Falcon’s Desire by Denise Lynn

Author:Denise Lynn
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“...Guillaume.” This time it came out as little more than a ragged whisper.

All the voices merged into a single incoherent mumble. The hall spun—walls moved faster and faster until they were but a blur. The floor buckled beneath her feet. Then darkness enclosed her within its, confusing hold.

When the world came back into view, she found herself in Rhys’s arms. How had she come to be there? Had she fainted?

Uncertain, Lyonesse looked up into his eyes and was taken aback by the concern she read there. Concern and something else, something stronger—what?

Before she could question the strange emotion, another’s hand gently grasped her wrist as if to pull her from Rhys’ s hold.

“Release my betrothed.”

Blood rushed through Lyonesse’s veins. Guillaume! It had not been a trick of Satan. He was truly here.

She struggled to regain her footing and pulled out of Rhys’s arms. Before reaching for Guillaume, she took one look back at Rhys and nearly gasped at the pain tearing through her chest. There was no time to question these reactions, no time to sort out the emotions ripping through her—not when Guillaume stood within sight.

She stared at him, seeking to reassure herself it was truly Guillaume.

Blond hair reached beyond his shoulders without one curl falling out of place. The facial hair he’d grown to hide a birthmark on his cheek had begun to take on a reddish hue, but its precision cut—ending three fingers below his chin—was the same.

His long, lean frame, a little thinner than she remembered, was clothed in brilliant blues and reds that he’d always loved.

When he reached toward her, Lyonesse noted the spotless, trim fingernails and knew for a certainty she saw Guillaume.

She reached out to touch the vision before her. Certain the moment her trembling fingers found what she sought, the apparition would disappear. She would be left touching nothing but air, nothing but the memory of a dream.

Instead of a formless mist, her fingers met flesh and bone. He grasped her hand and at his touch, Lyonesse nearly fell into his arms with a cry. “Guillaume.”

“Yes, Lyonesse, ‘tis I.”

She stroked his familiar face, staring into the blue eyes she’d thought never to see again. “You were dead, lost to me forever.”

“Never dead, but lost for a long time.” He held her hands and dropped to one knee. ‘Tell me I am not come too late. Tell me you have not given your heart or pledge to another.”

“Du Pree.” Before she could respond, her father pushed his way through the crowd and pulled Guillaume to his feet. “What is the meaning of this? What trickery is afoot?”

“Father!” Lyonesse wanted to shake her sire. “I am certain he will explain all.” Still clinging to Guillaume’s hand, afraid he would again disappear if she let go, she asked, “Can you not be happy that he is alive and with us now?”

King Stephen stepped through the people gathered about them. “We are all gladdened to see Master du Pree breathing, child.”

Lyonesse knelt before the king. “Thank you, Sire.

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