon of Gaveston. My father is the Earl of Gaveston. I am a knight in King Henry’s service.”

Edmond stroked his chin. “I should have known you
were one of Gaveston’s lads by the color of your eyes. I’ve always admired your father’s golden tiger eyes. I knew him many years ago.”

“Sir Falcon is betrothed, and his bride-to-be is waiting for him in London,” Mariah revealed. “He is anxious to leave.”

“We will miss you, Sir Falcon,” Edmond said sadly. “Feel free to bring your bride to Mildenhall for a visit. Mariah will make you both welcome, will you not, my dear?”

One look at Mariah was all it took to remind Falcon of what he was leaving behind. He would never forget their nights of unbridled passion, the closeness that had grown between them. But as much as he might desire it, he could not remain at Mildenhall now that he knew where he belonged and with whom. He would always remember Mariah. How could he forget her? If not for his commitment to Rosamond and the king, he could remain here forever and be happy.

But his duty lay in another direction, and he never shirked his duty. “May I borrow a horse, my lord?”

“Of course, take any mount you fancy. Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you. Mariah, might I have a private word with you?”

Mariah followed him out the door and into the corridor. “I’m sorry, Mariah.”

“Don’t be,” she said brightly. “I knew you would regain your memory one day. As your body healed, so did your mind. Now you know where you belong, and it isn’t here.”

How could she sound so cheerful when it was killing
him to bid her good-bye? “I will never forget you. I will always think of you with affection.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.

“We were never meant to be, Falcon. You have your life and I have mine.”

“I’d best be on my way.”

“Aye. I wish you and your betrothed many years of happiness.”

He stroked her cheek with the back of her hand and then let his arm drop back to his side. Mariah wanted to cringe away. His touch felt like that of a stranger, even though she knew him as intimately as a woman can know a man.

“Farewell, Sir Falcon.”

Falcon stared at her for the length of a heartbeat, and then walked away. He wanted to kiss her good-bye but knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Everything had changed the moment he reclaimed his identity. Falcon of Gaveston had had many women, he remembered that. But Mariah was more than just a woman he had bedded and discarded. Mariah was . . .

A woman he had to forget if he hoped for happiness with Rosamond.

London hadn’t changed in his absence, Falcon thought as he entered the city. He headed directly to Whitehall, expecting to find Rosamond waiting for him. The first person who recognized Falcon nearly fainted at the sight of him.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Sir Albert Melrose croaked when he recovered his aplomb. “We searched for you from Norwich to London and back again. Where have you been?”

“Lost in a fog,” Falcon said dryly. Falcon and Sir Albert were comrades in arms but had never been friends. The knight was too full of himself for Falcon’s liking. “I’ll explain after I see the king.”

“You’ll have to go to France to see him,” Sir Albert replied. “He left with his army two days ago.”

“Why are you still here?”

He sent Falcon a sly smile. “I just recently married. The king gave me leave to escort my wife back to our estate. I plan to join him in France at a later date.”

Apprehension churned in Falcon’s gut. “What lady did you wed? Do I know her?”

“Aye, my bride is Rosamond of Norwich.”

Falcon glared at him, his face stony, his eyes darkening from gold to murky brown. A muscle at his temple twitched, the only sign that he’d heard Sir Albert’s words. “You lie!” he hissed. “Rosamond is
my
betrothed.”

“You’re supposed to be dead, remember? Once the search was called off, I offered for her and her father accepted. You’re not the only knight who longs for a piece of England to call his own. My bloodlines are as good as yours; the Earl of Norwich saw no reason to return home without a husband for his daughter and asked Henry to sanction the marriage.”

Falcon lunged at him. He might have killed Sir Albert had Rosamond not appeared at that moment. “What are you doing to my husband? Take your hands off him, sir!”

Falcon turned at the sound of her voice. Rosamond staggered backward. “Falcon! This cannot be. You are dead.”

