Falcon's Honor. Denise Lynn

for coin?

      Since she was the one who would do the using, Rhian felt lower than a whore. What was the penance for such wanton, deceitful behavior? At the moment, she didn’t know. But she doubted if it’d be anything pleasant. In the recesses of her mind, she wondered how long she’d burn in hell.

      Finally, the bindings came loose and she slid the long sleeves off his arms. “Bend over.” When he followed her bidding, she tugged at the armor until it finally slid over his shoulders and head. Too heavy and cumbersome for her to handle, she let it fall to the floor with a thud.

      He quickly released the bindings of the mailed chausses protecting his legs and tossed them atop the growing pile of armor.

      While he stood upright, Faucon peeled his quilted hacketon and sweaty woolen shirt off with one fluid swipe and tossed both on the growing pile. Relieved of the added weight of armor, he stretched and rolled his shoulders.

      Clad only in braies and boots, he worked his muscles. Rhian sucked in a sharp breath. Muscles rippled across his chest, bulged and relaxed in his arms and corded in his neck. She had assumed the armor and the clothing added bulk to his size. She’d assumed wrong.

      By the heavens he was larger than she thought. How in the name of God had he gotten that big? Surely he’d not been born twice the size of a normal babe. His mother would have died in childbirth.

      Rhian’s mouth went dry as she knelt to unlace his boots. He ran his fingers through her hair. She jumped at his touch and came eye level with… By all the saints she could not do this.

      But she had no choice. Her numb mind could think of no other way to defy the fate planned for her. She bit her lower lip before returning to the task at hand, but her hands fumbled with the laces. The sudden ineptitude brought tears of frustration to her eyes. Fine whore she would make.

      Faucon bent over and stayed her useless fingers. “Rhian, let me.” He released her, sat down on a bench and removed his boots.

      She stood, frozen in place, unable to think, or to move. Rhian felt his attention sweep over her before she hesitantly met his gaze.

      He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head before beckoning her with his forefinger. “Come here.”

      Somehow, as if in a strange dream, she found her feet taking her toward him. Slowly, like a condemned person walking toward her own death.

      Faucon pulled her down on his lap, held her against his chest and stroked her back.

      Several moments of silence passed before Rhian released a huge breath and relaxed against him.

      He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “We do not have to continue. If you want to cry hold, we can stop now.”

      Cry hold? Rhian frowned. Did she want to stop? Would that not be admitting fear? Admitting defeat? Since when did she let fear of a thing stop her? But would it not be a wiser move?

      This indecision would drive her mad.

      She turned to look up at him. “Just tell me if I need be afraid.”

      “I thought I was a devil you did not fear.”

      Rhian groaned. She had declared that, hadn’t she? “Perhaps I was a little hasty. Should I fear the devil I know?”

      “I cannot force myself to believe you would have ever considered so bold a move if you truly feared me.”

      Heat filled her cheeks. Rhian admitted, “’Tis not exactly you that I fear.”

      Faucon’s soft chuckle raced warm across her heart. “Your imagination is far-reaching. It is not as if I will impale and kill you.”

      At the absurd vision his words created in her mind Rhian had no choice but to laugh.

      Faucon tipped his head to one side, shot her a boyish-looking half smile before asking, “Would it upset you to know that I have not the vast experience you seem to believe I possess?”

      Rhian sighed. Then pulled up the skirts of her gown and turned around on his lap. With her legs astride his, she placed her hands against his chest.

      “Disappointed?” His deep voice rumbled up from his chest.

      Rhian smiled up at him. “Disappointed?” She shook her head. “Nay, Milord Faucon. I am relieved.”