The Falcon's Bride by Dawn Thompson Read Free Book Online

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.
    The old sleigh, rickety for lack of use since it snowed so seldom, was hitched for stealth without bells to two fine horses that were speeding downriver toward Newgrange before the first light of day.
    “I hope you know what we’re doing,” James said as they neared the menhirs on the verge of the mound. “It doesn’tlook as though anyone else shares your passion for trudging