for me?”
Sir Everett nearly fell off the cliff at the unexpected question. Since Faucon’s arrival, he had met King David’s man in the woods, not out here in the open.
“Nothing with any meat.”
“No? Then you are not giving your responsibilities enough attention.”
The man stepped closer to him, knowing full well that if Everett moved, it would take him to the beach in one long fall.
“Faucon’s men are a closed lot. They fear giving any information away, so they say nothing at all.”
“Let me make this easier for you. I want to know how many men are in Faucon’s company, how well armed they are, how long they plan to remain at Thornson.” He grasped the front of Everett’s tunic and continued. “And I want to know their plans for Thornson’s replacement.”
Everett fought to ignore the chill racing up his spine. He glanced to his left, down at the beach far below, and answered, “Yes, my lord. I will see to it.”
The man released him. “You do that. And quickly, before the next shipment arrives.”
Darius wiped the sweat from his brow. The fire hadn’t lastedlong, but the damage was much more than minor. It would take a few days to repair the gate tower. In the meantime, he would assign more men to this gate.
“How do you think it started?” Osbert asked from behind him.
Darius turned around and glanced at his man’s side. “Where is Marguerite?”
“In her chamber.”
“Are you certain of this?”
Osbert shrugged. “Aye. She vowed to go there and remain while I assisted you.”
“You have been here this whole time?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And she has been alone this whole time?”
Osbert’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. You don’t think she would…she wouldn’t dare.”
A curse escaped his mouth before Darius sprinted toward the keep, Osbert right behind him. “Get two horses ready in case she did dare.”
Osbert veered toward the stable as Darius continued on to the keep. He raced through the Great Hall and up the stairs to Marguerite’s chamber.
Before entering, he paused to catch his breath. If she was not inside this room, he would need all the patience and strength of will he possessed to keep from strangling the first person he encountered.
He pushed the door open and stepped through the entry way into the chamber.
His shouted curses at finding it empty brought Bertha to the doorway. “My lord?”
Darius whipped around and grabbed the maid by the arm. “I thought you had gone to be with your sister.”
Bertha shook her head. “Not with the fire. I might have been needed.”
He did not believe her excuse for a heartbeat. “Where is your mistress?”
Bertha peered around his body “She is not here?”
“Woman, do not play games with me. Where is she?”
“I do not know, Lord Faucon.” The maid shrugged. “The last time I saw her, she was with you.”
Her attitude bordered on nonchalance and made him realize that Marguerite had obviously told the maid not to be afraid of him. A normal servant would be cowering beneath the glare he directed down at her.
Darius needed this woman to understand that while she did not need fear for herself, perhaps she should fear for her charge. He grabbed her other arm and shook her. “Tell me where she is, or I swear to you I will beat her senseless when I do find her. I am sick of her lies and will tolerate them no longer.”
Bertha’s eyes widened. “You will not harm her if I help you?”
He choked. The maid dared to make a deal with him? “I promise you only that she will live.”
Bertha chewed on her lower lip and stared up at him. Finally, she nodded. “She is in the village. She does nothing wrong, my lord.”
“In the village where?” He released her.
“She will be either in the cemetery, or in the woods nearby.”
That made little sense to him, so he asked, “What is so important there that she risks my anger and possibly her own life to thwart me?”
Bertha shrugged. “Since you are going to discover it for yourself, I do no harm by telling you. She goes there to be with Marcus.”
He thought he’d been angry before. He’d been certain that he’d reached the limits of his ire a time or two in the past.
He’d been wrong.
What filled him now was a pure rage so hot, so violent that it clouded his vision, and his thoughts, with a red haze. He strode toward the door, adjusting his sword belt and vowing, “Your lady may live, but her lover will not.”
Bertha rushed after him, shouting, “No, my lord Faucon, you do not understand. Marcus is not—”
Darius slammed the door in her face, cutting off the rest of her words.
Without stopping, without a single glance left or right, he marched out of the keep, into the bailey and silently swung himself up on his horse.
“My lord?” Osbert met his hard gaze and shook his head. “Nothing. It will wait.”
The two men rode through both baileys and out of the gates. They crossed the open field, following the narrow road toward the village.
With each fall of his horse’s hooves, Darius willed his anger to cool. It would do him no good to be blinded by rage when he met this Marcus. Battles were not won by those who lost their senses.
And he would win this battle. He cared not what Marguerite, her father, the Church, or even the king thought or said about the matter. As far as he was concerned, their marriage was fully binding, and with God’s grace he would end this charade tonight.
He knew the how of it. What he could not understand was the why.
It was not for love. That had been killed and effectively set aside years ago. It had nothing to do with lust. That was something any woman could provide.
He needed to understand the why—else it would be nothing more than another charade perpetuated by his own pride.
While he had missed her gentle touch, the taste of her lips on his, the sound of her voice, the very scent of her skin, there was something else that drove him to this madness. Something inside of him ate at his gut, tore at his heart. And he knew not what.
It was as if his soul was aware of something that he had yet to discover.
Something he needed to uncover before he went completely mad.
Darius raced through the village, thankful those in his path quickly gave way. He slowed his pace only when he reached the hilly fields on the other side of Thornson’s demesne lands.
With a hard yank, he brought his lathered horse to a stop, pulled his sword from the wooden scabbard hanging at his side and looked across the field, to the cemetery.
Osbert caught up with him and stopped alongside. “Darius.”
His captain’s winded voice held a note of censure. Darius looked at him and tried his best to reassure the man. “I will not harm her. But I cannot promise to let her lover live.”
The captain reached out and briefly touched Darius’s shoulder. “I cannot stop you from doing what you must. But think on this first. Do not let jealousy rule your sword arm.”
“It