The Falcon's Bride (5 page)

“This is just the sort of willful defiance I’m speaking about,” he snapped, buffeting her to a standstill. “You will not dictate to me. Not to
me
! You will do as I say, Theodosia. You will speak when you are spoken to, and stay in your place—or I shall be forced to put you in it however needs must.”

“Just as you did last night—humiliating me in front of my brother? In front of the servants and your mother? She is horrid! A harridan! Why not teach
her
some manners
while you’re about it. She would benefit greatly from a lesson or two in how to treat guests in her home.”

“Ahhh, but it
is
her home, Theodosia.”

“I will not respond if you continue to address me thus. You know how I despise that name.”

“Oh, you’ll respond all right,” he growled, yanking her against him again, his fisted hands clamped around her upper arms. Their strength was bruising even through the thick fur. “You will respond indeed, my little spitfire.”

He lowered his mouth again over hers, forcing his tongue between her teeth and nearly choking her with it, despite her muffled cries and her tiny fists beating him about the head and chest. Terror washed over her in sickening waves. She’d never seen this side of him. She was no match for his strength. All at once she realized that he could hoist her off her feet and toss her over the curtain wall in a trice. All that came to mind was the lightskirt’s murder. Had he killed her in a fit of passion as he’d been accused, after all? In his arms now, at the mercy of his rage, she was convinced that it was a distinct possibility.

Had his father’s money bought his acquittal? Was that the reason the earl had been so quick to broker a marriage arrangement with her father—to see his wayward second son settled in the Irish wilds under his mother’s thumb before some new scandal surfaced? Was that why he wasn’t even going to attend the wedding? It was more than likely. There had been rumors of something unwholesome having occurred in Spain as well.

Thea wrenched her head aside and panted, “Let me go, you brute, or I shall scream this house down!”

But she didn’t get the chance. Out of nowhere the falcon came, diving at incredible speed between them. Batting Thea away with its slate gray wings, it drove its sharp, hooked beak straight for Nigel’s eye. Screaming as the
great bird tore his flesh and beat him about the head and shoulders with its wings, he released Thea with a shove that sent her sprawling on the cold stone floor of the battlements underfoot.

Blood was everywhere—on Thea’s hands, her face, on the soft chinchilla fur pelerine. Nigel was covered with it, struggling with the bird, its talons trying to rip that which it could not bite.

Scrambling to her feet, Thea screamed, and the falcon flew off in a fit of flapping frenzy, its harsh voice like a victory cry echoing back on the wind.

Blood was pouring through the fingers Nigel held over his eye. He’d gone down on one knee, his head bowed, his moans siphoned off on the wind. Thea scanned the sky for some sign of the bird, but it had vanished. Had the creature come to her defense? It certainly seemed so, and she took a sudden chill recalling the legend, the Gypsy’s words and the bird that had visited before at her chamber window last night.

“Get up from there and let me help you below, before that hawk returns,” she charged, tugging at the sleeve of Nigel’s caped greatcoat. “Such birds are dangerous. The scent of blood will bring it back! And do not hold your head down like that. The blood will flow all the more. Nigel! Have you heard me?”

Only his moans replied as he swatted her hand away, and she flew toward the recessed stone stairwell that led below. “Stay down, then!” she cried. “I will fetch help.”

What followed was a screaming scene of mass confusion as Thea ran through the castle halls collecting servants to assist her. The countess’s shrieks soon joined the noise, and her maids took her in hand while James rode to Oldbridge for the surgeon. Three footmen carried Nigel to his chamber, and the housekeeper promptly banned Thea
while all worked to stop the bleeding with pressure compresses made of bandage linen. It was just as well. So many emotions were vying for attention in her that she needed time to sort them out.

She wasn’t given long. James returned in less than an hour with the surgeon, and took her to the drawing room to wait for his report. Beside herself over the damage to her son’s handsome face, the countess had retired to her chamber with smelling salts and herbal tinctures brewed by Cook to blunt the edges of her upset. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mabley, the housekeeper Thea had not met until the crisis, was hard pressed running back and forth between the two patients. Still, she promised to come at once or send the doctor with news once he’d seen to Nigel upstairs.

“What happened up there, Thea?” James asked, offering her a cordial from a decanter on the sideboard.

