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“You’re a new one. Haven’t seen you before. Have you come with another foul-tasting potion?”
She shook her head. “I came at your father’s request. From America. My name is Felicity Andrews. Daughter of your father’s old friend Rob.”
He visibly relaxed. “How is Father? Honora told me he’s at death’s door.”
“Not quite. Nor are you,” she added.
“I might as well be. Condemned to this bed for the rest of my life. To a Falcon, being a cripple is worse than death.”
She glanced at the covers that hid his legs. “Have you tried to walk?”
“Right after the accident. I went down like a stone.”
“And since?” she prodded.
He shrugged. “I seem to recall walking. But then I wake up in bed and realize it’s all just a foolish dream.”
“What else do you dream?”
“More foolishness.” He looked away, ashamed to meet her eyes. “I dream of an old love, looking as young and beautiful as when we were children, whispering…” He stopped, embarrassed at having revealed so much. “The dreams are cruel. But not as cruel as reality. Reality, Miss Andrews, is the knowledge that I shall never again leave this bed.”
“What if I told you that was untrue? That your dreams weren’t dreams at all?”
He held up a hand to stop her. “If you’ve come to add to my misery…”
“Take my hand, William.” She held it out to him. “See if I speak the truth.”
For long moments he stared at her outstretched hand, and she could see the warring of emotions. Doubt. Fear. A slowly darkening anger at the cruelty of her suggestion. But in the end, determined to settle the issue once and for all, he reached for her hand. A true Falcon, and adventurer to the end.
He flung back the covers and swung his legs to the floor. For several seconds he sat still as his head swam. Then, taking a deep breath, he gripped her hand firmly and prepared to stand.
Just then they heard the opening of the sitting room door. Felicity let out a groan of disgust. “You must lie down, William. And whatever you do, don’t mention my visit. They musn’t know I was here.”
She pressed him into the pillows and pulled the blanket over him, then replaced the chair at its original position before slipping into the wardrobe.
Through a crack in the door she watched as Dr. St. John sailed into the room, followed by Honora.
“I’ve brought your medicine, William,” the doctor said, holding a vial of dark fluid aloft.
“No. No more,” came the muffled voice.
“In a bit of a temper this morning, are we?” It was Honora, her tone shrill and sarcastic.
While Felicity watched helplessly, Honora lifted William’s head off the pillow. Ian St. John brought the vial to his lips and forced the liquid down his throat. William made a choking, gasping sound, then fell silent.
A short time later, after they’d gone, Felicity stepped from her place of concealment. The man in the bed lay in a stupor, his eyes blank, his body limp.
Outside William’s room she felt the shimmer of heat that always accompanied Gareth. She paused, waiting for him to reveal himself.
“You play with fire. If you’re not careful, you’ll get burned. They nearly caught you in William’s room.”
“I had to see if my hunch was correct. But now that I know that Ian and Honora are drugging William and his father, I need to know why they wish them dead.”
Gareth shook his head. “You are more innocent than I thought, little happy face. Can you not see? Ian covets not only Falcon’s Lair but William’s wife as well.”
“Does Honora feel the same way about Ian?”
“Aye. She only married William for his money and title. With him out of the way, Ian, as the only other living heir, will inherit. That has always been the true curse of the Falcons. It is not our love of adventure or the fact that most have died young. The curse is that those who least deserve to inherit desire it most—and will do whatever is necessary to achieve their evil goals.” He motioned for her to follow. “Come. You must see for yourself.”