that she had not noticed him.
Osbert broke the deafening silence by softly stating, “You did not know.”
“Nay.” Darius shook his head. “How could I? No one has said a word about Thornson’s child.”
How had she hidden this from him? Where had the child been? Why had no one at the keep mentioned a word about a child? Not even in hushed whispers. They didn’t so much as ask about his whereabouts.
At that moment the child jumped up from Marguerite’s lap and drew her to her feet. They danced around a few of the crosses, before Marguerite pulled the child into a hug.
Darius’s horse whinnied, catching the attention of Marguerite and the child. The youngster turned around and stared at both men.
Osbert swore. Darius nearly fell from his horse, the blood draining from his head in shock. He now knew what his heart and soul had been hiding from him.
Chapter Five
Marguerite heard the horse’s whinny. With her heart in her throat and a silent prayer on her tongue, she looked up at the men. Her first impulse was to swoon, her next to run. But where would she go? She and Marcus were out in the open on foot. Darius would catch them long before they made it to the cover of the forest.
Osbert’s curse rasped against her ears. She cringed and tightened her arms around Marcus.
Too soon. Darius had discovered her absence too soon. Just a few more precious moments and she’d have taken Marcus back to Hawise and John in the village.
Surrounded by Hawise’s six raven-haired children, the boy would have been safe, hidden in the open, Faucon none the wiser.
What would he do now? She studied Darius intently. At first he’d appeared to be shocked. His complexion had paled, his eyes had widened.
Now, as he held her steady gaze on his approach, he narrowed his eyes. When he was close enough, she could see the unsteady tic in his cheek.
As he drew nearer, his attention shifted to Marcus. Marguerite could not help but wonder at his thoughts as his gold-flecked hazel eyes met the gold-flecked hazel eyes of her son—their son.
Oh, dear Lord, she’d sworn not to break this vow to Thornson. Her entire adult life had been built on a lie of her husband’s making. And she’d never once objected.
How could she object, when keeping the lie meant security, safety and love?
The men stopped their horses little more than an arm’s length in front of her and Marcus.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Osbert’s near whisper mirrored Marguerite’s thoughts. In the end, her lie most likely would damn her. Merciful Lord, let it not condemn Marcus to damnation, too.
Marcus tipped his head and looked up at Osbert. “Do you not know that swearing is a sin?”
“Is it, now?” Osbert acted surprised. “Thank you for making me aware of that, Master…what is your name?”
The boy lifted his chin a notch more. “Marcus. I am Marcus of Thornson.”
Osbert slid down from his horse. He studied the boy from head to toe, then a broad smile lit his face.
His easy recognition only strengthened Marguerite’s resolve to keep anyone else from seeing Marcus and Darius together.
Osbert squatted to Marcus’s level. “Well, Master Marcus, I am honored to meet you.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Sir Osbert of Faucon. And how many years are you, Marcus?”
The boy held up all the fingers on one hand, while looking at Osbert’s horse. “Is that your horse?”
“Why, yes, it is.”
“He is big.”
“Not that big.” Osbert straightened and snapped his fingers. “Why, I bet a fine young man like yourself could sit atop him with no trouble at all.”
Marcus twisted against Marguerite’s hold and looked up at her, his eyes alight with anticipation. Marguerite sucked in a shallow breath before pleading, “Osbert, do not harm him.”
Osbert jerked upright as if he’d been struck. “You know me better than that, my lady.”
She pulled her son tighter against her.
Marcus struggled briefly against her hold. “Mama?” He stared up at her, fear replacing the anticipation.
“Do not frighten him.” Darius leaned forward. “It is unnecessary.”
Frighten him? Nay, Marcus had no cause to be afraid. It was her own fear that held her back. If she let him go with Osbert, would she ever see her son again? Marguerite shook her head.
“No. I cannot let you take him.”
“Take him?” Osbert’s dismay was evident in his voice. “I only offer to let him ride my horse, that is all.” He looked at Darius. “My lord?”
Darius dismounted, wrapped his reins around a wooden cross and held Marguerite’s stare. “We need to talk. Let the boy go with Osbert.” When she made no move to release her son, he added, “Do not make me force this issue.”
He was right. They did need to talk. Marguerite took her arms from around her son and ran her fingers through his long black waves before releasing him completely.
Darius looked down at Marcus, then motioned toward Osbert. “Go for a ride. Sir Osbert will see that you are safe.”
Marcus dashed to Osbert’s side, obviously eager to get atop the horse. The captain swung the boy up into the saddle and walked alongside, one hand on the boy’s waist and the other with a firm grip on the horse’s rein.
Marguerite and Darius stared at each other in silence. Darius wondered if the thoughts and emotions running through her mind and body were as confused as his own.
Osbert and Marcus completed two circles around them, and when they came by Darius the second time, Osbert cleared his throat. “Obviously the two of you would like to be alone to share this moment of total silence together. Master Marcus and I will be over in the field teaching this horse a thing or two.”
Marguerite wiped at her tears and turned away.
Darius stepped forward and pulled her hard against his chest. Countless words rushed to his throat. He swallowed, trying to decide what to say, what to ask first.
Finally, he choked out, “What have you done?”
She shook against him, her sobs muffling her voice. He cradled her head against his chest.
“Marguerite, crying will not help.”
When she heaved a sigh and regained control of herself, he asked again, “What have you done?”
She remained in his arms, speaking into his chest, “I thought only to protect my son.”
“Your son? I am fairly certain you did not create him alone. I do not think anyone could deny who fathered him.”
“Thornson is his father.”
“Why do you lie? Thornson is dead. And that boy is Faucon through and through.”
She stiffened against his chest. “He is Thornson’s son.” Her voice rose with each word. “He is Marcus of Thornson.”
“Shh. Hush, Marguerite.” Darius ran a hand down her back, seeking to calm the hysteria apparent in her voice.
Odd, now that he should be angry with her and at all that she had taken from him, Darius’s main thought was that she did not feel threatened. He rested his chin on her head and gently swayed from side to side.
“Why