Thea waved the glass away. “A bird,” she said. “A falcon, I think. It swooped down and attacked Nigel—dove straight for his eye. Nigel had hold of me. We were quarrelling and he . . . he . . . It tried to push me out of the way with its wings, James. Stretched out full measure, those wings had to be nearly four feet across. There was so much blood. . . .”

James looked surprised. “Hawks usually do not attack humans without provocation—unless they are starving or obeying a command from their master.”

Thea shook her head. “It couldn’t have been hungry. The grounds are overrun with rabbits and squirrels. Their tracks are everywhere in the snow, and there wasn’t another soul in sight as far as the eye could see.”

“You weren’t harmed?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“What color was this creature?”

“His head and neck were jet-black, his wings slate gray
with a bluish tinge at the tips. He had a buff-colored throat, and his breast was streaked with black. The streaking was heavier and crosswise on its underbelly. He was a beautiful creature, with the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen on a bird. They almost looked human.”

“If you weren’t harmed, how did you get that bruise on your lip there?”

Thea’s hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t even noticed the swollen lip crusted with dry blood Nigel’s teeth had caused. No wonder Mrs. Mabley gave her such a shocked look earlier. And that was the least of it. Thank the stars the worst of his ravages were hidden from view.

“Well?” James asked.

“That was my fault,” she said, averting her eyes. “I challenged his . . . manhood. You see how he behaves with his mother, and he . . . took exception.”

“
Nigel
did that?” James said. “Don’t tell me I’ve got to call him out now, Thea. Outstanding!”

“I hardly think it need come to that. He’d been drinking, and—”

“At this hour?” James interrupted, clearly angry. “What the deuce were you doing up there alone with him in the first place? You know better, Thea!” Just brief intervals un-chaperoned until the wedding, and then only when servants are likely to be close by.

“Tell that to him! He took me up there to lecture me about my inconsiderate behavior in this house, and . . . things went beyond the pale. I think that’s why the bird attacked him. You know, I really believe it was trying to come to my rescue.”

“Stuff! Birds don’t gallant ladies in distress,
men
do. By god, if I’d been there . . . !”

“Well, you weren’t there, and despite what you say I think this bird did, James.”

“Zeus, girl! You’ve gone and put me in the position of having to challenge a one-eyed man!”

“Oh! You don’t think . . . Oh, James, no . . .”

He waved her off with a hand gesture, and raked his hair back roughly. “I shouldn’t have said it. Forgive me, little sister. We must hope for the best, of course. You’ve addled me with all this. I never did like the chap—not really. That charm of his is too sweet to be wholesome, as Grandmama used to say.”

“Tell me you won’t challenge him. Promise me!”

“You do love him after all, then?”

“No! It’s you I love. I only have one brother, and I love him too dearly to risk him in a foolish duel, of all things. Now promise me!”

He scowled. “This speaks volumes to your confidence in my shooting skills,” he said at last, his mouth crimping in a lopsided smile.

“Don’t tease. Things are too grave for that now.”

James fell silent. “Very well,” he acquiesced. “I shall forgive him this once. But just this once, mind, as you say he’d been bending the elbow—though he hardly looked foxed to me. If anything of the sort occurs again, he’ll feel the sting of my glove on that handsome face of his. You can bet your blunt upon that.”

Thea would have said more if the doctor hadn’t entered at that precise moment. She rose to her feet and reached out to James, who slipped his arm around her in support. Setting his valise down on the drum table beside the door, the portly little physician helped himself to a cordial from the decanter resting on the sideboard, downing it in one swallow.

“I couldn’t save the eye,” he said, pouring another. “ ’Twas too cleanly severed.” He wagged his head. “A bird you say? A falcon, was it? In all my years, I’ve never seen the like. Its talons ripped the flesh halfway down his
cheek—nasty sight. It’s spoiled that handsome face of his. He’s lost a good deal of blood, but I’ve stitched him up and he’ll mend well enough with rest and tending. Mrs. Mabley’s got her marching orders. She’s an able nurse, and if I’m needed you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Dr . . . ?” Thea queried.

“McBain,” the man replied, sketching an awkward heel-clicking bow due to his rotund circumference and the effects of the cordials he’d swallowed. “Dr. Timothy McBain at your service, miss.”