Falcon gave her a mocking bow. “As you can see, my lady, my death was grossly exaggerated.”

Beyond speech, Rosamond merely stared at him.

“What happened to you?” Sir Albert asked, keeping well out of Falcon’s reach.

“I was attacked by bandits and left for dead. I awoke hours later at Mildenhall Castle, severely injured and without a memory.”

“Mildenhall Castle? I’ve never heard of it,” Albert mused.

“ ’Tis off the beaten path, but it could have been found had the search for me been more thorough. Who was in charge of discovering my whereabouts?”

Albert cleared his throat. “I was. After a sennight, we concluded that you had been attacked by bandits after you left Norwich. We believed you’d been slain, and your body devoured by wild animals.”

“How convenient for you,” Falcon sneered.

“Even the king was convinced you were dead,” Rosamond interjected.

Falcon’s gaze sought his former betrothed. “Did you even wait a sennight to marry after I went missing? Did you even mourn me?”

“Pray do not speak to my wife in such a demeaning manner,” Albert charged. “If you wish to challenge me, do so and I will select my seconds.”

Falcon’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I will not lower myself by dueling over a faithless damsel. I will leave immediately to join the king in France.”

Turning on his heel, Falcon strode off, hurt and disillusioned by the shabby treatment he had received from his king and his friends. He no longer had a betrothed; the land he had been promised had been yanked from under him by a quirk of fate. He felt lost and without direction.

Briefly he considered returning to Mildenhall and claiming Mariah. But he discarded the notion as soon as it was born. He could not offer for any woman; he had naught to offer. Furthermore, he suddenly realized that he was fiercely angry at the Earl of Mildenhall and his daughter. Why hadn’t Lord Edmond sent someone to London to find out if a knight had been reported missing? The earl’s failure to do so was unforgivable. Falcon had lost a wife and an estate because of Edmond and Mariah’s negligence.

Falcon left Whitehall, fury and disappointment burning deep in his gut. He had a great deal to accomplish before he sailed to France. He had to let his family know that he was alive, and after that, he needed to collect his squire, who had charge of his war chest, and find out if he had enough money to outfit himself for battle.

Rosamond and Albert could go to the devil, for all he cared. What he yearned for now was a sword in his hand and someone to fight until the anger drained out of him.

London, five years later

The court at Whitehall had been in a jubilant mood since a victorious Henry and his army had returned from France two months earlier. With the forces of the French King Charles VI defeated, the triumphant Henry had forced Charles to recognize him as his heir. That had been a great day for England, a cause for prolonged celebration.

But once King Henry returned to London, he immediately became immersed in affairs of state. Petitions awaited him, many too complex to act upon without further investigation. To those petitions Henry assigned advisors to act in his stead. After giving one such petition considerable thought, he sent for Sir Falcon of Gaveston.

When Falcon received word that the king wanted to see him, he hoped the reason was that Henry had found another heiress for him to wed. Five years hadn’t erased the bitterness he harbored at losing Rosamond and her lands
to Sir Albert. And it still rankled that his supposed death had been so easily accepted by everyone, even his family.

Nor had Falcon forgiven Lord Edmond and his daughter for neglecting to seek information about him when he turned up at Mildenhall without a memory. But much could be forgotten and forgiven if Henry found him another heiress. Falcon still yearned for land to call his own, but only the king could grant it.

Falcon paused before the king’s privy chamber to compose his thoughts and slow his racing heart. He hadn’t felt this kind of excitement since he’d helped Henry win French lands for England. There was still more to be accomplished, but for the time being, the battles were over.

A guard opened the door; Falcon strode inside. He found Henry alone with his secretary.

“Ah, Falcon, come in, come in.”

Falcon approached the king and bowed. “You wished to see me, sire?”

“Aye.” Henry gestured toward a chair. “Sit down; you tower over me like some great bird of prey.”

Falcon perched on the edge of a chair, too nervous to be comfortable. Though he knew the king well, he felt more at ease riding beside him in battle than sitting beside him in his royal chamber.

