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

that something had happened to him. Though his presence was always alarming, he brought an odd facet of comfort as well. All day she’d worried over his absence. What if he never came? What if she were to be left at the mercy of those that, without him to prevent it, would surely slit her throat as easily as look at her? Or worse? Finally, she began to doze. It was hardly wise, half naked in a den of thieves without the warlord watching over her, but there was nothing for it. She was exhausted. She did her best to convince herself that Drumcondra’s minions would not molest her again after the display she’d witnessed upon her arrival. Neither would he , wanting her intact for his bargain with Cian Cosgrove. That was her most calming argument. Still, there was that odd business about prima noctea . But surely he couldn’t have been serious—all that had been abolished centuries ago. Still, she had no doubt that he would resurrect it in her case to further his own ends without batting an eye. Who would oppose him? None she’d seen so far in his domain.
    The sight of the old Gypsy woman from time to time was oddly reassuring, though Thea had no idea how she could be there, unless she had been lurking in the passage tomb also. Of course! That had to be it. She had to have come from somewhere nearby Cashel Cosgrove when she’d trudged through the snow to give her cryptic warning. Could she be living inside Newgrange? Hadn’t Nigel said the bones of the Drumcondra clan had been found inside when the tomb was excavated? If it were possible then, why wouldn’t it be possible now? These thoughts drowned in the stuff of dreams, however. She was just too tired to care.
    It seemed as if she had just closed her eyes when rough hands roused her, jerking her to her feet. It was Drumcondra. She groaned. Every muscle in her body ached from therough handling, and from being so long housed on the hard floor of the cave with nothing to cushion it but the skimpy fur pelt.
    Her hands were still bound, and without a word he seized her arm and hauled her along the passageway to the entrance of the cave, but she dug in her heels when the snow drifts loomed up before her.
    “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, resisting. He tightened his grip without answering. “No! Please!” she cried. “I cannot walk out in that like this. My boots! Give me back my boots!” That she was naked under the fur pelerine was bad enough; the mere thought of stepping barefoot into those snowdrifts riddled her with crippling waves of gooseflesh.
    “No boots,” he grunted.
    “But why?” she cried, still struggling.
    He jerked her to a standstill. “You cannot run without boots in the snow,” he said.
    “Please, I beg you,” she sobbed. “I shan’t run. I’m so cold. Isn’t it enough that you’ve ruined my frock—torn it to shreds? You cannot mean to make me walk through those drifts with nothing on my feet.”
    Loosing a string of muttered blasphemies, Drumcondra scooped her up in his arms and plowed through the snow. Only then did she notice the magnificent Gypsy horse tethered in a stand of young saplings alongside the mouth of the cave: a stallion as white as the snow, its feathered feet and forelegs pawing the frozen ground. It looked magical standing in the sugary frosted twilight, white clouds of visible breath puffing from its flared nostrils, like a mysterious creature of myth. One horn protruding from that proud brow would not have seemed amiss.
    Without ceremony, Drumcondra hefted her onto the animal’s back and swung himself up behind. Tethering heragainst him between the reins, he walked the horse out of the grove. Thea’s hood had fallen away. She shuddered, and he tugged it back in place. The man wasn’t entirely without feeling. But she wouldn’t thank him for it, the great lout!
    “Where are you taking me?” she insisted.
    “What? You do not fancy a moonlight ride on such a fine night—upon so fine a horse as Cabochon