Falcon's Heart. Denise Lynn

a problem. As brash and bold as her brothers, Marianne of Faucon could end up being his biggest difficulty—unless he could quickly gain the upper hand.

      Bryce grasped her wrist and shook it until she dropped the knife. The small but lethal weapon thudded onto the dirt floor of the tent. He tried to intimidate her with a glare and suddenly wished she were a bit shorter. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his side, then said, “The next time you seek to kill me, I suggest you complete the task.”

      “Or you’ll do what?”

      By the saints above, what would he do? He furrowed his brows as he tugged her closer. “I could kiss you into submission.” He paused, giving the light in her eyes time to go from shock to outrage before adding, “Perhaps it would be safer for both of us if I were to simply truss you like a stag.”

      “You would not dare.” She tried backing away.

      A sleeve of her gown hung in tatters. While securing her with one hand, he tore a strip of fabric free, wrapped it around her wrists, then tied it off and smiled. “I would dare much more, but this will suffice—for now.”

      Marianne stared at her wrists as if trying to make sense of what had just happened. She twisted her hands to no avail, succeeding only in chafing her flesh. Then she tried plucking at the bindings with her teeth. Again, her efforts were futile.

      Finally, she hung her head and held out her arms. “Please, my lord, I will cease tormenting you, if you will but free my hands.”

      He wanted to believe her, but Bryce had an inkling she was simply lying to get her own way. The sound of booted feet walking by the tent quickly made him choose. He took his dagger out of its sheath and slid the shiny blade through the cloth. “I cannot help but wonder what this stupidity will cost me.”

      As soon as she was free, Marianne tried shoving him away. It was comforting to know his suspicions were still functioning well. She pushed at him again, catching his wound with the heel of her palm. He gasped at the sharp jab of pain.

      She stepped back and stared at him for a heartbeat before nearly crying, “Oh, my lord, you are bleeding.”

      “For the life of me I can hardly imagine why.” Sarcasm was not his usual way of dealing with inane comments of the obvious, but there was nothing usual about this day thus far.

      “That is where I stabbed you.”

      He quelled the urge to nod in agreement and at the same time swallowed his retort. Instead of making her appear the fool, he pointed at a jug by the cot. “What is in there?”

      Marianne crossed the floor and retrieved the jug. “‘Tis the most bitter wine to ever exist, but it will serve the purpose.” On the way back, she picked up the eating knife from the floor. At his loud sigh, she quickly assured him, “To cut bindings from my gown.” Once she returned to his side, she pushed his cloak from his shoulders. “Undress.”

      “Such an inviting offer, my lady.” Bryce took the knife and jug from her hands. “After you.”

       Chapter Four

      Marianne nearly choked on her sudden gasp for air. “After me?” Her rescuer was beginning to prove more dangerous than her captors.

      Ashforde shook his head. “I apologize. That was unwarranted. ” He studied the tent flap. “As much as I truly appreciate your offer to bind the wound you made, we have not the leisure.”

      Her own glance toward the flap assured her that no one was in the entryway. “There appears to be no lurking danger.” She hacked off a strip of her gown and held it out to him. “This will not take long.”

      He grasped her wrist and pulled her toward the back of the tent. “They are pacing before the flap. Now that you have told them your brother will see them dead, they cannot risk letting you return to Faucon.” After slitting the tent wall, he held it open. “If you wish to leave here in one piece, head straight toward the forest. I will be right behind you.”

      She hesitated, not certain whether to believe him or not. The shuffling sound of footsteps near the front flap hastened her decision. Marianne ducked out of the opening and as quickly as her tired body would move, dashed for the cover offered in the dense growth of the forest.

      “Here, this way.” Ashforde strode past her, leading them off to the right and to a waiting horse.

      He pushed her unceremoniously up onto the saddle and guided her hands to the beast’s mane. “Hang on.” Without sparing her little more than a glance, he took the reins and led them deeper into the woods.

      Marianne gripped the coarse hair with all her might. Now that she was finally off her feet and not quite as worried about her immediate safety, she could feel the exhaustion of her body. The parts of her body that did not ache, burned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, drank or even slept for more than a few hours.

      When he slowed down to assess his bearings, Marianne licked her dry lips. “Do you think I could have a drink?”

      He looked up at her. “There’s a stream just a short way from here. We will be there shortly.”

      Sunlight broke through the foliage. The shimmering brightness rippled across his ruggedly handsome face, creating an unworldly glow from his eyes.

      She stared into the ice-blue depths and searched her suddenly empty head for an answer. The combination of anger and fear had partly clouded her vision in the tent. But now, without the blinding need for bravado, she could clearly see him. And what she saw took the breath from her body and all logical thought from her mind.

      His blue eyes were the shade of a winter pond’s frozen surface—and just as transparent. Ashy-colored lashes created a frame that made the spellbinding gaze only more intense, more piercing.

      He didn’t just look at her—he seemed to peer into her very heart and soul. In that instant, she felt as unkempt, vulnerable and exhausted as she must appear.

      “I…um…very well.” In an attempt to coax her tongue to form coherent words, she dropped her gaze. “I can wait.” Never in her life had she felt so ill at ease and inept around a man. And with the number of men coming and going from Faucon, she had been around a great many. She wished for the earth below her to somehow open and swallow her whole.

      “Are you all right?” Concern laced his words.

      Good Lord above, the man would soon think she was addled. Not that she blamed him after her senseless response. But a little worry on his part might be just what he deserved for the way he’d handled her in the tent.

      If she answered him, he would hear the amusement in her voice, so she merely nodded. When he turned and adjusted the reins in his hands, Marianne did her best to swallow the laughter bubbling in her throat, but some of it escaped.

      He looked at her over his shoulder, his soul-searching eyes narrowed. “You are amused?”

      “A little.” Marianne shrugged. So much for hiding her laughter.

      He resumed their journey with a smothered curse. It was cruel to let him believe she was not whole and hearty. He had threatened to truss her like a gutted stag. It would serve him right to live with his worries and thoughts for a time. But she was unable to be that deceitful.

      “I am not addled.”

      “So you say.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      Without halting their progress, he said, “I find it interesting that someone in your position would consider this amusing.”

      “You said you posed no threat.”

      “And you believed a complete stranger? Do you not find that a mite foolish?”

      She found it more than a mite foolish—and before he had the opportunity to realize what she was about to do, she unclamped her fingers from the horse’s mane, sent a quick silent