The Falconer's Daughter - Liz Lyles Page 0,56
her resolve. “Yes,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I accept.”
“So be it.” Don de la Torre rose. “I shall send word to his lordship. On behalf of Duke Pedro Fernando, I give you this ring, as binding a commitment as the marriage vows.” He reached for her hand, the Earl on one side, the Castilian on the other. As the ring was pushed over her knuckle onto the softness of her skin, Cordaella heard her uncle say a soft but fervent ‘Amen.’
*
“NO!” HE PACED the length of the parapet furiously. His cloak sailed behind him, snapping in the biting wind. “I cannot believe it” He shoved his hand through his hair, ruffling the long blonde strands that were badly in need of a cut. His jaw was dark with the shadow of a two-day-old beard. “For the love of God, Cordy, don’t tell me you agreed.”
“I had to, Philip!”
“No, not yet, you didn’t.” He swung around, charging at her. “A thousand lashes would have been better than sweet acceptance. How easily you acquiesced.” He couldn’t hide his bitterness.
“That’s not true.” She was freezing, the late November air frigid, the wind blowing steady and cold. “Please, Phil, let us go below. I am miserable with the wind.”
“Is that all you feel? I wish I were so lucky.”
“You’re not being fair!”
“What does justice have to do with it?”
“Everything.” She fought to keep her cloak from blowing over her shoulders. “You must realize that I had no other choice. I must answer to your father. He is—” and she hated the wretched expression twisting Philip’s face “—my guardian.”
He took a step towards her, grabbing her against him. His arms were thin but binding, his fingers tight on her forearms. “I will die,” he said, burying his face in her hair, “here, without you.”
“What do you say?”
“God forgive me, but I love you. I love you better than I love myself,” he whispered, his voice wracked with pain. “I won’t let him send you away. My father is selfish, and terribly greedy, but this, this—”
Cordaella hugged him. “Hush, Philip! It has been decided. You know I must go.”
“But I love you. I want you.”
She pulled back to touch his cheek with her hand, his beard scratching the softness of her fingers. “And I love you, my good Philip, but as friend. As a brother. Nothing more.”
“You don’t have to love me, Cordy. Just let me take you away from here. Let me help you!”
“Your father would never forgive you. And so I can’t let you.”
“But if you didn’t have a choice?”
“A choice?” Her heart thudded uncomfortably, wishing she could explain to Philip about her determination to avenge her father’s death. Wishing that she knew how to put into words her plan, and the plan meant leaving here, leaving Peveril and Philip for Castile where her future husband lived, powerful, more powerful than the Earl. Someday she would have everything and he, Eton, would have nothing. “Listen to me, Philip,” she said, her tone firm, almost hard. “I have accepted the proposal. I wear the ring now. Yes, hear me.” She caught his face between her hands and held his chin so that he had to meet her gaze. “I am going to sail at the end of next summer. Do not, I beg you, muster any defense on my behalf. I could not bear the grief of losing you too. I would much rather have you alive and distant, than dead.”
“Fernando is a monster, Cordy,” Philip said more quietly, his gray eyes the same shade as hers. His arms had dropped to his side, his sword still sheathed. The wind blew his hair, a lock of it falling in his eyes. “How can I see you sail away?”
She brushed the stray strands of hair away. “Don’t watch,” she whispered, hugging him one last time. “Do not watch, do not listen. Don’t think about it.”
“I would do anything for you.”
“Oh, Philip, I know.”
Read on for a preview from
The Falconer’s Daughter: Book II
Liz Lyles
© 2015
SHE COULD FEEL his shadow, if that were possible, his tension tangible. Cordaella clenched her hands in her skirts, hiding the press of nail into her palm. More games. He was again playing with her, he the cat, she the mouse. Would it always be like this?
“What do you want me to see, my lord?”
“I want you to tell me how you see me.”
She forced her tone to remain light, almost indifferent. “But I can not see you,