“His mother will have to be told,” said James, “and I’d really rather not. We are on such short acquaintance, and—”

“Not another word, young son,” said the doctor, raising his hand. “I’ll do it.” He took up the decanter. “But I’ll have another of these first. I’m well acquainted with the countess.”

He tossed back two more glasses before he quit the room, and James turned to Thea. “Look here, you didn’t even ask the man if you could see Nigel,” he said. “Don’t you think you should?”

“No, I don’t want to see him . . . at least not now,” she replied. “But there is something I do want, and I need your help, James. None here will humor me, and I don’t know why, but it’s important.”

“What might that be?”

“Tomorrow is the solstice. I want to see the passage tomb at sunrise.”

“Newgrange? What ever for?”

“I just do. I asked Nigel to take me, but he refused, and he couldn’t now in any case. But you could, James. There’s a sleigh in the stables. Could you have it readied before dawn and drive me round?”

James balked. “I suppose I could—but I don’t know as I should, Thea. If the countess finds out . . .”

“Oh, bother the countess! What? Am I a prisoner here? You may as well say yes, because if you don’t, I shall walk.”

“Ohhh no, little sister,” he said, “not while that bird is loose out there. The countess is certain to demand that it be shot down, and if not, I shall take on that task myself.”

“No! Do not dare harm one feather on that bird’s body!” she cried. “It’s scary, but . . . if it hadn’t come when it did . . . Well, never mind. Just don’t harm it. You know how I have always championed helpless creatures.” It was a half-truth. Aching from Nigel’s cruel embrace, she secretly feared she may have need of a champion again.

James gave a mighty guffaw in which there was no humor. “I’d hardly call that creature ‘helpless,’ love,” he said.

Thea grimaced. “Will you take me, or not?”

“I think you’ve got attics to let, but I will, if that’s what you want.” James sighed. “When have you ever known me to deny you anything?”

“Good! Don’t let on to anyone, not even the servants. Not even the stabler, until we’re ready to leave.”

“Very well, then,” said James with a wag of his head. “I just hope we shan’t live to regret it.”

Chapter Four

Thea could hardly contain herself until morning. She knew it was foolish, but considering the strange events of the past twenty-four hours, she couldn’t help wondering if the legend mightn’t be true, that Ros Drumcondra would appear when light flooded the chamber at the burial mound and win back his castle from the insufferable Cosgroves. It
was
supposed to be a passageway between the living and the dead, after all. And she had seen him in her chamber, hadn’t she?

It was madness, of course. But madness or not, the very air she breathed was palpable with a strange haunting essence of something from another time. Whatever that something was, it had captivated her waking and sleeping, like a pulse beating deep down inside that gave her no peace. That scandalous, rapturous thrumming in the blood those smoldering Gypsy eyes had set loose upon her had left her longing for more. That alone might prompt this excursion in the predawn darkness of the winter solstice.

Could she be forming a
tendre
for a ghost? Such a thing was hardly sane, and it showed the stark reality of her unhappiness in her current predicament. This was a fantasy she might indulge in, and the Gypsy’s words—
ye are the Falcon’s bride
—kept coming back to haunt her, heaping fuel on the fire flared to life at her very core.

Yes, something shockingly sexual had been happening to her since she’d entered the castle, and Nigel Cosgrove had nothing to do with it. Ros Drumcondra was a fantasy made to order. What harm could it do to air dream about a virile Gypsy warrior long gone to his reward or his torment? None that she could see. When she let herself, she could almost feel those strong corded arms around her, crushing her close against his hard muscled chest. She could feel the heat of his lips upon her own, and the warm puff of his breath upon her skin. She would not confide her secret fantasy to her brother—he would never believe or approve—but she would not dismiss it either.

She hadn’t been to see Nigel. Deep down, she felt mildly responsible for what had happened. Not that she wished such a thing upon him; she wouldn’t wish anything so horrible on anyone. But just as deep down, she was convinced that if something hadn’t interfered, she might have come to serious harm at the hands of a man who evidently had little or no regard for women. That fostered fears that the accusation against him involving the lightskirt might be true after all. If that were so, she was not safe with him, nor would she ever be.