Falconer's Heart Read online

  Falconer’s Heart

  Janice Bennett

  Blush sensuality level: This is a sweet romance (kisses only, no sexual content).

  When a man washes up on Riki’s falconry island during an electrical storm, he claims to be Viscount Belmont, a member of the British War Office during the Peninsular War, and identifies her missing cousin David as his assistant. Then one of David’s recreation battle scenes mysteriously changes, showing the French at an advantage.

  The fear that David was dragged back through time and is using his knowledge to change history terrifies Riki. She and Belmont risk setting sail in the storm to travel back to 1812 to prevent David from doing any more damage. But her determination to bring her cousin back to the present becomes a torment as she and the viscount realize theirs is a love that spans the ages—though they will soon be separated by two hundred years.

  A Blush® paranormal romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Falconer’s Heart

  Janice Bennett

  Dedication

  For all of us who love to dream.

  Chapter One

  Riki dug her fingers into the loose shale of the rocky ledge, slipped, then captured a grip. Rain bombarded her, plastering her dark-auburn hair against her neck as the wind whipped wet strands into her eyes. She had enough trouble seeing in the darkness of the storm without that. She shook her head, but it didn’t do much to clear her vision. Determined, she inched farther, found another fingerhold on the barren face, another toehold for her hiking boots.

  Lightning flashed, jagged and long, far too close, to the accompanying crash of thunder that would have done credit to the entire percussion section of the London Philharmonic. A shudder ran through her and she clung to the ledge, trembling. Panic and nausea vied within her, only to be fought down. Dear God, how she hated electrical storms!

  She forced open eyes she’d closed tight and sought her goal. There, still a good six feet above her and a yard or so to the right, she could make out the dim shape of the peregrine falcon, huddled against the fierce weather, one wing hanging limp and broken at its side. Only an idiot would risk her life to climb a slippery rock in the middle of the worst downpour of the year to save one stupid bird. One stupid, rare, endangered species of a bird. All right, she was an idiot.

  Riki slid her foot along the sheer rock face, dislodging pebbles and debris, but the questing toe of her boot encountered no solid haven. She tried again, higher, gripping tightly with her fingers to keep her balance. Lightning flashed, directly overhead now, accompanied once more by that resounding thunder, like a timpani player gone mad. The shale broke loose, crumbled in her hand, and her foot slipped. Painfully, she slid down the three jagged, rocky feet to the last solid ledge.

  “Are you all right?” a man’s deep voice shouted from below.

  She started, then turned carefully to look down. Twelve feet beneath her, the churning waves of the English Channel beat among the rocky outcroppings of Falconer’s Folly, her tiny island. A stranger stood on one of these, his oddly old-fashioned clothes dripping wet. Dark hair hung damply over his eyes, which he shielded from the rain with a hand as he gazed up at her.

  “I…I’m fine.” But even as she spoke, a shattering flash illuminated the afternoon sky and the rumbling thunder reverberated through her. She clung to her ledge, trembling, hating herself for her weakness.

  “Can you get down?”

  She forced her eyes open and her anxious glance sought the bird, which seemed oblivious to both the storm and her aborted attempt to save her. “I can’t. I have to—”

  “You have to come down!” He shouted to be heard over the surf that crashed behind him, washing about his booted feet.

  Torn, Riki bit her lip. Afraid of heights and terrified of lightning, she made a pretty rotten rescuer. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t!—ask anyone else to do this for her.

  “Better hurry, this is only getting worse. If you don’t—”

  His words vanished in the resonant drumming that beat through her as the sky lit up once more. Tears brimmed in Riki’s eyes, mostly at the frustration of once more giving way to this disabling panic. As the thunder faded, the man’s voice took its place, calm but authoritative, filling her mind. He ordered her movements, directing her to inch her way down the rock’s face, and not quite certain why, she complied.

  As she neared the bottom, strong hands grasped her slender waist and she felt herself lifted free of the giant rock. A moment later, the man set her gently on her feet. She turned to face him and her shaky words of thanks died on her lips as she stared up into eyes as dark as coal.

  “You’re a female! Good God, what the devil did you think you were doing?” His gaze moved across her tightly clinging navy windbreaker, which had afforded her scant protection against the elements, then came to rest on her drenched jeans.

  She dragged her gaze from his hawklike features. “A ‘female’?” An unsteady laugh escaped her as her fears found relief in humor. “I suppose you call yourself a ‘male’. Is this some new version of ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’?”

  He stared blankly at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  Riki stepped back a pace and wiped the rain from her eyes, regarding him askance. Maybe he didn’t have a sense of humor—but those gleaming, falconlike eyes set in that tense face were meant to twinkle with merriment. And as for the rest of him! He might not be handsome, but his face held more character and strength than she had ever previously encountered.

  “Are there any men on this island?” he demanded.

  “No. I—”

  He swore. “Have you a boat I could use?”

  She shook her head. “Not in this weather. You’d never be able to control it.”

  He drew a deep breath, then nodded as if he unwillingly accepted an unpleasant but inescapable reality. For a long minute his worried gaze scanned the churning waters of the Channel, then rose to the rock where she had been clinging not long before. “What were you doing up there?”