“As you know,” Henry began, “I have been inundated with petitions and matters of state since my return.”

“I am well aware of your duties to the Crown, Your Majesty.”

“Aye, and it just so happens that you can help me.”

“Me, sire?”

“Indeed. In fact, I can think of no one more suited to handle this particular matter for me.”

Falcon’s spirits fell. “I thought . . . I hoped you had found an heiress for me.”

Henry dismissed Falcon’s words with a wave of his hand. “I am still assembling a list of eligible heiresses for you to choose from. While the search continues, a matter at Mildenhall needs attention—attention I have scant time to devote myself to at this time.”

Falcon’s heart pumped furiously. “Mildenhall, sire?”

“Aye. I remembered that you are familiar with Mildenhall and its inhabitants and thought of you immediately. I want you to go to Mildenhall and investigate a problem that has arisen there. You are to act as my surrogate and have the power to resolve the problem as you see fit. I will not dispute your decision, however you decide.”

Dismay stole Falcon’s ability to speak. He had no desire to return to Mildenhall and Mariah. Though he’d tried to forget, he had thought of Mariah often during the past five years. Indeed, he recalled everything about her worth remembering. The softness of her skin, the sky blue of her eyes, her passion, her lush red lips, the silkiness of her inner thighs—naught escaped his memory. She was probably wed by now, he thought. But even if by chance she was still single, she wasn’t for him.

To Falcon’s knowledge, Mariah possessed neither land nor wealth, for after her father died, the uncle she despised would inherit. Though it wasn’t right, it was the law of the land.

“What say you, Sir Falcon?” Henry prodded. “I will give you ten knights of your choice from my own army to help resolve the chaos at Mildenhall.”

Falcon’s heart lurched. Was Mariah in danger? “Perhaps
you should explain precisely what I am to do at Mildenhall, sire.”

Henry grew pensive. “During our sojourn in France, the Countess of Mildenhall gave birth to a son, although I don’t recall precisely when. Then, some time ago, Lord Edmond passed on to his reward.”

Falcon sent Henry a startled look. Though he regretted Lord Edmond’s demise, something did not ring true to him. “There is no Countess of Mildenhall. There is only Lord Edmond’s daughter.”

“I beg to differ, Falcon. I attended the wedding myself. Though the girl was young, she did indeed became Edmond’s wife.”

Confusion warred with logic inside Falcon’s brain. “I saw naught to convince me that Lord Edmond had a wife. I never encountered the countess during the weeks I lived at Mildenhall.”

Henry shrugged. “By your own admission, your brain wasn’t working right. Trust me, Falcon, Lord Edmond had a wife, and that wife bore him a son before his death.”

Falcon couldn’t imagine the frail old man he had come to know being vigorous enough to sire a child. “I assume there is more to the story.”

“Indeed. Sir Osgood Fitzhugh and his son Walter have questioned the legitimacy of the child. They claim Lord Edmond had been bedridden for years and was too ill to bed his wife. They accuse the countess of taking a lover and passing the child off as Lord Edmond’s heir.”

“I don’t know Sir Osgood very well, but I suspect he is eager to claim Mildenhall for his own.”

“Aye, you have the right of it. I cannot grant Osgood his wish without investigating, and that’s where you come
in. I cannot take the time to travel to Mildenhall to sort this out. I have been away from London and my duties too long to leave at this time.”

“I had hoped to visit my family,” Falcon hedged.

“I received a petition from the Countess of Mildenhall, asking for help. It seems that Sir Osgood has taken up residence in the castle, claiming to be Lord Edmond’s legal heir. She also claims that Sir Osgood is pushing for a marriage between her and Walter.”

From what Mariah had told him and what he knew about Osgood and his son, Falcon guessed the match would be pure hell for the poor countess. But for the life of him, Falcon couldn’t recall a countess. How could that be possible?