  She cast a measuring glance over his broad shoulders and the peculiar garments he wore. She had seen their like in the sketches her cousin David had plastered about his war-gaming room—civilian clothes of the Napoleonic era. He must have been a gaming acquaintance of David’s. That might make him strange, perhaps, but not dangerous.

  “There’s a falcon with a bad wing perched in the rocks. Just before the storm, I heard someone shooting—probably tourists.” She spoke the word with loathing. “I’ve had boys with BB guns out here before. Anyway, I’ve got to get her safe. She’s quite young—this will be her first nesting season.”

  His frown deepened. “A pet, I take it?”

  “Not really. I try not to tame any of them. It can prove dangerous if they trust people too much—as you can see.” She bit her lip. “I’ve got to get her down.”

  He nodded and determination intensified the grim lines about his mouth. “Why don’t I give it a try? I climbed a bit when I was a boy. I might as well save something.” The last words, spoken to himself, were barely audible over the howling wind. Without waiting for her response, he strode forward and reached up, feeling along the steep incline for a fingerhold.

  “Here!” She stripped off her windbreaker and handed it to him. “You’ll have to wrap her in something to bring her down. I’d planned to tuck her inside.”

  He took it and started to shove a corner of the thin nylon into the top of his pants, then stopped and stared at it, running his hand over the slick fabric. With a puzzled shake of his head, he stuffed the jacket securely into place, found his grip and started up.

  Thunder rumbled and lightning struck again, and Riki huddled in her cream fisherman-knit sweater. Another flash followed almost at once, and she didn’t open her eyes
until the last rumble rolled away. Craning her neck and shielding her face from the driving rain, she peered up and saw the man was making excellent progress. He wasn’t hampered by any irrational fear of electrical storms.

  He moved carefully, though with an athletic ease that drew her envy. He was far better at this rescue business than was she. In only a very few minutes, he attained her previous position—which had taken her half an hour to reach—found the footing that had eluded her and crept higher and closer to his quarry.

  He eased himself up until he was kneeling on the ledge at the falcon’s side. The bird struck at him with its sharp beak. The man shielded himself with his leather boot, then swooped down, grasped the bird by the legs and effectively bagged it within the confines of Riki’s windbreaker. He secured his furious bundle by tying it up with one sleeve, then knotted the other about his arm and started down.

  Very efficient. Riki nodded in approval. The injured wing should hold securely in that makeshift sack. She found her appreciation of the man growing. She was darned lucky he’d appeared when he had—even if it did go against her instincts to accept aid from anyone.

  With another resounding crash of thunder, lightning flashed through the darkened sky. She turned her face into the shoulder of her dripping wool sweater as a shudder ran through her. Dear God, she only wanted to get inside, close the shutters, insulate herself against this storm.

  “What are you going to do with her?”

  Riki looked up as the man jumped the last three feet and landed on the rocky outcropping at her side. He held the bagged falcon with care, for her windbreaker jerked about with the bird’s frenzied struggles.

  “That’s not going to do her any good, poor thing. Come on, let’s hurry. I’ve got supplies in the aviary.” She shivered as the lightning flashed once more, and closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the dreaded rumbling that seemed to shake the very ground beneath her feet.

  “It’s only electricity in the sky,” he said. “It won’t harm you.”

  “I-I know. It’s just…there have been so many of these storms of late. Let’s get under shelter.” She hurried across the slippery rocks until she reached the solid footing of the ground. There she broke into a run, as if she might dodge the pelting rain. Heavy footsteps followed, keeping pace easily.

  She ducked through a gate set in an arbor entwined with the thorny, bare branches of climbing roses. A rambling two-story stone cottage faced them across the courtyard. Riki ran to a long building on the left side of this, threw the door wide and stood back for the man to enter with his precious burden.

  She led the way past the generator, which hummed and chugged, and ran lightly up the stairs to the next floor. The man, after staring at the machine, followed more slowly. In here, the thunder sounded muted and the lightning remained unthreateningly outside.

  The upper chamber formed a long, spacious rectangle. Numerous perches stuck out along the window-lined walls and three large cages stood at the back. To the right of the door stood a long row of cabinets, a refrigerator and a microwave. Riki stopped at a table, above which were a number of cupboards. She opened one, drew out wooden splints and bandages, then turned to the man.

  “Is she all right?”

  “The way she’s fighting, she must be.” He set the thrashing sack of nylon onto the table and carefully unfastened the sleeve that knotted it together. “Did you really plan to just stuff her into this thing while you were wearing it?”

  A rueful smile touched her lips. “I’m not sure.”

  The furious falcon broke free of the confining fabric, spread her one good wing and hopped away. The other wing hung limp. The bird, no stranger to humans, cocked its head and shrieked, as if protesting the rough treatment.

  “The poor dear. I had to raise this one, you see, so she’s not as afraid of people as she should be—which at the moment is lucky. Easy now, Guinivere.” Riki reached out toward the falcon. She struck at her with her beak.

  “Watch out!” The man caught Riki’s wrist and jerked her hand back.

  Riki looked at him, surprised. “I know how to work with peregrines. But I want to get that wing strapped up before she does any more damage to it. Don’t I, Guin? Yes, I know we treated you terribly, but I’ve got to look at your wing.”

  This time Guinivere submitted to the gentle voice and touch. Carefully, Riki stroked the reddish-brown feathered neck, then eased around to the cream-colored throat, sliding her fingers ever nearer to the injured wing. Dark, piercing eyes regarded her balefully. Forcing herself to ignore the ominous rumbling and flashes without, Riki kept up a soft, almost crooning conversation.

  “She’s a beautiful falcon, isn’t she?” Only in part did she address the man who stood at her side. “She’s almost twenty inches long. I weighed her in the fall and she was already just over two pounds. She’s going to be a marvelous bird. It would be terrible if she didn’t reproduce.”

  She found the injury without actually touching it. Feathers were torn away, revealing a clean break of the wing’s bone. If it were kept immobile, it would heal nicely. Deftly, with the man holding the protesting bird, she taped a splint into position.

  “What now?” He stroked Guin’s neck while the falcon watched him warily.

  “Now she gets some rest. And hopefully eats something. There, would you open that one on the end?” Riki picked up the bird, carried her to the waiting cage and placed her gently inside. The man closed the door as soon as she pulled her hands out.

  “How are you going to feed her?”

  “Oh, I’m prepared for emergencies.” She went to the refrigerator, opened the freezer and drew out three white paper-wrapped packages of varying sizes. She stuck the smallest into the oven and set it for two minutes.

  The man stared over her shoulder. “What in heaven’s name is that?”

  “A microwave. Oh, you mean the package. It’s a mouse. And no, I couldn’t kill it myself. There’s a falconer on Jersey who catches and cleans them for me. Then I just freeze them so they’re ready for whenever I have a sick bird. I look at them as little as possible. And no, I don’t watch the falcons feed.”

  The oven dinged and the man jumped and stared. Riki opened the door, withdrew the package and unwrapped it gingerly. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Do you think it’s defrosted?”

  He took it from her. “It’s cold!”

  “Put it back in for thirty seconds, then.”

  The man stared from her to the oven, then back again. “How?”

  “Don’t worry, this model’s really easy. It’s not one of the fancy ones with endless combinations. Only a timer. You just set it like this.” She did, and thirty seconds later it dinged once more and the man jumped and stared again.

  “How does it do that?”

  “Damned if I know. I was never any good with electronics. Doesn’t yours make a noise?” Riki shrugged. “I thought they all did. There,” she added as she took out the package once more. “Would you mind giving this to Guin? I’d rather not look at it if I don’t have to.”

  He carried the loosely wrapped offering down the long room to where the falcon sat on a mock rock ledge only inches off the floor of the cage. Riki defrosted the other two packages, then followed with a bottle of water, which she poured into the waiting dish. The falcon prodded her dinner, accepted the offerings, and Riki turned hurriedly away.

  “Well, if she’s eating, she can’t be in too bad shape. That’s always a good sign. Thank you. For all your help.”

  A slight smile just touched his lips, and some of the strain seemed to ease from his face. It was a shame he appeared so solemn most of the time, she decided. Even as faint as it was, his was a smile to be shared.

  “You said there were no men on the island. Are your servants away at present?”

  “My what?” She raised amused eyebrows.

  His frown returned. “The people who look after you?”

  “I look after myself.”

 
He blinked, momentarily nonplussed. “You can’t mean you live here alone?”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s hardly proper. Have you not even some female to bear you company?”

  “Of course not! Why on earth should I?” She laughed, more at his disapproving expression than at his antiquated notions of propriety. “I’m fine on my own.”

  He shook his head as if unable to accept her words. “There must be someone. A scrubbing woman or a…a cook?”

  She considered for a moment. “Well, there is Mr. Fipps, of course. He’s the falconer I mentioned. He comes over once a week with supplies and checks the generator.” Her tone took on an edge. “Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”

  “I didn’t intend to imply that you were. Only that you are a most unusual female to live in such a manner. Does your family not object?”

  “My family objects to everything I do,” came her dry response. “My mother feels I should ‘adorn society’ the way my older sister does.” She broke off. And the way her younger sister was about to. That defection on the part of Susie still hurt.

  The man inclined his head. “It is society’s loss that you do not.”

  That brought her smile back. “It would be mine if I did. I’m hopelessly addicted to worthy—and usually lost—causes. Quite a trial to my family, I’m afraid.”

  “I find you charmingly original.”

  She tilted her head, regarding him with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty. She liked his rather courtly manners—probably carefully cultivated to go along with the clothes and the Napoleonic era of his war-gaming. “I’ve never encountered anyone like you before,” she said before she could stop herself.

  That brought an unexpected touch of amusement to his piercing, hawklike eyes. “I can certainly say the same about you. Since there is no one to perform the introduction, I fear we must take it upon ourselves.” He stepped back and bowed with an elegance in keeping with that bygone age. “I’m Belmont, and completely at your service.”